They were interrupted by delightful music in the distance. It was a junk or a canoe coming upriver, for the music was fast approaching. By then the sun was flooding the waters and green riverbanks with light, giving the scene an air of life and rebirth, which to some extent made the two lovers forget this return to their former selves. And the music kept coming closer, clearer now, until a magnificent boat appeared around a bend in the river, decorated with feathers and fluttering pennants. Aboard were the fourteen members of the academy (including U-Tong), all chanting in unison that old hymn: “Glory be to us, for we are the rice of science and the light of the world!”

The beautiful Kinnara (formerly Kalaphangko) was wide-eyed with astonishment. She could not understand how fourteen males, gathered together in an academy, could be both the light of the world, and yet, individually, a bunch of camels. She consulted Kalaphangko, but he could think of no explanation. If someone happens to find one, they would be doing a great service to one of the most gracious ladies in the Orient by sending it to her in a sealed letter, addressed, for greater security, to our consul in Shanghai, China.

Fame

FAME

“OH! SO YOU’RE PESTANA? said Sinhazinha Mota, raising her hands in surprise and admiration. And then, correcting her over-familiar tone, she quickly followed this up with: “You must forgive me for being so forward, but . . . is it really you?”

Embarrassed and annoyed, Pestana replied that yes, it was indeed him. He had just left the piano, mopping his brow with his handkerchief, and had nearly reached the window, when the young lady stopped him. It was not a ball, just an intimate gathering for a handful of guests, no more than twenty, all told, who had come to dine with the Widow Camargo at Rua do Areal on the occasion of her birthday, November 5, 1875. Such a kind and cheerful widow! She loved to laugh and have fun, even though she had just reached the fine old age of sixty; indeed this turned out to be the last time she did laugh and have fun, for she died during the first few days of 1876. Yes, such a kind and cheerful widow! Such spirit and enthusiasm: no sooner had they finished dinner than she launched into organizing the dances, asking Pestana to play a quadrille! She scarcely needed to finish her request, for Pestana bowed graciously and hastened to the piano. After the quadrille, she gave him barely time to draw breath before she bustled over once again to ask a very particular favor.

“Just say the word, madam.”

“Would you play that polka of yours, Keep Your Hands to Yourself, Mister?”