“Just listen. The following morning I awoke to find myself alone. The scoundrels, whether egged on by others or of their own accord, had plotted to run away in the night, and had done precisely that. I found myself completely alone, with no one else within the four walls of the house, staring out at the deserted yard and empty countryside beyond. Not a single human breath. I searched the house, the slave quarters, everywhere, but found nothing and no one, not a single pickaninny. Only some cocks and hens, a pair of mules philosophizing about life as they flicked away the flies, and three oxen. The slaves had even taken the dogs. Not a single human being. Do you think this was better than dying? Well, I can tell you it was worse. Not that I was afraid; I swear to you that I wasn’t; in fact, I was almost devil-may-care, to the point of not feeling anything at all during those first few hours. After that, I felt sad for Auntie Marcolina’s financial loss, and was in somewhat of a quandary as to whether I should go and see her and give her the bad news, or stay and take care of the house. I opted for the latter course of action, so as not to leave the house completely defenseless, and because, if my cousin was seriously ill, I would only be increasing her mother’s distress without providing any remedy. Besides, I expected Uncle Peçanha’s brother to return that day or the next, since he’d already been gone thirty-six hours. But the morning passed with no sign of him, and during the afternoon I began to feel decidedly odd, like someone who has lost all sensation in his nerves and can no longer feel his muscles move. Uncle Peçanha’s brother did not return that day, or the next, or for the rest of the week. My solitude took on overwhelming proportions. Never had the days been so long; never had the sun scorched the earth with such wearying ferocity. The hours passed as slowly as centuries on the old clock in the parlor, whose pendulum, tick-tock, tick-tock, tapped away at my inner soul like the endlessly snapping fingers of eternity. When, many years later, I read an American poem, one of Longfellow’s, I think, and came across the famous refrain: ‘Never, for ever! – For ever, never!’ I confess that I felt a shiver run down my spine at the memory of those terrifying days. Auntie Marcolina’s clock was just like that: ‘Never, for ever! – For ever, never!’ It wasn’t merely the tick-tock of the pendulum, but a dialogue from the abyss, a whispering voice from the void. And then there were the nights! Not that they were any quieter. They were as silent as the days, but the nights were filled with darkness and an even narrower, or perhaps vaster, solitude. Tick-tock, tick-tock. No one in any of the rooms, no one on the veranda, in the hallways, the yard; no one anywhere at all. Are you laughing?”