suspense and understatement in antonio ferres' "con las manos vacias"

South Atlantic Modern Language Association

Suspense and Understatement in Antonio Ferres' "Con las manos vacias"Author(s): Thomas FeenySource: South Atlantic Bulletin, Vol. 43, No. 1 (Jan., 1978), pp. 58-66Published by: South Atlantic Modern Language AssociationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3199164 .

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"iT SUSPENSE AND UNDERSTATEMENT IN ANTONIO FERRES' CON LAS MANOS VACIAS

THOMAS FEENY

SINCE ITS APPEARANCE in 1964, literary critics have on the whole been most generous in their praise of Con las manos vacias,l Antonio Ferres' second novel. Yet despite its favorable reception the few existing studies of Manos tend to pass over what is prob- ably the author's finest achievement in this work: the creation of suspense so palpable as to imbue nearly every page. A careful look reveals that much of the novel's impact does not result from Ferres' choice of theme, intriguing as that may be, but from the unique way he handles his material. On Ithe surface, the plot deals with fact, an event that occurred in the province of Cuenca in 1910. Primarily because of their leftist politics, the local conservative government accused two uneducated farmworkers of having brutal- ly murdered a fellow laborer. Although the body was never found, under torture the two confessed, an admission that, along with flimsy circumstantial evidence, sent them to prison. Some fifteen years later, however, the supposed victim reappeared, bringing joy and grief to those affected by his disappearance.

In choosing to treat as fiction this well-known case, Ferres finds himself with a plot already familiar to some readers. Not only did the incident receive much publicity, but Ram6n Sender had dealt with it years before in his novel, El lugar del hombre.2 Ferres' approach is to subordinate but not alter the basic facts of the "crime," that is, to use them primarily as a backdrop for the character studies of his protagonists, the priest (Don Pedro) and Brigida, the servant girl. In his character delineation, as elsewhere, Ferres' main concern is the creation of suspense that will carry his novel forward. Uncertitude is the order of the day; the reader must, for

example, struggle with doubts concerning the true reasons for

Brigida's behavior, or what course of action Don Pedro's weak nature will eventually have him follow. Even at the novel's close, one finds himself questioning, wondering. The object of this paper is to examine the literary techniques Ferres employs in order to achieve the aura of suspense that permeates his novel.



South Atlantic Bulletin

In his introduction the author states: "Pese a las referencias a un caso judicial concreto, la novela es de mi absoluta invenci6n" (p. 7). In using the facts of the crime only as a point of departure for his fiction, Ferres' treatment is much like that of Sender in Lugar. Because the two authors adopt a novelistic rather than documentary approach to their material, from time to time we shall refer to Lugar in order to understand and appreciate the complexi- ties involved in Ferres' work.

Both writers employ an omniscient narrator who looks back over an indeterminate span of years, first to 1926 and the "victim's" reappearance, then further back, to 1910 and the "crime." Sender's chronology is basically uncomplicated, involving a single long flashback (chs. 6 through 14).3 Not so with Ferres. The opening scene of Manos, an exhumation, occurs at an indefinite time which the reader only somewhat later realizes must be at least a generation after 1926. Chapter Two follows with a flashback to that year and hints at the complications the supposed dead man's reappearance will bring. But, as frequently happens in Manos, in the second half of the chapter the author abruptly drops even further back in time as he takes us to 1910 and the murder investigation. We find, in fact, Ferres employs alternately all three time settings throughout nearly the entire novel. Because of this, one immediately senses the author's intention that to understand his work the reader must not approach it casually. Without an extended effort, Ferres' chronological hopscotch proves most confusing, and so one soon finds himself carefully hunting for clues to determine the particular time period being dealt with. Furthermore, as the novel progresses the reader gradually perceives the repeated time shifts as reflective of the mental turmoil of Don Pedro, beseiged by self- doubts and nagging guilt.

In the first chapter of both novels, the authors introduce their omniscient narrator. In her accounts of the "crime" and even of the "victim's" return fifteen years later, Ferres' girl narrator admittedly is speaking of events that occurred before her birth. Yet this admission does not lessen the impact of her narration. In fact, Ferres handles his narrator far more effectively than does Sender. While the boy eventually merely vanishes from Lugar's pages, Ferres capitalizes on the girl's presence in the final scenes of his novel to add an extra dimension of suspense through half-disclosures that force the reader to ponder her relationship to the priest.

Throughout Con las manos vacias one finds Ferres consistently prefers to allude, to imply, to avoid declarative commentary whenever possible. And so at every turn the reader must labor. For just as he frequently encounters the time setting not immediately

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Ferres

apparent, often only through concentrated effort will he understand the motivation or even the identity of a given character. This tendency to temporarily conceal information vital to the reader's full comprehension, a literary device characteristic of William Faulkner, bears out Ferres' acknowledgement of the latter's influ- ence upon him.4 Chapter Two, for example, begins: "El caso es

que no sabia que hacer con la carta" (p. 15). But not until several paragraphs later does the reader learn the one troubled by the letter he has received is Don Pedro, the priest. Seizing every chance to keep the reader in suspense, Ferres furthers the mystery by identifying the sender as el Pastor, with no indication at this point that he is the same Jose Huete whose body is being exhumed in Chapter One. And while we gather the letter is somehow signi- ficant, only much later can we understand its full import.

These half-disclosures keep one always on the alert as he tries to determine the total meaning of the bits and pieces of information the author doles out. But progress in unraveling Manos' plot is slow and not always steady. Because of Ferres' careful hints and

partial revelations in the early chapters, the reader does come to

perceive a kind of unique relationship existing between the priest, the girl, and Brigida. But any conclusions one dare draw from Ferres' scant information are only tentative at best, ever subject to

quick revision should the author eventually prove more loquacious. And Ferres' information is not only incomplete, often it is pur- posely ambiguous. For example, the author describes the priest's departure from the village in such a way that the reader may or

may not understand Don Pedro is going off with Brigida. Similar-

ly, despite the narrator's early references to the priest as her tio, her later words, "don Pedro, mi tio como le llamo" (p. 89), indi- cate he is not really her uncle. The subsequent revelation of the

priest's attraction to Brigida, who in time we discover is the girl's mother, and the final disclosure that Don Pedro, old and ill, lives with the two women, only add to the mystery. For now the reader

must weigh the possibility that the priest might, in fact, be the

girl's father. And if so, is she aware of this?

This use of half-disclosure characterizes the overall subtlety that

marks Ferres' technique and obliges the reader to draw his own

conclusions. For example, in his attempt to convey the shallow

complacency of the doctor's family and friends, who represent the established order, utterly oblivious to the lot of the weak and

vulnerable, Ferres repeatedly describes their constant preoccupa- tion with creature comforts. Yet it is not the author who indicts them for these pleasures; it is the reader, who in time comes to see

for himself that to assure their tostadas and chocolate these re-

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spected pillars of the town will go to any lengths. As in the actual case, in both Lugar and Manos political motivation plays an important part in the innocent men's imprisonment. Still, since Sender and Ferres are after all creating fiction and not merely re- counting fact, the reader must judge the artistic skills with which each handles the political aspect of his novel. In his description of the cat, well-fed, never beaten, who slinks by the cell where the innocent prisoners lie, bloodied and starving, Sender's irony is too obvious and so fails. Likewise, the extreme viciousness of the sadistic sergeant's repeated attacks on the accused eventually only dulls the reader's sensitivities; as we learn nothing about his path- ology and its causes, we reject him as unbelievable.

While Ferres, too, consistently indicts those in authority, he avoids the exaggeration that makes Sender's sergeant merely a gross caricature. In Ferres' effort to depict the scant concern the estab- lishment has for the poor, he underplays the scenes of actual torture to concentrate on the portraiture of those responsible, the privileged elite. And in wisely deciding to portray this class through the eyes of the priest, who during nearly all of the novel is their ally, the author is able to reveal the shallowness of their way of life without ever openly attacking it himself. In the priest's eventual disillusion and ultimate disgust with the myopic selfish- ness of his monied friends, Don Pedro of course voices Ferres' own condemnation. But since the indictment comes not directly from the author but from one who has been friendly with society's upper strata, it proves much stronger. Because it is overdrawn, Sender's portrait of the subhuman sergeant rings false; by contrast, because it is seemingly impartial and detached, Ferres' judgment against the upper classes proves totally condemning. For it is this clique, generous but mindless, convivial but shortsighted, that finally lends its support to those who in the closing chapters murder the administrator solely to protect their political authority from the embarrassing results of the Pastor's reappearance.

But what about the involvement of Don Pedro's close friends? As always, Ferres is evasive. Are the doctor and Dofia Flor willing or unwitting participants in this assassination? Are they good peo- ple who are really bad, or only foolish? Again the reader must decide.

In his effort to hold the reader's close attention, the author employs an abundance of passages that consist primarily of many short, direct sentences. Clearly it is the form, as well as the content, of these passages that gives one to understand they are vital to the novel. Their staccato style brings an air of tension to Ferres' writing and, without knowing why, perhaps often without being

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Ferres

conscious of the rhythm of a given page, the reader feels this tension. He then begins to read with extra care in the hope of dis- covering what he feels certain are further clues to unraveling the novel's mysteries. For Con las manos vacias is, in fact, very much a mystery story in that tie reader receives one bit of information, then another, and by employing the accumulated evidence must reach new conclusions while discarding those proven false.

Ferres' insistence on his reader's self-reliance also contributes to the novel's understated tone. With typical reticence, he often uses

seemingly innocent detail to suggest much about his characters. Early in Chapter Two, for example, the author observes: "Sobre la larga mesa del frutero un Blanco y Negro con la pasta rota y los bordes de las hojas abarquillados" (p. 17). This sly characteri- zation of the doctor's household as provincial bourgeois brings a touch of ironic pathos to its members' struggle to defend their traditional privileges. The air of genteel shabbiness Ferres adroitly imparts through the apparently casual mention of a tattered copy of a popular magazine lying atop an empty fruitbowl assumes added

meaning as the reader gradually comes to see this neglect as repre- sentative of the doctor's intellect and integrity, as well as of his household. There follows a one-sentence description of a photo of the doctor as an awkward young recruit, notable only for his

"ojos asustados." Whether it is fear of possible bloodshed or mere-

ly the camera that makes him afraid, Ferres never specifies, nor does it matter. What is important is that as the novel progresses, the reader interprets this image of the young doctor's frightened gaze as revelatory of his basic nature and thus gains insight into the motivation behind his anxieties and his possible participation in the administrator's murder.

Closely tied in with Ferres' fondness for understatement is his use of repetition as a literary device to create suspense. One finds in Manos two basic kinds of repetition: stylistic repetition (repetition of key words and phrases) and situational repetition.5 In the

early chapters, because of his frequent mention that Don Pedro "sabia que era Brigida" who would open the doctor's door to him or who would serve cognac to the arriving guests, the reader intuits some hidden significance in her role. Only later, however, and in

retrospect, does he realize the author's constant reiteration of this

phrase is meant to suggest Don Pedro's subconscious attraction to the girl. A second prime example of stylistic repetition in Manos involves the townspeople's vilification of Brigida after she has sacri- ficed her reputation and position in the doctor's house in her at-

tempt to prove her lover's innocence. As she makes her way home, broken and sorrowing, the villagers along the way greet her with

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mocking barbs: "Menuda que armo en la Audiencia cuando con- denaron al novio" (108); "De manera que ahora vuelves mendigando un mendrugo de pan" (109); "Se creia que todo iban a ser rosas y flores" (109). But because the author's intent here is not only to convey the depth of Brigida's disgrace but also to show the strait- jacketed mentality of the town, over several pages Ferres has all those whom Brigida meets repeat nearly verbatim the same cruel taunts. Thus when the girl, once so proud and angry, casts herself down upon the doctor's doorstep to spend the night "acurrucada, (sin) dormirse del frio" (111), the reader comes to understand she has surrendered not to the norms of a single social class but to the forces of conformity that rule all strata of the society she lives in.

Another notable incidence of stylistic repetition is the priest's recollection late in the novel that in the doctor's house "no habia tantos mosquitos desde que habian puesto la tapadera al pozo" (142). This is the same observation he had made to Dofia Flor on page 32. Ferres' intent is to show the intellectual stagnation that obliges the return to the same petty topics of conversation and to underline the poverty of Don Pedro's existence, ever so concerned with minor comforts. Still, since nine chapters separate the two passages, one must wonder if the author's implication might not escape the casual reader.

Equally effective is Ferres' use of situational repetition as, for example, Brigida's return to the doctor's house right after the chance meeting with her former lover upon his release from fifteen years' imprisonment. With barely a mumbled greeting, they pass each other in the road. Then, as she nears the doctor's door, Brigida recalls how, years before, she had spent the night on that same step, "encogida y gimoteando para que la recogieran" (185). With this memory, she rushes to the door, bangs on it, "pero la hoja de la puerta estaba solo encajada, y cedio" (185). The deep emotion which passion had once aroused in her can now respond only to the irrational fear of losing the scant security her place in the doctor's household affords her. That Brigida's sudden panic is a most human reaction before the threat of displacement intensi- fies Ferres' bitter indictment of those classes who prey upon the vulnerability of the weak to hold them in check.

The author's most effective use of situational repetition is in his descriptions of the priest's visits to the doctor's house. To convey Don Pedro's neurotic dependence upon the established authorities, Ferres time and again places him at his friend's doorstep. But the Don Pedro of Chapter Two (set in 1926), uncertain of what to do with the letter and eager to seek the doctor's advice, is not the Don Pedro of sixteen years before (Chapter Four), who comes calling,

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curious but not at all anxious about the fate of the two accused. For despite his fears, the older Don Pedro does not hand the letter over to the doctor. An incipient sense of morality has him shun this easy way out. Once again avoiding direct intervention, Ferres insists the reader detect for himself this initial flicker of indepen- dence in the priest. Though easily missed, the discovery is important because it marks his first belated step toward maturity. Here the author skillfully, quietly, links his protagonist's sad for- tunes to those of the "victim," as Don Pedro realizes that el Pastor, too, "se habia pasado-como el mismamente-los afios sin juventud, escondido, sin entender por qua" (174). Filled with remorse for the wasted years, Don Pedro at last makes his decision.

In this novel, as in most, the element of suspense relates closely to the dramatic conflict. Since Brigida's presence in Manos is the

prime source of this conflict, we might do well to examine her function. In the early chapters Ferres contrasts her brazen challenge of the rigid social code with the apathy of Don Pedro and the com-

placency of his wealthy friends. In his painstaking delineation of

Brigida, the author shows that even as a young girl her timidity does not suppress a hidden restlessness, an inner rabia, foreshadow-

ing her eventual rebellion. And although Brigida becomes a

prostitute ostensibly to purchase tobacco for her lover and to pro- cure his legal defense, the author hints obliquely at an inherent

instability and waywardness that perhaps would have drawn her to la vida whatever her circumstances.

First through her involvement with the accused, later through her relationship with Don Pedro, Brigida's role, then, provides the novel much of its dramatic development. In a series of flashbacks to 1910, Don Pedro recalls the false accusation followed by the

girl's violent rebellion, her subsequent remorse, and fifteen years of penitence. The author uses these flashbacks to supply information about past events and, equally important, to establish gradual links between Don Pedro and the servant girl. At first barely visi-

ble, Ferres' connection of Brigida's fate to that of the priest becomes more apparent with each chapter. For the author's final concern in this novel has in fact little to do with the destinies of the "victim" or of the two men unjustly imprisoned. Rather, the focus of Ferres' interest is Don Pedro's ultimate maturation, symbo- lized by his renunciation of his influential friends and departure from the city. The author successfully conveys the vacillation and self-doubt of this man, until now a mere appendage of the powers that be, as he confronts the cowardice of his past behavior. Ferres'

artistry has his reader perceive Don Pedro's chance for redemption at the same time that the priest, himself, realizes what he should

64 Ferres




do. Recalling Brigida's staunch resistance and weighing the price she has had to pay, he knows he must at last make an independent judgment. He understands what he has to do, but will he do it? Ever true to form, Ferres keeps the reader dangling while the in- decisive priest first destroys the letter, then retrieves the pieces. Casting aside concern for the companionship and petty luxuries afforded him through his ties to the wealthy, he resolves to seek out the "dead man," to rescue him from continued non-existence, regardless of the consequences to those authorities who had pushed for the punishment of the supposed criminals. Thus it is Brigida, with her stoic resignation, who proves directly responsible for the priest's spiritual regeneration culminating in his break with the entrenched powers.

As we have seen, Ferres' unwavering preference for the under- written paragraph and the low-keyed scene contributes greatly to the domniant tone of his novel. Brigida's reaction on coming face to face with the man whose chance decision to go off fifteen years before had caused her so much sorrow epitomizes Manos' subdued tone. Before the irreparable damage done her and others by his thoughtless flight, she stands motionless, silent but for a low, un- intelligible muttering, like curses or prayers; she stares at him, then leaves quietly.

In this novel, then, through the use of understatement, ambiguity and half-disclosures the author seeks to achieve and maintain a pronounced element of suspense. In a recent study of the function of incertitude and redundancy in fiction, Liane Norman states: "While linguistic failures are bound to occur, deliberate obscurity in either writing or speech is like lying."6 At first glance the charge might appear to be a total indictment of much of Ferres' approach in Manos; however, Professor Norman goes on to acknowledge the effectiveness of uncertitude when the reader can perceive it as "an intentional stratagem, a part of the story's design." Such is surely the case with Ferres' writing. And Norman's concluding justifica- tion of uncertitude in fiction is precisely what justifies the many dark areas of Manos: "The reader's curiosity is, of course, piqued; he wishes to find out what will come of his unease, and this keeps him reading" (p. 288).

Admittedly, Ferres does not furnish definitive answers to all the questions he raises. And it is not just that he chooses silence in order to let his characters speak out, for their communication with the reader abounds in oblique references and ambiguities. Is el Pastor telling the truth, for example, when he claims he is un- aware his two friends have spent fifteen years in prison for his supposed murder? By showing he had been lying about knowledge

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66 Ferres

of his father's death, Ferres indicates only that the "dead man" may also be lying about his ignorance of the imprisonment. Nor is the reader ever certain why el Pastor's sister trembles so violently when Don Pedro queries her about her brother. Still, from what he knows of the situation, the reader can supply a number of cogent explanations for her behavior. It is not necessary, nor would it be artistically preferable, that the author pinpoint the cause of her distress. Also, the many "zonas obscuras" ("Nota del autor," Manos, 7) found in the data on the original case might account, at least in part, for Ferres' intentional ambiguities. In any case, clearly the author's reticence does not result from lack of con- sideration for his reader but from the decision, consistent throughout the novel, that whenever possible the latter must seek out his own conclusions based upon the evidence supplied him. The suc- cess of Ferres' approach is evident in the extraordinary degree of

suspense that permeates this work.

North Carolina State University

NOTES

lAntonio Ferres (Barcelona: Seix Barral, 1964). Unless otherwise indicated,

page references within parentheses refer to this edition. 2Mexico City: Ediciones Quetzal, 1939. In its second edition (Mexico City:

CNT, 1958), Sender retitled the novel El lugar de un hombre. Rafael Bosch cites this change as proof Sender "no quiere hablar de 'el hombre' abstracto, sino del hombre concreto, de cualquier hombre" (La novela espaiiola del

siglo XX, 2, New York: Las Americas, 1970), 291. On p. 109 of the same work, Bosch erroneously states Alicio Garcitoral's El critmen de Cuenca (Madrid: Zoila Ascasibar, 1932) was the first novel to deal with the case treated by Ferres in Manos and Sender in Lugar. Garcitoral's novel does not deal with this material, even tangentially.

3In her unpublished doctoral dissertation, "Dos espresiones distintas en la novelistica contemporanea espanola: Sender y Ferres" (Univ. of Iowa, 1972), Rosalina Rovira offers a detailed comparison of the treatment of time in Manos and Lugar (175-77). For a careful analysis of Ferres' more recent ex-

perimentations with time, see Byron Palls' "El tiempo en Ocho siete seis de Antonio Ferres," Cuadernos hispanoamericanos, 277-78 (julio-agosto 1973), 196- 215.

4Rovira, 73. 5To appreciate fully the subtle effectiveness of Ferres' stylistic repetition in

Manos, one might do well to contrast it with Miguel Delibes' awkward use of the same literary device in his short story, "La partida." Here stylistic repetition is never more than an affected, intrusive mannerism, seriously marring an otherwise fine tale.

6"Risk and Redundancy," PMLA, 90, No. 2 (March 1975), 285-91.



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