“Don’t come tomorrow,” Joaquim Fidélis had said to them. “I’m going to Carvalhinho’s ball.”

“And after that?”

“I’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”

And, as they left, he gave each of them a box of excellent cigars, as he sometimes did, with a little bag of sweets for the children and two or three fine jokes . . . All lost! Vanished! Gone!

Many persons of note came to the funeral: two senators, a former minister, a few noblemen, wealthy businessmen, lawyers, merchants, and doctors; but the coffin was carried by Benjamin and those five close friends. None of them would yield this honor to anyone, considering it their final and inalienable duty. The graveside eulogy was given by João Brás; it was a touching address, slightly too polished for such an unexpected event, but nonetheless excusable. When everyone had deposited their shovelful of earth on the coffin, the mourners slowly slipped away from the graveside, apart from those six, who stayed to oversee the gravediggers as they went indifferently about their work. They stayed there until the grave had been filled to the very top and the funeral wreaths laid out upon it.

II

The seventh-day mass brought them together again at the church. When the mass was over, the five friends accompanied the deceased man’s nephew home. Benjamin invited them to stay for breakfast.

“I hope that Uncle Joaquim’s friends will also be my friends,” he said.

They went in and, while they ate, they talked about the dead man, each one recounting some story, some witty remark; they were unanimous in their praise and fond regrets. Since each of them had asked for a little memento of the deceased, when they finished breakfast they all went through into his study and chose something: an old pen, a glasses case, a little pamphlet, or some other personal token. Benjamin felt greatly consoled. He informed them that he intended to keep the study exactly as it was. He hadn’t even opened the desk yet. He did so then, and, with the others, drew up a list of the contents of some of the drawers. There were letters, loose papers, concert programs, menus from grand dinners; all of it in an enormous muddle. Among other things they found some notebooks, numbered and dated.

“A diary!” exclaimed Benjamin.

It was indeed a diary of the deceased’s thoughts and impressions, a sort of collection of secret memories and confidences that the man had shared only with himself. The friends were greatly moved and excited; reading them would be just like conversing with Joaquim again. Such an upright character! And the soul of discretion! Benjamin began reading, but his voice broke, and João Brás had to carry on.