The Alienist and Other Stories of Nineteenth-Century Brazil (8 page)

They got to Ouvidor Street just past noon. People, a lot of people, stood around or strolled along, the usual crowd. Mariana found it a little overwhelming, as always. The hurly burly clashed with her placid and even temperament. She found it hard to walk, and even harder to rest her gaze amid the milling crowd and the profusion of shops. She shrank against her friend and, not realizing that they had already passed the dentist’s office, she hoped that they would arrive there soon. She wanted to go inside and get away from the tumult.

“Ouvidor Street,” she said, shaking her head.

“Really?” responded Sophia, turning her head toward her friend, but looking past her at a young man across the street.

Sophia navigated these choppy waters with the skill of a practiced mariner, calmly slipping through or around the groups of oncoming pedestrians, and she made a powerful impression on them. Those who knew her smiled, and those who didn’t stopped or turned to admire her style. And, full of the spirit of charity, the good woman flashed her eyes in all directions while pretending to converse with Mariana. She skipped from topic to topic, and seemed not hear her friend’s replies, as she pointed out this or that woman of their acquaintance, this or that shop, and especially, this or that
hat
. Hats, both men’s and women’s hats, were everywhere in the midday sun.

“Look at that one,” said Sophia.

And Mariana tried to follow her gaze but often couldn’t see which hat she meant. Ouvidor Street was a dizzying kaleidoscope of hats. Where was the dentist’s office? She had to ask twice before Sophia answered that they’d already passed it. Now it was best to continue to the end of the street, turn around, and stop at the dentist’s on the way back. Finally, they arrived.

“Uff … ,” sighed Mariana, with evident relief, when they entered the hallway.

“What’s the problem? Good Lord, it’s as though you’d never been to town!”

A few women were already waiting to see the dentist. Mariana could find no familiar faces among them, and to avoid looking at strangers, she went to the window. At least from there she could watch the street without getting trampled. She leaned against the windowsill. Sophia went to talk with her. On the sidewalk outside, a few men’s hats turned in their direction, first hats that were standing there conversing, then hats that were passing by … Mariana objected to their persistent looks, but then she noticed that the looks were directed principally at her friend, and her objection dissolved into a kind of envy. Meanwhile, Sophia told her the adventures of certain hats. One hat was all that their friend So-and-So could think about. Another was madly in love with a different So-and-So, and she with him, as one could observe every Wednesday and Saturday between the hours of two and three o’clock, right there on Ouvidor Street. Mariana listened in bewilderment. The hat was nice looking, she had to admit, and so was the tie, rather devil-may-care, but …

“I can’t swear to it,” her friend went on, “but that’s what they say.”

Mariana looked pensively at the hat in question. Now three more, equally gallant, hats joined it, and probably all four were speaking, in complimentary terms, about them. Mariana blushed, turned her head to one side, quickly turned it back, and finally left the window. Turning around, she found two newly arrived patients, and, escorting them, a young man who rose quickly and came to greet her effusively. It was the man who had been her first suitor.

The first suitor must have been about thirty-three by now. He’d been away from Rio for years, running his family’s plantation, touring Europe, and, most recently, governing a province in the far south by prestigious imperial appointment. He was of medium height and rather pale, with a sparse beard, and his clothes were close fitting. In his hand was a new hat, an elegant top hat, grave, gubernatorial, administrative, a hat suitable to the person and his ambitions. Mariana, meanwhile, could hardly look at him. So confused did she become, so disoriented by the presence of a man whom she’d known in very special circumstances and whom she hadn’t seen since 1877, that she failed to discern anything. She extended her hand (more precisely, her fingertips), apparently murmured some kind of response to him, and was about to go back to the window, when Sophia appeared beside her.

Sophia, too, knew the former suitor. They exchanged a few words. Mariana whispered impatiently in her friend’s ear. Wouldn’t it be better to come back another day? But her friend said that, no, it would only take half an hour, three quarters at most. For Mariana, the situation was oppressive. The presence of that man obfuscated her senses, threw her into a state of struggle and confusion. All her husband’s fault. If only he hadn’t been so pigheaded and then added insult to injury, nothing would have happened! The thought made her promise herself that she’d get retribution. She thought about her house, so pretty, so nice and peaceful, where she could be right now, safe and sound, without all these people around, without having to depend on her friend …

“Mariana,” said her friend, “Dr. Viçoso is insisting that he’s lost weight. Don’t you think he looks the same as last year? Do you remember seeing him last year?”

Dr. Viçoso was the proper name of her former suitor, who was now chatting to Sophia, though with frequent looks at Mariana. Mariana responded that, no, she didn’t remember. Viçoso took the opening to engage her in conversation. It really had been a few years since he’d seen her, and he underlined that observation with a certain sad, profound look. Then he opened his bag of conversational gambits and pulled out the opera. What did they think of the current offerings? In his opinion the opera company was excellent, except for the rather lame baritone. Sophia protested his harsh judgment of the baritone, but he insisted, adding that, in London, where he’d seen this company before, he’d gotten the same impression. The female leads, yes, indeed, both the soprano and the contralto, were first class. And he discussed their repertory, mentioned the finest passages of various operas, and praised the orchestra, most especially their rendition of Meyerbeer’s
Les Huguenots
²
… He’d seen Mariana there at the last performance, in the fourth or fifth box on the left, wasn’t that right?

“We were there,” she murmured, accentuating the plural.

“At the Cassino … that’s where I haven’t seen you,” he continued.

“She’s becoming a recluse,” joined in Sophia, laughing.

Viçoso had much enjoyed the recent dance at the Cassino; he brought out all his impressions, and Sophia did the same. The loveliest and most elaborate dresses of the evening were discussed by each of them in detail. Next came various personalities, an ill temper or two, and a few harmless, witty remarks, though not at the expense of anyone who couldn’t afford it. Mariana listened without interest. Once or twice she even got up and went to the window, but the hats were so numerous and so curious that she sat back down. Silently, she called her friend some ugly names that I won’t write here. It isn’t necessary and, besides, it would be in poor taste to reveal what one young lady might think about another young lady during a moment of irritation.

“What about the races at the Jockey Club?” inquired the former provincial governor by prestigious imperial appointment.

Mariana shook her head again. She hadn’t gone this year. Well, she had really missed it, because the races were excellent, the next to last one, especially. The horses were first class. The Epsom races, which he had seen in England, had nothing on the next to last heat of the season at Rio’s Jockey Club. And Sophia had to agree. She confessed that she had enjoyed herself immensely. The conversation then toured two concerts of the coming week before going up to Petrópolis to enjoy the hospitality of a couple of diplomats, friends of Dr. Viçoso. When the wife of an imperial minister dropped in, Sophia said something charming about how the former governor, too, ought to think about marrying, for certainly he would soon be a minister, himself. Viçoso shuddered ever so slightly with pleasure, and he smiled, shaking his head, no, no. Then, with his eyes on Mariana, he confessed that he probably never would marry …

Mariana blushed deeply and stood up.

“I see that you’re in a hurry,” said Sophia, and then, turning back toward Viçoso:

“What time
is
it?”

“Almost three o’clock!” he exclaimed.

It was late. He had to go to the Chamber of Deputies. He went to speak to the two ladies with whom he had arrived, his cousins, and said goodbye to them, then returned to take his leave of our friends, but Sophia declared that she, too, was on her way out. She had waited long enough. The truth is that a visit to the Chamber of Deputies sounded intriguing.

“Shall we drop by?” she proposed to Mariana.

“No, no,” said Mariana. “I can’t. I’m very tired.”

“Let’s do, just for a little while. I’m tired, too …”

Mariana resisted a moment longer, but her arguing with Sophia—a dove arguing with a hawk—was completely pointless. There was no way around it: she went. Ouvidor Street was thronged now, with both sidewalks full of people coming and going and getting in each others’ way at the intersections. The gallant former governor strode between the two ladies, having offered to find them a place to sit in the Chamber of Deputies.

The hubbub outside lacerated Mariana’s spirit more and more. Her resentment, the energy that had launched her audacious flight that morning, had dwindled now, or even vanished. She thought again about her house, so quiet and peaceful, with a place for everything and everything in its place. Never any jostling, nothing unexpected. Mariana’s spirit began to tap its foot with impatience. She no longer heard anything that Viçoso was saying, even though he spoke loudly and directed many of his comments to her. She no longer heard or cared to hear. She only prayed to God for the time to pass quickly. They entered the Chamber of Deputies and found a seat. The sound of the arriving ladies’ skirts attracted the attention of the few deputies who remained in the chamber, about twenty of them, listening to a speech on budgetary matters. As soon as Viçoso excused himself and left them alone, Mariana told her friend not to do it again.

“Don’t do what again?” asked Sophia.

“Don’t drag me all over creation on a fool’s errand. What on earth are we doing in the Chamber of Deputies? What do I care about speeches that I can’t understand?”

Sophia smiled, fluttered her fan, and sensed the gaze of a man—not a deputy, but rather, one of the secretaries—who was examining her. Many eyes examined her during her visits to the Chamber of Deputies, but those of this secretary had a particularly warm and imploring expression. We can understand, then, that she didn’t meet his gaze at first. We can even understand that, full of curiosity, she did meet it before long. And, bathed in the legislative gaze, Sophia replied gently to her friend, recognizing her error, saying that she’d meant well. She was only trying to restore Mariana’s self-respect.

“But if you think I’m not being nice to you,” concluded Sophia, “then stay home, by all means.”

And leaning over slightly, she added:

“Look, there’s the minister of justice.”

Mariana had no alternative but to look at the minister of justice, who was enduring the endless speech of one of his supporters. The orator droned on concerning a fine point of judicial reform that offered an opportunity to display his knowledge of ancient Portuguese legislation on the subject. The speech produced no reaction among the listeners, only a polite, resigned, discreet, and cautious silence. Mariana sat in boredom, her eyes roaming around the chamber. Sophia made frequent comments occasioned by her desire to show off her hand gestures. After fifteen minutes, one of the orator’s remarks finally provoked some diversion: a response from the floor, followed by a spirited discussion.

The diversion did not suit the placid spirit of Mariana, who found it agitating and even stood up to leave. She thought better and sat down again, resolved to stay until the end and, in the future, bear her conjugal woes without sharing them with anyone. She was not so certain, anymore, about her own reactions. Her request to her husband had been reasonable, surely, but was it really worth such a fuss? His sarcasm had been cruel, but she’d never before put her foot down so firmly, so naturally he was surprised and irritated. At any rate, it had been a big mistake to reveal everything to Sophia, who might tell their friends …

The idea sent a chill down Mariana’s spine. Sophia’s indiscretion was inevitable. Hadn’t she blabbed all about certain masculine and feminine hats engaged in much more than a simple marital tiff? Mariana had the impulse not to antagonize her friend, and she instantly concealed her impatience and annoyance behind a mask of false docility. She began to smile as cheerfully as Sophia and to make random comments regarding this or that deputy, and, soon enough, the speech had concluded, and with it, the day’s legislative session.

The clocks struck four. “Time to go home,” said Sophia. Mariana agreed that it was, but without showing signs of impatience, and the two women walked up Ouvidor to take the streetcar together. The walk, and getting onto the car, completed the spiritual exhaustion of Mariana, who started to breathe easier as soon as the vehicle began to roll. Just before Sophia got off, Mariana asked her not to repeat anything she’d told her, and Sophia promised that she wouldn’t.

Mariana took a deep breath. The dove had escaped from the hawk. Her spirit had been battered and dizzied by so many different sights and sounds, people and things. She needed equilibrium and quiet surroundings. Her house wasn’t far away now. When the neighboring houses and gardens came into view, Mariana’s spirit was restored at last. She got off at her own house, opened the garden gate, and relaxed. She was back in her world, except for a flowerpot that the gardener had moved.

“João,” she said to him, “put that where it was before.”

Everything else was in order: the entry hall, the sitting room, the dining room, the bedrooms, everything. Mariana sat down in various rooms to take a good look at her things, so neat and still. After a day of swirling variety, the monotony of her house was a soothing balm, something that she had always enjoyed, but never so much as just then. The truth was that she’d made a mistake …