Justiniano Vilela’s head—if a breadfruit wearing a very elaborate cravat can be called a head—was an example of nature’s prodigality when it came to making big heads. Some people declared, though, that his talent could not compete in size, even though a rumor to the contrary had been doing the rounds for some time. I don’t know what talent those people were talking about, and the word can have various meanings, but Justiniano Vilela had certainly shown great talent in his choice of wife, who, in José Lemos’s opinion, still merited ten minutes of anyone’s attention, even though she was well into her forty-sixth year.

Justiniano Vilela was dressed as one usually does for such gatherings, and the only truly noteworthy thing about him were his English lace-up shoes, and since he had a horror of overly long trousers, he revealed a pair of fine, immaculate, brilliant white socks whenever he sat down.

As well as his pension, Justiniano owned a house and two houseboys, and he lived quite well on that. He disliked politics, but had firm opinions about public affairs. He played solo whist and backgammon on alternate days, spoke proudly of how things used to be in his day, and took a pinch of snuff between thumb and middle finger.

Other guests began arriving, but these were few in number, because only close friends and family would be attending the ceremony and the supper.

At half-past four, Carlota’s godparents arrived, Dr. Valença and his widowed sister, Dona Virgínia. José Lemos rushed to embrace Dr. Valença, who, being a very formal, ceremonious fellow, gently pushed his friend away, whispering that, on such a day, gravity was of the essence. Then, with a serenity of which only he was capable, Dr. Valença immediately went to greet the mistress of the house and the other ladies.

He was a man of about fifty, neither fat nor thin, but endowed with a broad chest and an equally broad abdomen, which lent a still greater gravity to his face and manners. The abdomen is the most positive expression of human gravity; a thin man cannot help but make rapid movements, whereas to be seriously grave, one’s movements need to be slow and measured. A truly grave man should take at least two minutes to take out a handkerchief and blow his nose. Dr. Valença took three minutes when he had a heavy cold and four when he was well. He really was the gravest of men.