“I had the idea of putting on my lieutenant’s uniform. I did so, every last bit of it, and, as I stood in front of the mirror, I raised my eyes and . . . I hardly need say it: the mirror now showed my whole figure, with not a feature or a line out of place; it was me, my own self, the lieutenant, who had finally rediscovered his external soul. This soul, missing since my aunt’s departure, scattered and dispersed since the slaves ran away, was now pieced back together in the mirror. Imagine a man who, little by little, emerges from a coma, opens his eyes without seeing, then begins to see, begins to distinguish people from objects, but cannot recognize any of them individually, then, finally, realizes that this fellow is so-and-so, and that one is what’s-his-name, here’s a chair, there’s a sofa. Everything returns to what it was before his deep sleep. So it was with me. I looked in the mirror, moved from side to side, stepped back, waved, smiled, and the glass reflected everything. I was no longer an automaton, I was a living being. From that point on, I was another person. Every day, at a certain time, I would put on my lieutenant’s uniform and sit in front of the mirror, reading, looking, and meditating; after two or three hours, I would take my uniform off again. By sticking to this regime, I was able to get through more than six days of solitude without the slightest problem.”

By the time his companions had come to their senses again, the narrator had already left.

A Visit from Alcibiades

A VISIT FROM ALCIBIADES

Letter from District Judge “X” to the Rio Chief of Police

Rio de Janeiro, September 20, 1875

SIR,

I trust you will forgive my shaky handwriting and slovenly style; you will soon understand the reason why.

Today, this very evening, just after dinner, while I was waiting for the Cassino to open, I lay down on the sofa and opened a volume of Plutarch. You, sir, who were my schoolroom companion, will remember that ever since I was a boy I have had a passion for Greek, a passion or indeed a mania, which was the name you gave it, and one so intense that it often led me to fail in other subjects. I opened the book and, as always happens when I read some ancient text, I found myself transported back to the period in question, right into the thick of the action or whatever else was going on. Perfect after-dinner reading. In no time at all, one finds oneself on a Roman road, under a Greek portico, or in a grammarian’s workshop. Modern times, the Herzegovina uprising, the Carlist Wars, Rua do Ouvidor, the Chiarini Circus—all vanish into thin air. Fifteen or twenty minutes of ancient life, and all for free. A veritable literary digestif.