We went into the Promenade. There were some old faces: others, sick or merely idle, were dismally spread out along the path from the gate to the terrace overlooking the bay. We went up towards the terrace. As we went, to work up my courage, I talked about the garden:
“I haven’t been here for a long time, a year maybe.”
“Pardon me,” he cut in, “not three months ago you came here with our neighbor Pádua; don’t you remember?”
“That’s true, but it was only a brief visit …”
“He asked your mother to let him bring you with him, and she permitted it—she’s as good as the blessed Virgin; but listen to me, since we’re on the subject, it’s not right for you to be seen in the streets with Pádua.”
“But I’ve been a few times …”
“When you were younger; when you were a child, it was natural; he could pass for a servant. But you’re getting to be a young man, and he’s becoming more and more familiar. Dona Glória surely can’t approve of that. The Páduas are not all bad. Capitu, in spite of those eyes the devil gave her … Have you noticed her eyes? They’re a bit like a gypsy’s, oblique and sly. Well, in spite of them, she could get by, if it weren’t for her airs, and her flattery. Oh, her flattery! Dona Fortunata deserves respect, and as for him, I don’t deny that he’s honest, he’s got a good job, owns the house he lives in. But honesty and respect aren’t enough, and the other qualities are outweighed by the bad company he keeps. He has a real penchant for vulgar people. No sooner sniff someone common—that’s your man. I don’t say this because I dislike him, or because he speaks ill of me, and mocks my down-at-heel shoes, as he did the other day …”
“I beg your pardon,” I interrupted stopping in my tracks, “I’ve never heard of him speaking ill of you; on the contrary, one day not long ago, he said to someone, in my presence, that you were ‘a very capable man and that you spoke like a deputy in Parliament’.”
José Dias smiled delightedly, but he made a great effort and composed his face again; then he replied:
“I owe him no thanks for that. Others, of greater merit, have favored me with their high opinion. And nothing of this prevents him being what I say.”
We had gone on again: we went up to the terrace, and looked out towards the sea.
“I see that you only want what’s best for me,” I said after a few moments.
“But what else could I want, Bentinho?”
“In that case, I want to ask you a favor.”
“A favor? Ask me, order me. What is it?”
“Mamma …”
For some time I could not say the rest, though it wasn’t much, and I had it by heart, José Dias asked again what it was, gently shook me, lifted my chin, and gazed at me anxiously, like cousin Justina the evening before.
“Mamma what? What about Mamma?”
“Mamma wants me to be a priest, but I can’t be a priest,” I finally said.
José Dias straightened up, thunderstruck.
“I can’t,” I went on, no less thunderstruck than he, “I’m not cut out for it, I don’t want a priest’s life. I’m ready to do anything she wants; mamma knows I’ll do anything she says; I’m willing to be whatever she likes, even a bus driver. But not a priest; I can’t be a priest. It’s a fine profession; but it’s not for me.”
This speech didn’t come out all at once, of a piece, connected naturally, and decisive, as it looks on the printed page, but in bits, chewed up, and in a low, timid voice. Nonetheless, José Dias had heard it in astonishment. He had certainly not counted on any resistance, however feeble; but what surprised him even more was my conclusion:
“I’m counting on you to save me.”
The dependent’s eyes opened wide, his eyebrows arched, and the pleasure that I expected to give him by choosing him as protector did not show in any of his features. There was hardly room in his face for his stupefaction. It was true that the subject of my speech had revealed a new person; I did not recognize myself. But my final words gave this a wholly new force. José Dias was stunned. When his eyes came back to their original dimensions:
“But what can I do?” he asked.
“A great deal. You know that at home everyone thinks highly of you. Mamma often asks your advice, doesn’t she? Uncle Cosme says you are a talented person …”
“It’s good of them,” he replied, flattered. “These are the favors of worthy people, deserving of all manner of … There you are! No one will ever hear me speak ill of such people; and why? because they are illustrious and virtuous. Your mother is a saint, your uncle a most perfect gentleman. I have known distinguished families; none can compare with yours in nobility of sentiments. As for the talent your uncle sees in me, it is only one: the ability to see what is good and worthy of admiration and esteem.”
“You also know how to help your friends, such as me.”
“My dear boy, how can I be of help to you? I can’t dissuade your mother from a project which is not just a promise: it’s been her dream and her ambition for many years. Even if I could, it’s too late. Just yesterday she did me the honor of saying to me: ‘José Dias, I must put Bentinho into the seminary’.”
Timidity is not the bad coinage it might seem to be. If I had been bolder it is probable that I would have burst out and called him a liar, so indignant did I feel. But then it would have been necessary to confess to him that I had been eavesdropping, and one action balanced out the other. I contented myself with replying that it was not too late.
“It’s not too late, there’s still time, if you want.”
“If I want? But what else do I want, but to be of service to you? What can I desire but for you to be happy, as you deserve?”
“There still is time. Believe me, it’s not that I’m an idler. I’m ready for anything; if she wants me to study law, I’ll go to São Paulo …”