Aluísio Azevedo, 1890.

A Brazilian Tenement [O Cortiço] Translated from the

Portuguese by Harry W. Brown, New York: Robert McBride and Company, 1926.

CHAPTER ONE

From the age of thirteen to twenty-five João Romão was employed by a vender who grew rich
within the four walls of an obscure and untidy taverna or wayside bar within the bounds of that
section of Rio de Janeiro known as Botafogo. He spent nothing from the meager wages he earned
during these dozen years, and, upon settling accounts with his master when that worthy resolved to
retire to Portugal whence he came, João Romão received in payment for his years of toil not only the
bar and all that it contained, but also fifteen hundred milreis in money.
Established in business on his own account, the youth applied himself with even more ardor, so
thoroughly possessed of the mania to grow rich that he willingly endured the most rigorous
privations. He slept on the counter of the bar, a burlap sack filled with straw serving as his pillow.
Board was secured, at the modest rate of a half milreis a day, at the lunch stand of his neighbor,
Bertoleza, a negress in her thirties, the slave of a blind man who had removed to Juiz da Fora to pass
the evening of life among the scenes of his youth. Bertoleza lived with a Portuguese man who served
as motive power for a hand cart with which he did a dray business in the city.
Bertoleza also was a hard worker and her quitanda was the most widely patronized in the
neighborhood. In the morning she sold manioc porridge and at night fried fish and liver. In lieu of
service she paid her mas-1 ter twenty milreis a month, and in spite of this burden she had managed to
save almost enough to buy her freedom. But one day her man, pushing a load beyond his strength,
fell dead in the street at the side of his cart, like a worn-out beast.
João Romão showed himself greatly concerned by this catastrophe, even going so far as to
participate in the grief of his neighbor, and with such zeal did he lament that the good creature chose
him as her nearest friend, to whom she could confide her sorrows. She opened her heart to him and
recounted the sufferings and difficulties of her life. Her master "was like to eat the hide off her
body." It wasn't any joke scraping together twenty milreis in good money every month and paying it
over just for the privilege of working like a dog. And then she whispered to him the secret of the
almost-enough for her liberty, and finally ended by begging the vender to take charge of her savings,
because once thieves had broken in the rear door of her stand during the night.
From that moment João Romão constituted himself banker, attorney, and counselor of the negress.
It was he who took charge of all she produced and who received and expended the earnings of her
business, even remitting the monthly tribute of twenty milreis to her absent master. In business-like
fashion he opened with her an account current, and when she needed a little money for any purpose
she ran over to the bar and received it from the hands of the vender-"Mr. João," as she called him.
João methodically debited such sums2 in a notebook on whose paper cover were unevenly pasted
letters cut from a newspaper forming the title: "Account of Bertoleza."
To such an extent did the vender win the confidence of the black woman that very shortly she
decided nothing for herself; but blindly followed the Portuguese's advice in everything. So much so
that nobody having business with Bertoleza wasted time on her when the affair might be expedited
by going direct to João Romão.
And her love went with her faith and her money. He proposed that she move in with him and she
joyfully agreed, glad to set up housekeeping again with a Portuguese, because, like most negresses,
Bertoleza avoided blacks and instinctively sought a man of a superior race.
Therefore, with the savings of his new mate João Romão purchased a few meters of land at the left
of his dingy bar and there constructed a little house of two rooms, the one in front destined for

1
p3
2
p4

1
 Bertoleza's thriving quitanda and the rear room to serve as the family sleeping apartment, furnished
with the belongings of the newcomer. There was not only a bed, but also an ancient bureau of
jacaranda with handles of tarnished brass, an oratory full of saints and lined with colored paper, a big
trunk of cured cowhide with the hair outside, two wooden stools and an imposing shelf with its
traditional cover of giddy calico.
The vender never had imagined himself possessed of so much furniture.3
"Now," said he to the negress, "things are going to be better for you. You're going to be free; I'll
make up the difference."
During the days that followed he made numerous trips to town and a week later produced a sheet of
paper covered with writing, which he read in a loud voice to his companion.
"Now you haven't any master," he declared after the reading, to which she had listened with tears
of thankfulness. "Now you're free. From now on everything you make is for you and your children,
if you ever have any. Slavery's finished and no more twenty milreis to be paid to that blind pest."
"Poor old fellow, he did nothing wrong. He was my master and he collected wages for me, as was
his right." "Right or wrong, it's finished. Now you begin a new life."
Contrary to all previous custom they opened on this day a bottle of wine straight from Oporto and
the two drank in honor of the great event. Little did the poor negress imagine that the imposing
certificate of freedom was the work of João Romão, not even the stamp which he thought well to
affix representing any expenditure, as the sly trickster had emphasized the document's appearance of
ponderous legality by pasting on one whose face bore the damning evidence of a previous
transaction. Bertoleza's master was far from knowing anything of this swindle. He merely heard that
after the tragic death of the carter his slave had fled to Bahia.
"Let the old blind devil come here and look for her if he wants to," muttered the vender to himself.
"He'll4 need two pairs of eyes to find her." But notwithstanding this brave front, João Romão felt
much relieved three months later when he heard of the death of the blind master. The slave would
naturally belong to one or another of the old man's children, but from them there was little to fear. A
couple of gay sons settling an estate would have enough to do without attempting to trail a runaway
negress whom neither of them had seen for years. They would properly conclude that by long years
of labor she had more than earned her freedom.
Bertoleza now played at João Romão's side the triple role of partner, servant, and lover. A drudge
she was, it is true, but a happy one. Day after day by four o'clock in the morning she was up and at
work. Coffee must be prepared for early customers and midday lunch made ready for the workmen
at the quarry on the hillside back of the quitanda. There was the house to be cleaned, cooking to be
done, and the counter to be tended in João's bar when he was called away. Her own customers were
dropping in during the day, and in the evening she was really busy. Installed behind a charcoal stove
set close to the door of the establishment, Bertoleza deftly fried a mountain of liver and broiled a sea
of sardines which had been brought at daylight from the market at the beach by João Romão, in his
shirt sleeves, his bare feet thrust into tamancos (wooden-soled sandals to which the Brazilians
contemptuously refer as ('the only invention of the Portuguese"). And her industry was such that she
found time to wash and mend, not only her own clothes, but also those of her man.5
The latter, it must be confessed, did not form a discouraging array. A month's washing for João
Romão consisted of a few pairs of denim pants and an equal number of cotton shirts.
João Romão never went out to enjoy himself, nor did he attend mass on Sunday. Every copper
brought in by his bar, along with the returns of the quitanda, went straight into his savings fund and
thence to the bank. With such zeal was this process followed that when, a year after his union with
the negress, the lot adjoining the taverna at the rear was sold at auction, João Romão bid it in and
without loss of time set about the construction of three small houses thereon.

3
p5
4
p6
5
p7

2
 And what miracles of economy and trickery entered into their construction! João, himself, was the
mason. He carried sand, mixed mortar, and broke stone stone thriftily acquired with Bertoleza's help
from the quarry at the rear during hours when the less industrious neighbors were wrapt in slumber.
The same methods were followed in abstracting materials from various projects under construction
on the neighboring streets. These thefts were conducted with caution and invariably crowned with
complete success, thanks to the lax policing of those days. A stroll at sundown enabled João Romão
to note which jobs had on hand material for the following day's labor. Under cover of darkness he
was sure to reappear, accompanied by Bertoleza, whereupon lumber, bricks, tiles, and sacks of lime
were transferred to the street with such skill that never a sound reached the ears of the sleeping
neighbors. Then, while one carried a load of the plunder home, the other remained6 on guard, ready
to give warning in case of danger. Nothing escaped them, even the ladders, benches, and saw-horses
of the workmen forming a part of the loot. And many an artisan cursed the blind trust that persuaded
him to leave a tool lying out overnight. It should be recorded here that those three little huts so
ingeniously constructed formed the humble beginnings of the great São Romão Tenement.
Today a few meters of land, to-morrow a few more, step by step the vender acquired the
considerable field lying between his frontage and the quarry at the base of the hill. And as fast as a
new patch of ground became his it was promptly covered by a twin sister of the original structure
made possible by the involuntary contributions of the neighborhood. All were for rent, and as fast as
new huts arose there appeared new tenants to occupy them.
Always in his shirt sleeves, with never a Sunday or holiday, never missing an opportunity to snatch
what was not his nor paying a debt if it could be avoided, but collecting to the last copper what was
due him, a master hand at scant measure and short weight, buying for a song what unfaithful slaves
stole from their masters, cutting closer and closer his own expenditures, piling privation on privation,
working himself and the negress like a yoke of oxen, João Romão finally welcomed the day on
which he was able to buy a good part of the splendid quarry at which he had gazed for years, when
seated for a moment at sundown in the door of his shack. It was at such moments, the only rest he
allowed himself between dawn and darkness, that he gave full7 play to the covetousness burning
within him. And now it was his-the dream of years had come to pass.
He immediately put six men to work quarrying and six others trimming paving slabs and building
stone, and then began making money on a large scale-so large that in a year and a half he was able to
buy all of the land between his property and the quarry, three fair acres of ground, level and ready for
construction. It happened that just at this time there was sold a comfortable two-story residence at
the right of João Romão's bar, its windows looking out over the vender's land, and its shallow lot
extending only part way back to the quarry. The land between was a part of João Romão's last
purchase. The new owner of this residence was a certain Miranda, a Portuguese merchant with a
wholesale dry-goods business downtown on Rua Hospicio. After a general cleaning-up of the house
it was Miranda's intention to occupy it with his family, as his wife, Dona Estella, a pretentious
woman who affected claims to noble blood, could no longer endure living in the congested
downtown section, while her young daughter, Zulmira, was thin and pallid and needed space and
fresh air.
This is what Miranda explained to his business associates, but the true reason for the move was the
necessity, which he recognized as imperative, of placing Dona Estella out of reach of his clerks. For
Dona Estella was a little woman who simply couldn't be good. During their thirteen years of married
life she had filled her husband's cup with misery. Before the second anniversary of the union had
rolled around8 Miranda had found her unfaithful, caught her in the very act. Naturally, he had been
filled with fury and his first impulse was to drive her from the house along with her paramour. But
the security of his business was based upon her dowry, the eighty contos in real estate and

6
p8
7
p9
8
p10

3
 government bonds with which her family had started the young couple off on the road to prosperity.
Miranda's credit rested exclusively on his wife's eighty thousand milreis.
Then, too, he had dreaded the scandal and gossip that was sure to be occasioned by an abrupt
separation. A man of vanity, he prided himself on the little social position he had won, and had not
the courage to endure humiliation and start over again, poor, at the foot of the ladder. He could
remember his humble beginning and he dreaded a return to it. He felt all the indignation of the
outraged husband but he could not forsake the superior airs he had affected since he had taken his
place in the eyes of the community as a rich Portuguese who never mentioned Portugal. Cowed by
these considerations, he had contented himself with a simple separation of sleeping quarters and
arranged a room apart from that of his wife. They never appeared at the table together and with
difficulty exchanged a few words of strained conversation on the rare occasions when they could not
avoid each other's company.
They grew frankly to hate each other. Each felt for the other a profound contempt which little by
little was transformed into complete repugnance. The birth of Zulmira only served to aggravate the
situation. The9 poor child, instead of being a bond between the unhappy couple, was but another
obstacle separating them. Estella loved her less than maternal instinct would otherwise warrant
because she knew her to be the husband's child, while he, for his part, detested the infant through the
conviction that he was not her father. But there had come a night when Miranda's lascivious
temperament gained the upper hand. He thought of his wife, but instantly rejected the idea with
scrupulous repugnance. He still hated her. But curiously enough, the very fact that honor
commanded him to regard her with indifference but served to make the unfaithful wife appear the
more desirable. Finally, with no diminishing of his anger at her infidelity he slipped into her room.
She was fast asleep. Miranda tiptoed to the bed. He must go back, he thought; things would be
worse than ever. But his blood flowed faster and he hesitated, immovable, contemplating her with
desire. Estella, unconscious of the gaze of her husband, stirred restlessly in her sleep, and turned
upon her back in such manner that the sheet was drawn aside, exposing her smooth white skin.
With a start, more of surprise than revulsion, Estella opened her eyes for a moment and then
feigned unbroken sleep. It had happened as she expected. When he had failed to turn her out upon
discovering her perfidy, she realized that sooner or later he would seek her again. She well knew his
temperament, strong in desire and weak in resistance...10
The honored merchant was overwhelmed with shame and repentance. He could say nothing, and
crept back to his own room overcome with self-contempt. Ah, what would he not give to be able to
undo that act of blind sensuality! "What an abominable thing to do," he muttered over and over
again.
The following day they avoided each other, tacitly pretending that nothing unusual had taken place
the night before. Along with his complete loss of selfesteem, Miranda felt an increased loathing for
his wife. And that night as he lay in his narrow single bed, he swore a thousand times to his poor
remnant of pride that never again would he be guilty of a similar madness.
But a month later Miranda again repaired to his wife's room. Estella received him as before,
feigning the most profound slumber, but the stealthy eagerness of her lord and master overcame her
self-control. Estella giggled.
The poor man, unnerved and indeed scandalized, made a gesture as of a somnambulist violently
awakened, but the wife proved no less resourceful than diverted, and held him prisoner. Yet no word
was spoken. Never had Estella seemed so altogether desirable; no mistress ever displayed such
irresistible seductions. And Estella, perhaps piqued by the sullen abstention 11of the husband and
excited by the very dishonesty of his return to her arms, found herself consumed with desire, the
while never a word was exchanged between them. From this time onward there had been established

9
p11
10
p12
11
p13

4
 between them a life in which the most intense and violent desire alternated with dislike and
repugnance. For ten years this state of affairs had continued and each had sufficed for the other. But
lately the merchant had not been so frequently drawn to his wife's chamber, and now he made the
alarming discovery that certain of his clerks, who lunched leisurely at his table upstairs, delayed with
a purpose.
It was then he determined that Estella required quiet surroundings, and the wan child fresh air, and
purchased the residence next to João Romão's bar. The house itself was satisfactory, the only defect
being the cramped lot. But happily this was a difficulty easily overcome. By the purchase of a few
meters between the house and the bar, and also the plot at the back between Miranda's line and the
quarry, the house might be surrounded by a garden, attractive even if small. He therefore sought João
Romão and broached the purchase, only to be met with prompt refusal.
Miranda insisted.
"You're wasting your time and your breath," he was assured by Bertoleza's mate. "I wouldn't sell an
inch of12 my land, but I'll buy that little patch you have back of your house if you want to sell it."
"My back yard?"
"Yes."
"And leave me without any garden, without any yard, without anything?"
"So much the better for me."
"Now look here; stop talking foolishness and tell me what you want for the land I need."
"I've already told you what I'll do."
"Well, at least let me have the piece between me and the quarry."
"Not a foot."
"This is just meanness on your part, that's clear. I wouldn't ask anything of you if it were not for my
little girl. She must have some space to run about in, and it would be only ordinarily decent of you to
sell me this land."
"I won't sell any, because I need it myself."
"You do not. What the devil can you do with it? A worthless patch of ground wedged in between
the hill and my lot. Anyway, you have plenty more."
"You wait a little, and I'll show you what I can do with it."
"God, but you're stubborn! Look here; if you sell me that piece back of me, you will have a straight
line back to the hill and so will I, and you won't have another man's property jutting into yours. You
think about it. I'll not build my wall until you make up your mind."13
"Then your back yard never will have a wall, because I have said all I have to say.',
"But, my God, man, think a little. You can't build anything there. Do you think I'll allow you to
open windows into my yard?"
"I don't need to open windows into anybody's yard."
"And if you build up to your line there in front, I'll not let you put windows there either.',
"I've no intention of building there in front."
"Well, then, what the devil are you going to do with all this land? "
"That's my affair. Some day you'll know."
"Some day you'll be sorry that you didn't sell me that land."
"If I'm sorry, I'll stand it. All I can tell you is that it will not fare well with anybody who interferes
with my business."
This ended the negotiations.
Then there ensued a long and silent conflict between the Portuguese dry-goods merchant and the
Portuguese bar-keeper, whose line now included a few staple groceries. The former delayed building
his wall until he had extended his lot back to the hill, and the latter clung to the hope that he might be
able to buy a part of Miranda's back yard, which he estimated would be of enormous value to him

12
p14
13
p15

5
 when he came to realize the project long forming in his stubborn head-the building of a tenement on
a large scale, an endless line of little houses, a veritable hive of rented quarters, the like of which was
unknown in all Rio, beside which14 the existing collective dwellings in Botafogo would be poor and
insignificant affairs indeed.
This was his ideal. For years had João Romão lived solely for the realization of this one great
ambition. He dreamed of it every night. He never missed an auction of building materials;
secondhand lumber and tiles and bricks he greedily bid in when they were cheap ; bargains in lime
were a delight to his soul. All such material was duly brought home and stored out on the vacant
land, which rapidly took on the aspect of the path of a cyclone, such was the variety of objects there
accumulated. There were boards and beams, logs and masts of ships, broken-down wagons and carts,
chimneys of clay and iron, dismantled stoves, long stacks of tiles of all shapes and sizes, mountains
of sand and clay, pyramids of old bricks, broken ladders, a shed full of lime-all the refuse and odds
and ends that can be imagined. And their owner, well aware of how easily such things are stolen,
turned loose every night a vicious dog to guard his property.
This dog was the subject of constant quarrels with the various members of Miranda's household,
none of whom could venture out into the back yard after ten o'clock at night without the risk of being
pounced upon by the savage beast.
"Better build his wall," observed João Romão with a shrug of his shoulders.
"That I'll not do," replied the other when he heard of the suggestion. "Since he's so damned
stubborn, I'll be stubborn, too."15
On the other hand, every time one of João Romão's chickens wandered into Miranda's premises it
mysteriously disappeared. The vender protested against such thievery in violent terms, swearing
vengeance and threatening a pot-shot or two.
"Better fence in his chickens," was the only comment of Estella's husband.
A few months later João Romão, after a last desperate attempt to buy his neighbor's back yard,
resolved to construct his tenement.
"Let him be," he remarked to Bertoleza before falling asleep. "Let him be. Use the back door if the
one in front is locked. Sooner or later I'll get his land-not a little, but all of it-maybe even the house
itself." This he muttered with the conviction of one who trusts implicitly in his own perseverance and
in the prodigious power of his money-money that never left his clenched fist without returning
multiplied.
So thoroughly possessed of the fever to gain was João Romão that it dominated him completely,
and every act, no matter how simple, was guided and governed solely by pecuniary interest. He had
but one preoccupation-to accumulate wealth. From his garden he picked for himself and Bertoleza
only the poorest vegetables and fruits that nobody would buy. Much as he loved eggs, the many his
hens produced were sold, to the last one. Not infrequently their food consisted entirely of the scraps
from the plates of customers. This was not economy; it was the manifestation of a disease, a mania to
possess, to turn everything into money.
This absorption was betrayed by his very appearance16 -his thick, squat figure, stiff bushy hair,
beard ever clamoring for a shave. He trudged from his little store to the quarry, then back to the
garden, then over to count his hens and salvage their eggs, always in his shirt sleeves, his bare feet
clamping along in noisy tomancos, peering here and there with his eternal air of greed, claiming with
his eyes all that he could not clutch with his fingers.
In the meantime, the street itself had changed, the whole neighborhood grew rapidly. New
buildings were numerous, if flimsy; chalets and cottages seemed to appear over night; rents were
rising rapidly; in a decade property had more than doubled in value. A candle factory and another for
the manufacture of macaroni were late innovations. Their employees passed to and from work and

14
p16
15
p17
16
p18

6
 the majority of them became customers of the lunch room into which Bertoleza's quitanda had
developed. New establishments similar to that of João Romão were opened, but none enjoyed the
prosperity of his. His bar trade had grown enormously, sales in the various lines of groceries were
brisk, Bertoleza was cooking and selling a prodigious quantity of food. A couple of clerks were on
the jump from morning till night. A steady stream of coins dropped into the till, whence they
journeyed to João Romão's strong-box, and his own dirty hands carried them downtown to swell his
astonishing bank account.
João Romão was not now content to secure his stock from local wholesalers. He learned the
advantages of importing direct from Europe. For instance, instead of buying wine by the demijohn,
he now received it by17 the barrel from Portugal, and the judicious addition of water and native rum
enabled him to perform the profitable miracle of making two out of one. Butter and cheese came
direct from the farms and everything else was purchased from the producer. João had a horror of the
middleman and his commissions, but he overcame this prejudice sufficiently to pass on, at a
comfortable profit, certain of his own importations to other merchants doing business on a smaller
scale.
The aspect of the establishment had changed. The quitanda was done away with, there being little
profit in vegetables and the restaurant requiring all the garden produced. A shed was built at the rear
beside the kitchen to serve as sleeping quarters, and the former bedroom added to the store space.
The place was now a veritable bazaar where everything was to be found. Not only were there things
to eat and drink, but all sorts of articles-kitchen ware, dishes, office supplies, overalls, calico prints,
beribboned straw hats, cheap perfumes and soaps, silk handkerchiefs embroidered with sentimental
verses, jeweled combs, ravishing rings and ear pendants, these last at astonishingly low prices.
And the place was always busy. The store did a thriving business, and the room at the side where
Bertoleza ran her restaurant was usually filled with workers from the quarry and the surrounding
factories who spent their evenings eating, drinking, and conversing amidst the thick smoke
contributed by numerous pipes, frying fish, and a half dozen oil lamps.
João Romão supplied all their needs, even serving as emergency banker when some unfortunate ran
out of18 funds before pay day. And this was so common an occurrence that few of the laborers
collected wages without leaving a part with the thrifty Portuguese. The rate of interest was eight per
cent a month, somewhat higher than the pawnshops, but, as João reminded the friends he assisted, he
trusted them, whereas the pawnbroker demanded their watches.
As fast as additions to the tenement were made they were struggled for by applicants who moved in
without waiting for the paint to dry. It was the most convenient point in Botafogo for working
people. The tenement was especially popular with the quarry laborers, owing to its proximity to their
work.
Miranda foamed with rage.
"A tenement! " he screamed, as if possessed." A tenement! Damn this vender and his filthy
tenement under my windows, ruining my home."
He vomited his wrath, swearing vengeance and complaining to the authorities regarding the clouds
of dust invading his house and the infernal racket of the masons and carpenters whose chisels and
hammers resounded from daybreak till dark.
But his anger in nowise delayed the progress of the tenement, whose compact sections reared their
heads, one after another, like a line of soldiers in close formation, straight from the venda back
almost to the hill, then turning to the left and advancing down the narrow strip back of Miranda's
house and pausing abruptly at his line. The completed structure enclosed an open rectangular space
toward which all of the houses faced and which was the common front yard of all the ninety-19five
cramped dwellings which comprised the visualized dream of João Romão's existence.

17
p19
18
p20
19
p21

7
 To the wrathful Miranda, this structure seemed like an enormous serpent of mortar and stone, ready
to gulp him down at first opportunity. So he lost no time in building his wall.
"The sooner the better ," he muttered. "That devil is capable of coming on right into the house."
When all was finished, João Romão proceeded to build a high brick wall between his property and
the side of Miranda's lot, extending clear to the street, where it ended in a lofty arched gateway,
lighted by a gaudy lamp of colored glass and surmounted by the inscription:

SÃO ROMAO TENEMENT

Apartments for rent
Also tubs for Laundresses

Houses were rented by the month and tubs by the day, payment strictly in advance. The tubs were
really small stone tanks, whose slanting fronts were chiseled to serve as washboards. Each rented for
one half milreis per day, water included, and soap to be bought at João Romão's store. In the use of
the tubs tenants had the preference and to them tubs were free.
The abundance of water and ample space in the courtyard for drying clothes created immediate
popularity for the tubs, and laundresses came long distances to do their work under such favorable
auspices. And the moment one of the little apartments, or even a room that20 would hold a mattress,
was known to be for rent, João Romão was besieged with prospective tenants.
So here was constituted a great laundry, noisy and agitated, with a network of clothes-lines. Each
little residence had a few vegetables growing in the rear and perhaps a plant or flower in front-little
patches of green contrasting with the shining sea of drying clothes sparkling in the sunlight and the
gray line of stone tanks, before each of which an industrious laundress pounded, rubbed, soaped, and
rinsed.
It was wet and slippery; slime and mud abounded, and the air was ever filled with the aroma of
soapy foam. But here amid such surroundings began to stir, to grow and develop, a little world-
something alive, that seemed to have been born there and to belong there, a thing apart, a generation
which arose from the mud of the tenement and which made the tenement peculiarly its own.21

CHAPTER TWO

During the two years that followed the tenement prospered, ever more popular and crowded with
tenants. Across his wall Miranda fumed and complained, unable to reconcile himself to the
exuberant prosperity and activity beneath his windows. It seemed to him a monstrous, noxious weed
whose poisonous fumes were exhaled in his face, the while its roots, like deadly serpents, were
closing in beneath him, making ready to leap from the ground and destroy him.
His own business affairs moved along with normal prosperity, but it was a bitter pill to observe the
scandalous good fortune that crowned his vender neighbor's every enterprise. "Such luck for a dirty,
barefoot pig, who never wore a coat and who lived, bed and board, with a negress."
In the evening and on Sunday his anger reached its height. At such times, wearied with his daily
labor, he lazily stretched himself out beside his dining table, his rest invariably disturbed by the
confused clamor that arose from the tenement, suggesting nothing so much as the grunts and groans
of wearied beasts of burden. He never could approach his window without noting the warm
disgusting odor exhaled by the mass of not too clean humanity herded together.
And later, retired to his bedroom, indifferent to the charms of Dona Estella and freed from the fever
of desire that formerly had dragged him to her side, it was now the prosperity of his neighbor that
embittered his22 spirit and filled his soul with a fierce resentment that nothing could abate.

20
p22
21
p23
22
p24

8
 He was envious of João Romão, of the other Portuguese who had succeeded without knuckling to
anybody; who was far richer than Miranda and never had to get a start by marrying his employer's
daughter or the bastard offspring of some rich customer. Miranda always had considered himself
very clever when it came to slick deals and sharp practices. Soon after his marriage he had written to
Portugal, in response to a letter of congratulation, loftily explaining that Brazil was to be regarded as
a mule laden with gold and easily bridled and tamed by a man of intelligence and ability. He had
flattered himself that he possessed these qualities, but now, in the light of his neighbor's
achievements, he bitterly confessed that he was but a rank bungler. He had pictured himself as one of
the magnates of Brazil, and he had wound up as the slave of a poorly educated woman without
scruples of virtue. He had imagined himself as a conqueror in the struggle with his fellows, and now
he saw himself as their scorned and victimized laughing-stock.
After all, what had he accomplished? He had made some money, true; but how, and at what
sacrifice? By mortgaging himself to a she-devil who had brought him eighty thousand milreis and
also incalculable shame and humiliation. He had an easy life, but he was eternally tied to a woman
he loathed. And what did he get out of it all-what did life mean to him? From hell at home to
purgatory in the office, and then back to hell at home. Truly, a rosy path.23
The cruel uncertainty of his relationship to Zulmira robbed the poor wretch of even a father's
consolation. If she were an adopted child instead of being Estella's daughter, he could have lavished
his love upon her and thus brought some pleasure into his life. But regarding her as he did, he could
see in her only the damning, living document that proved her mother's guilt, and Miranda transferred
to her a portion of the full measure of hatred he bore his wife.
"A hell of a life," he reflected bitterly.
"What a fool I've been," he muttered aloud, springing from the bed where sleep evaded him. Then
he paced the floor and finally paused at the window and gave full vent to the envy burning within
him.
"A lucky dog is João Romão; he knows how to get on in this world. God, what wouldn't I give to
be as free to-day as I was when I landed here without a cent in my pocket; to be young and have a
life of pleasure ahead of me. Ah, if I had it to do over again and had the ill luck to marry a woman
that turned out as Estella did, I'd kick her out-kick her so far she'd never find her way back. I might
have done it, but I didn't. That's what Brazil has made of me.
"I've been a fool," he repeated, glaring at the possessions of the vender, "an awful fool. When it's
all said and done, what have I got? A business that I couldn't pullout of without risking most of
what's in it, my capital tied up in a hopeless maze of transactions that seem even more tangled, and
my senses more and more dulled by the shiftlessness of this cursed country where I'm surely going to
leave my bones. What have I24 of my own, when still to-day my credit depends on the damned eighty
contos that shameless creature brought me and which tie me hand and foot?"
It was after such a period of self-examination that there formed and grew in the empty heart of
Miranda a new ideal-a title. He lacked the temperament that might have led him into the vices to
which other men turn-with no family to love, he had no imagination to enable him to find solace in
prostitutes. As a drowning man clutches at a straw, he warmed and expanded with the idea of
bearing a title. Estella's vanity and pretensions to gentle birth had provoked and galled him, and he
would now show her that what had come to her through no merit or effort of her own was within his
grasp and could be won by the qualities that he possessed. From that moment he began to dream of a
baronetcy, this ambition becoming the cherished end of his existence. It would cost money; at last he
had discovered a means of using his money in such a way that he would not have to restore it to his
wife nor leave it to be inherited by her brat.
This wonderful new idea modified his habits completely. He became a slave to convention,
adopted an air of conscious superiority and cloaked his envy of João Romão with a front of kindly

23
p25
24
p26

9
 condescension. As he daily passed the establishment he greeted its proprietor with a patronizing
smile which quickly faded-the effort of a great and important personage to show himself benevolent
and amiable in his treatment of the obscure and unimportant.
Having set in motion the preliminary negotiations25 for the purchase of his title, Miranda became
active socially and opened his house for sumptuous entertainments. His wife, for reasons of her own,
rejoiced at this unexpected gaiety.
Zulmira was now nearly thirteen and typical of the Brazilian adolescent. Thin and pale, lightly
freckled, she suggested a night-blooming flower or the waxy and chilly whiteness of the magnolia.
Her hair was a light chestnut, her hands almost transparent, with short, soft nails like those of her
mother, and her feet small and delicate. She had sharp, even teeth, and her eyes, her most notable
feature, were large and black, and by turns either brilliant or malicious.
It was just at this time that there arrived from the interior the son of a wealthy planter, Miranda's
most profitable customer, who entrusted the merchant with control of the youth. Henrique was
fifteen and had been sent to Rio de Janeiro to complete his preparation for a course in medicine.
Miranda lodged the boy downtown with his clerks who had quarters over the store, but the young
student was so unhappy and discontented that the merchant, eager to accommodate so important a
patron, saw no way out of the difficulty other than the offer of the hospitality of his home.
Henrique was an attractive boy, but extremely shy and with an almost girlish sensitiveness. He
proved most studious and so little extravagant that he spent nothing aside from paying his actual
expenses. Daily he left the house with Miranda and returned at the close of school, remaining
indoors unless accompanied by the family. Very shortly Dona Estella bestowed upon him an al-26
most motherly affection and took charge of his allowance, an allowance fixed by Miranda, as the
father had given instructions to supply his son with everything needful.
He never asked for money. When any article was required Dona Estella charged Miranda with its
purchase, the cost plus a staggering commission being duly entered on the account of the indulgent
father. Board and room occasioned a monthly entry of two hundred and fifty milreis, which should
have made the planter gasp, but he probably was reminded that the boy was surrounded with every
comfort and received the respect and consideration of a son of the household. Occasionally on a fine
night Dona Estella and her daughter, accompanied by Henrique and a young mulatto servant named
Valentim, went for a walk to the beach and along the curving Botafogo shore. And the youth was
never left at home when the Miranda family went visiting or attended the frequent parties to which
they were invited.
The Mirandas were served by a young mulatta named Izaura, a yielding, silly creature who spent
every copper she could snatch for taffy at the vender's store. Then there was Leonor, a slender and
agile young negress, a virgin, but with instant command of every obscenity known to the Portuguese
tongue. This unrivaled vocabulary made Leonor a welcome visitor at the João Romão establishment,
where the clerks and frequenters lost no opportunity to torment her until she burst forth in an
obscene tirade which invariably ended with a threat to have them all haled before the judge. The
third and last member of the staff was Valentim, son of a slave of Dona Estella's family, but freed by
his mistress.
Perhaps because he was a link between her and her girlhood home, Miranda's wife treated this
young mulatto with a kindness bordering on devotion. He had the greatest liberty, never lacked
money, was ever receiving presents, and, arrayed in well-fitting clothes, invariably served as sturdy
escort when Dona Estella and the young people went walking. So kind and solicitous was his
mistress that not infrequently was Zulmira moved to jealousy, and in the quarrel that always
followed between the daughter and the servant, the mother never failed to take the latter's part. And
the doting mistress always saw to it that Valentim had the best there was in the house. When he fell
ill with some affection of the kidneys, Miranda packed him off to a hospital, disregarding the tearful

25
p27
26
p28

10
 pleas of his wife. Dona Estella wept for days, refused to play the piano, wouldn't sing and never once
parted her lips in a smile for anybody. Rather than continue the daily scenes before the other
servants, Miranda gave in and the triumphant Valentim returned to the tender ministrations of his
considerate mistress.
There was still another inmate of the Miranda household, old Botelho, who might as well promptly
be labeled the parasite he was-a poor old soul nearing seventy, whose disagreeable qualities made
him thoroughly disliked. His short white hair, like his mustache and close-cropped beard, was stiff as
the bristles of a brush; thin and slightly bent, he moved about like an old bird,27 this resemblance
being emphasized by a hooked beak astride of which rode his iron-rimmed glasses. His thin, short
lips displayed his full set of teeth, discolored and so worn that they appeared to have been filed off
half-way down to the gums. He always dressed in black, with a round felt hat clamped down over his
ears, and never stirred from the house without his ancient umbrella.
In his youth he had worked in various offices and later became a slave broker, often recounting a
voyage he once made to Africa for a cargo of negroes on his own account. He had engaged in
various lines of speculation, making a lot of money during the Paraguayan war, but later his luck
changed and it had all slipped through his fingers. Disillusioned and destitute in his old age, he was
entirely dependent on Miranda, who had once been his fellow employee and whose friendship he had
managed to retain, in early years by accident and in later ones through necessity.
Consumed, day and night, by an implacable bitterness, the sodden discouragement of the
conquered, and an impotent rage against everything and everybody, Botelho constantly brooded
upon the fact that all of his old acquaintances had prospered and only his own weak and trembling
hands were empty. And as his state of abject dependence did not warrant antagonizing others openly,
he vented his spleen on the times, the customs and the changes, all for the worse, as he was every
ready to point out.
Thus warm discussions frequently took place at Mlranda's table, especially when the old man hit
upon the28 subject of the abolition agitation and the iniquitous Rio Branco law which declared free
future children born to slaves. At such moments old Botelho's wrath passed all bounds and his
thunderbolts were hurled right and left, the rancor and venom within him boiling over and his sunken
eyes darting like poisoned arrows. They were bandits and thieves! he shouted apoplectically; how
dared they interfere with property honestly acquired.
He derided virtue, beauty, talent, youth, strength, and most of all, fortune; this he could not tolerate
in anybody. His curses rained on all who succeeded where he had failed, who enjoyed the fruits he
never had gathered, who managed to hold on to what he had lost. Denied the privilege of insulting
individuals, he turned his batteries on Brazil, the ungrateful land that never failed to enrich the
Portuguese but left those like himself in misery.
His days were passed according to a fixed schedule from which he never departed. He rose at eight,
bathed himself in his room with a towel moistened with spirits of wine, and then spent the morning
reading the daily papers while he waited for lunch. This over, he took the tram for the city and
planted himself in a tobacco shop in Rua Ouvidor, where he passed the entire afternoon ridiculing
and speaking ill of all who passed. He claimed to know Rio de Janeiro inside out and to be
thoroughly posted on the black pages in every resident's history. Occasionally Dona Estella entrusted
him with a part of her shopping, which he invariably performed most satisfactorily.
But his great passion, or perhaps his great weakness,29 was a uniform. He thrilled over all that
pertained to the military, in spite of the fact that he never had been able to overcome an inordinate
fear of firearms. A weapon discharged near by threw him into a frenzy of nervousness, but he fairly
reveled in all that smelled of war. The proximity of an officer in a gorgeous uniform drew from him
tears of emotion. He was thoroughly informed regarding barrack life, army regulations, and the

27
p30
28
p31
29
p32

11
 various round of duties that make up the soldier's existence. One glance was sufficient for him to
identify the rank, arm, and unit of every warrior who passed. A band, or even trumpet and drums,
threw him into a fever of excitement and seldom could he resist joining the throng of small boys who
formed the rear-guard, sometimes tramping mile after mile to prolong the ecstasy of near
companionship with his glorious heroes. After such debauches he arrived home, usually at dark, so
wearied that he was scarce able to stand, his old legs aching from the inglorious return without the
stimulation of martial strains. It was then that the reaction came and he cordially cursed the
commanding officer who had deliberately prolonged the march for the express purpose of tiring him
out. He called on all to bear witness to the studied cruelty of dragging a weak and ill old man over
miles of rough cobbles, three hours in a blazing sun.
One of Botelho's most amusing obsessions was his hatred for Valentim. The mere sight of the
mulatto threw him into a rage; and the young servant, secure in Estella's protection, did everything
possible to annoy his old enemy. The helpless victim of the mulatto's30 persecution longed to strangle
his tormentor, but he realized that he must not offend the mistress of the household.
Botelho knew Estella and her lapses from grace as thoroughly as he knew his own fingers. Miranda
himself had confided to his old friend the entire history of their unhappiness and had frankly
explained why he had not packed her off in the beginning. Botelho agreed that the course followed
was the only one possible under the circumstances, the old fellow being convinced that commercial
expediency outweighed every other consideration. The woman given to such conduct is worthless,
he argued, but capital is money, and nobody can hold that money has no value. Therefore, the money
should be retained, but the woman ignored. Miranda, comforted by this ripe endorsement of his
procedure, assured his friend that the only purpose Estella could serve in the future would be as his
spittoon. The old sponger signified his approval of this sentiment by a fervent embrace of admiration
and exhorted his friend to stand firm and never weaken in this most befitting attitude of outraged
husband. But when conversing with Dona Estella he listened with deepest sympathy to her bitter
arraignment of Miranda, hate and discord being balm to his crooked old soul.
"If you want to know it," she assured him, "it is perfectly plain to me that my sour-faced husband
detests me, and it concerns me just about as much as what shirt I am going to put on. Unfortunately,
as society is constituted, women have to live with their husbands when they are married, so I have to
put up with what I get31 whether I like it or not. And even if I do let down the bars to him once in a
while, it is only because it is easier to give in than to resist a beast like him."
Botelho's wealth of experience did not allow him to repeat to one the remarks of the other, and he
was therefore able to remain on excellent terms with both and to render yeoman's service in adding
fuel to the flame of domestic infelicity, which, it must be confessed, brought a little sunshine into his
otherwise cheerless life.
On arriving home earlier than usual one afternoon because of not feeling well, the old man was
surprised to hear hushed voices in the partially walled basement, the sounds coming from a secluded
corner at the back, cut off by a tangle of vines. Instead of ascending the steps, he carefully tiptoed to
a point of vantage where he was able to observe Dona Estella and Henrique, who stood concealed
there. Not stirring and scarcely breathing, the old reprobate eyed them, and only when they drew
apart did he betray his presence. Estella gave a little scream and the youth turned from scarlet to
waxen white, but Botelho sought to reassure them, speaking kindly and confidentially.
"You young folks are most imprudent; these matters are not for a place like this. Fortunately, it was
only I that happened along, but it might have been somebody else. Surely, in a house with so many
rooms it isn't necessary to take such risks down here in the basement."
"We weren't doing anything," replied Estella, recovering her composure.

30
p33
31
p34

12
 "Ah," returned the old man, feigning deep contrition, "then I do beg your pardon, for I surely
thought32 you were. And even if you were, you need not worry about me, because I am not narrow in
these matters. I regard them as most natural and reasonable incidentsall we get in this life is what we
take. Whatever I saw is the same to me as though I didn't see it, because I don't meddle with other
people's affairs. When a woman is young and attractive and her husband fails to pay her the attention
she merits, I hold that she is entirely justified in choosing a substitute. We are as we are made, and
we can't help it. We have within us something that gnaws and gnaws and drives us frantic until we
kill it, and there is only one weapon effective. I would only urge you to be more careful, to-"
"Very well, very well-that's enough," ordered Estella, turning away.
"Excuse me; if I have said these things it is only to relieve you of worry so far as I am concerned. I
wouldn't have the shadow of a doubt exist regarding my discretion."
Henrique had partially recovered his self-possession and began nervously: "But Mr. Botelho, I
hope you don't believe that-"
But the old man cut him off, putting his arm across the boy's shoulders and drawing him along
toward the stairs.
"Don't you worry, my boy; I'll never say a word that will get you into any mess."
And after observing that they were out of the hearing of Dona Estella he whispered, with the air of
kindly protector: "Don't you do this again; you're too young33 for such business; you'll ruin your
health. Just feel how your legs are trembling."
Dona Estella lingered below, absorbed in directing a wayward vine in the way it should go and
gracefully gathering its flowers. Sometimes she clung to the lattice as she leaned out to secure a
coveted blossom, and again she stood upon her diminutive toes to claim a lofty bud, but her air was
ever that of the sweet and sensitive little woman who had never been understood.34

CHAPTER THREE

The tenement awoke at five, opening not only its eyes but its line of doors and windows. It was a
cheerful awakening which followed seven hours of leaden slumber, in contrast to the reluctant
surrender of night to the victorious rays of the rising sun.
The lines of drying clothes, left from the night before, gave off the sharp tang of laundry soap. The
paving stones in front of the tubs were tinged with blueing or frosty with accumulations of dried
lather.
One by one, from the various windows were extended drowsy heads whose half-open eyes were
intent on determining what kind of day was promised. Noisy yawns mingled with a chorus of throats
cleared in unison; the rattle of cups and saucers began, and soon the pungent aroma of fresh-made
coffee supplanted that of soap. From window to window were passed morning greetings, and
conversations were resumed at the point where they had paused the night before. Young children
toddled about the courtyard while were heard the wails of those not yet able to walk.
The crowing of roosters and cackling of their spouses, here laughter, there an early start on the
day's bickerings-all were mingled in the confused clamor that announced to the world that the São
Romão tenement was up and doing. One by one the numerous parrots were hung out, and these, in
turn, voiced salutations complimentary and otherwise.
The center of movement was now at the water taps,35 where a tumultuous group of males, females,
and youngsters elbowed each other to reach the thin lines of water that trickled from the faucets, and
matutinal ablutions were performed. Soon the ground was flowing with water, and the women
clutched their skirts between their legs, while they held their hair in a single twisted strand to keep it

32
p35
33
p36
34
p37
35
p38

13
 dry. The men had no such concern and thrust their heads beneath the stream, blowing and puffing
with their exertions. The children were even more thorough in their methods and usually managed to
wet themselves from head to foot.
The unquiet doors of the latrines swung to and fro, finishing touches to the readjustment of clothing
usually being made after emerging; the early morning demand for these conveniences precluded their
privileges being extended to the children, who therefore availed themselves of the tiny gardens,
vacant spaces here and there, and in cases of emergency, the courtyard itself.
The tenement was now in full activity and the confused sounds of the awakening neighborhood had
given way to the steady din of normal movement. Individual voices no longer were distinguished,
but instead was heard the compact roar of the entire populace. Business was in full swing in the
store; laborers clamored for their morning coffee; arguments, quarrels, and curses mingled with
chuckles and loud laughter; there was now no talking-everybody shouted. There could be felt in that
human fermentation, like the damp black loam that feeds the roots of a fragrant rambler, the source
of vigorous life, of the animal pleasure of exist-36 ence, the triumphant satisfaction of living and
breathing and moving on this earth of ours.
A couple of Miranda's windows opened, from one of which Izaura shook a tablecloth, calling
below: "Oh, Dunga, if you make cocoanut-balls to-day, I want some!" At the other stood Leonor,
torturing her Woolly crown with a metal comb.
The man from the bakery entered the courtyard with his huge basket of bread balanced on his head,
his folding counter under his arm. Planting his stock in the middle of the open space, he was soon the
center of an eager mob. The children besieged his basket and as fast as the family purchase was
made, each departed, proudly bearing the long, pointed loaf in his little arms. A melancholy cow
tinkled her cracked bell as she entered the premises followed by her muzzled calf, and paused at each
door while she mournfully parted with a little of the milk that she well knew should be sustaining her
unfortunate offspring.
A new note was added to the general uproar-the macaroni factory across the way had started its
machinery. A steady stream of customers filed in and out of João Romão's store. The water taps long
since had ceased their bath functions and now were dripping dejectedly into kerosene tins across
whose tops wooden handles had been fixed. A number of laundresses were already at their tubs
while others were stringing lines and sweeping the pavement, excellent for bleaching. Work had
begun. Strident voices were lifted in the folksongs of old Portugal and the plantation melodies of
Brazil. The clatter of the garbage wagon's iron wheels on the37 stone flagging kept pace with the
shameful insults heaped upon its unprotesting burro by his fluent driver.
Then there came a procession of market peddlers. The meat man spread his board and his
suspiciously regarded scales; others specialized in liver, or tripe, or yards and yards of ox tails; only
vegetable peddlers passed them by, as each family had a few feet of garden space in the rear. Cloth
and clothing, kitchen ware, both useful and ornamental objects of glass-every conceivable form of
merchandise that might tempt the hard-working laundresses found its way sooner or later into the
enclosure.
Each peddler had his particular mode of announcing his coming, by which his customers were able
to identify him in advance of his arrival. Thus, long before the fish vender had followed his hoarse
and guttural cry, "Fish and shrimps-fish and shrimps! " into the enclosure, his twin baskets swinging
from the ends of a pole across his shoulders, an army of cats were assembling in the courtyard, ready
to surround him, rub about his legs and, like Simplc Simon, beg a sample of his wares. As he made
his sales from door to door, he carefully replaced the covers on his baskets and when the
importunities of the yowling pests became too great, he secured a moment's respite by tossing as far
away as possible his smallest sardine, which immediately formed the center of a brief but hard-
fought battle.

36
p39
37
p40

14
 The first to start washing was Leandra, known as Machona to her friends, an aggressive Portuguese
much given to shouting, with thick, hairy arms and the general build of a draft horse. She had two
daughters and38 one son, this last a young devil full of mischief, with vocal abilities almost equaling
those of his mother. He and the younger daughter, Nenem, lived with Leandra, but the elder
daughter, Anna, had a residence apart.
Anna, who was married but had separated from her husband, rejoiced in the picturesque appellation
of "Das Dores de Nascimento," which, being interpreted, resolves itself into "Birth-pangs." Being
too long a title for frequent use by busy people, "Das Dores" was as much of her name as Anna
usually heard.
Nobody appeared certain whether Mother Machona's widowhood was grass or sod, but all agreed
that the three children bore little resemblance to each other. Das Dores' status was better defined; she
had been married, but had deserted her husband to bestow her affection and comfort upon a
merchant, and the latter, not wishing to leave her to the indifference of a cold and heartless world
upon his retirement to Portugal, had passed her over to his partner, along with the business. Das
Dores was in the full bloom of her twenty-five summers.
Nenem was seventeen. Tall and slender, but strong, she was inordinately proud of her virgin state
and the despair of numerous youths ready to discuss everything but matrimony. She ironed
beautifully and was unusually skillful with her needle.
Leandra soon was joined by Augusta Came Molle. She was Brazilian, white, and the wife of
Alexandre, a mulatto of forty years who served on the police force. When uniformed in starched
white pants and leather leggings, his brass buttons polished, huge mustache39 waxed and chin
scraped clean, Alexandre radiated dignity, his severe mien inviting familiarity from nobody. But his
robes of office once laid aside, Alexandre relaxed; and clad in frayed trousers and open shirt, in
slippered feet he made his way about the courtyard, loquacious and affable. It was only at such
moments that Augusta dared address her lord, as the gulf of official position cut her off also when
Alexandre was on duty. Her honesty had become a proverb throughout the tenement, but it was an
honesty accorded little merit, because it came from an indolence of temperament rather than an
inflexible integrity.
They had a number of children, all of them small. One, Juju, lived downtown in Cattete in the
comfortable apartment of her godmother, Leonie, a French cocotte with a superior clientele.
A third tub was soon occupied by Leocadia, wife of a blacksmith named Bruno. She was a short
and compact Portuguese whose indiscretions had been much discussed by the neighbors.
She was followed by Paula, an elderly negress, half idiot but respected because of her supernatural
power. A few muttered words were sufficient to cut a fever or dispel erysipelas. Course and ugly,
with stiff black hair, wild staring eyes, and teeth sharp and pointed like those of a dog, she usually
was referred to as "the Witch," to which term she offered no objection.
Then came Marcianna and her daughter, Florinda. The former was a middle-aged mulatta of severe
demeanor and exaggerated cleanliness, her house being ever wet with its repeated scourings. When
annoyed she40 invariably seized her broom and swept and swept; if really angered, she rushed for a
pail of water which she dashed upon the floor and then scrubbed with fury. The daughter was fifteen
and of a warm brown tint, with sensuous red lips, white even teeth, and the bright, roving eyes of a
monkey. No man could be unconscious of her proximity, but she had yielded to none; not even to the
overtures of the puissant João Romão, who had tempted her with her choice of any article in the
store up to the value of three milreis.
Presently there appeared old Isabel, that is, Dona Isabel, this title of respect being accorded her
because she had known better days-a poor woman overcome with misfortune. She was the widow of
a merchant who had had a millinery shop, but failed and then killed himself, leaving her with a

38
p41
39
p42
40
p43

15
 delicate little girl for whose education Isabel had made every sacrifice, even having the child taught
French. Prematurely aged, her face was hung with the flaccid pouches denoting a once fat body now
grown thin. The lids drooped over her faded brown eyes, which made her seem to be ever weeping,
while her sparse gray hair was gathered in a tight little knot on the top of her head. On the street she
always wore an ancient black silk dress whose spreading skirt, topped off with an old Chinese shawl
clinging to her thin shoulders, gave her the general appearance of a tottering pyramid. Of her former
glory she had but one remaining treasure-a golden snuff box, from which, in moments of relaxation,
she helped herself to a modest pinch, the operation accompanied by a profound sigh.41
Her daughter was the flower of the tenement. She was called Pombinha, or "Little Dove." In spite
of delicate health and extreme nervousness, her blonde prettiness and refined manners inspired a
species of community pride. Isabel did not permit her to wash or iron, such work having been
expressly forbidden by the doctor.
Pombinha had an admirer, one João da Costa, a plodding, industrious youth, highly esteemed by
his employer and office companions. He was a young man with a future and had adored Isabel's
daughter from the time she was a child, but the wedding could not yet take place. In spite of her
eighteen years, Pombinha had not yet crossed the mysterious bridge spanning the chasm between
childhood and womanhood. In vain had Isabel worked early and late to secure the various remedies
prescribed for the relief of her unhappy daughter. The hearts of the whole neighborhood were wrung
with sympathy. What a pity, they agreed, when so much depended on this marriage. Da Costa was
soon to become his uncle's partner and was eager to restore Pombinha and her mother to the world
whose ease they once had known." And the poor widow nightly implored heavenly intervention in
the case, that on her daughter might be conferred a blessing vouchsafed other girls before they had
need of it. But the prospect of rest and ease, delightful as it was, could not hasten the wedding. Not
for anything in this world would she allow her daughter to marry before she was a "woman." Others
might think as they liked but for her part she considered it "neither decent nor honest" to inveigle a42
nice young man into matrimony with a girl who had not yet matured. No, indeed, much rather would
she see her daughter an old maid and herself a drudge in the tenement for the rest of her life.
The tenement, to which knowledge of this situation was common property, was divided in opinion.
In general, Isabel's course was approved, but there were some who believed that if the old lady
would just take a chance, probably everything would be all right. Never a day passed without
sympathetic friends making inquiry.
To all questions and suggestions the old soul gave a doleful sigh of resignation and responded that
in this world happiness was not her lot.
When Costa appeared on a visit to his beloved after completing his military service, the neighbors
greeted him with the subdued air usually associated with bereavement, overwhelmed with the force
of a calamity defying even the best efforts of the Witch.
For Pombinha was loved by all. It was she who wrote their letters and laundry lists, summed up
accounts, and read the newspaper to such as cared to listen. Her learning was highly respected and
brought her a certain amount of luxury, as her services were rewarded by numerous presents. Thus
she was always supplied with shoes or slippers and colored stockings, to wear with her neatly
starched dress, and had even some overrated jewelry for her adornment. In fact, one observing her at
mass on Sunday at the fashionable St. John the Baptist's would never in the world associate her with
the tenement of São Romão.43
The last tub was occupied by Albino, an effeminate youth, weak, thin and bleached, with a
melancholy wisp of long brown hair hanging to his slender neck. He also did washing, and the
women were so accustomed to his presence that they treated him as one of themselves, freely
discussing matters never broached when the other men were about. He was even the confidant of

41
p44
42
p45
43
p46

16
 their loves and their infidelities, to which he listened, neither revolted nor moved. When a couple
quarreled or friends disagreed, it was always Albino who performed the office of peacemaker, the
women heeding his exhortations to forgive and forget. He formerly accommodated his colleagues by
collecting their laundry accounts for them, but once visiting a college dormitory on such an errand,
Albino was so badly treated that he declared, with tears and sobs, that never again would he serve as
collector. He rarely left the courtyard except at carnival time. Then, masked as a dancer, he
abandoned work and enjoyed a week of riotous pleasure among the merrymakers in the city. For this
great occasion he labored and saved. When at work he wore an apron that hung about his legs like a
skirt, but after work-hours and on Sunday he always appeared in white starched shirt and trousers,
and with a handkerchief knotted about his thin neck. He neither drank nor smoked, and his hands
were always cold and moist.
On this particular morning he had risen more tired than usual, because he had passed a restless
night. Old Isabel, who lived next door, corroborated his statement, recounting how she had heard
him sighing and even groaning during the night, and realized that he was too44 distressed to sleep.
She then recommended various remedies for stubborn digestion and the two enjoyed a dismal
discussion of pains, symptoms, and diseases, which terminated only at midday.
In the meantime, at the other tubs Machona, Augusta, Leocadia, the Witch, Marcianna, and her
daughter had carried on a shrill conversation which had left them hoarse and exhausted, as in order
to be heard each one had to yell a little louder than the others. A line of impatient laundresses from
outside were awaiting their turn at the tubs and adding to the confusion of tongues, some seated on
huge bundles of soiled linen and others engaged in discussions that threatened at any moment to
become quarrels. The last stragglers among the men were now departing for work. Through a door at
the rear some directed their steps toward the quarry, from which the ring of chisels presently was
heard. Miranda, trim in laundered trousers and black coat, left the house for his office, accompanied
by Henrique, who was due at school. Alexandre, who had been on night duty, solemnly entered the
gate and proceeded to his door, looking neither to the right nor the left, and greeting not even his
wife. He would sleep most of the day. A group of peddlers, Delporto, Pompeo, Francesco, and
Andrea, swung their baskets to their shoulders and departed for the day's pilgrimage, wildly
gesticulating and pouring forth a stream of Italian.
A boy entered and approached the tubs, inquiring of Machona for a laundress named Rita.
"Rita Bahiana?-yes, I know her. She's been gone more than a week now." 48
Leocadia added that doubtless Rita was off on a spree with Firmo.
"What Firmo ? " inquired Augusta.
"That long-legged mulatto who hangs around her part of the time. They say he's a plumber."
"Has she moved?" questioned the boy.
"No," answered Machona. "Her place is locked up, but her things are still there. What do you
want?"
"She's got our clothes."
"Well, I don't know anything about it; you'd better ask in there at the store. Maybe they know
something about her."
"Where?"
"Straight in front of you, where that peddler is selling meat. And look where you're going, you
young devil, or you'll step in the blueing."
Then noting her son, Augusto, who rushed up to learn the business of the visitor, she screamed:
"Keep away from here, you pest! Whenever you come around, something always happens. Come
here-what have you got? And why on earth are you not at work weeding Mr. Miranda's garden?"
"Yesterday he told me to come afternoons."
"Oh, yes, I remember. To-morrow, be sure he gives you your two milreis, because it's the end of
the month. Run into the house and ask Nenem for the clothes that came last night."

44
p47

17
 And as the child ran to do her bidding she shouted after him: "And tell her not to put on the stew
till I come!"
After this the conversation turned upon Rita Bahiana.45
"She must be crazy," censured Augusta. "Imagine going out on a tear before her clothes are
delivered. She'll lose all her customers."
"She's too wild to ever be tamed. She gets worse all the time. No matter what work she has on
hand, along comes a beau and off she goes. Remember what she did last year at the testa at Penha?"
"And now with this Firmo mulatto. I never saw anything so brazen. He comes here, as you've all
seen, loaded down with booze and food, and then he starts in with that guitar and it's nothing but
feast and dance, day and night. I call it scandalous."
"And it's not only on Sunday."
"I should say not. For Rita every day's a holiday. All she needs is a man."
"But she's.not a bad sort, after all. Pity she can't cut out these wild affairs."
"Oh, she's good-hearted; too much so, she can never keep a cent. It just seems that money burns her
fingers till she spends it."
"And then what can she do? João Romão won't trust her for her rent."
"True; and look at all the money he has made out of her; she's one of his best customers."
And they chattered away, rubbing, soaping, beating, and rinsing, and soon the open spaces
appeared in festive array, with lines and lines of silvery banners glistening in the sun.
The day was hot and the sun beat pitilessly on the steaming pavement ang glaring walls of the
tenement, half blinding the perspiring women.46
Up in one of the windows of Miranda's house Dona Estella and Zulmira, in loose, cool white,
manicured their nails and conversed in low tones, indifferent to the agitated turmoil below them and
forgetful of the comfort that surrounded them.
In the meantime, within the store things were humming. Already laborers from the neighboring
factories were dropping in for their early lunch. At the counter Domingos and Manoel had not
enough hands to wait on the mob of servants from surrounding residences who bore away yellow-
covered parcels, while an endless stream of coins dropped into the till.
"Half a kilo of rice."
" A bottle of vinegar."
"Two liters of wine."
" A handful of tobacco and the rest in soap."
All clamored together, and some protested at delay.
"Look here, Domingos, my dinner's on the stove."
"Hurry up with those potatoes, I've a lot of errands yet."
"Manoel, I won't wait any longer for that butter.',
Yonder in the restaurant Bertoleza, with her skirt gathered up around her hips, the sweat running
down her thick, short neck, rushed from table to stove and from stove to sink, cooking and dishing
the food, which João Romão himself, uniformed as usual in denim pants and dirty shirt, carried to
the waiting customers. Being unequal to this service without help, a waiter had been engaged, an
anemic youth who took the orders, chanting a list of Bertoleza's efforts which never varied from day
to day. An odor of rancid oil hung over the place, 47 and steam and smoke clouded the air. Paraty, the
native rum, circulated freely and the room was a babel of raised voices and clattering dishes.
Questions and replies were flying in all directions, discussions and arguments ensued, emphasis
being effected by much pounding on the tables. Newcomers entered eagerly and others departed
more leisurely, stuffed with the coarse and heavy food.

45
p49
46
p50
47
p51

18
 On a bench at the entrance of the store was seated a man dressed in trousers and shirt of denim and
wearing slippers of untanned leather. He had been waiting a full hour for an opportunity to talk with
João Romão. He was a Portuguese of perhaps thirty-five, tall and broad, with stiff and bristling
mustache and a mass of coarse, thick hair which swept his forehead beneath a cheap felt hat. He had
the neck of a Hercules, but his eyes, big and gentle like those of an ox, radiated humility and
kindness.
"And can't I talk to him yet?" he inquired, approaching Domingos' counter.
"The boss is busy now, wait a little."
"But it's past ten, and I haven't had a bite of breakfast yet."
"Well, then, come back later."
"Can't do it, I live way across the city."
Whereupon the clerk shouted into the kitchen, without interrupting his count of clothes-pins: "Mr.
João, that fellow here to see you says he can't wait any longer."
"Tell him not to go, I'll talk to him in just a few48 minutes," responded the proprietor, as he bore a
tray into the restaurant.
"But I haven't had any breakfast and I can't stand it any longer," intervened Hercules in a heavy,
resounding voice.
"Well, son, come in here and sit down. We've got plenty to eat, and no need for anybody going
hungry."
"All right," agreed the big fellow, passing from the store to the restaurant, where he was eyed with
curiosity from head to foot, an operation always performed upon newcomers.
He seated himself at a table and the waiter appeared and sang his song.
"Fried fish and potatoes, and a half bottle of wine."
"White or red?"
"Red, and get a move on you, because I am about starved."49

CHAPTER FOUR.

A half hour later, the rush being over and João Romão less busy, he dropped into a chair opposite
his visitor, really fatigued, but his face and bearing gave no sign of his weariness.
"You were sent by Machucas?" he inquired. "He mentioned somebody he claimed knows how to
size up rock, blast it, and do trimming."
"I'm the party."
"I suppose you've been working at another quarry."
"Have been and still am. I'm at the São Diogo, but I don't like it, and I want to make a change!'
"What do they pay you?"
"Seventy milreis."
"It's too much, it's ridiculous!'
"I wouldn't work for less!'
"Well, the most I pay here to anybody is fifty."
"A beginner gets that much."
"Don't you believe it; I can get plenty of expert trimmers at fifty."
"I doubt if they're any good. And I'll bet my right hand that fifty milreis won't hire a man who
knows rock grain, and how to blast without waste and without accidents."
"Maybe, but seventy milreis is impossible, away over my head."
"In that case I'll go back where I came from; I get seventy there!'
"Seventy milreis is a lot of money."50

48
p52
49
p53
50
p54

19
 "Look here; where I'm working now they know that it pays to give a good man a little more money,
and not have accidents like the one that you had last week, to say nothing of the poor devil that had
his head caved in."
"So Machucas told you about that affair, did he?"
"Sure he did; and that accident would never have happened with a blaster that knows his business."
"But seventy milreis- Good Lord, man; come down a little."
"Less than seventy won't do for me-I guess we're wasting time."
"Do you know my quarry ? "
"Never been up close to it, but I've heard it's good. I could smell granite from the street."
"Wait a minute."
João Romão ran in to the store to give a few directions and immediately returned, with his hat
jammed down over his ears, beckoning the other to follow.
"Come on and look it over" he called from the door of the now nearly empty restaurant.
The blaster paid his modest bill and followed in silence as the proprietor led the way through the
tenement.
The clamor was in full swing. The laundresses had finished their early lunch and were again at
work. In addition to the rude awning stretched over their tubs, some wore straw hats, the better to
protect them from the blazing sun. Machona was engaged in a wordy war with an outside laundress
regarding a shirt exchanged and a pair of socks vanished. Augusta appeared about to51 melt and
mingle with the soap before her. Leocadia dropped her work at intervals and turned her attention to
vigorous scratching. The Witch muttered along in her idiotic fashion, nobody paying any attention to
her monologue, and at her side the solemn mulatta, Marcianna, sucked at a pipe and mournfully
groaned a weird song about one Maricas, who seemed to be having a hard time of it.
Young Florinda, happy and not at all inconvenienced by the sun, whistled the choruses of the
various songs about her, tirelessly wringing her clothes, which were now ready for the line, in
contrast to poor Dona Isabel, who emitted her eternal melancholy sighs as she performed a like
office for her wash. The weary Albino paused now and then to rest his hands on his thin hips, and
then continued beating a pair of white trousers, as though trying to avenge-heaven knows what. His
slight frame was atremble and he frequently interrupted work to mop his face with the handkerchief
about his neck. Like Isabel, he also sighed. From No.8 was heard a high and sharp falsetto, proof that
Das Dores at last had started work. She did not know how to iron without singing. In No.7 her sister,
Nenem, also lifted her voice in song, but Nenem was a contralto. A little farther up the line a
candidate for the band had unmuzzled his trombone and was making an onslaught on the scale. He
did very well up as far as sol, after which he always came to grief. Time after time he essayed it, ever
accompanied by the best wishes of the neighbors, the laundresses pausing and52 holding their breath
as the crisis was reached, only to resume work in discouragement after the inevitable catastrophe.
At the moment the vender and his companion passed by, Florinda's head was almost touching the
ground as she gathered up her work, and João Romão improved the opportunity to give her a
resounding slap.
"Hands off!" she shrieked. Then turning about and recognizing the author of the caress, she
continued:
"I might have known it was you. Gay boy, coming around here playing jokes and taking liberties
with people, and then robbing them blind with your short weights in your damned old store. You can
keep away from me; I don't want anything to do with you."
For all of which she received another even harder slap in the same place. And then João Romão
fled, seeing her reach for a pan of blueing.
"You've a lot of people here," remarked the blaster, as they proceeded through the courtyard-

51
p55
52
p56

20
 "About a hundred tenants when everything's filled up," replied the landlord, shrugging his
shoulders.
"And all quiet and orderly people. No rough stuff goes in this tenement. If anybody starts anything,
I appear and it ends right there. The police have never been in here, and I don't intend to ever have
them. Yes, I've got a good crowd of people. They play their guitars and amuse themselves without
any rows."
They left the enclosure, passing through a door held by a weight on a rope, and entered the part of
the field left between the tenement and the quarry.
"This is shorter," remarked the vender, leaving the53 path and leading the way through the stunted
bushes growing out of the sandy soil.
It was just noon and the December sun was directly overhead. The bare granite hillside threw back
a blinding glare, and as the two men approached the ground became rougher and the sand coarser. At
the right was the dry bed of a creek crossed by a simple wooden bridge. On this sat three small boys,
nearly naked and seemingly unconscious of the blazing sun beating down upon them. Under a long,
low shed whose tiled roof was supported by a dozen stone pillars, a cluster of Portuguese laborers
wielded their hammers and chisels on the huge blocks of granite before them. Near by was the
blacksmith's shop, littered with scraps of junk. Two men, clad in cotton trousers beneath leather
aprons, were at work at the anvil. Running with sweat, one beat the molten metal which his
companion held with one hand, while with the other he worked the wheezing forge. João Romão
paused a moment to call in: "Oh, Bruno, don't forget the handle of that lantern at the gate." The
laborers relaxed for a moment while one responded, "I went down and looked at it, and it's not worth
fixing-nearly rusted through; better make a new one."
"Well, make it, then," ordered the landlord, reluctantly. "The lantern's about ready to fall."
They halted to observe the carts by which the quarry's product was moved. A couple were ready to
depart, their burros blinking dejectedly in the fierce heat. Others were in process of loading and still
others were drawn aside, their two wheels half buried in the sand and their54 shafts pointed toward
the sky, like a pair of arms supplicating a little more rest.
Between them and the quarry were two more small sheds. One, indescribably filthy, served as
stable for a half dozen animals. The other was the carpenter shop, one end piled to the roof with odds
and ends of lumber, while the space in front was filled with logs and discarded masts of ships.
Crossing the few feet of burning sand, they entered the quarry. Some of the workmen stolidly
braved the broiling sun, while others had erected rude covers of canvas or palm leaves over their
heads. A few sang at their work, and others toiled on in sullen silence. Farther up the rocky face of
the hill was a group engaged in preparing a blast. The noises of the quarry were mingled with the
confused din of the tenement, the whole giving the effect of an interminable battle. The army of half
naked, perspiring men appeared like a host of rebellious devils, vainly attacking the rocky giant that
enchained them, huge and immovable, impervious to the onslaughts of the pigmy foe.
The blaster paused for a moment to study the quarry. The huge pile of rock glistened and glittered
in the sunlight, the whole side of the hill bared with the years of effort which, little by little, was
gnawing away its substance. Much as had been taken, it was small in comparison with what
remained. He drew his breath as he appreciated the untouched wealth still awaiting the fortunate
possessor. Far above, children appeared to be clinging to the rock; they were drillers, preparing the
way for the blaster.55
The visitor shook his head in frank disapproval. "Look over there," he said, pointing. "No, I mean
the high part, above that cart. Only a blind man would go in from this side. Notice the seams--can't
you see that blasting from this side crumbles the whole rock? Good Lord! I supposed that even a fool
would know enough to follow the grain. What are you getting out of that section-a lot of little culls.

53
p57
54
p58
55
p59

21
 It makes me wild to see a beautiful piece of stone spoiled like that. You might as well turn loose a
cageful of monkeys to do your work as let this continue the way it is going."
The proprietor listened in silence, biting his lips with vexation at the idea of so much loss, for he
realized the justice of the other's strictures..
"Rotten work," continued the critic. "The blast should have been set off right where that negro is
standing now. You can see the seam directly behind him. That whole chunk would have been
loosened and not all broken to bits as it now lies.
"But you haven't anybody who knows this work.. You can't deny that a lot of blasts have been
repeated because too little powder was used, and at other times so much was used that the stone was
crumbled. Yes, my friend, if ever a quarry needed a blaster, this one does. And the job's no cinch;
much of it is practically cliff, and the man who sets off the charge has got to be pulled away by a
rope. It's risky business, and you are going to keep on having accidents So long as you leave it to a
bungler.
"Rotten trimming," he added, passing his hand over56 a block on the ground. "Look at the seam
across this piece. It's sure to crack before it's even put in place. What contractor would ever accept
that for a door-sill?" João Romão perspired in misery, almost tearful to learn that there was so much
wrong with his quarry. And worst of all, he realized that there was much truth in the observations of
the other. Mentally he began to calculate how much money he would have had without these costly
errors. They had now rounded a corner of the cliff and another face of the hill was exposed to view.
The blaster drew his breath with admiration. "What beautiful, beautiful granite," he murmured.
"What a gold mine."
"Yes, but my part of it extends only to yonder cleft," responded the vender. "I tried to buy the rest,
but they want too much for it. Anyhow, I have enough here to keep me going for years to come."
On this side, trespassing on the land of another, had been constructed a cluster of rude shelters
where some of João Romão's laborers rested. Before these, perched on four stones, pots of food
simmered over a smoldering fire, in some places guarded by children who had brought them from a
distance. A few laborers were eating, dipping chunks of bread into bowls of soupy stew, while others
were scrawled upon the ground in the shade of the shelters, snatching a moment's repose before
returning to the heat of the day's labor.
"Strikes me there's a lot of loafing around here. How do you know whether these fellows layoff the
time they're entitled to or wbether they lay down on you?57 If I were in charge of this work, I can tell
you that every man would do his share or else take his little hammer and make dust down the road."
"But," sighed João Romão, "the devil of it is that you insist on seventy milreis."
"Right you are, and not a cent less. But with me here on the job, this quarry would produce so
much more money that the little extra you pay me would never be missed. Your hands need weeding
out, too, because you have got more trimmers than you need for the amount of rock being blasted.
They loaf, because very likely they don't get more than thirty milreis."
"That's exactly what I pay them," admitted João Romão.
"Well, you ought to fire half of them and pay the rest fifty milreis, and insist that they turn out the
same amount of work. Pick out the best workmen, and they will feel well paid and work hard to keep
their jobs."
This sounded logical to João Romão, as he mentally calculated how much would be saved by six
trimmers at fifty milreis, instead of twelve at thirty.
"Look over there at that fellow lifting a stone. That's the third time he's let it fall. You've got a poor
lot of men here."
They turned and left the quarry, João Romão walking toward the tenement silent and pensive, but
finally addressing the blaster:
"And if I hire you, you would move into the tenement?"

56
p60
57
p61

22
 "Naturally; I couldn't work here and continue living over on the other side of the city.”58
"And I suppose you would trade at my store?" "That's up to my wife-she runs the kitchen. But it
might as well be your store as another.',
"Well then," sighed the vender, with the air of one about to plunge into icy water, "I guess we can
consider the bargain closed."
Seventy milreis was a lot of money, but he cheered himself with the reflection that most of it would
find its way back into his till.
"Then I can move in to-morrow?" asked the new employee.
"To-day, if you like," responded the proprietor. "No. 35 is vacant. Come on, I'll show it to you!'
Quickening their pace, they entered the enclosure and turned their steps toward No.35.
"By the way, what is your name ? " inquired the vender.
"Jeronymo."
"And your wife, does she wash?"
"Yes, sir, she's a laundress."
"Well then, we must see that she has a tub!'
Which ended the negotiations that introduced a new element into the crowded tenement of São
Romão.59

CHAPTER FIVE

On the following morning at seven, when the tenement was seething with its customary early
activity, Jeronymo appeared in company with his wife to take possession of the rooms he had rented
the previous afternoon.
The wife was called Piedade de Jesus, a most appropriate combination, considering that Piedade
means "piety." She was about thirty, of good height and generous form, and with heavy hair, an olive
skin, and teeth firm, if somewhat irregular. She had the full, open face of the honest creature she
was, and her eyes expressed the stupid kindness she was wont to display toward everybody.
Both had accompanied the two hand-carts that had transported their household goods. Piedade
wore a plain serge skirt, a simple laundered waist, and a red silk kerchief over her head. Jeronymo
was dressed as on the previous day.
The couple appeared much concerned and weighted down with a number of articles too precious to
be entrusted to the men with the carts. Jeronymo bore in his arms a pair of ornate glass vases, large
enough to serve as boots. Piedade tenderly hugged an old wall clock and clutched a basket from
which peered a collection of plaster saints.
Thus they crossed the courtyard, followed by the stares of the neighbors, who always regarded
newcomers with a curiosity tinged with suspicion.60
"Who's that little piece of a man?" inquired Machona of Augusta Carne Molle at the ad joining tub.
"He's going to work in the quarry-was roaming all over the place yesterday with Mr. João."
"And the woman with him-that his wife?"
"More'n likely," answered the other.
"Look like island folk to me."
"They've got wonderful furniture," intervened Leocadia. "I'll bet that bed was a wedding present.
And their bureau's got a mirror as big as a dish-pan."
"And the wash-stand's got a marble top, did you notice that, Leocadia?!" shrieked Florinda, in
order that her voice might carry over the Witch and old Marcianna, who were between her and the
others.
"Yes, I saw it, but it won't compare with the oratory-all covered with carving."

58
p62
59
p63
60
p64

23
 "Truly, a work of art," all agreed.
Indeed, the new neighbors had made a most favorable impression. It was clear that they were no
ordinary trash.
"But whether they are good or bad, only time can tell," ventured old Isabel.
"True, indeed; you can't judge people's hearts by their faces," sighed Albino.
"But," inquired Augusta, "wasn't No.35 occupied by that yellow-faced old man that made cigars?"
"It was," confirmed Leocadia, wife of Bruno, the blacksmith. "But he skipped out, owing his rent,
and yesterday João Romão cleared out his furniture, which he says is worth less than what's due
him."
"And about two o'clock yesterday he was having a61 fearful row with two men from the cigar
factory who claimed the furniture is theirs. Who knows, maybe old saffron-face has gone to the devil
like the tinsmith that lived there before him."
"Hardly; the tinsmith killed himself."
"Well, I can tell you, I wouldn't live in No.35 if I could have it rent free. Maricas de Farjao died
there."
Three hours later Jeronymo and Piedade were installed and settled in their new home and partaking
of the lunch the wife had hastily prepared. Jeronymo announced that he did not intend to begin at the
quarry till the day following and was at Piedade's disposal for any little jobs around the house that
she had for him.
Jeronymo had come to Brazil contracted as a farm hand, and had labored like a beast on a
plantation for two years. There he lived among the slaves and endured the hardest life he ever had
known. His contract finished, finding himself with nothing accumulated for all this intense effort and
with no future for his wife and little girl, he refused to continue longer and came to the city, where he
found employment in a quarry, breaking stone for a miserable wage. By dint of Piedade's poorly paid
laundry work, they managed to keep a roof over their heads and not go hungry.
Jeronymo, however, was industrious and observing, and of no mean ability. Before long he was
quarrying, and gained fame as the neatest and fastest trimmer in the establishment. Blasting
fascinated him and he observed and inquired, and never lost an opportunity to learn more about it.
His zeal was rewarded and he was62 made a sort of foreman in the quarry, with a wage of seventy
milreis, the highest there paid.
"But it was not only Jeronymo's industry that had brought him to the front. Strong as a bull, he was
feared and respected by the others, and the uncompromising honesty and integrity that ruled his
every act had completely won their confidence. The simplicity of his habits was the wonder and
admiration of all who knew him-from home to work, and from work back to his home again, living
in the most perfect harmony with Piedade, and taking pride in seeing his child neat and well dressed.
He was the first to arrive at his work and the last to leave in the evening, On Sunday he occasionally
went to mass and in the afternoon took a walk in the park. On such occasions he wore shoes, a
starched shirt, and also a coat. And Piedade wore her earrings, brought from Portugal and never
pawned, not even in the first days of hardship encountered by the couple. And Piedade, honest,
healthy and strong, was a worthy mate. With industry rivaling his own, she was at work from early
till late, and her washing was so beautifully done and her accounts so scrupulously fair that her
former customers, nearly all of them, insisted on sending her their work in spite of her removal to
Botafogo.
From the time Jeronymo had begun to earn better wages he had thought much about improving the
condition of his family. He had joined a religious brotherhood with a sick benefit and hospital
service for its members, and opened a savings account. The little daughter63 was placed in a school to
learn the things that "nobody had ever taken the trouble" to teach him. In their former home their

61
p65
62
p66
63
p67

24
 house was the cleanest, most comfortable and most respected in the tenement where they lived. But
with the death of the old employer, Jeronymo was so vexed by the stupid changes made by the new
proprietor that he felt constrained to make a move, and had been recommended to João Romão as the
best possible successor to the former blaster whose head had not been able to withstand the weight of
five tons of rock.
The vender put him in general charge of the work and the results were soon apparent. His industry
and zeal were an example to the others. Loafing and loss of time he would permit in nobody. The
personnel underwent changes. Many former employees disappeared and a few new ones were
admitted. The pay of those retained was increased, but their output nearly doubled. At the end of two
months João Romão rubbed his hands with satisfaction as he noted the growing receipts of the
quarry along with an actually reduced expense account, and, most marvelous of all, a contented
group of laborers. He was almost tempted to increase Jeronymo's pay, and he called down all sorts of
blessings, for which no payment was required, on the head of Machucas for sending him such a
treasure. And all the tenement noted that the proprietor regarded Jeronymo with a respect and esteem
heretofore vouchsafed no other resident of São Romão.
The blaster early came to occupy among his new neighbors the same influential position that had
been64 his in the old home. Soon he was consulted on all matters concerning the neighborhood's
welfare, and not infrequently was his advice sought regarding the private problems of the tenement
dwellers. Even Alexandre, in full uniform, had been observed to render a sort of little salute to
Jeronymo when they passed each other in the courtyard.
The two clerks in João Romão's store were enthusiastic. "He ought to be the proprietor here.
There's a man with guts. Nobody ever pulls the wool over his eyes." And when Piedade de Jesus
made her purchases, she was given the choicest articles in stock, full measure and no scale-juggling.
Some of the laundresses became envious of Piedade, but the good soul was so kind and inoffensive
that she disarmed ill-will, and a search for her defects but emphasized her virtues.
Jeronymo always arose at four o'clock, and was therefore first at the faucets for the morning wash.
Then, after a huge bowl of broth with a half loaf of bread, he was ready for work and ascended to the
quarry, clad in short-sleeved shirt, denim trousers, coarse hair flying in the wind, his big bare feet
thrust into rawhide slippers. The sharp ringing of his chisel served as a trumpet call, summoning his
companions to the fray, and usually the rising sun found the battle already under way, Jeronymo and
his group of humble warriors throwing themselves upon the granite monster and carving from its
bowels their daily bread.
The foreman returned home only at dusk, exhausted with hunger and fatigue. For their evening
meal Piedade always prepared dishes to which they had been65 accustomed back in Portugal and
which Jeronymo especially liked. And there within that modest little room the two spent a brief
evening of rest, recounting to each other the various incidents of the day.. After their hours of intense
labor beneath a tropic sun, they gave themselves over to the most voluptuous pleasure known to the
human frame--complete relaxation and repose. Reclining beneath their smoky oil lamp, ambitious
plans for the future of Marianita were formulated by the faithful couple, for the little daughter whose
company they enjoyed only on Sundays and holidays, that she might be taught the mysteries denied
her simple mother and father.
Sometimes until bedtime, unfailingly at nine o'clock, the evening was passed in a journey back to
the land of their birth. Seated in the doorway, Jeronymo would pluck the strings of his guitar and in a
deep, soft voice sing the plaintive old songs of Portugal, while Piedade closed her tear-filled eyes
and lived again the scenes of her girlhood at home with her mother and father, when a stalwart youth
shyly came to court her, and won her heart by singing these same melancholy melodies of the land
across the sea.66

64
p68
65
p69
66
p70

25
 CHAPTER SIX

It was a gay and festive Sunday morning in the tenenent of São Romão; the month was April, with
brilliant sunshine everywhere, though the air was cool and fresh.
The tubs were abandoned and the lines empty. Basket after basket of clean, starched clothes left the
tenement, usually borne aloft on the practiced heads of the coming generation. The houses cleaned
and the morning work done up, the laundresses themselves appeared, spick and span in spotless
waists and calico skirts. in place of the coarse straw hats of work hours, the Portuguese women wore
bright silk handkerchiefs and the Brazilians a spray of flowers in their elaborately dressed hair. Not a
few of the women wore light shawls over their shoulders, more for effect than comfort, as there was
no chill in the air. Men, stripped to the waist, were pitching quoits with enthusiasm. A group of
ltalians were seated beneath a tree, smoking their pipes and conversing noisily. A few young
children were receiving a tardy bath at the faucets, their mothers soaping them liberally, while with
tightly shut eyes they wailed their protests. Machona's house was in a turmoil, as the family was
going out for the day. She herself shouted and shouted, and Nenem shouted too, and Augusto
demonstrated the progress of his mounting years by shouting louder than either of them. Voices were
lifted in song, the plebeian mouth-organ sounded forth unabashed, mandolins tinkled and guitars
were strummed, and the67 boisterous trombone mounted to the dizzy heights of the scale's top notes
in triumph.
Even the parrots entered into the spirit of the day, and whistled and voiced their choicest profanity.
In nearly every doorway rested a laborer in a clean shirt and his "other trousers." A few who could
read were intent on a stale newspaper that had come wrapped about the clothes, and one was
declaiming in strident tones some verses from "Os Luziadas." All radiated the satisfaction of being at
least partially washed and arrayed in clean clothing. From every tiny kitchen came the tantalizing
smell of stewing beef. Of the Miranda residence only the two rear windows had been opened, and
down the back stairs a servant was carrying slop pails to be emptied in the drain. In spite of the
merry clamor of the tenement, there was something lacking in the confusion of sound; the ringing of
chisels and the roar of the macaroni factory's machinery were stilled. The quarry appeared forlorn
and deserted in its unaccustomed quiet, but in compensation, João Romão's establishment was
overflowing. Many of the laundresses were grouped about the gateway better to observe the Sunday
movement, among them, Albino, in clean trousers and shirt and with his accustomed handkerchief
knotted about his neck. He was contentedly consuming a stick of candy purchased from a passing
peddler.
Within the store, Domingos and Manoel were passing over the counter numberless glasses of white
wine, paraty and a sort of orange brandy, while the really thirsty called for huge schooners of native
beer, all of which were consumed with noisy demonstrations of sat-68isfaction. Izaura already was
entangled in her first investment in taffy, foolishly giggling at the remarks made to her. Leonor had
not a moment's peace, leaping from side to side with the agility of a monkey to escape the calloused
fingers attempting to pinch her legs, her pursuers emitting guffaws of laughter and seemingly
indifferent to her oft-repeated warning that they would find themselves haled before the stern bar of
justice of the "orphum's court." But not for anything would she depart, because there in front of the
store had arrived a man who played five instruments at once, while his feet managed a drum,
cymbals, and a string of bells.
It was only eight o'clock but already the restaurant had customers, who took part in the various
discussions in the store by shouting their remarks from the room at the side. João Romão, in a clean
shirt like the others, appeared from time to time with a tray of food prepared in the smoky kitchen by

67
p71
68
p72

26
 Bertoleza, dirty and sooty, to whom Sunday was different from other days in only one particular-she
worked harder.
But suddenly occurred an event that threw the tenement into the uproar of a riotous welcome-Rita
Bahiana returned after her prolonged absence of months, during which the only news of her was that
she regularly sent her rent money. She was accompanied by an urchin from the market, who bore on
his head an enormous basket filled with Rita's purchases. From within a wreath of crisp lettuce an
over-grown fish gazed out upon the scene with a dull, discouraged eye, in striking contrast to the
jovial smiles of a bunch of69 blonde carrots, a half dozen round-faced beets and a grinning yellow
pumpkin.
"Leave it there in front of No.9," she called to the boy, whom she then paid for his trip and
dismissed.
All the way from the entrance of the tenement her progress had been marked by a chorus of noisy
greetmgs.
"See who's here!"
"Hooray, it's Rita Bahiana! "
"The cemetery couldn't hold Rita."
"Bless me, this damned mulatta gets worse all the time."
"Well, you female tramp, where have you been all this time?"
"So this time you couldn't pull loose and come back to us."
Rita had paused in the middle of the courtyard. She was surrounded by a friendly mob of men,
women and children, all eager to hear of her doings. She hadn't come in her Sunday clothes; no, she
had just slipped on these things-she displayed her bare foot in a leather-soled slipper-and come up on
an impulse. Her abundant wavy hair, fragrant with an oil brought from Bahia, was moulded on the
back of her neck, and she radiated the peculiar odor of the immaculate mulatta, mingled with that of
the aromatic herbs she loved to fold among her clothes.
Never still, with quick turnings and twistings of her active body, she responded right and left to
eager queries, laughing gayly and showing the splendid, shin-70ing teeth that invested her face with a
really fascinating comeliness.
Almost the entire tenement had rushed out to greet ler. Her hands were grasped, and kisses and
embraces ained upon her. All wanted to know what the popular mulatto had been doing during her
three months' abence.
"Come on, tell us, old sweetheart. What have you een doing, you giddy nanny-goat? But really,
where lave you been buried all this time?"
"In Jacarepagua!'
"With which one?"
"Firmo!'
"What, that affair still going? ! "
"Shut up, this time it's serious!'
"Serious-what, you? ! Get out-we know you too well, Rita Bahiana!'
"The love affairs of Rita!" exclaimed Bruno amid general laughter. "Half a dozen a year, not
counting the others in between!'
"You know that's not true," disclaimed Rita, indiglantly. "When I take up with one man I never
look at any other!':
Leocadia, hidden behind the mulatta, left her place to join in the conversation. She had embraced
the absentee fervently, and listened to the rapid fire of questions and answers with tears of emotion.
With her hands on her hips, she asked:
"But if it's serious this time, why don't you settle down with Firmo? Why don't you two get
married?"

69
p73
70
p74

27
 "I, marry!" exclaimed Rita in amazement. "Don't71 you think my mother's daughter will ever make
such a break as that. Marry-the Lord help us-what for? To stick my head in a noose? A husband is
worse than the devil himself; you wake up and find you're a silly man's slave. Heaven deliver me
from anything of that sort. There's nothing like being your own boss."
This torrent was terminated by Rita's shrug of supreme disdain, which other admiring women
imitated, but none succeeded in reproducing.
"Rita, you'll be the death of me," giggled Augusta Came Molle in her foolish admiration. She found
Rita Bahiana most entertaining and would drop her work on a moment's notice to spend the whole
afternoon watching the mulatta dance.
Florinda had been helping her mother prepare lunch, but on hearing of the wanderer's return she
came running, laughing happily, to throw herself in the mulatta's arms. Even old Marcianna, though
without shedding her mantle of gloom, came to the window to wave a solemn welcome. Das Dores,
with her skirt gathered up about her hips and a towel serving as an apron, her uncombed hair flying
all directions, abandoned her halfcleaned house to plant a resounding slap on Rita's flanks, while she
shrieked in her high-pitched voice: "So this time you got a plenty, you shameless mulatta! " And the
two, rocking with laughter, embraced with the intimacy of devoted friends whose love affairs are
confided to each other.
The Witch approached in silence and gravely shook the hand of her returned neighbor, after which
she turned to depart.72
"Oh, you miracle worker! " laughed Rita, slapping the idiot on the back, "what devil are you
praying to these days? I want you to give me a charm, Aunt Paula, so my man won't get away from
me."
And so on, with a greeting for each. Upon noting the approach of Dona Isabel, dressed in her black
silk and Macao shawl, she embraced the old lady and begged a pinch of snuff, which was
emphatically refused.
"Where's Pombinha?" asked the mulatta.
But at this moment Pombinha herself emerged from he door, sweet and clean in a new frock of
sateen, her lands occupied with her prayer-book, handkerchief, and parasol.
"Ah, how pretty she is," murmured Rita, nodding her head. "She is truly a flower."
As Pombinha came within reach, she bestowed upon the girl a hug and a kiss. "If João da Costa
doesn't make you happy as an angel, I'll break his head with my flat-iron!"
Then becoming serious, she asked of Dofia Isabel in lowered voice: "Has it started yet?"
To which the unhappy mother replied with a mournful shake of the head.
Circumspect Alexandre was under the necessity of maintaining his dignity, since he was fully
uniformed and about to go on duty, so he limited his greeting to slight wave of the hand; to which
the irrepressible mulatta responded by standing at attention and saluting, the gesture accompanied by
a deep-throated chuckle that decidedly disconcerted the old fellow. But attention immediately was
drawn from his dis-73 comfiture by a shout from Rita: "Why, there's old Liborio! That little Jew will
never give up his soul to the devil that's waiting for it."
And she rushed over to a spot in the bright April sun where a dried-up old creature was warming
himself, as he smoked what was left of a pipe, its shortened stem clutched between his toothless
gums.
"Well, well," he wheezed, shading his eyes with a trembling hand.
"How's my old sweetheart?" cried Rita, bending down to pat his shoulder. "Missed me much? I
hope you haven't found another girl!"

71
p75
72
p76
73
p77

28
 The old man giggled and pinched the mulatta's thighs, after which she pretended to be most
indignant, whirling about and clapping her skirt over the old dotard's head, an oft-repeated
pantomime which the neighbors found most entertaining.
So, amid the general rejoicing at her return, Rita recounted what she had been doing during her
absence. Her stay at Jacarepagua had been a continuous celebration, a sort of three-months' carnival.
And then, lowering her voice, she confided that she was expecting company and there would be
music and dancing. This news filled her hearers with rejoicing, for Rita's entertainments were always
the best in the tenement. When the mulatta gathered her friends about her the hours slipped by
without their passage being noted, and while Rita had either money or credit there was always
something to eat and nobody went thirsty.
"Tell me, Leocadia," she begged, "who are these freaks in No.35?"74
Bruno's wife imparted the little she knew regarding Jeronymo and Piedade, whom she regarded as
worthy folk who didn't know how to enjoy themselves. Rita opened her house and carried her
provisions inside, singing as she proceeded with her work. Her very presence seemed to fill the
whole neighborhood with joy, for she had been sadly missed.
Firmo, her present lover, an irresponsible, happy-golucky mulatto who had so won the wayward
fancy of the fickle Rita that she gladly accompanied him to the distant and lonely suburb of
Jacarepagua, was bringing a friend for dinner that afternoon. Rita imparted this information as she
whetted a knife on the stone of the door-sill, preparatory to slitting open the despondent fish, for
which operation the army of cats already were assembling, summoned by the significant rasping of
the blade..
Next door in No.8, Das Dores also was preparing for company, her new proprietor usually dining
with her on Sundays. She had decided that her house needed cleaning, a fact noted long since by the
neighbors, and had determined to make a thorough job of it. She had swept down the ceiling and
walls, and there remained to be done the dusting and scrubbing. In her bare feet, with skirt well
elevated and a towel about her head, she was carrying pail after pail of water which she swept about
in a fashion worthy of Marcianna in one of her worst moods.
There was no lack of volunteer assistants, in either No.8 or No.9. Rita's long-closed house begged a
cleaning, and this task was undertaken by Albino while the75 mulatta busied herself at her stove.
Florinda, Leocadia, and Augusta all were ready to assist, eager to do anything within their power to
contribute to the success of the music and dancing planned for the evening. Pombinha did not appear
during the afternoon, as she was completely occupied with her secretarial duties, to which she
devoted her Sundays-the seemingly endless succession of letters she was called upon to write for the
laundresses and laborers.
At a small table covered with a piece of calico the young girl wrote, her pen recording on the cheap
tablet before her the message dictated by the sender-a remittance to his family across the sea, or a
dun to her slow-paying customer for a laundry bill long due, as the case might be.
All was duly written down, with only here and there a change, the better to express the author's
ideas, and the envelop was then addressed and borne away by the grateful illiterate, his place
immediately to be taken by another. For at such times Pombinha was alone with the friend she aided,
none caring to discuss his correspondence in the presence of others. By this process, the young girl
was accumulating in her virgin heart the sordid details of the private affairs of all those people, often
more fetid than the tenement slime evaporating beneath the blazing sun.
"Write and tell her, Pombinha," mumbled a stone cutter, scratching his head, "and make the letters
big, So the fool woman'll understand. Tell her that I can't send her the money now, because I'm too
hard up, but next month it'll come, sure. She can borrow some there76 if she has to, and next month
I'll get it, but God only knows how. And if my brother Luis still wants to come over, better let me

74
p78
75
p79
76
p80

29
 know in time and maybe I can find something for him to do, but times are hard here, just as they are
over there, and I hate to advise anybody to come to a strange country to try his luck, when maybe" he
will get sick or not get a job, or get homesick and want to go back and not have any money to go
with, and then make life miserable for his friends who are just as bad off and can't help him any."
After Pombinha had written this, he added : "Tell her that I miss her dreadfully and that I am the
same as I was over there, and that I don't go near these women here and don't do anything rotten that
would make her ashamed. And tell her that I am going to send for her just as soon as God helps me
to do it (and also the Virgin). And tell her not to be angry because there is no money in this letter,
and to remember , as we say in Portugal: 'When you haven't got a cent, even the tax collector gets
left.' And I almost forgotshe wants to know about Libania. Tell her that Libania has gone to the dogs
and lives down on Rua São Jorge and nobody speaks to her any more, so it's best to forget about her
and not to expect to ever see the five escudos Libania owes her."
All of which was written, sentence by sentence, the only interruption to the pen being the pauses
during which Pombinha eyed the stone cutter, her chin cupped in her hand, waiting for him to
formulate the next phrase of his message. 77

CHAPTER SEVEN
This was the tenement's Sunday, till three o'clock, when there arrived the eagerly awaited Firmo
accompanied by his friend, Porfiro; the former bearing his guitar and the latter a mandolin. Rita
Bahiana's lover was an unambitious mulatto, of slender, wiry build and agile as a goat. Boastful and
impertinent, he enjoyed the reputation of being a clever thief who was enabled to live without steady
work so long as windows could be pried open or chickens stolen. Past thirty, he looked like a youth
of twenty, with his closely knit frame which appeared to be equipped with springs rather than
muscles. He wore a tiny, waxed mustache, and his long heavy mane was ever treated with the
smelliest of the barber's perfumes. This mane was worn parted in the middle, two thick tufts hanging
low beneath a felt hat pulled down to cover the left ear.
He invariably dressed in a well worn black coat and trousers, the latter tight at the knees and wide
at the bottoms, all but concealing his slender feet. He wore no vest, and in place of a tie he used a
much perfumed silk handkerchief. His mouth usually held a big, black cigar, and he always carried a
walking stick the dimensions of a bludgeon.
He was a plumber, said to be a skillful one, but as he frequently spent in one day the earnings of a
week, he found it necessary to supplement his income by means of the nocturnal activities already
referred to. Occasionally a fortunate evening with dice or at rou-78 lette increased his capital, and
then would he enjoy a period of riotous idleness with Rita Bahiana, such as they had spent during the
last three months. If not with Rita, then with some other, for he often observed that "women are not
scarce when a fellow's got money to spend."
He was a native of Rio de Janeiro and enjoyed the distinction of having been born at court, where
his father was one of the Emperor's stable-hands. Until he was twenty he roved about among the
various bands of hoodlums, finally entering upon what he termed his "political career," when he
became an active element in a group of young men, armed with razors, who persuaded adherents of
the opposition party that they didn't want to vote! But he renounced politics-disgusted because he
never attained his ideal-to become a messenger in the government office, with seventy milreis a
month and office hours from eleven till three.
His romance with Rita Bahiana was a complicated affair of remote origin. It had started back in the
days when she arrived fresh from Bahia in company with her mother, a brawny negress who ripped
tripe from dead hogs at the slaughter house. The mother died and Firmo took charge of Rita, the
couple soon separating because of jealous quarrels. Numerous reconciliations were effected, only to

77
p81
78
p82

30
 be followed by another separation. He declared that he had a "passion" for that girl, and badly as she
treated him he "couldn't let her alone, nohow."
After their quarrels, Rita usually succumbed to the wooing of another, whereupon Firmo would
reappear and give her a thorough beating, at which proof of his un-79dying affection she renounced
the substitute and returned to the arms of her first love.
The friend that Firmo brought with him on this particular Sunday was older and darker, and had
kinky hair. Porfiro was a typesetter, and dressed much like Firmo, whose method of wearing his hat
Porfiro admired immensely-more so than he did Firmo's neckerchief, for Porfiro was resplendent in a
cravat of red silk. He carried a cane with a silver handle and used an amber cigaret holder. All of this
splendor was noted by the tenement, and Porfiro was labeled a model of quiet elegance.
After the arrival of the two, the atmosphere in Rita's house thickened. Paraty began to flow and
before long there was heard the whine of a mandolin, soothed by the deeper tones of a guitar. The
two performers, divested of their coats, had settled down to an afternoon and evening of pleasure.
Next door had arrived the business man who inherited Das Dores, and he, also, had brought a
friend. Arrayed in frock coats and silk hats, they introduced a new note into the tenement-a breath of
perfume wafted from the world of fashion. All were impressed; truly, Das Dores was almost in
society. Machona, Nenem, and Augusto had returned from their excursion and were assisting their
daughter and sister. They were to remain for dinner. That portion of the tenement had taken on an
unwonted air of festivity. In both houses dinner had been set for five o'clock.
Rita Bahiana, in a much ruffied gown of white cambric, was hostess to Leocadia, Augusta, Bruno,
Alexan-80 dre, and Albino, in addition to her other guests. Das Dores had, besides her family and the
two men, Dona Isabel, Pombinha, Marcianna, and Florinda. Jeronymo and his wife had been invited
to both tables but had refused, preferring to spend a restful afternoon with each other, eating the
simple Portuguese food that Piedade prepared and sharing their bottle of red wine.
The two feasts proceeded with much hilarity, the chuckles which greeted the soup progressively
developing into shrieks of laughter, until a half hour later the whole neighborhood was convinced
that the twin dinner parties were a complete success. High-pitched voices mingled with the rattling
of dishes inside, while in front gathered a band of eager dogs, ready to retrieve the bones and scraps
that came flying out of the windows. Plates filled with samples of the two feasts were passed from
one house to the other, in order that each party might appreciate the excellence of the menu of the
other.
"Listen!" called Vas Dores to the party in No.9.
" Ask Rita to taste this shrimp salad, and tell me if she ever ate any vatapá fixed better than this.
And if she's got any pepper sauce, I want some."
The uproar in both houses now became deafening. In No.8 toasts were shouted and out-of-tune
songs. Das Dores' gentleman friend's collar and tie had followed his frock coat, and he appeared
about ready to shed even his shirt. Stuffed with roast pork and red wine, he rocked in his chair with
laughter, while the sweat poured from his flushed face. His friend was making amorous advances to
Nenem, unobserved by the others because81 of the fierce altercation in progress between Machona
and her vociferous son, Augusto, who was quiet never a moment. Florinda, always smiling and
good-natured, left the table occasionally to carry a plate of food to her mother, Marcianna having
decided at the last moment to forego the feast.
With the serving of the dessert, the aroused and informal protector of Das Dores required his light-
o'love to seat herself in his lap and bestow upon him ardent kisses, which persuaded old Isabel that it
was time to get her daughter out of such an inferno. She therefore professed to be faint with the heat
and suggested that they have their coffee outside.

79
p83
80
p84
81
p85

31
 And Rita's party was even more animated. Firmo and Porfiro were raising a fearful racket, singing
and recounting lewd anecdotes. The former never for a moment removed his arm from the mulatta's
waist, and insisted upon drinking from the same cup with her. His friend amused himself by making
violent love to Albino, for whom he declared he had conceived an uncontrollable passion. His
indignant victim appeared about to weep.
Leocadia, whom wine always reduced to a state of immoderate hilarity, rocked with laughter until
the chair collapsed beneath her, after which she placed the soles of her feet against those of Porfiro,
and in the contest that ensued her merriment was doubled when her opponent went over backward on
the floor. Her husband, Bruno, red and sweating as though at his forge, sat and talked and argued and
discussed some subject or other, nobody paying any attention to what82 he was saying. Alexandre, in
his simple off-duty attire, was seated beside his wife, quiet and dignified, seldom speaking except to
suggest a little less noise, because it was certain that the racket could be heard out in the street. He
added, significantly, that Miranda twice had come to the window and looked down at the courtyard.
"Let him look as often as he wants," said Rita. "I guess people have a right to spend Sunday as they
like in their own house and with their own friends. He's not paying for what we eat and drink."
The two visitors and Bruno were of the same opinion. They agreed that so long as they made no
reference to the neighbors and did them no harm, the neighbors had better attend to their own affairs.
In fact, Firmo knew of a place even hotter than that little room where such people as old Miranda
belong, and he was for going right over and recommending it. Porfiro considered that if anybody was
to move, it ought to be the parties who were not comfortable. Bruno muttered that Sunday was made
to be enjoyed, and thereupon allowed his head to drop upon his arms, folded on the table. Then he
arose and rolled up his sleeves, announcing that if the others would excuse him he would go out and
settle the matter without further delay. Alexandre calmed him with a cigar.
And still another house in the tenement contributed its share to the clamor. Here were dining a
group of Italian peddlers, among whom Delporto, Pompeo, Francesco, and Andrea were the moving
spirits. They were singing too, but in tune. In the general turmoil their song was not heard distinctly,
but now and then,83 above the heavy voices of the men, was heard a piercing feminine note which
brought an instant response from the raucous parrots in the courtyard. In practically all sections of
the tenement noisy reunions were in progress, the hard-working tenants resolved to extract from their
one day of relaxation all the enjoyment possible.
The rotund and dignified form of Miranda again appeared in his window. He was bursting with
fury, a napkin tucked in his white coat and his right hand clutching a carving knife as though it were
a sword.
"Go to hell and do your shouting, you yelling devils!" he shrieked, waving his knife. "This is too
much; if this racket doesn't stop, I shall send for the police and turn them loose on you dirty swine."
Instantly the doors and windows of the tenement were filled with a sea of leering faces whose
mocking laughter enraged him to a point where he was beside himself.
"Canalla!" he howled; "I ought to shoot the lot of you like a pack of mad dogs."
A chorus of hoots and jeers arose from all corners of the tenement, while Miranda's companions
sought to draw him away from the window.
"Miranda, you'll only make them worse."
"What they need is a few yards of rope."
"Come away, papa."
"Watch out for a stone, those people are capable of almost anything."
About him could be observed Dona Estella, with the pallor of a half-wilted flower; Zulmira,
shaking with84 fear; Henrique, handsome as ever; and old Botelho, who eyed these dregs of another

82
p86
83
p87
84
p88

32
 world with profound contempt, as thought he expected nothing from them, as, indeed, he had ceased
to expect anything from himself.
"Dirty dogs!" seethed Miranda.
Alexandre, who had hastily donned his policeman's coat, now appeared beneath the merchant's
window and voiced the warning that it was imprudent to insult his neighbors in this fashion. Nobody
had given any provocation for such expressions, and if the residents of the tenement were dining in
company with friends, Miranda, also, was enjoying the same privilege in his house. It was not well
to insult people, because one word brought on another, and should the matter reach the police court,
Alexandre, as the only representative of the authorities witnessing the scene, would be compelled to
put the responsibility for whatever might happen on the shoulders where it belonged.
"Go to the devil!" snapped Miranda, turning his back.
"Ain't he a mean cuss!', exclaimed Firmo, who until now had remained silent in Rita's door, his
hands on his hips, staring at Miranda impudently. Then calling louder, to be well heard: "Sharpen
your horns, old tame ox, because some day we're going to meet! "
Miranda was violently pulled away from the window, which then was closed with a bang.
"Never mind the old crank," counseled Porfiro, taking his friend's arm. "Come on, let's drink our
coffee before it gets cold."85
In front of Rita's door were gathered a number of the poorer residents of the tenement, miserable
creatures, usually hungry. But even so, none of them appeared downcast. The generous mulatta saw
that each was given some morsel from the table and a taste of something to drink. Inside, her house
was still crowded with friends.
Old Liborio, whose boarding arrangements were a mystery to the tenement, now appeared. He had
no kitchen and never left his hovel when it was raining. A character was old Liborio. He occupied
the smallest and darkest corner in the cheapest part of the tenement and tottered about, picking and
snatching at everything in his path. He whined about his poverty and begged like a mendicant-a
piece of bread from this neighbor, a scrap of meat from that, a ragged garment from still another. He
was forever searching for cigar stubs to be smoked in his pipe-a pipe which the old villain had stolen
from a decrepit blind man. There were whispers that Liborio had money hoarded away, but this he
denied with wailing protests, swearing that he existed in deepest misery.
The demon of hunger seemed ever devouring him, and he crept about like a starving, homeless
dog. Mothers cautioned their children to beware of him, as he had a habit of dancing around and
mingling with the youngsters, entering into their play and seeking to win their confidence until he
could snatch from them their bread and jam or bits of cake.
Rita told him he might come in and eat on the con90 dition that he would not stuff until he burst,
right there in her house.
And he set to with industry, glaring to the right and to the left, like a dog guarding a bone. He
gulped the food down without attempting to chew it, using his fingers when his swallowing
apparatus could not do the work unaided, and hiding in his pockets what he feared he might not be
able to get down his throat.
Onlookers were almost overcome with terror as they watched that ceaseless hopper into which
everything threatened to disappear, including his own face. The long nose, trembling on the brink,
appeared ready at any moment to take the plunge, and the withered cheeks, watery eyes, outstanding
ears and smooth, bald pate, shining like a cheese-all seemed to be stolidly awaiting their fate.
Firmo proposed that they get him drunk, just to see how he would act. Alexandre and his wife
opposed this, but laughing much, as, indeed, all had to laugh, in spite of their alarm. They were
fascinated by the spectacle of that ancient scrap of humanity, a bent skeleton covered by a sack of
dried hide, devouring and devouring without a moment's pause the mountain of food that had been
placed before him, as though laying up a supply for the next world.

85
p89

33
 But suddenly, a chunk of meat too large to be managed at one gulp became stuck en route, and
Liborio began to cough and choke, while his eyes appeared to be popping from his head. Leocadia,
who was nearest him, gave the old glutton a vigorous blow on the back, causing him to disgorge the
morsel.86
There was general disgust
"Old pig!" cried Rita. "He promised not to stuff like that, but I should have known that he would do
it!'
"The brute wanted to get it down all at once," observed Porfiro. "It seems that he never saw food
before, and never expects to again!'
And noting that the old man was almost in tears over this time lost, all urged him to rest a moment
and then eat slowly.
"Wait a minute, famished wolf. Your dinner's not going to run away from you. There's plenty, even
for you!'
"Drink some water, Uncle Liborio," counseled Augusta, the good soul running into the other room
to fill a glass, which she held to his lips. He drank without ever removing his eyes from the plate
before him.
"My God! " growled Porfiro, spitting into the corner. "I'm getting worried. He's equal to eating us
all without stopping to pick the bones!'
With this scene poor Albino was almost ill. He had eaten but little, explaining that nothing rested
well on his stomach. Rita could not resist a little joking, and assured him that this nausea was a
significant symptom, and begged that she be told the author of the trouble.
"So you are beginning on me, too? " murmured the poor youth reproachfully, hiding his confusion
by sipping his coffee.
"And take care," continued the mulatta. "You must be most particular about your diet. Remember,
very little coffee. It inflames the breasts and is very bad for the milk!'87
At which Albino turned upon his hostess and informed her that he seriously objected to such jokes.
Alexandre, having lighted a cigar, after politely offering it to the others, now decided to venture a
pleasantry of his own. So, in his ponderous fashion he related how there was a story about that
Albino and the Witch had been observed in a most indiscreet enterprise up under the mango trees
back of the tenement.
Only Augusta seemed moved to mirth by this sally, and Albino, almost weeping, declared that he
never meddled with other people and that other people had no right to meddle with him.
"But look here," inquired Porfiro. "Is it really true that this Miss Nancy has never known a
woman?"
"He'll have to tell you that himself," answered the mulatta, "and it's time this mystery was solved.
Come on now, Albino, and tell us about all the wicked things you have done."
"If I had known that this is what you invited me to your house for, I would have stayed at home,"
mumbled the young man, tears starting from his eyes. "I didn't come here to be a laughing-stock for
you."
And he would have left them had not the repentant Rita cut off his escape, speaking to him as she
would address a creature of her own sex, but weaker than herself.
"Don't be foolish, you'll only make it worse by going away."
Whereupon Albino wiped his eyes and seated himself anew.
Meanwhile the sun had dropped and the evening88 breeze freshened the air. Bruno snored
peacefully in his chair, while his wife, Leocadio, was seated with her legs across those of Porfiro,
who embraced her affectionately as they shared a number of glasses of paraty.

86
p91
87
p92
88
p93

34
 But Firmo suggested that it would be pleasanter outside, to which all assented except the sleeping
Bruno. Old Liborio besought Alexandre to give him a cigar to furnish material for the battered pipe,
and, this favor granted, the shriveled rogue tottered away to call at other houses where dinners were
in progress. Rita, Augusta, and Albino turned their attention to the washing of the dishes and some
necessary sweeping.
The Italian chorus had gained in strength and was pouring out melancholy melodies whose
cadences were accentuated by alcoholic sobs. Before most of the doorways were gathered groups of
the tenement dwellers, enjoying the fresh evening air, but Rita Bahiana's gathering was the largest
and most animated, as it was reinforced by the members of the Das Dores party. A twilight incense
from numerous cigars and pipes arose and the general confusion somewhat subsided, most of the
denizens of São Romão being too full for utterance. The arc-lamp in the middle of the courtyard was
now turned on, throwing its beams upon ninety-five thresholds.
In the comparative peace of the tenement riotous gayety up in Miranda's house now made itself
heard. There was laughter, accompanied by much cheering and the continuous popping of corks.
"They're opening a lot of champagne," wistfully89 observed Alexandre, who long since had
removed his policeman's coat.
"Yes, but they don't want anybody else to have any fun, selfish pigs," remarked Rita Bahiana.
Conversation then turned to the Miranda family, principally Dona Estella and Henrique. Leocadia
swore that on one occasion she had climbed up on the pile of empty bottles beside the wall and
beheld Miranda's wife and the student locked in a close embrace and exchanging ardent kisses, and
that when they saw her they turned and fled like frightened dogs.
Augusta Carne Molle devoutly crossed herself and murmured a petition to the Virgem Santissima,
overcome with horror at such conduct by a married woman. The friend of Das Dores' sturdy oak
paused in his furtive fondling of Nenem to express his astonishment at this report, as he had always
supposed that Dona Estella was a good woman.
"Don't you think it," broke in Alexandre. "She's a bold hussy. I've seen things in the shadow of that
wall that made me blush, even at my age. And not only with the student, but with others, too. More
than once she's been down by those vines with a bald-headed old fellow with a beard. And the
daughter is headed straight for the same path."
This news caused a veritable sensation and Alexandre was pressed for details, which he willingly
supplied. Zulmira's admirer was a slim young fellow with glasses and a downy blonde mustache. He
appeared to be a student, and passed to and fro in front of his beloved's house in the evening, and
sometimes at daylight.90
"But what do they do?" eagerly questioned Das Dores.
"So far, it's only a flirtation between the window and the street. They talk with each other through
the farthest one in front-I've seen them often while I was on duty. The young fellow wants to marry
her and the girl likes him, but she says her father'll never consent."
"And he never calls at the house?"
"Never. And that's what I don't like about it. If he wants to marry the girl, he ought to have an
understanding with her father and go and see her in a respectable fashion, instead of hanging around
in front, talking to her through the window."
"But I can't see old Miranda ever handing his daughter over to a young student," interposed Firmo.
"You can depend upon it, that old fellow will bait a son-inlaw with a bank account. No poor relations
for him."
"And that's just what makes so much unhappiness in this wretched world," sighed Augusta Came
Molle. "A daughter of mine shall marry just as she pleases, because these forced weddings always
bring misery. My husband is poor and he isn't white, but I am happy, because we married for love."

89
p94
90
p95

35
 At this moment some minor chords on a guitar were heard. It was Jeronymo. After the boisterous
jollity of the afternoon his song sounded sadder and more moving than ever:
"My heart is filled with sorrow
None others understand,
Yes, filled with bitter sorrow-
I miss my native land."91
Following his example, other guitars added their voices and soon the courtyard was filled with the
plaintive, melancholy songs of Portugal, wrung from the hearts of Lusitania's banished sons, in vivid
contrast to the noisy merriment in Miranda's house above them.
"Thou, land that I adore,
Wilt ease my cruel pain,
Pronounce mine exile o'er,
Receive me once again."
Even the Brazilians were depressed with these yearning laments of their homesick neighbors, and
the eventful day threatened to end in a flood of tears. But suddenly Porfiro's mandolin, aided by
Firmo's guitar, broke forth in a chorado truly Bahiana, and at the first vibrant note of the exhilarating
negro music, the pulses of the tenement quickened and gloom disappeared. As it continued it
became, not merely the sound of a mandolin accompanied by a guitar, but the expression of a
people-moans and sighs freed in a torrent, gliding and writhing like serpents in a burning forest-the
music increased in intensity, music made up of caresses, of kisses and of happy sobs, of brutal
caresses of agony.
Filled with the fire of madness was this strange music, like the sharp and smarting aroma of certain
poisonous plants deep in the Brazilian forest, and astonishing was its effect on its hearers. Their
bodies swayed with the sensual rhythm of the melodies, their senses intoxicated with exhilaration.
Dispelled was Portugal's gloom by the quick pulsing joyousness of Ba-92 hia, the clouds and shadows
of old Europe routed by young America's brilliant sunshine.
Jeronymo laid aside his guitar and with wrapt attention listened to the weird music, which was
carrying on a strange revolution within him-a revolution that had begun the day he felt in his face,
like a challenging blow, the dazzling sunshine of this new world; a revolution that revived the first
time he heard the chirp of a tropic cricket and the song of a Brazilian bird; that progressed with the
taste of the first juicy fruit he had sampled in this new, young land, and that was to be completed by
the first woman here who attracted him-a half-white, whose sinuous movements fascinated him as a
helpless bird is transfixed by the deadly eyes of a serpent.
"What's the matter with you, Jeronymo?" asked Piedade, marveling at his tense expression.
"Wait," he replied; "I want to listen."
For Firmo had started singing the chorado, accompanied by the rhythmical hand claps of the others.
Jeronymo arose, almost mechanically, and approached the group surrounding the two musicians,
Piedade following him. With his elbows on the fence surrounding Rita's little patch of flowers and
his chin resting on his clasped hands, he stood, neither moving nor speaking, giving body and soul to
the seduction of the voluptuous music, as a giant tree allows itself to be encircled and bound by the
caressing tentacles of a treacherous vine.
And then came Rita Bahiana, who had shed her ruffles and appeared with arms and neck bared to
dance. The93 moon burst through the clouds at this moment, bathing the scene with a soft, silver
glow and lending to the rich, warm skin of the mulatta a pallor that made her really beautiful. With
infinite grace she danced, simple, primitive, seemingly formed solely to delight the senses, a creature
from Eden's garden, much of the woman and much of the serpent.

91
p96
92
p97
93
p98

36
 She danced within the circle, her hands at her waist and her entire body in movement. Now her
arms were outstretched and raised, and then lowered till her finger tips touched her neck. At times
she sank till she appeared to be almost sitting on the ground, while the movement of her arms and
hips never ceased. Then she leaped into the air and danced, faster and faster, her arms twisting and
writhing, and her blood boiling with a passion that communicated itself to the onlookers.
As she flung herself into a chair, the enthusiasm of her admirers knew no bounds. An explosion of
applause rent the air and cries of delight burst from every throat. She must dance more, they would
not be refused. Seizing Firmo, she dragged him into the center and made him dance. Agile and
supple, seemingly made of rubber, he performed astonishing feats. He doubled his legs beneath him
and danced with his body almost on the ground, then leaped aloft and cut the most fantastic capers,
his arms and legs appearing about to be shaken from his trunk. The dance spirit proved to be
contagious; Florinda started dancing and so did even slim Albino, while the company was amazed to
behold Alexandre enter the ring and do a solemn shuffle.
The spell of the chorado enchained them all des-94 potically, those who did not dance as well as
those who did. But none was so affected as Rita. She only, with the sinuous grace of the cursed
snake, could truly interpret and express the spirit of her native Bahia-a combination of movement, of
the strange perfume of the mulatta, and of the seduction of her voice-low and sweet, with no spoken
words, but startling little cries and a crooning murmur, as she danced.
Jeronymo gazed and listened, spellbound, feeling his soul pour out of his eyes, which he could not
turn from the mulatta.
She was a mystery to him, and he was dimly conscious of a confusion of impressions as he stood
and stared. She was the brilliant glare at midday, the red heat of the plantation field; she was the
aroma of the vanilla tree, filling the Brazilian forest; she was the virgin palm which lifts its head
aloft and scorns contact with another living thing; she was poisonous-and marvelously sweet; she
was the sapoti fruit with its juice like honey, and she was the caju nut, whose fiery oil causes running
ulcers; she was the treacherous green snake, a reptile of rare beauty, which had entwined itself about
him and filled him with desires beside which his longing for his old home was a sentiment poor,
indeed, and its fangs had penetrated his arteries and poisoned him with a venom that he knew would
make him burn with fever-a fever of passion for the mulatta, for the half-white Rita, who danced to
the music of the chorado of Bahia.
All this Jeronymo felt but only half understood, So giddy was he with the change that had come
over his95 spirit. The subsequent impressions of that Sunday ever remained a hazy recollection of
events, of the experiences attendant upon unaccustomed drunkenness-an intoxication, not of wine,
but of the bitter honey from the calyx of the baneful tropic lily.
So he remained, looking on. Other girls danced, but the tall Portuguese had eyes only for the
mulatta, even as she fell exhausted into the arms of her lover. Piedade, her head nodding with
drowsiness, called to him to come along several times, receiving in reply only an unintelligible
mutter, after which she departed alone. Hours passed by, but still he could not leave.
The circle had increased. Izaura and Leonor, on cordial terms with the tenement dwellers, were in
the front row. João Romão and Bertoleza, the day's labors finally over, had come out for a moment
to enjoy the scene before wearily falling into their bed. Miranda's family were at the windows, highly
diverted with the merry-making. Many passers-by could not resist coming in for the frolic. But of all
this Jeronymo had no consciousness; there was but one object before his eyes -the panting mulatta
twisting voluptuously in the arms of Firmo.
The blaster withdrew only at daylight, when the music had ceased and the wearied dancers had
sought their homes. He saw Rita led into the house by her over, his arm around her waist.
As Jeronymo paused before his own door, he was alone in the courtyard. The moon, now entirely
free from clouds, was majestically sailing on its mysterious way. Miranda's windows were closed,

94
p99
95
p100

37
softly, as though 101 not to disturb the unaccustomed stillness. The quarry, far back of the tenement
wall, was bathed in light, seemingly lifting its head like a tortured monster, grateful for its hour of
peace. There was no sound except the rustling of the leaves and the hum of night-flying insects over
the little gardens. But Jeronymo did not sense these things. He was still hearing and feeling the
music that had intoxicated his being, and picturing again and again the sinuous mulatta, with her
wavy black hair, her soft brown skin, her brilliant black eyes and white shining teeth, and he
understood perfectly well that within his heart had started a gnawing canker that he was powerless to
uproot.
Raising his head, he noted the familiar sky that precedes the dawn, a sky that he never had seen
before except after seven hours of sleep. 102

CHAPTER EIGHT
On the following day Jeronymo stopped work at lunch time, and came home instead of eating
something at the quarry with his fellow laborers. Touching little of the food that Piedade hastily
prepared for him, he immediately went to bed, ordering her to notify João Romão that he was not
feeling well and would stay at home the rest of the day.
"What's the matter, Jeronymo?"
"Nothing serious. Go on, and do as I told you." "But do you feel bad?"
"God! Woman, go and do what I have told you to do, and afterward let your tongue run, if you
must."
Holy Virgin! Jeronymo was truly in a bad way, and she did not know if they had black tea at the
venda. So she hurried out, full of concern. Any indisposition of her husband, however slight, robbed
her of her wits. He was so strong, and had never been ill. Could it be yellow fever? Jesus, Holy Son
of Mary, forgive her for even thinking of such a thing! Credo. And she fearfully crossed herself.
The dire tidings spread among the laundresses.
"He got a chill in the night air," affirmed the Witch, who hurried up to No.35 to prescribe for the
patient.
But he would have none of her, begging her to leave him in peace and let him sleep, which was all
he needed. Even this boon was not granted him. The Witch was followed by a second woman, then a
third, and a fourth, until the place was a swarm of swishing skirts. Jero103 nymo was about to
protest brutally against this invasion, when a familiar perfume wafted in through the open window
warning him that Rita, also, had arrived-
"Ah," and the frown left his face.
"Good afternoon; and how's this, neighbor? Did you fall sick just because I came back? If I had
known that you would do such a thing, I would have stayed away." He laughed-for the first time
since the evening of the previous day.
The mulatta approached the bed. As she had resumed work that day, her skirt was tucked up and
her arms, bared to the shoulder, were cold from her washing. Her simple, white blouse was turned in
at the neck, showing the firm, smooth skin the color of cinnamon. Jeronymo pressed her hand.
"I enjoyed seeing you dance last night," he remarked.
"Have you taken any medicine yet?"
"The wife mentioned something about black tea."
"Black tea?-what foolishness! Tea is only warm water. What you have is a chill. I'm going to make
you a cup of strong coffee to be taken with a swallow of paraty, and then you see if you don't sweat
and find yourself ready for another. Just you wait a minute." And she hurried away, leaving the
whole room impregnated with her presence.
Jeronymo had only to breathe in that perfume in order to feel much better. And when Piedade
approached, heavy and doleful, muttering to herself, he felt that he had begun to dread her; he
discovered all sorts of defects in her heretofore never noted, and he even was displeased by a rancid
odor that never before 104 had struck him as disagreeable. The last vestige of his smile disappeared,
and he relapsed into his former ill humor.

38
 "How do you feel now, Jeronymo? Speak up, man. When you don't answer me, it frightens me so.
Have you any pain now ? "
"Don't make any tea-I'm going to take something else."
"You don't want any tea-Son of God!-it's medicine."
"But I tell you I'm going to take something elseMy God! what a woman." So Piedade insisted no
further.
"I am heating some water to put your feet in."
"Well, when it's ready, put your own in it." She made no reply to this. She wanted to tell him that
never had he been so irritable and cross with her, but she feared to anger him more. She assured
herself that it was one of the effects of the disease that had laid hold of him.
Jeronymo closed his eyes to avoid seeing her, and gladly would have avoided feeling her presence
if he could. The poor soul seated herself at the side of the bed, humble and solicitous, sighing with
concern, living at that moment solely and exclusively for her man, his slave without any will of her
own, accompanying his slightest gesture with loving and anxious eye, like a dog at its master's side,
seeking to divine his wants. "I'm all right, my girl, you can go on about your work."
"Never mind that, the work's not stopping. Leo105 cadia's wringing out my clothes-she had little to
do to-day and finished early."
"Y OU shouldn't let her do that."
"Why not? Only three days ago I did as much for her, and her man wasn't sick either-it was so she
could carry on one of her affairs up in the field."
"Well, well, never mind. Don't criticize the lives of others. You might much better be at your tub
than wasting time here, talking about the neighbors. Better go and fulfill your obligations."
"But I tell you, my work's going on-there's no interruption."
"There's interruption enough with me idle; it only makes it worse to have you loafing, too."
"But I want to stay here with you, Jeronymo."
"But this is all foolishness. Go on, get to work."
She was about to slink away, like a dog driven from before the fire, when Rita entered with her
light, quick step) a little pot of fragrant coffee and a bottle of paraty in her hands, and a thick wool
blanket thrown across her shoulder.
Piedade gazed at the mulatta in surprise, but could think of nothing to say to her. However, she
remained. Rita, hearty and cordial as usual, and happy to be of help to a neighbor, placed the coffee
on the oratory and unfolded the blanket.
"This will wring it out of you," she said. "You Portuguese are queer folk; the minute some little
thing is wrong with you, you're ready to die, and start wearing a death-bed face. Good Lord, what
nonsense! Now, wake up and don't be afraid." 106
The patient laughed and sat up in bed.
"Isn't it just as I told you?" continued the mulatta, addressing Piedade, and pointing to the unshaven
face of Jeronymo. "Just look at that, and tell me if he doesn't seem ready for the tomb."
The Portuguese woman, made no reply, other than a weak smile. Within her, she resented the
interference of an outsider in the nursing of her man.
It was not her intelligence or power to reason that warned her of peril, but rather her instinct-the
curious and subtle suspicion a female senses when her nest is in danger.
"It seems to me that you are better, don't you think so?" the wife finally asked, addressing her
husband and seeking to catch his eye, but poorly concealing her discontent.
"He's better, just with the smell of it," the mulatta answered for him. "Drink it, hurry up, drink all
of it, and then just lie and sweat. I'm coming back in a little while, and I want to find you nearly
well."
Turning to Piedade, she lowered her voice and spoke rapidly and confidentially, with her hand on
the other's shoulder: "Within a few minutes he'll be wringing with sweat. Then change all of his
clothes, and as soon as he asks for water, give him two fingers of paraty. And take care that there
isn't any draft."

39
 After which she departed, with a swirl of her skirts that released a wave of marjoram.
Piedade then approached the blaster, already rolled in Rita's blanket, and held the coffee to his lips
for a second draught, mumbling: "God grant that this doesn't 107 make you worse. You never drank
coffee and never liked it."
"This isn't because I like it, my child; it's medicine."
He never had cared for coffee, in fact, and much less for paraty, but he drank it even to the dregs
and then snuggled down under the blanket. His wife tucked it in around his feet, and then brought a
shawl to wrap about his head.
"Now lie still and keep quiet!'
After which she remained by the bed to guard him, breathing softly in order not to disturb him, and
tiptoeing to the door every few minutes to beg that less noise be made outside. She was consumed
with worry about her man, and radiant with relief a little later when he called to her to come and
change his clothing. He was soaked with sweat.
After hermetically sealing the room by stuffing old clothing in the cracks of the door and window,
to avoid the dreaded draft, Piedade peeled off his wet shirt and drawers and immediately pulled a
nightshirt over his head, under which she wielded a coarse towel, rubbing him dry. As she passed
this over his body, she suddenly smiled into his eyes and rejoiced that, indeed, her Jeronymo was
feeling better.
He begged a drink of water, but she offered him only paraty, easily overcoming his protest by
assuring him that it was what Rita had ordered given to him. His habits always having been sober,
the effect of the fiery, native rum on an organization drained by a thorough sweat and a circulation
stimulated by a vigorous rub was not long in making itself felt, and the 108 blaster, deliciously
relaxed in his comfortable bed but with every nerve tingling, was really mildly intoxicated. It seemed
good to be so far away from the blinding heat of the quarry ; the deadened roar of the macaroni
factory's machinery sounded like distant music, and even the clamor of the laundresses down by the
tubs gave him an indefinable sense of comfort and well-being. When Piedade recounted to the other
women the satisfactory results of the remedy administered, Rita ran up to take a look at the patient.
"And what do you say now-are you better, or not?" He turned at the sound of her voice, eyed her
eloquently, and passed his left arm around her waist, while with his other he sought her hand. The
mulatta interpreted this gesture as an expression of his gratitude for her care and interest, and made
no resistance. But the moment he came in contact with the alluring, smooth skin of the Bahian, he
was consumed with a wild desire to possess her, and flinging caution to the winds, attempted to draw
her into the bed with him.
In astonishment, the mulatta sprang out of his reach. "Oh, what a devil! I never imagined you could
make such a fool of yourself. What will your wife say when I tell her of this?"
But, Piedade's step being heard at that instant, Rita changed her tone and masked her indignation.
"Now try to get a fine, long sleep, and when you wake up you should change your shirt again, if
you have sweat enough to wet it."
And departed.
Jeronymo heard the last words with closed eyes, and 109 when Piedade entered the room he
appeared overcome with fatigue and drowsiness. She softly approached the bed and drew the sheet a
little closer about his head, after which she left him, walking as silently as possible. At the door,
Augusta stopped to inquire regarding the state of the sick man. Piedade responded by placing her
finger over her lips and shaking her head, to indicate that he was asleep.
The two walked a little distance from the door in order to be able to converse, and found a fearful
rumpus in progress. The whole tenement appeared greatly worked up over the affair.
It seemed that young Henrique had formed the habit of beguiling his hours of leisure between
lunch and dinner by lounging in one of the windows of Miranda's house, from which point of
vantage he was much entertained by watching Leocadia wash her clothes. The motions of her full,
stocky form had attracted his attention and during the hours when she was at work alone, he winked

40
 at her and repeatedly tapped his left fist with the open palm of the right hand, to which she invariably
responded by pointing toward the interior of Miranda's house as though suggesting Dofia Estella.
On this particular day, however, the student appeared at the window with a white rabbit which he
had won the previous night at a church fair. Leocadia coveted the little animal and running to the pile
of bottles near the wall, mutely pleaded for it. Henrique, still conversing in pantomime, indicated the
conditions on which she might have it. Leocadia inclined her head96 in agreement and signed to him
to await her in the field back of the tenement.
Miranda's family was out, and Henrique, half dressed as he was, ran into the street and then
traversed the vacant lot beyond Miranda's house to the field the laundress specified, the white rabbit
held under his arm. Leocadia was awaiting him beneath the mango trees.
"Not here," said she, as he appeared. "Somebody passes here every few minutes. Come over here at
the side."
He followed her around a clump of bamboos into a little space walled off by banana trees. Peering
here and there to make sure that they were unobserved, she reclined upon the ground. The student
threw his arm about her....
But suddenly, footsteps were heard approaching the thicket from the direction the two had entered,
and without himself being seen, Henrique recognized the burly form of Bruno. With a leap he
disappeared through the banana trees, while the furry price of the peccado scampered away to its
welcome freedom.
An instant later the blacksmith confronted his wife.
"This time I've caught you, you slut!" he raved. "Who was it with you?"
Without giving her time to reply, he knocked her to the ground, from whence she had scrambled to
her feet. Leocadia gave voice to a succession of howls as he rained blows and kicks upon her.
"I've caught you at last-deny it this time if you can."97
"To hell with you," she responded. "I've told you more than once that I am sick and tired of you.
You're drunk most of the time, anyhow."
Then, seeing that he was about to recommence the shower of blows and kicks, she suddenly lifted a
heavy, sharp-cornered piece of granite above her head, and threatened him with it.
"Touch me again if you dare, and see whether I open your head with this."
Well knowing that her threats were never idle, he drew back and contented himself with answering:
"Pack your traps, and get out.',
"Oh, how awful! As though I haven't been waiting for the chance. You just bet I'll get out, and I
shan't need anything from you, either.',
"And you'll take none of my things from my house, just remember that, you common strumpet."
"Rest easy, old boy, I'll take nothing of yours, for I don't need it."
"Drop that stone."
"Not much. But if you come one step nearer, it'll drop in your direction. You're the last to arrive, so
you'd better be the first to set out.”
He turned his back and retraced his steps whence he had come, his hands in his pockets, simulating
a superb indifference to the domestic disaster that had just been precipitated.
It was then that she remembered the rabbit.
"The devil!" she muttered, and started a search about the field.
Bruno proceeded to the tenement, where he related98 what had taken place, for the benefit of all
who cared to listen. Excitement ran high; the place seethed like a disturbed ant-hill.
"Well, it had to come sooner or later. When a house can't stand any longer, some fine day it's sure
to come down. Leocadia has been itching for this very thing." But nobody could guess with whom
Bruno had discovered his wife in the thicket. A thousand theories were advanced, dozens of names

96
p110
97
p111
98
p112

41
 were suggested, without any satisfactory conclusion being reached. Albino attempted to effect a
reconciliation, swearing that Bruno certainly had deceived himself, and that Leocadia was an
excellent young woman, incapable of such conduct. The blacksmith slapped the peacemaker's
mouth, and nobody else felt moved to interfere in the affair.
Bruno proceeded immediately to pitch out of the window into the courtyard everything that
belonged to Leocadia. A chair lost a leg as it hit the pavement; it was followed by a kerosene lamp, a
box for clothing, a miscellaneous collection of skirts, blouses, and underwear; some hat boxes filled
with rags; a bird cage, and a tea kettle. Everything was thrown with furious energy and landed in a
heap, the awed neighbors witnessing the ceremony in silence. A Chinaman who had entered the
courtyard with a basket of shrimps allowed his curiosity to draw him too close to the blacksmith's
window and placed his head in the path of a flying water jug. He howled with such a will that
Machona came running, eager to gaze upon a creature able to compete with her. Dona Isabel, her
hands crossed over her stomach,99 looked out upon this wanton destruction with profound
melancholy. Augusta shook her head, entirely unable to understand how a woman who had one man
possibly could want another. The Witch indifferently proceeded with her work, unlike Das Dores,
who watched the performance, her hands on her hips, about which was gathered her skirt, a cigaret in
her mouth and a disdainful expression on her face, as she mentally likened Bruno to the brutal
husband she had abandoned.
"They're all alike," she remarked, turning up her nose. "If a woman is fool enough to try to please
them, they get sick of her; and if she realizes that marriage is a joke and proceeds accordingly, she's
treated to kicks and cuffs from some brute like this one. They're rotten, the whole lot of them."
Florinda found the whole affair most amusing and laughed openly, while her mother complained
bitterly because the kerosene from Leocadia's lamp had fallen over the clothes she had bleaching on
the courtyard stones. Her wrath soon was shared by the others, for just at that moment a sack of the
powdered coffee commonly used in Brazil left the window, but aimed so high that it struck the eaves
and the breeze carried the black dust over the lines of drying clothes. A chorus of protests arose.
"This is going too far. They enjoy the fight, and we suffer for it."
"Good Lord, if every time Leocadia went up in the bushes to meet a friend this brute had come
home and ruined our work, we'd never get a rag delivered to a customer!"100
"He'd better know it's no fun washing clothes for a living."
"People who can't get along had better not try living among other folks that's orderly and
peaceable." Pombinha came to the door, her sewing in her hands, to see what all the disturbance was
about, and Nenem, flushed from wielding a hot iron, called out to ask, with a little giggle, if Bruno
were planning to refurnish his house. Rita pretended to attach no importance to what was going on,
and placidly continued washing at her tub.
"Do you remember what a fuss they had at their wedding? Well, now you see how it's turned out. I
tell you, a single woman's in luck these days."
Old Liborio arrived on the scene, hoping that in the general confusion he could snatch something
and escape with it unnoticed. And Machona, noting that Augusto was imbued with a similar purpose,
called from the place where she stood: "Get out of there, you young devil; if you touch anything at
all, I'll skin you alive!" At this moment a Brother of the Order of the Holy Sacrament entered the
courtyard, clad in his red robe, a silver staff in one hand and a little sack for alms in the other. "An
offering for the altar candles," he called, and the women dropped other affairs for a moment to kiss
devoutly the image representing the Holy Spirit, a dove at the end of the staff. A shower of coins fell
into the little sack.
Bruno now had cleared his house of Leocadia's belongings and he banged the door shut, giving the
key a savage turn in the lock. He passed the curious group101 in front without addressing them,

99
p113
100
p114
101
p115

42
 scowling and swinging his arms with the air of one who had done much, but still not quite enough, to
appease his wrath. A little later Leocadia returned, and beholding her possessions all outside and
awaiting her, but for the most part wrecked, she advanced upon the door with fury.
Facing the neighbors, she rammed with such effect that the flimsy portal gave way and Leocadia
landed gazing at the ceiling. But she immediately arose, paying little heed to the general hilarity that
attended her carrying of the works, and threw open the window.
Then followed a shower of all that remained in the house, a veritable destruction. And she checked
off each article as it left her hands :
"Here goes the clock. Upah! you devil."
And the clock hit the pavement.
"Here goes the wash-bowl. Upah! you devil."
The neighbors found this entertainment decidedly more diverting than that of Bruno, for now they
could take part. They were never sure what was coming next, but they knew a part of the phrase that
would accompany it. Therefore, as each household god hit the stones the laughing group chimed in,
like a congregation reciting the litany, with " Upah! you devil."
"Here goes a soup tureen."
"Upah! you devil."
"One old nightshirt."
"Upah! you devil."
"Here are six cups."
"Upah! you devil."
"Good-by, old pitcher."102
"Upah! you devil."
Leocadia worked fast and within a few minutes a new tenant might have moved in without further
ceremony. In front of the house was a pile of rubbish, all that remained of the furnishings of No.17.
The short legs of João Romão were bringing him as rapidly as possible to the scene of destruction,
but he was overtaken and passed by the blacksmith himself, who ran to his door, armed with a spoke
from a wagon wheel. He was red with fury, and a chorus of shouts arose.
"Don't you touch her!"
"You shan't beat her up."
"Grab him, somebody! "
"Take that spoke away from him."
"Here, help hold him!"
Thus they saved Leocadia a clubbing.
"Order, order. Stop this fighting!" shouted the landlord as soon as he could make himself heard,
meanwhile indignantly wondering who behind him had the temerity to take advantage of the general
confusion and kick him.
Alexandre returned from duty at this moment, and brimming over with authority, warned Bruno to
control himself and leave his wife in peace, under pain of being conducted immediately to the police
station.
"But you don't know how I caught this worthless trollop this afternoon, or you'd agree that she
ought to have the breath beaten out of her," he protested, wrathfully.
"But what business had you smashing up my things?" shouted Leocadia.103
"Now, now, wait a minute," ordered the policeman, seeking to give his voice the proper inflection
of conciliating authority. "Speak one at a time. Now, Madam," turning to the accused, "your husband
charges that you-"
"It's a lie!" she interrupted.

102
p116
103
p117

43
 "A lie, hey? That's good," laughed the husband derisively. "She had her skirt off and was held
down by a man, and now she calls it a lie."
"But who was it? Who was with her? Tell us who it was," chorused the group of eager neighbors.
"I couldn't see his face, but I'd know him again if I could see him as he was then, and if I catch him,
I'll kill him."
There was a chorus of laughter.
"It's a lie," repeated the accused wife, now overcome with tears. "For a long time this brute has
been trying to find an excuse to leave me, and as I never gave him-" but the rest was lost among
sobs.
Now, nobody laughed, but a circle of murmuring comforters gathered around her.
"Now," she continued, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, "I don't know what will become
of me, because this man, after everything else I have suffered at his hands, has even broken up the
things I brought with me when I married him."
"Never mind, don't cry any more," urged Alexandre in his most soothing tone, replacing his pistol
in its holster. "Everything's all right now, and your husband's going to take you back and be kind to
you."104
"I take her back! " cried the blacksmith. "Little you know me."
"As though I'd go back," retorted Leocadia. "I'd rather live with a cart-horse than endure this brute
any longer.',
Picking from the heap in front of the house a few articles of clothing that still might be used, she
tied them up in a sheet, preparatory to taking her departure.
As she turned to leave, Rita ran after her.
"Where are you going?" she asked in a low tone.
"I don't know yet, my girl; but I'll find a corner somewhere. Even the dogs manage to do that."
"Wait a minute," ordered the mulatta, thinking deeply. "Oh, I know. Here, put your bundle in my
room for the present." And she ran to the tubs.
"Oh, Albino, wring out these clothes for me-that's a good boy. And when Firmo wakes up, tell him
I had to go out for a little."
Then stepping into her house, she hastily changed into a dry skirt, and throwing a crocheted shawl
about her shoulders, she cheerfully slapped Leocadia on the back and whispered to her: "Come along
with mewe'll find a place to roost, as you'll soon see." They departed with swishing skirts, leaving
the tenement in a fever of suspense and curiosity.105

CHAPTER NINE

SEVERAL weeks passed, Jeronymo now taking every morning a cup of strong coffee "like Rita
makes," and accompanying it with two fingers of paraty.
A slow but relentless transformation was in progress within him, hour by hour, and day by day,
silently but surely remolding him, body and soul. For his energy, even, was weakening. He became
contemplative and romantic. This new-world atmosphere and his Brazilian surroundings presented to
him now unexpected and seductive aspects that moved him. He forgot his early ambitions and gave
himself over to the idealizing of new pleasures, sharper and more violent. He became liberal and
improvident, more given to spending than to saving. He lost his old-time austerity and became
pleasure-loving and, to a certain extent, indolent, no longer defying the blazing sun, the barricade of
heat which the quarry wall threw back as a desperate last defense against the conquering invader.
Thus were slowly modified in him the old habits of the Portuguese villager; Jeronymo became
Brazilianized. His house lost its former air of severity, and friends occasionally dropped in for a little
glass of paraty after work hours, while on Sundays there was now and then a dinner at No.35.

104
p118
105
p119

44
 Eventually, the revolution was complete-Portuguese wine gave way to the rum made from the cane
juice; stewed dried beef with black beans and mandioca succeeded codfish with potatoes and boiled
onions, and, one by one, the other viands106 of old Portugal were crowded aside by dishes peculiar to
Bahia, or Minas, or the shores of Guanabara. Once coffee had firmly established its welcome at
No.35, it began dragging in its twin sister, tobacco, and soon Jeronymo was contentedly puffing with
the rest.
The more he dropped into the life and habits of Brazil, the finer his sensibilities became, even
though his physical force weakened. He began to enjoy music and even comprehended to some
extent the wilderness poets who sang of blighted love, their songs accompanied on the violin, or
native guitar-indeed, Jeronymo himself had discarded the old instrument for the Brazilian. Formerly
his one dream had been an eventual return to Portugal, but now, like the sailor on the high seas, his
eyes became accustomed to the broad sweeps, and the turbulent Brazilian atmosphere, with its
savage gaiety, no longer disconcerted him.
But in this transformation, Piedade de Jesus had little or no part. She was cast in one block, and to
change her was to break her. The outward modifications of their life she gradually achieved, but her
nature under the surface could never be changed as Jeronymo's had been ; she could not attune her
Portuguese soul to the tempo allegro of Brazilian life. Outwardly conforming to the new practices of
their household, within she was the same silent and grave exile from her native land, overwhelmed
by waves of homesickness and yearning, now intensified by the inexplicable changes in Jeronymo,
which filled her with sorrow and fear.
She had almost come to feel that Jeronymo had disappeared, that this strange being was someone
unknown107 who had usurped Jeronymo's place; and she sometimes experienced the phantastic
sensation of being an adulteress as she wakened at dawn at the side of this eccentric individual who
simply could not be her man-who bathed daily, and smelled of tobacco, and on Sundays perfumed
his hair. How her heart smarted the first time he pushed away, untouched, a bowl of Portuguese
broth!
"My girl, why don't you observe the way they cook over here?"
"Why, I thought-" stammered the poor woman.
"You might ask Rita to show you how she fixes things. If we could have some shrimps like those
she gave us the other day, it would be fine."
This ever-manifested preference for all that was Brazilian distressed the poor creature profoundly;
instinct warned her that the disease might progress until it would affect bed, as well as board. She
was fully conscious that Jeronymo now belonged to her much less than formerly. His caresses were
few, and seemed to be offered from pity rather than inclination. Their relations became less and less
frequent, and invariably were provoked by the wife. One night she wept herself to sleep because
Jeronymo abandoned their bed for the little couch in the living room, explaining that it was too hot
and suffocating in the tiny sleeping room. And he never resumed the old arrangement, the next day
slinging a hammock before the open door, as Rita had done in her house.
One night she wanted her husband, and went to him, bending over him, and stroking his hair.
Jeronymo108 feigned indisposition and discouraged her attentions, and finally spoke with brutal
frankness: "I don't like to mention this, but-well, the truth is, you ought to take a bath every day and
change your clothes oftener. It's different here than it was back in the old country. Here it's hot and
you sweat a lot, and if you don't do a lot of bathing you don't smell good. You see how it is, don't
you?"
This was too much; her cup of accumulated sorrows and resentments overflowed, and a flood of
tears arose from Piedade's faithful heart.
"Oh, my God! Now you're going to bawl, bring me an umbrella!"

106
p120
107
p121
108
p122

45
 But she continued to weep, her whole body shaken with grief, and after an interval Jeronymo spoke
again: "Now, look here, my girl; you are making altogether too much fuss over a little matter of no
importance."
"But to me it is a matter of importance. You don't love me any more; you're not the same man to
me you used to be. You used to always want me near you, and now you say I stink! " she wailed, her
sobs growing louder and louder.
"You're talking nonsense," he assured her.
"Oh, no; I'm not. I can see how you feel toward me."
"It's just your imagination that's got away from you."
"Cursed be the hour that we moved into this tenement. Far better for me had the roof fallen in on
my head."
"Now, my girl, you're complaining against fate with-109 out any reason. I hope God doesn't punish
you for it."
This quarrel paved the way to others, and before long they were daily occurrences in the blaster's
home. There could now be no doubt about it; Jeronymo had eyes and ears only for Rita Bahiana. He
never could pass No.9 without stopping and inquiring how she was feeling. The fact that she had
been so kind when he was sick furnished the pretext for his attentions. His was a debt of gratitude
that appeared incapable of ever being paid. It required presents and courtesies and favors without
number. And he developed a marvelous interest in the welfare of the blacksmith's wife. As Rita was
her friend and protector, nothing was more natural than that he should make inquiry at frequent
intervals as to how the "poor little woman" was getting along.
"You did right, Dona Rita, perfectly right. You proved that you are a lady with a very kind heart."
"Ah, my friend, in this world we have to be kind, because we never know when we are going to
require somebody's kindness."
Rita explained to the blaster that she first had taken Leocadia to a group of laundresses in Rua
Cattete who were her friends, and later had found a place for her as nurse-girl in a family for whom
she once washed. And now, Leocadia had a still better place in a girls' school.
"Fine, splendid! " applauded Jeronymo.
"Here's how it is," explained the mulatta; "the world's large and there's a place for the fat and a
place for the lean. Only a fool commits suicide."
Jeronymo never tuned up his guitar without trying110 to pick out the melodies the Bahian sang. On
nights when they gathered for a samba, he was the first to arrive and the last to leave. He would
stand abstractedly, as on the first night, and gaze at the mulatta dancing, lost to every other emotion.
And she, well aware of the spell she was casting over his spirit, danced for him, and at him, and even
touched him with her whirling skirt.
And she laughed.
There was no doubt, Jeronymo was in Rita's toils. Piedade, in her desperation, sought the Witch
and implored her help in getting back her man. The old negress shut herself up with the supplicant,
lighted wax candles and burned magic aromatic herbs. Then Piedade cut the cards, and after a
complicated arrangement of kings, queens, and knaves, the Witch greeting the appearance of each
with a muttered cabalistic phrase, she declared, with the utmost calmness and solemnity, and without
removing her eyes from the cards, that his head had been turned by a dark woman.
"Rita Bahiana," exclaimed Piedade, convinced of the efficacy of the Witch's magic. "I felt it inside
me all the time. Oh, my poor, dear man; my poor, dear man."
And she wept, wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron, and begging the Witch, for the love of
the poor little souls in purgatory, to find some remedy for this insupportable disaster.

109
p123
110
p124

46
 "If I lose that man, Dona Paula," the unhappy creature sobbed, "I don't know what's going to
become of me. Give me something to bring him back to me-I just can't bear to live without him."111
After some study and further consultation of the cards, the negress directed the unhappy wife to
save a little of the water in which she washed herself, and each day to mix this with the coffee she
gave her husband. If this resulted in no improvement, then a stronger charm must be employed. She
must cut off a little of her hair, burn it, and then mix it in his food.
Piedade listened to these directions in profound and respectful silence, with the doleful air of one
who hears from the physician a discouraging report on the state of a loved one. Then she placed a
silver coin in the sorceress's hand and promised a better reward if the remedy proved effective.
It was not only the Portuguese woman who was embittered by Jeronymo's passion for the mulatta.
Firmo, also, had discovered the violent flame his mistress had kindled in the heart of a rival, and
eyed the blaster with a silent challenge. He now was working steadily and did not live in the
tenement, although he spent his nights at Rita's house, and on Sunday remained the entire day in her
company-during the whole noisy celebration that always marked the laborers' weekly rest and
relaxation. One day he arrived unexpectedly at noon, and came upon the Portuguese in conversation
with Rita as she worked at her tub. He passed by without speaking and entered No.9, where she soon
joined him. He made no mention of his apprehensions, but also no attempt to conceal his ill-humor.
He was irritable and sullen the whole afternoon and continued in this mood until after dinner, when
he sipped his paraty and began to talk of beatings, and operations performed in112 his wild youth with
his trusty razor, citing various similar escapades before the public recently, and expressing the
opinion that such methods were the only ones suitable for the settling of scores of a private nature.
Among his own past performances he had not counted two "stupid immigrants," because he did not
consider them human beings--one could slit them open with the same compunction lavished on a pig.
Rita understood the drift of his allusions, and sought to allay his jealousy.
Early the next morning the two men passed in the courtyard, and the glance they exchanged could
be interpreted only as an open challenge and defiance. But neither of them spoke. Rita resolved to
warn the blaster to be on his guard, as she well knew that Firmo would stop at nothing when in one
of his jealous rages. But at lunch time when Jeronymo descended from the quarry, the tenement was
in the throes of another scandal, this time at No. Twelve and between old Marcianna and her
daughter, Florinda, and the Portuguese's danger was driven from her head by this new excitement.
Marcianna had been worried about her daughter. And on this particular day the two had not yet
finished lunch when Florinda left the table and ran to the bedroom, where Marcianna found her
vomiting in the chamber.
"What's the matter ? " she inquired, looking straight at the girl.
"Nothing, mamma," was the reply, followed by another period of retching.
"But what do you feel?"113
"Nothing, mamma; no ma'am."
"You don't feel anything, but you are vomiting!" cried the old mulatta in impatience, seizing the
girl and violently loosening her clothing, after which she lifted the skirts and passed her hands about
the abdomen of her young daughter. Unable to discover anything for herself, she ran to call the
Witch, who was better versed in such matters. The old negress, without excitement, wiped her arms
and accompanied the worried Marcianna back to No.12, where she examined the now cowering
Florinda, asked her several questions and addressed others to the mother.
Then, in the same matter-of-fact fashion, she pronounced the girl pregnant, and departed as calmly
as she had entered.
Marcianna, trembling with rage, closed the window and locked the door, placing the key inside her
dress. Then she fell upon her daughter and beat her without mercy. With no hope of escape, Florinda

111
p125
112
p126
113
p127

47
 shrieked and implored rescue. The tubs were abandoned and irons left to cool, while the neighbors
gathered in front of No. 12, pounded upon the door, and threatened to break in the window. There,
inside, the old mulatta was still mauling the girl, prostrate on the floor, pausing only to demand:
"Who was it? Who was it?" After which the beating was resumed until time for another "Who was
it? Tell me who it was."
Her daughter howled, but did not respond.
"Oh, you don't want to say who it was? Well, just wait now, and we'll see." And she ran to the
kitchen for the broom; but the time, short as it was, sufficed for114 Florinda to open the window and
literally fall outside among the excited neighbors. The laundresses were disposed to protect her from
further beating, the enraged mother throwing open the door and threatening all of them with her
broom. A number of the women sought to calm her.
"What's it all about, Aunt Marcianna? What's the poor child done?"
"The little bitch is in trouble!" shrieked the old mulatta; "that's what it's all about. That's what she's
been headed for, and she didn't need any urging. I've warned her, and she knew better.”
"But don't beat the poor child now," said Augusta. "You'll not leave any hide on her."
"Then let her answer me," raved the old woman. "I want to know who did this dirty business and
she's got to tell me, or I'll break every bone she's got."
"Now, Florinda, say who it was," counseled Das Dores. "It's better to tell your mother now, and get
it over."
The circle waited in unaccustomed silence, avid with curiosity.
"There, you see," exclaimed the mother. "She won't answer, the filthy hussy. But I'll show you
whether she tells or not."
The laundresses had to hold the enraged woman's arms and take the broom from her or she would
have fallen upon the unfortunate girl again.
Curiosity had now reached the boiling point. From every side came questions and urgings to speak
out and clear up the matter, the ever more insistent "Who was115 it? Who was it?" finally breaking
down the girl's stubborn resistance, until she commenced weeping into the torn skirt which she held
to her eyes and blubbered : "It was Domingos."
"Domingos?"
"The clerk in the venda."
"Aha, that carrot face!" cried old Marcianna. "Come along here," and she seized Florinda by the
arm and dragged her to the store, accompanied by the whole chattering group.
Both the taverna and the restaurant were filled with customers. Behind the counter Manoel and
Domingos were on the jump. There were many negroes in the place, and the racket was deafening.
Leonor was there, playing about and scuffling with one and then with another, showing her double
row of big, white teeth, and squealing as the men in the place pinched her thin legs and flat breasts.
Two English sailors were drinking a curious mixture of ginger-ale and whiskey, chewing tobacco,
and singing drunkenly in their strange, gruff tongue.
Marcianna forced her way between the customers and the counter, still clutching her luckless
daughter, and shouted: "Oh, you, João Romão!"
"What's the matter out there? " called the voice of the vender, who was in the other room, up to his
neck in work, serving hungry customers.
Bertoleza, holding aloft a huge cooking spoon covered with grease, appeared at the door, dirty with
sweat and soot, as usual, and seeing the place invaded by the crowd from the tenement, called to her
man: "Better116 hurry in here, Mr. João; I don't know what's happened."
Finally he appeared and impatiently inquired: "What the devil's the matter?"
"I've come to turn this girl over to you-your clerk had better look out for her.',

114
p128
115
p129
116
p130

48
 João Romão stared stupidly from sniveling Florinda to grim Marcianna.
"What do you say-what's it all about?"
"It was Domingos!" answered many voices.
A light broke, and the employer called sternly: "Domingos!"
"Yes, sir," responded the clerk in a voice dripping with guilt.
"Come here."
The culprit sidled nearer, with the pallor of death.
"What did you do to this girl?"
"Nothing-no, sir; I didn't do anything to her."
"Oh, yes, he did," wailed Florinda, as the clerk dropped his head to avoid meeting her accusing
eyes. "It was one morning early, very early-about four o'clock, up in the field under the mango
trees." This information occasioned a chorus of giggles.
"And so, one of my employees goes about seducing the girls of the neighborhood," said the vender,
shaking his head severely. "Since you've tried on the shirt, I guess you'll have to wear it; and as I
don't employ clerks with families on their hands, you might as well look for another situation."
Domingos was too crushed to reply. Silently he effaced himself.117
The group of laundresses and store loafers then gathered by twos and threes at the gateway, in the
courtyard, and in front of the restaurant to discuss the affair , the clerk having his detractors and a
few defenders. Various prophecies were aired as to the probable outcome.
In the meantime, Marcianna, without loosening her grip on Florinda's arm, had invaded the rear of
the establishment in pursuit of Domingos, who had started packing his few clothes.
"Well," she demanded, "what are you going to do?" To this he made no response.
"Speak up, you puppy."
"Oh, dry up," muttered the clerk, still red with shame and anger.
"Dry up nothing! " cried the old laundress with fury. "You just go a little slow with your packing.
You're going to marry her-she's a minor.”
"Like hell, I'll marry her.”
"Won't you? We'll see about that."
And the indignant mother rushed back to the store.
"Young carrot-face says he's not going to marry her.” This announcement had the effect of a war-
cry on the clustered laundresses, who crowded to the door, flaming with indignation.
"Not marry her?-What does he mean?-He's gone through with all of the performance except the
ceremony itself and now he wants to back out. He's trying to make us laugh?-If he gets away this
time no mother can protect the virtue of her child.-If he didn't want to marry her, why did he do it?-
This young blood is118 trying to set a new style.-Tell young Domingos there's going to be either a
wedding or a funeral, and no matter which it is, he's going to be in it." And other similar sentiments.
The neighbor loudest in demanding reparation was Machona, while the one most deeply deploring
the wrong done was old Dona Isabel. The former stationed herself in front of the establishment,
ready to seize the villain should he attempt flight. Following her example, the others immediately
distributed themselves at the various doors and windows from which he might escape; even a guard
for the wall on the side toward Miranda's house was not forgotten. Amid the buzzing of voices might
be heard ferocious threats of vengeance. "Das Dores, take care; he might get by you, and over the
wall!"
"Oh, you, Mr. João, if your man doesn't want to get married, better send him out here. We have
some other girls he might like."
"But really, where is the dog?"
"They say he's packing his clothes."
"He shan't get away-don't let him slip by."

117
p131
118
p132

49
 "Has anybody called the police?"
"That's right, I wonder where Alexandre is."
And much more, lost in the general confusion. In view of the agitation of the neighborhood, João
Romão went to speak to Domingos.
"Don't go out yet," he ordered. "Stay here for the present. In a little while I will come and tell you
what to do."119
Then, stepping to the door leading to the courtyard, he called:
"Stop this racket-I can't have this here. You've made noise enough."
"Well, then, is your Domingos going to marry her?" the women shouted back. "Why don't you send
him out here? We're not going to let him get away. What are you protecting him for?"
And old Marcianna, who naturally was the one most insistent, even shook her fist in the
proprietor's face. Romão swore that if she continued this performance he would have her put out of
the tenement immediately, and to the others he called :
"Come, come, now. Let's stop this racket and all of us return to our work. I can't waste any more
time, and neither should you."
"Then send out the clerk," insisted old Marcianna.
"Yes, we want Domingos," echoed the chorus; "we're going to teach him a lesson."
"The boy's going to marry her ," announced the vender, catching his breath. "I've already told him
he must either do that or pay her suitable damages as a dowry. So all of you can stop worrying about
it. I will be responsible for either the marriage or the money."
This quieted the mob. The laundresses left the strategic points they had been guarding and, one by
one, resumed their interrupted labors. João Romão called Domingos aside and warned him to remain
within the house until after dark.
"And let this be a lesson to you," he added. "See if you can't turn over a new leaf in a new job, and
avoid120 such errors as this. I am going to let you get away without the police taking you-we will
consider our accounts balanced."
"Accounts balanced-what do you mean? Aren't you going to settle up with me?"
"Settle up?" said the vender, shaking his head sadly.
"My boy, the amount due you will not be enough for the damages to be paid to the gir1."
"But have I got to pay damages?"
"Either that or marry. Ah, my son, this sort of thing is the most expensive diversion I know of. Of
course, if you are not satisfied to leave as I suggest, you have a right to complain to the police. Then
the whole affair can be settled by the court. Perhaps, after all, that would be the best way out of the
mess."
"But don't I get any money at all?"
"Look here. When this row started, I let you hide in here and protected you from that mob of
women, and you know that they would have torn you in pieces if they could have got hold of you.
The fact that you've still got your eyes in your head, you owe to me. In order to get them to let up on
you, I had to promise the money, and now I've got to pay it. If you think it's coming out of my
pocket, you're mistaken. You did the dancing, so you pay the piper. I don't furnish such luxuries for
anybody, not even my clerks."
"But-"
"That's enough. As a special favor, you may stay here till dark, but no more talking. Otherwise, out
you go, right now."121
And João Romão resumed the direction of his business affairs.
Marcianna resolved that she would not lodge a complaint at the police station until she saw what
the vender proposed to do about the case. She would wait, at least, till the next day, "just to see." In

119
p133
120
p134
121
p135

50
 the meantime, her poor house was cleaned and scrubbed, and then the process repeated. The scandal
was the only topic discussed throughout the day. No other subject could displace it when the
residents of São Romão stopped for a moment to converse; so much so, that when Augusta and
Alexandre received a visit that evening from their daughter, Juju's godmother, Leonie found the
tenement still much occupied with Florinda's undoing.
Leonie, with the gaudy and exaggerated clothing usually affected by French cocottes, aroused
much interest and admiration on her visits to São Romão. Her gown of steel-colored silk, trimmed
with ox-blood, was short and saucy, exposing slippers the height of whose heels filled the
laundresses with awe. Her twenty-button gloves reached almost to her armpits. A red parasol
foaming with a sea of pink lace ( a combination that all agreed was particularly fetching) and with a
wonderfully carved handle was an acknowledged work of art. And her hat-not a woman in all of the
ninety-five households could behold that hat without emotion. It was a large one, with two enormous
wings and a nest , of red velvet, over which hovered a whole bird, though a small one, at which the
children stared with fascination, half expecting at any minute to see it take wing 136 and disappear.
And Leonie had jewelry-much of it. Her lips wore carmine and her eyelashes were darkened. Then
there was her hair-a veritable crown of glory, all agreed. It came to her a modest brown, but with the
aid of the chemist's lore she had achieved a shimmering gold. With this marvelous attire and the
peculiar graces of her profession, she was always something of a sensation in the tenement, and all
sorts of pretexts were employed to stop a moment at Alexandre's house, or at least walk by, for the
purpose of enjoying a closer view.
Juju was more or less a miniature edition of her godmother. At the first glimpse of the mincing
little figure, Augusta Carne Molle had rushed out and smothered the child with kisses. But to-day the
little one's appearance had undergone a change-she, also, had been transformed into a heavenly
blonde. Rapidly the news flew about the courtyard, and friends came rushing to see Augusta's girl
with "French hair."
Leonie was radiant with the success of the innovation. This adopted child was her one luxury, the
one thing distinctly hers, the one really worthy impulse of her depraved life. Realizing what she was,
she basked in the unaccustomed respect and consideration she enjoyed in the tenement, well
knowing that among less simple and ignorant people she was scorned and ridiculed. She was
therefore grateful to Augusta and Alexandre for their friendship and for making her the godmother of
their child, and she lavished presents and kindnesses upon them. And among the dwellers of São
Romão, she actually felt different. Her eyes lost some of their hard glitter, and for a little she forgot
the scenes to which122 she was accustomed, daily, down in Cattete. She wanted no special attention
or consideration. She seated herself on the bench at Augusta's side, drank water from the family tin
cup, laid aside the marvelous hat, and sometimes went so far as to kick off the tight slippers and rest
her cramped feet in the shabby old carpet affairs under the bed.
Alexandre and his wife returned her affection with interest. There was nothing they would not do
for Dona Leonie. To them, she was the most beautiful and most perfect of women, with the heart of
an angel, and her visits were the great events of their narrow lives. Juju, with a sack of candy in each
hand, was carried from house to house, passed from arm to arm and from mouth to mouth, like a
marvelous and miraculous idol that everyone must kiss. Compliments were unceasing. She was
pronounced a rare beauty, a little angel, a French doll, and everything else that was held desirable.
On such processions she was borne aloft in the arms of the proud father, deeply moved but solemn
as ever, who gravely stopped every few steps to receive the homage of another neighbor and allow a
flood of enthusiasm to expend itself. With a faint smile and tearwet eyes, his accustomed expression
of stupid dignity gave way to one of humble wonderment how a simple mulatto like himself ever had
become the father of so perfect a marvel, and what kind divinity had sent, straight from the skies, a
truly fairy godmother of angelic goodness to bring her up.

122
p137

51
 While Juju made her triumphant round of the tenement, Leonie remained with Augusta, the center
of an-123 dmiring circle of laundresses and children, conversing most seriously with her friends. She
spoke in a low voice and with the air of a person of experience and judgment. She condemned all
that was evil and dishonorable, and applauded what was virtuous and righteous. And the women
about her, usually so boisterous and forward, now spoke without raising their voices, listening to the
words of wisdom and impressed with the goodness of the beautiful lady addressing them.
Das Dores glowed with importance when Leonie placed her gloved hand on the laundress's
shoulder to inquire how her man was getting along. The group never red of gazing at the cocotte,
admiring her good looks and examining the details of her elaborate costume. The richness of her
dress caused wonder; fingers tested the softness of the silken hose; the slippers, at close view, were
even higher in the heel than they had thought; and as they lifted her skirt a chorus of astonishment
arose as they beheld the amount of lace on her undergarments.
And the object of this adulation smiled, moved by the heartfelt compliments of the circle. Piedade
vowed that Madame's dress was even finer than that of Nossa Senhora da Penha. Nenem in her
enthusiasm declared that she envied Leonie from the bottom of her heart, upon which her mother
reproved the sin of covetousness. Albino gazed in ecstasy, his chin in his hand and his elbow in the
air. Rita brought a few roses and offered them to the visitor. She was well aware of the social
position of the blonde French woman, but she praised her beauty warmly. Furthermore, "it takes a124
smart woman to get all the jewelry and good clothes Leonie wears out of a bunch of stingy rich
men."
"After all, I don't know," Rita continued later to a group in the courtyard. "It may be a terrible life,
as they say it is, but it can't be denied that she has a comfortable time of it and nothing lacking. She
has the best to eat and drink, and lives in a good house, and goes riding in the afternoon in a fine
carriage. And at night she goes to the theater and to dances as often as she pleases, and on Sunday
there are the races and picnics out in the country, and all the money she wants to spend. And best of
all, she's not tied to some brute of a man, to be kicked and cuffed about like Leocadia and some
others. No, indeed, she does as she pleases, free as love itself. Her pretty little body belongs to
herself, and she cedes it only to those that make it worth her while."
Back at Alexandre's house, the subject of all these remarks looked about as though somebody were
missing.
"Where's Pombinha?" she inquired. "I haven't seen her yet.".
"Oh," replied Augusta; "she's not here. She went to the Dancing Club with her mother."
As the visitor did not understand, it was explained that Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday evenings
Pombinha earned two milreis at a dancing school, where she helped to teach bashful young men
employed in various offices in the city, it being there that she had met da Costa.
"What Costa?"
"Her beau, the one that wants to marry her.”
"Oh, yes, I remember."125
Then lowering her voice, "And is she all right now?"
"No, indeed; and they are so unhappy over it. Only this week Dona Isabel made a vow to Our Lady
of the Annunciation, but it seems no use."
At this moment Augusta appeared with a cup of black coffee which Leonie refused, explaining that
she was under medical treatment, and that coffee was forbidden. She would prefer beer. And without
giving time for opposition she drew a ten-milreis note from her purse and despatched little Augusto
to bring three bottles of Carl Berg. The cocotte, with her own hands, distributed full glasses to the
circle, retaining one for herself. There were not enough to go round and the liberal visitor wanted to

123
p138
124
p139
125
p140

52
 send for more, but this was not permitted, there being no difficulty about two of her friends sharing a
glass.
"Imagine spending so much-what a generous heart she has."
The change was forgotten purposely, there on the shabby bureau, half covered by the old but well-
treated toilet articles.
"And tel1 me, honey, when are you coming to see me?" urged Leonie.
"By the end of the week, without fail-I'm going to bring all the clothes. But if you're short of
anything, I'll send it early."
"I do need towels and sheets; and-oh, yes, a couple of nightgowns would be useful, too."
They were promised for the morrow.
The hour was now ten, late for the tenement. Leonie had become impatient, and sent out to see if
the young126 man who was to call for her might be lingering at the portal instead of entering.
"Is this the same one that came last time?"
"No, this one's taller, and wears a silk hat."
A number ran to look, but the escort had not yet appeared. Leonie was annoyed.
"Lazy loafer," she muttered. "I wonder what he's doing."
"Why don't you stay all night?" urged Augusta. "You won't be so comfortable as in your own
home, but the night's soon over."
"Oh, no, thank you; I must be at home to-night, because to-morrow early I have a lot of things to
do."
But at this moment Dona Isabel and her daughter returned, and Pombinha, on learning that Leonie
had not gone, left her mother for a moment to run in and greet the French woman, for the two were
great friends. The cocotte received the girl effusively, kissing her lips and eyes repeatedly. "Ah, my
child, what makes you so pretty?" she exclaimed.
"Thoughts of you, I'm sure," replied the other, in her innocent simplicity.
Then they drew aside for a little conversation, and Leonie produced a present she had brought for
Pombinha, a toy of no value except for the merriment it might cause-a mouse nibbling a piece of
cheese. It was passed from hand to hand, and most extravagantly admired.
"You nearly missed me," remarked the cocotte. "If the person calling for me had been on time, I
would now be almost home.127
"Tell me," she continued, fondling the other's hair, 'when are you coming to visit me? You needn't
be afraid-my house is most quiet and orderly. Many nice people come there."
"But I never go to the city, or very seldom," sighed Pombinha.
"Get your mother to come with you to-morrow and dine with me," urged Leonie.
"All right, if she'll do it. Here she comes; you ask er."
Dona Isabel promised, not for the day following, but for Sunday. And the group conversed with
animation for a quarter of an hour until the arrival of Leonie's escort. He was a youth in his early
twenties, without fortune and without employment, but well dressed and most presentable.
"Don't mention Sunday before him," whispered the visitor.
Juju was asleep and it was decided not to awaken her, but to send her on the morrow, along with
the sheets, towels, and nightgowns. As Leonie departed on the arm of her gigolo, accompanied to the
gate by a group of admiring friends, Rita playfully poked Jeronymo's ribs and cautioned him to avoid
being charmed.
"Never by a painted trollop like that," responded the blaster, with a disdainful shrug of his
shoulders. Then he extended his hand back of her, and gave her a little slap to indicate the lady of his
choice.
"Oh, what a brute you are!" she exclaimed, rubbing the point of attack. "Truly, you will never get
over being a Portuguese."128

126
p141
127
p142

53
 CHAPTER TEN

MIRANDA'S house was preparing for a celebration. The Jornal do Commercio already had
informed its readers that the Portuguese sovereign had graciously bestowed upon him the title of
Baron de Freixal, and as his friends had advised him that they intended to visit him the following
Sunday to offer their congratulations, the new aristocrat resolved to accord them a worthy reception.
In the tenement this news caused a sensation and many eyes were turned toward the scene of the
coming festivities. Izaura and Leonor appeared at the windows at regular tntervals to shake rugs free
of dust, holding them far out and shutting their eyes against the cloud that arose with each shake or
blow. Additional servants had been introduced for the great occasion. The floors in front were being
waxed by a couple of negro boys, while the kitchen was in a turmoil. Dona Estella, clad in a cambric
dressing gown with a wealth of pink ribbon, moved here and there, giving her orders and wielding a
large fan, and when she entered the kitchen or used the dripping back stairs, she was much occupied
in holding high her trailing skirt.
Zulmira, also, came and went, pale and bloodless as ever, and Henrique assisted old Botelho in the
arrangement of the furniture and other preparations for the expected invasion. Clad in his white coat,
the youth found many pretexts to pause a moment at a window to flirt with Pombinha, who was in
her doorway, sewing129 and pretending to be unaware of his attentions. Seated in a wicker chair, with
one leg doubled under the other , exposing a rounded calf encased in a blue silk stocking and tipped
by a low shoe, it was only at rare intervals that she raised her eyes to the neighboring house.
A hurrying figure entered from the street. It was the stocky new baron, in an overcoat and high hat,
clutching an umbrella. He rushed here and there, inspecting the various activities of his subordinates.
Trotting through the dining room, he visited the pantry and breathlessly inquired if this and that had
been sent, sampling the wines that had arrived in demijohns, issuing orders and countermanding
them, reproving this servant and storming at that one, then rushing out of the house again and
throwing himself into the waiting carriage to rattle away and make sure that the fireworks ordered
were going to be ready on time.
There appeared a procession of men with cases of champagne, boxes of port and Bordeaux, kegs of
beer, baskets and baskets of food, cans and cans of preserves. Turkeys and young pigs, a quarter of
veal, and hundreds of eggs ended their journey at Miranda's house, while every window-sill was
covered with pans of compotes, puddings and pastry, set out to cool.
But the tenement could not give its undivided attention to these momentous preparations-other
events were taking place nearer at hand. Domingos had disappeared during the night, and a new
clerk had taken his place behind João Romão's counter.
When that worthy was questioned regarding the matter, he frowned darkly and inquired: "And what
have130 I to do with it? He made off, I don't know where. Do you expect me to go out and hunt for
him, and drag him back here by the neck?"
"But you said you would be responsible for him," reminded old Marcianna, who appeared to have
aged ten years in those twenty-four hours.
"But the young scoundrel gave me the slip. What can I do? You'll have to be patient."
"Well, then, I suppose I'll have to be satisfied with the money."
"Money- What money? Have you been drinking?"
"The money you promised, you vulture. One's about as good as the other. But I'll show you."
"Look here, old girl, you be off and don't bother me."
And João Romão turned his back upon her to listen to Bertoleza, who had approached.

128
p143
129
p144
130
p145

54
 "Wait and see, you villain! " cried the old woman, lifting her hand. "It is God that shall avenge me
and my daughter.”
But the vender walked away, indifferent to her reproaches and to those of the other women who
sympathized with her. The others were not so excited as on the previous day. The affair was of
yesterday, and therefore had lost the merit of novelty.
Marcianna went to the police station with her daughter, but returned in discouragement. She was
told that nothing could be done without first locating the culprit. The two spent the whole day in trips
to various public officials, to the prosecuting attorney and then to private prosecutors, who wasted
little time on them when they131 found how little the old woman could spend on an action against the
yet-to-be-found Don Juan.
Upon their return, exhausted with fatigue and burned by the hot sun, they found the tenement
dwellers nearly at the end of the day's labors. The peddlers who lived in São Romão were, one by
one, returning with their baskets empty or with the remnants of fruit they had been unable to sell.
Marcianna was so furious that she said nothing until she had beaten Florinda again, after which she
flung open the door and windows and ran for two pails of water, which she dashed on the floor like
one possessed.
"Get a broom! " she shrieked. "Help me scrub out this pig pen. It seems to me I will never get this
place clean. If it's shut up for an hour, it stinks enough to choke me. Hurry up, we'll all get the pest! "
And noting that Florinda was weeping, "Oh, now you are sorry, and you bawl-pity you didn't feel
this way about it up under the mango trees."
Then the daughter sobbed.
"Shut up, you worthless baggage! Do you hear me? Shut up!"
Florinda wept louder.
"Oh, you want to cry, do you? Well, you shall have something to cry for.”
Darting into the kitchen, the old woman seized a stick of wood, but after one blow with it, Florinda
dashed into the courtyard and sped to the portal, disappearing into the street. Nobody could stop her,
and there arose from the tubs a clamor like that of a startled hen-roost. Marcianna followed to the
gateway, and132 searched and called in the greatest agitation. Then, realizing that her daughter had
abandoned her she, too, wept, her arms extended and her eyes gazing into space. The tears ran down
her wrinkled face and seemed to wash away the rage that had convulsed her, now leaving her a
pitiful, broken old woman, crushed with the bitter grief of a mother bereft of her only child.
"But where can she be?" she sobbed. "Where has she gone?"
"But you've been beating her since yesterday," responded Rita. "She's run away from you, and she
did right. The child's flesh, not iron."
"Ah, my daughter."
"Oh, yes, now she's your daughter. Pity you didn't remember she was your daughter when you were
thumping her."
Nobody appeared to feel much sympathy for Marcianna except the old negress, who went and
seated herself in the disconsolate woman's doorway, saying nothing, but staring with pitying eyes at
her grief-stricken friend. Marcianna finally roused herself from the whimpering stupor into which
she had fallen, and suddenly springing to her feet she ran to the rear of João Romão's establishment,
her hands in the air and her stiff black hair flying.
"This damned immigrant is to blame for everything. Curses on you, you thief! If you don't answer
for my daughter, I shall set fire to your house! "
A sinister smile played for a moment on the face of the Witch as she heard these last words.

131
p146
132
p147

55
 The vender appeared in his doorway and ordered133 Marcianna to vacate No.12. "And hurry up
about it; I'm not going to have you shouting around here in this fashion. You get out, or I'll call a
guard and have your things thrown out. I'll let you stay to-night, but to-morrow, vacate."
He had been in a vile humor all day. More than once he had shouted in impatience at Bertoleza,
only because she had asked some simple question regarding the work. Nobody ever had seen him so
irritable and with so little self-control; he didn't seem the same man whom all had known as calm,
methodical, and eventempered. And no one who knew him could possibly have believed that the
cause of all this ill-humor was the fact that Miranda had been made a baron.
Yes, that vender, humble, squat, and miserable; that immigrant who never laid aside his wooden
tomancos and never appeared in clothing other than a shirt without a collar; that animal who fed
himself less well than the dogs, in order to save every copper he could gain or extort; that being,
shriveled with greed and seemingly divested of the privileges and sentiments of a man; that creature
who had never loved nor thought of anything but money-João Romão now was envious of his
neighbor, Miranda. And his envy was more intense than that of Estella's husband when he bitterly
contemplated the vender's good fortune.
He had followed Miranda's progress ever since the merchant had come to occupy the house next
door; he had seen him on the happy occasions when, full of importance, he was surrounded by
fawning adulators; he had seen him receiving at his entertainments im-134 portant political figures; he
had seen him shining among a group of ladies from the city's most exclusive circles; he had seen him
risk much in dangerous speculations, and win; he had seen his neighbor's name on important
directorates, or as a subscriber of large sums to public enterprises, or as a moving spirit in works of
charity or national celebrations; he had seen him praised and acclaimed in the press as a man of
broad vision and great financial talent-he had seen him in all this prosperity and good fortune, and
never been envious or jealous. But now, strange as it may seem, merely through reading in the Jornal
do Commercio that his neighbor had become a baron, the Baron de Freixal, he had felt a chill creep
over his body that threatened to freeze his heart.
All through that Sunday he could think of nothing else. Miranda was a baron; his neighbor had
been admitted to the nobility. He never had counted on this. Money could be made, and property
acquired, but Miranda was now Baron de Freixal. And there in his store these bitter reflections
entered into every activity. A pat of yellow butter became the golden insignia of a prized decoration;
he half expected to see the cheese knife tap somebody on the shoulder with: "Rise, Sir Knight."
That night when he had dropped into bed at Bertoleza's side, sleep would not come. In that narrow
and dirty room, with its smoky ceiling and cobwebbed corners, every object took on the appearance
of the robe of a noble order; the cracks through which the moonlight filtered formed diamond-
studded crosses. And in João Romão's hard head a maze of new pictures began135 to form
themselves. He saw himself in another setting, surrounded by grandeur and luxury that his limited
experience only half understood. He felt the touch of silk and lace and velvet; he saw the bare arms
and necks of lovely ladies adorned with long ropes of pearls, and heard their soft laughter as they
sipped foamy wine of golden hue from delicate and sparkling glasses. Amid a sea of these lovely
creatures, floating about in the arms of perfectly groomed men while languorous music filled the air,
he saw himself-not looking on, but as one of them-a happy mortal who had arrived at that scene of
festive luxury in a deepcushioned carriage with a heraldic device on its door and a liveried coachman
holding the reins over a pair of splendid horses. He had been received with low bows and ushered
into a room with many tables glittering with rich gold and silver and covered with delicious fruits,
and here, amid the light and music and flowers, he stood with a glass in his hand, while the
assembled wealth and fashion leaned forward to hear his words.

133
p148
134
p149
135
p150

56
 It was a beautiful dream. The only discordant note was, now and then, a snore from Bertoleza, who
had kicked off the bedclothes and now exposed her thick, stocky black body, reeking with
perspiration, onions, and rancid lard.
Because João Romão never had known anything of such luxury, he was doubly enchanted by his
vision. He continued to picture himself in this wonderful world, surrounded by these charming ladies
and gentlemen, who conversed of music, and art, and painting, and literature, and politics. It was a
marvelous life that136 opened itself before his ravished eyes, a life that was full and complete and
satisfying. He lived in a palace surrounded by everything beautiful and luxurious. His feet pressed
thick rugs; he reclined upon chairs of gold. Expansive mirrors threw back to him his perfectly clad
form, and eagerly approaching him were millionaires and noblemen and high officials in splendid
uniforms. They grasped his hand and clapped him on the back-and why not? Wasn't he one of them?
Yes, indeed. They had come to visit the Baron, the Baron of Gold. He never had been the
proprietor of a noisy tenement, whose days were spent in measuring out paraty and serving evil-
smelling food, clad in a dirty shirt and a pair of denim trousers, clamping about in wooden tomancos.
Not he. He was the Baron of Riches, the Baron of Grandeur, the Baron of Millions.
A vender? Who ever started such a yarn as that? It couldn't be. He was the famous capitalist, a
proprietor of untold possessions, a banker whose riches steadied the markets of the world. From the
far corners of the earth he saw flowing toward him rivers of gold; caravans crossed the desert to
bring him their wonders from distant lands; puffing locomotives drew car after car of his products to
their destination; a line of majestic ships plowed their way through the parting waves that his
commerce might be served. And all was controlled by his hand; his cabled instructions made
monarchs tremble, and markets rose and fell at his will.
"Wake up, Mr. João! It's time to go to the market for the fish."
Fairyland had vanished, and there was Bertoleza137 rousing him for the day's activities, just as she
had been doing for years. For João Romão had himself always gone for the fish. An employee might
pay too much, or hold back some of the change. Indeed, it was an established rule of the vender
never to entrust to hired help a transaction where the spending of money was involved. But to-day he
reversed the habit of a lifetime, and told her to send Manoel
It was four o'clock and he managed to sleep till six, when he arose to find the usual Sunday
morning clamor in full swing.
Even at this early hour the celebration in Miranda's house was in progress. Flags were hanging
from the windows and there were plants and flowers everywhere. At daylight Dona Estella had
ordered fireworks set off, and a band of music already was playing at the entry. Miranda and his
family had risen early. All in white, with diamond studs in his shirt, he appeared at the window every
few minutes to acknowledge the cheers of the populace. At such moments his wife and daughter
clung to his arms. The rest of the time he mopped his brow, lighted numerous cigars and moved
about, smiling, genial, complacent.
João Romão observed all this with a bitter heart. The wonderful dream edifice he had erected
threatened to come down about his ears. Doubts and misgivings assailed him. Would he really be
happy with his mode of life changed? Which was better, after all: to continue as he had lived thus
far, in his shirt and tomancos, denying himself every comfort; or to follow Miranda's plan, and enjoy
the good things of life? Could he live up to138 pretensions like Miranda's-could he be a gentleman if
he were to try? There was no lack of money-he had plenty of that. But would it be possible for him
to spend it as Miranda did? For instance, could he bring himself to exchange several thousand
milreis for a little decoration to wear on his breast? And could he smother his selfishness enough to
share his wealth with a wife and family? After stinting himself for years, would he ever be able to
invite a host of guests to splendid banquets, and fill them with delicate food and expensive wines?

136
p151
137
p152
138
p153

57
 And if he ever did bring himself to a frame of mind where he could do all of these things without its
hurting him too much, was he able to fill his role? After all, did he just need the will, or was he too
hopelessly ignorant ? Could he learn enough to change his mode of life, marry a woman of education
and refinement, establish a home like Miranda's, grace a title after he had obtained it, and not be the
laughing-stock of the whole city?
How would a body that had never known a coat act in a dress suit? And those feet, with their
spreading toes that had yet to explore the inside of a shoe-how could they be crowded into a dancing
pump? And those awful hands, stiff and calloused and never cared forwas ever a glove made that
would accommodate them?
This was not all. The worst would be when he had to speak. What would he say, when it came to
receiving guests-would it be sufficient to ask them to have a drink? And the ladies-good heavens! He
began to sweat as he imagined himself in the midst of an animated group in somebody's drawing-
room. Gone was139 the easy grace he had pictured the night before. Would he forget, and say things
that would make him blush? A deep and dull depression settled upon his spirit. He wanted to leap,
but he feared to break his bones. Lack of confidence in himself gave way to black despair. He came
to the dismal conviction that all he was good for was to make money, and to his astonishment he
began to assure himself that money is not everything.
"I have been a fool," he thought to himself bitterly, "a hopeless fool. When I was younger and
might have learned things, why didn't I set about it; why didn't I observe how other people live and
act, as lots of my acquaintances, worse off than I am, have done; why didn't I at least join a carnival
club and learn to dance; why haven't I ever gone walking through Rua Ouvidor in the afternoon, and
attended parties and accustomed myself to converse with people; why have I never worn decent
clothing and shoes that fit, and learned to handle a cane, a handkerchief, a hat, a cigar, a glass of
beer-do all the things that other people seem to know how to do without being taught? Damned
economy, that's it.
"True, I would have spent something, I wouldn't have quite so much as I've got now, but at least I
would have been learning how to do something with money-I would have been a civilized human
being."
"Seems to me as though you're talking with the spirits to-day, Mr. João," ventured Bertoleza,
noting that he muttered much to himself and was not intent upon work.140
"Let me alone. Don't you bother me, either. I don't feel good to-day."
"I was just talking-I didn't mean any harm."
"All right, never mind."
And this ill-nature continued throughout the day. He seemed ready to quarrel with everybody. He
always had been on excellent terms with the district fiscal agent, but to-day they had an argument,
João Romão declaring that he wasn't a worm to be imposed upon through fear of a fine. If they
thought they were going to eat him up in taxes, they might try it, but it would cost them dear. And he
might remark that he didn't like loafers hanging around his door.
Next he had a row with Machona on account of her cat, which had stolen some fried fish the week
before. Then he paused in front of the empty tubs, wrathful, and seeking some excuse for an
explosion. With a shout, he scattered the children in his path. "Get out of the way, you lousy pests! I
never saw such creatures to stop and block the road, just like so many rats."
The next victim was old Liborio. "And you, too, are always under foot, you old empty husk. What
the devil do you hang on for, anyway?"
An instant later he was storming at one of his tenants, a tailor, who had two roosters which he
allowed to fight within a circle of enthusiastic friends. The next to catch it were the Italians, who
were grouped about their doorway enjoying their Sunday rest and eating oranges and melons,
dropping the rinds on the pavement.

139
p154
140
p155

58
 "This has got to be cleaned up!" he shouted. "It's141 worse than a hogpen. We'll have yellow fever
in here through your filth, you damned foreigners. Clean this up right now or get out. I'm boss here."
As poor old Marcianna had not moved out in accordance with his orders of the previous afternoon,
his fury approached a delirium. Since Florinda's flight the old soul had done little but weep, the
while muttering an unintelligible monologue, with the persistence of a maniac. She had not slept at
all during the night; she had left and entered the courtyard twenty times, worried and miserable.
She was distrait and did not respond to questions asked her. João Romão stopped and addressed
her, but she paid no heed to him. The vender, every instant more exasperated, ran to the street for
two men, whom he ordered to dispossess his tenant.
"Put all her traps outside; here I'm boss; here I'm monarch!" he bellowed, beside himself.
And the men began their work.
"No, no, not here in the courtyard! " he yelled. "Out there in the street, outside the gateway!'
The poor creature made no protest. She dragged herself along after her roughly handled
belongings, still muttering. Passers-by stopped and eyed the scene with curiosity, but nobody could
understand what the old mulatta was saying. It was a droning mumble, accompanied by a solemn and
continual shaking of the head.
An old mattress was ripped open and half emptied; furniture, most of it without varnish, had
suffered much in handling; clothing had been thrown out with no attempt at packing; dishes and
kitchen utensils formed142 a pile of rubbish by the curb. The man with the many instruments was
giving his usual Sunday concert near by; customers passed in and out of the store; the tenement
dwellers were setting out in their Sunday clothing; neat bundles of clean clothes were starting on the
way to their owners, and sacks of soiled ones were entering the portal for washing. But to none of
these things did Marcianna give any attention. She crouched by her wrecked belongings and
muttered, no longer weeping, but gazing straight ahead with unseeing eyes. Several of the neighbors,
overcome with pity for the old soul, went out and offered her food and tried to talk with her. She
made no response to them, nor even appeared to hear them. They called her by name repeatedly, but
she gave no sign of recognition.
The laundresses whispered together, crossing themselves. Surely Aunt Marcianna had lost her wits.
Rita came out with a plate of food for the unfortunate neighbor.
"Aunt Marcianna," pleaded the mulatta, "don't stay here like this. Get up, and we'll help you take
care of your things till you have a place to put them."
There was no response-Marcianna only continued to mumble.
"Come on, it's going to rain. You mustn't stay out here. I've felt two drops in my face already."
"That won't prevent it."
This strange remark was made by the Witch, who stood gazing upon the hapless mulatta crouched
in the street.
Rita could remain no longer, because Firmo had ar-143 rived in company with Porfiro, the two
bringing a number of parcels containing provisions for dinner. Das Dores' man also had arrived; it
was three o'clock. Miranda's house was ever more crowded with visitors and his reception was
attracting much attention. Inside, the music played almost without ceasing, eager couples dancing the
waltz and the quadrille. Servants hurried from the pantry and dining room to the front of the house,
bearing trays of full glasses. Henrique, flushed and perspiring, appeared at a window frequently,
eagerly looking for Pombinha. He was disappointed, for she was passing the day with Leonie in
accordance with her mother's promise.
João Romão, after visiting his wrath upon Bertoleza and the clerks, left the store and again entered
the courtyard, where nothing met with his approval. He censured the quarry workers severely, this
time including Jeronymo, whose size and strength formerly had intimidated him.

141
p156
142
p157
143
p158

59
 He pronounced the work up at the quarry rotten. For the past three weeks everything had stood still.
Always they were getting ready to blast a new section, and always they put it off. Here Sunday had
arrived and everybody was laying off, and still no powder burned. Just a bunch of loafers. And that
Jeronymo, who used to be on the job every minute, was now setting a bad example to the rest. All he
could think of was trying to get a samba started every night, so that he could stand and stare at Rita
Bahiana. He seemed to have been bewitched by her.
Piedade, hearing evil spoken of her man, leaped to144 her feet and searched for a weapon. Armed
with two stones she started for the vender, and a battle would have ensued had not the threatened
rain arrived in a sudden downpour. Everybody sought cover in his particular corner except the
children. These shed their clothes and leaped about the courtyard, ducking in and out of the torrent
that poured from the eaves, and sometimes lying on the ground, pretending that they were
swimming.
When João Romão returned to the store, he, too, fleeing from the rain, a clerk handed him a card
from Miranda, inviting him over that evening for a cup of tea.
At first the vender was pleased and flattered by the invitation, the first of the nature he ever had
received in his life. But after further reflection his anger burned more fiercely than ever. This
invitation was intended as a slight, a bit of irony calculated to irritate and provoke him.
"Why did the old wind-bag invite me, when he knew for certain that I wouldn't come? Why, if not
to emphasize the difference between us? To hell with old Miranda and his titles and his parties. I
don't need anything from him. I can get along without any attention from bounders like him. If I
liked parties, I'd have them myself."
In spite of these assurances, he began to imagine how it would be if he were provided with the
proper clothing and were to accept the invitation. He saw himself dressed in a good suit of nice
broadcloth, with a145 heavy gold chain hanging across his vest and a diamond pin in his tie. Entering
the salon, he would smile at all present, addressing a few words to this one and a remark to that one,
not talking too much, but being affable to all. He could imagine the voices on every side discreetly
whispering that he was a man extremely rich and of the greatest independence. And he could
mentally picture how they would gaze at him and seek opportunities to meet him, and how kindly the
ladies would talk to him, especially the ones with marriageable daughters.
Filled with these ideas, he was abrupt and disagreeable to the customers, treated Bertoleza with
unprovoked harshness, and finally, on beholding Marcianna huddled in a corner of the store, where
she had been led by some negroes who took pity on her forlorn state out in the rain, he lost his
temper completely.
"Look here; what the devil do you bring this old simpleton in here for? I like to see people
charitable with their own property, but not with mine. This isn't a shelter for homeless vagabonds."
Then turning to a policeman who had entered for a glass of paraty to overcome the effects of
getting wet, he remarked: "Say, my friend, this woman's a tramp and has no home, and when I close
up I can't leave her here inside the store."
The policeman departed, and an hour later a guard came and led Marcianna off to the lockup, not
making the slightest protest, but still mumbling her unintelligible monologue. A wagon from the
municipal warehouse cleared the street of her belongings, in accordance146 with regulations, and the
only person who appeared to be truly impressed by the tragedy was the Witch.
In the meantime, the rain had ceased completely and the sun appeared for a moment before setting.
Birds resumed their song in the trees and the tenement eagerly started in to make up for lost time.
Above, in the residence of the Baron, the celebration became ever more boisterous, and at intervals
an empty bottle was thrown into the courtyard, occasioning protests and hoots.

144
p159
145
p160
146
p161

60
 A full moon had been in evidence since sundown, and the night was beautifully clear and fresh
following the rain of the afternoon. The samba broke out earlier and more animatedly than usual,
probably incited by the merriment in Miranda's house. It was a wild festivity. Rita Bahiana seemed
carried away with enthusiasm, inspired, divine. Never had she danced with such grace and abandon.
She sang, too. And each verse that came from her red lips seemed to breathe of love, like a dove
cooing to its mate in the cote. Firmo, overcome with passion, made his guitar weep and moan; the
instrument and Firmo both paid their tribute of wild devotion to the mulatta from Bahia-to Rita and
her dancing.
Jeronymo could not contain himself, and when the dancer fell panting and exhausted at his side, he
murmured to her with a voice strangled with emotion: "My love, if 1 could have you for mine, I
would give the devil my soul."
Firmo did not hear the remark, but he interpreted the. expression that accompanied it, and scowled
fiercely as he eyed the blaster.147
There was no abatement in the evening's pleasure, however. Das Dores took part, and so did
Nenem and a friend who was passing the day with her. The admiring circle beat their palms in time
to the music, and then offered wild applause to each dancer.
When Piedade's husband leaned close to the mulatta a second time to whisper a message, Firmo
had great difficulty in restraining himself from flying at the Portuguese's throat. But when Rita, in a
moment of imprudence, almost touched the blaster's ear with her lips, as she murmured to him some
remark the others were not intended to hear, Firmo bounded across the space between them and
glared at his rival, measuring him from head to foot with an expression intended to provoke. The
Portuguese, also, arose and returned the other's glare. The instruments stopped and the circle
remained in profound silence, nobody stirring from his place. The brilliant moonlight streamed down
upon the two men eying each other with hate.
Jeronymo was tall and broad, built like a bull and with a neck like that of Hercules; his was a quiet
strength, his wrist was of steel and with his fist he could fell an ox. The other was a trifle shorter,
slim and supple, and with the agility of a cat. It was a case of brute strength pitted against nervous
energy-and neither of them was afraid.
"Sit down, sit down."
"No fighting here."
"On with the dance."
Piedade rushed forward to pull her man away from148 the scene, but the blaster shoved her aside
without removing his eyes from the mulatto.
"Let's see what this goat wants of me," he muttered.
"I'll teach you a lesson you need, you ignorant immigrant," answered Firmo, facing his antagonist,
dancing on one foot and then on the other, and working his arms as though he intended clinching
with the big fellow.
Jeronymo, enraged by the insult, advanced upon the other, aiming a blow intended to kill. The goat,
however, suddenly dropped upon his back, braced himself with his arms and threw upward his right
foot, with the result that the savage blow was lost in space and the blaster received an unexpected
kick in the stomach.
"Canalla!" he shouted with fury, and threw himself forward toward his still crouching antagonist,
only to have the breath knocked out of him by the latter's head.
"Get up if you're not dead yet! " shouted Firmo, resuming his dance.
Jeronymo arose and again lunged forward at the nimble mulatto, but Firmo leaped backward,
lifting his foot as he did so, and the Portuguese's fist hit nothing, while he received a jarring kick in
the chin.

147
p162
148
p163

61
 Blood flowed from his mouth and nose and there arose a clamor from the women, while Firmo
delivered light but effective blows left and right. João Romão ran and closed the portal to prevent
entrance from outside, and then hurried up to the scene of the fight. Bruno and the other quarry
workers were trying to seize the mulatto, who was still dancing about, now149 worked up to a frenzy
of fury, and successfully evading their efforts to subdue him. The women were in a state of terror,
some shouting and others weeping, the one exception being Rita Bahiana, who stood a little apart,
with arms folded, watching this battle for her sake, the suggestion of a smile on her red lips.
The moon paled and the sky took on a dull gray appearance, in contrast with its former brilliance,
while there was a misty dampness in the air. Piedade was howling for the police and Miranda's
windows were crowded with frightened faces. Whistles were blown and orders shouted all
directions. In his helpless rage against the nimble plumber, Jeronymo had ripped a picket from the
fence and with this he landed a blow on his dancing rival's head. With a quick movement the mulatto
drew a keen-bladed razor from his pocket. His face dripping with blood and a froth of fury about his
lips, he leaped from side to side, endeavoring to approach the burly Portuguese.
The onlookers were now overcome with horror. The men stood rigid waiting for the outcome,
while the women wept in each other's arms. Albino had lost his senses, and Piedade was on her
knees, wailing and shouting that her man was being killed. Das Dores cursed men generally, being
apparently sincerely neutral in the present conflict. Machona had a flat-iron, but whether she
intended to make it a three-cornered fight was uncertain. Augusta was begging that the portal be
opened so that Alexandre might be admitted when he came home. Through the rear door leading to
the quarry a number of outsiders had entered, and with much dif-150 ficulty Dona Isabel had found
her way in by that entrance on returning from her visit to Leonie with Pombinha. The old lady
hurried her daughter into the house and locked the door, bitterly complaining against the fate that
doomed her to live in such surroundings. But the Brazilian and the Portuguese fought on.
It was now a more equal contest, as the Portuguese handled his club with skill-so much skill that
Firmo kept out of its way. In vain did the plumber attempt to reach his rival without being clubbed.
Already he had been struck on the head and on the body and was bleeding profusely. The crowd
breathed with relief to see the tide of battle turning in favor of the tenement dweller. Jeronymo's
brute strength was telling; his club swung with the same energy, while Firmo visibly was weakening.
The plumber's forces were failing and he did not dance so jauntily. Suddenly, a blow reached him
across the hips and he dropped to the ground amid the smothered cries of the onlookers. But his
quickness had not yet deserted him, and his lithe body shot forward under the swinging club.
Something in his right hand flashed upward and the Portuguese felt a sharp sting across his belly
from left to right.
As the blaster sank to the ground the slim mulatto sped to the rear of the tenement and disappeared
through the door into the field. The cries of "Catch him! Grab him!" were of no avail-he was gone.
Piedade had thrown herself across the bleeding form of her husband, while Rita, her smile now
vanished, knelt down and brushed back the hair of the fallen giant.151
"Get a doctor, somebody," she begged.
At this moment there was a vigorous pounding on the portal, with repeated cries of "Open! Open! "
The door was heavy and strong, and did not yield. João Romão rushed across the courtyard like a
general whose forces threatened to weaken.
"The police mustn't enter-don't let them in. Hold the door shut."
"No, no, they mustn't come in," agreed the tenement dwellers with one voice. "Hold the door, don't
let it open."
Jeronymo was carried to his bed by the men, and there lay groaning in the arms of Piedade and
Rita.

149
p164
150
p165
151
p166

62
 "Hold the gate-we're coming," and from every corner of the courtyard hurried men armed with
clubs, pieces of pipe and anything else that could serve as a weapon. It was in a spirit of standing
together as neighbors for the protection of their homes. They would feel forever disgraced and
dishonored if the police entered and interfered in their affairs, which they haughtily considered
themselves competent to regulate.
So long as it was a row between two men over a woman, there was no cause to interfere; the
winner got the woman and the loser dropped his pretensions to favor. But now the proposition was
quite different. A hostile force threatened to invade their collective dwelling, and they rallied to a
man in its defense.
Then, too, the police were objects of special hatred to the tenement dwellers. Whenever there was
disorder and the police were permitted to quell it, they usually were guilty of all sorts of excesses.
They invaded152 rooms and broke everything within reach, leaving any house they visited a complete
wreck. It was therefore an ancient feud and a firm determination to protect what was their own that
animated the laborers in their resistance.
While the men held the gate, the women were dragging forward everything heavy that might serve
as reinforcement for the portal. Stones, carts, barrels, stove wood, empty bottles, every object that
could be moved or thrown was piled high back of the heavy door to form a barricade across the
passage, should the portal be forced.
But the besiegers, also, had received reinforcements and the pressure from outside was multiplied.
The door shuddered, bent inward, and little by little began to open; but the tenement dwellers'
defense was not ended. Outsiders who had entered through curiosity now made common cause with
the defenders, as they were sure to be carried off with the prisoners if the police won the battle. The
pickets surrounding the little gardens were soon in the hands of the besieged. Machona's skirts were
up about her hips and it was clear now what she intended to do with her flat-iron. Das Dores, never
considered of much account in a fight, showed herself one of the most determined of the Amazons.
The door finally gave way and fell sidewise with a clatter of bricks. Four guards fell in with it, and
were received with a shower of stones and bottles. But others followed, till twenty had assembled
inside. A sack of lime emptied over them demoralized their formation.153
The fight now began in earnest. The breastworks of rubbish across the passageway still lay before
the attacking party and over this their sabres could not reach well enough for effective use, while the
well-aimed missiles of the defenders were claiming many victims among the forces of law and order.
The sergeant's head was cut by a broken bottle and two guards had retired from the fray. It was
impossible to storm the tenement without a larger force, but still the police held on, resolved not to
make a humiliating retreat. Had they been armed with pistols, they were in a frame of mind that
would have meant opening fire. One of them got over the barricade of rubbish, and was so badly
beaten that his companions had to assist him from the scene. Bruno, dirty and bleeding, had gotten a
rifle, and Porfiro was jocularly wearing a police helmet.
"Out with the bandits, out with them, out with them! "
With each missile thrown went a cry of "Here's a stone for you! -and here's a bottle! -some lime for
your eyes!-a stick of wood for your fire!" And outside the whistles grew more and more insistent.
But at this moment, when the fate of the battle still hung in the balance, Nenem appeared in great
excitement, calling that a fire had broken out in No. 12 and that smoke was pouring from that section
of the tenement.
"Fire!"
At this cry the tenement dwellers were panic-stricken. A fire could wipe out their homes in a few
seconds, as they well knew.154

152
p167
153
p168
154
p169

63
 There was now the wildest confusion. Each sought to save what was possible of his belongings.
The police took advantage of the new peril to invade the premises, dealing blows to right and left in
an attempt to avenge their humiliation. The tenants were rushing about distractedly, Some attempting
to save their more precious possessions and others fleeing from the police. And the guards in their
exasperation were breaking in doors and leaving destruction in their wake.
Suddenly, a sharp flash of lightning was followed by a roll of thunder and a drenching rain.155

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was the work of the Witch. The old idiot had been powerfully affected by the curse of
Marcianna, and the mulatta's threat to set fire to the place had planted a suggestion in the weak mind
of the elderly negress that the further excitement of the day had fanned and encouraged. While the
attention of the others was directed to the defense of the tenement she had furtively carried straw and
rubbish into N°.12, and built a bonfire there. Fortunately, the sudden and heavy rainfall saved the
tenement from destruction. But even so, the damage to the householders was serious, as a number of
the houses not reached by the fire had been entered and sacked by the police. The rain, which had
been practically a cloud-burst, was regarded as providential, because it not only quenched the
flames, but it also cooled the heated tempers of, the battling hosts and caused the police to withdraw
before the place had been wrecked completely. And they had taken with them no prisoners. If they
had taken one, they would have felt obliged to take all. What for? They had wreaked their vengeance
inside, and they were satisfied.
João Romão did all possible to discover the author of the attempted destruction, but to no avail, for
the tenement dwellers were so intent on their battle that the Witch's movements were not observed.
The more superstitious called attention to the fact that the fire started in Marcianna's vacated rooms,
and, in view of her156, curse, advanced the theory that a supernatural power had taken a hand in
settling accounts with João Romão. But this view of the case was largely counterbalanced by
consideration of the providential rain that had come to his rescue.
At daybreak São Romão was up and taking stock of its situation. A few sadly gazed upon their
wrecked belongings, too discouraged to do more than lament, but the majority of the tenement
dwellers were accustomed to hard knocks, and philosophically decided that things might be worse.
These set about cleaning up their houses, and repairing and replacing their damaged furnishings.
"The proprietor himself was on the scene early, furious over the injury wrought to his property. The
front gate was a pile of kindling wood and into the barricade had gone much that was his. Windows
without number had been shattered, and the combined destruction of fire, water, and the police
meant a considerable loss. How could this loss be passed from his shoulders to others? That was a
subject of anxious study on the part of the vender, who wrestled with the problem all day.
A per capita tax might be levied on the tenants to cover the cost of the repairs, or he might raise the
rents, and thus make up the damage and enjoy an increased return in the future. But in the
meantime, he set about with his characteristic energy to make the damaged houses habitable. A
tenement not in rentable condition struck him as a poor investment. Then, too, he did not care to run
the risk of being fined by the sanitary inspector. So building materials were dumped into the157
courtyard, and painters, carpenters, and glaziers arrived on the scene to commence work.
At noon João Romão had to obey a summons to appear at the district police station. Clad in his
usual shirt, trousers and tomancos, he proceeded to the city, accompanied by a large delegation from
the tenement. Some went from a spirit of solidarity, and others from simple curiosity. A number of
the women bore children in their arms, and all were most excited. The trip was made on foot, other
pedestrians not being certain whether they were witnessing a religious procession or a circus parade.

155
p170
156
p171
157
p172

64
 The tenants enjoyed the excursion thoroughly. They engaged in animated discussion, pointing out to
each other individuals and objects that aroused their interest, and upon arrival at their destination all
crowded into the room where police hearings were held.
The investigator addressed himself exclusively to São Romão, but always received a chorus of
replies, in spite of his protests and threats. The information he sought was not forthcoming, but he
was inundated with a flood of complaints about the procedure of the police, one tenant exaggerating
the damage he had suffered. So far as the conflict itself was concerned and by whom started, the
vender was able to throw little light on the subject, stating that he was absent when the affair began.
But he did see the guards invading his property and ruthlessly destroying everything within reach.
"I'm glad of it!" shouted the investigator. "It will teach you not to resist the police."
Then there arose a chorus of excited orations, condemning the police and justifying the resistance.
They158 were tired of the violences of those bandits; the police guarded nobody's property, but
wantonly destroyed everything in their path; the police protected nobody, but attacked everybody; if
a group of friends gathered to enjoy themselves, immediately they were set upon by uniformed
ruffians; in these constant riots between peaceful neighborhoods and the guards, the latter invariably
were the aggressors; if honest and hardworking people were only left alone in their homes, these
scandalous fights never would take place. And much more.
The same spirit of standing together as neighbors that had led to the defense of the tenement, now
united them with bonds of steel in defending their cause in the police court. The investigator, after
fruitlessly questioning them one by one, gleaned not a single item of the information sought, but
heard plenty of charges against the organization of which he was an important member. In despair,
he cleared them all out, and they turned homeward with every demonstration of a victorious army.
Nor was the investigation of the fight that preceded the riot much more successful. The doctor who
descended from Miranda's house to lend first aid to Jeronymo had not been able to obtain any details
of how the wound was received. He was assured that it was an accident, that the men were only
scuffling in play and that there was no intention to injure anybody.
Rita betrayed tireless concern for the patient. It was she who rushed away for medicines and
bandages, who served as the doctor's assistant and acted as the victim's 159 nurse. Many of the others
visited Jeronymo to demonstrate their sympathy and interest, but it was Rita Bahiana who never left
his bedside after the doctor's departure. Piedade was in a state that allowed her to do little but weep
and wring her hands.
The mulatta did not weep, though her face betrayed deep suffering. The affair had taken on a
romantic character for her. She now decided that this big man so kind and good, this inoffensive
giant, was very dear to her. Her heart glowed as she realized that it was for her sake that this tranquil
Hercules, who could have killed Firmo with one blow, had almost given his life. Her woman nature
was captivated completely by this sanguinary proof of his devotion, and she was deeply touched to
see him smile into her eyes in spite of his pain, glad of the disaster that enabled him to feel her hand
on his brow. Without speaking a word he told her over and over again, with his eloquent eyes and
the tender pressure of his fingers, that he loved her. And Rita responded to these silent
demonstrations without the slightest scruple, smoothing the matted hair and ministering to his needs.
Even there in the presence of his wife, she made no attempt to conceal her love, bestowing upon him
every caress except a kiss.
From midnight on, only Rita and Piedade remained with the patient. It had been decided that on the
morrow he should be transferred to the hospital of the Brotherhood of Santo Antonio, of which order
Jeronymo was a member. Therefore, on the following day, while a portion of the tenants were
accompanying João Romão on his visit to the police station and the rest160 were working like ants to

158
p173
159
p174
160
p175

65
 make their damaged homes habitable again, a makeshift ambulance removed Jeronymo to the
hospital, attended by the woman he had married and the woman he loved.
The two returned home only at dark, drooping with weariness. Practically the entire tenement was
in the same state. The day had been one of feverish activity as laundry work had been carried on with
difficulty The workmen, also, were drawing water for their use and tubs, taps, and even cans were at
a premium. But weariness and hard work did not suppress all conversation. The conflict of the
previous night was much discussed. Some dwelt upon the violence of the police others exulted over
details of their resistance; some boasted of the defiance hurled in the very teeth of the official
investigator, and still others engaged in complaints and recriminations. All had suffered damage to
either property or person, and in their fever of indignation displayed their ruined furniture or wounds
of battle.
But by nine o'clock there was not a living soul in the courtyard; the exhausted tenement dwellers
had retired for needed rest. Even the venda closed earlier than usual, and Bertoleza had fallen upon
her bed in complete fatigue. João Romão took his place by her side but could not sleep. He felt a
chill and pains in his head. He awakened his companion, and with man groans begged her to give
him something to make him sweat, convinced that he had an attack of fever.
The negress rested only hours afterward, when the vender's clothing had been changed and he had
fallen161 asleep. Even then her repose was brief. It was soon time for her to rise, build her fire, heat
water for the laborers' daylight coffee, start Manoel off to the market for fish, and do the dozen and
one things that she always did, besides looking out for the matters that customarily fell to João
Romão. And never for a moment did she forget the sick companion of her joys and sorrows, stepping
softly and making as little noise as possible, that he might sleep.
Outside, breaking day renewed the life of the tenenent, and the endless struggle was taken up
where it lad been laid down the night before. A good night's rest had put everybody in better humor.
Pombinha, however, awakened this morning depressed and nervous, without courage to leave her
bed. the asked her mother for coffee, which she sipped, and hen sank back between the sheets.
"Don't you feel well to-day, my child?" asked Dona Isabel, passing her hand over the girl's
forehead. "You don't seem to have any fever."
"No, I'm only sort of weak, but it will pass. I'll be all right in a little while."
"You had too much ice at Madame's house. Rememer I told you it wasn't good for you. Now, the
best ling is hot water to put your feet in."
"No, no, for heaven's sake. In a few minutes I'll be up."
At eight o'clock she did get up, and indolently bathed her face and hands at the little iron
washstand. Then she combed her hair and had no strength for further exertion. Her glass told her that
she was of an un-162 usual pallor. When she smiled it was a pathetic little movement of her mouth,
devoid of mirth-in fact, her lips made her think of a story she had read about a poor little flower
whose delicate white petals, so like her lips, drooped and died because a loving big butterfly forgot
her. He scattered his pollen about on all of the other flowers and they bloomed and delighted the
hearts of the children in the garden, but because he passed her by and gave her none of the precious
pollen, the poor little white flower faded and perished.
The visit to Leonie had not proved satisfactory.The hugging and kissing of the cocotte grated on
the sensibilities of the young girl, and she was glad when they had started homeward. The French
woman had slipped on her finger a ring with a diamond surrounded by little pearls, a gift which
Pombinha firmly refused, finally accepting it only at Dona Isabel's insistence.
Then had followed the nerve-racking events of the night, with the fight in the courtyard and the
conflict with the police, after which they had faced the possibility of seeing their little home burned.
The news of Florinda's flight and Marcianna's pitiful condition also did much to depress the sensitive
girl.

161
p176
162
p177

66
 As the morning wore on, she felt no better and at lunch time turned up her nose at the simple meal
old Isabel had prepared. She was too nervous to sew and the book she tried to read fell from her lap.
At noon the narrow walls of No. 15 so oppressed her that she could no longer stay inside, and she
announced that she was going out to walk in the field back of the tenement. Dona Isabel protested
that she could not leave her163 work at the moment, and was astonished to be assured that her
daughter did not want her company-she preferred to be alone.
This agitation, which led her to dread conversation with the neighbors, hurried Pombinha through
the length of the courtyard and she passed through the little door at the rear with a sense of freedom.
The field itself was deserted, but she could see the workers in the higher parts of the quarry, and the
sharp ringing of their chisels sounded near at hand.
The loneliness of the field soothed her wrought nerves and she sank down in the shade of the
bamboos with a sigh of relief. It was truly restful after the illspent night. Little by little the fair head
began to nod, and in a few minutes Pombinha was extended in the shade fast asleep.
And, she was no more Pombinha-she was a flower! Had she not often been told that she was a
flower? Now she realized that it was true. She had delicate, white petals and she swayed in the
breeze like the other flowers, but she discovered that she was different from them. The others were
sturdy, blooming, fragrant flowers, and only she was a little faded, wilted flower. She was weeping
with sorrow because she was not like the others, when suddenly a beautiful, big butterfly lazily
winged his way about the garden and all of the flowers called to him to come and rest a moment on
their petals. He flew about and alighted here and there, but never once did he notice the poor little
white flower. So she gathered her courage and she, also, called to the beautiful butterfly, but he did
not hear. Then she called164 still louder, but he flew among the others and paid no attention to her;
and then she called with all her strength, making her little voice as loud as she coulda truly desperate
cry, and he flew down close to her.
"Light here upon my petals, too," she begged, but the butterfly still hovered So far away that she
could not touch him.
"Yes, yes, light upon my petals, too"
"But, little flower, my wings look soft as satin, yet they burn like fire. My pollen brings life, but it
also brings pain. Think well, little flower, perhaps you are happier without my touch."
"But light upon my petals, butterfly, only that can make me happy."
And then the butterfly hovered no more but alighted on the petals of the little flower, and she
swayed and trembled with the pain of his touch. Truly, his wings did burn like fire, and the little
flower was racked with an agony that threatened to send her drooping to the ground.
Then she woke up.
For a moment she lay trembling under the bamboo trees, frightened and happy, sorry and glad. A
single reverberating toll from a church spire told her it was one o'clock. The victorious sun had
moved on in his course and had searched until he found a tiny path through the bamboo's foliage,
through which he sent down a slender ray of gold to bless another woman bestowed upon Adam's
race.165

CHAPTER TWELVE

Pombinha hurried back to the tenement and called her mother with such insistence that Dona Isabel
left her tub and ran to No. 15, full of misgivings. Upon seeing the flushed face and burning eyes of
her daughter, she immediately diagnosed the case as fever and started her preparations accordingly.
But the girl drew her into the little bedroom and whispered her momentous tidings. The old soul

163
p178
164
p179
165
p180

67
 dropped to her knees, tears of joy streaming down her flabby cheeks, and clasping her hands,
repeated over and over again: "Praise be to Our Blessed Lady of the Annunciation."
Such good news was not to be suppressed. While Pombinha took a warm bath and changed her
clothing, Dona Isabel went forth to announce the glad tidings to the rejoicing neighbors. Her
expression of perpetual gloom had given way to a tremulous smile, and her quavering voice had a
ring of youthful joy as she imparted to all who would stop to listen-and there were none others: "My
girl is a woman, my prayers are answered."
The happiness of the proud mother was reechoed in the hearts of the tenement dwellers. Singly and
by groups they arrived to express their satisfaction at the joyful state of affairs and rain their
congratulations upon both mother and daughter. Dona Isabel lighted two candles before her oratory
and abandoned work for the day. She was so excited that she did not realize what she was doing and
rushed in and out of the house, ra-166 diant with bliss. Every time she passed Pombinha she stopped
and kissed her and whispered anxious counsel, urging the greatest caution-to beware of dampness; to
drink nothing cold; to save her strength and avoid fatigue; to go straight to bed if she felt weak; and
not to sit in a draft.
Dona Isabel felt that João da Costa should be informed of their great good fortune without delay,
considering that he was so intimately concerned, and that the marriage day should be fixed
immediately. Pombinha demurred, holding it unmaidenly to exhibit undue haste in so delicate a
matter. The elated old lady was so beside herself that she resorted to subterfuge, almost for the first
time in her life. She agreed with her daughter and then sent a confidential message to her future son-
in-law, who made a fortuitous appearance in the afternoon and stayed to dinner, with as many others
as the house would accommodate. Two chickens were sacrificed for the feast, and wine was served.
The neighbors who could not be included at the dinner were invited in for tea and cakes in the
evening. Nenem and Das Dores appeared in their best dresses, and in general the family friends
attached due importance to the occasion. An admiring circle was ever formed about the adored
Pombinha. She was made to feel that now a great burden had been lifted from the hearts of São
Romão.
From this day forward a marked change came over Dona Isabel. Her drooping lines turned upward,
and she began to sing as she worked at her tub or cleaned her house.
167
But this joy was confined to Isabel and her daughter. In general, the tenement had taken on
a melancholy tone since the night of the fight. There were no more moonlight nights of music, and
the samba was a thing of the past. Rita appeared silent and retrospective. Firmo had been forbidden
the premises by João Romão under pain of being surrendered to the police. Piedade went about
sighing continually for her absent husband, and her spirits drooped even lower after her first visit to
the hospital, when he had received her coldly, without a single endearment-making no secret of his
eagerness for news of the other one-of that cursed mulatta, who, after all, was the one responsible for
the whole sorry mess and who deliberately had set about robbing an honest, hard-working woman of
her man. When the disprized wife returned from this visit, she threw herself on her bed and sobbed
till daylight, when she slept through sheer exhaustion.
Another sufferer was Bruno, who appeared more and more melancholy every day. In his anger at
the time of their separation, he assured himself that he was glad to be rid of his wife, but within a
month he was confessedly lonely, and now, after nearly five months of her absence, he was filled
with longing for a reconciliation with Leocadia. The Witch, who consulted her cards for his benefit,
cheered him immensely by assuring him that his wife still loved him.
So Dona Isabel and Pombinha were alone in their joy, and they, truly, were happy and content. The
dancing class arrangement was canceled, and nearly every evening João da Costa appeared at seven
to remain till ten with his betrothed. He was served with168 coffee in a special cup of porcelain and

166
p181
167
p182
168
p183

68
 not infrequently he ordered from the venda a bottle of German beer, which was consumed by the
three while projects for their joint happiness were discussed. At other times Pombinha's intended
would light his Bahia cigar, and sit and admire his future bride. He was a decent young man and held
nice girls in great respect. Therefore he did not expect to take liberties with Isabel's daughter before
the nuptial knot was tied. Pombinha frequently continued her sewing, chirping like a happy bird
preparing its nest. Since her momentous dream beneath the bamboos life had taken on a different
aspect. Her very appearance reflected the joy and expectancy blooming within her. She had grown
plumper, and a hitherto absent color flamed in her cheeks. She felt like a bird that had broken the
bars of its cage and was enjoying the bliss of trying its wings in the open stretches. Old Isabel was
content to sit and contemplate a beautiful girl and a serious young man on the threshold of life, at
intervals regaling herself with a pinch of piquant pleasure from her golden snuff box.
The date of the wedding once agreed upon, the invariable subjects of discussion were the bride's
outfit and the little house which Costa was preparing for the honeymoon. The three were going to
live together and would have a cook and another girl as laundress and general servant. The young
man brought bolts of cotton and linen, and while the mother hemstitched napkins and sheets, the
daughter joyously operated a sewing machine that was also a gift of the promised husband.169
One afternoon at about two, as Pombinha was putting the finishing touches to a pillow slip, Bruno
stopped and awkwardly leaned against the doorway, his eyes upon the floor, scratching his head with
embarrassment. "Say, Pombinha, I've got a little favor to ask of you, but I hate to bother you when
you're so busy getting ready for the wedding-"
"What do you want, Bruno?"
"Nothing much-I thought maybe you'd fix up a letter to that devil-but never mind to-day-some
other time when you have fihished what you're doing."
"A letter to your wife, Bruno, is that what you want?"
"Yes, poor thing, she's not really bad-it's just that she's such a fool and it seems to me that we ought
to pity even the brutes."
"Surely. I'll be glad to write it for you; do you want to do it now?"
"Oh, there's no hurry.You finish what you're doing, and I'll come back."
"No, no; come in and we'll get it done. This sewing I can do at any time."
"May God reward you, you're surely a nice little girl. I don't see how we're going to get along after
you've gone."
And he continued these expressions of appreciation while she laid aside her needlework and
prepared a little table with writing materials.
"All ready now, Bruno; what do you want to say to Leocadia?"
"Well, tell her first of all, that about that stuff170 of hers that I smashed up, I'll get her new stuff for
that. And that it was rotten of her to smash up my stuff, but I'm not sore about it now-water that's
passed under the bridge don't turn the mill any more. And that I know that she's out of a job now and
down on her luck, and she owes a month's rent, but not to get worked up about it, because she can
send the landlord to me and I will fix it up with him. And I think she had better not eat in the nigger
woman's house any more, because she is telling everybody that this is the first time she ever had
tramps coming there for meals, and by tramps she means women that ain't respectable. And tell her
that if she knew how to behave herself she would not be living around like that with everybody
taking a kick at her, because I can earn enough money to keep her stomach full and a roof over her
head and take care of her children, if God sends any, and that the blame for what's happened is hers
entirely, but if she thinks that she can be a decent and respectable woman-"
"Yes, Bruno, that's all written."
" And not go round blinking at every man she sees-"
"Yes, and what more?"

169
p184
170
p185

69
 "That I don't wish her any evil and only hope that she can get along all right, but she ought to think
more about how these things look to other people and ought to remember that a woman that's got a
husband-well, that if she wasn't such a damned fool and would try to be a good woman-"
"But, Bruno, you've said all this before."
"Well, tell her, Pombinha, that if she wants to be171 a square woman, I'm here the same as ever, and
I don't hold spite against nobody-"
"All right, what next?"
"Tell her-well, what else had I better say, Pombinha?"
"Whatever you like, Bruno, it's your letter."
"Well tell her-"
"Yes?"
"-thatTell her-no, don't tell her anything more. Just close it up."
"Then that's all-nothing more but the signature?"
"No, wait a minute," said the blacksmith, wavering. There was a moment's silence, after which the
big fellow forced his lips to utter the phrase upon which the whole message was built, the phrase
which he stammered with eyes full of tears and his voice strangled with sobs.
"Tell her I want her to come back to me."
Pombinha was impressed with this scene-though it was by no means a new one to her experience.
Many letters had she written under similar circumstances and with even more moving
demonstrations of emotion, but it was only since the afternoon when she became a woman, burned
with the butterfly's wings, that she understood the true significance of this grief.
For her understanding had made a great stride forward, as had her physical being. Much that was
obscure, or but faintly comprehended, now appeared in bold relief. Sentiments and passions, of
which she had heard, but of whose nature she was ignorant-these she172 now felt and recognized in
the blood flowing through her young virgin body. Now, beholding the tears and sobs of Bruno, she
began to evaluate the weakness of men, the fragility of these coarse, strong creatures, whose iron
muscles and powerful forms lie beaten and crushed by the delicate hand of a woman.
It was a terrible education that this poor child had received in the sordid life of the tenement, one
that doomed her to become the victim of her own intelligence. After Bruno's departure to post his
letter, Pombinha sat and pondered, her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. Truly, they
were weak creatures, and they succumbed to a mysterious power that only women could wield-a
power that brought them cringing and begging a caress, frequently a caress from the hand that had
flouted and dishonored them. How many cases had she not encountered in her office of community
correspondent-how many other creatures like Bruno, who sniveled and wept for a woman whom
everybody else recognized as worthless?
Would she, herself, prove to have this power? She smiled,-but it was a smile with claws in it.
And many things became clear to her as she sat and pondered on these matters. She remembered
the many pictures Leonie had shown her on the day of her visit to the cocotte. They were
photographs of men, many of them elderly, highly placed and respected, who had written endearing
expressions addressed to a prostitute, for whose sake they had humiliated their families, forfeited the
respect of the community, and squandered their possessions. And the woman for whom all this sac-
173
rifice had been made had calmly stripped them of all that could add to her comfort or satisfy her
caprice, and then coldly closed her door to them when they had nothing more to offer her.
Yes, it was a wonderful thing to be a woman of fascination,-so ran the thoughts of this tenement
virgin, -to be able to bend these vain masculine creatures, to wring their hearts and make them weep.
How better could a woman's charm be employed than in proving to the world what a ridiculous slave
is man, and how ready to cast his all at the feet of her who permits him to taste a few, a very few, of

171
p186
172
p187
173
p188

70
 the delights in her power to afford him, and then let him perish, kissing the jeweled hands that
strangle him?
"Ah, yes, these men," sighed the future bride of João da Costa, as she resumed work on the linen
for the new nest, the task in hand being an edging of lace to adorn the pillow on which her head
should rest at the moment she received the first kiss of a lover-husband.
For had she not seen Jeronymo and Firmo fiying at each other's throats like two dogs in the street
disputing a female? And there was Miranda in his house in front, pompous and important, pretending
to be ignorant of Dona Estella's infidelities. And then Domingos, who worked like a slave but could
sacrifice his sleep to meet a girl before daylight and then tamely submit to being robbed of his
earnings and his prospects. She remembered a long succession of laborers, ending with Bruno,
whose secrets had been confided to her, and she was forced to the conclusion that they were all
alike.174
Pombmha was a victim of circumstances. A modest violet growing in a shady dell matures with all
of the attributes that a sweet and fragrant violet is expected to possess, but if it has the infelicity to
sink its roots into a dung-hill where the merciless sun beats down upon its unprotected head, the
over-rich soil and intense light blast its hope and shrivel its soul. And it was so with Isabel's
daughter-her environment had robbed her of the innocent trust with which other girls approach
matrimony.
She mentally weighed Costa. Would he be like these others? Yes, she could picture him-de jected,
griefstricken and weeping. For he was a plodder, passive and resigned in accepting the existence that
destiny assigned him, incapable of revolting against his fate. He had no ideas of his own, not even
the vices that most young men have. He would be incapable of a great crime-just a poor little fellow,
content to work for those he loved, propagate his species, and, when the time came, shed those same
shameful and ridiculous tears she had just seen dripping from Bruno's ragged mustache.
And this coming marriage that had been the golden dream of her existence? Now, as the moment of
its realization approached, she felt a repugnance and dread. Gladly would she back out of it but for
her mother. Those patient years of drudgery must have their reward and Isabel's weary old body
must know a few years of ease.
So, a week later the tenement was bursting with suppressed excitement and No. 15 was filled with
roses.175 At eleven o'clock a carriage stopped at the portal and there descended a fat lady dressed in
gray silk. It was the madrinha, or dame of honor, come to conduct the bride to the church of St. John
the Baptist, where the ceremony was to be performed at noon. And the courtyard was lined with the
friends and neighbors who had known and loved little Pombinha since her childhood, and who now
stood with their hands crossed back of them; and while their lips were smiling, most of the eyes were
filled with tears.
Framed by the doorway, she made a lovely picture as she stood for a moment to survey the old
friends among whom she was to live no more. All in white, with her veil and flowers, slender,
graceful, and lovelytruly, a little dove poised for a moment before her great flight; agreed the
worshiping laundresses. She was visibly moved by the homage of her humble friends, waved her
bouquet, and threw kisses to them as she left the door.
Old Isabel was weeping like a child, embracing her friends, one after another. "May God keep her
virtuous and give her an easy time with her first child," was the pious sentiment expressed by
Machona, who for once was not shouting. The bride smiled and dropped her eyes. A faint suggestion
of disdain was in the smile. She turned toward the portal, followed by the blessings of the tenement
dwellers, none of whom now pretended to hide his tears, but all of whom rejoiced to see her restored
to the social state to which they felt she belonged.

174
p189
175
p190

71
 "She was never born for this," remarked Alexandre,176 solemnly twisting his mustache. "It would
be a pity for her to stay here."
Nenem ran down to the carriage to kiss Pombinha on the lips and beg her not to forget to send her a
blossom from the bouquet-a charm to catch a husband, for Nenem feared she might be left an old
maid.177

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

As fast as tenants moved away from São Romão, there vere numerous applicants for the vacant
quarters. Delporto and Pompeu were carried off by yellow fever and he other Italians nearly
followed them. But the number of residents continually increased. Rooms were sublivided into cells
the size of sepulchers and the women produced children with the regularity of cattle. So the rooms
that had been Dofia Isabel's were immediately rented to a widow with five single daughters ranging
in age from fifteen to thirty.
A new tenement had been built a little farther up the street, graced with the simple if not elegant
name of Cathead. A Portuguese, who also had a venda similar to flat of João Romão, figured as its
proprietor, but it was an open secret that the real owner was a prominent capitalist, who considered
that his social and political importance did not permit that his name be associated with a business of
this character.
João Romão was much annoyed at so close a competor who might succeed in robbing São Romão
of some of its prestige and popularity. He therefore sought by every means at hand to discredit and
molest his rival, inciting the fiscal agents to impose fines for little infractions of city ordinances that
he was able to point out, and bribing the local police to vex and irritate the proprietor at every
opportunity that presented itself. At the same time, he exerted all possible influence with his tenants
to prejudice them against the new collective178 dwelling. Those who refused to subscribe to these
sentiments were speedily dispossessed as fast as they were discovered. There could be no half
measures, he announced; all must be either fish or flesh, and there must be no traitors remaining
among them.
It is needless to remark that this attitude brought a ready response from the residents of the
Cathead, and there immediately began a tremendous rivalry between the two communities which
was aggravated day by day by quarrels and disputes over the most trival matters,such as the charge
that the laundresses of one group were trying to entice away the best customers of the other group.
Very shortly the two elements were openly arrayed against each other, the inhabitants of the new
camp calling themselves Catheads, after their tenement, while the São Romão contingent became
known as Codfish, after one of the most popular of the delicacies prepared for the public by
Bertoleza. A Codfish could not maintain anything approaching friendly relations with a Cathead. To
remove from one tenement to the other was an act of black treachery, whose author was ever after a
target for the finger of scorn. To furnish discreditable information to the enemy was a serious crime
calling for punishment; thus, when a fish peddler had the indiscretion to tell the Catheads about a
noisy quarrel between Machona and her daughter, Das Dores, nobody was surprised to hear that he
had been set upon at night and badly beaten, over near the cemetery of St. John the Baptist.
Alexandre was a conscientious policeman, performing his duties with an austerity and zeal that won
universal admiration, but he always had a Cat179 head or two on his list of delinquents who required a
summons to district headquarters for investigation, and, perhaps, a fine. The other policemen were
lined up on one side or the other in the.same fashion. The guard who accepted a drink in João
Romão's taverna must refuse a similar courtesy up the street. In the middle of their courtyard the

176
p191
177
p192
178
p193
179
p194

72
 Catheads unfurled a yellow flag; the Codfish responded by hoisting a red one. The two colors glared
at each other in defiance. A battle was inevitable; it was only a question of time.
As soon as the new tenement was opened Firmo installed himself there, along with his friend,
Porfiro, in spite of Rita's remonstrances, for she would cut herself off from Firmo rather than desert
her old friends and neighbors. From this time discord appeared between the lovers, and their
encounters became less frequent and more difficult. Nothing in the world would influence Rita to set
foot on Cathead soil, and with his new allegiance Firmo was less popular than ever among the
Codfish. They therefore had a rendezvous in Rua Baptista, where a sordid old wretch rented his
room by the hour during the day to such persons as had need of it. The plumber answered Rita's
objections to his remaining among the Catheads by reminding her that there he was safest from
pursuit and punishment for knifing a Codfish, and that Jeronymo, when fully recovered from the
wound, was likely to attempt to avenge himself and Firmo might need the help of the Catheads. In
his new abode Firmo acquired popularity rapidly and came to be regarded as a leader, for the
Catheads were charmed by his abilities to entertain and180 awed by the tales of his past villainies.
With him as commanding officer and Porfiro as first lieutenant, they considered that they were ready
for any eventuality.
But at the end of three months João Romão came to the conclusion that the opening of the new
tenement had not hurt his business, rather had it increased with the greater movement on the street.
He therefore again turned his thoughts to Miranda, the one rival who had the power to move the
vender to envy.
Since Miranda's assumption of his title marvelous changes had come over João Romão, an
alteration that stupefied his acquaintances. He had a good tailor make him some clothes, and on
Sundays he now sat outside his establishment in a clean white coat, wore socks and slippers, and
read the newspapers. In the afternoon he strolled on the beach walk in a neat wool suit, with shoes on
his feet and a necktie under his chin. And he was regularly sheared and shaved by the barber, had
brilliantine applied to his neatly trimmed mustache, and made many changes in his habits. He
became a member of a dancing club and spent two evenings a week there in lessons; he wore a
watch with a gold chain; he had his bedroom cleaned, ceiled and walled, and then painted; he bought
some secondhand furniture; he had a simple shower-bath installed, and with many a shudder, but
Spartan courage, began to accustom himself to its use; he had a table set for himself with a cloth and
a napkin, and he had wine with his dinner-not the kind served to the laborers, out of a barrel, but
wine that he181 bought by the case especially for himself. On holidays he went to the park and later
dined at a fine restaurant, after which he attended the Theater Pedro de Alcantara. For three years he
had been a subscriber to the J ornal do Commercio, and now he took two other papers, and read
French romances translated into Portuguese. Painfully he waded through these, because by so doing
he was convinced that he was educating himself.
He employed three clerks, and no longer served his customers in person, and rarely was seen
behind the counter. Shortly he began to appear in the Rua Direita, at the stock market, and in various
banks, his hat on the back of his head and an umbrella clutched under his arm. He also began to
invest in English bonds, bought shares in a number of companies, and loaned money, but now with
good security.
And Miranda's attitude was different now. He was no longer patronizing. He raised his hat and
smiled in friendly fashion, and upon meeting his neighbor in the street he stopped for a few minutes'
chat and urged the vender to visit him. He specially invited him for Dona Estella's birthday, then
approaching. João Romão voiced his gratitude for this kindness, but he did not go.
No such change was to be noted in Bertoleza. She was the same greasy, dirty negress she always
had been, up to her neck in work from daylight till bedtime, with never a Sunday nor a holiday. She
took no part in the development her man was undergoing. On the contrary, the higher he ascended in

180
p195
181
p196

73
 social importance, the lower the uncomplaining drudge seemed to sink. She was182 like a worn-out
horse whose rider abandons and forgets it when it is of no further use in carrying him on his way.
And she grew to be melancholy.
Old Botelho became even more intimate with João Romão than did Miranda. The old parasite
never passed the store on his way to and from his loafing place in the city without stopping a
moment to greet the vender with some ingratiating phrase. Usually the object of these, attentions
responded cordially, pressing the old fellow's hand and inviting him to have something to drink -yes,
indeed, João Romão could now offer a friend a drink.
But old Botelho never was amiable to anybody without a motive, so one afternoon as the two
strolled toward the sea for a little walk before dinner, the old scamp made his usual complimentary
references to his friend, the Baron, and to the Baron's virtuous wife, and then eyed his companion
significantly.
"But it's the young one that interests you, isn't it, Mr. João?"
"How's that? What young one?"
"Now look here, do vou think I've never been in love?"
The vender tried to deny that he had any romantic ideas whatever, but the old fellow brushed aside
his negations.
"It would be a good match for you-a splendid girl-disposition of a dove-education of a princesseven
knows French-plays the piano, as you have heard-sings, too-draws very cleverly-wonderfully skillful
at needlework-and"-here he lowered his183 voice-"the rest of it is absolutely solid-real estate and
bank stock."
"Are you certain about that-do you absolutely know?"
"Absolutely-have seen the settlement-word of honor."
They were silent for a moment, after which Botelho continued:
"Miranda's a good sort, poor fellow-he has these ideas of grandeur, but he's not to blame-he gets
that from his wife. And I know that he thinks a lot of you -if you just go about it right you'll have no
trouble landing the daughter."
"But probably she wouldn't like-"
"Don't talk rubbish! A girl like that, brought up to obey her parents, never thinks what she likes. If
you had somebody there in the intimacy of the family who was working for you, helping the thing
along, and impressing them with the advantages of having you marry into the family, you would see
whether she wanted you or not-somebody there helping you, like me, for instance."
"But you'd hardly like to interfere in a matter of this sort. They say Miranda's very independent and
does as he pleases."
"And they're right who say so."
"Still you'd be willing to-"
"Help you along? Surely, I would. In this world we are placed to assist others so far as it is in our
power. The only trouble is that I am not rich-"184
"Ah, that's easily fixed. You get the matter settled and you'll not have cause to repent."
"Well, I think we can come to a satisfactory arrangement then."
"Do you suppose they'll consider me too old?"
"Good heavens, no. What an awful thing to say! "
"Well, then-"
"We'll talk about it later, at our leisure-it's not a matter to be hurried through."
From that time on, when the two were alone they devoted most of their conversation to the best
means of winning Miranda's daughter, of convincing her that her happiness depended upon a

182
p197
183
p198
184
p199

74
 marriage with João Romão. Botelho wanted twenty thousand milreis for his assistance, the
obligation secured by a note payable after the wedding. The vender offered ten thousand.
"Well, if that's the best you can do, I'm afraid you can't count on me," grumbled the old man. "You
can go about it yourself, but rest assured that you can't depend on any help from me. You
understand?"
"You mean that you'll work against me?"
"Work against you? God forbid! I never work against anybody. But I fear that you are working
against yourself-not letting me help you win so desirable a prize. Miranda is worth a thousand
contos, and you ought to realize that the enterprise is not so easy as you may think."
"Maybe."
"The Baron naturally has in mind a son-in-law with a position of importance here in the country-
a185 deputy, or some other man who cuts a figure in political circles."
"Or maybe a prince?" put in the vender sarcastically.
"Right now there's a little doctor of a good family who hangs around quite a lot. And she usually
seems glad to see him."
"If that's the case, better let them go ahead."
"I guess you're right. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if I could make a better arrangement with the
young doctor himself."
"All right; then we will consider this affair definitely off."
To which suggestion old Botelho assented. But on the following day the subject was again under
discussion.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said the vender. "I'll give you fifteen thousand."
"Twenty," insisted the old parasite.
"Twenty's too much."
"Less than twenty won't do."
"But I'm not paying any twenty."
"Nobody's going to compel you to. Good-by." When next they met, João Romão laughed at
Botelho without saying a word. The old villain responded with a gesture implying that he was far
from interfering in matters that did not concern him.
"You're a devil of an old bandit," laughed the vender, with a slap on the shoulder. "Aren't we ever
coming to an agreement?"
"Twenty."186
"And if I agree to the twenty-"
"In that case, my noble friend will receive an invitation from the Baron to dinner the following
Sunday, and upon arrival will find the ground all prepared."
"All right, go ahead and let's see what you can do." It developed as the old rogue had promised. A
few days after the agreement had been signed and sealed, João Romão received a card from his
aristocratic neighbor soliciting the pleasure of his company at dinner with the Baron and his family.
Who can imagine the tremor that convulsed the vender as he read that card. The days that followed
were spent in serious study-in preparing for that visit. Time and time again he rehearsed what he
would say, conversing with himself before the little mirror in the lavatory; and when the great day
came, he bathed himself twice, scoured his teeth, perfumed himself from head to foot, trimmed and
polished his nails, and with his new suit brushed free of the slightest speck of dust, made his smiling
but frightened entrance into the Baron's pretentious drawing-room.
At first encounter with the thick rug, upon which his great feet in their unaccustomed shoes
performed like a pair of obstinate turtles determined to go in opposite directions, he felt the sweat
start from every pore and trickle down his neck, giving him the appearance of having trudged from
the city in the hot sun. His big red hands dripped, and there seemed nowhere to put them and nothing

185
p200
186
p201

75
 to do with them, because the Baron solicitously had relieved the visitor of his hat and umbrella. How
he repented that he had come!187
"Make yourself at home, man," urged his host, heartily. "If you feel the heat, come and sit by the
window. Don't stand on ceremony! Oh, Leonor, bring some vermouth-or perhaps my friend prefers a
glass of beer? "
With bashful smiles João Romão accepted everything that was offered him, too embarrassed to
attempt to speak. The beer made him perspire with even greater freedom, and when Dona Estella
appeared with her daughter their damp neighbor squeezed their hands till it hurt, so nervous had he
become. And that floor, polished like a mirror. Twice he slipped; once saving himself by catching
the back of a chair. The chair, having casters, skated some distance but came to a stop without
disaster. Zulmira giggled, but at a warning glance from the Baron she stifled her mirth and conversed
in a low tone with her mother.
The daughter of the Miranda household was now seventeen and had filled out in form and lost
much of her anemic pallor. But the last few years had left their marks on Dona Estella, hurrying her
on toward middleage in spite of her frantic efforts to stay the process. Two teeth were obviously the
work of man; her hair was dyed, and clusters of lines at the corners of her mouth robbed the lips of
their old-time petulant charm. But her neck was yet full and smooth and the arms still drew
admiration.
At the table the Mirandas' guest ate so little and drank so sparingly that his hosts good-naturedly
charged him with not liking their food. The poor man begged them, for God's sake, not to imagine
such a thing! and188 swore upon his word of honor that never had he tasted anything so delicious as
the dishes there served. Botelho, also, was present, together with an old planter in the city for a few
days and entertained by the Mirandas. Henrique had passed his examinations after the first year in
medical school and had gone home to visit his family. Izaura and Leonor served the dinner, nearly
bursting with merriment to encounter João Romão in a suit of clothes and eating with a fork.
In the evening the Mirandas were visited by a family which included a number of sprightly young
ladies. These were followed shortly by a group of youths, so that before João Romão realized what
was happening he found himself playing forfeits for the first time in his life. In the larger circle his
confidence increased and he made no serious blunders.
At half-past ten tea was served, and when the vender descended into the street after the final leave-
takings, he stretched his neck within his wilted collar and heaved a sigh of relief, for João Romão
was definitely launched in society. A sense of having acquitted himself creditably warmed his heart
and he filled his lungs with the night air, after the challenging fashion of one who seeks new worlds
to conquer.
Then he hurried homeward to kick off those damned shoes!
But his satisfaction vanished at the sight of Bertoleza extended on the bed, mouth open and snoring
noisily, the cover pushed from her thick, black, shining legs. And he would have to take his place
there at her side: amid the kitchen odors that contrasted So incongruously189 with the perfumes of
Miranda's salon, and place his head on the long pillow dented by the kinky wool of the sleeping
negress!
Society's newest recruit sighed with resignation and removed his clothing. Then, as he gingerly
deposited his stocky form on the edge of the mattress, it dawned upon him for the first time that this
black woman, the companion of a dozen years, might prove an inconvenient obstacle to his marriage.
Strange he had never thought of it before, and he lay awake, wrestling with the problem. How glad
he was that there were no children, how he blessed the Witch for her help on the two occasions when
such a disaster had seemed imminent. But how was he to rid himself of so embarrassing an
encumbrance? It seemed incredible that he had never thought of this before. And he realized that

187
p202
188
p203
189
p204

76
 during these years he had lived a life so closely linked with that of the negress that he had forgotten
completely to take account of her in his flights of inordinate ambition.
He revolved the problem in his mind until daylight without encountering a solution. After arising
and beholding her there as usual; slitting open fish and ripping out their entrails, the association of
ideas prompted him to whisper to himself: "If she would only die."190

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

During the three months that followed the fight when he had used his razor on his rival, Firmo
continued meeting Rita Bahiana in the squalid room in Rua Baptista, but she came reluctantly, and
constantly appeared cooler and more indifferent.
"I think there's somebody else hanging around you," muttered the jealous mulatto, "but for the sake
of both of you, I hope I'm wrong."
At these meetings she was sure to be tardy and her invariable comment on arriving was that she
was in a hurry and could not tarry long. To Firmo's protests she always explained that she was
behind with her work-clothes for a family leaving the city to-morrow, to be delivered without fail
that same night. They already had sent for them twice.
"You're always in a hustle about your work these days," complained the plumber.
"Naturally, my son. If I lie around asleep, I won't get any rent paid."
"But don't say that I don't give you anything. Who was it bought this dress you're wearing to-day?"
"I never said that you don't give me anything. But what you give me won't pay my rent and keep
the kettle boiling. And furthermore, I don't ask anything of you."
Thus they quarreled during their love encounters. One Sunday Firmo waited and waited, and Rita
did not appear. The afternoon was hot and no breath of air191 entered the stuffy, evil-smelling room.
He had brought a parcel of fried fish, some bread, and a bottle of wine, that they might lunch
together. Hours had passed, and Firmo paced the few feet of floor space like a caged animal. In his
anger he assured himself that if Rita were to walk in at that instant he was ready to throttle her. The
sight of the parcel of food maddened him, and with a flood of obscenity he dashed it into the slop
pail. Then he seated himself on the bed and waited some time longer, crossing and uncrossing his
legs, beating the pillow and swearing with wrath.
At last he could bear it no longer. He banged his way out of the room with a solemn oath that the
mulatta should pay dearly for thus trifling with him. An insane desire to wreak his vengeance upon
her without a moment's delay led him to approach the tenement, but he dared not enter. He therefore
decided to wait until night and then send her a message. He wandered disconsolately about the
streets, finally dropping into a taverna near the beach where he and Porfiro frequently drank and
loafed. His friend was not there, but Firmo flung himself into a chair and called for a glass of paraty.
He lighted a cigar and thought things over. A young mulatto, resident in the Cathead, dropped down
at the same table and without any preliminaries informed him that Jeronymo had that day been
discharged from the hospital. Firmo stiffened.
"Jeronymo?"
"Yes, he appeared at, the tenement this morning."
"How do you know?"
“Pataca told me so."192
"That explains it, damn her! " muttered Firmo through his teeth, as he beat the table with his
clenched hand.
"Explains what?" asked the other.
"Oh, nothing much-I was just thinking. Have something to drink?"

190
p205
191
p206
192
p207

77
 Two glasses were brought and after a pause Firmo again muttered:
"That's it, I'm sure. That is why she has acted so queer lately, and now, to-day-" and his face grew
livid with jealous fury. "But I'll show her-I'll show both of them. He didn't get it deep enough the
other time, but wait till he meets me again-and it'll be done to-day, too!"
He gulped down the burning liquid and leaped to his feet, pausing a moment to glare at his
companion.
"Look here-not a word of this to those damned Codfish. If you work your mouth you'll settle with
me, and you know what that means."
The young mulatto hastily promised that not a word should escape him.
His information was correct. Jeronymo had returned from the hospital that morning. He was thin
and pale and he walked with a bamboo stick. His hair and beard had been allowed to grow during his
illness, and he had sworn that they should not be cut until he fulfilled a vow he had taken, a promise
made to his pride and his self-respect. His wife had gone to the hospital to accompany him home.
She walked at his side as silent and depressed as himself. The neighbors received them with
sympathy, but there was no noisy welcome. Rather,193 a hushed quiet was maintained by all when
they saw the invalid. Voices were lowered and Rita Bahiana's eyes filled with unshed tears. Piedade
led her man to their home.
"Will you have a little broth?" she inquired. "I'm sure you must not move about yet for a while."
"Oh, yes, I can," he assured her. "The doctor told me to walk as much as possible to exercise my
legs and gain strength. I was so long in bed-it's only a week ago that I put my foot on the floor."
After walking back and forth across the room several times he paused and remarked: "What I want
most is a cup of coffee, but I want it good, like Rita makes. Ask her if she minds making some."
Piedade heaved a sigh and turned unwilling steps oward No.9 to make the request, deeply hurt by
his preference for the coffee of the other.
"My man wants some of your coffee and turns up his nose at what we have at home," she
announced, sullenly. "He wants you to make some for him. Can you do it?"
"Yes, indeed; glad to do it," responded the Bahian. "In just a minute it will be there."
But she did not have to carry it to him, for the blaster appeared shortly, and called to her from the
door:
"I wanted to save you the trip up there, so I came down for it. I suppose I may come in?"
"Surely. Come in, Jeronymo."
"I thought it would taste better down here," he added, sinking into a chair.
"Maybe so; but it seems to me that you're sort of194 looking for trouble. Your wife is mad at me and
is going about doing a lot of talking. Now I don't want any rows with my neighbors. You see how it
is."
Jeronymo shrugged his shoulders.
"Poor thing, she's a good creature, but I-" he began.
"Shut up, you devil. Drink your coffee and stop speaking evil. That's the vice of the Portuguese--
eating and running down folks."
The blaster grinned as he swallowed the delicious coffee.
"Oh, I'm not speaking ill of her. I am merely saying that I don't find much in her that pleases me."
And he sucked his drooping mustache.
"You're the same brute as ever! A woman's a fool that trusts a man. I'm sure I don't want to know
any more about it. I've already finished with the other one."
A tremor Shook the blaster's frame.
"What other? Firmo?"
Rita repented what she had said, and began to stammer.
"Absolutely worthless. I don't want to hear anything more about him."

193
p208
194
p209

78
 "And doesn't he still come here?" eagerly inquired the Portuguese.
"Here? I should say not! I wouldn't open the door to him. When I get down on people, I stay down
on them."
"Is this true, Rita?"
"What? That I don't want to know anything more about him? I should say it is true. Never again
shall I be caught with a specimen like him!"195
"What's he doing?"
"Don't know, and don't care. I'm through with him." "But have you somebody else?"
"I-somebody else? Hardly. I have none and I want none-no more men for me."
"Why, Rita?"
"Because it's not worth while."
"But if you found one-one that is really true and sincere-"
"That kind don't exist."
"But I know one that loves you more than anything else in the world."
"Tell him to love somebody else."
But as she turned to remove the empty cup, he seized her around her waist.
"Look here-listen to me! "
"Now stop this. Your wife may see."
"But come here."
"Not now."
"When?"
" A little later."
"But where?"
"I don't know."
"But I must talk with you."
"All right, but not like this-it looks bad."
"But where can we meet, then?"
"Oh I know-"
But Piedade appeared at the door at that moment, and Rita changed her tone as though continuing
conversation along a different line.196
"Cold baths are fine for this. They're splendid for hardening the body."
The downcast wife entered and informed her husband that Ze Carlos was there with Pataca, and
that they wanted to talk with him.
"Ah, yes. I know who it is. Good-by, Dona Rita. I'm much obliged. When we can do anything for
you, you know where to find us."
Outside the two men were waiting for him and Jeronymo conducted them to the house where
Piedade had lunch ready for him, signaling them not to discuss the matter regarding which they had
called. The blaster hurried through his meal and then invited them to take a short stroll with him.
Once in the street he turned and asked:
"Where can we go to talk?"
Pataca suggested the taverna of Manoel Pepe, in front of the cemetery. Ze Carlos agreed, adding
that there were back rooms suited to conversation. So there they turned their steps, nobody speaking
until the corner was reached.
"And you still want to go ahead with what we talked about?" inquired one of the two.
"More than ever," responded the blaster.
"What's your plan?" asked the other.
"I don't know yet. First of all, we have to find out where the damned goat hangs out at night."
"Oh, that's easy-at Guarnize's place," broke in Pataca.

195
p210
196
p211

79
 "Guarnize's place?"197
"That taverna near the corner of Rua rassagemthe one with a rooster over the door."
"Oh, yes; opposite the new pharmacy."
"Exactly. He goes there every night-I saw him there last night, making a lot of noise."
"Drinking some, is he?"
"Like a fish. And he was mad about something that Rita Bahiana had done that he didn't like."
They had now reached the taverna, which they entered, and soon were seated on empty soap boxes
about a pine table in the rear. They ordered paraty with sugar.
"Where do they meet now?" inquired Jeronymo, in a matter-of-fact fashion, as though he were not
greatly interested. "Still in São Romão?"
"He in São Romão? Just imagine it. I should say not. Why, now he's the ringleader of the
Catheads!"
"Oh, then she goes there?"
"Hardly. I don't think anything on earth could drag her over there-Rita's a Codfish from her toe-
nails up."
"I don't see how it is they have never busted up," remarked Ze Carlos, yet talking of the mulatto,
while Jeronymo listened with an abstracted air, still gazing at the table.
"It seems to me that we might as well go ahead and finish up this job to-night," remarked Pataca, as
though echoing the unspoken thought of the blaster.
"I'd like to, but I'm afraid I'm pretty weak yet." responded the latter.198
"But your club is strong enough. And remember, we'll be there, too. In fact, if you want to, you can
stay at home and leave the affair to us."
"No, not that," said Jeronymo, striking the table. "I chew my cud with my own teeth."
"I'm agreed that we ought to do it to-night," intervened Ze Carlos. "To-day's bread is stale to-
morrow."
"I'm fairly itching to start in," added Pataca.
"All right, to-day it is," resolved Jeronymo. "The money is ready there in the house, forty apiece.
After the job, the money'll be paid. And then we shall fill up with good wine."
"And what time shall we meet?" inquired Ze Carlos. "As soon as it's dark, and right here."
"It will be finished to-night, God willing."
Pataca lighted his pipe and the three entered into an animated discussion about the sensation that
was sure to be caused by the execution of their plan. What a face the goat would pull when he
confronted three trusty clubs!-then he would discover what a long thrust he had made with his razor !
Two laborers in their shirt-sleeves entered, and the plotters subsided. Jeronymo lighted a cigaret
from Pataca's pipe and departed, after reminding his companions once more of the time and place,
leaving on the table the coins for the drinks served. He returned direct to the house.
"You ought not to walk about in the sun like this," reproved Piedade as he entered.
"But the doctor told me to take all the exercise I can stand."199
He did feel tired, however, and threw himself on the bed, where he immediately fell asleep. His
devoted wife drove the flies away from him and covered his face with a piece of loose-woven cotton
that she used to protect freshly laundered clothes on their way to her customers. Then she tiptoed out
of the room and softly closed the door.
Two hours later Jeronymo ate a hearty dinner with a bottle of wine, and afterward sat in front in
conversation with Piedade. Later they formed a group with Rita, and Machona's family. It was
Sunday, the various tenement dwellers were getting the most out of their one day of relaxation, and
after the dreary monotony of the hospital, São Romão seemed to Jeronymo a most cheerful and
homelike place.

197
p212
198
p213
199
p214

80
 Men were smoking and conversing; women nursed their babes in the courtyard unabashed; the
children ran about and played, and the parrots vied with the Italians in vocal demonstrations as
visitors arrived and departed. Augusta solemnly traversed the pavement as though she were eager to
announce to the interested neighbors that within a couple of short months Alexandre again would
experience a proud father's joy. She bore in her arms the last blessing vouchsafed the worthy couple.
Albino was installed in front of his pocket in the tenement, intent upon a picture he was making by
laboriously cutting bits from match boxes and gluing them in a mosaic on a square of cardboard.
Upstairs in Miranda's house João Romão stood at a window beside Zulmira, who was amusing
herself by tossing bits of bread across the wall to the tenement200 chickens. The vender was dressed
in a gray wool suit with the latest thing in ties, evidently at ease among surroundings that a short
time ago had filled him with terror. As they conversed, Miranda's daughter smiled and dropped her
eyes, while those of João Romão at intervals swept the tenement as though he disdained its dwellers,
who, while they labored to enrich him, lived herded together like cattle and toiled from sun to sun
with no ideals or ambitions other than to eat and sleep and procreate.
After nightfall Jeronymo went to Pepe's taverna, as appointed. The others were already there, but
unfortunately the three could not converse freely because of so many customers near them. With
their heads almost touching, th~y whispered over their paraty.
"And the clubs, where are they?" inquired the blaster.
"There by those barrels," responded Pataca, pointing to a lengthy parcel leaning against the wall. "I
thought we had better not have them too long; they're about like this," and he indicated a point on the
wall the height of his breast. "They're in fine shape."
"Good! " approved Jeronymo, draining the last drop of his liquor. "And what are we going to do
now? It seems early for Guarnize's place."
"Yes, it is early," confirmed Pataca. "Let's stay here a little while longer and then go over there. I'll
go in, and you two wait outside where we agreed. If he's not there I'll come out. If I find him, I'll try
to get in conversation with him, start some kind of a row and201 make him come with me to fight it
out. Then you can start in, and the goat's finish is easy to see."
"Fine! " applauded Jeronymo, signaling for more paraty.
He drew from his pocket a roll of bills. "Drink what you like, there's no need for anybody to go
thirsty."
He proceeded to count out two piles of forty milreis each, which he carefully placed in his left
pocket with the observation: "This will not be mine much longer." Then he spread a twenty-milreis
note on the table with: "And this is for the celebration of our victory."
He folded the rest of the money with fingers now thin and white, and placed it in his right pocket,
muttering through his teeth: " And here is more to be used if anything goes wrong."
"Bravo!" exclaimed Ze Carlos. "That's what I call doing things like a gentleman. You can count on
me in life or death."
Pataca thought it would be nice to have some beer.
"None for me, but you have some," urged Jeronymo.
Ze Carlos mentioned that he would prefer white wine.
"Whatever you like," invited the blaster. "I'll have some of the wine, too. We're not spending the
money of a razor artist-it was earned by honest labor in rain and sun by the sweat of my brow. So
drink it down without making up a face, because it should hurt nobody's conscience."
The others heartily applauded this speech and required no further urging. And they toasted their
liberal friend as they drank.202
"To the boss, Jeronymo,"-a sentiment the blaster graciously acknowledged and ordered the glasses
refilled.

200
p215
201
p216
202
p217

81
 "To Dona Piedade de Jesus," for which the lady's husband murmured a curt "Thanks" and then
remarked that it was time to be at the work in hand, rising and looking at the clock.
His two companions emptied their glasses and arose reluctantly.
"It's mighty early yet," mumbled Ze Carlos, spitting through his teeth and wiping his mouth with
the back of his hand.
"But we may be delayed," reminded his companion, reaching for the parcel by the barrels. "If we
have to wait, we can do it there as well as here."
"Yes, let's start along," urged Jeronymo, who suddenly began to fear that the night might slip by
without his bringing to realization this important enterprise.
He paid the bill and they started out, walking slowly and in silence after the good-fellowship.of the
dingy bar. They turned down Rua Sorocaba and proceeded toward the beach with an air of
suppressed excitement, stopping only when they saw Guarnize's place near at hand.
"You're the one to go in, aren't you?" the blaster inquired of Pataca.
For answer the latter handed over the parcel of clubs and departed into the taverna, hands in his
pockets, eyes on the ground, and pretending to be drunker than he really was.203

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Guarnize's place was well filled that night. The dozen wooden tables with oilcloth covers were
occupied by groups of three or four men, nearly all in their shirtsleeves, drinking and smoking in the
midst of noisy conversation. There were steady calls for native beer, wine, paraty and orange brandy.
On the sand-covered floor were scraps of cheese rind, bits of fried liver, and fish bones, by which it
was evident that Guarnize was prepared to allay hunger as well as slake thirst. And sure enough,
there at the side of the bar was a counter covered with roast beef and potatoes, a ham bone with most
of the meat hacked away, and a platter of fried fish. On a shelf back of the counter was a liberal
assortment of canned goods.
Two large kerosene lamps lighted the room, their smoke curling up to the sooty ceiling. Through
the calico curtain of a door at the rear came the confused rumble of many voices from an interior
room, dulled as if they were unable to penetrate the thick, heavy atmosphere of Guarnize's place.
Pataca paused at the entrance a moment and then entered, simulating a state of heavy intoxication.
From group to group his eyes traveled, but Firmo was not in sight. However, he did see a familiar
face, and turned his steps to a table where sat a thin, ill-dressed mulatta, in company with an old
woman almost blind and an elderly man, entirely bald and evidently suffering from204 asthma, as at
intervals he made the cups on the table dance with a fit of violent coughing.
"Hello, Florinda!" called Pataca, clapping the girl on the shoulder.
She turned and recognized him, and returned his greeting.
"Where have you been keeping yourself ? " he asked. "I haven't seen you for a long time."
"Oh, I'm the same as ever. Since I have been with Mr. Bento, I seldom go out."
"Ah," said Pataca, "then you have a lover?"
"Always have had."
And then, rendered loquacious by this unusual treat of a glass of beer on Sunday evening, she
related that when she fled from the tenement she roamed about the rest of the day, and when night
came she crept into a building that was under construction and slept there. The following morning
she started from house to house, begging employment as maid or nurse-girl, and finally was taken in
by an elderly bachelor with whom she lived several weeks. He provided her with good clothing,
plenty to eat, and even gave her money and jewelry, but she did not like him and he made so many
demands upon her that she ran away from him, carrying along everything he had given her, and went

203
p218
204
p219

82
 to live with a vender at the corner, one who had made love to her when she visited his store to make
purchases.
"And you're still with this vender?" asked Pataca.
"No, indeed. Before long I was sick and he wanted to get rid of me, so he turned me out, pretending
that he believed I was secretly carrying on an affair with a man 205 near by named Bento, a furniture
maker. And worst of all, he kept the things I had brought from my first man. So when I was out on
the street and homeless, Bento did take pity on me and I have been with him ever since. We are very
poor, but he is kind to me, so I have no reason to complain."
Noting that Pataca was looking about as though searching for somebody, Florinda supposed that he
was interested in seeing Bento, whereupon she added: "He isn't here-he's inside. When he's gambling
he doesn't like to have me near him. He says I spoil his luck."
"And your mother?"
"Poor thing! She's in the asylum."
The girl commenced to talk of Marcianna, but Pataca paid little attention, for at that moment the
red curtain was brushed aside and Firmo appeared, his step unsteady and his face flushed. He tried to
count a handful of small bills, but soon gave up the attempt and stuffed them in the pocket of his
trousers.
"Porfiro, aren't you coming?" he called back into the room whence he haa come. Receiving no
answer, he continued into the barroom. Pataca took leave of Florinda hastily, and again moving with
every evidence of intoxication, he managed to lunge into Firmo, to whom he offered a drunken
apology. Firmo turned about in anger, but recognizing the other he overlooked the incident and they
decided to have a drink together, after which they became involved in a heated argument, each
insisting upon making payment. The mulatto carried his point and offered a bill, and the Portuguese
was pleased to note that Firmo's state was such that206 when he received the change the coins slipped
through his fingers and fell upon the floor.
"What time is it?" inquired Pataca, gazing with halfclosed eyes at the clock on the wall: "Half-past
eight. Time for another drink, but this time it's on me."
So they drank again, and Jeronymo's fellow conspirator remarked: "You must be happy to-day-I
see you've had a streak of luck."
"No, I'm not happy," mumbled Firmo, making an unsuccessful attempt to clear his mouth of saliva.
"Well, wipe off your chin and tell me what's happened. Some row over a woman, I'll bet."
"Yes, that damned Rita kept me waiting to-day and never showed up. And I know why. I know that
pest of a Jeronymo got back home to-day."
"That so? I hadn't heard of it. And Rita's with him?"
"No, not yet," responded Firmo, too befuddled to remember that his own information regarding the
blaster's return home came originally from Pataca.
"And what's more, she's not going to be with him, either. For I'm looking for him and the minute I
see him I'm going to slit him open, just like a pig."
"Well, you had better go armed, because you may meet him any minute."
Firmo drew his razor from within his shirt.
"Hide that. You shouldn't be showing it here. That bunch at the middle table haven't taken their
eyes off you since you came out here."
"Well, let them look, and if I take a notion, I may show them how it works."207
But Firmo stopped suddenly, for a policeman paused at the door.
"Better give me the razor-if he's after you, you won't want to be arrested with an iron like this on
you."

205
p220
206
p221
207
p222

83
 But the mulatto summoned his nerve. They couldn't arrest him, and the fight was so long ago that
they were not looking for him any more. And he refused to allow the Portuguese to examine the
razor, explaining that it never left his own hands, and that he would not pass it over even to his own
father. When Pataca charged Firmo with lack of confidence in a friend, the plumber replied: "I trust
my own teeth, and sometimes even they bite my tongue."
"I saw somebody you know, and you'd never guess who it was," ventured the Portuguese.
"Who?" demanded Firmo.
"Rita Bahiana."
"Rita Bahiana? Where? Who was with her?"
"I saw her just before I came in, out there on Saudade beach, but I don't know who it was with
hersomebody that looked familiar to me."
Firmo struggled to his feet and staggered toward the door.
"Wait," called the other. "I'll go with you, if you like."
He caught up with Firmo outside the taverna and hooked his arm with that of the mulatto in a
friendly fashion.
"Now walk slow, and appear unconcerned. Otherwise your bird will get away."
The beach was deserted. A fine rain had begun to fall,208 and a chilly wind swept in from the sea.
The sky was inky black and the poor little lamps along the road made no attempt to penetrate the
darkness.
"Where is she?" demanded Firmo, trying to steady his legs.
"A little further along-near where they're cutting stone from the cliff. You'll have to watch the
road!"
So they continued on toward the rocky hill which nearly touched the sea, midway to the asylum.
But two figures stepped forth from the gloom. Pataca recognized them, and seized Firmo's arms from
behind.
"Catch his legs," he called to the others, who lost no time in obeying him. They produced cords
with which they tied him hand and foot, and he was helpless. It was then that Pataca felt for the razor
where he had seen Firmo thrust it, and the mulatto was disarmed.
Then Pataca reached for his club, also.
Long after the slender body was still, the three men continued to rain their blows upon it. Only
when they were too weary for further exertion did they cease. Then they gathered up the broken,
bleeding, pulp-like mass and threw it into the sea, along with the stained clubs, after which they fled
to the city, halting only when they had reached Rua Cattete. Here they stopped a moment at a kiosk
and drank paraty as though it were water. It was now past eleven and they continued on their way,
pausing under a street lamp where Jeronymo, in spite of the rain, pulled out the eighty milreis and
divided it between his two companions. Then they hurried on to Gloria and ascended some steps to a
deserted restaurant, where they ordered food and drink and con-209 versed at length in low tones. But
at one o'clock the proprietor closed his place and they had to leave. So back to Botafogo they
directed their steps, and on the way. Jeronymo inquired of Pataca if he still had the mulatto's razor,
explaining that he would like a souvenir of his rival. Pataca passed it over without objection, and at
the portal of the tenement the three separated.
Jeronymo entered noiselessly and crept up to No.35, where by peering through the keyhole he
ascertained that there was a light in the bedroom and therefore his wife was awaiting him. For a
moment he hesitated, but imagining the disgust he was sure to feel at her proximity, he straightened
his shoulders and proceeded resolutely to the mulatta's door, upon which he softly tapped.
Rita had retired, nervous and frightened. She had failed that day to keep her appointment with
Firmo, and she wondered how she had dared to commit such an imprudence-now, in the moment of
greatest danger she had done what she long had wanted to do, but never bad found herself with the

208
p223
209
p224

84
 necessary courage. For, deep within her, she had a wholesome fear of the nimble plumber. In the
beginning, they had been drawn tosether by a similarity of temperament, by a common physical
passion and the enthusiasm both felt for the chorado and the samba; and then she had continued her
relations with Firmo from force of habit and because there never had been anybody she liked better.
True, after their quarrels she had taken up with others for a time, but she had always been glad to
break away from them and return to him. All this had changed with the210 coming of Jeronymo. He
fascinated her with his strength and his seriousness, and the instinctive attraction of the male of a
superior race immediately awakened a response in her mulatta blood.
And Jeronymo, the quiet, faithful Portuguese husband, the flawless standard by which all the other
men in the tenement had been weighed and found wanting, -in his heart Jeronymo had renounced the
wife of his youth, his own blood, and his own traditions. The darkskinned woman represented to him
the golden fruit of this new land, to whose enchantments he had yielded, one by one, until now he
was ready to cast aside the last tie that bound him to the old order of things.
That they loved each other with reckless passion, both understood perfectly. By the tragic outcome
of his fight with Firmo, Jeronymo had taken on the hue of a martyr in the eyes of Rita, a being who
had almost sacrificed his life for love of her. And a woman for whom a man makes a great sacrifice
or takes a mortal risk immediately assumes in his eyes a romantic perfection rendering her far more
desirable than when she represented just a woman with whom he had fallen in love. So, although the
Portuguese had loved the bronze Bahian from the first night he had seen her dance, it was during the
long weeks in the hospital that his heart fed on her image as he counted the days between her visits.
So on this night Rita had worked herself into a frenzy of anxiety. For the first time she had failed to
keep an appointment with Firmo, and this on the very day that Jeronymo had returned from the
hospital211 Knowing Firmo as she did, she could imagine how he would drink himself into a reckless
rage and then might even come to the tenement to provoke the blaster, and the fight that was sure to
follow would be fatal to one, possibly to both. Of all the feeling she had formerly nurtured for the
mulatto, there remained now only fear. The tender part of her sentiment had vanished. She saw in
him this night only a stealthy brute armed with a treacherous knife. Therefore, when she heard the
cautious tap at her door, her heart stopped beating within her.
"It's Firmo!" she thought, scarcely breathing. And in her mind's eye she saw the plumber, drunk
and vengeful, noisily demanding satisfaction of the blaster. She made no answer, but listened
intently.
The cautious knock was repeated. She wondered at it. Such prudence was foreign to the mulatto's
nature. Surely, Firmo would have had the entire tenement roused ere this. So she crept to the window
and softly opened one of the shutters.
"Who is it?" she whispered.
"I'm here," answered Jeronymo, coming closer to the window.
Hastily she opened the door.
"You, Jeronymo! Why are you up so late?"
"Softly," he whispered; "don't make any noise."
Rita began to tremble as she looked at him more closely. With his blood-stained hands and
clothing, his muddiness and dampness, his breath reeking with liquor, he suggested to her nothing
but crime.
"Tell me where you've been," she begged.212
"Settling affairs for you and me," he replied. "Here is the blade with which I was wounded."
And he tossed on the table Firmo's razor, which the mulatta knew as she knew her own fingers.
"Where is he?"
"Dead."

210
p225
211
p226
212
p227

85
 "Who killed him?"
"I did."
For a moment neither spoke.
"And now," finally continued the blaster, "I am prepared to do everything necessary to have you
for mine. We shall leave here and go where we can be happy together. What do you say?"
"How about your wife?"
"I shall leave her the money I have saved and I'll keep on paying the expenses of the child at
school. I know that I shouldn't abandon her, but I can't live with her any more. Even if you were to
refuse to go with me, Rita, I would leave her just the same. I don't know why, but I simply can't
endure her now. A man gets that way. Fortunately, my trunk is still at the hospital and I can take it
away from there to-morrow."
"And where shall we go?"
"Oh, there are plenty of places to go. We can get along well enough anywhere we settle. I have five
hundred milreis to live on till we can get ourselves established. I shall stay here with you till five
o'clock-it's a little after two now. I'll leave without Piedade seeing me. I'll send you word as soon as
I've made arrangements for us, and you can join me. What do you say? Are you agreed?"213
The mulatta's response was to fling herselt into his arms and hang upon his lips, devouring him
with kisses.
Her romantic nature was further moved by this new sacrifice of the Portuguese for her sake, a blind
dedication that impelled him to cast aside family, dignity, future, and the fruits of his past labor, all
for herthis carried her away with enthusiasm. After the racking anxiety she had undergone during the
earlier hours of the night, her nerves were at a tension where they threatened to snap.
Ah, she was not mistaken. This placid giant, this unshaken Hercules, was capable of everything.
She felt his muscles of iron close about her, and she gave herself up to languorous surrender.
"But tell me-say it! " he insisted.
"Yes, yes, my captor," she gasped, speaking into his mouth. "I want to go with you-I want to be
your mulatta-I want just you."
And then she realized how wet he was, and she tore herself from his arms, solicitous for his
welfare.
"Wait, there's plenty of clothing here-I've customers of all sizes. Heavens, take off everything that
is wet-you'll have a relapse! I'll build a fire and by five your suit will be dry again. Take off your
shoesand just look at that hat! You're perfectly dry? Dry? Yes, you're dry as a tub full of water. You
take some paraty to drive off the chill, while I make coffee."
Jeronymo drank the paraty, changed his wet underclothing for dry, and lay down on Rita's bed with
a sense of comfort and well-being.
"Come here," he called, his voice a trifle hoarse.214
"In just a minute," she answered. "The coffee's almost ready."
And so she came to him bearing a little pot of the fragrant liquid that both remembered as the mute
messenger of their love.
But strange to say, when they turned to drink the coffee-alas, it was cold.215

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

During all these hours Piedade de Jesus awaited her husband. She had heard them struck, seated
impatiently at the door-eight, half-past eight, nine, half-past nine. Holy Mother, what could have
happened to her man? Still weak and ill he had disappeared after dinner and there had been no news
of him since. Never had he done such a thing before.

213
p228
214
p229
215
p230

86
 Ten o'clock. She called on Mary, Mother of Men, for help. Then she ran to the portal, but nobody
had seen Jeronymo, none could tell her anything. So she ran up the street as far as the corner, but
there was no sign of her husband and she returned in despair. At half-past ten she closed the door and
sat down to wait, her heart in her mouth and her ears straining for his footsteps. At last she wearily
lay down on the bed, but without removing her clothing or extinguishing the lamp. In the other room,
on the table, still awaited the frugal little supper she had prepared for him before bedtime.
She could not sleep; a thousand fears and conjectures were racing through her brain. She imagined
her man in a dozen combats and slashed by a dozen knives. And Firmo figured in all these scenes of
blood. At last her wearied body relaxed and she fell into a doze from which the slightest sound
roused her and hurried her to the window. But it was not the blaster the first, nor the second, nor the
third, nor any of the other times she so eagerly peered into the gloom.216
And when it began to rain, Piedade became even more tortured, for now she imagined her husband
out on the sea in an open boat and chilled with the cold. She crept to her oratory and prayed in a
voice hoarse with anguish. At each flash of lightning and faint rumble of thunder she cowered in
terror.
She began to suffer still more from her imagination. The rain on the roof whispered terrible things
to her; the smoke from the lamp curled upward as though it were trying to write its message of
warning. Glancing at an old suit surmounted by a hat on a nail in the wall, she screamed with fright,
so suggestive was it of a body hung by the neck. Weak and trembling, she crossed herself and crept
again to the bed. She wondered what time it was, but feared to look. Days seemed to have passed
since her solitary vigil had been started. Again she fell into a half-slumber from which she suddenly
roused herself. Surely she heard voices outside in the courtyard, bearers of evil tidings, she thought.
She strained her ears and listened, but again all was silent. It must be Alexandre returning from night
duty, she told herself. Maybe he could help her, and she half rose to go to his door, but a chill was
shaking her from head to foot, and she felt too weak to walk.
She began to feel that the light would never come. The month was August and the sun seemed to
dread facing the cold fog of dawn. At five o'clock, as she knew by the neighboring church bell, she
heard voices in the courtyard. They were hushed tones and-Santa Maria, could that be the voice of
her man? How like it was to Jeronymo's, and the other was the voice of217 a woman. But no, if the
blaster had arrived he surely would come home first to relieve the anxiety he knew she would be
suffering. Truly, this night of terror had upset her nerves and she could hear things that were not
happening at all.
But the light became clearer and gradually the tenement bestirred itself with the reluctance that
always marks the beginning of another week's labor. Heads were aching from the excesses of a
joyful Sunday celebration and no welcome awaited the dawn of another day of toil. But houses were
opened and the morning cluster around the faucets began.
Piedade threw a shawl about her shoulders and stepped into the courtyard. Machona had just
appeared in her doorway after emitting one whoop that was intended to arouse her whole family,
once and for all.
"Good morning, neighbor; and how's your husband? Better, I hope."
But Piedade answered with a sigh: "Ah, don't ask me, Leandra."
"What's the matter-is he worse?"
"He wasn't at home all night."
"Not at home-good Lord, where was he?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Well, hasn't he come yet?"
"No, and I'm weak as a fish-never closed an eye all night. There never was a woman so wretched as
I."

216
p231
217
p232

87
 "Do you think something's happened to him?"
For answer Piedade started to sob, wiping her tears218 on the corner of her shawl, while the other
employed her vocal trumpet to make known to the entire tenement the startling news that Jeronymo
had not set foot in his house during the whole night.
"Maybe he went back to the hospital," suggested Augusta, as she gave the floor of her parrot's cage
some needed attention.
"No, he left the hospital for good yesterday," objected Leandra.
"And beside that, nobody can get in there after eight o'clock at night," added another laundress.
The comments were multiplied and various theories advanced; there appeared to be a general
disposition to make Jeronymo's strange behavior the scandal of the day. Piedade responded coldly to
questions asked her. She was pale and dispirited, and she made no move to start her washing. She
did not change her bedraggled clothing and when she tried to eat the food choked her. All she could
do was weep and lament.
"I'm a wretched woman," the poor creature repeated every instant.
"If you go on like this, you'll be in fine shape," warned Machona, who had paused in her work long
enough to sink her teeth into a slice of bread spread with butter. "Why the devil do you take on so?
Your man isn't dead, and you shouldn't be worrying in this fashion."
"How do I know he's not dead?" wailed the wife. "If you could only know all the awful things I
saw last night."219
"Did you see him in your dreams?" asked Machona, visibly impressed.
"In dreams, no; because I did not sleep. But I saw all sorts of sights."
"Well, if they were ghosts of the dead, of course it's serious. But better trust in God and not carry
on like this, because if you complain too much about a misfortune, it always brings others after it."
As Machona ran back to the tubs to tell the others how Piedade had seen the bloody corpse of her
husband in a vision during the night, the poor wife herself raised her voice in a wail that was heard to
the furthermost limits of São Romão, strangely suggestive of that of a lone cow, lost in the
wilderness at nightfall. Then she turned homeward while the other tenement dwellers took up their
usual occupations. Voices were raised in song, laughter was heard, peddlers entered and departed,
the day's purchases were made, João Romão's store was visited by a steady stream of customers, and
the rumble of the macaroni factory's machinery began. at its appointed time. But Piedade gave no
heed to these things. She sat on the door-sill of No.35, patient and sorrowing like a dog awaiting the
coming of its master, at times wailing in her grief and then weeping softly. She wished that she
might die there on that block of granite, where so often she had sat at Jeronymo's side, her head on
his shoulder and her ears filled with the strumming of his guitar and the songs of the old home across
the sea. But still her husband did not come.
When further inaction became impossible she arose220 and passed into the held back ot the
tenement, where she conversed with herself aloud. In moments of desperation she raised her
clenched hands, not against the man she awaited, but in impotent rage against the bright sunlight,
this tropic glare that causes men's blood to boil and their senses to overcome their reason. And her
very soul rebelled against the prodigal fruitfulness of this new land, the wealth of nature heaped
upon men in such profusion that their hearts are led astray and they forget the vows they once made.
With wild sobs she cursed the hour she had left her native land, a land that was old and exhausted
and ill, but tranquil and peaceful. Ah, yes, Portugal's fields were cold and melancholy in their pale
green; not like this young, new land bathed in sun and perfumed by an exuberant vegetation, where
every leaf hid a venomous reptile and every flower the fatal honey of lust. In that calm sweet land
from whence she came no tiger's roar disturbed the moonlight night, nor did the hideous tapir break
his way through the forest's shade. There never sounded the rattler's warning of death, nor did the

218
p233
219
p234
220
p235

88
 coral, beautiful and deadly, lie in wait along the unwary traveler's path. There her man would never
have been struck down by the assassin's blade nor would he have been enticed from his fealty to his
wedded wife.
So she cursed the hour she set foot upon this Brazil -she cursed it from the bitterness of her heart.
And returning home, Piedade was further enraged to hear within No. 9 the song of the Bahian. Yes,
the mulatta, the tropic snake, the dancer of the samba, was221 gayly and happily singing as she
ironed, appearing at the window every few minutes to flip some cinders from her iron and to gaze to
the right and the left, affecting indifference to matters that did not concern her, then again
disappearing, still singing and intent upon the work in hand. Ah, nobody heard her make any
comment on the disappearance of Jeronymo. She seldom emerged, and when she did she stopped to
gossip with nobody. "Worry and unhappiness do not keep the pot boiling," was the phrase with
which she dismissed the matter.
But as the morning wore on, Rita became thoughtful and preoccupied. In spite of her relief that
nevermore would she have to settle her score with Firmo, and that she had definitely thrown in her
lot with the blaster as her mate, she was haunted by a ague uneasiness and a sense of oppression that
weighted upon her heart and stifled her song. She was eager for news of the events of the preceding
night, so impatient that she felt further delay unendurable. She observed that shortly before noon
Piedade could wait no longer, and had started out in deep affliction to search for her husband,
resolved that she would not return until she had found a trace of him, even through she had to visit
the hospital, the brotherhood, the police, and the morgue itself. And then Rita decided that she was
just as eager for news as was Piedade, so she hastily changed her dress and also left the tenement.
It happened that both returned home at about the same time, and found São Romão seething with
chatter over Firmo's death and its effect on the Cathead com-222 munity, who attributed the crime to
the Codfish and swore to avenge the murder of their leader. The very breeze that blew from the
enemy's premises seemed charged with a message of hate and vengeance. Even the sun took on the
mood of the warring factions and set in a sea of blood.
Piedade returned to the tenement, not overcome with grief but boiling with fury. Her expedition
had been crowned with signal success; she had learned far more of her husband and his movements
than she ever had dared to hope. She knew that he was not dead-no, indeed, he was very much alive.
Through a policeman friend of Alexandre's she was informed that he emerged very early that
morning by the road leaving the quarry and had given the other to understand that he was coming
from home at the moment, having left the tenement by the rear door. Also, she learned that her
husband had obtained his trunk from the hospital, and that he had been drinking heavily the evening
before at Pepe's place with Pataca and Ze Carlos, after which all three had walked toward the beach,
somewhat intoxicated. Not having heard anything of the crime, the poor woman decided that her
husband had gone on a wild spree with his friends and on coming home tipsy, very late at night, had
remained with the mulatta, "who had long been doing her very best to bring this very thing about,"
and who finally had succeeded when her man was drunk.
With this theory perfected and consumed with jealousy, the flouted wife hurried home to the
tenement fully expecting to find her delinquent husband already223 there, and to visit upon his head
the wrath and resentment which threatened every moment to choke her. She proceeded direct to
No.35, not stopping to exchange a word with anybody. She counted on finding it open and the
wayward blaster awaiting her. With cruel disappointment she found the door closed and locked, just
as she had left it. She sought the key from Machona, who was to give it to Jeronymo, and the
neighbor inquired again for the missing one and imparted the news of Firmo's assassination.
Upon a circumstance like this Piedade had not reckoned. Her face paled and a chill crept over her,
while a presentiment of evil smote her heart. Fearing to speak, she hurried back home and with a

221
p236
222
p237
223
p238

89
 trembling hand opened the door and entered. Overcome with fatigue and excitement, she sank into a
chair. She had not tasted food all day, but she felt no hunger. Her head was whirling and her legs
were heavy as lead.
"Could he have done it?" she asked herself over and over.
The bits of information she had gathered were rehearsed again and again in her mind and in vain
did she attempt to fit them together to make a convincing picture of Jeronymo's movements. Only
one idea could hold her attention. This single thought crowded all else from her consciousness: "If he
killed Firmo and then spent the night in the tenement without coming home, it is because of Rita
Bahiana, and he abandons me for her."
She tried to persuade herself that such a thing could not be. No, no, indeed; her Jeronymo, the
husband of224 so many years and the father of her child, the man whom she had loved so faithfully
and who had never had any reason to complain of her, to whom she had dedicated her whole life-
never could he abandon her for-what? For a-she knew not what to call her; a devil in skirts, a
creature belonging as willingly to Peter as to Paul; a wanton who lived only to idle her time away
with music and dancing rather than work; a worthless pest-
But still, he had been there in the tenement and he had allowed her to eat out her heart with worry
through all those hours. Where else but Rita's house? Why did he not want to face his wife? Why had
he taken his trunk from the hospital and where had it gone? God in heaven, could it be possible that
her man never intended to return to her again?
While these bitter reflections were assailing the woman he had married, there also arrived the
woman he loved. She was accompanied by a small boy. She returned smiling and happy, for she had
been with Jeronymo. They had even dined together in a little restaurant. Their plans were complete;
all the arrangements were made for their future love-nest. She would not move out immediately, as
that would cause too much talk in the tenement. Day by day she would take with her a few necessary
things and that would attract no attention. Every morning she would be there in São Romão engaged
in her usual activities, but the nights would be spent with her new lover. In a week or ten days the
final move would be made and the old circle would know them no more.225
For his part, the blaster would send a letter to João Romão giving up his place at the quarry ; and
another to Piedade, expressed in kindly terms, explaining that by one of those fatalities from which
none can escape, he must live separately from her, but he would hold her always in the same esteem
as before and would continue to pay their little girl's expenses. This done, all was accomplished and
he could settle down to a life of bliss with his mulatta-a loving couple, free and independent, living
one for the other, in an eternal intoxication of pleasure.
With the details of this plan fresh in her mind Rita Bahiana, followed by the boy, was passing
Piedade's door when the latter spied her and leaped from her chair.
"One moment, please."
"What is it?" asked Rita, stopping and turning her lead in the direction of the door, but with a
manner hat indicated plainly her hurry and her disinclination to talk.
"Tell me something," requested the other. "Are you going to move?"
The mulatta had not counted on so direct a question, fired point-blank, and could find no words for
a reply.
"It's true you're going to move, isn't it?" insisted the other, her face flaming.
"Well, what have you to do with it? Whether I move or not, I don't have to account to you for my
actions. Better attend to your own affairs."
"My own affairs are exactly what I am thinking about, and the way you are interfering with them,
you226 gypsy vagabond! " cried the Portuguese woman, advancing to her doorway.
"What's that!" screamed the mulatta, whirling about.

224
p239
225
p240
226
p241

90
 "Do you think I don't know what you've been doing? You turned my husband against me and now
you're getting him to run away with you. If he had any sense he'd know better than to get mixed up
with a filthy, black slut like you."
"Come out of your house if you dare, stupid sow," invited the Bahian.
Already the neighbors were gathering to witness the altercation, the laundresses leaving their tubs
and wiping their bare arms on their aprons as they hurried to the scene. They formed a silent circle,
none caring to interfere in the quarrel, but all intent on missing none of its details. The men who
happened to be near laughed and indulged in various pleasantries, as always happened when war
broke out among the women.
"Go to it, girls! Don't either of you take any back talk!"
At the mulatta's challenge Piedade rushed from her doorway, armed with one of her wooden
tomancos. She was hit on the chin by a stone on the way, and retaliated by delivering a blow on
Rita's head with her footgear. Then the battle became one of teeth and nails. Gasping with fury, they
clawed and bit each other, dancing about in the circle of buzzing onlookers. João Romão hurried to
the scene to separate them, but the others protested. Miranda's family came to the windows, coffee-
cups in hand, as they were just finishing dinner,227 but they betrayed little excitement. Such scenes
were no novelty to them.
As the battle raged the spectators gradually formed into rival camps, their sympathies leading them
to divide along racial lines. The Brazilians were on Rita's side, while the Portuguese favored the
cause of Piedade. They engaged in warm disputes as to the fighting qualities of the two contestants
and each side raised a cheer whenever its favorite landed a successful jab or drew blood by a timely
claw.
But most unexpectedly, Piedade lost her footing and found herself face downward on the ground
with the mulatta sitting on top of her, raining blow after blow on her neck and shoulders.
"Take that, old hen-and that-and that, and maybe you'll learn enough not to insult a lady who walks
by peaceably, minding her own business!"
The Portuguese now stepped forward to pull Rita off her victim, but the Brazilians refused to
permit any interference.
"Hands off!"
"But she'll kill her."
"What of it? It's their fight."
Tempers were aroused and the uncomplimentary terms "immigrant" and "goat" filled the air. Then
someone threw a pail and in a moment the, battle was general. Instead of a quarrel between two
women over one man, there was now in progress a conflict between the Foreign Legion and the
National Guard, into which fifty men and women had thrown themselves with a zeal worthy of a
better cause. Stones, pickets wrenched228 from fences, and every appliance commonly used in
washing the linen of the human race entered into the fray. From Miranda's window a police whistle
was blown repeatedly, and through the portal people began pouring in from the street. João Romão
now rushed back to the scene but was impotent even to make himself heard in the midst of a contest
that seemed to fill the entire courtyard. He was unable to close the portal or even the doors of the
store, so he emptied the till of its contents and stood guard over his stock with a piece of pipe.
Bertoleza had her stove covered with pots of boiling water, ready to assist her man in the defense of
his property.
Meanwhile, the battle continued without any apparent advantage for either side. The quarry
workers had abandoned their work and rushed to the courtyard, thoughtfully bringing their
implements with them. Amid curses and groans there were cheers for Portugal and then shouts for
Brazil. Sometimes a determined rush by a group of the more vigorous warriors rolled back the wave

227
p242
228
p243

91
 of humanity, but invariably it rallied and the lost ground was regained. The police had appeared, but
their numbers discouraged any attempt to interfere, so they merely looked on.
But at the climax of the combat came a roar from the street, a confusion of many voices audible
and distinct above the noise of battle. It was the hosts of Catheads come to avenge with blood the
murder of their leader. Civil war was to resolve itself in the twinkling of an eye into a defense
against invasion.
For as the Codfish realized the significance of the229 war-cry in the street, they ceased their struggle
and prepared to resist the hated enemy. Houses were hastily ransacked for better weapons and these
were now passed about indiscriminately among the tenement dwellers. There were no Portuguese
now, and no Brazilians-all were Codfish, fired with a zeal to defend their homes and families to the
last man.
The host in the street intoned a battle song as they advanced, to which young Augusto, from his
perch on the lamp-post in the middle of the courtyard, replied in shrill tones. He was a picturesque
figure, with a kitchen knife thrust into Nenem's red silk sash which he had tied about his waist. A
thin young mulatto, to whom nobody in the tenement had ever before paid any attention, posted
himself in the gateway, entirely unarmed, ready to receive the approaching army. He inspired
confidence because he was laughing.
At the head of the Catheads was Porfiro. A feather and a yellow ribbon adorned his hat and he
danced from side to side, shouting commands and words of encouragement to his followers. These
pressed forward, still singing and for the most part armed with razors, carried openly in hand.
The Codfish half filled the courtyard and awaited the enemy in comparative silence. Their own
preliminary bout had aroused their fighting blood and they were eager for the fray, but were already
too hoarse to shout, as they grimly steeled themselves to resist the onslaught of Firmo's friends. And
in spite of its responsibility for all that had happened, the sun beat a cowardly retreat and sank out of
sight as if it were230 completely indifferent as to the outcome of the impending struggle.
Up in Miranda's window old Botelho was in a fever of excitement. Always aroused by all that
smacked of warfare he was now to behold a real battle seemingly staged for his special benefit. So
he cheered for both sides and earnestly prayed that neither would give in.
The enemy now appeared at the portal, and ten Codfish advanced to meet ten Catheads. The fight
commenced, not in blind confusion, but after an orderly plan. Porfiro continued to direct the
movements of the attacking forces, singing and dancing back and forth. Razors were wielded and
clubs swished through the air. Each contestant had an adversary his equal in size and strength, and
both sides watched the attack and defense with bated breath. Backward and forward leaped the men.
A sudden, vicious lunge seemed certain to slash its victim, but with the quickness of a cat he dropped
to the ground and escaped untouched. Again and again a blow from a club all but crashed down upon
an enemy's head, but an agile leap to the side left it spent in the air. Which would tire first and be
caught napping? This was the thought in the mind of every onlooker. But the same element that had
taken a hand in the last invasion of São Romão again intervened.
Suddenly a huge cloud of black smoke rolled upward from the back section of the tenement. It was
a fire in No.88; this time a blaze of magnitude and to be fought without the aid of the providential
downpour that had saved João Romão's property the day of Mar-231 cianna's tragedy. The Witch at
last realized the dream that had smoldered all these months within her poor deranged head. The
battle near the gate gave her the opportunity she wanted and she had crept to the farther end of the
tenement and poured over the floors of No.88 the cans of kerosene she had accumulated for this very
purpose. It was a fire fanned by a strong wind from the hill, and it traveled down the line of flimsily
constructed sections with alarming rapidity.

229
p244
230
p245
231
p246

92
 The Catheads were an honorable foe and scorned to take advantage of this fortuitous occurrence.
The Codfish must rescue their children and such of their effects as could be dragged from the
burning structure. The fight must wait until another time. Now they were even disposed to turn in
and assist their opponents in combating the misfortune that had overtaken them, and Codfish and
Cathead labored side by side in the work of rescuing all that could be saved from the doomed
tenement.
It was a scene of indescribable confusion. The children wept, the women rushed about like lunatics
and the men struggled with loads of furniture and clothing which they endeavored to drag to places
of safety. From the street poured in a crowd of curious loafers who were soon driven back by the
heat from the burning building. Church bells in the vicinity were ringing a violent appeal for help.
This was not a fire to be extinguished by a group of neighbors with pails of water.
The Witch appeared at the window as the fire reached her section. She presented a horrible appear-
232
ance. Her skin shone in the brilliant glare like polished bronze, her coarse black hair was flying
like the mane of a wild horse, and she shrieked with laughter as the flames scorched her. For her
dream had come to pass. Thwarted once, she at last saw the tenement a mass of devouring flames
which her diseased mind led her to choose as her fiery tomb. For as she sank backward, overcome
with heat and smoke, the roof caved in upon her and the Witch was seen no more.
The arrival of the fire department saved the lower part of the tenement from destruction. A number
of lines of hose were laid from the fire engines to the courtyard, and the steady streams at last stayed
the progress of the flames.
During the course of the fire the proprietor had noted the frantic state to which old Liborio was
reduced and his continued efforts to reach the tiny hole he occupied. At last evading the restraining
hands of the others, he disappeared into the tenement perilously near the point where the fire was
raging. João Romão hurried after the old man and entered in time to see him clutching at something
beneath the filthy mattress on the floor that served as his bed. But the old man's strength failed him
and he fell in a huddled heap. As the vender entered, the decrepit old husk raised himself and
confronted the intruder like a wounded animal cornered, and then threw himself upon the mattress.
The Portuguese brushed the shriveled form aside and began pulling from beneath where it had lain
some half dozen bottles. With a cry of despair, old Liborio clawed at the vender and attempted to
bite his hands233 with toothless gums, but the exertion was too much for him and he sank back,
exhausted, and with glazing eyes. A glance assured João Romão that the bottles were stuffed full of
paper currency and he hastily gathered them up and placed them inside his shirt, while the old miser
made one last effort to clutch at his despoiler.
The vender hurried to the store and placed the bottles in a drawer whose key he carried, and then
returned to the point where the firemen were operating. By midnight the blaze was extinguished and
the fire fighters withdrew, leaving sentinels posted before the smoking ruins of the thirty-odd
sections of the tenement that had been destroyed.
It was not until five o'clock that João Romão could examine the bottles he had taken from Liborio's
hovel. They were full to the neck with bills of all denominations, but he decided to delay further
investigation until he was safer from interruption. Bertoleza had waged a tremendous warfare against
the flames and had received burns on various parts of her body. She was treating these and the
vender wished to conceal from her his discovery of old Liborio's hidden treasure.
During the day that followed, the police made an investigation of the fire and the damage wrought.
The bodies of the Witch and Liborio were recovered and placed in the courtyard, awaiting the wagon
from the morgue. They were visited by groups of the curious from the street, some of whom tossed a
coin at the feet of the carbonized skeletons, while at the heads pious neighbors had placed burning
candles.234

232
p247
233
p248
234
p249

93
 Rita had disappeared during the confusion of the disaster and Piedade was prostrated by a raging
fever. Machona had suffered a cut on the ear and a sprained ankle. Unable to walk about, she spent
her time directing the activities of her family, and this with such effect that no resident of the
tenement was left in doubt as to what Machona wanted done. Bruno had received a razor thrust in
the groin and two other laborers at the quarry had been seriously injured. One of the Italians had lost
his front teeth and a young child of Alexandre and Augusta had been crushed to death. Every one
was computing the damage and bitterly complaining against fate.
On a table in Augusta's house lay the little body of their child, covered with flowers, a crucifix and
two candles at his head. Alexandre, arrayed in his best uniform, sat at the side, his head in his hands,
weeping copiously as he received the condolences of visitors. The burial took place in the afternoon,
the expenses being borne by Leonie, who appeared in a new creamcolored gown and with a
coachman in livery.
Miranda, or rather the Baron de Freixal, called early upon his neighbor to express his sympathy and
to commiserate with João Romão. After a cordial embrace, he expatiated upon the inexplicable
purposes of Providence which visits catastrophes upon the just as well as the unjust, and then
discreetly inquired if it were true that the proprietor had hastened to insure his structure after the
previous fire. Upon the vender's confirmation of this rumor, the Baron's grief changed to joy and he
heartily congratulated the landlord on235 his business acumen and foresight. For João Romão's
property was so well covered that he had every hope and expectation of making the fire result in
some gain instead of loss.
"My friend, caution and broth never do any harm to a patient," remarked the vender with a chuckle.
"Out there," pointing to a number of his tenants woefully regarding their charred belongings, "are the
ones that see no silver lining to this cloud."
"But they have nothing of any consequence to lose," airily replied the noble Baron.
The two neighbors proceeded to the end of the courtyard to inspect the destruction that had been
wrought, after which João Romão observed, with a majestic wave of his hand: "I'm going to rebuild
all of this, larger and better than ever."
Then he explained his project. The courtyard was wider than was really necessary.He intended to
extend the line of houses farther toward the front on the lefthand side, against the wall toward
Miranda. The burned part would be rebuilt and a second story added to the whole, an upstairs
veranda to continue all the way around the courtyard being a feature of his plan. Then, instead of a
hundred tenants, he expected the new construction would enable him to accommodate at least four
hundred, each paying a rental of from twelve to twenty milreis per month.
The Baron slapped the vender's back with approval. "You're a devil of a fellow!" he exclaimed with
enthusiasm. And as he departed he again mentally reviewed the rise of João Romão to this position
of afflu-236 ence where he could determine upon extensive building operations without consulting
others or asking their help. What remained of the old envy was transformed at this moment into blind
and unlimited admiration.
"A hell of a fellow for getting on!" he muttered as he proceeded downtown to his place of business.
"A lot of force and an unerring business instinct. Pity he's settled down with a negress. Seems
strange that so clever a fellow ever fell into such a mess."
It was only at ten o'clock that night, after João Romão had made sure that Bertoleza was soundly
asleep, that the vender was able to commence the settlement of what he facetiously called "Liborio's
account." He was so weary that he could scarcely stand and it required an effort to keep his eyes
open, but the suspense of further uncertainty as to just what those bottles contained was not to be
borne longer. So he lighted a candle, and with closed doors and windows began the work of
extracting the miser's wealth and counting it.

235
p250
236
p251

94
 He found that the crumpled bills could not be shaken from the bottles and he therefore drew them
out, one by one, with a hooked wire. But as a child slowly sucks sweets to make the pleasure last, so
João Romão derived much enjoyment from what most people would regard as insufferable
monotony, to be ended easily by a few blows with a hammer. The first bottle yielded so substantial a
return that the vender's spirits soared high and drowsiness and fatigue vanished.
But the second bottle proved cruelly disappointing. The notes in this one were very old and nearly
all of237 them outlawed, their period of redemption having expired. He was seized with a fear that the
remaining bottles might likewise contain worthless paper, but he clung to a desperate hope that the
second might prove to have been the oldest bottle.
So he continued this delicious labor. With one bottle still untouched he noticed that the candle had
burned to the bottom and was spluttering in its death throes. So he hurried for another and observed
that it was nearly three o'clock. Alas, how time had flown! where had the night gone? As he finally
finished his sorting and counting, the first carts were passing the door.
"In all, fifteen thousand four hundred and some odd milreis," muttered João Romão between his
teeth, without taking his eyes from the two piles of bills before him. A trifle over eight thousand
milreis, or more than half of it, was represented by outlawed, worthless notes. And as he considered
these, João Romão burned with indignation. He cursed old Liborio for cheating him in this fashion,
when it would have been so easy to have exchanged these old notes for new issues. And he cursed
the government for its dishonesty in repudiating its own money, just because it was presented at the
treasury this year instead of last. He felt a profound remorse for not having made a thorough search
of Liborio's belongings when the first rumors reached him of the miser's hidden wealth. It is thus that
carelessness is punished, he reflected virtuously. Had he but taken the pains to learn more of
Liborio's affairs in the beginning, when the old wretch appeared with a mattress238 on his back,
begging a corner to serve as his shelter, it might have been possible to arrange to exchange food and
covering for the considerable sums that this whining beggar had managed to acquire.
But even so, nearly seven thousand milreis in perfectly good money had been "left him" by
Liborio, and the rest was not so worthless as it might appear. Much of it, perhaps nearly all, could be
handed out to impatient customers in change at the venda. Mingled with good money it would be
accepted and carried away, a few bills to-day and a few more to-morrow, and even though there
might be protests and complaints afterwards, João Romão knew how to meet such situations. Instinct
always told him when to make graceful restitution with profuse apologies for so regrettable an error,
and when to stand his ground defiantly. There were always happening along foreigners and country
people who would not, or could not, return to make trouble about one bill that was no longer worth
anything. And furthermore, it was not a crime. The money was good once, and it was not his fault
that it had been outlawed. Was he to be blamed that old Liborio had hoarded it away with no thought
of redeeming it? Most certainly not. Then why should the loss be his? If anybody were guilty of
sharp practice in this matter, it was the government, wherefore complaints should be made to the
authorities.
So the proprietor carefully put away his unexpected inheritance, resolving to employ it in
commencing the realization of his plans for a greater and grander São Romão.239

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A few days later work on the new building was started and the disorder of cinders and charred
ruins gave way to bits of broken stone and scattered bricks. Hammers resounded from daylight till
dusk-percussion instruments added to the tenement symphony of the beating of clothes, shouted
conversations, the clank of heavy flat-irons and the monotonous, high-pitched falsetto singing of the

237
p252
238
p253
239
p254

95
 laundresses. The tenants who had been burned out made the best arrangements they could in the
surrounding neighborhood. In a few cases they doubled up with smaller households in São Romão,
and when this was impossible temporary shelter outside was sought. But none moved into the
Cathead community.
Work was begun first on the new section to be built against Miranda's wall, and as fast as the little
homes were ready they were occupied, former tenants being given the preference. One of the Italians
had died in the Santa Casa charity hospital and another was very ill. Bruno had entered the infirmary
of the Portuguese brotherhood of which he was a member, and there he was visited by Leocadia,
who had ignored the appeal written to her by Pombinha. This visit resulted in a reconciliation
attended by copious tears shed by both, and Leocadia resolved to return to São Romão and her
husband. She became very severe in her manner and could brook nothing in her presence that
smacked of impropriety.
Piedade recovered from her attack of fever, but was completely transformed. With difficulty could
she be240 recognized as the calm, contented wife of Jeronymo who had moved into the tenement the
previous year. She had grown very thin, her once vivid coloring had disappeared entirely, and she
was now an ugly creature who went about muttering in perpetual gloom. Indeed, there were whispers
among the neighbors that the soul of the Witch had entered Piedade's body the night of the fire. No
complaint passed her lips, nor did anybody ever hear her mention her husband's name.
During the months that the monument to João Romão's enterprise was under way, the tenement
changed its character entirely. Instead of a collective dwelling, it became a hive of busy workers, a
huge shop where masons, carpenters, and painters spread confusion everywhere. The laundresses
fled to the field back of the tenement and there washed their clothes and spread them to dry, to
escape the dust raised by the laborers inside. At last the work was finished and order , if not peace,
settled down upon the new São Romão. But only for a moment, for the tenement dwellers were
astonished one fine day to behold preparations going on for a new structure in the street, on the land
where João Romão had continued his business all these years, in wretched shanties augmented at
intervals by a room here and a closet there.
The vender had resolved to build on the front of his lot an edifice worthy of the human hive at the
rear. His plans were ambitious. On the ground floor there would be ample accommodations for his
now extensive business, and above would be a habitation larger, finer, and more luxurious than even
that of Miranda him-241 self. There would be four windows on the street and eight at the side.
The Baron and Botelho paid daily visits to the premises, much interested and most enthusiastic.
They heartily approved the plans for the structure, examined with the critical eyes of experts the
material assembled, and even reproved the workmen when progress seemed dilatory. João Romão,
now always arrayed in a coat and vest, with white shoes, and a gold chain across his chest, spent
little time in his store and inspected the progress of the new building only at odd moments and on
holidays when the banks and stock market did not function. For João Romão was now rated one of
the city's capitalists and was much occupied with his activities downtown. He lunched at smart hotels
and drank his beer with the giants of great enterprises.
And the negress who once ran a lunch counter in a little shack where the barefooted and dirty João
Romão boarded for half a milreis per day-what of her? What niche was she to fill in the new scheme
of things? This question was given much anxious consideration by the noble Baron and old Botelho.
For the splendid new building with its luxurious living apartments upstairs was almost completed,
and the expensive new furniture ordered from Paris and all the delicate porcelain which Dona Estella
had chosen; the rich heavy napery, the monogrammed silver and sparkling crystal-were these
destined for the use of Madame Bertoleza? Or was she to continue as a servant? Impossible, as all
Botafogo knew her status in the vender's household and the role she had played in his career.242

240
p255
241
p256
242
p257

96
 But neither the Baron nor his parasite could quite muster courage to broach the subject to the
vender himself, and had to content themselves with veiled observations and speculations as to how
the resourceful João Romão would eventually solve the problem. The damned old wench-she was
the fly in the ointment, the only defect in an otherwise important and worthy member of the
community!
The intimacy that had budded after the memorable understanding with Botelho was now in full
bloom. Not a Sunday passed that João Romão did not dine with the family of the Baron de Freixal.
They attended the theater together, upon which occasions the vender gallantly offered his arm to
young Zulmira. He sought to win the favor of the family by showy, expensive presents. When in the
city, if occasion arose to take any sort of refreshment, he always insisted upon ordering two or three
times the quantity that could possibly be required. He sought to prove his devotion by offering
flowers, candy, and rare fruits at the most inopportune moments. At charity bazaars he was so
prodigal in his purchases for the Miranda family that they never returned home from such affairs
without one or two porters loaded down with the plunder. João Romão had changed since the days
when he could not bear to eat an egg that might be sold.
This astonishing metamorphosis in her man was not lost on Bertoleza. His transformation was
complete. His embraces were ever more rare, and then accompanied by such visible repugnance that
the poor creature felt he might better have refrained. Often did she de-243 tect emanating from him
the perfumes of foreign cocottes, and she wept in secret but had not the courage to assert her rights to
her man. In her obscure and lowly position of beast of burden it was not love alone that she craved,
but security for her future, an assurance that she would not face want when old age had crept upon
her and her weakened frame could no longer toil from the darkness that precedes daylight to that
which follows it. So she spoke no word that might offend her lord and master, but day after day went
about her accustomed duties with the same cowardly resignation that impelled her parents to permit
her to be born and to grow, a miserable captive. She had come to hide herself from all, never visiting
the tenement dwellers nor appearing in the store, overwhelmed with shame that others might see her
and know that the elegant João Romão's woman was ugly and black. So she remained in solitude,
cursing the fate that had darkened her skin and made the cloud that threw its sinister shadow across
the brilliance of the path of the man she loved.
For Bertoleza loved João Romão. To him she offered the irrational and fanatical adoration of the
Amazon caboclo for the white who imposed the fetters of slavery, the semi-savage, who has been
known to die of jealousy, and is even capable of self-inflicted death. Better that than to permit her
cherished idol to be disgraced by the discovery of a shameful love. But with this adoration was
mingled a strain of self-pity. She had toiled at his side these many years; his prosperity was based
upon her labor as well as his own; for the sake of the old days when he loved244 her, or at least made
her believe he did, could he not offer her a little tenderness now and then, as a master in moments of
good humor stoops to pet his dog?
Such was not to be the destiny of Bertoleza, for shortly it became plain to her that she was no
longer João Romão's woman, only his servant. She was still the first to arise and the last to retire.
Before the sun was in evidence she was wielding her long, sharp knife, slitting open and cleaning the
fish that had arrived for , the day's sales and completing one task only to take up another until she
finished her day, seated as of old in the front of the restaurant, frying fish over the charcoal stove for
passing customers. With never a day of rest nor a moment to care for her own person, she became
uglier and more repellent, her heart cankered with a despondency betrayed by two deep lines that
formed at the corners of her loose lips. Finally, convinced that although she was not yet dead she had
really ceased to live, she settled down in a sodden torpor, addressing nobody and ever mumbling to
herself. She became illnatured and morose, suspicious of all who approached her. She took no

243
p258
244
p259

97
 interest in events about her and went through her accustomed tasks as does a machine that neither
thinks nor feels.
But this wall of indifference broke down one day after Botelho had held a long conversation with
João Romão. Tears flowed from the sunken eyes of the poor creature and she had to abandon her
work that her sobs might not be heard by the customers.
"Go ahead and make your proposal. The time's ripe."
"What?"245
"You can ask for the hand of the daughter. Everything's ready."
"The Baron will consent?"
"Sure he will."
"But are you certain about it?"
"Look here; if I were not certain, I would never tell you to do it."
"But has he actually said so?',
"I talked to him about it. I made a proposal in your name. I said that I was authorized by you to ask
for the hand of his daughter. Did I do wrong?"
"Wrong? I should say not. If you told him that and he agreed, I should think there's nothing more
that's necessary."
"Well, if Miranda himself does not come to talk to you about it, I think you ought to introduce the
subject the first time you see him."
"Or I might write."
"Yes, that would be all right."
"And the girl?"
"I'll answer for her. Aren't you still receiving flowers? Of course. So you just keep on sending
yours in return, and take my advice and strike while the iron's hot!"
** *
To take up again the fortunes of Jeronymo, it should be explained that he had returned to the São
Diogo quarry where he formerly worked, and was installed with Rita in a tenement near by. He had
made heavy expenditures because he carried nothing from São Romão but money, and it was
necessary to buy furnish-246 ings for the new home. And Jeronymo had forgotten how to save. The
cleanly habits of Rita had full play, and their house was the neatest and most attractive in the
neighborhood. The bed was curtained and had linen sheets and embroidered pillow cases. The
windows were hung with fresh chintz and their table never lacked a spotless cloth and napkins.
There were also plenty of underclothes for daily changing. The blaster now had become accustomed
to delicate porcelain and scented soaps. A flowering vine clambered to their roof and the bees
hovered about its scarlet blossoms. A warbling canary's cage hung in the dining room and Jeronymo
had installed a little shower of their own back of the kitchen, as the common bath disgusted the
Bahian, who on this point was most scrupulous.
But such comforts cost money and during their honeymoon neither of them did much work. Life to
them was an existence of pleasure, of eating and drinking, of music and dancing, of kisses and
embraces. Jeronymo decided that only now had he learned to live, while all who knew him marveled
at the change that had come over the once severe, abstemious, industrious Portuguese. Rita had torn
from his heart the last lingering regret for his native land and the scenes of his youth. No more did
his eyes fill with tears as his guitar wailed forth the melancholy laments of Portugal. He now
strummed the native violin, playing the chorajos of Bahia, and he no longer hungered for the
traditional dishes of Portugal, for his palate craved only the spiced foods of Brazil. As for the wife of
his youth, his caresses were solely for the bronze Bahian, bathed thrice247 daily and perfumed with
the aromatic herbs he, too, had learned to love.

245
p260
246
p261
247
p262

98
 The Portuguese was thoroughly Brazilianized. He had become lazy and loved ease and luxury,
while improvidence and extravagance supplanted his former thrift and anxiety to acquire wealth. His
world was now bounded by Rita Bahiana, and his ideal of human achievement was to love the
mulatta and be loved by her. The death of Firmo and the method of its realization had brought not
the slightest cloud over their happiness. Both considered it the most natural circumstance in the
world. "Firmo was an assassin who had killed many enemies and had done much evil. He therefore
met the end he deserved and his fate was inevitable. If Jeronymo had not killed him, somebody else
would have done it sooner or later. And who was more justified than Jeronymo?"
But Piedade de Jesus could not reconcile herself to her abandonment. She made no complaint to
others, but at home alone she wept and mourned. She, too, was so transformed by the tragedy of her
life that she bore little resemblance to the calm, efficient woman who had entered São Romão at
Jeronymo's side. In the beginning she attempted to bear her enforced widowhood with courage, but it
was useless. Day by day she sank lower into despondency and her moral fibre began to disintegrate.
She grew careless in her work and was seized with fits of laziness and slovenliness. Her customers
first complained and finally sent their work elsewhere. She began to encounter difficulty in earning
enough for her living expenses and it required the utmost will-power to248 keep herself from
spending Jeronymo's savings, the money that must be kept for the poor child, orphaned by an agency
more cruel than death.
One day Piedade complained of pains in her head, a ringing in the ears and a feeling of nausea, and
with one voice the other laundresses counseled paraty. The advice heeded, she found her pain and
nausea immediately relieved. The following day she repeated the dose with equally satisfactory
results and the added comfort of noting that the effect of the alcohol for a time deadened the pain in
her aching heart. From that time forward the poor woman became habituated to constantly increasing
libations of the fiery native rum, the only remedy to assuage her grief.
Jeronymo never had allowed visits of the little girl to the tenement. He and Piedade spent their
Sunday mornings with her at the school where she was interned, but he could not bring himself to
throw the child into contact with the tenement surroundings and influences. But now that he was no
longer there to prevent it, Piedade availed herself of the consolation of the daughter's company on
Sundays. She was now a child of nine, inheriting the vigorous physique of her father and the kind,
gentle expression of her mother.
These were the only moments of happiness in the poor woman's life, these Sundays in the
companionship of her little girl. The old residents of the tenement discovered a remarkable similarity
between the young visitor and the never forgotten Pombinha, and devoted to the newcomer much of
the rapturous affection that had been lavished upon Isabel's daughter, for the simple249 souls required
some object of a slightly superior nature which they might love and venerate. By general consent she
became known to them as "Senhorina."
In spite of Jeronymo's behavior, it never occurred to Piedade that he had forfeited any of his rights
as a father and she was therefore somewhat uneasy about having disregarded his wishes in
permitting the child to visit the tenement. But what harm did it do? She assured herself that she had a
right to this one comfort, since her life had been despoiled of its stay and support. Pombinha had
lived in the tenement and had grown up pure and undefiled and in due time honorably married.
"Those are lost that are born for perdition"a rather Presbyterian doctrine for a good Catholic.
So Senhorina continued to visit São Romão, at first coming Sunday morning and returning to her
school in the afternoon, and later arriving Saturday afternoon and remaining with her mother until
Monday morning. Jeronymo, upon learning this from the Mother at the school, was much angered,
but after further reflection he decided that Piedade was entitled to this consolation and therefore
entered no objection, although he himself could see his child only by visiting her on work days.
Usually he carried her presents of fruit and candy, and always inquired solicitously if she lacked

248
p263
249
p264

99
 clothing of any kind. But one fine day he presented himself so intoxicated that he was refused
admission, and thenceforward his embarrassment was such that his visits became rare.
A little later Senhorina carried to her mother one Sunday a bill for four months' board and tuition,
to-250 gether with a letter stating that unless prompt settlement were effected the child could no
longer be cared for at the school. Piedade wrung her hands and began to weep. If her husband had
reached the point of refusing to support his child, where was she to find the money to educate the
girl?
So she went to appeal to Jeronymo, as she already knew where he was living; but he was vexed
with her coming and sent out word that he was not at home. However, she insisted that she would
wait there until she could talk with him, raising her voice and explaining that she was not there on
her own account, but because of the child who was threatened with expulsion from school.
Jeronymo appeared finally, with the hangdog expression of a victim of vice who has not enough
strength of will to throw it off. At sight of him for the first time since the day of his return from the
hospital, the poor woman lost control of herself entirely and burst into a frenzy of weeping. The
delinquent husband dropped his eyes, embarrassed at this display of emotion and overcome with the
change he beheld in his abandoned wife. Filled with contrition for the grief he had caused her, he
treated her gently and almost begged her forgiveness, his voice husky and his throat contracted.
"My poor woman," he stammered, placing his hand on her head.
And the two stood, mutely gazing at each other. Piedade longed to throw herself into his arms and
beg him to come home with her and again be her man. For a moment a ray of hope illumined her
heart that happi-251 ness with the husband of her youth might yet be hers. She had come steeled to
hear hard words and bitter reproaches for invading the paradise of the loving couple. She had even
half expected to be met with insults, and perhaps be covered with ridicule, by the new companions of
Jeronymo and Rita. So on finding him sorrowful and compassionate, her heart melted within her and
her love proved stronger than her indignation and resentment. Thus, when Jeronymo, his eyes wet
with tears, allowed his hand to slip to her shoulder and then to her waist, she swayed toward him and
buried her head on his breast, shaken with sobs she made no effort to suppress. So for some moments
they wept in each other's arms.
"Don't feel so bad about it," he murmured. "We're unfortunates, that's all," he added, wiping his
eyes with the back of his hand. "It's just as though I had died, and you ought to think of me as being
dead. You can be sure I shall always esteem you and never wish you any harm. Now you go back
home and don't worry. I'll pay the school bill for the kid, and I'll help look out for you, too. And
when you pray I want you to ask Nosso Senhor to forgive me for the sorrow I have caused you."
He accompanied her to the entrance of the tenement, where she left him, her head drooped to her
breast, her lips unable to speak a word, and tears falling on the old woolen shawl about her
shoulders.
But Jeronymo did not pay the over-due bill that day, nor the next, nor the one after that. The month
wore along and still it was not paid. He was mortified to fail alter thus promising, but he could think
of no ex-252 pedient for raising the money. What he earned scarcely sufficed for the expenses of
himself and Rita. He had drawn wages in advance and he had unpaid bills with most of the
merchants in the vicinity. Rita was extravagant and loved to invite friends in to eat and drink, and
she had a pronounced weakness for offering presents on birthdays and holidays and without any
special motive at all. He feared to curb her generous impulses, as he was reluctant to make any move
calculated to disrupt this dream of happiness. So thoroughly was he under the mulatta's spell that he
remained silent in the face of this reckless spending and even affected complete approval of her
procedure, although within himself he was disturbed and miserable and wondered how long it could
be kept up.

250
p265
251
p266
252
p267

100
 The constant remembrance of his wife and child and his failure to make the promised provision for
them awakened remorse in him proportionate to his outward manifestation of satisfaction with Rita's
methods of domestic economy. He fully realized the baseness of his conduct to Piedade and the little
girl, but the very idea of bringing about a storm that might result in a separation from Rita Bahiana
threw him into a frenzy of fear. He repeatedly assured himself that he would endure anything rather
than the loss of his new love.
And to stifle the voice of conscience that had been constantly accusing him since the day his
promise was given and never fulfilled, he began to drink harder than ever; for Jeronymo to arrive
home thoroughly drunk became an almost daily occurrence. So, after the end of the month, when
Piedade repeated her visit one Sunday,253 this time accompanied by her little daughter, she found him
drinking in a circle of friends.
Jeronymo received them with noisy glee and insisted that they enter. He kissed the child repeatedly
and held her up by the waist, commenting with enthusiasm on her good looks. He urged
refreshments upon them and called the mulatta. The two women must make up and become friends-
that he had determined.
There was a scene of strained politeness when the Portuguese woman and the Bahian confronted
each other.
"Come on, come on, hug each other and be sisters!" exhorted Jeronymo as he placed a hand at the
back of each and bumped them together. "No scowls allowed here."
The rivals permitted themselves a chilly handshake, but without meeting each other's eyes. Piedade
was scarlet with shame.
"So far, so good," announced the blaster in his hearty fashion. "Now to complete our reunion you
and the kid must stay and have dinner with us."
The wife began to excuse herself, muttering a number of reasons why it would be impossible, but
her husband refused to accept any of them.
"But I'll not let you go. I've got to have my daughter here a while longer to cure me of my
lonesomeness for her."
Piedade sat down in a corner, impatient for an opportunity to come to some understanding with her
husband regarding the bill at the school. Rita, volatile as are most half-castes, held no rancor and
outdid her-254 self to entertain fittingly the family of her man. The other visitors took their departure
before dinner. Because of the distance from São Romão the table was set at four o'clock and dinner
began with everybody in reasonably good spirits. Senhorina, accustomed to the limited circle of her
school, seemed to be overcome with bashfulness and her father devoted himself to an effort to
vanquish her timidity. He plied her with questions about what she did and what she was learning.
The wine had been poured immediately after the soup, and ere the meal was over the adults at the
table were all rather befuddled, Jeronymo drinking much and urging the two women to do likewise.
So before it was time to leave the table Piedade had resumed her tearful mood and began to complain
bitterly of her fate, which naturally led her up to the matter of the unpaid bill at the convent.
"Now, my girl," remarked the blaster, "never mix tears with wine. Let's leave troubles for some
other time. Don't spoil the dinner."
"But how do you expect me to think and talk of other things, when affairs are going so badly for
me?" the poor woman replied.
"Well, if you come here only to spread gloom, it's better you should stay away," muttered
Jeronymo, with a scowl. "Howling doesn't make things any better. I don't see why you should blame
me because you are unhappy. I am, too, for that matter, but I don't go about blaming other folks for
it."
Whereupon Piedade broke forth in sobs.

253
p268
254
p269

101
 "Oh, of course, there you go at it!" shouted her hus-255 band, reaching across the table and giving
her a vigorous shake. "Now shut up. The more a man tries to be reasonable and patient, the more you
try to make him lose his temper."
Senhorina had run to her father and caught his arm, but he pushed her away angrily. "And you, too.
It's always the same thing, and I'm not going to stand it any longer."
"I didn't come here for a pleasure trip," wept Piedade. "I came to find out what you are going to do
about the school bill."
"Pay it yourself with the money I left you. I have none of my own."
"No, never that. A thousand times, no."
"Oh, so you want to hang on to that for yourself?"
"You're even worse than I supposed," she sobbed.
"Oh, am I! " he shouted. "Well, you get out of here quick, before I handle you as you deserve."
But she made no move to go, her head falling to her arms over the table. "Ah, my poor little girl.
God of mercies, who is going to look after her?"
"The kid doesn't need to go to school any longer. You leave her here with me and I'll see that she's
looked after. She needs her father's care and protection, anyhow."
"What, separate me from my daughter, from all I have left?"
"Woman, cool off and come to your senses, if you can. You are separated from her the whole
week, aren't you? Well, in place of her going to school she will stay here in my house during the
week, and on Sun-256 day she can go and visit you just the same as she does now."
"But I'd rather stay with my mother," announced the child, clinging to Piedade.
"So you're an ingrate, too? !" shouted Jeronymo. "You make war on me just like she does. Well, go
to hell, the both of you, and don't come around here and make my blood boil, or I may treat you
both.as I should."
"Let's get out of here! " cried Piedade, grasping the child by the arm. "Cursed be the hour I set foot
in this house. I might have known that a man who deserts his wife and child never could be moved
by their tears and sufferings."
So the two disappeared, and Jeronymo wandered back and forth, muttering to himself in his
drunken anger.
Rita had taken no part in the quarrel, nor did she betray on which side her sympathies lay. But she
now stated that if Jeronymo wanted to return to his wife he could and would do so, because when a
man and woman are bound together only by ties of love, there is no obligation involved other than
mutual desire, one for the other.
Jeronymo dropped into a chair and poured himself a glass of orange brandy which he drank at one
gulp.
"No, there'll be no separation here," he remarked, decidedly.
The mulatta stepped back of his chair, pulling his head against her breast, and kissed him on the
mouth, removing with her lips the drops of liquor clinging to257 his mustache. Jeronymo drew her
down upon his knees and held her tightly in his arms.
"Don't worry about things, my love," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. "It's all
over now, and we're going to be happy."
"Yes, you're right," he muttered. "I was a fool to ever let her set foot in the house."
And so they clung to each other in a delirium of embraces and caresses, as though atoning for the
time they had lost through this most unpleasant interruption.
Outside, in the shadow of the portal, Piedade tarried a few minutes, leaning on the shoulder of her
child while she endeavored to regain her composure and stop her flowing tears, before venturing out
on the street to begin the dreary return to the curious glances of São Romão.258

255
p270
256
p271
257
p272

102
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They reached home at nine o'clock, Piedade too crushed with grief for conversation on the way. As
soon as the child had gone to bed, the weary mother took refuge in tears and assured herself over and
over again, in the midst of her sobs: "It's finished now; there's nothing more." She remembered her
bottle of paraty, and drank some. She felt better, so she drank a little more. And after a third drink
she decided to go out into the courtyard and steal a little of the good cheer and happiness with which
the tenement dwellers were ending their day of relaxation.
Das Dores had been giving a dinner. Her highpitched laughter could be heard, contrasting strangely
with the coarse, gruff voice of her man, and both thrust into the background when Machona decided,
now and then, to chide the never satisfactory behavior of her son, Augusto. From various parts of the
tenemerit came the music of guitars accompanying song.
But the tenement was different after its reconstruction. As João Romão had determined, the
courtyard was narrower, the space between the two rows of habitations being now no more than a
street of ordinary width, smoothly paved, and lighted by three large lamps placed at regular intervals.
And now there were six latrines, six groups of faucets, and four baths. No more space was available
for the tiny gardens at the rear and the little patches of flowers in front of each door. The new section
at the left completely cut off the view from259 Miranda's house, and the second story, with its veranda
around the whole courtyard, had made a total of four hundred rooms or tiny apartments for the
inhabitants of São Romão. Walls were painted white, doors and windows green, and the gutter-
spouts red.
As usual, tenants were not lacking and no section of the tenement was long vacant. Many of the
windows had potted plants and blossoms in place of the former flower beds, while a number of São
Romão's dwellers had gone to exaggerated lengths in beautifying their new homes. None had
outdone Albino in this respect. His house was on the ground floor, and from the courtyard might be
observed the red paper he had selected for his main room. The furniture was highly polished, vases
of flowers were on the commode, the mirror of his bureau was wreathed in artificial roses, and his
oratory was resplendent with silvered and gilded palm leavesall suggestive of a church, decorated
and reeking with incense. And the pale launderer, ever in his white trousers and with a perfumed
handkerchief about his thin neck, with his large, loose-lipped mouth, outstanding ears and long,
damp hair, was eternally cleaning and polishing and washing and dusting everything within his
abode, as though on the eve of receiving a distinguished guest. The neighbors could find no words
too flattering for such order and cleanliness, and agreed that it was indeed a pity that Albino was
ever pestered with ants in his bed. He waged a continual warfare against them, but they seemed to
multiply and cling to their favorite haunt, in spite of his best efforts.
Just across the way lived Bruno and his wife, their260 house entirely furnished with new things. One
of the courtyard lamps was directly in front of them and its rays were reflected from their window
like a suspicious stare from within at all who passed outside. Now, however, the couple lived in
blissful peace and Leocadia was most discreet. Alexandre swore that in all his goings and comings at
various hours of the day and night he had never once caught her in a compromising situation.
So far as affairs went with Augusta and Alexandre, the neighbors agreed that João Romão had done
well to add the second story, as otherwise accommodations never could have been found for the
policeman's family, which was increasing by leaps and bounds.
Among the São Romão tenants were Pataca and Ze Carlos, Jeronymo's accomplices in disposing of
Rita's old lover. Beyond them was a quiet individual, said to be a postal employee, who left regularly
in the morning and returned punctually at ten o'clock at night. On holidays and Sundays he went out
only for meals and the rest of the time remained shut up in his room, never talking with any of the

258
p273
259
p274
260
p275

103
 neighbors. The character of the tenement had changed much. Most of the newcomers were of a
higher social level than the old tenement dwellers. There were many students, clerks, and others
whose manners and dress proclaimed them better educated than the old circle upon which João
Romão's prosperity was founded.
There were many Italians on the upper floor, and both the proprietor and the neighbors were
constantly at war with them because of their predilection for throwing261 refuse on the pavement in
front. Machona had remained on the ground floor and Nenem kept the window full of flowers.
Miranda's house appeared to have shrunk a few feet from fear of contact with its over-grown
neighbor, over whose arm it seemed to gaze imploringly at the still loftier residence of João Romão,
which was now an imposing structure, the silk hangings at the windows suggesting the rich
furnishings to be found inside. The portal of the tenement was no longer even with the street, but was
several yards farther back, at a point near the rear of the vender's new building. The space between
the street and the portal had been made into a narrow garden by lining the stone walk with flowering
shrubs and a few park benches-a more soothing view from the windows of the wealthy proprietor.
No longer did a sign inform the passing public that here was located the Tenement of São Romão.
No, indeed. There was now a solid block of granite in which was chiseled in letters that all might
read :

AVENIDA SÃO ROMAO

The Cathead community hung its head in shame, conquered and crushed. Its confessed inferiority
gave it no courage to compete with this Phoenix risen from the ashes. As the collective dwelling of
João Romão grew in popularity and arose in estimation, the one-time competitor sank into the mire
and gained in ill-repute. Rarely did a week go by that the police did not raid the once proud
stronghold of the Catheads, and many of its more desirable residents were driven to recant262 and
seek shelter within the imposing bailiwick ot the Codfish, where a man might know a little peace and
enjoy himself without being set upon by a troop of hoodlums.
But with the departure of Rita Bahiana were ended the nights of the chorado and the samba. None
could dance like Rita, and few tried. The new order of things called for affairs within doors, where
tea was served and guests wore socks and laundered shirts. When the room was of a size to permit,
there was an endless succession of polkas and quadrilles, and many other modern ideas filtered down
from the great social world of the capital.
So on this Sunday when Piedade returned from her fruitless visit to Jeronymo, the tenement was
dull and quiet. Here and there was a small group gathered around a doorway listening to a singer
accompanied by a guitar. The most animated party decidedly was that of Das Dores, so there Piedade
directed her steps, gloomy and depressed.
"You wander about like a hen that's not allowed to set," remarked Pataca, as he seated himself at
her side. "Pitch your troubles over your shoulder, and never look back at them. Life isn't so bad as
you think it is. Your man left you ? Well, what of it? Grab another one, and maybe you'll like him
better than the first one! "
She could only sigh in response, too sorrowful to attempt to talk. But the bottle of paraty was
making its round and when it had paused before her twice, Piedade seemed a different woman. She
began to talk, and even found herself laughing at some of the stories that were263 told, after which
she became the most animated of all, and amused the others with her comments on the new-comers
in the tenement. Pataca was vastly entertained by her conversation and drew her up close to him with
his arm about her waist, mumbling in her ear that she was the sort of a woman for love of whom a

261
p276
262
p277
263
p278

104
 man goes to the devil. Piedade laughed noisily and threatened to break his head unless he let go of
her leg.
The rest of the party found this interchange of pleasantries a source of innocent merriment, and
applauded with many chuckles. And still the paraty bottle went round the circle, keeping Das Dores
ever on the move to replenish the supply. Piedade explained that she was weary from her long walk
and required a stimulant, suiting the action to the word so frequently that before long she was
completely and almost helplessly drunk.
When João Romão returned from his usual Sunday visit to the Miranda household he found her
reeling about amid the laughter of the onlookers, announcing that her performance was a
demonstration of how Rita Bahiana danced the chorado. Her skirt was held up to her knees, arid
upon making an attempt to kick as Rita did, she lost her balance and rolled over and over on the
ground.
The proprietor was attired in a frock coat and a silk hat, and he hurried straight to the group, now
swelled by dozens of other residents of the tenement who had come to enjoy Piedade's efforts. He
announced that the hour for such pleasure had passed and that all should retire to their own
quarters.264
"Come, come; everyone to his own house and to sleep, for to-morrow we all must work."
Piedade was the only one to protest. She objected to leaving so pleasant a party and assured the
vender that she had a right to enjoy herself among friends. "What the devil-we're not hurting
anybody."
"Better go to bed and sleep it off," advised João Romão. "You, with a young daughter almost
grown up. Aren't you ashamed to be out here, drunk and acting the clown to amuse your neighbors?"
Piedade decided that this insult could not be passed over unnoticed, so she rolled up her sleeves
and hitched up her skirt, announcing that the vender would have to defend himself. But Pataca
placed himself between them, begging the proprietor not to take the woman's words seriously, as he
must realize that she was irresponsible.
"All right, all right," replied João Romão, "But all of you go to bed, and let's have quiet here." And
he did not leave until the group dissolved and each took his departure.
After the others had gone their several ways, Piedade and Pataca remained in the courtyard,
discussing the vender's abrupt dismissal of their friends and moralizing upon the harshness of the
rich in their treatment of the poor. Both realized that they could not stay out on the pavement longer,
but neither cared to face the solitude of home.
"Have you got anything to drink in your place?" finally inquired Pataca. She was not certain, but
she would see. She beckoned to him from the door. There265 was a half bottle of paraty and a little
less wine. But he must not make any noise, as the child was sleeping. They entered on tiptoe,
conversing in whispers. Piedade turned up the light, observing that they would soon be in darkness,
as the oil was nearly gone. Pataca remembered that he had a candle in his room and went after it.
He returned, bringing also a piece of cheese and some fried fish. Piedade cleared the table of her
ironing paraphernalia and produced some bread and the two bottles. The tenement was in silence, the
only sound reaching them being the occasional barking of a dog. Piedade began to recount her woes
as they ate their midnight supper, finally breaking into sobs. When these had passed, she described
the events of the afternoon, giving him the particulars of her visit to her husband with their little girl,
the dinner in company with the mulatta pest, and the final quarrel and humiliating return.
Pataca was shocked, not with Jeronymo's conduct, but with that of Piedade.
"Just to think," he remarked, "that you could lower yourself to go and seek him in his house, after
the way he has treated you!"
"But he treated me all right the first time I went there. To-day, I don't know what could have
happened, but he did everything but kick me out."

264
p279
265
p280

105
 "And he did right-you deserved worse. You ought to have been clubbed for going to him there with
his new woman."
"Maybe you're right."
"Of course I am. There are plenty of men, my girl.266 The world is large, and for every sore foot
there is an old shoe."
Then placing his arm around her, he asked, "Why don't you let me make you happy, and forget the
other one?"
Piedade repelled him, begging him not to talk foolishness.
"Foolishness is what makes life worth living," he assured her.
The little girl had been awakened and came to the door to see who was there and what was
happening, but they paid no attention to her and she returned to bed.
So they continued to talk, and as the paraty crept lower in the bottle the deserted wife's pain grew
less, and she ate with relish, and even giggled at Pataca's coarse jests which he punctuated with
pinches on her thighs.
"The best pleasures in life are the ones that come to us unexpectedly," he declared, red and excited,
and eating fish with his fingers. "Only a fool sits and mopes." Then he remembered that he had come
into the house especially for a cup of coffee.
"I'm not sure if there is any, but I'll go and look," remarked the laundress. And she stumbled into
the kitchen and fumbled about in the dark.
"Hang on to the tiller when the sea's rough!" gayly cried Pataca as he seized her in his arms.
* * *
As Pataca left, he slammed the door in annoyance.
"Hell! " he muttered. "I didn't get any coffee after all."267

CHAPTER NINETEEN

After quieting his noisy tenants João Romão ascended to his abode, but with no thought of repose.
Clad in pajamas and slippers, he walked the floor of his new sleeping apartment-a luxurious chamber
of generous size, decorated in blue and white with a design worked out in gilt flowers. An oriental
rug covered most of the floor space, and a nickel alarm-clock now replaced Bertoleza's shake and
grunt. The bed was a double one and the rest of the furnishings were obviously designed for the use
of a couple instead of a bachelor, for the vender's thrifty instincts came to the surface sufficiently to
prevent him from buying expensive bedroom furniture which later would have to be discarded.
The subject of his preoccupation was Bertoleza, a problem that permitted neither rest nor inaction.
At that moment she was asleep downstairs in a tiny, ill-ventilated pocket of a room next to the toilet.
"What the devil am I going to do with the black pest?" he asked himself a dozen times, scratching
his head in perplexity.
For this night the Baron had taken the bull by the horns and broached the subject of marriage. He
informed João Romão that Botelho had communicated to him the message that had been confided to
the discretion of their elderly friend, and said that he considered the union a most suitable one.
Therefore, the Rubicon lay at his back; Zulmira had accepted his proposal,268 and Dona Estella was
to fix the date ot the wedding.
But what about Bertoleza? The vender trudged back and forth without hitting upon any means of
overcoming this difficulty. What a mess he had gotten into by living with the negress these many
years! Why had he not effected a separation long years ago when he first began to prosper? And how
could he get rid of her at this late moment without causing a flood of disagreeable comment,
especially now that his engagement was all but announced?

266
p281
267
p282
268
p283

106
 His soul revolted at the idea of his helplessness before so contemptible an obstacle, one that was
silent and brooding, and that crouched in his path like an evil curse, threatening to bring down in
ruins the splendid career upon which he had launched himself by frightful toil and privations. What
an injustice that his happiness and success should be endangered at this critical moment by a creature
whom he had taken in, befriended and protected-for whom he had provided a home these many
years. And João Romão felt so sorry for himself that he was on the verge of tears.
Now and then he enjoyed a moment's surcease from these painful reflections by dwelling upon the
advantages that would accrue to him by his projected union with this delicate and aristocratic
Brazilian girl, and a vista of rose-strewn paths to future glory opened before him. In the first place,
he would become a member, or at least a relative-in-law, of a family of traditional pride and position,
as was that of Dona Estella. Also, his property would be increased considerably by269 the dowry of
his bride, who was to enjoy a generous settlement. Finally, all of the wealthy Miranda's estate would
eventually be his, as Zulmira was an only child. And thus might be realized in its fullness the dream
of grandeur that had assailed him when first his envy was aroused by his neighbor's title.
With these added riches and the social prestige that would envelop him as son-in-law of the
wealthy Baron de Freixal, he saw himself advancing, little by little, and pushing others aside until he
became the recognized head and chief of the powerful Portuguese colony of Rio de Janeiro. Then,
navigating his bark under full sail he would bring home a cargo worth while-it was a simple matter
to hand out a package of money with the request: "The title of Viscount, if you don't mind?"
Yes, surely; and why not? Viscount to begin with, and later, Count. They would see. He would
show them how a man of brains and determination does these things. For during these past few
years, since the seed of envy had germinated in his heart, he had nourished one fixed idea from
which he never deviated. Somehow, some time, and somewhere, he would secure for himself a title
that outranked that of the Baron de Freixal. Then he would make a tour of Europe, a triumphal
journey, the echoes of which would shake both the Portugal of his childhood and the Brazil of his
manhood. People who had long ignored him would proudly claim to have been his friends for years.
"And Bertoleza-are you going to take her along?" whispered a small voice within him.270
"True, there's Bertoleza," he replied, not pausing in his tramp about the room.
Good heavens; was he never to get himself moved around, or over, or through that dark shadow
across his path? What a position for a man of promise to find himself in-tied to a frightful, black
creature, not by a legal tie, but by a bond of shameful concubinage which once had seemed the most
natural circumstance in the world, but which now filled him with nausea. He could not get her out of
his thoughts. There she brooded, like a huge inky cloud that threatened to envelop him.
And she reminded him of everything he was most anxious to forget. Truly, Bertoleza must be
suppressed. She was the living document of all that was bad and discreditable in his past, all that
proved him to be the common upstart he wanted the world to forget. In fact, it would be a crime to
keep her at his side. Society's surest and safest bulwark is the family, and it is the duty of every man
to constitute himself the head of a household where order and reverence prevail. Concubinage is an
institution that reputable citizens must frown upon, and as a rising capitalist and future leader in the
community it behooved him to set an example and show the world where he stood on this question.
But these virtuous reflections were crowded aside by what he knew to be his real feelings in the
matter. Bertoleza to him meant a dirty, barefooted immigrant boy whose board cost half a milreis a
day; she meant trudging home from the market with a basket of fish; she meant night after night of
operations as a common sneak-thief; she meant years of close companionship271 with a negress on a
filthy mattress crawling with vermin; she meant the period of sharp practice and petty cheating
incompatible with honored business methods. She was a disease, a cancer that must be cut away if he
were to enjoy health, strength, freedom, and honor.

269
p284
270
p285
271
p286

107
 Yes, indeed, Bertoleza must be wiped out, like a black mark on a clean page. She must give way to
a pale girl with delicate hands and perfumed hair, who was all that is good and clean; who laughed
and brought joy; who represented the new life that opened before him-a life of skilled fingers at the
piano, of vases of flowers, of silks and laces, of tea sipped from thin porcelain. She represented the
sweet existence of the rich, and happy, and strong; of those who have inherited without labor, or who
have climbed to that proud eminence over the weaker and, it may be, the more scrupulous. João
Romão still could feel the touch of Zulmira's fingers upon his arm as they had paced the curving
shore of Botafogo, and he still could see the limpid eyes that spoke a tender message of love. His
thick, red hand had trembled at contact with the soft, white skin that in the natural course of events
would soon be his to caress at will.
But Bertoleza-yes, he must despatch her, pack her off, get rid of her, and that without delay!
It was midnight by the nickel clock when João Romão lighted a candle and descended to the rear of
the floor below, where the negress slept. He approached her door noiselessly, like a criminal bent on
murder. She lay on her side, her face hidden within her arm which was doubled under her head. As
usual, she had kicked off272 the covering and most of her thick black body was exposed. João Romão
contemplated her in silence a few moments.
And this miserable negress, indifferently slumbering like a wearied animal, was the one great
obstacle to his happiness and progress. Could it be possible?
"What if she were to die?"
This phrase moved through his mind like a cool and comforting breeze on a parched and fevered
skin. Ah, yes, if she would only die. That would be the best possible solution of the stubborn
problem. And it naturally prepared the way for the next thought.
"Suppose I were to kill her?"
But a chill of terror swept over him as he realized whither his ideas were leading him.
"But suppose I were to do it; how could it best be done?"
Yes, he reflected, how could she be despatched so that there would be no clue or trace by which the
crime could be fastened upon its author? Poison would not do, and a shot would be worse. It might
be possible to take her out for a good time, and lure her to some lonely place where, by apparent
accident, she could be pitched into the sea. That was feasible, but the objection was that he never had
taken her out for a good time and it would be difficult to arrange such a matter at this late day.
The devil! When a man wanted to wipe out a discreditable past and achieve the heights of honor
and fame, it did seem as if matters ought to be made a little simpler for him.273
So he stood, holding the candle and never removing his eyes from Bertoleza, who continued to lie
immovable with her face hidden within her arm. But wouldn't there be any way of doing it right
there? And he took a couple of steps toward the bed, his gaze still fixed upon the motionless form.
With a sudden movement the negress sat bolt upright, and stared at him with eyes in which there
was no evidence of drowsiness.
"Ah," he exclaimed, catching his breath.
"What do you want, Mr. João?" she asked.
"Nothing. I just looked in to see how you are-came just this second. How are you feeling? I hope
the pain in your side has stopped."
She shrugged her shoulders without answering. There was a moment of embarrassed silence
between them, after which, João Romão not being able to think of anything further to say, he turned
and left, accompanied by the steady gaze of the black woman, a gaze which he could feel upon his
back.
Could she have suspected, he asked himself as he ascended the stairs. But what? What was there to
suspect?

272
p287
273
p288

108
 So he climbed into bed, resolved to think no more about the matter, but to go to sleep immediately.
But his mind rebelled and sleep would not come, while, like sharp nails driven into his brain, he
continued making resolutions concerning Bertoleza and what must be done to efface her.
He must get rid of her-the sooner the better, and one way or another it would be done. She had
not274 spoken a word about herself and her future, but Dona Estella was about to name the date of the
marriage, and he did not want Bertoleza in evidence when inquiring and interested eyes were turned
upon the accepted suitor of the Baron's daughter. If she were still there in his house, he could
imagine how the choice bit of gossip would be bandied about and he would have to face not only the
wrath of the negress herself, but the covert smiles and comments of new friends and acquaintances.
"Just imagine, he's got a negress in the house with him, has had her for years, and now he's getting
ready to marry one of the nicest girls in town.-He's surely a specimen, that fellow.-It only goes to
show that you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.-This new capitalist is wonderfully dressed if
it were not for the black patch on the seat of his pants-Monday, Wednesday, Friday-white; Tuesday,
Thursday, Saturday-black; they'll cut the cards for him Sundays.I hope they'll be able to live like
sisters, in peace and harmony."
And the vender buried his head in the pillow as he pictured the avalanche of talk that was sure to be
loosed. Miranda's family were thoroughly informed regarding Bertoleza, of that he was sure. Izaura
and Leonor certainly had attended to so delightful a duty, even if it had not been apparent to the
members of the family themselves. And they had spoken no word, depending on his discretion and
good sense to have Bertoleza entirely out of the way before the coming marriage became public
property. But he had done nothing; he had waited and waited, dreaded and postponed, just275 like a
coward. Well, that phase of it was ended. Immediate action would be taken and their anxiety
relieved. A great light broke over him-so this was why Dona Estella talked about marking the date
and still did not settle the matter. She was delicately waiting for him to remove this one last obstacle,
and he had been so dense, such a stupid fool, that he never had realized her purpose.
If he had gotten rid of her long ago, when he first tired of her, nobody would have suspected
anything. It would not have seemed reasonable that a man would make an end of a poor woman with
whom he had lived in peace and harmony many years, and who was his right hand in running his
business. But now, if Bertoleza were suddenly to pass to the other world, the clammy finger of
suspicion would point straight at him. The circumstance of their separate sleeping quarters and the
whispers of his coming marriage would offer too logical a motive for his participation in such a
crime.
So, at four o'clock he still had not slept a wink and could only toss about and wonder how
Bertoleza might be made to step off the stage and end his torment. And at seven o'clock he was
awakened from his tardy slumber by a tumult in the courtyard. There had been a disaster at the
quarry.
Machona was washing at her tub, shouting and arguing as usual, when two laborers, followed by a
group of the curious, carried into the courtyard a plank upon which had been placed the crushed and
bleeding body of her son. Augusto had gone, as was his daily custom, to play at the quarry with two
other boys of about the276 same age, and in a dare-devil spirit had climbed to a point almost at the
brow of the cliff, from which he had fallen and met a horrible death on the rough stones below.
The body was little more than a red mass of dripping flesh and broken bones, and its ghastly
appearance threw the tenement into a turmoil, the women weeping and crossing themselves and the
children crowding about in awed silence.
Albino, who was washing at the tub beside Machona's, promptly fainted; while Nenem, who was
very fond of her brother, went from one fit into another. Das Dores cursed the laborers collectively
for allowing a young boy to undergo such peril under their very noses. The mother emitted one wail

274
p289
275
p290
276
p291

109
 of despair and fell at the side of the bruised body, which she kissed repeatedly, whimpering like a
child. It was difficult to recognize in her the wild, noisy Machona whom all feared when her temper
was aroused.
The mothers of the other two youngsters were awaiting the return of their offspring, livid with rage,
and as the pair of unfortunates appeared they were fallen upon, not with tears, but with the most
thorough thrashing ever visited upon either of them.
"Look there at poor Augusto, you imp of Satan!" cried one wrathful mother, as she held her son by
the neck and plied her slipper. "He was not the one to be taken-it should have been you. He was of
some help to his mother and earned two milreis every month by weeding the Baron's garden, but you
can only play about and cause trouble. So take that, and that, and that!"277
Upon hearing the commotion below, João Romão appeared on his veranda, still in pajamas, to
learn what had happened. Contrary to his usual indifference to the misfortunes of others, he was
moved by the untimely and tragic taking off of the child.
"Poor kid, so young and such a live one-and his living on would not have injured anybody. Pity it
couldn't have been that old devil of a Bertoleza, who hangs on to life only to poison the happiness of
others."
The stocky negress stepped out at that moment to see what was causing all the racket and he
noticed with discouragement that she seemed to be in excellent physical health, despite her air of
despondency. Her short, thick legs moved with precision, and thence upward to the compact roll of
her kinky wool, in which not one white strand was to be seen, she gave the general impression of
solid construction, built for service.
"God," he murmured, "she's good for a century yet.
"But even so, I'll send her on her way and the job'll be done neat and clean," he assured himself, as
he dressed.
But as he was completing this operation, a familiar knock was heard at his door, followed by
Botelho's husky voice.
"What, still between the sheets?"
The vender bade him enter and make himself at home; They discussed the tragic event of the
morning and João Romão complained of headache, adding that he could not imagine what was the
matter with him that made it impossible for him to sleep before daylight.278
"The heat, probably," suggested the old man, as he lighted a cigaret. "But I've come to talk to you;
you mustn't be annoyed, but-"
João Romão supposed that the parasite had come to ask for money, and started his defense by
breaking in upon the other with the observation that business was going bad for him, but ceased
when Botelho continued, his eyes fixed on the tips of his fingers.
"Don't talk of business affairs now; this is a matter that concerns you privately and one that other
people ought not to meddle with, but-"
The vender more or less guessed what Botelho wanted to introduce, and felt that it would be a
relief to discuss it with somebody, so he urged the old man to speak freely and without
embarrassment.
"Well, it's about-you know that I have been helping along your marriage with Zulmira, as you
asked me to do, and there at Miranda's they talk about nothing else and they are all much pleased
with it, but-"
"Come out with it, man."
"There's one point that ought to be cleared up-an insignificant matter, but still-"
"Good God, man, why don't you come to the point and tell me what it's all about! "
At this moment one of the clerks tapped at the door to announce that breakfast was ready.
"Come and join me," urged the vender. "I'll send over word that they're not to wait for you."

277
p292
278
p293

110
 So, availing himself of the comfort of eating without a coat, João Romão conducted his friend to
the dining room, which still gave off an unsociable odor of fresh279 varnish, while everything in the
room was so painfully new it gave one the feeling that the furnishings were for sale and that nobody
lived there.
"Now, come on and let's hear what it is you came to tell me," invited the vender, as he seated
himself at the end of the table and motioned his guest into a chair at his right.
"It's this," began the visitor in a mysterious tone. "They say that you are living with a woman-a
negress. Of course, I don't believe it, but I thought you ought to know that people are saying these
things."
"Well, what else?"
"Of course, it's reached our house, too. Miranda defends you and insists that it can't be true-I tell
you, there is a whole-souled, generous man. But Dona Estella-well, you know how women are-she
turns up her nose at his denials, and-well, to put it in a word, I'm afraid that unless you do something
to stop this talk, there may be a smash-up."
He paused a moment because there had entered a boy with a platter of stewed beef with potatoes.
João Romão made no reply, and after the servant's departure he remained abstracted, tapping his
teeth with his knife.
"Why don't you send her off?" finally ventured Botelho, as he poured wine into his glass and that
of his host.
Even this question brought no immediate response, but after a moment João Romão seemed to
form a resolution, and leaned forward to whisper confidentially to the old man.280
"l'm going to tell you something, and it may be that you can help me out of this fix."
After looking about on all sides, he hitched his chair closer to that of his visitor, and then began in
a low voice:
"This woman went to living with me when I first started in business. At that time, I admit, I needed
somebody like her to help me along-and she did help me a lot, that I don't deny. She did a lot of
work."
"And afterward?"
"Well, she was used to staying here and so she kept on staying; and she was used to running the
kitchen, so she kept on running it; and she never wanted to leave and I had no very good reason for
packing her off, so she's still here, and she is-"
"She's the rotten peach that's going to spoil the pie," declared the old man with conviction.
"Yes, she is an embarrassment, now that I am going to get married. But what the devil can I do?
You see that I can't throw her out into the street, don't you? That would be ungrateful, it seems to me,
and then she would surely raise a row."
"Does she know what you are planning to do?"
"She must suspect something, because she's no fool. So far as I am concerned, I haven't told her
anything."
"But are you still living with her?" asked the old man, eying the vender fixedly.
"Of course not. Not for a long time."
"Well then, it's perfectly simple. Set her up in a good business that will support her in another part
of town, give her some money, wish her good luck, and281 everything's fixed. An aching tooth should
always be pulled out."
What João Romão intended to respond to this suggestion will never be known, for at that instant
the door opened and Bertoleza entered-entered so transformed that it was with difficulty the two men
recognized her. She was so livid, with her eyes starting from her head and her whole body trembling

279
p294
280
p295
281
p296

111
 with excitement, that the two men fairly cowered in their places. As soon as she spoke, flakes of
foam could be seen in the corners of her mouth.
"You are much mistaken, Mr. João, if you think you are going to toss me aside. I am a negress,
that's true, but I have feelings. Who eats my flesh must also gnaw the bones. No other creature would
have stayed at your side, year after year, wearing out herself working for you, with never a day of
rest since she joined her fortunes to yours. Who else would slave for you from daylight till dark, and
then, when her years of activity were nearing their end, would consent to be pitched out into the
street like a dead cat? No, Mr. João, it's not going to be like that in this case."
"Good heavens, my girl, who on earth ever told you that I have thought of turning you out?"
inquired the capitalist, catching his breath.
"I listened to what you two were saying, Mr. João. I'm not so blind as you think. You are slick, but
so am I. You are getting ready to marry Miranda's girl."
"Yes, I am. Naturally, some day or other I must think about marriage. I don't want to be a bachelor
always, for I don't like the wild life that most single men282 lead. So, of course, I want to get married.
But I don't intend to put you out in the street, as you say I do. Just this minute I was talking to Mr.
Botelho about fixing up some sort of a little business for you, and-"
"No. I began with that kind of a business, and I'm through with it. I need rest, too. It was for a quiet
and peaceful old age that I have slaved and toiled with all of the strength God gave me."
"Well, for heaven's sake, tell me exactly what you want."
"Just this. I want to stay here at your side. I want to enjoy the fruit of the labor we have performed
here together. I want my part, just as you have yours. I insist upon my right here as being just as
good as yours."
"But don't you see that this is impossible? Don't you know yourself? I esteem you highly, my girl,
but I am going to arrange matters for you according to my judgment, and in the way that I know to
be best for you. I am not going to attempt some foolish and insane arrangement, just because you
think you want it, Rest you shall have, and you shall never want for anything. But for us to continue
to live together-that's so absurd that it's funny. Strange you haven't suggested that we marry."
"Oh, yes, now you can ridicule me-now that I am not necessary to you any longer. But back in the
days when you did need me, then my black body did very nicely for you, and you built your fortune
on the sweat of my labor. Then the negress served for every purpose, kisses and all, but now she's of
no further use, so she can be thrown out on the dunghill. No, Mr. João,283 God does not run the world
that way. Even the old dog is allowed to lie around in the sun when his hunting days are over, and
my right to a place in the house built by my toil is not going to be denied me. You want to marry?
All right. But wait until I have closed my eyes. Don't be an ingrate."
João Romão arose from the table in wrath and stalked out of the room, after hurling an insulting
epithet at the obstinate Bertoleza.
"Not worth while making her any worse," soothed old Botelho, as he followed the angry vender
into his bedroom, where he jammed his hat on his head and struggled into his coat.
"I can't stand listening to her complaints any longer. I've got to get out of here and get my breath! "
declared Bertoleza's man, with clenched fists.
"Keep calm-don't get excited," advised his visitor. "If she doesn't want to go peaceably, she'll go
otherwise, I'm telling you," continued the vender. And he rushed down the stairs, followed by feeble
Botelho, who threatened to be left behind. At the corner the vender stopped a moment and turned his
flaming eye toward his companion.
"Well, you saw?" he inquired.
"Yes, I saw," replied the old rascal, not lifting his head.
Then they walked at a slower pace, both silent, and each occupied with his own thoughts.

282
p297
283
p298

112
 After a time Botelho inquired if Bertoleza was a slave when João Romão took charge of her. The
question gave the vender a brilliant inspiration. He had284 been thinking of having her interned in the
Pedro II Asylum, as mentally deranged, but now a still better plan suggested itself. Why not turn her
back to her master-restore her legally to slavery? It wouldn't be difficult, he considered. All that
would be necessary was to notify her owner where she could be found and let him go with the police
and seize her. So, he responded to Botelho, resolved to ask the old villain's opinion of his idea.
"She was, and for that matter, still is."
"Oh, she is a slave? I suppose you own her?"
"No, a family called Freitas de Mello-first name I've forgotten. They live out in the country some
place. I have a memorandum about them at home. She gave them the slip and they lost track of her."
"Well, then the case is simple. Just send her back to her master."
"But suppose she won't go?"
"Won't go? That's good. How's she going to help herself, if the police take her?"
"But she'll insist on buying her liberty."
"Well, let her buy it if the owner's willing, and she's got the money. You have nothing to do with
that. Then, if she comes back, don't let her in, and if she annoys you, you can complain to the
authorities. Ah, my friend, these things should be done thoroughly, or else not be done at all. After
the way she talked to you there at the table, you ought to understand that there's no use trying to be
kind to her and make things easy for her. It's plain that she feels no gratitude for all you have done
for her these many years. It's not just285 that you are getting married-she's a dangerous woman to
have about, and you ought to get rid of her."
João Romão listened, walking along in silence and without further evidence of agitation. They had
now reached the sea front.
"Do you want to undertake this business?" he asked, as they awaited the tram for the city. "If you
do, I am willing to offer you a reward for your trouble-"
"How much?" demanded Botelho, his faded eyes lighting up.
"A hundred milreis."
"No, you'll have to double it."
"All right, two hundred."
"Agreed. I'II come over and get the data you have regarding her and the people that own her, and
the next thing you know, you'll be rid of her."
"Good. I'll have it ready for you this evening."
"Leave it to me," repeated the old villain. "You can consider yourself free, so far as she is
concerned."286

CHAPTER TWENTY

From this time, Bertoleza seemed even more despondent and gloomy than before, muttering to
herself and never exchanging a word with her man unless the exigencies of the work rendered it
unavoidable. There had grown between them an abyss of suspicion that left both constrained and
embarrassed when circumstances threw them together. The poor woman lived in perpetual terror,
full of apprehensions, positive that sooner or later she would be assassinated. She ate only what she,
herself, prepared, and a quick step behind her threw her into a spasm of fear. At night she locked her
door and tied the key to her wrist, and the slightest noise outside brought her bolt upright, quaking
with nervousness and ready to shriek for help.
But in spite of her mental agitation, her physical being continued well as ever, and the business
prospered in its customary fashion. The demand for the product of her kitchen kept her busy, and it

284
p299
285
p300
286
p301

113
 never occurred to her that her quarrel with the proprietor offered any excuse for lessening her own
effort.
Daily there were bales and bales of goods from the custom-house unloaded at the door of João
Romão's establishment, while barrel after barrel of wine.rolled in at the wide door of the storehouse.
For João Romão had devoted himself to the building up of a wholesale business and this had grown
until his annual turnover was astonishing. And his staff was a marvel when compared to the old days
when Domingos and Manoel in287 the store and João Romão and one waiter in the restaurant sufficed
to serve his trade. Now there was an army of employees, a complicated personnel of various kinds of
clerks, two bookkeepers, a treasurer and a buyer, a customs broker, and a number of correspondents
who sent out of João Romão's office hundreds of letters in various languages. On a buffet was ever
spread an appetizing lunch of ham and various kinds of cheese, with everything to drink imaginable.
Here were effected transactions involving fortunes; bids for staggering contracts with the
government were determined; loans to corporations were decided, and the purchase and sale of
stocks and bonds occurred daily and excited no comment. Here came everybody-big and little
capitalists procuring investments or begging a loan; exchange brokers seeking the ear of João
Romão, while his subordinates treated with government employees who offered orders for delayed
salaries in exchange for ready money; theatrical managers and publishers of newspapers sought
short-time loans to tide them over a threatened crisis; widows called to discount their pensions;
students were paid their allowances by request of their fathers, out-of-town customers of João
Romão; the quarry foreman and other heads of his various enterprises presented their pay-rolls for
cash for their men. Lawyers were numerous, and other birds of passage called, each with some
special scheme in which to interest the capitalist, usually armed with a brief-case and with a cigaret
hanging over an unshaven chin. Yes, ruly, João Romão had become a man of affairs, a288 power in
the community, one of the financial rocks upon which the city's prosperity rested.
And as his commercial enterprises prospered, so did his tenement thrive. No longer was it possible
for any passer-by to enter and become a tenant. No indeed. Now it was necessary to furnish a
reference and a bond. Rents had risen and many of the poorer families had moved out. There were
fewer laundresses, and São Romão now was populated by commercial employees, students, small
merchants and the like. The tenement was growing more aristocratic.
A number of artisans had installed their business establishments on the ground floor. For instance,
in one of the sections closest to the street was a tailor, a man of serious mien with white sideburns,
who ran his machine between two journeymen and was also assisted by his wife, the latter a native
of Lisbon, the color of a beet and very well developed. She had a respectable mustache and the
beginnings of a beard, and was most circumspect.
Next door was a watchmaker, a little man with a bald head, who looked like a mummy as he
worked for hours humped over his table with a black-cased glass screwed into his eye. And still
farther along was a sign-painter who gave the passing public a sample of his skill, for he had painted
a climbing vine about his window with so much art that the admiring neighbors pronounced it more
convincing than a real vine, their enthusiasm being fired especially by the birds of brilliant plumage
that precariously balanced themselves on the slender twigs. And a cigar-maker had rented no less289
than three sections where he installed his business, assisted by his four daughters and two sons.
Florinda, who had now formed an alliance with a railroad employee, returned to São Romão and
became noted for the neatness of her little home. She was in mourning for old Marcianna, who had
died in the asylum. On Sunday her man liked to invite in some of his friends for dinner, and
afterward they had music and dancing, which carried Florinda back to the old days when Rita
Bahiana arranged such affairs for the neighbors. But now these gatherings were held indoors, as the

287
p302
288
p303
289
p304

114
 new air of austerity that had been taken on by the avenida could not countenance such entertainments
in the open.
Machona had lost much of her old-time spirit, and since the death of Augusto seemed broken and
weary and much less inclined to shout. Her house was visited by a group of eager young men, all of
them evidently intent on becoming her son-in-law, for Nenem had grown into a beautiful young
woman and her fear of being left an old maid had vanished. Alexandre had been promoted to the
rank of sergeant and appeared even more imposing in his uniform, with boots polished until they
fairly blinded his neighbors. Augusta continued on as ever, always with a tiny creature in her arms,
or else about to produce one. Leonie visited her friends occasionally, usually creating a sensation
with some startling innovation in the matter of dress. One Saturday afternoon she threw the tenement
into a fever of excitement by bringing with her none other than Pombinha, who also had joined the
scarlet sisterhood290 whose kisses wear price tags, and who now lived in the same house with Leonie,
her counselor and guide in embarking upon her new career.
Poor Pombinha! A short experience in wedded bliss had convinced her that she could not endure
her husband. For a time she struggled to reconcile herself to existence with a man without
imagination and without ideals. She listened with feigned interest to his banal and monotonous
recitals of what this one had said down at the office and what that one had replied; why so-andso's
account seemed impossible to collect, and all the rest of the petty affairs that made up his world. She
heeded his tearful complaints when he became jealous, and attended him with devotion when he fell
ill. She tried to conform to his tastes and to interest herself in what he liked. She attempted to put out
of her heart her love for music, for art, for books and for everything else that was beautiful and that
tended to draw her away from the sordid soul of João da Costa. She tried to convince herself that she
was interested in what he said, what he earned, how he got on, and all the rest of the cramped
workings of his narrow mind. But suddenly she was thrown into contact with a libertine of talent, a
poet who was also a gambler and a confidence man, and her fall was hard and swift. The plodding
husband suspected nothing for a time, but his mistrust once aroused, he followed her on one of her
mysterious errands and caught her in So hopelessly compromising a situation that he could no longer
doubt that he had been betrayed. This time it was not with the poet, but with an actor who had wrung
tears of emotion from291 Pombinha's pretty eyes as he depicted the sufferings of a wronged husband
in a play at the Theatre Apollo. From sympathy for the character to love for its protagonist was a
simple transition, and the inevitable followed. When she was convinced of her unfaithfulness, da
Costa renounced his wife, in spite of his great love for her, and turned her over to Dona Isabel, after
which he fled to São Paulo, where his firm had a branch of its business.
Poor old Isabel, who had known of her daughter's deviations from the narrow path long before the
young husband made his doleful discovery, was overwhelmed with grief and humiliation, and with
many tears begged the wayward Pombinha to repent and put aside frivolity. Then the old soul wrote
to her son-in-law, asking him to reconcile himself with his wife, promising that she would answer for
Pombinha's conduct in the future. But the young man did not reply to the letter, and shortly afterward
Pombinha disappeared from her mother's house. Dona Isabel nearly died of heartbreak. Where could
the child have gone? She searched everywhere, but only when many days had passed did she finally
discover that her daughter was living with Leonie -the serpent had conquered at last, and the
tenement flower was in full bloom.
The poor woman mourned her child as one dead, but she was too old to work and years of toil had
broken her health, so with tears of shame she came to accept the money Pombinha sent her. And
from that time on her daughter continued to be the sole support of Isabel's old age, though bitter was
the bread bought with prostitution’s wage. And as the human heart longs for the companionship of
the best loved fellow-being, eventually Isabel took up her residence in the same house with her
daughter. But she never appeared in the salon when callers were present, and if outsiders did surprise

290
p305
291
p306

115
 her hiding in her corner she pretended to be a servant, so great was her humiliation at being found in
such surroundings.
What most grieved her, and what she never could witness without a quiver of the heart, was
Pombinha's habit of drinking herself into a frenzy of glee with champagne, and then, at the close of
dinner, in the presence of all, throwing herself into some man's lap, to hug and kiss him with an
abandon that chilled the blood of virtuous old Isabel. She always wept to see her daughter drunk, for
she knew that at such moments the girl's excesses knew no bounds. And the insane orgies that took
place in the house so weighed on the mother's spirit that she sickened and had to be taken to a private
infirmary where, after a lingering illness, the poor old creature mercifully was allowed to die.
So now the two cocottes, inseparable friends, welded into a terrible solidarity that nothing could
break, making them a species of two-headed serpent, dominated high and low in Rio de Janeiro.
They were seen wherever there was pleasure and wherever there were men. They walked in Ouvidor;
in the afternoon their open carriage traversed Cattete with Juju between them; at night they occupied
the most conspicuous box at some theater, to be visited by decrepit old counselors and292 other men
high in political life, later betaking themselves to private rooms in quiet hotels where they
entertained fat, rich planters visiting the metropolis to sell their crops and spend their money-money
easily won by slave labor and lavished on sirens such as Leonie and Pombinha.
With only three months of experience in the business of marketing commercialized love, Pombinha
was the acknowledged equal of her teacher. None could excel her in extracting the last cent her
victim carried and no other in all Cattete was so skilled in the difficult art of pleasing an exacting
patron. Secrets of the profession that others acquired by a long and painstaking apprenticeship
seemed fairly to leap at her. It was a case of an unhappily vivid intelligence prepared by years of
observation of all types of human nature in an environment where emotions seldom are suppressed-
the tenement tree had borne its fruit.
But there in São Romão she was still adored as in her girlhood, by the old and faithful friends
whose letters she had written and whose secrets she had shared. When she and Leonie accompanied
Juju home on a visit, Augusta's door would be crowded by an admiring throng, as in bygone times.
Pombinha was most liberal in helping such of her old friends as had fallen on evil ways. Chief
among these was the wife of Jeronymo, whose daughter was her special pet, and who now filled in
the tenement the niche that once had been Pombinha's own. Indeed, Pombinha lavished upon little
Senhorina a devotion that rivaled the old preference Leonie had shown293 for herself. The chain was
ever extending itself and the same influences were at work in the tenement. The poor unprotected
daughter of Jeronymo was being silently prepared to take her place at the side of Leonie and
Pombinha when her hour arrived.
It was Pombinha's generosity that provided food and shelter for the luckless Senhorina and her
drunken mother, for Piedade had reached such a level that nobody longer entrusted work to her. She
had lost every vestige of pride, and her addiction to drink was such that she threw herself into the
arms of any ruffian who appeared at her door with a bottle of paraty. This might happen once or half
a dozen times in a night. She awoke weary, ill and despondent the following day, but a little of the
marvelous liquor restored her good spirits and her sense of well-being.
She was so undesirable a tenant that João Romão's agent three times had given her notice to vacate
her section, but always her own pleas, reinforced by those of the pitying neighbors, had gained a
respite, that she might find another place to live. On the day following Pombinha's last visit, she
finally had been dispossessed, but with the money just given her she was able to seek refuge in the
Cathead community, which now had sunk to the lowest depths of degradation, and there she found
others as miserable as herself.
For as São Romão had risen and progressed, so had the Cathead continued to decline, seemingly
eager to conserve for itself the characteristics of the lowest type of hovel where humans are

292
p308
293
p309

116
 sheltered. Here the samba at night was followed by the traditional fight for the294 most sensual
dancer. Here victims were done for, but no assassins ever discovered. On floors reeking with filth
and infested with vermin, brothers and sisters lay in disgusting proximity. Here the dregs of
humanity existed and multiplied amidst the dirt and disease that surrounded them.295

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

At the entrance to a tea-room in Rua Ouvidor stood João Romão, awaiting the Miranda family who
were downtown shopping that afternoon. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit of gray cashmere
and felt that he looked very well.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon and the narrow street was thronged. The day was magnificent,
with a brilliant sun and yet a freshness in the air that invited exercise. Patrons leisurely passed in and
out of Pascoal's; fashionable youths puffed their cigarets and awaited an opportunity to address a
word to their namoradas; groups of ladies in silk gowns en joyed light repasts with wine from
Oporto. The crowd breathed an air of quiet opulence with the subdued hum of wellbred
conversation. Discreet flirtations were carried on by means of the numerous mirrors, and at the bar
were men refreshing themselves while others munched the French pastry for which the establishment
was famed. The more sedate were scanning the pages of an early afternoon newspaper, and clerks
were on the jump wrapping up delicacies in colored paper, leaving a loop in the cord by which the
parcel might dangle from the purchaser's finger. In the rear, at one side, was the catering department,
where might be seen miracles of the confectioner's art, ready for a banquet to be given that night,to
some group of the city's elite.
As the hour wore on, numerous functionaries from adjacent government offices dropped in for their
after296 noon vermouth and various reporters from a half dozen journals hovered about, eager to
overhear a bit of political gossip. But João Romão never forsook his post by the entrance, leaning on
a tightly-rolled umbrella with a marble handle. He acknowledged the smiling salutes of numerous
groups who passed, and now and then one stopped a moment to chat. He was amiable and gracious,
and he betrayed no impatience other than an occasional glance at his heavy gold watch, whose case
opened and closed with an impressive click.
The family of the Baron de Freixal appeared at last. Zulmira walked a trifle in advance, dressed in
a most becoming gown of pongee, very elegant in her nervous, pallid fashion. Then followed Dona
Estella, all in black, grave and severe, the dignified matron of unassailable virtue. Miranda wore a
frock coat with a tiny ribbon on his breast, a silk hat, patent leather footgear, and a collar that would
have risen higher except that his chin was in the way. At sight of João Romão he smiled cordially as
did Zulmira, but Dona Estella was guilty of nothing so frivolous and carried herself with the air of
one who attached no importance to any individual whatsoever outside her own tightly-laced stays.
The prospective son-in-law and future Viscount rushed forward to meet them, solicitous for their
comfort, and conducted them to a table where he was most insistent that they allow him to offer
them refreshment. After consulting with Dona Estella, João Romão ordered sandwiches and
muscatel, but Zulmira preferred an ice and a liqueur. And only the daughter of the household
appeared to have anything to say. She chat-297 tered brightly and the others listened. Finally, when
she attacked her ice, Miranda eyed the ceiling and commented on the re-decoration of the
establishment. Dona Estella politely asked João Romão what he thought of the new opera company,
which caused him much embarrassment, but he finally found courage to remark that the one who
sang Lucia looked fearfully fat, especially in her nightgown.

294
p310
295
p311
296
p312
297
p313

117
 Happily, at this moment Botelho arrived, bubbling over with excitement. There had been a tragedy
at a barracks near the city, an encounter between an officer and a subordinate. The officer had
insulted a sergeant and the latter had replied with a blow, whereupon the officer ran the other
through with his sword. And very properly, ruled Botelho, who added that in matters of discipline he
believed in inflexible severity. A sergeant capable of lifting his hand against his superior most
certainly deserved to be cut down. The old man's eyes glowed with enthusiasm and he listened
eagerly while Miranda cited an analogous incident that had happened twenty years before. Then
followed an interminable series from the storehouse of Botelho's memory, but the others wearied and
seized a moment's pause to rise and depart.
João Romão offered his arm to Zulmira and the Baron escorted his wife. They strolled slowly on
through Ouvidor to São Francisco Square, where the Baron urged João Romão to accept a place in
his carriage, but the vender declined, not yet being ready to leave the city.298
As the carriage rolled away, Botelho plucked his arm.
"Well, it's all fixed; the man goes after her to-day."
"Yes, to-day? " repeated João Romão with interest, pausing to hear further details. "Thank heaven;
seems to me it's about time! "
"About time?" replied Botelho in an injured tone. "You don't realize how I have sweat over this
affair. It was an awful job."
"But think how long it has taken you-it seems years ago that we talked this matter over."
"But what could I do? I couldn't get hold of the man-he was away. I wrote and wrote, and only a
couple of days ago did I finally reach him. Then I went to the police station twice, and again to-day;
and it's finally fixed that they go after her this afternoon. But you ought to be there to give her up,
because the police may not care to take her in your absence without your consent."
"But that's just what I want to avoid. I want it to appear that it happened when I was away and
didn't know anything about it."
"But to whom will they apply when they get there? Who can give her up but you? I know it's
embarrassing, but you ought to see it through."
"You might be there to represent me."
"Oh, hell! That would be worse yet. Then it would be perfectly clear that it's a cooked-up job. No,
you must be at home and you must be taken by surprise. That's the way to do it, and now that you
have started in, you ought to go on with it. The men will arrive and299 demand the slave in the name
of the law. There is nothing you can do, no matter how much you hate it, but give her up to her
rightful master. Then you will be rid of her, and after that you won't have to see her mooning around,
nor listen to her whining complaints."
"Yes but-"
"Oh, I know. She'll yell and take on, but you must be prepared for that. There is nothing you can do
but give her up-you're not the one that made her black."
"All right, let's go out there. It must be time."
"What time is it?"
"Half-past three."
"Yes, we'd better be moving."
They retraced their steps down Ouvidor to take the tram at Goncalves Dias. The São Clemente car
was not yet due, and Botelho wanted a drink of water while they waited, but once inside the cafe he
changed his mind and took cognac.
"You really don't have to say a word," he counseled. "All you need to do is to act as though it is
nothing that concerns you."
"But suppose her owner wants me to pay wages for all the time she has been there with me?" asked
João Romão, his face clouding.

298
p314
299
p315

118
 "But, my son, how can he do that when you never hired her from anybody? You didn't know she
was a slave when she came along and wanted a place to work for her board. You supposed she was
free, naturally. Now that her owner appears and claims her, you give her up to him, because you are
an honest man and would not think of trying to keep what belongs to another.300 Of course, she may
claim wages for her work, and you can give her something to take with her, just to show that you are
generous and want her to feel well treated."
"How much ought I to give her?"
"Oh, five hundred milreis, to do the thing handsomely."
"All right, I'll give her that much."
"Then it's all fixed. There will be no further difficulty. You'll see how relieved the Mirandas will
be."
The São Clemente tram arrived and they joined in the scramble for seats, but because of the
crowded condition of the car they were separated and could not converse on the way to Botafogo. At
Carioca Square they passed a luxurious open carriage, and Botelho looked back at the vender with a
significant laugh. Within the carriage was Pombinha, covered with jewels, and at her side Henrique,
both extremely gay and evidently out for a good time. The young man was now in his fourth year at
medical college and had broken loose from the restraint of Miranda's household, to live among other
sons of the rich and take his part in the wild night-life of the capital.
On their arrival home, João Romão insisted that his elderly companion enter and rest a moment in
his office. The former needed moral support and the latter's malicious nature made him anxious to
miss none of the details of the contemptible farce that was about to be enacted.
A clerk entered and respectfully asked several quesons regarding business matters, the proprietor's
replies being brief and curt, as becomes a great capitalist.301 Then in his turn, he inquired if anything
important had transpired during his absence. The answer being negative, he took Botelho's arm and
led him toward the stairs, suggesting that the old parasite remain for dinner, as it was already half-
past four. Little urging was required; the old man was quite accustomed to meals at the vender's
table. The dinner proved a dismal affair, both being keyed to a nervous pitch, and the soup had
hardly been taken away before João Romão was clamoring for his dessert. They were sipping their
coffee when an employee entered to inform the proprietor that he was wanted below by a gentleman
accompanied by two policemen.
"I'll be right down," he announced, the cup rattling on its saucer. He met the eyes of his companion,
and no words were necessary. Both hurried down the stairs.
"Who wants to see me?" inquired João Romão innocently, entering the store.
A tall man stepped forward, obviously from the country, and handed him a sheet of paper. This the
vender read slowly, with a trembling hand. A silence had fallen upon the place, the clerks pausing in
their duties through curiosity regarding the presence of the police.
"Yes, it's true that she's here," he finally stated, returning the paper to the stranger. "But I supposed
that she was free."
"No, she is my slave," affirmed the other. " Are you willing to give her up?"
"But, immediately?" questioned the vender.
"Where is she?" asked the other, suspiciously.302
"She ought to be in the kitchen. You may enter if you like-"
The stranger motioned the two policemen to follow him and they proceeded to the rear of the
building, Botelho indicating the way. João Romão followed, very pale and his hands clasped
nervously at his back. They crossed the store, entered a short corridor, and then traversed a little
paved patio, opposite which was the kitchen. Bertoleza, having sent up the dinner for her man, was
preparing that of the clerks, and they found her squatting on the floor, cleaning the fish to be fried.

300
p316
301
p317
302
p318

119
 She immediately recognized the elder son of her old master and a chill gripped her heart. Then a
great wave of understanding swept over her and all was plain to her before a word had been spoken.
She realized that she was lost, that her freedom was a cruel farce, and that since her lover had not the
courage to kill her, he had resolved to send her back into captivity.
Her first impulse was to flee, but they stood between her and the door, and escape was cut off. The
stranger advanced and took her by the shoulder.
"This is the one," he remarked to the guards, who motioned her to rise. "Take her along-she's my
slave."
The negress remained immovable, one hand braced upon the floor, and the other clutching the
long, sharp knife she used in her work. The police, seeing that she made no effort to rise, stepped
forward to drag her with them. The woman's eyes flashed as she leaped to her feet with a sudden
resolution. The practiced hand that had slit open a million fish did not fail her. Jerking303 aside her
flimsy shirt, she made a quick movement with the long knife, and ripped her abdomen from side to
side. She sank to the floor without a groan, her glittering eyes fixed upon the ashen face of João
Romão.
The vender had fled to the darkest corner of his office and there sat alone, his trembling hands
mopping the cold sweat that stood on his forehead. A carriage arrived in front and three gentlemen in
frock coats and silk hats alighted. A clerk approached to advise his employer that there were callers,
and a husky voice directed that they be shown to the salon upstairs.
He pulled himself together and went up to receive his visitors. It was a committee which had come
to present to him his certificate as a life member of the Society for the Abolition of Human Slavery.

THE END304

303
p319
304
p320

120