Near them, huddled on the floor next the stove, reclining against the
wall, could be seen a number of ugly, scraggly-haired hags, dressed in
corsages and ragged skirts that were tied around their waists by
ropes.
"Who are those women?" asked the painter.
"They're old tramps," explained Leandro. "The kind that go to the
Botanical Garden and the clearings outside the city."
Two or three of the unfortunates held in their arms children belonging
to other women who had come there to spend the night; some were dozing
with their cigarettes sticking from the corner of their mouths. Amid
the old women were a few little girls of thirteen or fourteen,
monstrously deformed, with bleary eyes; one of them had her nose
completely eaten away, with nothing but a hole like a wound left in
its place; another was hydro-cephalous, with so thin a neck that it
seemed the slightest movement would snap it and send her head rolling
from her shoulders.
"Have you seen the large jars they have here?" Leandro asked Manuel.
"Come on and take a look."
The two rose and approached the group of gamblers. One of these
interrupted his game.
"Please make way?" Leandro said to him, with marked impertinence.
The man drew in his chair sourly. There was nothing remarkable about
the jars; they were large, embedded in the wall, painted with
red-lead; each of them bore a sign denoting the class of wine inside,
and had a spigot.
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