been. That night he was obliging him to stay on his feet, having nothing but a couple sandwiches to eat. Why not leave him with his friends, that gang of tramps, the people he’d been hanging out with for ten years? What were he and Marocas, Vanda, and Leonardo doing there in that filthy hole, that rat’s nest? He didn’t have the courage to express his thoughts: Vanda was spoiled; she was quite capable of reminding him of the many times that he, Eduardo, startingout in life, had had recourse to Quincas’s wallet. He looked at Corporal Martim with a certain benevolence.
Swifty, defeated in his attempts to get Bangs Blackie to stand up, sat down too. He had the urge to put the frog in the palm of his hand and play with it. He’d never seen one that beautiful. Sparrow, who’d spent part of his childhood in a children’s home run by priests, searched his dull memory for a complete prayer. He’d always heard it said that the dead stood in need of prayers. And priests…Had the priest been there already, or was he coming only on the next day? The question was tickling his throat. He couldn’t resist.
“Has the priest come already?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Marocas replied.
Vanda scolded her with her eyes: Why start a conversation with that riffraff? But having gained her respect, Vanda felt better. She exiled the vagabonds to a corner of the room, made them keep quiet. However, it would be impossible for her to spend the night there. Neither she nor Aunt Marocas. She had the vague hope at first that Quincas’s indecent friends wouldn’t stay long, as there was neither food nor drink. She didn’t know why they were still there in the room. It couldn’t have been out of friendship for the dead man; those people don’t maintain friendships with anyone. In any case, even the disagreeable presence of friends like that was of no importance, because they wouldn’t be at the burial the next day. She, Vanda, would take charge of the events, and the family would be alone with the corpse once more. They would bury Joaquim Soares da Cunha with modesty and dignity.
She arose from the chair and called to Marocas: “Let’s go.” And to Leonardo: “Don’t stay too late. You can’t spend the whole night. Uncle Eduardo has already said he’d stay the whole time.”
Eduardo, taking over the chair, agreed. Leonardo went along to see them to the streetcar. Corporal Martim ventured a “Good night, ladies,” but got no response. Only the candles were lighting up the room. Bangs Blackie was sleeping, giving off a fearsome snore.
10
At ten o’clock Leonardo got up from the kerosene can and went over to the candles, looking at his watch. He woke up Eduardo, who was sleeping with his mouth open, uncomfortable in the chair.
“I’m leaving. I’ll be back in the morning, at six, to give you some time to go home and change your clothes.”
Eduardo stretched his legs, thinking about his bed. His neck hurt. In the corner of the room Sparrow, Swifty, and Corporal Martim were talking in low voices, having a heated argument: Which one of them was going to take Quincas’s place in Quitéria Goggle-Eye’s bed? Corporal Martim, exhibiting a revolting selfishness, would not accept being scratched from the list just because he was in possession of the heart and the slim body of little black Carmela. When the sound of Leonardo’s steps had disappeared onto the street, Eduardo looked at the group. The argument came to a halt. Corporal Martim smiled at the storekeeper. The latter was looking with envy at Bangs Blackie, lost in the best of sleeps. He settled himself in the chair again and put his feet on the kerosene can. His neck still hurt. Swifty couldn’t resist. He took the frog out of his pocket and put it on the floor. It took a leap. It was funny. It looked like a spook loose in the room. Eduardo couldn’t manage any sleep. He looked at the dead man, motionless in the coffin.He was the only one who was comfortably lying
Swifty, defeated in his attempts to get Bangs Blackie to stand up, sat down too. He had the urge to put the frog in the palm of his hand and play with it. He’d never seen one that beautiful. Sparrow, who’d spent part of his childhood in a children’s home run by priests, searched his dull memory for a complete prayer. He’d always heard it said that the dead stood in need of prayers. And priests…Had the priest been there already, or was he coming only on the next day? The question was tickling his throat. He couldn’t resist.
“Has the priest come already?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Marocas replied.
Vanda scolded her with her eyes: Why start a conversation with that riffraff? But having gained her respect, Vanda felt better. She exiled the vagabonds to a corner of the room, made them keep quiet. However, it would be impossible for her to spend the night there. Neither she nor Aunt Marocas. She had the vague hope at first that Quincas’s indecent friends wouldn’t stay long, as there was neither food nor drink. She didn’t know why they were still there in the room. It couldn’t have been out of friendship for the dead man; those people don’t maintain friendships with anyone. In any case, even the disagreeable presence of friends like that was of no importance, because they wouldn’t be at the burial the next day. She, Vanda, would take charge of the events, and the family would be alone with the corpse once more. They would bury Joaquim Soares da Cunha with modesty and dignity.
She arose from the chair and called to Marocas: “Let’s go.” And to Leonardo: “Don’t stay too late. You can’t spend the whole night. Uncle Eduardo has already said he’d stay the whole time.”
Eduardo, taking over the chair, agreed. Leonardo went along to see them to the streetcar. Corporal Martim ventured a “Good night, ladies,” but got no response. Only the candles were lighting up the room. Bangs Blackie was sleeping, giving off a fearsome snore.
10
At ten o’clock Leonardo got up from the kerosene can and went over to the candles, looking at his watch. He woke up Eduardo, who was sleeping with his mouth open, uncomfortable in the chair.
“I’m leaving. I’ll be back in the morning, at six, to give you some time to go home and change your clothes.”
Eduardo stretched his legs, thinking about his bed. His neck hurt. In the corner of the room Sparrow, Swifty, and Corporal Martim were talking in low voices, having a heated argument: Which one of them was going to take Quincas’s place in Quitéria Goggle-Eye’s bed? Corporal Martim, exhibiting a revolting selfishness, would not accept being scratched from the list just because he was in possession of the heart and the slim body of little black Carmela. When the sound of Leonardo’s steps had disappeared onto the street, Eduardo looked at the group. The argument came to a halt. Corporal Martim smiled at the storekeeper. The latter was looking with envy at Bangs Blackie, lost in the best of sleeps. He settled himself in the chair again and put his feet on the kerosene can. His neck still hurt. Swifty couldn’t resist. He took the frog out of his pocket and put it on the floor. It took a leap. It was funny. It looked like a spook loose in the room. Eduardo couldn’t manage any sleep. He looked at the dead man, motionless in the coffin.He was the only one who was comfortably lying
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