Free The Alienist and Other Stories of Nineteenth-Century Brazil by Machado de Assis Page A

to one side, quickly turned it back, and finally left the window. Turning around, she found two newly arrived patients, and, escorting them, a young man who rose quickly and came to greet her effusively. It was the man who had been her first suitor.
    The first suitor must have been about thirty-three by now. He’d been away from Rio for years, running his family’s plantation, touring Europe, and, most recently, governing a province in the far south by prestigious imperial appointment. He was of medium height and rather pale, with a sparse beard, and his clothes were close fitting. In his hand was a new hat, an elegant top hat, grave, gubernatorial, administrative, a hat suitable to the person and his ambitions. Mariana, meanwhile, could hardly look at him. So confused did she become, so disoriented by the presence of a man whom she’d known in very special circumstances and whom she hadn’t seen since 1877, that she failed to discern anything. She extended her hand (more precisely, her fingertips), apparently murmured some kind of response to him, and was about to go back to the window, when Sophia appeared beside her.
    Sophia, too, knew the former suitor. They exchanged a few words. Mariana whispered impatiently in her friend’s ear. Wouldn’t it be better to come back another day? But her friend said that, no, it would only take half an hour, three quarters at most. For Mariana, the situation was oppressive. The presence of that man obfuscated her senses, threw her into a state of struggle and confusion. All her husband’s fault. If only he hadn’t been so pigheaded and then added insult to injury, nothing would have happened! The thought made her promise herself that she’d get retribution. She thought about her house, so pretty, so nice and peaceful, where she could be right now, safe and sound, without all these people around, without having to depend on her friend …
    “Mariana,” said her friend, “Dr. Viçoso is insisting that he’s lost weight. Don’t you think he looks the same as last year? Do you remember seeing him last year?”
    Dr. Viçoso was the proper name of her former suitor, who was now chatting to Sophia, though with frequent looks at Mariana. Mariana responded that, no, she didn’t remember. Viçoso took the opening to engage her in conversation. It really had been a few years since he’d seen her, and he underlined that observation with a certain sad, profound look. Then he opened his bag of conversational gambits and pulled out the opera. What did they think of the current offerings? In his opinion the opera company was excellent, except for the rather lame baritone. Sophia protested his harsh judgment of the baritone, but he insisted, adding that, in London, where he’d seen this company before, he’d gotten the same impression. The female leads, yes, indeed, both the soprano and the contralto, were first class. And he discussed their repertory, mentioned the finest passages of various operas, and praised the orchestra, most especially their rendition of Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots 2 … He’d seen Mariana there at the last performance, in the fourth or fifth box on the left, wasn’t that right?
    “We were there,” she murmured, accentuating the plural.
    “At the Cassino … that’s where I haven’t seen you,” he continued.
    “She’s becoming a recluse,” joined in Sophia, laughing.
    Viçoso had much enjoyed the recent dance at the Cassino; he brought out all his impressions, and Sophia did the same. The loveliest and most elaborate dresses of the evening were discussed by each of them in detail. Next came various personalities, an ill temper or two, and a few harmless, witty remarks, though not at the expense of anyone who couldn’t afford it. Mariana listened without interest. Once or twice she even got up and went to the window, but the hats were so numerous and so curious that she sat back down. Silently, she called her friend some ugly names that I won’t write