On the way, we met the Emperor,* who was coming from the School of Medicine. The bus we were in stopped, as did all the other vehicles; the passengers got out and removed their hats until the Imperial coach had passed. When I went back to my seat, I had a fantasy, nothing less than the idea of going to see the Emperor, telling him everything and asking him to intervene. I wouldn’t confide this idea to Capitu. “If His Majesty asks, Mamma will give way,” I thought to myself.
Then I saw the Emperor listening to me, reflecting and in the end saying yes, he would go and speak to my mother; and I kissed his hand, with tears in my eyes. Next thing, I was at home waiting, until I heard the outriders and the cavalry escort: It’s the Emperor! It’s the Emperor! Everybody came to the window to see him pass by, but he didn’t pass by. The coach stopped at our door, and the Emperor got out and came in. Great excitement in the neighborhood: “The Emperor has gone into Dona Glória’s house! What on earth can be happening?” Our family came out to receive him; my mother was the first to kiss his hand. Then the Emperor, all smiles, whether he came into the living room or not—I don’t remember, dreams are often confused—asked my mother not to make me a priest, and she, flattered and obedient, promised she would not.
“Medicine—why don’t you send him to study medicine?”
“If such is Your Majesty’s pleasure …”
“Send him to study medicine; it’s a fine career, and we’ve got good teachers here. Haven’t you ever been to our School? It’s splendid. We’ve got first-class doctors, who can match the best in other countries. Medicine is a great science; the mere fact that it gives health, identifies diseases, combats them, defeats them … You yourself must have seen miracles. True, your husband died, but the illness was fatal, and he didn’t take sufficient care of himself … It’s a fine career; send him to our School. Do it for me, will you? Is that what you want, Bentinho?”
“If Mamma wants.”
“I do, my son. It is His Majesty’s command.”
Then the Emperor held out his hand to be kissed, and went out, accompanied by all of us, with the street full of people and the windows crammed. There was an astonished silence. The Emperor entered the coach, bowed, and said goodbye with his hand, still repeating: “Medicine, our School.” And the coach left, amid envy and humble thanks.
All this I saw and heard. For Ariosto’s imagination was no more fertile than that of children and lovers; and the corner of a bus is enough space to see the impossible. For some moments—minutes, even—I consoled myself with this vision, until the plan collapsed and I returned to the dreamless faces of my fellow passengers.