Her answer contained a word that is the sole reason for writing this story: “Please understand that I could not accept the hand of the man who, even out of loyalty, killed my husband.” I compared this with that other word she said to me earlier, when I decided to go into battle, kill him and come back: “I don’t believe anyone could ever love me that much.” And that one word had taken me off to war. Maria Cora now lives as a recluse, paying for a mass to be said for her husband’s soul once a year on the anniversary of the Battle of Encruzilhada. I never saw her again, and, rather less painfully, I never again forgot to wind my watch.

The Tale of the Cabriolet

THE TALE OF THE CABRIOLET

“THE CABRIOLET’S HERE, sir,” said the slave who had been dispatched to the mother church of São José to summon the priest to give the last rites to not one but two individuals.

Today’s generation witnessed neither the arrival nor the departure of the cabriolet in Rio de Janeiro. Nor will they know about the days when the cabriolet and the tilbury filled the role of carriage, public and private. The cabriolet did not last very long. The tilbury, which predates both, looks likely to last as long as the city does. When the city is dead and gone and the archaeologists arrive, they will find a skeletal tilbury waiting for its usual customer, complete with the skeletons of horse and driver. They will be just as patient as they are today, however much it rains, and more melancholy than ever, even if the sun shines, because they will combine both present-day melancholy with that of the spectral past. The archaeologist will doubtless have some strange things to say about the three skeletons. The cabriolet, on the other hand, had no history, and left only the tale I’m about to tell you.

“Two?” cried the sacristan.

“Yes, sir, two: Senhora Anunciada and Senhor Pedrinho. Poor Senhor Pedrinho! And Senhora Anunciada, poor lady!” said the slave, moaning and groaning and pacing up and down, quite distraught.

Anyone reading this with a darkly skeptical soul will inevitably ask if the slave was genuinely upset, or if he simply wanted to pique the curiosity of the priest and the sacristan. I’m of the view that anything is possible in this world and the next. I believe he was genuinely upset, but then again I don’t not believe that he was also eager to tell some terrible tale. However, neither the priest nor the sacristan asked him any questions.