On the verandah I found cousin Justina, walking back and forth. She came to the top of the steps and asked where I had been:
“I’ve been next door, chatting to Dona Fortunata, and forgot the time. It’s late, isn’t it? Did mamma ask where I was?”
“She did, but I told her you’d already come in.”
The lie amazed me, no less than the open admission of it. Not that cousin Justina was a one for hiding her opinions: on the contrary, she frankly told Peter the evil she thought of Paul, and Paul the evil she thought of Peter; but to confess that she had lied was a novelty to me. She was in her forties, lean and pale, with a thin mouth and inquisitive eyes. My mother had her to live with us as a favor, and also for her own ends: she wanted to have a companion in the house, and preferred a relative to an outsider.
We walked for some minutes on the verandah, which was lit by a large lamp. She wanted to know if I had forgotten my mother’s ecclesiastical plans, and when I told her I hadn’t, she inquired how much I was looking forward to being a priest. I replied evasively:
“A priest’s life is very nice.”
“Yes, it’s very nice; but what I’m asking is whether you would like to be a priest,” she explained with a laugh.
“I like whatever mamma wants.”
“Cousin Glória very much wants you to be ordained, but even if she didn’t, there’s someone here at home who keeps putting the idea into her head.”
“Who is it?”
“Who, indeed! Who do you think? It’s not cousin Cosme, who couldn’t care about it; nor me.”
“José Dias?” I concluded.
“Naturally.”
I wrinkled my forehead questioningly, as if I knew nothing. Cousin Justina finished by saying that that very afternoon José Dias had reminded my mother of her old promise.
“It may be that, as the days go by, cousin Glória may gradually forget her promise; but how can she forget it if a certain person is for ever harping on about the seminary? And the speeches he makes, extolling the Church, saying that a priest’s life is this and it’s that, all with those words only he understands, and with that affected air … And mind you it’s only to cause mischief, because he’s as religious as this lamp here. Yes, it’s true, this very day. Don’t pretend you don’t understand. You can’t imagine what he was like this afternoon.”
“But did he just speak for no special reason?” I asked, to see if she would talk about his revelation of my dalliance with our nextdoor neighbor.
She said nothing—only made a gesture as if to indicate that there was something else she couldn’t say. Again she told me not to play the innocent, and restated all the evil she thought of José Dias, which was not a little—a designing, calculating, snooping toady, and for all his polite veneer, a boor. After a few moments, I said:
“Cousin Justina, would you be willing to do something?”
“What?”
“Would you … Suppose I didn’t want to be a priest … you could ask Mamma …”
“Certainly not,” she quickly cut in, “Cousin Glória is fixed on this business, and nothing in the world will make her change her mind—only time. When you were still small, she told this story to all our friends, and even our acquaintances. I certainly won’t refresh her memory: I’m not one to do anyone a bad turn; but ask her to do something else—that I can’t do. If she should consult me, very well; if she said to me: “Cousin Justina, what do you think?,” my reply would be: “Cousin Glória, I think that, if he wants to be a priest, he can go to the seminary; but, if he doesn’t, it would be better if he stayed here.” That’s what I would say, and will say if some day she asks my opinion. But go and speak to her without being asked—that I won’t do.”