The Dancer and the Raja Read Online Free PDF Page B

reminded him of the sarangi , a very popular instrument from his country, and the castanets were like the tabla . But the melody was different from anything he had ever heard in his life.
    Anita did not immediately recognize him because she was so involved in following the steps of the dance. Besides, the man was wearing a dark flannel suit and a white shirt with a starched collar. But his insistent gaze caused the girl to notice him. Oh my God, the Moorish king! Anita suddenly told herself and, on recognizing him, she almost stumbled in shock. There was the raja, smiling, captivated by that beauty who must remind him of the women of his own land. “He is a handsome Indian type,” the Audacious Gentleman, who was present at the scene, would write. “His body, very tall, is slender, vigorous and firm. His copper-coloured skin contrasts with the whiteness of his clean, white teeth. He is always smiling sweetly. His big, shiny, dark eyes have an ardent, dominating look.”
    Once the performance was over, Don Angel and Doña Candelaria, who were waiting for their daughters to finish changing behind the curtain that served as a dressing room, saw a short, very polite man approach them, speaking nervously. “Good evening, I am the raja’s interpreter. He is sitting at that table over there. I work in the Hotel Paris, close to here, where His Highness is staying … Would you agree to come and have a glass of champagne at his table? The raja was very impressed with your daughters’ performance and would like to offer you …”
    Don Angel looked at him in surprise, while his wife looked indignant.
    â€œTell His Highness that we are very grateful,” Don Angel replied politely, “but it is late, it’s almost midnight. The girls are very young. You understand what I mean, don’t you?”
    At the furious look the lady gave him, the interpreter chose not to insist and went back to the prince’s table. “What does that Moor think my daughters are? Tarts?” exclaimed Doña Candelaria indignantly as she dragged the girls toward the exit.
    While he was in Madrid, the raja went to see Anita dance every night. He must have been the only customer who paid to see the curtain raisers and not the famous cabaret singers advertised on the poster. One night, before the girls’ performance and the dreaded presence of Doña Candelaria, the interpreter went over to the dressing room.
    â€œ Señorita , I have this for you from His Highness …” The man handed her a thick envelope. Anita opened it: it was full of money. She looked up at the prince’s emissary.
    â€œThere are five thousand pesetas there,” the man went on. “His Highness wants you to go to his table, you know, just to talk …”
    Anita’s look reflected the humiliation she had just suffered. The interpreter gestured to her not to raise her voice. But it was already too late.
    â€œTell that Moor that I might be a poor girl, but I have my honor! Who does he think he is? How can he think I would sell myself for money, however much it is? Tell him he’s a pig! Tell him not to come anywhere near me, and don’t you say another word to me!”
    After the show, Anita burst into tears “like an idiot” and it was the regulars who consoled her. Her mother was also there, explaining what had happened to Ricardo Baroja. “The thing is that king loves my daughter. But no, in the name of God, he’s a Mohammedan!”
    â€œMohammedan?”
    â€œYes. One of those who has a harem. He’ll take her away and we’ll never see her again …”
    The next day the doorbell rang in the Delgados’ modest flat. The person who opened the door was Anita because her mother had gone to the market with her sister. She could see nothing but flowers. The bouquet was so big it hid the poor delivery boy. “Oh my God! Where am I going to put all this?”