`Try a weed with your coffee. Local tobacco. The black coffee you get at the Amarilla, sir, you don't meet anywhere in the world. We get the bean from a famous cafeteria in the foothills, whose owner sends three sacks every year as a present to his fellow members in remembrance of the fight against Gamacho's Nationals, carried on from these very windows by the caballeros . He was in town at the time, and took part, sir, to the bitter end. It arrives on three mules -- not in the common way, by rail; no fear! -- right into the patio, escorted by mounted peons, in charge of the Mayoral of his estate, who walks upstairs, booted and spurred, and delivers it to our committee formally with the words, "For the sake of those fallen the third of May." We call it "Tres de Mayo" coffee. Taste it.'
Captain Mitchell, with an expression as though making ready to hear a sermon in a church, would lift the tiny cup to his lips. And the nectar would be sipped to the bottom during a restful silence in a cloud of cigar smoke.
`Look at this man in black just going out,' he would begin, leaning forward hastily. `This is the famous Hernandez, Minister of War. The Times 's special correspondent, who wrote that striking series of letters calling the Occidental Republic the "Treasure House of the World", gave a whole article to him and the force he has organized -- the renowned Carabineers of the Campo.'
Captain Mitchell's guest, staring curiously, would see a figure in a long-tailed black coat walking gravely, with downcast eyelids in a long, composed face, a brow furrowed horizontally, a pointed head, whose grey hair, thin at the top, combed down carefully on all sides and rolled at the ends, fell low on the neck and shoulders. This, then, was the famous bandit of whom Europe had heard with interest. He put on a high-crowned sombrero with a wide flat brim; a rosary of wooden beads was twisted about his right wrist. And Captain Mitchell would proceed:
`The protector of the Sulaco refugees from the rage of Pedrito. As general of cavalry with Barrios he distinguished himself at the storming of Tonoro, where Senor Fuentes was killed with the last remnant of the Monterists.
He is the friend and humble servant of Bishop Corbelan. Hears three Masses every day. I bet you he will step into the cathedral to say a prayer or two on his way home to his siesta.'
He took several puffs at his cigar in silence; then, in his best important manner, pronounced:
`The Spanish race, sir, is prolific of remarkable characters in every rank of life. . . . I propose we go now into the billiard-room, which is cool, for a quiet chat. There's never anybody there till after five. Icould tell you episodes of the Separationist revolution that would astonish you. When the great heat's over, we'll take a turn on the Alameda.'
The programme went on relentless, like a law of Nature. The turn on the Alameda was taken with slow steps and stately remarks.
`All the great world of Sulaco here, sir.' Captain Mitchell bowed right and left with no end of formality; then with animation, `Dona Emilia, Mrs Gould's carriage. Look. Always white mules. The kindest, most gracious woman the sun ever shone upon. A great position, sir. A great position.
First lady in Sulaco -- far before the President's wife. And worthy of it.' He took off his hat; then, with a studied change of tone, added, negligently, that the man in black by her side, with a high white collar and a scarred, snarly face, was Dr Monygham, Inspector of State Hospitals, chief medical officer of the Consolidated San Tome mines. `A familiar of the house. Everlastingly there. No wonder. The Goulds made him. Very clever man and all that, but I never liked him. Nobody does. I can recollect him limping about the streets in a check shirt and native sandals with a water-melon under his arm --all he would get to eat for the day. A big-wig now, sir, and as nasty as ever. However . . . There's no doubt he played his part fairly well at the time. He saved us all from the deadly incubus of Sotillo, where a more particular man might have failed--'
His arm went up.
`The equestrian statute that used to stand on the pedestal over there has been removed. It was an anachronism,' Captain Mitchell commented, obscurely.