Just how long it took for me to fall in love is of no importance, but not very long. My love grew rapidly and vigorously and eventually became so all-consuming that I could not keep it to myself and, one night, I resolved to declare my love to her; however, her aunt, who could normally be relied on to doze off after about nine o’clock (she woke at four), did not fall asleep at all and, even if she had, I would probably not have said anything; I could not speak and, once out in the street, I felt as dizzy as I had when I fell in love for the very first time.

“Be careful not to fall, Senhor Correia,” said her aunt when I went out onto the veranda, having said my goodbyes.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

I had a bad night and slept for, at most, two hours, and then only fitfully. By five o’clock I was up and awake.

“I must put an end to this now!” I cried.

The truth is that, with me, Maria Cora was always kind and understanding, but never anything more, but then that is precisely what made her so attractive. All the other loves in my life had been so easy. I had never met with any resistance, nor left with any regret, or only a little sadness, perhaps, a touch of nostalgia. This time I felt I was in an iron grip. Maria Cora was so full of life; beside her, it seemed as though the chairs themselves could walk and the figures on the carpet could move their eyes. Add to this a strong dose of tenderness and grace. The finishing touch was her aunt’s evident fondness for her, which made of Maria Cora an angel. A banal comparison, I know, but I have no other.

I decided to take drastic action and to keep away from Engenho Velho, and I did so for many long days, for two or three weeks. I tried to distract myself and forget her, but to no avail. I began to experience her absence as one would that of a loved one; and yet still I resisted and did not go back. The longer the absence, though, the deeper my love, and so I decided that I would return one night, although I might not have done so had I not met Maria Cora in the same shop on Rua da Quitanda where I had gone with my stopped watch.

“Oh, so you come here too?” she said when she came into the shop.

“I do.”

“I need to have my watch repaired. But why haven’t you been back to see us?”

“Yes, why haven’t you been back?” echoed her aunt.

“Business affairs,” I murmured, “but I was thinking of coming this evening.”

“No, don’t come this evening, come tomorrow,” said Maria Cora. “We’re out tonight.”