Quincas Borba (Library of Latin America) by Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis Page A

who’d paid scant attention to him before, mostly the ones who’d laughed at his friendship with Quincas Borba. But immediately after came the image of Rio de Janeiro, which he knew, with its enchantment, movement, theaters everywhere, pretty girls dressed in the latest French fashions. He decided it was better. He would come back up to his hometown many, many times.

XVI
     
    “Q uineas Borba! Quincas Borba! Hey!” he shouted as he went into the house.
    No dog to be seen. Only then did he remember having sent him to Angélica. He ran to the woman’s house, which was quite distant. Along the way all kinds of ugly ideas came to him, some extraordinary. One ugly idea was that the dog had run away. Another extraordinary one was that some enemy, aware of theclause and the gift, had gone to deal with the woman, stolen the dog, and hidden or killed it. In that case the inheritance . . . A cloud passed over his eyes. Then he began to see more clearly.
    I’m not familiar with legal matters,” he thought, “but it seems to me that I’m not involved. The clause supposes the dog to be alive or at home. But if he runs away or dies there’s no reason to invent a dog. Therefore the original intent… But my enemies are capable of chicanery. If the clause isn’t fulfilled …”
    Here our friend’s brow and the palms of his hands became damp. Another cloud came over his eyes. And his heart was beating rapidly, rapidly. The clause was beginning to seem outlandish to him. Rubião grasped at his saints, promised masses, ten masses … But there was the woman’s house. Rubião picked up his pace. He saw someone, was it she? It was, it was she, leaning against the door and laughing.
    “What kind of a figure is that you’re cutting, old friend? Have you gone crazy, waving your arms around?”

XVII
     
    “W here’s the dog, friend?” Rubião asked, apparently in different but very pale.
    “Come in and have a seat,” she answered. “What dog?”
    “What dog?” Rubião replied, getting paler and paler. “The one I sent you. Don’t you remember that I sent you a dog to keep for a few days, for some rest, to see if. . . In short, a dearly–loved animal. It’s not mine. I came here to ... But don’t you remember?”
    “Ah! Don’t talk to me about that creature!” she answered, pouring out the words.
    She was small, she would tremble over anything, and when she was excited the veins on her neck stood out. She repeated that he shouldn’t talk to her about the creature.
    “But what’s he done to you, old friend?”
    “What’s he done to me? What could he do to me, the poor animal? He won’t eat anything, he won’t drink, he cries just like a person, and all he does is go around looking for a way to run off.”
    Rubião gave a sigh of relief. She went on talking about her annoyance with the dog. He was anxious, he wanted to see him.
    “He’s in the back there, in the large pen. He’s all by himself so the others won’t bother him. But have you come for him? That’s not what they told me. I seemed to hear that he was for me, a present.”
    “I’d give you five or six if I could,” Rubião answered. “But I can’t this one. I’m only taking care of him. But let’s drop it, I promise you a son of his, the message was garbled.”
    Rubião went with her. The woman, instead of leading him, was walking alongside. There was the dog in the pen, lying down at some distance from a bowl of food. Dogs and birds were leaping about on all sides out there. On one side there was a hen coop, farther on pigs, beyond that a cow, lying down, dreamy, with two hens next to it pecking at its belly and pulling off lice.
    “Look at my peacock!” the woman said.
    But Rubião only had eyes for Quincas Borba, who was sniffing impatiently and who leaped up on him as soon as a black boy opened the gate of the pen. It was a delirious scene. The dog was repaying Rubião’s pats by barking, leaping, licking his hands.
    “Good heavens!