Finally, the idea emerged from my brain. It was night, and however much I tried to shake it away from me, I could not sleep. But no night ever passed so quickly. Day dawned, when I thought it was only one or two o’clock. I went out, thinking I would leave the idea behind; it came with me. Outdoors, it had the same black color, the same tremulous wings, and though it flew around with them, it was as though it was fixed; I carried it in my retina, not that it covered up external objects, but I saw them through it; they had a paler color than usual, and my eyes would not rest on them for long.
I can’t remember the rest of the day very well. I know I wrote some letters, and bought a substance, I’ll not say what, so as not to awaken the urge to try it out. The pharmacy has failed, it’s true: the owner became a banker, and the bank is doing well. When I felt death in my pocket I felt as happy as if I had won the grand prize in the lottery, or even more than that, for lottery prizes can be frittered away, which is not true of death. I went to my mother’s house, to say goodbye, on pretence of paying her a visit. Whether it was true or an illusion, everything there seemed better that day; my mother was less sad, Uncle Cosme had forgotten his heart, and cousin Justina her tongue. I spent an hour in peace. I even thought of giving up the project. What did I need to do to live? Never to leave that house again, or clasp that moment to my bosom …