That same day‚ at around one o’clock‚ as on the eve of his departure‚ Jorge and Luiza had just finished lunch. Now‚ however‚ the glittering‚ pitiless midsummer heat no longer weighed on them‚ and the windows stood open to the pleasant October sun; there was already a hint of autumnal coolness in the air‚ a tender paleness about the light; in the evenings‚ it felt good to don an overcoat; and the green leaves were becoming tinged with yellow.
‘How good to be back in our own little nest again!’ said Jorge‚ sprawling comfortably in his wing chair.
He had been telling Luiza about his trip. He had worked like a black and made money too! He had the makings of an excellent report and had made friends amongst the good people of Alentejo; but from now on‚ there would be no more hot sun‚ no more rides through scrublands‚ no more rooms at inns; he was‚ at last‚ back in his own home. And‚ just as on the eve of his departure‚ he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette and contentedly smoothed his moustaches – for he had shaved off his beard! Luiza could not get over her surprise when she saw him. He had explained‚ humbly and sadly‚ that he had had a boil on his chin‚ from the heat.
‘But the moustache really suits you!’ she had said. ‘It really does!’
Jorge had brought her a present of six very old China plates painted with plump mandarins in enamelled tunics‚ poised majestically in the blue air: a treasure he had discovered in the house of some old followers of Dom Miguel‚ in Mértola. Luiza was placing them very decoratively on the shelves of the dresser; and as she stood there‚ on tiptoe‚ with the long train of her robe trailing out behind her‚ her mass of heavy‚ fair hair coming slightly unpinned at the back‚ she appeared to Jorge even slimmer‚ even more irresistible and he had never longed so much to put his arms about her slender waist.
‘It was a Sunday last time I had lunch here‚ just before leaving‚ do you remember?’
‘I do‚’ said Luiza‚ without turning around‚ and very delicately putting another plate in position.
‘Oh‚ by the way‚’ said Jorge suddenly‚ ‘what happened with your cousin? Did you see him? Did he come and visit you?’
The plate slipped‚ and there was a tinkle of glasses.
‘Yes‚ he did‚’ said Luiza‚ after a silence. ‘He came here a few times. He didn’t stay long.’
She bent down to open the main drawer in the dresser and fiddled around with the silver spoons; at last‚ she stood up and turned‚ smiling and brushing off her hands‚ her face all red.
‘There we are!’
And she went and sat on Jorge’s lap.
‘It really does suit you!’ she said‚ playing with his moustache. She admired him now‚ ardently. When she had fallen into his arms that morning‚ she had felt her heart open and an impulsive love stir deliciously within; she had been filled by a desire to adore him for ever‚ to serve him‚ to hold him so tightly in her arms that she bruised him‚ and to obey him humbly; it was a complicated feeling of infinite sweetness‚ which had penetrated down into the deepest part of her being. And putting an arm about his neck‚ she said in a tone of almost lascivious adulation:
‘Tell me‚ are you content? Are you happy? Tell me!’
He had never seemed to her so handsome‚ so good; after that separation‚ his body filled her with all the wonder and ecstasy of a new passion.
‘It’s Senhor Sebastião‚’ Juliana announced to Jorge‚ beaming.
Jorge leaped to his feet‚ brusquely pushing Luiza aside‚ and raced down the corridor‚ shouting:
‘Let me embrace you‚ you rascal!’
A few days later‚ one morning when Jorge had left to go to the Ministry‚ Juliana came into Luiza’s room and‚ closing the door slowly behind her‚ said in a pleasant voice:
‘May I talk to you about something‚ madam.’
And she began explaining how her room in the attic was worse than a prison cell; that she couldn’t possibly stay there; the heat‚ the stench‚ the bed bugs‚ the lack of air‚ and‚ in the winter‚ the damp‚ were all killing her! She would like to move downstairs to the box room.
The box room had a window that gave onto the back of the house; it had high ceilings and was very spacious; they kept Jorge’s oilskins in there and his suitcases‚ as well as the ancient overcoats and venerable‚ red leather trunks with gold studs that dated back to his grandmother’s days.
‘I would be in heaven there‚ madam!’
But where would they put the trunks?
‘In my room‚ upstairs.’ And with a little laugh: ‘Trunks aren’t people‚ madam‚ they don’t suffer.’
Somewhat embarrassed‚ Luiza said:
‘I’ll see. I’ll talk to Senhor Jorge about it.’
‘I know I can rely on you‚ madam.’
But when‚ later that day‚ Luiza explained to Jorge ‘the poor woman’s wishes’‚ he burst out:
‘What? Move the trunks? Are you mad?’
Luiza insisted; it had been the poor creature’s dream‚ ever since she came to the house. She played on his feelings. He couldn’t possibly imagine‚ no one could‚ just what the poor woman’s present room was like. It stank to high heaven‚ the mice literally ran over her body‚ the ceiling had holes through which the rain came in; she had been up there a few days ago‚ and had nearly fainted.
‘Good heavens! That’s exactly how my grandmother used to describe the cells in Almeida! Move her then‚ my dear‚ move her at once! I’ll put my beloved trunks up in the attic.’
When Juliana learned of this ‘favour’‚ she said:
‘Oh‚ madam‚ you’re giving me new life! May God reward you! In my state of health‚ I just can’t live in pokey rooms like that any more.’
She had been complaining more about her health lately: she looked pale and her lips had a purplish tinge to them; on some days‚ she was prey to a black melancholy or to a morbid irritability; her feet were never warm. What she needed was comfort‚ lots of it!
That is why‚ two days later‚ she went to ask Luiza if she would be so kind as to accompany her up to the box room. She showed her the old‚ worm-eaten floor.
‘It can’t possibly stay like this‚ madam‚ it needs a carpet‚ otherwise there’s no point in moving. If I had any money of my own‚ I wouldn’t bother you‚ but…’
‘All right‚ I’ll sort it out‚’ said Luiza patiently.
And she bought a carpet‚ without saying anything to Jorge. But on the morning when the carpet-layers were nailing the carpet down‚ Jorge came‚ in some astonishment‚ to ask Luiza what the rolls of carpet were doing in the corridor.
She burst out laughing and placed her hands on his shoulders:
‘Poor Juliana asked for some carpet because the floor was rotten. She even offered to pay and to have the cost taken out of her wages. But it’s such a tiny amount of money …’ And with a look of compassion on her face: ‘After all‚ servants are God’s creatures too‚ they’re not slaves‚ my dear.’
‘Oh‚ wonderful! I suppose next it will be mirrors and bronze statues! I must say you’ve changed your tune; you couldn’t stand the sight of her before.’
‘Poor woman‚’ said Luiza. ‘I’ve come to realise that she’s a good soul really. And being so alone‚ I’ve got to know her better. I had no one to talk to‚ and she kept me company. Even when I was ill…’
‘You were ill?’ exclaimed Jorge‚ horrified.
‘Oh‚ only for three days‚’ she said‚ ‘it was just a cold. But she didn’t leave my side day or night.’
Luiza was then afraid that Jorge would mention her ‘illness’ to Juliana and that Juliana‚ caught unawares‚ would deny it‚ which is why‚ that evening‚ as it was growing dark‚ she called Juliana into her room:
‘I told Senhor Jorge that you kept me company during an illness …’ And her face blazed red with shame.
Juliana smiled‚ pleased at their complicity.
‘I understand‚ madam. Don’t worry!’
The next day‚ after coffee‚ Jorge did indeed turn to Juliana and say kindly:
‘It seems you’ve been a good companion to Senhora Dona Luiza.’
‘I was just doing my duty‚’ she cried‚ bowing‚ one hand pressed to her breast.
‘Very good‚ very good‚’ said Jorge‚ rummaging in his pocket. And as he left the room‚ he pressed a half-libra coin into her hand.
‘Fool!’ she muttered.
That same week she began to complain to Luiza that her clothes were getting all creased up inside her trunk. She hated to spoil them. If she had money herself‚ she wouldn’t ask madam‚ but … Then one morning‚ she declared straight out that she needed a chest of drawers.
Luiza felt anger burning in her blood‚ and without looking up from her embroidery‚ she asked:
‘A half-size one?’
‘If you would be so kind‚ madam‚ I’d prefer a full-size one…’
‘But you have so few clothes‚’ said Luiza. She was beginning to grow accustomed to humiliation and she now haggled over these favours.
‘True‚ madam‚’ replied Juliana‚ ‘but I’m hoping to remedy that situation!’
The chest of drawers was bought in secret and introduced into the house by stealth. What a joyous day that was for Juliana! She could not get enough of the smell of new wood! With the tremor of a caress‚ she passed her hand over the shiny‚ polished surface! She lined the drawers with tissue paper and began ‘to remedy the situation’.
These were bitter weeks for Luiza.
Juliana used to come into her room every morning‚ greet her very courteously and start to tidy‚ then‚ suddenly‚ in a mournful voice‚ she would say:
‘You know‚ madam‚ I have hardly any chemises‚ if you could possibly help me out…’
Luiza would go to her packed‚ perfumed drawers of underwear and sadly begin setting aside the older items. She adored her underwear; she had a dozen of everything‚ all beautifully embroidered with her initials‚ all carefully stored away with scented sachets; and these gifts felt like lacerating mutilations! In the end‚ Juliana would ask for things abruptly‚ outright.
‘What a lovely chemise!’ she would say. ‘You don’t want it‚ do you‚ madam?’
‘No‚ take it‚ take it!’ Luiza would reply‚ smiling‚ out of pride‚ in order not to show how it upset her.
And every night‚ Juliana‚ cloistered in her room‚ sitting cross-legged on the carpet‚ puffed up with joy‚ the oil lamp on a chair‚ would carefully unpick Luiza’s two initials and replace them‚ in red thread‚ with her own three enormous initials: J.C.T. – Juliana Couceiro Tavira.
In the end‚ though‚ that stopped‚ because as she herself said‚ she was ‘up to her eyes in underwear’.
‘Now‚ if you could help me out with some clothes to wear to go out in…’
And Luiza began to ‘dress’ her.
She gave her a purple silk dress and a black woollen jacket with herring-bone braiding. And fearing that Jorge would find such generosity strange‚ she altered them so that he would not recognise them: she had the dress dyed brown and she herself added a velvet trim to the jacket. Now she was working for her! Good God‚ where would it end?
One Sunday‚ Jorge even said laughingly over supper:
‘Juliana is looking very smart these days. She’s obviously prospering.’
That night‚ Dona Felicidade remarked:
‘She dresses better than a servant at the Palace!’
‘Poor thing! They’re just some of my old cast-offs.’
Juliana was indeed prospering! She now only ever used linen sheets. She had demanded new mattresses and a soft rug to put at the bottom of the bed. The sachets that used to perfume Luiza’s underwear had found their way into Juliana’s neatly folded knickers. She had cotton curtains at the window‚ tied back with old blue silk ribbons; and on the chest of drawers stood two gilt Vista Alegre vases! One day‚ she appeared wearing a chignon made of real hair!
Joana was astonished at this ostentation! She attributed it to madam’s kindness and resented being ‘forgotten’. One day‚ when Juliana was sporting a new parasol‚ Joana commented sourly in Luiza’s presence:
‘Some get everything and others get nothing!’
Luiza laughed and said:
‘Nonsense! I treat everyone the same.’
But it gave her pause for thought; Joana might have her suspicions too‚ she might have heard something from Juliana … The next day‚ in order to keep Joana happy and well-disposed towards her‚ she gave her two silk handkerchiefs‚ then‚ later‚ two mil-réis to buy a dress‚ and thenceforward‚ she never refused her permission to go out in the evening ‘to visit her aunt’s house’.
Joana went around telling everyone that her mistress was ‘an angel’. Even in the street‚ Juliana’s new prosperity had not gone unnoticed. They knew about the ‘new room’‚ which‚ it was murmured‚ even had carpets! Senhor Paula declared indignantly that ‘there was something going on’. But one afternoon‚ Juliana‚ in order to calm suspicions‚ said to Senhor Paula and the tobacconist’s wife:
‘Everyone’s saying that I’ve got this and I’ve got that‚ but I don’t really have that much. I have my comforts‚ true‚ but then just think of the way I looked after that aunt of theirs‚ day and night‚ never stinting … It ruined my health and they could never repay me for that!’
Thus was Juliana’s sudden prosperity explained. It was proof of their gratitude‚ they said; they were treating her like one of the family!
And gradually‚ the Engineer’s house acquired the vague allure of a paradise for the other servants in the neighbourhood; it was said that the wages were enormous‚ that there was unlimited wine‚ that they received presents every week and dined each night on chicken soup! Everyone envied that ‘plum job’! Through Tia Vitória‚ the fame of the ‘Engineer’s house’ spread. A kind of legend grew up.
Jorge was astonished to receive letters every day from people offering their services as housemaids‚ lady’s maids‚ cooks‚ valets‚ governesses‚ coachmen‚ doormen‚ kitchen assistants … They listed the noble houses in which they had worked; they begged an audience; suspecting that certain other duties were required‚ a particularly pretty lady’s maid enclosed her photograph; a cook brought a letter of recommendation from the director general of a Ministry.
‘How very odd!’ said Jorge‚ amazed. ‘They’re all clamouring for the honour of serving me! Do they think I’ve won the lottery?’
But he paid little attention to this strange situation. He was busy writing his report; he left every day at noon and returned at six‚ tired but radiant‚ bearing rolls of paper‚ maps and pamphlets and calling for his supper.
However‚ he did jokingly mention it one Sunday night. The Councillor remarked:
‘Given Dona Luiza’s good humour and yours‚ Jorge‚ given the salubrious neighbourhood in which you live and the fact that yours is a virtuous household free of scandal or family disputes‚ it is only natural that those less favoured servants should aspire to such an agreeable position.’
‘We’re the ideal employers!’ said Jorge‚ blithely patting Luiza’s shoulder.
The house had‚ in fact‚ become ‘most agreeable’. Juliana had demanded that supper should be a more lavish affair (so that she could have her part of it‚ and not just the leftovers) and since she was a good cook‚ she took charge of the ovens‚ tasted the food and taught Joana some new dishes.
‘Our Joana is a revelation!’ said Jorge. ‘She gets more talented by the day!’
Juliana‚ well-lodged‚ well-fed and with fine clothes on her back and soft mattresses to lie on‚ was enjoying life: her temperament had grown sweeter amongst such abundance; on the sound advice of Tia Vitória‚ she did her work with careful‚ scrupulous zeal. Luiza’s dresses were cared for like relics. Jorge’s shirtfronts gleamed as never before. The October sun gladdened the spotless house‚ which was as peaceful as an abbey. Even the cat was getting fatter.
*
In the midst of this prosperity‚ only Luiza languished. How far would Juliana’s tyranny go? That was the question that haunted her now. And how she hated her! She would sometimes fix her with such a fiercely malevolent gaze that she feared Juliana might suddenly turn round‚ as if she had been stabbed in the back. She saw how pleased she was‚ singing her favourite song ‘O beloved letter’‚ sleeping on mattresses as good as her own‚ strutting around in her clothes‚ ruling the roost in her house! Was this fair?
Sometimes she would rebel and would flail her arms about and blaspheme and rail against her misfortunes‚ as if caught in a net; unable to find any solution‚ though‚ she would fall back once more into the harsh mood of melancholy that was distorting her true nature. She gloatingly watched Juliana’s increasingly sallow features; she had high hopes of that aneurism: surely‚ one day‚ she would die.
To Jorge‚ of course‚ she had to sing her praises.
Life weighed heavily on her. As soon as Jorge left in the morning‚ closing the door‚ her sadness and her fears would fall upon her soul like great‚ thick‚ dark veils; she did not bother to get dressed until four or five o’clock‚ and in her loose peignoir and her slippers‚ her hair uncombed‚ she would trail her misery about the room with her. She would be suddenly gripped by a desire to run away or to enter a convent! Her overwrought feelings would have impelled her unerringly towards some melodramatic solution‚ were she not constrained – with all the force of an enduring enchantment – by her love for Jorge. For she loved him now immensely! She loved him with all the doting care of a mother‚ with all the impetuous passion of a concubine. She was jealous of everything‚ even of the Ministry‚ even of the report he was writing! She would keep interrupting him‚ plucking the pen from his hand‚ demanding that he look at her‚ speak to her; and the sound of his footsteps in the corridor filled her with all the excitement of an illicit love.
And she did her best to fuel that passion‚ finding in it an ineffable compensation for all her humiliations. How had this happened to her? For she had always loved him‚ she knew that now‚ but never so much‚ never so exclusively! Not even she understood the reasons. She even felt ashamed of herself‚ sensing vaguely that such amorous violence was not dignified in a married woman; she was afraid it might be a mere capricious fancy‚ and for her own husband! It did not seem quite chaste somehow. But then what did it matter? It made her happy‚ prodigiously happy. Whatever it was‚ it was delightful!
At first‚ the idea of ‘the other man’ hovered constantly over her love‚ leaving a bitter taste in every kiss‚ a sense of remorse in every night. Eventually‚ though‚ she had so completely forgotten him that when she did happen to think of him‚ his memory lent as much bitterness to this new passion as a lump of salt might to the waters of a torrent. How happy she would be‚ were it not for ‘that vile woman’!
‘That vile woman’‚ on the other hand‚ was very happy indeed! Sometimes‚ alone in her room‚ she would look around her with a miserly smile on her lips; she would unfold and shake out her silk dresses; she would line up her boots and stand contemplating them ecstatically from afar; and‚ poring over the open drawers‚ she would count and recount her underwear‚ caressing them with a gaze of smug ownership. ‘Just like “the dumpling’s”!’ she would murmur‚ blushing out of sheer glee.
‘I’m in seventh heaven!’ she told Tia Vitória.
‘I don’t doubt you are! The letter didn’t get you any money‚ but it’s brought you a fair few presents. It’s proving to be a nice little business: a bit of fine linen‚ the odd piece of jewellery‚ a few fat tips now and then‚ and she’s grateful to boot! Fleece her‚ my dear‚ fleece her!’
But there was not much left to fleece. Juliana began to think that what she should do now was simply enjoy it. She had good mattresses‚ so why get up early? She had lovely dresses‚ so why not go out and flaunt them in the street? It was time to take advantage.
On one particularly cold morning‚ she stayed in bed until nine o’clock‚ with the windows half-open‚ and the sunshine pouring in onto the carpet. Afterwards‚ she said tartly that she had had a pain in her heart. Two days later‚ at ten o’clock‚ Joana came to tell Luiza softly:
‘Senhora Juliana is still in bed and none of the housework has been done.’
Luiza was terrified. Was she now going to have to endure her laziness just as‚ previously‚ she had put up with her every demand?
She went to Juliana’s room:
‘What sort of time is this to be getting up?’
‘It’s what the doctor recommended‚’ replied Juliana insolently.
And from that day on‚ Juliana rarely got up before it was time to serve lunch. Luiza asked Joana to do Juliana’s work for her: it wouldn’t be for long and the poor creature was so unwell. To mollify the cook‚ she gave her half a moeda towards a dress.
Then‚ without bothering to ask permission‚ Juliana began going out. When she arrived back late for supper‚ she didn’t even apologise.
One day‚ seeing Juliana walking down the corridor‚ drawing on her black gloves‚ Luiza could contain herself no longer.
‘Are you going out?’
Juliana retorted boldly.
‘What does it look like? I’ve done my work for the day.’ And off she went‚ with a click-clack of heels.
She certainly wasn’t going to rein herself in because of ‘the dumpling’!
Joana started grumbling: ‘Senhora Juliana spends all her time out of the house‚ and I have to do her work.’
‘If you were ill‚ no one would want to upset you either‚’ said Luiza‚ herself upset‚ when she noticed that Joana was growing restive. And she gave her more presents. She even allowed her wine and dessert.
There was now an air of neglect about the house. The household lists grew longer. Luiza was utterly dejected. How would it all end?
Juliana’s laxness was becoming serious.
In order to leave the house as early as possible‚ she did only the bare minimum. Luiza ended up filling the water jugs‚ clearing the table after lunch‚ and carrying up to the attic the dirty clothes that lay discarded in various corners …
One day‚ Jorge came back at four o’clock and happened to notice that the bed was still unmade. Luiza hastened to assure him that Juliana was out‚ she had sent her to the dressmaker’s.
Days later‚ Juliana failed to return by six o’clock in time to serve the supper. ‘She’s gone to the dressmaker’s again‚’ Luiza explained.
‘Well‚ if all Juliana’s time is taken up with going to the dressmaker’s‚ perhaps we’d better take on another servant to do the housework‚’ he said.
At these sharp comments‚ Luiza turned pale and two tears rolled down her cheeks.
Jorge was astonished. What was it? What was wrong? Luiza could control herself no longer and burst into nervous‚ hysterical crying.
‘But what is it‚ my love‚ what’s wrong? Are you angry with me?’
She could not respond‚ tears overwhelmed her. Jorge made her inhale some smelling salts and covered her in kisses.
Only when she had stopped crying was she able to say in a tearful voice:
‘You spoke to me so sharply‚ and I’ve been so nervy lately…’
He laughed and told her not to be so silly and wiped away her tears‚ but he was‚ nevertheless‚ worried.
He had already noticed occasional inexplicable bouts of sadness and depression‚ a certain nervous irritability. What could it be?
In order to prevent Jorge from stumbling upon further evidence of Juliana’s negligence‚ Luiza herself began to finish off the housework every morning. Juliana saw this and calmly decided ‘to leave her more and more things to keep her busy’. First‚ she stopped sweeping‚ then she neglected to make the bed; then‚ one morning‚ she failed to empty out the chamber pots. Luiza peered out into the corridor to make sure that Joana would not come down the stairs and see her‚ then she herself emptied them. When she came back and washed her hands with soap‚ the tears were running down her cheeks. She wanted to die! To what depths had she sunk?
One day‚ Dona Felicidade arrived unexpectedly and found her sweeping out the dining room.
‘I can understand me doing it‚’ she exclaimed‚ ‘because I have only the one maid‚ but you!’
Juliana had so much starching and ironing to do.
‘Oh‚ don’t lighten her workload‚ she won’t thank you for it‚ in fact‚ she’ll laugh at you. You’ll get her into bad habits! She’ll just have to put up with it!’
Luiza smiled and said:
‘It’s only this once.’
Her sadness grew with each day that passed.
She took refuge in Jorge’s love as her one consolation. With the night came her revenge; Juliana was sleeping at that hour; she would not have to see her hideous face; she did not have to fear her; she did not have to sing her praises or do her work! She could be herself‚ the Luiza she used to be! She was safe in her bedroom with her husband‚ she was free! She could live‚ laugh‚ talk‚ even feel hungry! Indeed sometimes she brought bread and jam into the bedroom in order to have a midnight feast!
Jorge was bemused. ‘You know‚ you’re a different person at night‚’ he said. He called her ‘his nightbird’. She would wander‚ laughing‚ about the room‚ dressed only in her white petticoats‚ with her arms‚ throat and neck bare‚ and her hair loosely caught up; she idled about‚ sang‚ talked‚ until Jorge would say to her:
‘It’s gone one o’clock‚ my love!’
Then she would quickly get undressed and fall into his arms.
But what an awakening! However bright the morning‚ everything seemed to her somehow grey. Life tasted sour to her. She would get dressed slowly‚ reluctantly‚ entering the day as if it were a prison.
She had lost all hope now of setting herself free. Sometimes the desire ‘to talk to Sebastião and tell him everything’ still came to her like a flash of lightning. But when she saw his honest eyes‚ saw him embrace Jorge‚ when she saw them laughing together and smoking their pipes‚ and saw how full of admiration he was for her‚ it seemed to her that it would be easier to go out into the street and ask for the money from the first man she met than to go to Sebastião‚ Jorge’s closest friend‚ their best friend‚ and say to him: ‘I wrote a letter to a man; my maid stole it from me!’ No‚ she would rather endure that daily agony and have to get down on her knees and scrub the steps herself! Sometimes she would stop and think: ‘What am I hoping for?’ She didn’t know. For some chance event‚ for Juliana’s death … And she drifted on‚ enjoying each day that came as if it were a favour‚ sensing vaguely‚ in the distance‚ something dark and indefinite into which she would eventually plunge!
Around that time‚ Jorge began to complain that his shirts were not being properly starched. Juliana really was ‘losing her touch’. One day‚ he got so angry that he called her in and threw the crumpled shirt at her.
‘I can’t possibly wear this‚ it’s dreadful!’
Juliana turned deathly pale and shot Luiza a burning glance; she apologised‚ though‚ with trembling lips: ‘The starch is no good‚ I’ll change it…’
As soon as Jorge had left for work‚ she burst into Luiza’s room‚ closed the door and started berating her‚ saying that the mistress dirtied so many clothes and the master dirtied so many shirts that if she didn’t get someone in to help her then she wouldn’t be able to cope. If they wanted slaves‚ they should bring some over from Brazil!
‘And I’m not putting up with your husband’s bad temper‚ either‚ do you understand? You’ll just have to get someone in to help me.’
Luiza said simply:
‘I’ll help you.’
She had entered a state of dumb‚ sombre resignation‚ and she would accept anything!
By the end of the week‚ there was a large bundle of clothes‚ and Juliana announced that if Luiza would iron‚ she would starch. Otherwise‚ she wouldn’t do it at all.
It was a beautiful day‚ and Luiza had been intending to go out. Instead‚ she put on a peignoir and‚ without a word‚ went to fetch the iron.
Joana was astonished.
‘Are you going to do the ironing‚ madam?’
‘There’s an awful lot of it‚ and Juliana can’t manage it all on her own‚ poor thing!’
She went into the ironing room and was laboriously ironing Jorge’s underwear‚ when Juliana appeared‚ with her hat on.
‘Are you going out?’ exclaimed Luiza.
‘That’s what I came to tell you. I’m afraid I have to.’ And she buttoned up her black gloves.
‘But what about the shirts‚ who’s going to starch them?’
‘I’m going out‚’ Juliana replied tartly.
‘But who‚ in heaven’s name‚ is going to starch the shirts?’
‘Why‚ you‚ of course! Who do you think?’
‘You vile woman!’ screamed Luiza‚ and she flung the iron down on the floor and ran from the room.
Juliana heard her running‚ sobbing‚ down the corridor.
Frightened‚ she quickly took off her hat and gloves. A moment later‚ she heard the street door slam. She went into Luiza’s room and saw the peignoir lying in a heap‚ the hat box fallen on its side. Where could she have gone? To complain to the police? To get her husband? Heavens! It was that stupid temper of hers! She quickly tidied the room and went to do the starching‚ one ear cocked‚ thoroughly repentant. Where could she have gone? She really should be more careful. If she drove her to do something foolish‚ then who would be the loser? She would. Dear God‚ she would have to leave the house‚ leave her room‚ her many presents and her job!
Luiza had run out of the house like a madwoman. In Rua da Escola‚ an empty carriage passed her; she leaped in and gave the coachman Leopoldina’s address. Leopoldina must be back from Oporto by now; she wanted to see her‚ she needed her‚ quite why she did not know … Perhaps in order to unburden herself! To ask if she had some idea of how she might avenge herself! For the wish to free herself from that tyranny was now less urgent than the desire to avenge herself for all those humiliations. She was assailed by the most ludicrous ideas. What if she poisoned her! It would‚ she thought‚ afford her exquisite pleasure to see Juliana writhing about‚ seized by violent retching‚ howling in agony‚ and dying!
She raced up the stairs to Leopoldina’s house; a frantic tug with her feverish hand set the bell ringing for several seconds.
Justina opened the door and‚ as soon as she saw her‚ she shouted down the corridor:
‘It’s Senhora Dona Luiza‚ madam‚ it’s Senhora Dona Luiza!’
And Leopoldina‚ hair all dishevelled‚ in a scarlet robe with a long train‚ ran towards her‚ arms outstretched.
‘It’s you! What miracle is this? I’ve just this minute got up! Come into my room. Everything’s in a mess‚ but it doesn’t matter. What is it? What’s wrong?’
She opened the windows‚ which were still closed. There was a strong smell of toilet water; Justina hurriedly took away a brass bowl containing soapy water; dirty towels lay around on the floor; on a small table‚ from the night before‚ there were still bits of false hair‚ a corset and a cup with a little tea in it‚ full of cigarette ends. Leopoldina was drawing the blinds‚ saying:
‘How good of you to honour my house‚ my lady!’
But seeing the distraught expression on Luiza’s face‚ seeing her eyes red with tears‚ she said:
‘But what is it? What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘Oh‚ it’s awful‚ Leopoldina!’ Luiza exclaimed‚ clutching her hands.
Leopoldina ran to close the door.
‘What is it?’
Luiza was weeping‚ unable to respond. Leopoldina gazed at her in astonishment.
‘Juliana stole some letters from me!’ Luiza finally managed to say between sobs. ‘She wants six hundred mil-réis. I’m lost … She’s been tormenting me … I want you to tell me what to do‚ think of something … I’m going mad. I do all the work around the house now … I’ll die‚ I just can’t go on like this!’ And her tears redoubled.
‘What about your jewels?’
‘They’re only worth two hundred mil-réis‚ and how could I explain their absence to Jorge?’
Leopoldina stood for a moment in silence‚ then‚ looking around her and opening wide her arms‚ she said:
‘Everything I have‚ my dear‚ is in the pawnshop and is worth‚ at most‚ twenty libras!’
Luiza was wiping her eyes and murmuring:
‘What a penance‚ dear God‚ what a penance!’
‘What did the letters say?’
‘Terrible things! I wasn’t in my right mind … She has one of mine and two letters from him.’
‘From your cousin?’
Luiza nodded slowly.
‘And what about him?’
‘I don’t know. He’s in France‚ he never answered my letter.’
‘The scoundrel! How did the woman get hold of them?’
Luiza rapidly told her the story of the ’sarcophagus’ and the sandalwood box.
‘But really‚ Luiza‚ fancy throwing away a letter like that! That’s sheer madness‚ woman!’
Leopoldina began pacing about the room‚ dragging behind her the long train of her scarlet robe; her large‚ dark eyes seemed to be frantically searching out some means‚ some expedient … She was muttering to herself:
‘It’s all a question of money.’
Luiza‚ lying prostrate on the sofa‚ repeated:
‘It’s all a question of money.’
Then Leopoldina stopped pacing and stood stockstill in front of her:
‘I know who would give you the money!’
‘Who?’
‘A man.’
Luiza sat up‚ startled:
‘Who?’
‘The one with the spectacles?’
‘The one with the spectacles.’
Luiza blushed crimson.
‘Oh‚ Leopoldina!’ she murmured. And then‚ after a silence‚ she added quickly: ‘Who told you?’
‘I just know. He told Mendonça. They used to be bosom pals‚ you see. He said he’d give you anything you asked for! He said it more than once.’
‘That’s disgusting!’ exclaimed Luiza‚ suddenly indignant. ‘And you’re actually proposing that I should do such a thing?’ Her eyes flashed angrily from beneath her frowning brows. Go with a man for money! She snatched off her hat and with shaking hands‚ threw it down on a table‚ then paced rapidly up and down the room: ‘I’d rather run away‚ enter a convent‚ be a maid‚ sweep the streets!’
‘Don’t get so excited‚ child! Who said anything about that? He might lend you the money … out of sheer altruism.’
‘Do you really think so?’
Leopoldina did not reply; head bowed‚ she was turning the rings on her fingers round and round.
‘But what if he did want something else?’ she cried suddenly. ‘It would mean one conto de réis‚ maybe two‚ and you would be saved‚ you would be happy!’
Luiza shuddered with indignation at these words‚ or perhaps at her own thoughts.
‘It’s indecent! It’s disgusting!’ she said.
They fell silent.
‘If I were you …’ said Leopoldina.
‘What would you do?’
‘I would write to Castro and tell him to come here and bring the money with him!’
‘Oh‚ yes‚ no doubt you would!’ exclaimed Luiza‚ not thinking what she was saying.
Beneath her layer of face powder‚ Leopoldina turned scarlet.
Luiza flung her arms about her neck:
‘Oh‚ forgive me‚ forgive me! I’m out of mind‚ I don’t know what I’m saying!’
They both began to cry out of sheer nerves.
‘The idea makes you angry‚ I know‚’ Leopoldina was saying‚ between sobs‚ ‘but it’s for your own good. I think it’s the best idea. If I could‚ I would give you the money myself … I would do anything‚ really I would!’
And opening her arms‚ and displaying her body with a sublime lack of modesty‚ she said:
‘Six hundred mil-réis! If I were worth that much money‚ I would have it tomorrow!’
Someone knocked at the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me‚’ said a hoarse voice.
‘It’s my husband. The beast hasn’t left the house yet.’ She shouted to him: ‘I can’t open the door right now. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
Luiza was hastily wiping her eyes and had put on her hat.
‘When will you come again?’ asked Leopoldina.
‘When I can‚ if not‚ I’ll write to you.’
‘All right. I’ll think about it. I’ll look into other possibilities.’
Luiza grabbed her arm:
‘Not a word of this to anyone.’
‘Of course not!’
She left. She walked slowly up to Largo de São Roque. The door of the church‚ the Misericórdia‚ was open‚ its broad red door curtain‚ embroidered with coats of arms‚ fluttered gently in the wind. She felt a desire to go in. She did not know why‚ but it seemed to her that in her current state of passionate excitement‚ the cool silence of the church might calm her down. She felt so unhappy that her thoughts turned to God! She needed some higher‚ stronger force to help her. She knelt down near the altar‚ made the sign of the cross‚ then said an Our Father and a Hail Mary. But these prayers‚ which she used to recite as a girl‚ failed to console her; she felt that they were empty sounds that got no further along the road to heaven than her own breathing; she did not really understand them and they hardly applied to her situation; God would never understand what she wanted‚ kneeling there‚ racked by anxiety. She wanted to speak to God‚ to open herself entirely to Him‚ but what language should she use? Should she address Him in the trivial words she would use to speak to Leopoldina! Would her confidences reach up far enough for Him to hear them? Was he near enough to hear them? And she remained on her knees‚ arms limp‚ hands folded in her lap‚ looking at the sad wax candles‚ the faded embroidery on the frontal cloth‚ the round‚ rosy face of a Baby Jesus!
She gradually became lost in thoughts over which she had no control‚ which formed and stirred inside her brain like a sinuous pillar of smoke. She was thinking of that distant time when‚ out of melancholy and sentiment‚ she used to go more often to church. Her mother was still alive then; and she‚ her heart broken by that letter from Bazilio ending their relationship‚ had tried to dissipate her sadness through the consolation of religious devotion. A friend of hers‚ Joana Silveira‚ had entered a convent in France‚ and she had sometimes thought of following her‚ of becoming a sister of charity‚ carrying the wounded from battlefields or living in the peace of a mystic’s cell. How different her life would have been from this life now‚ so shaken by anger‚ so laden with sin! Where would she be? Far away in some ancient monastery‚ amongst dark groves of trees‚ in a solitary‚ contemplative valley; in Scotland‚ perhaps‚ a country she had loved ever since she first read the novels of Walter Scott. She might be living in the dark green lands of Lammermoor or Glencoe‚ in an old Saxon abbey. The encircling mountains‚ thick with fir trees‚ lost in the mists‚ enfold those retreats in a funereal peace; the clouds pass slowly‚ meditatively across a mournful sky; no joyful sound breaks the tender‚ all-pervading silence; crows cross the air at eventide in v-shaped flocks. There she would live alongside tall‚ Celtic-eyed nuns‚ daughters of Norman dukes or of clan leaders who had converted to Rome; she would read gentle books about Heavenly things; sitting at the narrow window of her cell‚ she would see the tall antlers of deer passing through the bracken‚ or‚ on misty afternoons‚ she would hear the sad‚ distant sound of bagpipes‚ played by the shepherd from the vale of Callendar; and the air would be filled by the tearful‚ dripping murmur of threads of water falling from rock to rock amongst the dark grasses!
Or else she would have another‚ easier existence‚ in a peaceful convent in some pleasant Portuguese province. There the roofs are low; the whitewashed walls with their little barred windows glitter in the sun; the bells ring out in the bright‚ blue air; round about‚ in the olive groves that provide the convent with its oil‚ girls sing as they shake the olive trees; in the cobbled courtyard‚ the mules flick away the flies with their tails and stamp their hooves; old women gossip by the turn- box provided for foundlings; a cart creaks along the white‚ dusty road; glossy cockerels‚ shining in the sun‚ sing out their cockadoodledos; and plump sisters‚ with dark eyes‚ chatter in the cool corridors.
There she would live and grow fat‚ now and then falling asleep in the choir‚ drinking little glasses of pink liqueur in the scribe’s room‚ copying out in a large hand recipes for cakes; she would die at a great old age‚ listening to the swallows twittering outside the barred window of her cell; and when the bishop visited‚ he would listen‚ smiling‚ with a pinch of snuff poised between his white fingers‚ as the abbess recounted the edifying tale of her holy death.
A sacristan walked past‚ loudly clearing his throat‚ and‚ like a flock of birds that fall silent at a sudden noise‚ all her dreams fled. She sighed‚ got slowly to her feet and walked sadly homewards.
Juliana opened the door to her and‚ there in the corridor‚ in a low‚ supplicant voice‚ she said:
‘Please‚ madam‚ forgive me‚ I wasn’t myself! I wasn’t thinking straight‚ I hadn’t slept all night. I was so worried…’
Luiza did not respond; she went into the drawing room. Sebastião‚ who had come to supper‚ was playing the ‘Serenata’ from Don Giovanni‚ and as soon as she appeared‚ he cried:
‘Why so pale? Where have you been?’
‘I’m just feeling a little tired‚ Sebastião‚ I’ve come from church…’
Jorge came in with some papers in his hand.
‘From church!’ he exclaimed. ‘How frightful!’