Cualli Tonalli!!!!!!!!
Mi first history in english.
Chapter 3
A wise friend
Edmund Dantes drank a cup of coffee while, sitting in the hall of that beautiful house, meditated. Without opening his mouth, he turned to see the inn; comfortable and simple, just as he liked.
It was a very good choice to ask his servants to be discreet about his arrival; until the afternoon, he'd heard rumors about the visit of a wealthy man to the port of Marseille, and that would surely complicate even more his mission to find Mercedes.
A sigh escaped his lips thinking about that woman's name; he touched softly with his thumb the edge of the cup, while the soft scent of the herbs filled his senses.
He was still confused by the way he'd acted when thinking that the beautiful Catalan could decide to end her life. The idea terrified him; and now he had to face it, after a long time of absence.
What would she think? Would she accept him? Or, maybe… was it too late? He felt his body shudder and, taking a deep breath, tried to calm down. He softly pressed his fingers against his nose and closed his eyes.
A soft laugh was heard in that room, forcing Dantes to raise his head; he turned towards the entrance and was amazed to see a man smiling warmly at him. The stranger had approached when he'd felt completely alone and safe from the curious.
When their eyes met, Monte Cristo felt an incredible bond with that man, and watching his face he memorized his features: wise brown eyes, lined by the delicate wrinkles of age; gray hair which fell in strange locks over his front and neck; a sweet mouth that, even despite the age, had the vitality to keep a warm, innocent smile; over it, a soft moustache that, under the light, emitted soft flashed of silver in his perfect nose. All in that man made him think about a caring, protective father.
"Excuse me, monsieur" said the stranger. "But I saw you sitting here, and I wonder if you'd like some company"
The deep voice of the man surprised Dantes who, standing up, indicated with a gesture the chair next to his.
"Company is appreciated in every occasion" he answered while inviting the old man, who smiled kindly and –walking with incredible grace- took a seat.
Both observed each other for several minutes in silence; Edmund felt this man knew everything about him, as if he knew him since forever, but he was still a stranger. The guest's eyes shone in a strange way, as if he knew what was Dantes thinking.
"I beg you to forgive my modals!" suddenly exclaimed the old man. "Allow me to introduce myself…"
The stranger stood up and, offering his right hand to Monte Cristo, said, "My mane is Alexander Dumas; I'm a novelist and live in Paris"
"It is an honor, Mr. Dumas" Monte Cristo returned the gesture with a smile, and the old man sat again.
"And you, my good friend, How should I address you?" Edmund blushed in embarrassment noticing his mistake, but the soft and calm laugh of Dumas calmed him down.
"The Count of Monte Cristo, at your service" he answered, fixing his black eyes in the brown ones, causing that strange connection between the two to surge again.
With a serene smile, Dumas took out a pipe and a bag of tobacco from his jacket; he placed them over the table and looked at Edmund with alert eyes.
"Would you accept, my friend?" the old man offered, while filling the pipe with a subtle movement; Dantes smiled but rejected the offer shaking his head.
"I see…" the man exclaimed with complicity, "… you don't like to smoke"
"It is not one of my favorite activities…" Monte Cristo answered while returning an amused smile; with his hand he took a cup and, raising the teapot, watched the man intently. "Would you like some?"
Alexander accepted, and for a moment his face was covered by the tea's steam, which felt silently in the porcelain cup.
A sweet sound came out of the man's throat and he closed his eyes, delighted. Dantes placed the teapot delicately on the table and watched attentively his companion's gesture.
"Herbal tea…" he said, taking a deep breath, and the tips of his lips curved in a pleased smile. "… nothing better to calm down"
Edmund felt as a lump formed in his stomach, and the anguish returned almost with the same strength it had in the morning. He lowered his head, confused, forgetting for an instant the man who made him company.
Dumas' experienced eyes searched that young man's face that, even if he wasn't older than 40 years, gave the impression of being much older: the smooth, pale skin was a contrast with his eyes, black and devoid of brightness, framed by a soft violet, clear indication that he hadn't slept for a while. His mouth was still young, light and remarkable over a little black beard, his black hair felt with grace covering his shoulders. He seemed tired and confused.
"If I'm not being indiscreet, my friend, I'd like to ask you…" that old man said the words with fluency but caution; with again attracted Dantes' attention. "… What brought you to Marseille?"
In Edmund's mind the events occurred in the last weeks showed again: Haydée's death, the funeral in his garden, the nights crying, the memories, Mecedes' condemnation and his rushed trip to his natal land. All so soon, all so strange.
Dumas realized Monte Cristo's attention was dispersing again. He lighted up his pipe and let the man meditate; the smoke rose slowly, forming different shapes.
"I'm so sorry!" Edmund exclaimed after a while. "I think I'm not a very good company"
Dumas smiled, while moving the pipe out of his lips and shaking his head. "On the contrary, Monsieur, you've managed to keep my entire attention"
Both watched each other for some minutes, trying to decipher the other's thoughts, with no results. The tea's scent combined strangely with the tobacco, causing the air in the room to be dense.
"Maybe you need someone with whom sharing your problems, my dear friend" it was a statement, and Edmund noticed it. No doubt this man was different; he could read him like a book.
With him he felt comfortable, and trusted him blindly. Something he could only share with few people; after all, it was in his nature to be always a little distrustful with others. Ah, the irony!
Dumas saw the doubt in Dantes' black eyes and, smoking slowly his pipe, allowed his face to relax in a friendly smile.
"My dear friend, there are two things that can make a man talk without fear or remorse" Edmund gave him a confused look, while the good man raised his index finger.
"One: huge amounts of good liquor…" Edmund smiled, amused, while he watched a second finger rise in that pale hand, "… two: a friend"
"A friend?" Dantes repeated while the smile disappeared from his face and his look became cold. Dumas watched his reaction.
"Someone who listen to you for no special reason" Dumas explained, indifferent, "… simply, someone who sits at your side without waiting something in return"
Dantes' dark eyes obscured even more, and the old man saw it through a cloud of smoke; the room was filled with a dense silence.
"Friends don't exist" was Monte Cristo's frail answer. "Nor true friendship"
"Do you really think so, or aren't you sure of it?" Dumas looked at him out of the corner of his eye while he let the smoke out of his mouth slowly. Edmund turned quickly while giving him his emptiest look.
"I don't believe it, I don't know!" he roared, clenching his hands over the table. "Two long decades taught me so, and that's the only truth I know"
"Just like the truth of not trusting in anyone?" Dumas interrupted while his face became inscrutable; Dantes remained silent while both stared at each other, refusing to break that absolute silence.
Suddenly, Dumas' look softened, and he smiled warmly at Dantes, leaving him totally disarmed.
"My dear, we're here like two men, two strangers who only search a little company and a conversation free of hypocrisy" the old man said calmly. Edmund opened his mouth, confused.
"I don't want to know about you to start rumors, nor do I care if you trust me totally; the only thing I want is to help you with something that obviously hurts you, while I obtain merely your company"
Monte Cristo looked at him wide-eyed. The words of that man seemed to him so sincere and sweet, they'd given him a comfort he had lost a long time ago. The old man offered him his silence, his understanding, his… friendship?
Dantes' dark eyes were lost in his companion's while trying to find an answer, a secret reason for the man's attitude; but, mucho to his regret, the only thing he found was sincerity and experience.
He let out a long, resigned sigh and hid his face in his hands; he felt a hand on his shoulder, but was afraid of looking up.
"You don't have to trust me" someone repeated in a whisper at his side. He felt as Dumas sat again on the chair and smoked his pipe patiently. Unsure, Edmund raised his head and crossed his hands over the table.
"It's a long story" he explained with sorrowful voice while attracting his companion's attention; the man smiled kindly.
"And I've lived a lot; I think…" he laughed in complicity. "… I can resist a long night"
The night passed slowly as Monte Cristo told his story, explaining his feelings to that stranger who wanted to help him. The words came out of his lips without noticing it and the pain grew even more, while the night got older. Alexander listened to every word without interrupting or showing any feeling.
At the end, the room was in deep silence as the tears fell one by one through Dantes' cheeks, after being kept hidden for so long.
"And now…" Dumas remained sitting with his fingers intertwined in front of his mouth; the pipe rested in an ashtray, and the old man's stare went from it to the young man in front of him. "… have you returned because you feel sorry for what you did?"
Edmund rose his stare, still wet, and tried o answer, but the words stuck on his throat causing him pain. He lowered his head, and hid his face in his hands again, ashamed, nodding.
The silence formed again, he could hear the seconds pass in his pocket watch, but each one seemed an hour of torture.
"I can't understand it" Dumas said in a whisper, almost as if talking to himself; Dantes' body tensed.
"Are you sorry for getting your revenge or…?" he turned his face slowly, "… for the way you left that poor woman?"
Their eyes met and stared at each other as if the question had nothing to do with the situation. Monte Cristo straightened up, cautious, without taking his eyes off his companion.
"Perhaps…" he let out with hoarse voice and incredulous expression. "… have you not listened what I've told?"
"I've given you my entire attention, so much that I can even tell you in which moments your voice broke" the old man answered politely, while the shadow of a smile appeared in his lips.
"Then…" he continued, while the rage filled his face. "… How is it possible that you didn't understand anything?"
"I've heard the reason that took you to achieve such a sublime vengeance, and I've understood it!" Dumas answered quietly. "However, my dear friend, I don't understand the reason for his regret"
Edmund frowned, confused. What did he meant exactly?
Dumas watched him for several seconds in a mysterious way, which made him shudder.
"What I mean is…" the old man broke the silence softly.
"You explained all this to her just as you did to me; Mercedes knew his wishes, and supported his revenge. If that's the case… Why do you feel guilty?"
Monte Cristo understood immediately, and he asked himself the same question for several minutes. Why? She had abandoned her life just to stand out of his way of revenge, she'd thanked him for taking her back to Marseille and she assured she3 didn't hate him. Then, why?
The answer didn't come to him and, however, he felt it present; his heart burned with her, and he could taste it clearly. The old man's stare became sweet as he opened his lips to finally answer him.
"Because you still love her, my son!"
Edmund watched him with eyes wide-open, and he shook his head doubtfully. "How can you say that?"
"Because it's easy to see it" Dumas answered with indifference. But Edmund looked at him intently, denying his answer.
"No, I love Haydée!" he screamed, standing up.
"I don't deny that you loved her, I'd never deny such thing" he calmed him down with a hand gesture, and invited him to sit again. Edmund reluctantly returned to his place.
"You loved the beautiful young woman with whom you lived in Orient, but you never stopped loving Mercedes. Or are you going to tell me that you never searched for her in Haydée?"
The question confused Monte Cristo completely. Search for her? Mercedes in Haydée?
He remembered looking into the eyes of the one he once called daughter and searching for the dark pupils of the Catalan; he missed the scent of the sea and Mercedes' brown lips, and he thought about that many times while holding Haydée. Remorse fell over him like a pail of cold water, but even with that he knew the love for Haydée had been true.
He fixed his eyes in the old man's, who respectfully remained silent at his side, and shook his head again, trying to convince his companion… and himself.
"Maybe you don't want to realize it, my friend…" sighed Dumas. "… but, sooner or later, you will"
Is it possible to threaten in that way? With such sweetness. No, that couldn't be a threat.
"After all…" the man continued, while the smile was evident on his tone. "… one does not love truly more than once"
Those words! He remembered hearing them before, in a party in Paris; there was a beautiful greenhouse and the moon shone over his head, Mercedes Herrera offered him a cluster of grapes with her eyes full of hope.
"More than once…" Monte Cristo repeated, distracted. They remained silent for some time, which passed quickly.
"I know it's hard, my dear, but I hope you realize the truth… before it's too late"
Dumas' voice was sweet, but deep down the pain was evident.
Monte Cristo turned again towards the man, who watched the hour in his pocked watch. Then both looked at each other and, for no reason, smiled without hypocrisy, just a sincere smile.
"My good friend, we've talked for so long; it is past for in the morning already and I think this old man must retire" Dantes felt a smile forming in his lips and, as when he was young, laughed for no reason.
"I thought you'd said you could bear a long night?" his voice was clear, he felt surprised at how natural it was to speak with the old man.
Dumas smiled cunningly while he shrugged; it seemed as if both were close friends, almost family.
"I could bear one or two nights, but it is not right for men to stay awake when they have things to do"
"Very wise" Monte Cristo agreed. "I wish to ask you something, if it's not a bother"
"Whatever you want" Dumas accepted. "as long as it is in my power to answer"
Edmund intertwined his hands and fixed his stare in that man, with a strange mixture of feelings.
"Will you share your glories and sorrow with me, as I've done with you?"
Dumas watched him perplexed for a moment, but his eyes recovered his fatherly air and, placing his hand in Monte Cristo's shoulder, answered:
"Isn't that what friends do?"
What a wonderful answer he'd obtained! Could the word 'friendship' seem more real to him? Could he deny again its existence? The answer was simple and definitive: No, he couldn't.
Dantes shook hands with the man strongly and warmly, while he smiled like he hadn't done since long ago; Dumas watched the light that appeared in those black eyes, and felt happy for a soul that had broken one of the many chains imprisoning it. There were only a few left until he could be happy and free.
"Then, when, would I be able to speak with you again?" Monte Cristo said enthusiastically, causing the laugh of the man.
"Not this morning" the man answered calmly, patting the brunette's hand. "In some moment, will be; you just need to trust that moment will come and wait for it"
Continue….
Tlazohcamati huel miac!!!!