He had, for example, recently read an advertisement in the paper seeking a business partner willing to invest five contos de réis in a certain enterprise that promised, within the first six months, to return a profit of between eighty and a hundred contos. Custódio went to meet the person who had placed the advertisement. It was a great idea: a needle factory, a brand-new business with an exciting future. And the plans, the design of the factory, the reports from Birmingham, the lists of imports, the replies from tailors and haberdashers and other such merchants, all swam before Custódio’s eyes, dazzled by figures he could not understand, and which, for that very reason, appeared to be the gospel truth. Twenty-four hours; he asked for twenty-four hours to find the five contos. And he left the place, flattered and fawned upon by the advertiser, who, still standing on the doorstep, continued to deluge him with a torrent of credit and debit balances. But the five contos— five thousand mil-réis, no less—proved less biddable or less fickle than a mere five mil-réis, shaking their heads incredulously and keeping to their coffers, paralyzed by fear and sleep. Not one penny. The eight or ten friends he spoke to all told him they didn’t have that amount of money available, nor did they have any faith in the factory. He had just about lost all hope when he happened to find himself in Rua do Rosário and saw the name Vaz Nunes above the doorway of a notary’s office. His heart leapt with joy, remembering Tijuca, the notary’s impeccable manners, the kind words with which he responded to the toast, and he said to himself that here was the man to save the situation.

“I’ve come to ask you to draw up a deed . . .”

Expecting a different opening gambit, Vaz Nunes did not reply, but simply peered over his glasses and waited.

“A deed of gratitude,” explained Custódio; “I’ve come to ask you a great favor, an indispensable favor, and I’m counting on you, my friend . . .”

“If I can help, of course . . .”

“It’s a really excellent business, a magnificent business. I would not even deign to bother other people if the outcome were not certain. It’s all set to go; stock has already been ordered from England, and the business should be up and running within two months; it’s a new factory, you see. There are three of us in the partnership; my share is five contos and I’ve come to ask you to lend me that amount for six months—or even three, at a reasonable rate of interest . . .”

“Five contos?”

“Yes, indeed.”