The other day Miranda’s house was getting ready for a party. It was read in the «Jornal do Commercio» that His Excellency he had been awarded the title of Barão do Freixal by the Portuguese government; and as his friends were prepared to go to greet him on Sunday, the merchant was prepared to receive them with dignity.
From the tenement, where this novelty caused a sensation, Leonor or Izaura could occasionally appear in the windows of the manor house, opening wide, shaking rugs and mats, beating them with a bun, eyes closed. , his head twisted inwards because of the dust that rose with each blow, like smoke from a gunshot. New servants were called for those days. In the front parlor, blacks were washing the floors, and in the kitchen there was commotion. Dona Estella, with her chambray hairdresser adorned with pink bows, was caught at a glance, now on one side, now on the other, giving her orders, fanning herself with a large fan; or she would appear on the landing of the back stairs, preoccupied with lifting her skirts against the dirty wash water that trickled into the backyard. Zulmira also came and went, with her cold, damp pallor of a bloodless girl. Henrique, in a white jacket, helped Botelho with the housework and, from moment to moment, arrived at the window to flirt with Pombinha, who pretended not to notice, all soaked in her sewing, at the door of number 15, in a chair. wicker, one leg bent over the other, showing the blue silk stocking and a low-cut black slipper; only from time to time, she took her eyes off the work and raised them to the manor house. Meanwhile, the fat gray figure of the new Baron, in a frock coat, with his high hat pulled back on his head and without letting go of his umbrella, entered the street and crossed the dining room, proceeded to the pantry, diligent and breathless, inquiring if this and that had already come, tasting the wines that arrived in demijohns, examining everything,
—Play! play! Let’s see if the firecracker got the fireworks ready!
And, almost without intermittence, men could be seen arriving, laden with gigos of champagne, cases of port and Bordeaux, barrels of beer, baskets and baskets of groceries, tins and tins of preserves; and others brought turkeys and piglets, egg baskets, quarters of lamb and pork. And the windows of the manor house were filling with jars of jam still hot, fresh from the fire, and crossbars, made of clay and iron, with large pieces of meat in vine and garlic, ready to go into the oven. At the kitchen door they hung a skinned goat by the neck, its legs spread, sinisterly reminiscent of a child who was hanged after skinning it.
However, down below, a throbbing case was stirring the inn: Domingos, Florinda’s seducer, had disappeared during the night and a new clerk had taken his place at the counter.
The salesman retorted crossly to those who asked him about the escaped:
—I know! I don’t think I could wear it around my neck!…
“But you said you answered for her!” replied Marcianna, who looked like she had aged ten years in those last twenty-four hours.
“Agreed, but the scoundrel blinded me!” What shall we do?… It is to have patience!
“Then go with the dowry!”
—What dowry? Are you drunk?
“Drunk, huh?! Oh, corge! so good is one like the other! But I have to show!
“Oh, don’t bother me!”
And Joao Romão turned his back on him to tell Bertoleza that he had arrived.
—Let it be, evil one, that God is the one who will punish for me and my daughter! exclaimed the wretch.
But the shopkeeper walked away, indifferent to the phrases that one or another laundress cursed him. They, however, were no longer as indignant as they had been the day before; a single night over the scandal had sufficed to deprive him of the merit of novelty.
Marcianna went with the little girl in search of the sub-delegate and came back annoyed, because she was told that nothing could be done until the delinquent showed up. Mother and daughter spent all that Saturday on the street, in a lively circle, from the secretariat and police stations to the office of lawyers who, one by one, asked them how much they had to spend on the process, dispatching them, without further considerations as soon as they became aware of the scarcity of resources on both sides.
When the two, prostrate with exhaustion, covered in heat, returned to the inn in the afternoon, when the market men who lived there were already retiring with empty baskets or with the rest of the fruit they had not been able to sell. in the city, Marcianna came so furious that, without a word to her daughter and with my arms bruised from smothering her, I opened the whole house and ran to fetch water to clean the floor. She was possessed.
—See the broom! come on! Lava! lava, what a piece of crap! Seems like you never clean the hell out of this house! Leave it closed for an hour and you stink to death! Learn! this sucks!
And noticing that the little girl was crying: —Now you’re ready to cry, huh?! but on the occasion of relaxation you should be in a good mood!
The daughter sobbed.
“Shut up, bad thing!” Didn’t you hear?
Florinda sobbed harder.
—Oh! do you cry for no reason?… Wait, I make you cry for good reason!
And he threw himself on a log of wood.
But the little mulatto girl, with a leap, punched through the door and crossed the inn’s courtyard in one run, fleeing in a parade down the street.
No one had time to catch it, and a cry of a frightened chicken coop arose among the washerwomen.
Marcianna went to the gate like a madwoman and, realizing that her daughter was abandoning her, she in turn began to sob, arms outstretched, looking into space. Tears were streaming down the lines on her face. And then, without transition, she shot out of the cholera, which had been convulsing her since the morning before, to fall into the humble and tender pain of a mother who has lost her child.
—Where would she go, my heavenly father?…
—Well, since yesterday you’ve been beating the girl!… Rita told him. I run away from you, it’s well done! What the hell! she is made of flesh, not iron!
-My daughter!
“It’s well done! Now cry in bed, that’s hot!
-My daughter! My daughter! My daughter!
No one wanted to take the side of the unfortunate woman, except for the old cabocla, who went to stand next to her, staring at her, immovable, with her wild sorceress look.
Marcianna pulled herself out of the plaintive abstraction into which she had fallen, to raise herself terribly in front of the blindfold, apostrophizing with her hand in the air and her hair disheveled:
—This gallego was to blame for everything! Cursed be you, thief! If you don’t notice my daughter, you bastard, I’ll set your house on fire!
The witch smiled sinisterly at these last words.
The salesman came to the door and ordered Marcianna dryly to clear out number 12.
—It’s walking! is walking! I don’t want this screaming here! Beak, or call an urban! I give you one night! tomorrow morning, street!
Oh! he that day was intolerant of everything and everyone; more than once she had sent Bertoleza to the filthiest thing, just because the latter had asked her some questions concerning the service. They had never seen him like this, so out of his mind, so full of repulsions; nor did he seem to be that same unalterable man, always calm and methodical.
And no one would be able to believe that the cause of all this was the fact that Miranda had been awarded the title of Baron.
Yes sir! that innkeeper, in appearance so humble and so miserable; that miser who never got out of his clogs and his Angola striped shirt; that animal that fed worse than dogs, to put aside everything, everything, that it gained or extorted; that being atrophied by greed and who seemed to have abdicated his privileges and feelings as a man; that wretch, who had never loved anything other than money, now envied Miranda, he really envied him, with double the bitterness of what Dona Estella’s husband had suffered when, in turn, he had envied him. She had been with him since Miranda came to live in the house with his family; he had seen him on the happy occasions of life, full of importance, surrounded by friends and surrounded by flatterers; she had seen him give parties and receive into his house the most prominent figures in the square and in politics; he had seen it shine, like a thick golden top, spinning among the ladies of the best and finest society in Rio de Janeiro; I had seen him dabble in high commercial speculations and do well; he had seen his name appear in several corporations of chosen people and in subscriptions, assigning beautiful amounts; he had seen him take part in charities and parties of national rejoicing; he had seen him praised by the press and hailed as a man of far-sightedness and great financial talent; he had seen him at last in all his prosperity, and he had never been envious of him. But now, strange wonder! when the shopkeeper read in the Jornal do Commercio that his neighbor was a baron—Baron!—I felt such a chill all over my body that the sight went out of my eyes for an instant. I had seen him dabble in high commercial speculations and do well; he had seen his name appear in several corporations of chosen people and in subscriptions, assigning beautiful amounts; he had seen him take part in charities and parties of national rejoicing; he had seen him praised by the press and hailed as a man of far-sightedness and great financial talent; he had seen him at last in all his prosperity, and he had never been envious of him. But now, strange wonder! when the shopkeeper read in the Jornal do Commercio that his neighbor was a baron—Baron!—I felt such a chill all over my body that the sight went out of my eyes for an instant. I had seen him dabble in high commercial speculations and do well; he had seen his name appear in several corporations of chosen people and in subscriptions, assigning beautiful amounts; he had seen him take part in charities and parties of national rejoicing; he had seen him praised by the press and hailed as a man of far-sightedness and great financial talent; he had seen him at last in all his prosperity, and he had never been envious of him. But now, strange wonder! when the shopkeeper read in the Jornal do Commercio that his neighbor was a baron—Baron!—I felt such a chill all over my body that the sight went out of my eyes for an instant. he had seen him take part in charities and parties of national rejoicing; he had seen him praised by the press and hailed as a man of far-sightedness and great financial talent; he had seen him at last in all his prosperity, and he had never been envious of him. But now, strange wonder! when the shopkeeper read in the Jornal do Commercio that his neighbor was a baron—Baron!—I felt such a chill all over my body that the sight went out of my eyes for an instant. he had seen him take part in charities and parties of national rejoicing; he had seen him praised by the press and hailed as a man of far-sightedness and great financial talent; he had seen him at last in all his prosperity, and he had never been envious of him. But now, strange wonder! when the shopkeeper read in the Jornal do Commercio that his neighbor was a baron—Baron!—I felt such a chill all over my body that the sight went out of my eyes for an instant.
-Baron!
And all day long, he didn’t think about anything else. “Baron!… He didn’t count on this one!…” And, in the face of her concern, everything turned into commendas and badges; even the modest two cents of butter, which he measured on a piece of wrapping paper to give to the customer, were transformed from a simple yellow stain into an opulent gold badge studded with diamonds.
At night, when he stretched out in bed, next to Bertoleza, to sleep, he could not sleep. For all the misery of that sordid room; on the filthy walls, on the floor muddy with dust and stumps, on the ceilings funerily veiled by spider webs, luminous dots shone that were transforming into gram-crosses, into habits and venerations of all kinds and types. And around his mind, hallucinating for the first time, a whirlwind of grandeur, which he hardly knew and could hardly imagine, swooped vertiginously, in waves of silk and lace, velvet and pearls, the laps and arms of half-naked women, in a shudder of laughter and foaming with golden wines. And clouds of dress tails and tails of coats went there, swirling deliciously, to the sound of languorous waltzes and the light of candelabra with a thousand candles of all colors. And carriages paraded gleaming, with a crown at the door, the tezo coachman, in livery, riding teams of large horses. And endless tables stretched out, snaking as far as the eye could see, piled high with delicacies, in an enchanting confusion of flowers, lights, tableware and crystals, surrounded on either side by a luxurious row of guests, glass in hand, toasting the amphitryon.
And, because the salesman knew nothing of this up close, but only by the flirtatious and fatuous noise, he was dazzled by his own dream. All that, which the delirium now faced, had hitherto only passed through his eyes or reached his ears as the echo and reflection of an unattainable and distant world; a world inhabited by superior beings; a paradise of exquisite and delicate pleasures, which his gross senses repelled; a harmonious and discreet ensemble of ill-defined and vaporous sounds and colors; a picture of pale, whispering stains, without firmness of paint, or contours, in which one could not determine what was a rose petal or a butterfly’s aza, the murmur of a breeze or the whisper of kisses.
Nevertheless, next to him the Creole was snoring, with her mouth in the air, fat, battered on the job, reeking of a mixture of sweat, raw onions and rotten fat.
But Joao Romão didn’t even notice her; all he saw and felt was that whole voluptuous inaccessible world coming down to earth, coming within reach, slowly, accentuating. And the dubious shadows took shape, and the doubtful and confused voices were transformed into distinct falls, and the lines were clearly drawn, and everything was clarified and everything was clarified, in a revival of nature at the dawn of the sun. The faint sighing murmurs unfolded into dance orchestras, where instruments were distinguished, and the indefinite muted murmurs were already animated conversations, in which ladies and gentlemen discussed politics, arts, literature and science. And a whole, complete, real life unfolded broadly before his fascinated eyes; a noble life, of great luxury, of great money; a palace life, among precious furniture and splendid objects, where he saw himself surrounded by millionaires, and men in embroidered uniforms, whom he treated as you, as an equal, putting his hand on his shoulder. And here he was not, and had never been, the owner of a tenement, in clogs and shirt-sleeves; there was Mr. Baron! The Gold Baron! the Baron of grandeur! the Baron of Millions! seller? Which! it was the famous, the huge capitalist! the unique owner! the incomparable banker, in whose captains the earth was balanced, like an immense globe on top of columns made of gold coins. And he soon saw himself mounted on horseback over the world, intending to encompass it with his short legs; a king’s crown on his head and a scepter in his hand. And soon, from every corner of the room, cascades of pounds sterling began to flow; and at his feet began to form an anthill of pygmies in great commercial movement; and ships unloaded piles and piles of bales and coffins marked with the initials of his name; and telegrams sparked electrically around his head; and steamships of all nationalities whirled dizzily around his colossal body, heaving and whistling relentlessly; and rapid steam trains crossed it all, from one side to the other, as if sewing it together with a chain of wagons.
But suddenly, everything disappeared with the following phrase:
—Wake up, João, to go to the beach. It’s time!
Bertoleza called him that Sunday, as he did every morning, to go get the fish, which she had to prepare for her customers. Joao Romão, afraid of being deceived, never trusted his employees with the smallest cash purchase; that day, however, he didn’t feel like leaving the bed and told his friend to send Manoel.
It would be four in the morning. Elle then managed to pass through sleep.
At six he was up. Opposite, Miranda’s house was already glowing. Flags were hoisted in the front windows; the curtains were changed, myrtle flowers were set up at the entrance and the corridor and the sidewalk were re-covered with mango leaves. Dona Estella had rockets released and bombs burned at dawn. A music band, in front of the house’s door, had been playing since then. The Baron had risen early with his family; all dressed in white, with a lace tie, shiny on the front of his shirt, he would occasionally arrive at one of the windows, beside his wife or daughter, thanking the street; and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief; he lit cigars, smiling, happy, resplendent.
João Romão saw all this with a broken heart. Certain annoying doubts were now gnawing at him. Which would be the best and the most correct:—to have lived as he had lived until then, enjoying hardship, in clogs and shirt sleeves; or have he done like Miranda, eating good things and enjoying himself a lot?… Would he, João Romão, be able to possess and enjoy the same treatment as his neighbor?… deal! but would you have the courage to spend it like that, just like that?… sacrifice a good portion of contos de réis, so painfully accumulated, in exchange for a teat for your chest?… Would you have the courage to share what was yours? , taking a wife, making a family and surrounding yourself with friends?… Would you have the courage to fill the belly of others with fine delicacies and precious wines, when until then had she been so disrespectful to her own?… And, if she decided to change her life radically, join a well-educated lady with distinct manners, set up a house like Miranda’s and become a proprietor, would you be able to do it?… could you do the job?… Would it all depend on your own will?… «Without having ever worn a coat, how would you wear a coat?… with those deformed feet by the devil of clogs, created on the loose, without socks, how would he put on dancing shoes?… And his hands, callous and badly treated, hard as a cowboy’s, how would they work with the glove?… And that still was not everything! The hardest thing would be what he had to say to his guests! … How was he supposed to treat ladies and gentlemen, in the midst of a great hall full of mirrors and gilded chairs? …
And a deep and black disgust seized his heart, a strong desire to want to jump and an invincible fear of falling and breaking his legs. After all, the painful distrust of himself and the terrible conviction of his impotence to intend anything other than to earn money, and more money, and even more, without knowing for what and to what end, ended up souring his soul. and dyeing their ambition with gall and polishing their gold. «It was a beast! … he thought to himself, bitterly: a great beast! … No! because at one time he hadn’t tried to get used to a certain way of life, as so many others of his countrymen and colleagues did?… Why, like them, hadn’t he learned to dance? and had not attended carnival societies? and had he not gone from time to time to Rua do Ouvidor and to the theatres, and to balls, and to races and walks? . Because he hadn’t gotten used to the fine clothes, and the tight shoes, and the cane, and the handkerchief, and the cigar, and the hat, and the beer, and everything that others used naturally, without need privilege for that?… Damn economy!»
—I would have spent more, is it true?… It wouldn’t be so good!… but, well, goodbye! I would be able to do with my money what I liked!… I would be a civilized man!…
—Have you given the opportunity to talk to souls today, Seu Joao?… Bertoleza asked him, noticing that he was talking alone, distracted from his work.
—Leave me! Don’t love me too. I’m not good today!
—O people! I didn’t do anything wrong!… Believing!
—’It’s fine! Enough!
And his bad mood worsened as the day wore on. She started to pick on everything. At the entrance to the store, he got a handle with the street inspector: “Was he some fool there, who was afraid of threats of fines?… to do with the others, to try it out, to see how much the party would cost him!… And not to growl too much, he didn’t like dogs at the door!… It was walking!» He then caught up with Machona, because of a cat like her, who, last week, went to the fried fish tray. He would stop in front of the empty vats, angrily, looking for excuses to scold. With a shout, he ordered the children to get out of his way: “What a plague of lice! Arre, demon! Never seen people so damned to give birth! They looked like mice!” He bumped into old Liborio.
—Get out of the way too, damn you! I don’t know what the hell an old shard like this is doing here in the world, which is no longer good for anything!
He protested against the cocks of a tailor, who amused himself by making them fight, in the midst of a large enthusiastic and noisy circle. He reproached the Italians, because they, in the happy independence of Sunday, had at the door of the house a dunghill of watermelon and orange peels, which they ate chatting away, sitting on the window and the sidewalk.
“I want this clean!” he roared furiously. It’s worse than a pigsty! Learn! I hope the yellow fever licks them all! damn race of worms! You’ll have to bring this to me clean or it’s all out in the street! Here I command!
With poor old Marcianna, who hadn’t tried to evict number 12, according to the eve’s summons, her fury turned to delirium. The unfortunate woman, ever since Florinda had run away from her, had been whimpering and cursing herself, monologued with maniacal persistence. She didn’t sleep a wink all night; she had left and entered the inn more than twenty times, restless, ululating, like a bitch whose puppy has been stolen.
She was goofy; she didn’t answer the questions put to her. Joao Romao spoke to him; she didn’t even turn to listen. And the salesman, more and more excited, went to get two men and ordered them to empty number 12.
—The tarecos out! and now! Here I sent it! Here I am monarch!
And she had the unyielding gestures of a despot.
Eviction has begun.
-No! not in here! All out there! in the street! he shouted when the porters wanted to put Marcianna’s trains on the pavement. Outside the gate! Outside the gate!
And the poor woman, without saying a word, watched the eviction, crouching in the street, her knees together, her hands crossed over her shins, muttering. Passersby stopped, staring at her. A group of onlookers had already formed. But no one understood what she was growling; it was a confused, interminable grumble, accompanied by a single sad, automatic nod of the head. Nearby, the old mattress, already torn up and gutted, the disjointed and unvarnished furniture, the bundles of useful rags, the ordinary and dirty crockery, had, all piled up and without order, an unseemly air of a bedroom interior. , ravished in flagrant intimacy. And the man with the five instruments came, who always appeared on Sundays; and the entry and exit of the merchants was made; and washerwomen took to the street in walking clothes, and the boards in starched clothes, who knew, they crossed paths with the bags of dirty laundry that were coming in; and Marcianna didn’t move from her seat, monologued. João Romão walked around number 12, opening the doors wide, throwing open arms and pushing out, with his foot, some rag or some empty bottle that had been abandoned there; and the shooed woman, indifferent to everything, continued to whisper mournfully. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were still slowing down in their mute fixity. Some women of the inn would come to her from time to time, now grieved again, and make offerings to her; Marcianna didn’t respond. They wanted to force her to eat; there was no way. The wretch paid no attention to anything; she didn’t seem to notice anyone. They called her by her name again and again; she persisted in her unintelligible monologue, without taking her eyes off one point. and Marcianna didn’t move from her seat, monologued. João Romão walked around number 12, opening the doors wide, throwing open arms and pushing out, with his foot, some rag or some empty bottle that had been abandoned there; and the shooed woman, indifferent to everything, continued to whisper mournfully. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were still slowing down in their mute fixity. Some women of the inn would come to her from time to time, now grieved again, and make offerings to her; Marcianna didn’t respond. They wanted to force her to eat; there was no way. The wretch paid no attention to anything; she didn’t seem to notice anyone. They called her by her name again and again; she persisted in her unintelligible monologue, without taking her eyes off one point. and Marcianna didn’t move from her seat, monologued. João Romão walked around number 12, opening the doors wide, throwing open arms and pushing out, with his foot, some rag or some empty bottle that had been abandoned there; and the shooed woman, indifferent to everything, continued to whisper mournfully. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were still slowing down in their mute fixity. Some women of the inn would come to her from time to time, now grieved again, and make offerings to her; Marcianna didn’t respond. They wanted to force her to eat; there was no way. The wretch paid no attention to anything; she didn’t seem to notice anyone. They called her by her name again and again; she persisted in her unintelligible monologue, without taking her eyes off one point. throwing open the doors, throwing open and pushing out, with his foot, some rag or some empty bottle that had been abandoned there; and the shooed woman, indifferent to everything, continued to whisper mournfully. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were still slowing down in her mute fixity. Some women of the inn would come to her from time to time, now grieved again, and make offerings to her; Marcianna didn’t respond. They wanted to force her to eat; there was no way. The wretch paid no attention to anything; she didn’t seem to notice anyone. They called her by her name again and again; she persisted in her unintelligible monologue, without taking her eyes off one point. throwing open the doors, throwing open and pushing out, with his foot, some rag or some empty bottle that had been abandoned there; and the shooed woman, indifferent to everything, continued to whisper mournfully. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were still slowing down in her mute fixity. Some women of the inn would come to her from time to time, now grieved again, and make offerings to her; Marcianna didn’t respond. They wanted to force her to eat; there was no way. The wretch paid no attention to anything; she didn’t seem to notice anyone. They called her by her name again and again; she persisted in her unintelligible monologue, without taking her eyes off one point. continued to whisper mournfully. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were still slowing down in her mute fixity. Some women of the inn would come to her from time to time, now grieved again, and make offerings to her; Marcianna didn’t respond. They wanted to force her to eat; there was no way. The wretch paid no attention to anything; she didn’t seem to notice anyone. They called her by her name again and again; she persisted in her unintelligible monologue, without taking her eyes off one point. continued to whisper mournfully. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were still slowing down in her mute fixity. Some women of the inn would come to her from time to time, now grieved again, and make offerings to her; Marcianna didn’t respond. They wanted to force her to eat; there was no way. The wretch paid no attention to anything; she didn’t seem to notice anyone. They called her by her name again and again; she persisted in her unintelligible monologue, without taking her eyes off one point. He didn’t seem to notice anyone’s presence. They called her by name again and again; she persisted in her unintelligible monologue, without taking her eyes off one point. He didn’t seem to notice anyone’s presence. They called her by name again and again; she persisted in her unintelligible monologue, without taking her eyes off one point.
—Crosses! looks like it gave you some!
Augusta had arrived too.
—Has he gone mad?… he asked Rita, who, beside her, was looking at the unfortunate woman, with a plate of food in her hand. Poor thing!
“Aunt Marcianna!” said the mulatto. Don’t be like this! Stand up! Get your trains inside! Go to the house until you find storage!…
Anything! The monologue continued.
—Look, it’s going to rain! It won’t take long to fall now! I already felt two drops on my face.
Which!
The Witch, at some distance, was looking at her strangely, equally immovable, as if by an effect of suggestion.
Rita walked away, because Firmo had just arrived, accompanied by Porfiro, bringing both packages for dinner. Das Dôres’ friend also came. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Miranda’s house was still a lively party, increasingly full of visitors; inside, the music almost took no breath, putting on quadrilles and waltzes; girls and girls danced in the front room with much laughter; bottles were uncorked all the time; servants came and went, in a race, from the dining room to the pantry and the kitchen, laden with glasses in salutes; Henrique, sweaty and red, appeared from time to time at the window, impatient not to see Pombinha, who was out that day with her mother at Leonie’s house.
Joao Romão, after working the shop with the clerks and Bertoleza, returned to the backyard of the inn, complaining that everything was going very badly there. He censured the quarry workers, naming Jeronymo himself, whose physical strength had, moreover, always intimidated him. “That crap service was relaxing! For three weeks they had been with a drill idly, without tying or untying; After all, Sunday had arrived and the fire hadn’t even burned! A real calamari! Your Jeronymo, who used to be so accurate, was now the first to set a bad example! he wasted nights at samba! he didn’t let go of Rita Bahiana’s tracks and seemed to be in love with her! He had no way! » Pity, hearing the salesman speak ill of his man, he jumped in defense of him with two stones in his hand, and a fight broke out, breaking all the spirits. Fortunately, the rain falling in full, he came to disperse the gathering that was becoming serious. Each one ran to his hole, in an exaggerated uproar; the children undressed and came outside to bathe under the gutters, by pagoda, screaming, laughing, jumping and throwing themselves to the ground, kicking; pretending to swim. And there in front, in the manor, toasts were boiling, while the water gushed copiously, flooding the patio.
When João Romão entered the store, getting out of the rain, a clerk handed him a card from Miranda. It was an invitation to go there at night for a cup of tea.
The innkeeper, at first, was flattered by the gift, the first of its kind that he received in his life; but soon afterwards his anger returned with even greater impetuosity. That invitation irritated him like an outrage, a provocation. «Why had the bastard invited him, having to know that he certainly wouldn’t go there?… Why, if not to piss him off even more than he already was?!… Seu Miranda should go to the table with his party and with your titles!”
“I don’t need him for anything!” exclaimed the salesman. I don’t need, nor do I depend on any Safardan! If I liked parties, I’d throw them!
However, he began to imagine what it would be like, in case he was prepared with clothes and accepted the invitation; he was well dressed, in fine cloth, with a good watch chain, a tie with a diamond pin; and he saw himself up there, in the middle of the room, smiling from side to side, paying attention to one, paying attention to the other, discreetly silent and affable, feeling that he was quoted from the sides in a dull and respectful voice like a rich man, full of independence. And he could guess the approving looks of serious people; the curious glasses of the old women were fixed on him, trying to see if there was a good arrangement for one of the daughters of lesser price.
On that day I served my customers poorly and poorly; he tried to repel Bertoleza and when, at five o’clock, he saw Marcianna, who, out of compassion, had dragged some blacks into the store, she ranted:
— Oh, balls! Why the hell is this stupor putting me in my house?! I like to see such charities with what belongs to others! This isn’t a crook for bums!…
And, as a policeman, all soaked with rain, went in to drink a sip of paraty, João Romão turned to him and said: — Comrade, this woman is beautiful! She doesn’t have a home, and I won’t, when I close the door, keep her here inside the shop!
The soldier left, and within an hour Marcianna was carried off to chess, without the slightest protest and without interrupting her demented monologue. The cacareos were collected from the public deposit by order of the block inspector. And the Witch was the only one who seemed really impressed by it all.
However, the rain completely stopped, the sun reappeared, as if to say goodbye; swallows cooed through the air; and the tenement throbbed in its full frenzy of Sunday merriment. In the baron’s rooms the party grew louder and louder; every now and then a glass would break on the inn’s courtyard, raising protests and scuffles.
The night arrived very beautiful, with a beautiful moonlight of a full moon, which began at twilight; and the samba broke out louder and earlier than usual, spurred on by the great excitement that was taking place at Miranda’s house.
It was a brave forrobodó. Rita Bahiana that night was in the mood for it; she was inspired! divine! She had never danced with such grace and such lubricity!
also sang. And each verse that came from her mulatto mouth was a tearful coo of a dove in heat. And Firmo, drunk with lust, curled up all over the guitar; and the guitar and he moaned with the same gusto, grunting, yelping, meowing, with all the voices of sensual animals, in a despair of lust that penetrated to the marrow with very fine snake lingoes.
Jeronymo could not contain himself: at the moment when the Bahian woman, panting with fatigue, became exhausted, sitting down next to her, the Portuguese whispered to her in a voice strangled with passion:
-My dear! if you want to be with me, I’ll give the demo a leg!
The mulatto didn’t hear him, but he noticed the whispering and stood, frowning, surreptitiously prowling around his rival.
The singing and dancing continued, however, without letting up. The Dores came in. Nênêm, another friend of hers, who had gone to spend the day with her, swung around with their hands on their chairs, swaying in the middle of a round of cadenced clapping, to the accompaniment of the broken rhythm of the music.
When Piedade’s husband said a second whisper to Rita, Firmo had to make a great effort not to go straight to the cable.
But in the middle of the pagoda, the Bahian woman had fallen into the imprudence of melting into the Portuguese and blowing her a secret, rolling her eyes. Firm, with a jump, then straightened up in front of him, measuring him from top to bottom with a provocative and bold look. Jeronymo, also standing up, replied haughtily with the same gesture.
The instruments soon fell silent. There was a deep silence. Nobody moved from the place where she was. And, in the middle of the big circle, broadly illuminated by the heady April moonlight, the two men, profiled opposite each other, looked at each other in defiance.
Jeronymo was tall, broad-shouldered, built like a bull, with the neck of Hercules, a fist to break a coconut with a punch: he was quiet strength, a leaden pulse. The other—slender, a hand shorter than the Portuguese, with dry legs and arms, the agility of a margay: he was nervous strength; it was the rapture that destroys everything in the shock of the first moment. One, solid and tough; the other, light and fearless; but both brave.
—Sit down! Sit down!
—No roll!
-Follow the dance! shouted around.
Pity had arisen to remove her man from there.
The horseman pushed her away, without taking his eyes off the mulatto.
“Let me see what this goat wants from me!” he growled.
—Give you a smoke bath, common gallego! replied Firmo, face to face; now advancing and retreating, always with one foot in the air, and swaying his whole body and waving his arms, as if prepared to grab him.
Jeronymo, enraged by the insult, came up to his opponent with an armed punch; the goat, however, quickly dropped onto his back, steadied himself on his hands, his body suspended, his right leg raised; and the punch went over, piercing the space, while the Portuguese caught an unexpected kick in the belly.
-Scoundrel! shouted possessed; and he was about to swoop down on the mulatto, when a headbutt threw him to the ground.
“Get up, I don’t give dead bodies!” exclaimed Firmo, standing up, repeating his whole body dance.
The other one had straightened up and, as soon as he had balanced himself, he was already tripping to the right, while from the left he received a tap on the ear. Furious, I threw another punch, but the capoeira jumped like a cat and the Portuguese felt a kick in the chin.
Blood splattered from his mouth and nostrils. Then there was a hideous cry. The women wanted to get in between, but the goat overturned them with quick sweeps, whose movement of the legs was barely perceptible. A horrible trouble was forming. Joao Romão hurriedly closed the doors of the shop and locked the inn’s gate, then ran to the place where the fight was taking place. Bruno, the peddlers, the quarry workers, and all the others who tried to hold the mulatto, had rolled around him, forming a clean circle, in the middle of which the terrible capoeira, out of his mind, mad, reigned, leaping in all directions at once, without allowing anyone to approach. The terror elicited high-pitched screams. Everyone was already scared, except for Rita, who, from a distance, could see, arms crossed, those two men beating each other over her; a slight smile curled her lips. The moon was hidden; the weather had changed: the sky, clean as it was, had turned the color of a slate; there was a damp wind of rain. Piedade shouted, calling for the police; she had taken a chin-switch from her husband, because she insisted on taking him out of the fight. Miranda’s windows were crowded with people. Whistles were heard, blown with desperation.
At this, the roar of an enraged beast echoed in the inn: Firmo had just received, without waiting, a formidable blow to the head. It’s just that Jeronymo had run to the house and armed himself with his Minho pole. And then the mulatto, with his face bathed in blood, refining his fangs and foaming with anger, had raised his right arm, on which the blade of a razor had been gleaming.
There was a stampede around the two adversaries, noisy, full of fear. Women and men ran over each other, falling on top of each other. Albino had lost consciousness; Pity she cried out, terrified and in sobs, that the man was going to kill her; Das Dôres scolded and cursed at that stupidity of gutting themselves because of a woman’s crotch; Machona, armed with an iron, swore to open her mouth to anyone who gave her a second kick as she had just received one in the hips; Augusta had slipped through the back door of the inn, to cross the grass and go out into the street to see if she could discover her husband, who might be on duty on the block. On that side, the curious would come, and the courtyard was filled with people from outside. Dona Isabel and Pombinha, back from Leonie’s house, had difficulty getting to number 15, where, as soon as they entered, they closed in on themselves, cursing the old woman against the disorder and lamenting the fate that had thrown them into that hell. In the meantime, in the midst of a new circle, supported by the people, the Portuguese and the Brazilian were fighting.
Now the fight was regular: there was equality of parties, because the cowboy played the paddle admirably; he played it as well as the other played his capoeiragem. Embalde Firmo was trying to reach him; Jeronymo, weighing the thick stick in half in his right hand, swung it with such skill and lightness around his body that it seemed enshrouded in an impenetrable, hissing web. His weapon could not be seen, only a whir of air was heard simultaneously cut in all directions.
And while defending, attacking. The Brazilian had already received paddles on the forehead, neck, shoulders, arms, chest, kidneys and legs. The blood was all over him; he roared and panted, angry and tired, charging now with his feet, now with his head, and getting rid of here, getting rid of there, with leaps and somersaults.
The victory leaned to the Portuguese side. The spectators were already cheering him enthusiastically; but, suddenly, the capoeira dived, in a glance, until the opponent’s shins and appeared close to his feet, glued to him, ripping his belly with a knife.
Jeronymo let out a low moo and collapsed, holding his intestines.
“Kill!” Killed! Killed! exclaimed all in amazement.
The whistles blew more wildly.
Firmo went through the back of the tenement and disappeared into the grass.
-Handle! Handle!
“Alas, my rich man! howled Pity, throwing herself on her knees over her husband’s bloodied body. Rita had also come on her way to throw herself on the floor next to him, to stroke his beard and hair.
“The doctor is needed!” she begged that one, looking around in search of a charitable soul to help her.
But at this a clatter of formidable planks crashes through the inn’s gate. The gate shook with a crash and groaned.
—Open! Open! complained outside.
João Romão crossed the courtyard, like a general in danger, shouting to everyone:
“Don’t enter the police!” Don’t let in! hold on! hold on!
-Does not enter! Does not enter! echoed the crowd in chorus.
And the whole tenement boiled like a pot over the fire.
—Hold on! hold on!
Jeronymo was carried to the bedroom, moaning, in the arms of the woman and the mulatto woman.
—Hold on! hold on!
From each cocoon, men armed with bread, logs of wood, iron rods spied. A collective effort now stirred them, all of them, in a spirited solidarity, as if they would be forever disgraced if the police entered there for the first time. As long as it was a simple fight between two rivals, he was right! “Throw the Christian women there, the most man would have the woman!” but now it was a matter of defending the inn, the commune, where everyone had to look after someone or something dear.
-Does not enter! Does not enter!
And thunderous screams responded to the boards, which ferociously repeated outside.
The police were the great terror of those people, because whenever they penetrated any inn, there was great strop: in order to prevent and punish gambling and drunkenness, the urbanites invaded the rooms, broke what was there, put everything in uproar. It was a matter of old hate.
And while the men guarded the entrance to the grass and supported the front gate with their backs, the women, in disarray, rolled the tubs, pulled out gyraos, dragged carts, the remains of mattresses and sacks of lime, hurriedly forming a barricade.
The boards multiplied. The gate creaked, creaked, began to open; would give in. But the barricade was made and everyone was entrenched behind it. Those who entered from the outside out of curiosity could not leave and found themselves involved in surumbamba. The garden fences flew. The terrible Machona had sniffed her skirts and held her iron in her hand. The one in Dores, which no one gave a damn about her, was one of the toughest and which seemed most committed to defence.
At last the gate chipped; a big hole will open soon; boards fell; and the first four urbanites who rushed in were received with stones and empty bottles. Others followed. There were about twenty. A sack of lime, poured over them, bewildered them.
Then the big trouble began. The sabers could not reach anyone through the trench; while the projectiles, thrown from within, routed the enemy. The sergeant already had his head broken and two soldiers were leaving the field, for lack of air.
It was impossible to invade that stronghold with so few elements, but the police insisted, not more out of obligation than out of a personal need for effort. Such resistance humiliated them. If they had shotguns they would fire. The only one of them who managed to climb the barricade, rolled down under a load of bread and had to be carried out into the street by his companions. Bruno, covered in blood, was now armed with a refle and Porfiro, master of capoeiragem, was wearing an urban shako on his head.
“Away with the bats!”
-Outside! Outside!
And with each exclamation, take a stone! take firewood! take lime! take the bottle bottom!
The whistles blared louder and louder.
On this occasion, however, Nênêm shouted, running towards the barricade.
—Help here! Help here! There’s fire in number 12. Smoke is coming out!
-Fire!
At this cry, a general panic seized the tenement dwellers. A fire would lick those hundred little houses while the devil rubs an eye!
A dreadful confusion soon ensued. Each thought of saving what was his. And the police, taking advantage of the terror of their opponents, advanced with impetuosity, taking what they found in front and finally penetrating the infernal redoubt, slashing to the right and to the left, as if tearing up a herd. The crowd was running over each other, bursting into a din. Some fled to prison; others took care to defend the house. But the squares, mad with cholera, filled the doors and started invading and breaking everything, thirsty for revenge.
At this, the thunder rumbled in space. The north wind hummed more stridently and a great foot of water collapsed closed.
