Some weeks passed in the following fashion: Leonardo, after all the ceremonies were performed, was declared a “dependant” attached to the household of Thomas of the Sé and remained comfortably ensconced there. Let no one wonder at the ease with which such things were done; in the time in which the events we are narrating took place, nothing was more common than for every house to have one, two, or at times more such dependants.
In some households these figures were very useful because the family derived great benefit from their services—we had occasion to give an example of this when we told the story of Leonardo’s late godfather. In other instances, however—and these were the more frequent—the dependant, a confirmed lay-about, became a veritable parasite latched onto the family tree, partaking of its sap without helping it to yield fruit. And, what is more, he sometimes ended up killing it. And it is the case that, in spite of everything, if, on the one hand he was crushed under the weight of a thousand demands, if favors done were thrown up to him on every occasion, if the oldest son of the house, for example, took him for his amusement, or at the slightest and most justifiable complaint the parents leaped all over him taking the side of their own child, on the other hand whatever disturbance might arise in the house was also tolerated with martyrs’ patience. The dependant became almost a king in his castle, proposing and disposing, punishing the slaves, reproving the family children, intervening, in short, in the most private of affairs.
In which of the two categories was our friend Leonardo, or would he soon come to be? Let the reader decide on the basis of what is about to occur.
Let us begin by observing that from the very beginning the two elder sisters had taken a decided liking to him, and that was the only point on which we can judge him moderately happy: While at every step he met resistance and opposition, he also encountered counterbalancing sympathy and favor. This amounted to half the battle won for any project he might formulate, any intention he might have, or any desire that might awaken within him. But, to be faithful to the law of countervailing forces, which law constantly weighed upon him, it must be noted that the particular project, intention, or desire that he had just happened to relate to a “certain someone” that had already incited a similar project, intention, and desire on the part of two other people—which is equivalent to saying, as we already have, that he had to contend with two difficulties.
Vidinha was a young woman as pretty as she was flighty and shallow: A breeze, no matter how soft, would make her take flight, another of similar nature would send her off again, and she would flit and flutter about in the direction that every breeze that passed over her was headed. That means, in plain language stripped of rhetorical blandishment, that she was a shameless flirt, as we say today, not to say a coquette, as they said back then. Therefore, Leonardo’s first gallantries were by no means ill received, especially as he had now become much bolder, whether because the business with Luisinha had loosened his tongue or because his passion had grown stronger—the latter hypothesis going against the opinion of the ultra-romantics, who loudly trumpet so-called first love. May they learn from Leonardo’s example how enduring it really is.
If one of Vidinha’s male cousins, who we have said was at that time the one favored, had reason to rise up against Leonardo as his rival, the other, who we have said was the one scorned, had double the reason for doing the same. For, in addition to his brother, Leonardo was now appearing as a second contender, and the fury of one defending himself against two is—or doubtless should be—much greater than that of one who defends himself merely against another. Therefore, as soon as the symptoms of whatever there might be between Vidinha and our house guest began to appear, a war of two against one, or of one against two, was declared. At first it was deaf and dumb: A war of looks, of gestures, of slights, of ugly faces, of rudeness on the part of some to others; then, in correlation with Leonardo’s advance, it went on to nasty words, taunts, and insinuations. One day it finally broke out into full-fledged abuse, into threats the size of the Tower of Babel. And the cause of this was that one of the cousins had surprised the happy Leonardo in flagrant enjoyment of a first fruit of love: An embrace he was exchanging with Vidinha in the backyard of the house.
“There you have it, auntie,” the young man had said in a fury to Vidinha’s mother, “that’s what you get for letting a pair of legs into the house that don’t belong to the family.”
“Where, oh, where is the fire breaking out?” said the old woman in a mocking tone, presuming it was all some foolishness on the young man’s part, for he tended to exaggerate everything.
“Fire!” he retorted. “If he actually starts a fire, there won’t be water to put it out… and mark what I say, if he’s not starting a fire … he’s as least gathering the wood!”
Vidinha, who was coming up just at that moment, broke in and talked for a straight half hour, hurling upon her two cousins (for the other one had also come in) a blistering catalinarian in which the word “aww” was repeated an enormous number of times. Leonardo had to defend himself as well, and he acquitted himself admirably. The two old women chimed in with the four, accompanied by the remaining two girls, who tossed in their own spoonfuls now and again as well.
It would be useless for us to attempt to reproduce each interlocutor’s exact words; it would be more or less like trying to count the raindrops that fall in a storm. Only someone who has had occasion to be present can really evaluate what one of these family quarrels was like—and perhaps still is. Everyone talks at the same time, each trying to speak louder than all the others combined; no one seems to pay any attention to the excuses that are offered or to the recriminations advanced, and, minute by minute, each, growing hotter and hotter all the while, deems him- or herself more and more offended. Oaths cross in the air, threats crash into each other; no choice term is left behind in the dictionary but instead is trotted out for use. Some issues lead to others, and the others to yet others. Past, present, and future offenses are summoned up to be heaped upon adversaries’ heads. In sum, everything is said and nothing is accomplished. The quarrel lasts many hours, at the end of which the combatants, fagitatis sed non satiatis, abandon the field, bitterer against one another now than they were at the beginning. And if by chance, the retreat having been sounded, someone should still dare to loose a final slur, the thing catches fire again and lasts a goodly time longer. Most of the time, it all remains in the realm of words.
This time, however, it did not turn out that way: One of the male cousins, who possessed a short fuse, advanced toward Leonardo after, as a combatant, having hurled a considerable insult his way; and, catching hold of him by the shirt collar, he gave him two resounding punches. Leonardo, who in this world feared only his father, fought back. The two old women and Vidinha, in trying to part them, succeeded only in tearing their clothes and adding to their rage; everyone else occupied themselves in beating on the walls and calling to the neighbors. The two scuffled for some time without either suffering any serious damage as a result, and they finally separated. Leonardo, upon seeing himself free of his adversary, kept trying to get out to the street; ever since his childhood, a kind of destiny like the Wandering Jew had borne down upon the unfortunate youngster. But the old women, who throughout the fracas had taken his side, would not hear of it; they proclaimed that they were in their own house and could run it as they chose. Leonardo insisted, despite this and despite protestations from Vidinha. At the very moment he was trying to open the street door, however, the comadre walked in through it.
“Well, thank God I’ve found you, Mr. Stone-Crazy.”
Leonardo recoiled two steps. At that moment, just as had been the case since he ran out of his father’s house, the idea had never passed through his mind that he had a godmother, a father, or any other relative in the world. There was a general reaction of surprise and curiosity in the group, for no one in the house knew the comadre.
The good woman had done so much digging that at last she had learned of the burrow wherein her godson had holed up—and she immediately took herself there. Having entered and spoken those initial words, she then intended to continue on to her godson with a great exhortation when, laying eyes on the two elder women, she decided that it would be better to address herself to them first. Indeed, she did so, and the three went into conference.