In the ironing room, Noca, with the iron in her hand, knew what was going on in the whole house. That day she had brought an armful of clothes onto a chair by the board. Lia and Rachel interrupted her quickly.
"Noca, do you cut a dress for my doll?" asked Leah.
"And another for mine, Noca?"
“Go away. I don't have time for conversations today.
"One, Noca, yes?"
-I do not do anything! Tomorrow your father is there screaming that he has no clothes!
But the girls stayed, dragged a mat, sat on it and Noca had no choice but to cut the dolls' dresses and give them needles, threads and scraps. After the service, she got up. Nina passed on her way to the pantry and smiled at him; but the mulatto woman barely responded, sickened by the kindness of that creature.
It was the fault of her blood, her race, who esteemed her superiors less the more they caressed her. That's why she was dying of love for Mario, a daring little boy, with an authoritarian genius and harsh words.
He was starting to smooth the boss's first shirt, when Dionysio approached the board.
—Now are you coming, Dionysio?!
—I went to take a message from Seu Mario ... Do you already know that he left France? This one is prettier now; she's a carioca to take your hat off!
—Now look, how foolish Dionysio is… Ella pointed at the children, who could go and gossip inside. And then:
"Are you blonde or brunette?"
—Brunette, tall, very chic .
-Well. Go tidy up Mario's room, walk.
As soon as Dionysio left, the maid Orminda entered, a sly-eyed cabocla.
—Look here, Dona Noca, what I found under Dona Nina's pillow.
-What is? asked the mulatto woman, without looking up from her work.
A portrait.
Noca looked; it was a portrait of Mario. She put it away, saying nothing. Orminda continued:
"My mistress is writing a letter, back in her room...
—It's for Sergipe.
The cabocla smiled.
—The music teacher is there...
—I know... Go ask the gardener for some mint, come on, so I can infuse it.
Noca had ascendancy over the servants, who treated her as a mistress . Even among white people, word of her experience was heard with deference. Ella was the resourceful woman, the confectioner on big feast days, the only one of the ironers capable of satisfying the impertinence of the owner of the house; no one knew how Noca could prepare a remedy, a sweater, or give a synapisado foot bath, or choose a fish, prepare a pudding or dress a child.
Cheerful, strong, talkative and arrogant, with a sharp temper and a quick tongue to reply, he did not admit admonitions nor knew savings. Her clothes, very clean, smelled good; she walked in light colors and cheerful ribbons, stepping with all the weight of her bulky body and facing the creatures in the face, with a good air of sincerity.
He excelled in the translation and interpretation of dreams, he had a sequined imagination of tiny, outlandish ideas and original conceptions. For the most insignificant fact, she had a mysterious explanation, wrapped in mists and very curious superstitions, which came out of her mouth like fatal lemmas, of an indisputable truth.
And that influence extended to the whole family. Camilla consulted her; Nina told her about her dreams, asking her to explain; Ruth listened to her with enormous interest, her soul open to anything that had an air of phantasy; and the servants asked for advice, prayers, remedies, gambling tips and consolation of heartbreaks...
Noca quickly came to everyone, boasting, without hypocrisy, that he liked to be useful and to serve a lot of people...
Ella was now suspicious of Milla's barely concealed sadness. Since that trip to Neptune, there must have been great news there... Dr. Gervasio, meanwhile, was uneasy... and poor Captain Rino was received with a certain dryness, which the stupid man didn't seem to understand!
Nina, poor thing, was as thin as a herring, and only Ruth passed by without seeing anything, as if the music took her along other paths... The boss... he was also ruminating about something...
The one who provoked the mulatta's indiscreet confidences was Nina, who, under the pretext of ironing a tie or smoothing a ribbon, went to the ironing room as soon as she saw Dionisyo leave.
The mulatto woman understood everything and had no qualms about repeating the truth. Why, that might cure the girl, she thought to myself. If the loves didn't pass, what would become of us? The heart wants to go out. Suffer over a man? Do not see!
Nina, with moist eyes, short hands, slightly flattened fingers, spread out on the still-hot iron board, listened very quietly, and when the last word fell from Noca's thick lips and the mulatto woman began to blow on the embers, she would go back inside, sit down to sew, finding herself petty, ugly and very unhappy. All the efforts she made to please were useless; Mario didn't even seem to see her and barely stopped at home... The other one was pretty; brunette and tall. It was little she knew, but enough to make her suffer.
While, in the hustle and bustle of the house, everyone was busy at work, Camilla remained in her room, mute, curled up in an armchair, her hands useless, her eyes feverish.
The vision of that woman in mourning, in the morning of Neptune , never left her; she felt, as a punishment, its beauty, its perfume, and that discreet air of honesty and elegance. What made her sick, and what tormented her even more, was Gervasio's obstinacy in denying her any explanation. What would happen between them?
In her jealousy and resentment, Camilla now eluded the doctor; it was in vain that he called her to her sweet and cruel interviews. But all her strength to resist was slackening, and she felt well that, despite everything, there would come a day when her feet would take her to him.
It was also in that corner of the room that Francisco Theodoro found her, on his way back from the city.
—Are you sick? Look, I brought Aida a cabin . Negreiros told me that he is doing very well for this company...
—Who understands the slaves of music!
“She has an excellent ear. I think it's good to go down. Gervasio is downstairs...
Milla went downstairs, and, on her way out to the terrace, stopped between doors, listening to what Dr. Gervasio. Elle was sitting with his back to her. Standing in front of him, Ruth listened intently, the jump rope wrapped around her arm, her face still red from her interrupted exercise.
—«You said that Lage's sister is a well-educated girl, meaning that she is an educated girl. There is a difference: education and instruction are not confused. Notice: why do you consider this girl to be well educated? Because she speaks French, English, plays and draws; it's not like this? For these gifts, even if acquired with effort, are bought from the masters; the others are given or are born of good coexistence. An educated person will not be of pleasant exteriority if he is not educated. Instruction does not always appear and does not always contribute to happiness. Education prepares us for tolerance and reveals itself in everything, in the way we greet, why we walk down the street, why we kneel in church, why we eat at a table, why we talk or why we listen. fail, why in discussions we tone our opinions with opposing opinions; by a thousand effects, in short, that, being imperceptible, enhance the individual, because they skip him and make him worthy of the good society. Instruction is the force with which we equip our spirit for life, spear and shield for attack and defense; education is the perfume that intelligent parents pour into the souls of their children and that, in such a way, infiltrates them, which never evaporates, whatever the environment in which they live afterwards.
It's good not to confuse the two words, Ruth, because these confusions, in the blind eye of the indifferent, don't matter; but they alter the truth and do not escape delicate ears.”
—I will not change the meaning of those two words again...
—Lelio told me yesterday that he had brought him a waltz by Chopin. Now, you can play, but you can't play quite like an auctor.
-Why?
“Because you're not old enough to understand it yet.
Chopin is a dangerous musician, my daughter; he is a torturer, an exciter of souls. Make do with his classics, healthier and fresher. Music, like reading, must be taught with prudence. I will speak to Lelio. Has your mother come down yet?
"It's over there, behind you."
— Oh...
Milla helped her daughter not to be alone with the doctor, who saw her very elusive. Pallor and sadness sweetened her features, giving her a new charm. Gervasio watched her silently, undecided, afraid to resolve the situation suddenly with just one word...
Every year Francisco Theodoro celebrated his, his wife's and children's birthdays with three- and four-table banquets, wine on a roll and dancing until dawn.
On those days the doctor would only greet him, offer him violets and the gift of style, and retire early to the silent house, towards the Botanical Garden, where he would do his readings, comfortably reclining in his chair. rocking inside the dressing gown that covered her thin body.
Camilla knew her dislike of those parties and didn't regret her absence.
The immense house was then too small for the number of friends. In the balloon -lit gardensand cups, in the living rooms, in the corridors, on the terraces, in the buffet, in the bedrooms, there were people everywhere, the sound of voices and the muffled smell of trampled plants, flowers warmed by lights, different essences gathered in the scent of sauces and herbs. meats served at the feast. Beds were weighed down by cloaks, shawls, hats and overcoats. The guests poured into every room, as if walking through your house. Nina, the maids, and Noca would throw everything that shouldn't be in the way into a room, the only one closed: rugs hurriedly removed for the dances; coffee tables, sofa cushions, which took up space; flower pots, etc. Children ran around the house, scattering raisins and candy crumbs; and a paid pianist strummed the polkas and waltzes from his repertoire at the Pleyel in the hall.
Francisco Theodoro's colleagues and acquaintances always attended these parties, the people from his business house, people from the neighborhood, some doctors, a senator from the empire, to whom the best attention was directed, and Camilla's friends, from the time from the college, women of rank and well-presented, whom she would only encounter later, in the hustle and bustle of life.
In the intervals of the dance there were always those who played difficulties on the piano, or sang some Italian novel.
Francisco Theodoro, jubilant and kind, urged them to eat, to drink. He didn't forget anyone, he put lots of candy in the children's laps, ordered champagne to be opened, led the elderly ladies to the buffet , recommending Noca to distribute wines and sweets to the servants.
They were pantagruelic parties, in which laughter was communicated more by noise than by intention.
Camilla danced, her wonderful bare arms brushing the sleeves of her husband's commanders or servants.
At the table, the toasts were run over each other. Towards the end, there was always a loud, paused voice that rose to the victory of honorable and pure work, and that voice recalled Francisco Theodoro's bad days, his poverty, his energy and his triumph.
The owner of the house responded with shaky words and moist eyes. The glasses clinked and the music vibrated with force in the room. They went back to the dances. When Ruth didn't dance, her father called her—my scholar—bragging about her to the guests, who looked a little startled at her. Ruth dodged that curiosity and ran outside. They would find her later on the swing, alone, flying in the light of the stars...
It was not until the day after the feast that Dr. Gervasio would go to the Theodoro mansion to taste the broken turkey for lunch and the strings of eggs, in the tired silence of the family.
So there were traces of the hustle all over the place. Nina was counting the cutlery, which, scattered among the crockery and the crystals, cast waves of pale light on the dinner table; Noca swept the rooms, servants washed the marble from the stairs and the hall, and the gardener kept the little cups and lanterns scattered around the garden.
It was one of those parties that Francisco Theodoro now wanted to give to his friends. He went downstairs to consult his wife and doctor. He found them still on the terrace, beside Ruth, whose mother's hands were nervously clasping.
Milla welcomed the idea coldly; the husband insisted:
—You're soft, walk different. React, take medicine. What the hell! I have an obligation to oblige men. They come there in the name of the colony. I don't want to look sad.
– Any manifestation? asked Gervasio.
-Yea. A nonsense. Ideas from Braga, Lemos and others. Negreiros warned me about this today. They went to the minister, and I don't know what else! Anyway, I already said, what I don't want is to make a sad figure. The funny thing is that my wife was talking about giving a big ball, and now, when the occasion presents itself, she frowns!
Dr. Gervasio came to the rescue. He thought the idea was magnificent and would seek to help it in its execution. To himself he thought that this pretext would bring Milla into the movement of her usual life; he would pull her out of that obstinacy of thought, from that physical apathia that tormented him.
For the first time they saw him interested in a party. Francisco Theodoro asked him to direct it. From that day on, the doctor placed and disposed of the mansion as absolute master. He determined how things were done. Supper would be on the terrace at the back, under a silk awning, among groves of maidenhair ferns and white camellias; he designed ornaments, ordered flowers, replaced upholstery, harmonized colors, gave style and grace to what had only weight and luxury; he idealized matter, tore out a delicate soul from those loaded and silent rooms.
Milla watched it all silently, depressed by her suspicions; but, little by little, Gervasio convinced her that her jealousy was crazy. Hadn't he been jealous of Captain Rino too? And there it was: I didn't even think about it!
As Milla's heart could not bear rigor, attached to happiness, she began to forget.
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