Fearing this might be an ironic remark, I was desperate to get it all over with. We moved outside. Passing from the half darkness of the house into the bright light of the street terrified me, convinced now that my crime would be impossible to hide. I fixed my eyes on the ground and kept walking. When it was all over, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was at peace with my fellow men, if not with my conscience; the next few nights were naturally ones of anxiety and affliction. I need hardly say that I came straight back to Rio de Janeiro and that I lived here in terror, even though I was far removed from the scene of the crime. I never laughed and barely spoke; I ate badly and suffered from hallucinations and nightmares . . .

“Let the dead rest in peace,” people would say to me. “There’s no reason to be so upset.”

And I took full advantage of this illusion, singing the praises of the dead man, calling him a fine old fellow, a little rough around the edges, perhaps, but with a heart of gold. And as I praised him, I almost persuaded myself that this was true, at least for a few moments. Another interesting aspect, which may be of some interest to you, is that, although I wasn’t a religious man, I had a mass said for the eternal rest of the colonel’s soul, at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament. I didn’t send out any invitations, or mention it to anyone; I went to hear it alone, kneeling throughout and crossing myself many times. I paid the priest double the usual amount and distributed alms at the door of the church, all in the name of the deceased. I wasn’t trying to deceive anyone, the proof being that I went to the mass alone. I should also add that I never mentioned the colonel without saying, “God rest his soul!” And then I would tell a couple of lighthearted anecdotes about him and some of his more amusing outbursts.

Seven days after arriving in Rio de Janeiro, I received the letter from the priest that I showed you, telling me they’d found the colonel’s will and that I was his sole heir. You can imagine my astonishment. I thought I had misread the letter; I showed it to my brother and some friends; they all interpreted it in exactly the same way. It was there in writing: I was the colonel’s sole heir. I even wondered if it was a trap, but quickly realized that there were other means of ensnaring me if the crime had been discovered. Furthermore, I knew the priest to be an honest man and a most unlikely instrument for such a scheme. I reread the letter countless times; there it was in black and white.

“How much was he worth?” my brother asked me.