Excerpt from: The Goblins of Eros by Warren Eyster

After the operation, they sat by the bedside, sometimes looking at Romero, sometimes at each other. All Argello's confidence and assurance seemed to drain away from him. She had thought, because he was tired. But then she had sensed that it was something deeper and more pitiful, something which he did not want her to witness. . .

"If you like him," whispered Marta, "you should take off some piece of your clothing and put it beneath his head."
Leonora smiled wanly. "Poor child," she said.
"It's true," said Marta. "Hasn't your father told you these things?"
Leonora glanced at the cot, at the face white along the bone ridges, and softened wrinkles that hinted at the failure of both severity and dignity. "No," she said, "I was taught to fold my hands, say my prayers, and obey." She smiled faintly.
"Si senorita," said Marta. "That is required by the church. But for a man, one must make his nose smell you a little and his eyes see you a little. Men are like the little children."

Not wanting her to witness his exhaustion, he had busied himself arranging the medicine cabinet, taking note of various shortages and needs. He went to the metal box, put his pistol in it, then, almost reluctantly, took from it a small rectangle of stiff paper. "You look remarkably like Elena," he said, handing the photograph to her. "We. . . we had this taken in the plaza of Santiago."
"Doesn't look much like her," said Leonora.
Argello frowned. He took the rectangle of paper and held it near the candle. "I guess it doesn't. . ." he said hesitantly. "Only I remember it so clearly, a Sunday afternoon, the band was trying to play Mozart, I was holding two bottles of beer," he said. "She wanted to have the picture taken with our arms about each other, drinking beer, but I. . . " He lifted his eyes and seemed to stare toward some distant time.
So that when their eyes encountered, both Leonora and Argello seemed to suffer from embarrassment. " I didn't mean it that way," she said. "I only meant it seems so futile. . .I don't like to see pictures of people who are dead."
"Nor I," said Argello, wincing. "But sometimes we are not free to. . . to dismiss things." He looked for a moment as if he were about to tear the photograph. Instead, he went to the metal box and replaced it.
For a time they seemed more uncomfortable in each other's presence than they had been. They seemed aware of the briefness of their acquaintance and the peculiar circumstances that had brought them together. "Forgive me," said Leonora, " I didn't mean to pry into your feelings. . ."
"It's all right," said Argello. "I'm the one who reminded you that you look like her." And it was as he stared at her that Leonora thought to herself, "He sees that I am in love with him, and I cannot help it, and he will despise me for it."
She found herself saying, "I guess I never believed you were in love with her. I had the feeling that, well, she was the only young woman around, and Mother was doing her best to make you take notice. . . I thought you were simply being trapped, and that, afterward, well, frankly, that your vanity was hurt. I never really did believe. . . ."
Argello smiled grimly. "From the moment I first saw Elena." he said, "I wanted to tell her everything in my heart and my mind." "Yes," said Leonora. "And no one even told her anything without her making them regret it."

The Goblins of Eros
A Novel by Warren Orndorff Eyster
Random House, New York
Copyright 1957 by Warren Orndorff Eyster