Now I will recount old Pádua’s goodbyes. Early in the morning he came to our house. My mother told him to go and speak to me in my room.
“May I?” he asked, putting his head round the door.
I went to shake his hand; he embraced me tenderly.
“May you be happy!” he said to me, “You will be greatly missed by me and all my family, believe me. We all have a great regard for you, as you deserve. If anyone says anything different, don’t believe him. It’s wicked intrigues. When I married I, too, was the victim of intrigues; they were soon undone. God is great and knows the truth. If some day you were to lose your mother and uncle—something which, by the light of heaven, I hope never happens, for they are good people, excellent people, and I am grateful for the kindnesses they have shown me … No, I’m not like others, certain parasites, outsiders who sow dissension in families, vulgar flatterers, no, not me; I’m not like that; I don’t gorge myself on other people’s food, or live in other people’s houses … Still, they’re the lucky ones!”
“Why does he talk like this?” I thought. “He must know that José Dias speaks ill of him.”
“But, as I was saying, if some day you should lose your family, you can count on our company. Of course it’s not enough, but our affection is enormous, believe me. Priest or not, our house is at your disposal. I only ask that you don’t forget me, don’t forget old Pádua …”
He sighed and went on:
“Don’t forget your old Pádua: if you’ve some trifle you could leave me as a souvenir, a Latin exercise book, anything, a waistcoat button, any little thing that’s of no use to you. The memories are what matter.”
I gave a start. I had wrapped in paper a long and beautiful lock of my hair, that I had cut the previous day. My intention was to take it to Capitu when I left; but I had the idea of giving it to the father—the daughter would know to keep it safe. I took the packet and gave it him.
“Here: keep this.”
“A lock of your hair!” exclaimed Pádua opening and shutting the packet. “Oh, thank you! Thank you from me and my family! I’ll give it to the old woman for safekeeping, or to the youngster: she’s more careful than her mother. Aren’t they lovely? How could you have cut such beautiful hair? Give me an embrace! Another! And another! Goodbye!”
His eyes were really moist; his face had a disillusioned look, like someone who has saved up all his hopes, and put them on a single lottery ticket, only for the accursed number to draw a blank—such a lovely number, too!