the relatives drew closer. Vanda cast a glance of reproach at her father. Even in death he preferred the company of those ragamuffins.
Quincas had been waiting for them. He had grown restless as the afternoon ended, because the vagabonds were late in getting there. Just when Vanda had begun to think her father had been defeated and was finally ready to surrender, to silence the foul words on his lips, defeated by the silent, dignified resistance she had put up to all his provocations, that smile was gleaming once again on the dead face, and more than ever it was the corpse of Quincas Water-Bray that lay before her. Had it not been an offense to Otacília’s memory, she would have left off her mourning and dumped the unworthy body somewhere in Tabuão, given the barelyused coffin back to the funeral parlor, and sold the new clothes to some old-clothes peddler at half price. The silence was becoming unbearable.
Leonardo turned to his wife and her aunt. “I think it’s time you two got going. It’ll be getting late pretty soon.”
Just a few moments before, all Vanda wanted to do was go home and get some rest. She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t a woman to give in, and she replied, “In a little while.”
Bangs Blackie sat down on the floor and leaned his head against the wall. Swifty nudged him with his foot. It wasn’t right to settle down like that in the presence of the dead man’s family. Corporal Martim showed his admonishment by staring at the black man. Bangs lifted his hand and pushed his friend’s annoying foot away as he sobbed, “He was our father! Papa Quincas…”
It was like a punch in the belly for Vanda, a slap in the face for Leonardo, a spit in the eye for Eduardo. Only Aunt Marocas laughed, her fat quivering as she sat in the only, and disputed, chair.
“How amusing!”
Bangs Blackie went from tears to laughter, taken with Marocas. Even more startling than his sobs was the black man’s hearty laugh. It was like a thunderclap in the room, and Vanda heard another laugh behind Blackie’s: Quincas was enjoying himself enormously.
“What sort of disrespect is that?” Her dry voice put an end to that beginning of cordiality.
With the reprimand, Aunt Marocas got up, took a few steps about the room, followed always by the admiration of Bangs Blackie as he looked her over from head to toe, finding her to be a woman to his taste: a bit old, that’s true, but big and fat, the way he liked them. He didn’t like those skinny little ones whose waists you couldn’t even pinch. If Bangs Blackie could have run into that madame on thebeach, the two of them would have had a ball; all you had to do was take one look at her and you’d see her virtues right off. Aunt Marocas began to mention her wish to leave. She felt tired and nervous. Vanda, having taken back her place on the chair by the coffin, made no reply. She had the look of a guard watching over a treasure.
“We’re all tired,” Eduardo said.
“It would be best if they left.” Leonardo had his fears about the Tabuão neighborhood at night, when all commercial activity ceased and the prostitutes and street people took over.
Well-mannered, as was his way, and wishing to cooperate, Corporal Martim proposed, “If you good people would like to go get some rest and a little shut-eye, we’ll stay on here and watch over him.”
Eduardo knew that wouldn’t be right: They shouldn’t leave the corpse alone with those people, with no family member present. But he would like to accept the proposal—oh, how he would: All day at the store, going back and forth, taking care of customers, giving orders to the help—it dragged a man down. Eduardo went to bed early and got up with the dawn, a strict timetable. When he got home from the store, after a bath and dinner, he would sit down in a chaise longue, stretch out his legs, and immediately fall asleep. That brother of his, Quincas, knew only how to be a nuisance. For ten years that’s all he’d
Quincas had been waiting for them. He had grown restless as the afternoon ended, because the vagabonds were late in getting there. Just when Vanda had begun to think her father had been defeated and was finally ready to surrender, to silence the foul words on his lips, defeated by the silent, dignified resistance she had put up to all his provocations, that smile was gleaming once again on the dead face, and more than ever it was the corpse of Quincas Water-Bray that lay before her. Had it not been an offense to Otacília’s memory, she would have left off her mourning and dumped the unworthy body somewhere in Tabuão, given the barelyused coffin back to the funeral parlor, and sold the new clothes to some old-clothes peddler at half price. The silence was becoming unbearable.
Leonardo turned to his wife and her aunt. “I think it’s time you two got going. It’ll be getting late pretty soon.”
Just a few moments before, all Vanda wanted to do was go home and get some rest. She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t a woman to give in, and she replied, “In a little while.”
Bangs Blackie sat down on the floor and leaned his head against the wall. Swifty nudged him with his foot. It wasn’t right to settle down like that in the presence of the dead man’s family. Corporal Martim showed his admonishment by staring at the black man. Bangs lifted his hand and pushed his friend’s annoying foot away as he sobbed, “He was our father! Papa Quincas…”
It was like a punch in the belly for Vanda, a slap in the face for Leonardo, a spit in the eye for Eduardo. Only Aunt Marocas laughed, her fat quivering as she sat in the only, and disputed, chair.
“How amusing!”
Bangs Blackie went from tears to laughter, taken with Marocas. Even more startling than his sobs was the black man’s hearty laugh. It was like a thunderclap in the room, and Vanda heard another laugh behind Blackie’s: Quincas was enjoying himself enormously.
“What sort of disrespect is that?” Her dry voice put an end to that beginning of cordiality.
With the reprimand, Aunt Marocas got up, took a few steps about the room, followed always by the admiration of Bangs Blackie as he looked her over from head to toe, finding her to be a woman to his taste: a bit old, that’s true, but big and fat, the way he liked them. He didn’t like those skinny little ones whose waists you couldn’t even pinch. If Bangs Blackie could have run into that madame on thebeach, the two of them would have had a ball; all you had to do was take one look at her and you’d see her virtues right off. Aunt Marocas began to mention her wish to leave. She felt tired and nervous. Vanda, having taken back her place on the chair by the coffin, made no reply. She had the look of a guard watching over a treasure.
“We’re all tired,” Eduardo said.
“It would be best if they left.” Leonardo had his fears about the Tabuão neighborhood at night, when all commercial activity ceased and the prostitutes and street people took over.
Well-mannered, as was his way, and wishing to cooperate, Corporal Martim proposed, “If you good people would like to go get some rest and a little shut-eye, we’ll stay on here and watch over him.”
Eduardo knew that wouldn’t be right: They shouldn’t leave the corpse alone with those people, with no family member present. But he would like to accept the proposal—oh, how he would: All day at the store, going back and forth, taking care of customers, giving orders to the help—it dragged a man down. Eduardo went to bed early and got up with the dawn, a strict timetable. When he got home from the store, after a bath and dinner, he would sit down in a chaise longue, stretch out his legs, and immediately fall asleep. That brother of his, Quincas, knew only how to be a nuisance. For ten years that’s all he’d
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