“I’m sorry. I met a friend who insisted on recounting some tiresome business or other.”

This was not the first time in my life that I had lied, nor would it be the last.

Chapter III

I often met Maria Cora after that; first, at the comendador’s house and, later, at other houses. Maria Cora was not a complete recluse, but occasionally went on outings and visited friends and acquaintances. She also received visitors, not on any fixed day, but every now and then, although these gatherings only ever consisted of five or six close friends. The general view of her was that she was a person of strong feelings and austere habits. Add to this her sharp, brilliant, virile nature and her capacity for dealing with difficulties and hard work, not to mention quarrels and struggles; in the words of a poet and regular visitor, she was: “one part pampa and one part pampeiro,” a reference to the icy wind that blows across the pampas in southern Brazil. The original line rhymed, but I took from it only the underlying idea. Maria Cora liked to hear herself described like this, although she didn’t always display those qualities, nor did she dwell on stories of herself as an adolescent. Her aunt, on the other hand, did sometimes lovingly tell the occasional anecdote, saying that her niece was exactly like her when she was a girl. Justice demands that I declare, here and now, that her aunt, although ill, was still full of life and vigor.

It did not take long for me to fall in love with the niece. It doesn’t pain me to admit this, because it is the one page in my life that merits any interest. I will make my story brief; and I will invent nothing and tell no lies.

I loved Maria Cora. I didn’t tell her how I felt straightaway, but, like all women, she probably realized or guessed how I felt. Even if she had made this realization before my visit to the house in Engenho Velho, there are still no grounds for disapproving of her for inviting me there one evening. She may have been completely indifferent to my state of mind; she may also have enjoyed feeling loved, even though she had not the slightest intention of reciprocating that love. The fact is that I went there on that first evening and on other evenings too; her aunt took a liking to me and my ways. The silly, gabby poet who also visited said once that he was tuning his lyre in readiness for the aunt’s marriage to me. The aunt laughed, and, wanting to stay in her good graces, I had to laugh, too, and, for about a week, the topic provided material for much banter. By then, though, my love for her niece had reached new heights.