Luiza’s first impression when she began to come round was of two figures bending over her‚ neither of whom she knew. The burlier of the two moved away; she was woken by the cold‚ hard sound of a glass bottle being set down on the marble top of the dressing table. Then she heard a muffled voice say:
‘She’s much better now. Did she faint‚ Senhora Juliana?’
‘Yes‚ just like that.’
‘’She looked awfully flushed when she got home.’
Cautious steps crossed the carpet‚ and with her face close to Luiza’s‚ Joana asked:
‘Are you feeling better‚ madam?’
Luiza opened her eyes‚ and the things around her gradually came back into focus; she was lying on the chaise longue‚ they had loosened her clothes‚ and there was a strong smell of vinegar in the room. She raised herself up on one elbow and looked vaguely about her:
‘Where is she?’
‘Senhora Juliana? She’s gone to lie down. She wasn’t feeling well either. It was seeing madam so ill‚ poor thing. Are you better now?’
Luiza lay back again. Her whole body felt tired; everything in the room seemed to be shaking slightly.
‘You can go now‚ Joana‚’ she said.
‘Are you sure you don’t need anything‚ madam? Perhaps a bit of broth…’
When she was alone‚ Luiza looked about her in horror. Everything was tidy now‚ the windows closed. A glove lay fallen on the floor; she got unsteadily to her feet and went to pick it up‚ mechanically tugging at its fingers‚ like a sleepwalker‚ before putting it away in the dressing-table drawer. She smoothed her hair; it seemed to her that her face had changed‚ that it had a quite different expression‚ as if she were a different person; and the silence in the room seemed to her extraordinary.
‘Madam‚’ said Joana’s shy voice.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s the coachman.’
Luiza turned round‚ uncomprehending.
‘What coachman?’
‘A coachman; he says that you had no change and that you told him to wait.’
‘Ah!’
And as happens in the theatre‚ when the lights suddenly go up on stage‚ she was suddenly and acutely aware once more of her ‘misfortune’.
She was trembling so much that she could barely open the drawer of the bureau.
‘I’d forgotten all about him‚’ she stammered.
She gave Joana the money‚ then lay back down on the chaise longue.
‘I’m lost!’ she murmured‚ clutching her hands to her head.
All was discovered! And in her mind’s eye‚ as stark as drawings done in black paint on a white wall‚ she saw Jorge’s rage‚ their friends’ horror‚ the indignation of some‚ the mockery of others; and these images‚ which fell‚ crackling‚ down into her soul‚ like so much fuel on a bonfire‚ only increased and inflamed her terror and desperation.
What was left for her but to run away with Bazilio?
That idea‚ her first and only idea‚ took immediate hold‚ overwhelmed her‚ just as flood waters rapidly fill a field.
He had told her so often how happy they would be in Paris‚ in his apartment in Rue Saint-Florentin! All right‚ she would go! She would take no luggage‚ she would merely pack some underwear and mama’s jewels in her little morocco leather bag. But what about the servants? The house? She would write a letter to Sebastião telling him to come and close everything up! On the journey she would wear her blue- striped dress‚ or possibly her black dress. She would take nothing else. She would buy anything she needed later‚ far away‚ in other cities …
‘Supper is ready‚ madam‚’ said Joana from the bedroom door.
She had put on a white apron. She added:
‘Senhora Juliana is lying down‚ she’s says she’s in too much pain to serve at table.’
‘I’m just coming.’
She took only a spoonful of soup and a large sip of water; then‚ getting up‚ she asked:
‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘She says she’s got a really bad pain in her heart.’
If only she would die! Then she would be safe! Then she could stay! Filled by a perverse hope‚ she said:
‘Go and see how she is‚ Joana!’
She had heard of so many people dying of a pain like that! She would go straight up to the woman’s room and search through her trunk and get that letter back! And she wouldn’t be afraid of the silence of death or of the corpse’s pallor.
‘She’s feeling more rested‚ madam‚’ Joana reported when she returned. ‘She says she’ll soon be up and about. Heavens‚ madam‚ is that all you’re having to eat?’
‘Yes.’
And Luiza went back into her room‚ thinking: ‘What’s the point of imagining possible scenarios? All that’s left for me now is to run away.’
She decided to write at once to Sebastião‚ but she could get no further than ‘My dear friend!’ written at the top of the page in a tremulous hand.
Why write to him? When she did not come back the following day‚ in the evening or at night‚ the maids‚ including that vile woman‚ would go straight to Sebastião. He was the family’s closest friend. He would be sick with worry! He would imagine some accident‚ he would rush to the hospital‚ then to the police station‚ and would wait anxiously until dawn! The whole of the following day would be filled with new hopes that she would come home‚ but each hope would be cruelly shattered; then he would telegraph Jorge! And at that same hour‚ she would be sitting hunched in a train carriage‚ heading for some entirely new destination‚ accompanied by the huff and hiss of the train’s engine!
Why was she so upset? Many other women would envy her plight! What was so unfortunate about having to leave this narrow life spent between four walls‚ studying household lists and doing crochet‚ and to set off with a new lover for Paris! Paris! To live with all the consolations of luxury‚ in silk-lined bedrooms‚ with a box at the Opera! She was a fool to be upset! This so-called ‘disaster’ was almost a source of joy! Without it‚ she would never have had the courage to slough off her bourgeois life; however urgent the desire to do so‚ a far greater timidity would always have kept her there!
And by fleeing‚ her love would gain in dignity! She would belong to only one man; she would not have to love both at home and away from home!
She even considered going straight to Bazilio ‘to sort it out once and for all’. But it was too late to go to the hotel; she feared the dark streets‚ the night and the drunks.
She went to pack her bag. She put in scarves and handkerchiefs‚ some underwear‚ her manicure case‚ the rosary that Bazilio had given her‚ some face powder‚ a few jewels that had belonged to her mother. She wanted to take Bazilio’s letters too. She had stored them away in a sandalwood box in the wardrobe drawer. She spread them out on her lap; she opened one and a dried flower fell out; another contained the photograph of Bazilio. It suddenly occurred to her that they were not all there! She had received seven: five short notes and two letters‚ the first‚ very sweet‚ letter that he had written to her and the last one after they had had that argument! She counted them. The first was missing‚ as were two notes! They had obviously been stolen! She got to her feet‚ ashen-faced. How base! Enraged‚ she felt like going up to the attic room and wrestling with the woman‚ wrenching the letters from her and strangling her! After all‚ what did it matter now!
Instead‚ overcome‚ she fell back on the chaise longue. It was equally disastrous whether the woman had one‚ two or all the letters.
In a state of great nervous excitement‚ she went to prepare the black dress she would wear‚ her hat‚ her travelling shawl.
The cuckoo sang out ten o’clock. She went into the bedroom; she placed the candlestick on the bedside table and stood staring at the large bed with its white dimity curtains. This was the last time she would sleep there! She herself had crocheted that blanket during the first year of marriage; every stitch was filled with joy. Jorge had sometimes come to watch her working and had silently‚ smilingly observed her‚ or else he had spoken to her softly‚ twining the thick woollen thread about his fingers. She had slept with him in that bed for three years: her place was there‚ by the wall. It was in this bed that she had been ill with pneumonia. He had hardly slept for weeks‚ watching over her‚ smoothing her bedclothes‚ feeding broth to her‚ administering medicine and murmuring tender‚ restoring words! He used to talk to her as if she were a little child‚ saying: ‘It won’t last long‚ you’ll be better tomorrow and then we can go away somewhere together.’ But his anxious eyes were full of tears! Or else he would say pleadingly: ‘You will get better‚ won’t you? Please get better‚ my love‚ please!’ And she so wanted to get better that she felt the gentle wave of life returning and cooling her blood!
During the first few days of her convalescence‚ he was the one who dressed her; he would kneel down to put on her shoes‚ he would make sure she was well wrapped up in her peignoir and would help her to lie down on the chaise longue‚ then sit at her side and read novels to her‚ draw landscapes for her or cut out paper soldiers. And she was entirely dependent on him‚ she had no one else in the world to look after her‚ to suffer and weep for her‚ only him! She always fell asleep with her hands in his because the illness had left her with a slight fear of feverish nightmares; and poor Jorge‚ in order not to wake her‚ would sit for hours‚ not moving‚ his hand between hers. He would sleep‚ fully clothed‚ on a little mattress placed on the floor beside her. Often‚ when she woke in the night‚ she had seen him wiping away his tears; doubtless tears of joy because she was saved. The doctor‚ kindly Dr Caminha‚ had told him: ‘She’s out of danger‚ now all she has to do is to get strong again.’ And Jorge‚ poor Jorge‚ had said nothing‚ he had simply taken the old man’s hands in his and covered them with kisses!
And now‚ when he found out‚ when he came back … When he came into their bedroom and found their two pillows still there‚ side by side! She would be somewhere far away with another man‚ travelling strange roads and hearing another language. How awful! And there he would be‚ alone in the house‚ weeping and clinging to Sebastião! And all those memories of her would be left behind to torture him! Her clothes‚ her slippers‚ her combs‚ the whole house! What a sad life his would be! He would sleep there alone! He would have no one to wake him in the morning with a kiss‚ no one to put her arms about his neck and say: ‘It’s late‚ Jorge!’ It was all over for both of them. For ever! She lay face down on the bed and burst into tears.
Then she heard Juliana’s voice in the corridor talking loudly to Joana. She sat up‚ terrified. Was that vile creature coming to speak to her? The slippered footsteps moved slowly off‚ and Joana came in bearing the household list and the nightlight.
‘Senhora Juliana got up for a moment‚’ she said‚ ‘but she’s still not well‚ poor thing. She’s gone to lie down. Do you need anything else‚ madam?’
‘No‚’ Luiza said from the bedroom.
She got undressed and fell into a deep‚ exhausted sleep.
Upstairs‚ Juliana could not sleep. The pain had gone‚ but she lay tossing and turning on the straw mattress‚ as she had on so many other nights in recent weeks‚ ‘dogged by insomnia’. She had been in a fever of excitement ever since she had taken that letter from the ‘sarcophagus’; she had been sustained and uplifted‚ though‚ by a feeling of intense joy and great hope. God had finally remembered her! Ever since Bazilio had started coming to the house‚ she had had a feeling‚ a sense that her turn had come at last! She had got her first real clue that this was so when Bazilio had left the house at ten o’clock at night‚ and she had found Luiza’s hair comb beside the sofa. But what an explosion of joy when‚ after all that spying‚ all that effort‚ she had plucked that letter out of the ‘sarcophagus’! She had run to the attic‚ had read the letter avidly and‚ when she realised its significance‚ her eyes had filled with tears‚ and she had lifted her perverse soul to heaven‚ crying out triumphantly to herself:
‘Praise be to God!’
Then her one concern was what to do with ‘it’. At first‚ she had thought of selling it to Luiza for a large sum‚ but where could Luiza get the money? No‚ it would be best to wait for Jorge to come back and then threaten to make the letter public and extract a great deal of cash from him. Through a third party‚ of course‚ thus keeping her own identity concealed. However‚ there were days when Luiza’s appearance‚ her clothes and her outings all irritated her beyond endurance‚ and then she felt like running into the street‚ assembling all the neighbours and reading the letter to them out loud‚ thus muddying Luiza’s name and having her revenge on the ‘hussy’!
Tia Vitória calmed her down and counselled her. She saw at once that ‘for the trap to be complete they needed a letter from the dandy too’. And Juliana had begun the slow work of getting that letter! This had required great delicacy‚ much trying of locks‚ two keys made from wax moulds‚ the patience of a cat and the skills of a petty thief! But she had got it‚ and what a letter it turned out to be! She had read it with Tia Vitória‚ who had laughed and laughed! Especially the part in which Bazilio had said: ‘I can’t come today‚ but I will expect you tomorrow at two; I send you this rose and ask you to do as you did with the other rose‚ and wear it between your breasts‚ so that I can smell your sweet‚ perfumed bosom!’ Tia Vitória‚ fighting for breath‚ simply had to show it to her old friend‚ Pedra‚ Fat Pedra‚ who was in the next room.
Pedra was bent double with laughter. Her enormous breasts‚ which hung down like half-empty udders‚ shuddered furiously with laughter. Red-faced‚ hands on hips‚ she roared out with her trombone of a voice:
‘That’s priceless‚ Tia Vitória! Brilliant! It ought to be printed in the papers‚ that one! The dirty rascals!’
Tia Vitória had then turned very seriously to Juliana and said:
‘Right‚ now you have both the knife and the cheese! Now you definitely have the upper hand! You just have to wait for the right opportunity. Be very polite‚ wear your happiest face‚ be all smiles‚ so that she suspects nothing‚ but keep your eyes peeled. You’ve caught the rat‚ now let it squirm!’
And from that day on‚ Juliana had greedily‚ secretly savoured the delight‚ the sheer pleasure of having Luiza‚ the mistress‚ the boss‚ ‘the dumpling’‚ in her hand! She watched Luiza getting all dressed up to go and see that man‚ watched her singing to herself and enjoying her food‚ and all the time Juliana was thinking with a kind of feline voluptuousness: ‘Go on‚ make hay while you can because I’ve set a trap for you!’ This thought filled her with perverse pride. She felt in some sense that she was the real mistress of the house. Held fast in her hand‚ she had her employers’ happiness‚ good name‚ honour and peace of mind! What sweet revenge!
And the future was certain. It meant money and bread for her old age. Ah‚ her time had finally come! Every day she said a Hail Mary to give thanks to Our Lady‚ Mother of all men!
But now‚ after that scene with Luiza‚ with those letters in her pocket‚ she could not simply sit there and do nothing. She had to get out of the house‚ she had to act‚ she had to do something. But what? Tia Vitória would be able to advise her.
The next morning‚ at seven o’clock‚ without drinking her usual cup of coffee or speaking to Joana‚ she went slowly down the stairs and out of the house.
Tia Vitória was not at home. There were people in the small room‚ waiting. Senhor Gouveia‚ the tassel on his silk cap at a more than usually jaunty angle‚ was bent over his desk‚ scribbling and spitting. Juliana said a general ‘Good morning’ to everyone and sat down‚ very erect‚ in one corner‚ her parasol on her lap.
People were chatting to each other. Sitting on the sofa was a woman in her thirties with pock-marked skin who smiled at Juliana and then continued her conversation with a plump little woman in a red-checked shawl:
‘Oh‚ Senhora Ana‚ you’ve no idea! It’s disgraceful! He creates such a racket! Sometimes he even wakes me up with the noise he makes talking to himself or stumbling on the stairs … But what really worries me is him dropping off to sleep with the candle still burning and causing a fire. He’s just impossible!’
‘Who’s that?’ asked a handsome young man in a footman’s tunic‚ who was standing talking to a tall manservant with long sideburns and a grubby white cravat.
‘Cunha‚ my boss’s son. It’s shameful‚ really!’
‘Likes his drink‚ does he?’ said the young man‚ rolling a cigarette.
‘I should say! His room smells so bad in the mornings I can’t bring myself to go in there. His mother‚ poor thing‚ cries and frets‚ and he’s already lost his job. I’ve just about had enough!’
‘Well‚ there’s all kinds of ructions where I am too‚’ said the woman in the checked shawl‚ lowering her voice.
The two men joined them.
‘The master of the house‚’ she said with a look of horror on her face‚ ‘can’t keep his hands off his sister-in-law! The mistress knows‚ of course‚ and they bicker about it day and night. And she and her sister are at it hammer and tongs as well. The husband takes the sister’s side‚ and the wife raises the roof. It’s all going to end in tears.’
‘But then‚ of course‚ if we do the slightest thing wrong‚’ said the man in the white cravat indignantly‚ ‘all hell breaks loose.’
‘Yes‚ but your people are nice‚ quiet folk‚ Senhor João‚’ said the woman with the pock-marked face.
‘Yes‚ they’re good people‚ but the girls are terrible flirts … and the maids make the most of it‚ of course‚ and get paid for their services in clothes and hard cash. But the old folk are absolute saints. And the food’s good too!’
Then turning to the footman and clapping him on the shoulder‚ he said in half-admiring‚ half-envious tones:
‘Now this fellow here has really fallen on his feet!’
The young man gave a smug smile.
‘A lot of it’s just talk.’
‘Go on‚ show them‚’ said the man in the white cravat‚ nudging him with his elbow. ‘Show them!’
The young man resisted at first‚ but then‚ wriggling his hips‚ he pulled up his tunic and took a gold watch from the pocket of his striped waistcoat.
‘Oh‚ I say‚’ said the two women‚ ‘isn’t that lovely!’
‘Gained with the sweat of my brow‚’ said the young man‚ stroking his chin.
The man in the white cravat retorted in mock indignation:
‘You young rascal!’ And then addressing the two women: ‘Sweat of his brow‚ indeed! Pay no attention to him‚ it’s that angel of a mistress of his‚ a high society lady all dressed in silks‚ who gives him all these presents‚ expensive watches like that – gorgeous woman she is‚ getting on a bit‚ but still gorgeous!’
The young man plunged his hands in his pockets.
‘If I like‚ she’ll give me a watch chain next!’
‘She can certainly afford it!’ exclaimed the man in the white cravat. ‘She owns whole rows of houses in the Baixa‚ as well as half of Rua dos Retroseiros!’
‘She’s very tight with money‚ though!’ said the young man‚ swaying his body‚ a cigarette dangling from one corner of his mouth. ‘I mean I’ve been with her for two months now‚ and all I’ve got out of her is this watch and three gold libras! One of these days‚ I’ll give her the boot! ‘And smoothing his hair‚ he added: ‘There are plenty of other women around‚ women with a real talent for it as well!’
Tia Vitória came bustling in at that point‚ her shawl over her arm. Seeing Juliana‚ she cried:
‘What are you doing here? I had a few errands to run‚ I’ve been up and about since six o’clock. Good morning‚ Senhora Teodósia; good morning‚ Ana. Ah‚ and the young dandy’s here‚ is he? Come straight in‚ Juliana! I’ll be with you in a moment‚ my doves!’
She led Juliana into the room overlooking the courtyard:
‘So‚ what news?’
Juliana began to describe at length what had happened the previous evening‚ about the fainting fit …
‘Well‚ my dear‚’ said Tia Vitória‚ ‘what’s done is done; there’s no time to lose; it’s all hands to the pump! You must go straight to Brito at the hotel and make a deal with him.’
Juliana refused outright; she wouldn’t dare‚ she was too afraid.
Tia Vitória sat thinking for a while‚ scratching her ear; she left the room‚ had a muttered conversation with Senhor Gouveia‚ then returned‚ closing the door behind her.
‘We can get someone else to go. Have you got the letters?’
Juliana took an old scarlet morocco leather purse from her pocket‚ but then hesitated for a moment‚ eyeing Tia Vitória distrustfully.
‘You’re not afraid of letting them go‚ are you‚ woman?’ Tia Vitória cried in wounded tones. ‘Well‚ sort it out yourself‚ then!’
Juliana immediately handed the letters over. But Tia Vitória would be sure to keep them in a safe place‚ wouldn’t she‚ she’d be very careful!
‘The person‚’ said Tia Vitória‚ ‘will go and speak to Brito tomorrow night and ask him for one conto de réis!’
Juliana was taken aback. One conto de réis! Tia Vitória was joking‚ surely!
‘Certainly not! There’s a woman who rides up and down the Chiado in a carriage – I saw her only yesterday with her little baby – who paid three hundred mil réis recently for a far less damaging letter. And in notes too. It was the man who paid‚ you understand. If it was anyone else‚ it might be different‚ but Brito … He’s rich and a spendthrift‚ he’ll pay up at once.’
Juliana‚ ashen-faced‚ tremulously grasped Tia Vitória’s arm:
‘Oh‚ Tia Vitória‚ I’ll buy you a length of silk.’
‘I’ll even tell you the colour I want! Blue!’
‘But Brito’s a strong chap‚ Tia Vitória‚ what if he grabs the letters‚ what if he gets violent?’
Tia Vitória gave her a scornful look:
‘Don’t be so simpleminded! You don’t think I’d send a fool there‚ do you? I won’t even send the letters‚ just a copy! I’ll send my brightest man!’
Then after pondering for a moment:
‘Now off you go back to the house.’
‘No‚ I can’t.’
‘No‚ you’re right. Until we see how the land lies‚ you’d better sleep here. Come and have supper with me tonight. I’ve got a lovely bit of fish in.’
‘But isn’t there a danger‚ Tia Vitória‚ that Brito will go to the police?’
Tia Vitória gave an impatient shrug:
‘Be off with you now‚ you’re beginning to get on my nerves! The police‚ indeed! What police? People don’t take such matters to the police. Leave it with me. Now‚ off you go‚ and I’ll see you at four for dinner‚ all right?’
Juliana left the room as if walking on air. One conto de réis! It was the conto de réis that was coming back to her‚ the one she had glimpsed before‚ but which had eluded her‚ and was now about to fall into her hands with a clink of libras and a rustle of notes! And her mind filled up with a whole array of possibilities‚ all of them marvellous: a shop selling trinkets; a husband by her side at dinner time; chic‚ good-quality pairs of boots. Where would she put the money? In the bank? No‚ at the bottom of the chest‚ where it would be safer and handier.
In order to pass the morning‚ she bought a bag of sweets and went and sat down in the Passeio Público‚ with her parasol up‚ savouring and pondering her new life of wealth‚ as if she were already a lady; she even made eyes at a placid‚ rubicund man of property‚ who scurried away‚ scandalised.
At that hour‚ Luiza was only just waking up. She sat bolt upright in bed and her first thought was: ‘It’s today!’ Her heart contracted with fear and with a horrible sense of sadness. She began to get dressed‚ dreading the idea of seeing Juliana. She was even considering locking herself in her room and foregoing breakfast‚ then creeping out at eleven o’clock to go and find Bazilio at his hotel‚ when Joana’s voice at the bedroom door said:
‘Excuse me‚ madam…’
Joana‚ greatly alarmed‚ immediately launched into an account of how Senhora Juliana had gone out early that morning and had not come back‚ and how no housework had been done and …
‘All right‚ make me some breakfast. I’ll be there shortly.’
She realised at once that Juliana had left the house. But why? Doubtless in order to set some trap for her! It was best if she went out at once. She could wait for Bazilio in ‘Paradise’.
She went into the dining room and took a hasty sip of tea‚ standing up.
‘Do you think anything’s happened to Senhora Juliana?’ an alarmed Joana came in to ask.
Luiza shrugged and replied vaguely:
‘I’m sure we’ll find out eventually.’
It was half past the hour‚ she went and put on her hat. Her heart was beating fast‚ but despite her fear of seeing Juliana arrive back‚ she could not get herself to move; she even sat down with her morocco leather bag on her knees. ‘Come on!’ she told herself. At last‚ she got up; but it was as if some strong‚ subtle force were holding her fast‚ ensnaring her. She went slowly into the bedroom; her peignoir lay at the foot of the bed‚ her slippers were there on the soft carpet. ‘Oh‚ dear God‚ this is awful!’ she said out loud. She went over to the dressing table‚ fiddled with her combs and opened some drawers; suddenly she went into the living room‚ found the album‚ removed the photograph of Jorge and placed it tremulously in her bag‚ then she glanced around her as if disoriented‚ and left‚ slamming the door‚ and ran down the stairs.
A hire carriage was passing in Rua da Patriarcal. She got in and asked to be taken to the Hotel Central.
Senhor Brito had left the hotel early‚ said the harassed porter. A steamship had obviously just arrived‚ for luggage was being carried in‚ heavy suitcases covered in oilskin‚ and iron- bound wooden boxes; passengers with the startled look of the newly arrived‚ still unsteady after the motion of the waves‚ were talking and calling to each other. The hustle and bustle cheered her; she was filled by a desire for travel‚ for the night- time clamour of gas-lit stations‚ for the joyful commotion of departures in the early cool of morning‚ standing on the deck of a ship!
She gave the coachman the address of ‘Paradise’. And as they drove along‚ it seemed to her that the whole of her past life‚ Juliana and the house‚ were fading and dissolving into a horizon she was leaving behind her. At the door of a bookshop she thought she saw Julião; she leaned out of the window‚ but couldn’t be sure it was him and she felt sorry to be leaving without seeing a single one of her and Jorge’s mutual friends! All of them now‚ Julião‚ Ernestinho‚ the Councillor‚ Dona Felicidade‚ seemed to her adorable‚ endowed‚ every one of them‚ with noble qualities she had never before perceived and which were suddenly imbued with great charm. And poor‚ kind Sebastião! She would never again hear him play the malagueña.
At the end of Rua do Ouro‚ the carriage got caught up amongst some carts‚ and on the pavement Luiza noticed Castro‚ the bespectacled banker‚ who ‘was madly in love with her’‚ according to Leopoldina; a ragged boy was offering to sell him some lottery tickets; and the oily-complexioned Castro‚ his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his white waistcoast‚ was joking with the boy in the scornful way the very rich do‚ all the while ogling Luiza through his gold-rimmed spectacles. She was watching him out of the corner of her eye: that man was in love with her‚ what a ghastly thought! She found him hideous‚ with his paunch and his little short legs. She was assailed by the memory of Bazilio’s fine figure. And in her haste to see him‚ she impatiently banged on the window to urge the driver on.
The carriage finally moved off. The main square‚ the Rossio‚ glittered in the sunlight: people in white trousers and light dresses‚ arriving from Belém or Pedrouços‚ were hurriedly clambering down from the horsedrawn tram that had stopped on the corner; street vendors cried their wares. They were all coming to stay with their families‚ with their sundry happinesses; she alone was leaving!
In Rua Ocidental‚ she saw Dona Camila walking along: she was married to a much older man and was famous for her many lovers. She appeared to be pregnant and‚ with her smug‚ white face and her look of round‚ corporeal lassitude‚ she was advancing slowly along the pavement‚ accompanied by a boy in a waist-length‚ beige jacket‚ a girl in stiff petticoats and‚ ahead of them‚ a nursemaid‚ dressed like a peasant‚ who was pushing a pram in which a baby dribbled and drooled. And the happy Camila strolled calmly down the street‚ displaying her adulterous fecundity for all to see! She was much admired and no one had a bad word to say about her; she was rich and gave soirées … ‘What a world!’ thought Luiza.
The carriage stopped outside ‘Paradise’. It was midday. The upstairs door was closed‚ and the landlady immediately appeared‚ whispering that she was most terribly sorry‚ the gentleman had the only key‚ but if the lady simply wanted to rest … At that moment‚ another carriage arrived‚ and Bazilio came bounding up the stairs.
‘At last!’ he cried‚ unlocking the door. ‘Why didn’t you come yesterday?’
‘Oh‚ if only you knew…’
And grabbing both his arms and looking him straight in the eye‚ she said:
‘Bazilio‚ I’m lost!’
‘What’s happened?’
Luiza threw the morocco leather bag down on the sofa and‚ in one breath‚ told him the story of her letter plucked from amongst the discarded papers‚ his letters stolen from her‚ the scene in her room … ‘All that remains for me now is to run away. Here I am. Take me with you. You said you could‚ you’ve often told me so. I’m ready. I’ve brought that one bag with just the essentials‚ handkerchiefs‚ gloves … What do you say?’
Bazilio‚ hands in his pockets‚ jingling his change and his keys‚ followed her every gesture and word in astonishment.
‘This could only happen to you!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re mad‚ woman!’ Then he went on‚ very excitedly: ‘This isn’t a question of running away! Why on earth are you talking about running away? It’s a question of money. What she wants is money. You just have to find out how much she wants and pay her off!’
‘No‚ no!’ cried Luiza. ‘I can’t stay!’ There was real distress in her voice. The woman might sell her back the letters‚ but she would still have the secret; at any moment‚ she might talk and then Jorge would find out; she was lost‚ she hadn’t the courage to go home! ‘I simply can’t rest as long as I remain in Lisbon. We’ll leave today‚ won’t we? If you can’t leave today‚ then tomorrow. I’ll go to some hotel‚ where no one knows me‚ I’ll hide myself away tonight. But tomorrow we’ll leave. If he finds out‚ Bazilio‚ he’ll kill me! Say yes!’
She clung to him‚ eagerly searching his eyes for some sign of agreement.
Bazilio gently disentangled himself.
‘You’re mad‚ Luiza‚ you’re not yourself! How can we possibly think of running away? It would cause a terrible scandal‚ and we would be bound to be caught‚ by the police‚ by the telegraph offices! It’s impossible! Running away is the stuff of novels! Besides‚ my dear‚ it’s not necessary. It’s a simple question of money.’
Luiza turned pale as she listened to him.
‘And anyway‚’ Bazilio went on‚ nervously pacing the room‚ ‘I’m not prepared‚ nor are you. You can’t just run off like that. You would be dishonoured for the rest of your life‚ for ever‚ Luiza. A woman who runs away ceases to be Senhora Dona So-and-so and becomes plain So-and-so‚ that woman who ran away‚ that hussy‚ someone or other’s mistress! I’ll probably have to go back to Brazil at some point‚ and what will you do then? Would you want to go with me and spend a month in a narrow berth and risk catching yellow fever? And what if your husband pursues us‚ what if we’re arrested at the frontier? How would you like to be brought back by two policemen and spend a year in Limoeiro prison? It’s perfectly simple. You come to an agreement with the woman‚ give her a couple of libras‚ which is what she wants‚ and you continue living quietly in your house‚ as respected as you’ve always been‚ only much wiser! And that’s that!’
These words fell on Luiza’s plans like axe blows felling trees. Sometimes the truth they contained cut irresistibly through her‚ bright as a lightning flash‚ cruel as a cold blade. But she saw in his refusal only ingratitude and rejection. Having‚ in her imagination‚ installed herself in happy safety‚ far away in Paris‚ it seemed to her unbearable to have to go back home‚ head bowed‚ to put up with Juliana and await death; and now that the contentments she had glimpsed in that other destiny were slipping through her fingers‚ they seemed to her marvellous and almost essential! And what was the point of buying back the letter? The woman would still know her secret! And having that danger constantly prowling around her would sour her whole life!
She had fallen silent‚ as if lost in vague reflections; then‚ suddenly looking up‚ her eyes flashing:
‘What should I do?’
‘I’ve already told you what I think you should do.’
‘You don’t want to run away‚ then?’
‘No!’ said Bazilio forcefully. ‘You may be mad‚ but I’m not!’
‘Oh‚ what am I going to do?’
She fell back onto the sofa and covered her face with her hands. Her body was shaken by muffled sobs.
Bazilio sat down next to her. Her tears tormented and exasperated him.
‘For heaven’s sake‚ listen to me!’
She turned to him‚ her eyes bright with tears:
‘Why then did you say to me‚ over and over‚ that we would be happy‚ that if I wanted to…’
Bazilio got abruptly to his feet:
‘You mean you really wanted to run away with me‚ get on a train‚ go to Paris and live with me and be my mistress?’
‘I’ve left home for ever‚ that’s what I’ve done!’
‘Well‚ you’re going straight back!’ he exclaimed almost angrily. ‘Why should you run away? Out of love? If so‚ we should have left a month ago‚ but there’s no reason now for us to leave. Why? To avoid a scandal by creating an even bigger one? A terrible‚ irreparable scandal! I’m talking to you as a friend‚ Luiza!’ Very tenderly he took her hands in his. ‘Of course I would be happy to live with you in Paris‚ but I’ve seen the results‚ I have more experience than you. Besides‚ the whole scandal can be avoided with a few libras. Do you really imagine the woman is going to talk? It’s in her interests to leave‚ to disappear; she knows what she did‚ that she robbed you and made copies of your keys. It’s just a matter of paying her off.’
Luiza spoke very deliberately:
‘And where am I going to get the money?’
‘I’ve got the money!’ Then after a pause: ‘Well‚ I haven’t got much‚ actually‚ because I don’t have that much cash at the moment‚ but anyway …’ He hesitated‚ then said: ‘If the woman wants two hundred mil réis‚ give it to her!’
‘And what if she doesn’t?
‘What else could she possibly want? She stole the letter in order to sell it‚ not because she wanted your autograph!’
His mind filled up with harsh words‚ he paced angrily about the room. What presumption wanting to come to Paris with him and complicate his life for ever! And what unnecessary expense‚ giving so much money to a thief! The whole incident‚ the love letter snatched from amongst the waste paper‚ the servant‚ the copy made of the key to the wardrobe drawer‚ all struck him as supremely bourgeois‚ even rather shameful. He stopped pacing and made his final offer:
‘All right‚ then‚ offer her three hundred mil réis‚ if you like‚ but for God’s sake‚ don’t do it again. I can’t afford to pay for your mistakes at three hundred mil réis a go!’
Luiza turned as white as if he had spat in her face!
‘If it’s just a matter of money‚ then I’ll pay‚ Bazilio!’
She didn’t know how. What did it matter? She would borrow it‚ she would work‚ she would pawn something … She would not accept his money!
Bazilio shrugged:
‘Now you’re giving yourself airs; where exactly will you get the money?’
‘What does it matter to you?’ she exclaimed.
Bazilio scratched his head in desperation. Then‚ taking her hands in his again‚ this time with barely suppressed irritation‚ he said:
‘This is all pure nonsense‚ my dear‚ we’re both of us getting annoyed. The fact is‚ you don’t have any money.’
She interrupted him‚ violently grabbing his arm:
‘All right‚ then‚ you talk to the woman‚ you talk to her and arrange everything. I never want to see her again. If I do‚ I’ll die‚ I mean it. You talk to her!’
Bazilio drew back and stamped hard on the floor:
‘You’re mad‚ woman! If I talk to her‚ she’ll ask for even more money‚ she’ll have the shirt off my back! This is your business. I’ll give you the money and you sort yourself out!’
‘You won’t even do that for me?’
Bazilio could not contain himself:
‘No‚ damnation‚ I won’t!’
‘Goodbye‚ then!’
‘You’re not thinking clearly‚ Luiza!’
‘No‚ you’re right. It’s all my fault‚’ she said‚ lowering her veil with tremulous hands‚ ‘it’s up to me to sort things out.’
And with that she opened the door. Bazilio ran over to her and caught her by the arm.
‘Luiza! Luiza! What are you going to do? We can’t just break off like this! Listen…’
‘Let’s run away together‚ then; save me from all this!’ she cried‚ clinging to him.
‘For God’s sake‚ I’ve told you already that simply isn’t possible!
She slammed the door and ran down the stairs. The carriage was waiting for her.
‘To the Rossio‚’ she said.
And hurling herself into a corner of the carriage‚ she broke into convulsive sobs.
Bazilio left ‘Paradise’ feeling deeply troubled. He was so irritated by Luiza’s presumptuous ideas‚ by her bourgeois fears and by the ghastly triviality of the whole business‚ that he was almost inclined never to go back there‚ but simply to lie low and let things take their course‚ but he felt sorry for her‚ poor girl! And although he did not love her‚ he certainly desired her: she was so sweet and had such a lovely body‚ and the licentious ways he had taught her provoked in her the most adorable ecstasies. She had been a source of such piquant pleasure during his stay in Lisbon! Damn these complications! As he went into the hotel‚ he said to his servant:
‘When the Viscount returns‚ tell him to come to my room.’
He was staying on the second floor‚ with a view over the river. He drank a glass of cognac and lay down on the sofa. On the low table next to him lay his blotter embossed in silver with his monogram and the crown of a Count‚ as well as his boxes of cigars and his books: Mademoiselle Giraud: My Wife‚ The Virgin of Mabille‚ Those Rogues! The Secret Memoirs of a Chambermaid‚ Pointers‚ The Hunter’s Handbook‚ some back numbers of Le Figaro‚ a photograph of Luiza and a photograph of a horse.
Exhaling the smoke from his cigar‚ he began to ponder‚ with some horror‚ the ‘situation’! That was all he needed‚ going off back to Paris with that particular millstone tied around his neck! He had had his life nicely sorted out for the last seven years‚ and then‚ bang‚ he’s supposed to ruin it all simply because someone has stolen Miss Luiza’s love letter and she’s afraid of what her husband will do. The nerve of the woman! The whole adventure had been a mistake from the start. Seducing his cousin was an idea worthy of some over-excited bourgeois gentleman. He had come to Lisbon intending to sort out his business affairs‚ put up with the heat and the Hotel Central’s boeuf à la mode for a while‚ then catch the steamboat back and bid a fond farewell to the homeland! But not he‚ the fool! He had finished his business there‚ but‚ like an idiot‚ had stayed on‚ roasting in Lisbon‚ spending a fortune on carriages to Largo de Santa Bárbara‚ and for what? To find himself in a situation like this! He would have done better to have brought Alphonsine with him!
The fact was that‚ while in Lisbon‚ the romance had been pleasant‚ indeed‚ exciting‚ because it was so perfect‚ involving as it did both adultery and just a hint of incest. This latest episode spoiled everything though. The only sensible thing to do now was to disappear!
He had made his fortune from a rubber plantation in Paraguay: the magnitude of the deal had necessitated forming a company using Brazilian capital; but Bazilio and a few French engineers had wanted to buy up the Brazilian shares‚ which were proving ‘an impediment’‚ and to form another company in Paris‚ thus giving the business a whole new impetus. Bazilio had come to Lisbon in order to hold talks with some of the Brazilians and had managed to buy the shares from them at a good price. The prolongation of his amorous entanglement was beginning to get in the way of his practical life … And now that the affair had taken this annoying turn‚ it really would be best to move on!
The door opened‚ and Viscount Reinaldo burst in‚ wearing blue-tinted spectacles and a furious expression on his face‚ which was scarlet with the heat.
He had been to Benfica! He had nearly died in that positively African sun! He had had the ridiculous idea of going to visit an aunt‚ who had promptly made him a member of some association or other that provided nursery care for poor families and then had the gall to preach morality at him! What a puerile idea to go and visit his aunt in the first place! If there was one thing he hated more than anything else it was being in the bosom of one’s family!
‘Anyway‚ what did you want? I’m going to sit in the bath until supper time!’
‘Guess what happened‚’ said Bazilio‚ getting up.
‘What?’
‘No‚ guess. It’s the most stupid thing.’
‘Her husband has found out.’
‘No‚ the maid!’
‘Disgraceful!’ exclaimed Reinaldo in disgust.
Bazilio told him all the details‚ then standing before him‚ arms folded‚ said:
‘So now what do I do?’
‘You disappear!’
And he got up from his chair.
‘Where are you off to?’
‘I’m going to have my bath.’
Bazílio asked him to wait‚ he needed to talk to him.
‘I can’t‚ I’m afraid‚’ cried Reinaldo in a frenzy of selfishness. ‘Come downstairs! I can talk perfectly well while immersed in water!’
He left‚ bellowing for William‚ his English manservant.
When Bazilio went down to the baths‚ Reinaldo was already reclining voluptuously in waters heavily scented with Lubin cologne‚ and relishing his own comfort.
‘So‚ the letter was found in the waste paper‚ eh?’
‘Look‚ Reinaldo‚ I’m in a real predicament here; what do you think I should do?’
‘Pack your bags‚ my boy!’
And sitting there in the tub‚ slowly soaping his thin body‚ he added:
‘That’s what comes of making love to cousins who live in insalubrious neighbourhoods!’
‘Oh‚ really!’ snorted Bazilio impatiently.
‘What do you mean “Oh‚ really”?’ And‚ covered in foam‚ resting his hands on the marble edge of the tub‚ he went on: ‘Do you think it decent for a woman to treat her cook as a confidante‚ to allow herself to fall into her clutches‚ to leave such a letter amongst the waste paper‚ to weep and ask you for two hundred mil réis‚ to declare that she wants to run away with you – that is not how a lover should behave! This is a woman who‚ as you yourself told me‚ wears woollen stockings!’
‘Yes‚ my friend‚ but she is gorgeous!’
The Viscount gave a sceptical shrug.
Bazilio provided evidence: he described the particular beauties of Luiza’s body and cited certain libidinous episodes.
The ceiling and the white partition walls reflected the soft‚ milky light; the steam from the water added to the tepid warmth of the air; and the atmosphere was fragrant with the fresh smell of soap and Lubin cologne.
‘You’re obviously besotted‚’ Reinaldo concluded dully‚ stretching out in the bath.
Bazilio made a movement with his shoulders as if to shrug off such a grotesque supposition.
‘All right‚ then‚ do you want to stay clinging to her skirts or do you want to get rid of her? The truth now.’
‘Well‚’ Bazilio began softly‚ drawing closer to the tub‚ ‘if there were some decent way in which I could get rid of her…’
‘You poor fool! You’ve got the perfect opportunity! According to you‚ she stormed off. Fine‚ then‚ you write her a letter saying that since she clearly wishes to break off the relationship‚ you have no desire to stand in her way and are leaving Lisbon.You’ve finished your business here‚ haven’t you? Don’t deny it‚ Lapierre told me so. Fine‚ do the decent thing‚ then: pack your bags and get rid of the wretched woman!’
He picked up a sponge and squeezed great spurts of water over his head and shoulders‚ blowing out as he did so‚ revelling in the aromatic coolness.
‘But then again‚’ said Bazilio‚ ‘I can’t just leave her in that bind with her maid! After all‚ she is my cousin.’
Reinaldo waved his arms about in great hilarity.
‘Such family feeling is truly admirable! Go on‚ you fool‚ just tell her you’ve got to leave‚ business calls and all that‚ and stuff a few notes into her hand.’
‘It’s awfully brutal.’
‘It’s awfully expensive!’
Bazilio said:
‘But it really is a damnably awkward situation‚ the poor girl caught out by her maid like that…’
Reinaldo stretched still more and said gleefully:
‘They’re probably tearing each other’s hair out at this very moment!’
He leaned blissfully back; he asked the time; he declared that he was comfortable‚ that he was happy! As long as William had remembered to chill the champagne.
Bazilio twirled his moustaches and said nothing. He was imagining Luiza’s green-upholstered drawing room and the hideous figure of Juliana with her vast pile of false hair. Would they really be fighting and arguing? How undignified it all was. He really should leave.
‘But what excuse can I give for having to leave Lisbon?’
‘A telegram! There’s nothing like a telegram! Telegraph your man in Paris‚ Labachardie or Labachardette‚ or whatever his name is‚ and tell him to send you this message at once: “Return Paris immediately‚ business bad‚ etc.” That’s the best way!’
‘I’ll do it now‚’ said Bazilio‚ getting resolutely to his feet.
‘And we leave tomorrow?’ cried Reinaldo.
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Via Madrid?’
‘Via Madrid.’
‘Salero!’ In his enthusiasm‚ he stood up‚ dripping with water‚ and with the gangling movements of the very thin‚ jumped out of the tub and wrapped himself in a Turkish robe. His servant William glided noiselessly in‚ knelt down‚ took one foot between his hands and carefully dried it‚ before respectfully slipping onto it a black silk sock embroidered with tiny horseshoes.
The following day‚ shortly before noon‚ Joana knocked discreetly on Luiza’s bedroom door and announced in a low voice – since Luiza’s fainting fit‚ she always spoke to her softly‚ as if to a convalescent:
‘Your cousin’s here‚ madam.’
Luiza was taken by surprise. She was still in her peignoir‚ and her eyes were red from crying; she quickly dabbed on some powder‚ smoothed her hair and went into the drawing room.
Bazilio‚ wearing a pale-coloured suit‚ was sitting dejectedly on the piano stool. He was looking very grave and‚ without further ado‚ he began by saying that‚ despite her anger of the previous day‚ he still considered that everything was ‘exactly as it had been’. He had come because he did not feel they could part just like that‚ without some words of explanation‚ and‚ in particular‚ without resolving the matter of the letter. He put on a sad face‚ as if he were holding back his tears:
‘I’m afraid I have to leave Lisbon‚ my love!’
Without even looking at him‚ Luiza gave a silent‚ scornful smile. Bazilio added:
‘Only for a short time‚ of course‚ three or four weeks. But I do have to go. If only my own interests were at stake …’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘But other people are involved‚ you see. Here‚ I received this telegram this morning.’
He gave her the telegram. She held onto it for a moment‚ without opening it; it trembled in her hand.
‘Read it‚ I beg you!’
‘Why?’ she said.
Then she read out loud: ‘Come at once‚ grave complications. Your presence here vital. Leave immediately.’
She folded it up and handed it back to him.
‘So you’re leaving‚ then?’
‘I must.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
Luiza suddenly got to her feet and‚ holding out her hand‚ said:
‘Goodbye‚ then.’
Bazilio murmured:
‘You’re cruel‚ Luiza! Not that it matters. However‚ there is still some unfinished business. Did you speak to the woman?’
‘It’s all arranged‚’ she replied‚ frowning.
Bazilio took her hand and said almost solemnly:
‘My dear‚ I know how proud you are‚ but I beg you‚ please‚ tell me the truth. I don’t want to leave you in difficulties. Did you speak to her?’
She withdrew her hand and with growing impatience insisted:
‘I told you‚ it’s all arranged.’
Bazilio seemed extremely embarrassed; he had even turned rather pale. Then‚ removing a wallet from his pocket‚ he began:
‘Whatever happens‚ it is possible‚ indeed‚ natural (we don’t know who we’re dealing with here)‚ it is only natural that she might make other demands.’ He opened the wallet and took out a small‚ fat envelope.
Luiza‚ growing redder by the minute‚ was following his every movement.
‘That is why I feel it only right to leave you some money‚ so that you can sort things out with her more easily.’
‘But…’
‘You want to give me money?’ There was a tremor in her voice.
‘But after all…’
‘Goodbye!’ And she made to leave the room in great indignation.
‘For God’s sake‚ Luiza! You misunderstand me…’
She stopped and said briskly‚ as if impatient to be done:
‘Thank you‚ Bazilio‚ I understand perfectly. But it won’t be necessary. I’m just a little upset‚ that’s all. Let’s not prolong this meeting any further. Goodbye.’
‘But I’ll be back‚ in three weeks or so.’
‘Fine‚ we’ll see each other then.’
He drew her to him and kissed her on the mouth‚ only to find her lips passive and inert.
This coldness wounded his vanity. He pressed her to him and said softly‚ passionately:
‘Won’t you even give me a kiss?’
There was the slightest glimmer in Luiza’s eyes; she kissed him briefly‚ then pulled away:
‘Goodbye.’
Bazilio stood for a moment looking at her and said with a little sigh:
‘Goodbye!’ And turning at the door‚ he added sadly: ‘At least write to me. You know my address: Rue Saint-Florentin‚ 22.’
Luiza went over to the window. Out in the street‚ she saw him light a cigar‚ talk to the coachman‚ then jump into the carriage and slam the door‚ without even a glance up at the windows!
The carriage moved off. She noticed the number on it – 10 … She would never see him again. They had pulsated with the same love‚ they had committed the same sin. He‚ however‚ was leaving gaily‚ carrying with him romantic memories of their affair; she was staying‚ caught in the permanent bitterness of error. That was the way of the world!
She was filled by a poignant sense of solitude and abandonment. She was all alone‚ and life seemed to her like a vast‚ unfamiliar plain‚ plunged in dark night and bristling with dangers.
She went slowly back into her room and sat down heavily on the sofa; she saw the morocco leather bag beside it‚ the bag she had prepared the night before in order to flee; she opened it and slowly started taking out the handkerchiefs‚ the embroidered chemise‚ then she found Jorge’s photograph! She sat with it in her hand‚ studying his loyal gaze‚ his kindly smile. No‚ she wasn’t all alone in the world! She had him! He loved her and would never betray or abandon her! She pressed her lips to the photograph‚ making it wet with her violent kisses‚ then she threw herself down on the sofa‚ her face bathed in tears‚ saying: ‘Forgive me‚ Jorge‚ dear Jorge‚ my beloved Jorge‚ my own dear Jorge!’
After supper‚ Joana came to ask Luiza timidly:
‘Don’t you think‚ madam‚ that we should try and find out what has happened to Senhora Juliana?’
‘But where would you go to ask?’ said Luiza.
‘She sometimes used to go to the house of a friend who lives near Carmo. She might have fallen ill‚ she might be unwell. But it is very odd her not sending any word since yesterday morning. I could go and ask.’
‘All right‚ then‚ go.’
Juliana’s abrupt disappearance was worrying Luiza too. Where was she‚ what was she doing? It seemed to her that somewhere far from her something was being concocted in secret‚ something that would suddenly and terribly burst over her head …
It grew dark. She lit the candles. She was slightly afraid of being alone in the house like that; and as she walked up and down the room‚ she was thinking of how‚ at that hour‚ Bazilio would be at Santa Apolónia station happily buying his ticket‚ installing himself in his carriage‚ lighting a cigar and how‚ shortly afterwards‚ the train would puff out of the station‚ carrying him away for ever. For she did not believe in his ‘three or four weeks’! He was going for good‚ he was running away! And however much she detested him‚ she nevertheless felt that‚ with his departure‚ something inside her was breaking and painfully bleeding!
It was nearly nine o’clock when the bell rang urgently. She assumed it must be Joana and went to the door carrying a candle; when she saw before her a terribly pale‚ distraught Juliana‚ she drew back:
‘May I speak to you for a moment‚ madam?’
She followed Luiza into her room and immediately began shouting angrily:
‘You surely don’t imagine that things can go on like this! You surely don’t imagine that just because your lover has gone away‚ things will simply carry on as they were!’
‘Whatever’s the matter‚ woman?’ asked Luiza‚ petrified.
‘If you think that because your lover has run off‚ nothing’s going to happen …’ Juliana roared.
‘For God’s sake‚ woman!’
And there was such pain in her voice that Juliana fell silent.
After a moment‚ though‚ she said‚ more softly:
‘You know perfectly well I was keeping those letters for a reason. I was going to ask your cousin to help me! I’m tired of working‚ I need a rest. I wasn’t going to cause a scandal or anything‚ I just wanted him to help me out. I sent someone to the hotel this evening‚ but your cousin had already upped sticks and left! He’s gone off to Olivais or somewhere! And his servant will be following tonight with the luggage! Don’t think you’re going to get the better of me‚ though!’ Once more in the grip of rage‚ she was thumping the table hard: ‘May God strike me down if this house isn’t overtaken by a scandal that will have all Portugal talking!’
‘How much do you want for the letters‚ you thief?’ said Luiza‚ drawing herself up.
For a moment‚ Juliana did not know what to say.
‘I won’t give them to you for less than six hundred mil réis!’ she replied haughtily.
‘Six hundred mil réis! Where do you think I’m going to get that sort of money?’
‘In hell‚ for all I care!’ bawled Juliana. ‘You either give me the six hundred mil réis‚ or‚ as sure as I’m standing here‚ your husband will read those letters!’
Luiza fell helplessly back into a chair.
‘What did I do to deserve this‚ dear God‚ what did I do to deserve this?’
Juliana planted herself insolently in front of her.
‘You’re quite right‚ it’s true‚ I am a thief; I stole that letter from the rubbish and took the other two from the wardrobe drawer. It’s true! But the only reason I did it was to get some money!’ In a frenzy of excitement‚ she kept wrapping and unwrapping her shawl about her shoulders. ‘It was about time my luck changed. After all I’ve suffered‚ I’ve had enough! Just find the money! But I won’t accept five réis less! I’ve spent years and years slaving‚ and all to earn half a moeda a month. I work myself silly from dawn to dusk‚ while you laze around doing nothing! I get up every day at six o’clock in the morning and then it’s one long round of polishing‚ sweeping‚ tidying‚ toiling away‚ while you’re tucked up in bed‚ without a care in the world and with nothing to do. For a whole month now‚ I’ve been getting up at daybreak to do the starching and ironing! All you do is get through mounds of laundry and go swanning off in your nice underwear to see whoever you like‚ and here’s me‚ your slave‚ with pains in my heart‚ killing myself to get the ironing done! For you‚ life is all outings‚ carriages‚ fine silks‚ anything you fancy‚ but what about me‚ your slave? Your slave is busily working herself to death!’
Luiza was too exhausted to reply and cowered beneath Juliana’s rage like a bird in a rainstorm. Juliana was getting more and more agitated‚ ranting on and on in the same violent tone of voice. The thought of the drudgery and the humiliations she had endured only added fuel to her rage‚ like wood thrown onto a bonfire.
‘Do you see how it is?’ she went on. ‘I eat the leftovers and you have all the titbits! If I fancy a drop of wine after working all day‚ who’s going to give it to me? I have to buy it! Have you ever actually been into my room? It’s like a prison cell! There are so many bedbugs I have to sleep with most of my clothes on! But if madam gets so much as a bite‚ your slave here has to dismantle your whole bed and search it inch by inch. A maid? Huh! A maid is just an animal. Work if you can‚ but if you can’t then it’s out in the street with you‚ to the hospital. But now my time has come.’ And she beat her breast‚ aflame with vengeance. ‘I give the orders now.’
Luiza was sobbing softly.
‘Oh‚ so you’re crying‚ are you? Well‚ I’ve cried plenty of tears in my time! Oh‚ I don’t wish you ill‚ madam‚ really I don’t. Have fun‚ enjoy yourself! All I want is my money‚ here in my hand‚ otherwise I’ll have to make those letters public! May the roof fall in on me if I don’t show the letters to your husband‚ your friends‚ to the whole neighbourhood‚ and see your reputation in ruins!’
She fell silent‚ suddenly drained; and in a weary‚ broken voice‚ she went on:
‘But give me my money‚ my beloved money‚ and you can have your letters‚ and what’s done is done. I’ll even deliver them for you. But I want my money now! And I’ll tell you this too‚ may lightning strike me dead this instant‚ if‚ when I’ve got my money‚ I say a word to anyone!’ And she covered her mouth with her hand.
Luiza had got slowly to her feet‚ looking very pale.
‘All right‚’ she said‚ almost in a murmur‚ ‘I’ll get you your money. You’ll just have to wait a few days.’
There was a silence‚ which seemed all the deeper for the preceding clamour‚ and the whole room seemed to grow even stiller. Only the clock continued its tick-tock‚ while the two candles on the dressing table burned slowly down‚ giving off a clear‚ reddish light.
Juliana picked up her parasol‚ wrapped her shawl around her and after looking at Luiza hard for a moment‚ said sharply:
‘Right then‚ madam.’
And she turned and left.
Luiza heard the front door slam.
‘Oh dear God‚ how I am punished!’ she cried‚ falling into a chair‚ her face once more bathed in tears.
It was almost ten o’clock by the time Joana returned.
‘I didn’t find out anything‚ madam‚ no one at Tia Vitória’s has had any news of her.’
‘All right‚ bring me my nightlight.’
As Joana was getting undressed in her room‚ she was mumbling to herself:
‘She’s got herself a man‚ she’s holed up somewhere with some good-for-nothing!’
What a night Luiza spent! She kept starting awake‚ opening her eyes to the darkness in the room‚ and then the same painful questions would plunge into her soul like a knife: What should she do? How was she going to find the money? Six hundred mil réis! Her jewellery was worth maybe two hundred mil réis. But then what would Jorge say when he found out? There was the silver‚ but the problem would be the same.
It was a hot night and‚ in her restlessness‚ the bedclothes had slipped off and she was covered only by the sheet. Sometimes‚ out of sheer exhaustion‚ she fell into a superficial sleep‚ interspersed with vivid dreams. She saw piles of libras dimly gleaming‚ bundles of notes falling gently through the air. She would get to her feet and jump up to try and catch them‚ but the coins would start to roll away across the smooth floor like infinite tiny wheels‚ and the notes would disappear‚ flitting lightly off with a rustle of ironic wings. Or else someone would come into the room‚ bow respectfully and‚ doffing his hat‚ drop into her lap libras‚ five-mil-réis coins‚ and a profusion of other coins; she did not know the man‚ but he was wearing a red wig and an impudent goatee. Could it be the Devil? What did it matter? She was rich‚ she was saved! She called out‚ shouting for Juliana‚ running after her along a never- ending corridor that began to grow narrower and narrower‚ until it was no more than a crack along which she had to squeeze sideways‚ barely able to breathe‚ clutching to her the pile of coins that left the cold touch of metal on her bare chest. She woke feeling frightened‚ and the contrast between her real poverty and that dream wealth was an added source of bitterness. Who could help her? Sebastião! Sebastião was both rich and kind. But how could she‚ Luiza‚ Jorge’s wife‚ send for him and say: ‘Lend me six hundred mil-réis.’ ‘What for‚ my dear lady?’ Could she then reply: ‘So that I can buy back some letters that I wrote to my lover’? It was impossible. No‚ she was ruined. All that remained for her was to enter a convent.
She kept turning over the pillow‚ which scalded her cheek; she took off her nightcap‚ and when her long hair fell loose‚ she caught it up again with a clip; and lying on her back‚ her head resting on her bare arms‚ she thought bitterly about the complicated story of that summer: Bazilio’s arrival‚ the trip out to Campo Grande‚ the first visit to ‘Paradise’ …
Where would he be now‚ the scoundrel? Sleeping peacefully on the cushioned seats of the train!
And there she was in torment!
She threw off the sheet‚ feeling as if she were suffocating. And thus‚ uncovered‚ barely distinguishable from the white bed linen‚ she slept until daybreak.
She woke late‚ feeling utterly downcast‚ but the beauty of the glorious morning flooding into the dining room revived her spirits. The sun poured abundantly and radiantly in through the open window; the canaries were putting on a concert; from the forge nearby came the sound of jovial hammering; and the broad‚ vigorous blue of the sky was rousing the city’s inhabitants. The joy imbuing everything around her filled her with unexpected courage. She could not succumb to inert despair. Heavens‚ no‚ she must fight!
New hopes arose within her. Sebastião was so kind and Leopoldina so resourceful‚ and there were other possibilities too‚ even chance itself; all of that‚ added together‚ could well amount to six hundred mil-réis and save her! Juliana would disappear; Jorge would come back! Excited‚ she saw prospects of possible joys glinting deliciously in the future!
At midday‚ Sebastião’s young servant called: his master had arrived back from Almada and wanted to know how Senhora Luiza was.
She herself went to the door and asked him to tell Senhor Sebastião to come as soon as he could!
That was that! She had reached a decision‚ she would speak to Sebastião. There was nothing else she could do: either she told Sebastião everything‚ or that woman would tell her husband everything. She could not risk further delay! She could diminish the importance of the letters‚ saying that the correspondence had been purely platonic … And Bazilio’s departure relegated her mistake firmly to the past‚ converting it almost into ancient history. And Sebastião was such a good friend!
He arrived at one o’clock. Luiza‚ who was in her room‚ heard him come in‚ and even the sound of his heavy footsteps on the carpet in the drawing room made her feel shy and slightly frightened. It seemed to her now very difficult‚ almost terrible to tell him. She prepared phrases‚ explanations‚ a tale of courtship and letters exchanged; and she stood with her hand on the doorknob‚ trembling. She was afraid of him! She heard him pacing up and down the drawing room and‚ fearing that impatience might put him in a bad mood‚ she went in.
He seemed to her to cut a taller‚ more dignified figure than usual; never had his gaze seemed to her more honest‚ his beard more serious!
‘What’s wrong? Do you need something?’ he asked after a few preliminary words about Almada and the weather.
Luiza‚ filled by invincible cowardice‚ said:
‘It’s Jorge!’
‘I bet he hasn’t written to you!’
‘No‚ he hasn’t.’
‘He didn’t write to me for ages either.’ Then‚ laughing‚ he added: ‘But today I received two letters together.’
He looked for them amongst some other papers that he removed from his pocket. Luiza had gone to sit on the sofa; she was watching him with her heart pounding‚ slowly scratching at the upholstery with impatient nails.
‘Yes‚’ said Sebastião‚ going through the sheaf of papers‚ ‘I got two letters from him‚ he’s talking of coming home‚ says he’s had enough.’ And holding out a letter to Luiza‚ he said: ‘Here you are.’
Luiza unfolded it and began to read‚ but Sebastião suddenly reached out to grab it back:
‘Oh‚ I’m sorry‚ that’s the wrong one!’
‘There’s nothing of interest‚ just business.’
‘No‚ no‚ I want to see!’
Sebastião sat on the edge of his chair‚ agitatedly stroking his beard‚ watching her. Luiza frowned.
‘What’s this?’ As she read‚ a look of irritated surprise appeared on her face. ‘Oh‚ really!’
‘It’s just nonsense‚ pure nonsense!’ muttered Sebastião‚ red- faced.
Luiza started reading the letter out loud‚ very slowly:
‘“I’ll have you know‚ friend Sebastião‚ that I’ve made a conquest here. She’s not what one might describe as a princess‚ for she is none other than the tobacconist’s wife. She seems to be afire with the most impure passion for yours truly here. God forgive me‚ but I fear she even undercharges me for my cigars‚ thus ruining not only her husband‚ the good Carlos’s happiness‚ but likewise his business!” Oh‚ very funny‚’ said Luiza angrily. ‘“I very much fear a repeat of that biblical episode with Potiphar’s wife. I deserve some credit for resisting too because the woman‚ tobacconist’s wife or no‚ is very pretty indeed. I fear my poor virtue may succumb …”’
Luiza stopped reading and gave Sebastião a baleful look.
‘It’s just a joke!’ he spluttered.
She continued reading: ‘“I hate to think what would happen if Luiza found out! And my success doesn’t stop there: the delegate’s wife keeps making eyes at me too! She’s from Lisbon‚ her family name is Gamacho; they live near Belém apparently‚ do you know them? Anyway‚ she pretends to be dying of boredom in the provincial melancholy of the place. She gave a soirée in my honour and wore a very decollété dress‚ also‚ I believe‚ in my honour. Damn fine throat and neck …”’ Luiza blushed scarlet‚ ‘“and she has a wicked way with her.”’
‘Honestly!’ she exclaimed. ‘“From your friend turned Don Juan of the Alentejo‚ leaving a trail of romantic flames throughout the province! Pimentel sends his regards …”’
Luiza read a few more lines softly to herself‚ then‚ getting abruptly to her feet‚ handed the letter back to Sebastião.
‘Well‚ I’m glad he’s having fun!’ she said rather shrilly.
‘There’s really no need to take what he says seriously!’
‘Of course not‚’ she exclaimed. ‘To be honest‚ it strikes me as perfectly natural!’
She sat down again and began talking volubly about other things‚ about Dona Felicidade‚ about Julião …
‘He’s working hard for that competitive exam at the moment‚’ said Sebastião. ‘The person I haven’t seen is the Councillor.’
‘Who are these Gamacho people in Belém?’
Sebastião shrugged and said almost chidingly:
‘So you did take it seriously.’
Luiza broke in:
‘Oh‚ by the way‚ my cousin Bazilio has left.’
Sebastião felt a thrill of joy.
‘Oh‚ really?’
‘Yes‚ he’s gone back to Paris‚ and I don’t think he’ll return.’ Then‚ after a pause‚ as if she had forgotten all about Jorge and the letter: ‘He’s only really happy in Paris … He’s been dying to get back there.’ And she added‚ lightly patting the folds of her dress. ‘He needs to get married‚ that young man.’
‘And settle down‚’ said Sebastião.
But Luiza did not think that a man with such a love of travelling and horses and adventure could ever make a good husband.
Sebastião was of the opinion that sometimes such men do quieten down and make excellent family men.
‘They’re more experienced‚’ he said.
‘But basically fickle‚’ she observed.
And after those few vague words‚ they both fell into an embarrassed silence.
‘To tell the truth‚’ Luiza said then‚ ‘I’m glad my cousin has left. There has been so much foolish talk in the neighbourhood … though I’ve hardly seen him at all lately. He was here yesterday‚ he came to say goodbye. I was quite surprised actually.’
The whole story about a platonic courtship and an exchange of letters was becoming impossible‚ but something stronger than her was urging her to minimise the importance of her relationship with Bazilio and to distance herself from him. She even added:
‘We’re friends‚ but we’re very different. Bazilio is a selfish fellow‚ and rather cold. Not that we were ever close…’
She stopped talking‚ sensing that she was ‘getting in too deep’.
Sebastião seemed to remember her telling him once that they had been brought up together as children; but he felt that her way of talking about her cousin was the best possible proof that there had been nothing between them. He felt almost guilty about his earlier unjustified doubts!
‘And will he be back?’ he asked.
‘He didn’t say‚ but I shouldn’t think so. Not once he’s in Paris again!’
Then returning to the subject of the letter‚ she said suddenly:
‘So you’re Jorge’s confidant‚ are you?’
He laughed.
‘Now‚ really‚ my dear lady…’
‘When he writes to me‚ it’s all about how bored and lonely he is‚ how he can’t abide the Alentejo.’ But seeing Sebastião glancing at his watch: ‘Must you leave already? It’s still early.’
He had to be in the Baixa by three o’clock‚ he said.
Luiza tried to detain him. She didn’t know why‚ for with each minute that passed she could feel her resolve shrinking and disappearing like water in a parched river bed. She started asking him about the work being carried out in Almada.
Sebastião had begun the work thinking that two hundred or three hundred mil-réis would be enough for the restoration work‚ but then one thing led to another. ‘It’s becoming a real drain on my resources!’
Luiza gave a forced laugh.
‘But when the owner is rich!’
‘Ah‚ yes! You wouldn’t think it would cost much‚ but having a door painted‚ a new window fitted‚ a room papered and a new floor put down‚ it all adds up‚ and before you know it‚ you’ve spent eight hundred mil-réis … Anyway…’
‘Well‚ I hope our truant doesn’t stay away very much longer.’
‘Always assuming that the tobacconist’s wife will let him go.’
She started pacing nervously about the room‚ consumed by that idea. Fancy flirting with the tobacconist’s wife‚ and the wife of the delegate too‚ and all the others! She trusted him‚ but really‚ men! She suddenly imagined the tobacconist’s wife taking him in her arms behind the counter or imagined Jorge‚ during some night-time rendezvous‚ kissing the pretty throat of the delegate’s wife! And all the reasons that provided irrefutable proof of Jorge’s treachery crowded in on her: he had been away for two months; he had grown weary of his widowhood; he had met a pretty woman; he had accepted it as a passing pleasure‚ of no importance! How base! She decided to write him a dignified but wounded letter telling him to come home at once‚ otherwise she would come and fetch him! She went into her room‚ feeling greatly agitated. The photograph of Jorge‚ which‚ the day before‚ she had removed from the morocco leather bag‚ was on the dressing table. She stood looking at it; she wasn’t surprised that women should fall in love with him‚ he was so handsome‚ so sweet … A wave of jealousy swept over her‚ obscuring her vision: if he was deceiving her‚ if she found out anything‚ anything at all‚ had happened‚ she would leave him‚ retreat to a convent‚ where she would doubtless die; she would kill him!
Then Joana appeared:
‘Excuse me‚ madam‚ but there’s a man come with this letter. He’s waiting for a reply.’
Oh‚ no‚ how awful! It was from Juliana!
Written on lined paper in appalling handwriting and a rambling style‚ it read:
Dear madam‚
I know I was imprudent‚ which you must attribute both to my unfortunate circumstances and to my general lack of health‚ which does sometimes cause us to behave strangely. But if you would like me to come back and do the same work as I did before‚ which I do not think you could be averse to‚ I would be very pleased and agreeable to this and be assured that I will never again speak about that matter until you so desire and do as you have promised. I promise to carry out my duties and I hope you are in favour because it is for the good of us all. It was bad temper on my part but then we all have our moods‚ and‚ not to trouble you further‚ I sign myself
Your most obedient servant
Juliana Couceiro Tavira
She sat with the letter in her hand‚ uncertain what to do. Her first impulse was to say ‘No!’ What‚ have her in the house again and have to see her horrible face and that vast false hairpiece of hers! Knowing that she had her letter and her dishonour in her pocket‚ and having to ring for her‚ ask for water‚ for the nightlight‚ and be served by her! No! But one thing frightened her; if she refused‚ she risked angering the woman‚ and God knows what she would do then! She was in her hands‚ and she had to put up with it. It was her punishment. She hesitated a moment longer.
‘Tell her‚ yes‚ she should come‚ that’s the reply.’
Juliana arrived promptly at eight o’clock. She tiptoed up to the attic‚ put on her house dress and her slippers and went straight down to the ironing and starching room‚ where Joana was sitting on a rug sewing by the light of an oil lamp.
Joana‚ burning with curiosity‚ bombarded her with questions. Where had she been? What had happened? Why had she not sent word? Juliana told her that she had visited a friend‚ in Calçada Marquês de Abrantes‚ and that she had suffered one of her attacks there and had that pain in her heart again. She hadn’t sent word because she thought she would soon be better. But‚ as it happened‚ she had had to spend a day and a half in bed.
Then she‚ in turn‚ wanted to know what the mistress had been up to‚ if she had been out‚ what visitors there had been.
‘The mistress hasn’t been feeling well‚’ said Joana.
‘It’s the weather‚’ remarked Juliana. She had brought her sewing down with her and they sat on together in silence.
At ten o’clock‚ Luiza heard someone knocking softly at her bedroom door. It was bound to be her!
‘Come in.’
Juliana’s voice announced perfectly naturally:
‘Tea is on the table‚ madam.’
But Luiza could not bring herself to go into the drawing room‚ out of fear or‚ rather‚ horror‚ of seeing her! She paced about her room‚ killing time; at last‚ she went in‚ trembling. Juliana was just coming along the corridor; she shrank back against the wall and said respectfully:
‘Shall I bring the nightlight‚ madam?’
Luiza nodded without looking at her.
When she returned to her bedroom‚ Juliana was filling the water jug; then‚ once she had drawn back the covers on the bed and closed the shutters‚ almost tiptoeing about the room‚ she asked:
‘Do you need anything else‚ madam?’
‘No.’
‘Goodnight then‚ madam.’
And not another word was spoken.
‘It’s like a dream!’ Luiza was thinking as she gloomily got undressed. ‘That creature‚ with my letters‚ installed in my house to torment and rob me!’ How had she‚ Luiza‚ got herself into that situation? She couldn’t explain it. Things had happened so suddenly‚ with the furious haste of a breaking storm! She had not had time to think clearly‚ to defend herself; she had been confused; and there she was‚ almost without realising it‚ living in her own house under the rule of her maid. If only she had spoken to Sebastião! She would probably have the money by now‚ in notes and coins. How gladly she would hurl that money at her‚ then drive her‚ her wooden chest‚ her clothes and her false hair out of the house! She promised herself that she would talk to Sebastião and tell him everything! She would even go to his house‚ to impress on him the importance of the matter!
Shortly afterwards‚ worn out from the day’s excitements‚ she fell asleep and dreamed that a strange black bird had come into her room‚ creating a breeze with its black‚ bat-like wings; it was Juliana! Luiza had run into the study‚ terrified and screaming: Jorge! But she found neither books‚ nor shelves‚ nor desk: instead there were the vulgar trappings of a tobacconist’s shop‚ and Jorge was ensconced behind the counter‚ fondling a beautiful‚ amply endowed woman‚ who was sitting on his knees and asking in a voice faint with desire‚ her eyes ablaze with passion: ‘Do you want Brejeiro cigars or Xabregas?’ Luiza stormed indignantly back into the house and‚ after a series of confusing incidents‚ found herself by Bazilio’s side‚ in an endless street‚ lined with palaces that had the façades of cathedrals‚ and along which opulent carriages rolled with all the pomp of a cortège. Sobbing‚ she told Bazilio of Jorge’s betrayal. And Bazilio‚ jigging clownishly around her‚ strummed a guitar and sang:
I sent off a letter to Cupid
to find out if he knew
if a heart howe’er sore wounded
should still its love pursue!
‘No‚ it shouldn’t!’ squawked Ernestinho‚ triumphantly brandishing a roll of paper. And then‚ suddenly‚ everything went dark again beneath Juliana’s bat-like wings as she circled and swooped about the room.