Ezequiel would not have done such a thing. He would not have made up poisoned meatballs, I presume, but he wouldn’t refuse them either. What he certainly would do is go after the dogs with stones, as far as his legs would carry him. And if he had had a stick, he would have used that. Capitu adored her future warrior.
“He doesn’t take after us; we love peace,” she said to me. one day, but Papa when he was a child was like that, too; Mamma told me.
“Yes, he won’t be a wimp,” I replied, “I can only find one little defect in him; he likes imitating others.”
“Imitate how?”
“Imitate their gestures, their habits, their attitudes; he imitates cousin Justina, José Dias; I’ve even found something of Escobar about the way he moves his feet and eyes …”
Capitu stopped for a moment, thinking and looking at me, and in the end said that we should correct him. She saw now that it was a bad habit of his, but she thought it was only imitating for imitation’s sake, as happens with many adults, who take on others’ mannerisms; but so that it would go no further …”
“There’s no need to be too harsh. We’ve plenty of time to correct him.”
“You’re right, I’ll wait and see. Weren’t you like that too, when you got angry with someone?”
“Yes, I admit it, when I got angry—a child’s way of getting vengeance.”
“Yes, but I don’t like having that kind of imitation in the house.”
“And did you love me in those days?” I said patting her cheek.
Capitu’s reply was a soft mocking laugh, one of those laughs which can’t be described, and hardly painted; then she stretched her arms out and flung them over my shoulders, so full of charm that they seemed—to use a worn image—a garland of flowers. I did the same with mine, and was sorry that there was no sculptor there to copy our posture in a piece of marble. It is true that only the artist would get any glory from it. When a person or a group turn out well, no one wants to know about the model, only the work, and it is the work that endures. No matter: we would know it was us.