Chap­ter X: What Hap­pened to Lazaro with an Old Bawd begins with a moment of des­per­a­tion that dri­ves him to accept a dif­fi­cult task under harsh con­di­tions. Weak from hunger and wea­ried by mis­for­tune, Lazaro agrees to car­ry a trunk for an old bawd who promis­es him forty cop­pers. Although the trunk is heavy and his body frail, he forces him­self to man­age the weight, his thoughts focused only on food. The deliv­ery takes him to the house of a well-fed young woman who seems too inno­cent to be mixed up in shady deal­ings. The old bawd tells her to guard the trunk while she trav­els to Segovia. Lazaro, though drawn to the young wom­an’s appear­ance, remains more enchant­ed by the coins clink­ing in his pocket—a rare reward that lifts his mood and makes his suf­fer­ing feel momen­tar­i­ly worth­while.

The next day, Lazaro returns as instruct­ed to col­lect the trunk. This time, it feels odd­ly light, a detail he notes but does not ques­tion. He makes his way back, but a mis­step on the road sends him tum­bling down. The fall splits the trunk open and, to his hor­ror, out springs a young man dressed in lav­ish green satin, who wastes no time escap­ing the scene. The sword and dag­ger the man car­ries sug­gest trou­ble. Lazaro lies stunned and injured, both phys­i­cal­ly and men­tal­ly shak­en by the absur­di­ty of the sit­u­a­tion. He real­izes too late that the trunk wasn’t just a delivery—it was a dis­guise, a tool for some­one else’s escape, and he had unknow­ing­ly become an accom­plice.

Back at the house, the dis­cov­ery of the young man’s escape throws every­one into dis­ar­ray. The fam­i­ly, caught off guard, imme­di­ate­ly sus­pects decep­tion and betray­al. While the rea­son for their out­rage is unclear to Lazaro, it’s appar­ent that the pres­ence of the young man has vio­lat­ed their trust and pos­si­bly their hon­or. Fin­gers quick­ly point at Lazaro, who lies in pain and unable to defend him­self. The sons shout threats about revenge, claim­ing they’ll pur­sue the man, though none actu­al­ly leave. Mean­while, Lazaro is beat­en, not just by the men of the house, but by any­one with a hand to spare. His cries go ignored, and his attempts to explain fall on deaf ears.

What makes this beat­ing worse is its cru­el­ty with­out jus­ti­fi­ca­tion. Lazaro is treat­ed not as a per­son but as a place­hold­er for some­one else’s crime. The old bawd has van­ished, the young man has fled, and Lazaro is the only body left to pun­ish. Even the ser­vants get involved, adding insult to injury. The blows he suf­fers are not only phys­i­cal but sym­bol­ic of how soci­ety lash­es out at the vul­ner­a­ble when anger has no bet­ter tar­get. Despite hav­ing no con­trol over the sit­u­a­tion, he is blamed and bruised as if it were his scheme all along. This moment under­lines the lack of jus­tice in Lazaro’s world—where guilt is assigned not by truth, but by prox­im­i­ty.

Though his wounds even­tu­al­ly heal, the expe­ri­ence leaves him with a deep­er dis­trust of kind­ness and oppor­tu­ni­ty. Even when a job appears sim­ple, even when the coin seems guar­an­teed, it can all be a trap. The cru­el twist of help­ing oth­ers only to be harmed makes him ques­tion if any good­will exists in the world he trav­els. The mem­o­ry of the girl, the trunk, and the man in green becomes anoth­er les­son in the unpre­dictabil­i­ty of human motives. It shows how appear­ances, like the locked trunk, con­ceal more than they reveal. And Lazaro, who once hoped for reward through obe­di­ence, finds only pain through mis­placed trust.

This episode is a sharp reminder of the dan­gers of inno­cence in a deceit­ful world. Lazaro does not seek trou­ble, yet trou­ble con­stant­ly finds him, often cloaked in nor­mal­i­ty. His jour­ney reflects the frag­ile line between ser­vice and exploita­tion, between hope and betray­al. The old bawd rep­re­sents a fig­ure who uses oth­ers to escape con­se­quences, leav­ing the vul­ner­a­ble behind to absorb the cost. Lazaro’s tale con­tin­ues not because he tri­umphs, but because he endures, learn­ing that sur­vival means expect­ing decep­tion behind even the kind­est request. His resilience, carved from each mis­for­tune, keeps him mov­ing for­ward even when the path only leads to more wounds.