Talking of this, it’s natural for you to ask me if, having been so jealous of her, I didn’t go on being so in spite of my son and the passing years. Yes, sir, I did. I went on being so, to such a point that the least gesture alarmed me, the tiniest word, any kind of insistence on a point; often mere indifference was enough. I came to be jealous of everything and everyone. A neighbor, a waltz partner, any man, young or old, filled me with terror or mistrust. It is true that Capitu liked to be seen, and the most appropriate means to that end (a lady said to me one day) is to see in one’s own right, and one cannot see without showing that one is seeing.
The lady who told me this had taken a fancy to me, I think, and naturally it was because she did not find her affection returned that she explained her insistent eyes in that way. Other eyes sought me out too, not many, and I’ll not say anything about them, since I have already at the beginning confessed to future adventures, but they were still future. At that time, however many beautiful women I came across, none would receive the least part of the love I bore Capitu. I even loved my mother only half as much. Capitu was everything and more than everything; I thought about her constantly, at work or anywhere. We went to the theater together; I only remember twice when I went without her, an actor’s benefit, and the first night of an opera, which she didn’t go to because she was ill, but was determined I should go. It was too late to offer Escobar the box; I went, but I came back at the end of the first act. I found Escobar at the front door.
“I was coming to talk to you,” he said.
I explained that I had gone out to go to the theater, and had come back because of my concern for Capitu, who was ill.
“What of?” asked Escobar.
“She was complaining of her head and stomach.”
“Then I’ll go. I was coming about that business of the embargoes …”
These were some third-party embargoes; an important incident had happened, and since he had dined in town, he hadn’t wanted to go home without telling me about it, but now he would tell me another time …
“No, tell me now, come up; she may be better. If she’s worse, you can leave.”
Capitu was better, in fact quite well. She confessed that she only had a slight headache, but had made it sound worse than it was so that I would go and enjoy myself. She didn’t sound cheerful, which made me think she was lying, so as not to alarm me, but she swore it was the simple truth. Escobar smiled and said:
“My little sister-in-law is as ill as you or me. Let me tell you what’s happened.”