Once alone, it would have been natural to take the coffee and drink it. Well no, sir, I didn’t; I had lost the taste for death. Death was one solution; I had just found another, all the better for not being definitive, and it left the door open for redress, if such a thing were possible. I did not say pardon, I said redress, that is, justice. Whatever the reason for doing so, I rejected death, and awaited Capitu’s return. This took longer than usual; I even feared that she might have gone to my mother’s house, but she hadn’t.
“I confided all my bitterness to God,” said Capitu when she came back from church; “I heard a voice inside me saying that our separation is unavoidable, and I am at your disposal.”
The eyes with which she said this were veiled, as if looking out for a gesture of refusal or postponement. She was counting on my weakness or even on any uncertainty I might have as to the paternity of the boy, but everything failed. Perhaps there was a new man inside me, who came to the surface now, now that new and strong feelings had flushed him out? In that case the new man had merely been hidden. I replied that I was going to think, and we would do whatever I decided. In truth, I can tell you that everything had been thought out and concluded on.
While I was waiting, I had recalled the words of the late Gurgel, when at his house he showed me his wife’s portrait, similar to Capitu’s. You must remember them; if not, reread the chapter, whose number I’ll not give you here, since I can’t remember it, but it’s not far back. They come down to saying that there are these inexplicable resemblances … Later on in the day, and on other days, Ezequiel came with me to my study, and the lad’s features gave a clear idea of those of the other; either that or I paid more attention to them. At the same time, I remembered vague, remote episodes, words, encounters, and incidents, things in which my blindness saw no cunning, and when my old jealousy was not operative. One time when I came across them alone and silent, a secret that made me laugh, a word she spoke when dreaming, all these reminiscences came back now, in such a tumult that they made me dizzy … And why didn’t I strangle them one day, when I turned my eyes away from the street where two swallows were sitting on a telegraph wire? Inside the house, my two other swallows were floating on air, their eyes deep in each other’s eyes, but so cautious that they broke off straight away, saying something cheerful and friendly to me. I recounted the loves of the swallows outside, and they thought it amusing; Escobar said that, for him, it would be better if the swallows, instead of sitting on the wires, were on the dinner table, stewed. “I’ve never eaten their nests,” he went on, “but they must be good, if the Chinese have discovered them.” And we started talking about the Chinese and the classic works that speak of them, while Capitu, confessing that we bored her, went to do other things. Now I remembered everything that at the time had seemed to be nothing.