At the sight of the food package, his anger broke out. She kicked a china basin on the floor by the bed and punched her in the head.

 So the days went by, and so more than three months passed after the night of the slash. Firmo continued to meet the Bahian woman on the Rua de São João Baptista, but the mulatto woman was no longer the same for him; she was cold, distracted, sometimes impertinent, raising questions about that straw.

—Huh! hum! we have moor on the coast! growled the cappadocian jealously. Now please God that I'm wrong!

In interviews, she now always appeared a little after the appointed time, and her first sentence was to say that she was in a hurry and couldn't stay long.

"I'm very busy with work!" she added to the lover's replica. An outfit from a family that leaves for the north tomorrow! You must be ready tonight!

Yesterday I did an evening!

—Now you're always busy with work!... grumbled Firmo.

"It's just that you have to pull for him, son!" Put me to sleep and I want to see what I eat and what I pay for the house! It won't have to be with what I take from here!

—Now this! Do you have the courage to say I don't give you anything? And who gave you that dress you have on your body?!

"I didn't say never to give me anything, but with what you give me I won't pay the house and I won't put the pan on the fire!" I'm not asking you for anything either! Oh!

In this way their interviews soured, cooling the few hours they had for love. One Sunday, Firmo waited a long time and Rita didn't show up. The room was cramped and gloomy, without windows, with a bad smell of musty and damp. Elle had brought a package of fried fish, bread, and wine to lunch together. It was midday and Firmo still waited, strolling in the narrow confines of the miserable alcove, like a jaguar in a cage, snarling obscene curses; the swollen brow, the clenched teeth. «If that slut appeared to him at that moment, he would be able to twist her in his hands!»

At the sight of the food package, his anger broke out. She kicked a china basin on the floor by the bed and punched her in the head.

-Devil!

Then he sat down on the bed, waited a while longer, sniffling hard, shaking his crossed legs, and finally I left, throwing a dirty word into the room.

Along the street, on the way, he swore that "that expensive woman would pay the mulatta!" A longing to punish her at once drew him to the slum of São Romão, but he didn't feel like going there, and contented himself with hanging around the inn. I couldn't see her; he decided to wait until night to send him a message. And he wandered around the neighborhood bored, dragging his disgust for that Sunday without pagoda. At two o'clock in the afternoon he entered Garnizé's tavern, a joint near the beach, where he used to drink heavily with Porfiro. The friend was not there. Firmo threw himself on a chair, ordered a paraty hammer and lit a cigar, thinking. A mulatto, a resident of Cabeça de Gato, came to sit at the same table and, bluntly, gave him the news that Jeronymo had been discharged from the hospital the day before.

Firmo woke up with a start.

—The Jeronymo?!

“She reported to the inn this morning.

“How did you know?

—The Pataca told me.

—Now, here's what it is! exclaimed the capoeira, punching the table.

—Which is what? interrogated the other.

-Anything! It's here with me. Take something?

A new glass came, and Firmo grumbled at the end of a pause:

-IT IS! there's no doubt! That's why the station wagon has been windy for me lately!...

And a mad jealousy, a fierce desperation burst within him and grew at once like the thirst of a wounded man. «Oh! he needed revenge on her! hers and hers! The cursed one resists the first, but he would not escape the second!”

—See another hammer from paraty! she yelled at the little Portuguese from the joint. And he added, slamming his petropolis on the ground with all his might: —And it's only today!

With his hat aft, his gaforina more excited than usual, his eyes red, his mouth foaming at the corners, he was breathing a fever of revenge and hatred.

-Look! told the table mate. From this, not even a peep with the carapicús! If you open your beak, I'll kill your skin! You already know me!

“I have nothing to say! For what?

-Good!

And they were still drinking.

Jeronymo, in effect, had been discharged and had returned to the tenement that Sunday for the first time since his illness. He was thin, pale, disfigured, leaning on a piece of bamboo. His beard and hair had grown, which he did not want to cut without having fulfilled a certain oath made to her pride. The woman had gone to fetch him from the hospital and was walking beside her, equally dejected by her husband's illness and by the causes that determined it. His companions received him with pity, filled with a respectful sadness; a silence fell around the convalescent; no one spoke except in undertones; Rita Bahiana's eyes were filled with water.

Pity took her man to the bedroom.

"Do you want to have a broth?" she asked him. I don't think you're quite ready yet...

-I am! he countered. The doctor says I need to walk, to get strength in my legs. I've also been stuck in bed for so long! It's only been a week since I put my feet on the ground!

He took a few steps into his small room and then said, returning to his wife: —What would taste good to me now was a cup of coffee, but I wanted it as good as Rita does... Look! ask him to fix it.

Piedade let out a sigh and left slowly to go and ask the mulata for the favor. That preference for the other's coffee hurt like an infidelity.

"My man wants his coffee there and turns up his nose at the house... He'll ask you to make him a cup of tea." Could it be? asked the Portuguese to Bahia.

“It costs nothing! answered this one. With few it is there!

But he didn't have to take him, because in a moment, Jeronymo, with the calm and passive air of someone who hasn't completely recovered after a long illness, appeared at his door.

"It's not worth bothering to go there... If you'll excuse me, I'll drink my coffee right here..."

—Come in, Mr. Jeronymo.

"Here he knows better..."

—You catch it already with parts! Look, your wife, walk behind me! And I don't want stories!...

Jeronymo shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.

"Poor thing!" he muttered later. Very nice creature, but...

"Shut up, devil!" Drink your coffee and stop bitching! And even Portugal's addiction: eating and saying bad things!

The Portuguese took a sip of coffee with delight.

—I don't mean it wrong, but I confess that I don't find many things in her that I wanted...

And sucked his mustaches.

"You're all the same swag!" A fool is he who goes after a man's labia! I don't want to know about it anymore... I've already dispatched the other one!

The horseman had a tremor of his whole body.

“Other who? The Firm?

Rita regretted what she had said, and stammered:

“It's a bad thing! I don't want to know more about him!... A scum!

"Is she still coming here?" asked the horseman.

-Here? Which! Don't fall in this one! And if you come, I won't open the door for you! Oh! When I embirro with a person, I really embirro!

“Is that true, Rita?

-What? That I don't want to know more about her? This one here will never make life with such a cheat sheet again! I swear by this light!

"Did she do anything to you?"

-I don't know! I don't want! it's over!

"And that so you have another one now..."

“What hope! I don't have, nor do I want to have a man anymore!

“Why, Rita?

-Now! not worth it!

—And…if you found one…who really wanted her…forever?…

"Not like these!"

—Well, I know of one who wants her as God to his own!...

—Then tell him what other trade!

Ella came to pick up her chicara, and he felt her waist.

-Look! Listening!

Rita fled with a piece of French toast, and said quickly, very seriously:

-Leave it. Your wife could see!

-Come here!

-Soon.

-When?

-Soon.

-Where?

-I don't know.

"I really need to break up with you..."

—Yes, but here it gets ugly.

“Where are we then?

—I know!

And, seeing that Piedade entered, she disguised it, saying without transition:

—Cold baths are good for that! They make the body hard!

The other, beckoned, crossed the small room in silence, went to her husband and told him that Zé Carlos wanted to talk to her, along with Pataca.

-There! did Jeronymo. I already know what it is. See you later, Rita. Thanks. When you want anything from us, we are there.

As he left the courtyard, those two came to meet him. The cowboy took them to the house, where the woman had already set the lunch table, and with a signal I warned them not to speak for a while about the matter that had brought them there. Jeronymo ate in a hurry and invited the guests to take a walk outside.

In the street, he asked them in a mysterious tone:

—Where can we speak at will?

The Pataca remembered the sale of Manoel Pépé, in front of the cemetery.

—Good point! confirmed Ze Carlos. There are good funds there to talk about.

And the three of them set off, without exchanging another word, until the corner.

—So, what we said is still standing?… asked the last one at last.

"Stone and lime!" replied the horseman.

—And what do you do?

"I still don't know... I need first of all to know where the goat is found at night."

—In Garnizé, affirmed the Pataca.

— Garnizé?

—That tavern over there when you enter Rua da Passagem, where there's a cock at the sign.

—Oh! In front of the new pharmacy...

-Fair! Elle goes there every night now, and he was there yesterday, when I saw him, as a sign that in one sip...

Too drunk, huh?

“Like a possum! That was something, that Rita Bahiana nailed him fresh!

They had come on sale. They entered through the back and sat on empty soap boxes around a pine table. They asked for paraty with sugar.

—Where were they?… Jeronymo inquired, pretending that he was asking this question without special interest. Right there in São Romão?...

-Who? Rita plus her? Now what! Well, if he's now all Cat's Head!...

"Did she go there?"

-I doubt! Then that one! That one is carapicú right up to the nails!

“I don't even know how they haven't broken through yet! Zé Carlos intervened, who continued to talk about the mulatto woman; while Jeronymo listened to him abstractly, without taking his eyes off one spot.

The Pataca, as if following the horseman's thoughts, said to him, downing the rest of his glass:

—Perhaps the best thing would be to liquidate the thing today!...

"I'm still very weak..." observed the convalescent sadly.

—But your bread is strong! And besides, here we are. You can even stay at home if you want...

“That's not it! cut that one. I don't give my share for the teeth of the mouth!

—I'm going here too, the best thing would be to beat him up today… declared the other. Bread overnight is hard!

—And I have a hankering for him!... added the Pataca.

"Well, be it today!" decided Jeronymo. And the money is at home, forty for each one! After the méla runs soon the copper! And then we'll have a lot of fine wine!

"What time do we meet?" asked Ze Carlos.

“Early at nightfall, right here. It is said?

"And it will be done, God willing!"

The Pataca lit his pipe, and the three began to chatter excitedly about the effect that that beating would have; the face the goat would make between three good dicks. «So they wanted to see how far the imposture of the razor would go! Devil of a colhordas who, for one—you go, I'll go—snatched right away by the iron!...»

Two workers in stocking shirts entered the tavern and the group fell silent. Jeronymo lit a cigarette in the Pataca pipe and said goodbye, reminding his companions of the time of the interview and throwing a two-hundred-reis nikel on the table.

It went straight to the tenement.

"You're wrong to walk around in this sun!"

"Well, if the doctor told me to walk as far as I could..."

But he retired to the house, stretched out on the bed and soon fell asleep. The woman, who had accompanied him there, as soon as she saw him sleeping, shooed the flies away from him, covered his face with a chambray that was used for trays with starched clothes, and I went out on tiptoe, leaving the leaning door.

He had dinner two hours ago, Jeronymo ate with an appetite, drank a bottle of wine, and the two spent the afternoon talking, sitting in front of the house, forming a group with Rita and the people from Machona. Around them the happy freedom of Sunday brought joy to that afternoon. Women breastfed their baby right there, in the open air, showing the uberity of their full teats. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of parrot chatter; little ones crossed, as quickly laughing as weeping; the Italians did the noisy digestion of their dinner parties; songs and curses could be heard between laughter. Augusta, who was seven months pregnant, was solemnly walking her bandulho, carrying another child in her arms. Albino, installed in front of a small table in front of his door, made, with the strength of patience, a painting, composed of phosphoros box figurines, cut out with scissors and glued to cardboard with gum arabica. And upstairs, in one of Miranda's windows, João Romão, dressed in light cashmere, wearing a stylish tie, already familiar with the clothes and the fine people, was talking to Zulmira who, beside him, smiling with downcast eyes. , threw bread crumbs to the hens in the tenement; while the innkeeper cast down contemptuous glances at that sensual rabble, who had made him rich, and who continued to toil stupidly, from sunrise to sunset, with no other ideal than to eat, sleep, and procreate. he was talking to Zulmira who, beside him, smiling with downcast eyes, was throwing bread crumbs to the hens in the tenement; while the innkeeper cast down contemptuous glances at that sensual rabble, who had made him rich, and who continued to toil stupidly, from sunrise to sunset, with no other ideal than to eat, sleep, and procreate. he was talking to Zulmira who, beside him, smiling with downcast eyes, was throwing bread crumbs to the hens in the tenement; while the innkeeper cast down contemptuous glances at that sensual rabble, who had made him rich, and who continued to toil stupidly, from sunrise to sunset, with no other ideal than to eat, sleep, and procreate.

At nightfall, Jeronymo went, as had been agreed, to sell Pépé. The other two were already there. Unfortunately there was someone else in the tavern. They drank together, from the same glass, a martello de paraty and talked in a muffled voice in a dark conspiracy in which their beards brushed against each other.

—Where are the shovels?… asked the horseman.

"Over there, by the kites..." whispered the Pataca, gesturing to an old rolled-up mat. I prepared them a little while ago... I didn't want them too big... Of this size.

And I open my hand against the earth in the place of my chest. "They've been soaking until now..." he added, winking.

-Good! approved Jeronymo, draining his glass with one last sip. Now where do we go? It still seems early for Garnizé.

-Still! confirmed the Pataca. Let's stay here a little longer and then we'll go on. I go into the tavern and you wait for me outside the place we've set... If the goat isn't there, I'll tell you right back, and if he is, I'll stay... I approach him, try to get into conversation, I start an argument and finally challenge him to the street; he falls in the esparrella, and then the two of you come out and get into the dance, like someone who doesn't want the thing! What do you think?

-Perfect! applaudio Jeronymo, and shouted to the inside. —Look at another hammer from paraty!

Then he dug his hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a thick roll of bills.

- You can dry it at will! said. Here there is still a lot to do!

And, putting the notes in order, he separated eighty thousand reis into twenty-five bills.

“This is the fit! This one is sacred! he added, putting them in his left pocket.

Then he set aside twenty thousand reis, which he threw on the table.

—This one is for us to celebrate our victory!

And turning the rest of his money into a cake, which he, a little drunk, squeezed between his now pale and almost disheveled fingers, he punched it in his right-hand pocket, explaining between his teeth that there was still plenty there for whatever came and went. , in case of any mishap.

-Angry! exclaimed Ze Carlos. This is what is called doing things the gentleman! Let's count on me for life and for death!

The Pataca understood that they could have some beer now.

—I don't want to, but you drink it, I help Jeronymo.

"I'd rather have a sip of white wine," countered the third.

"Anything you want!" franchised that one. I also drink some wine. No! that what we're drinking isn't razor's money, it was earned in the sun and rain with the sweat of my brow! And pour it down without grimacing, because it doesn't weigh on anyone's conscience!

"Then yours!" toasted Zé Carlos, as soon as the new reinforcement arrived. So that you don't give to the bad caste of apothecaries again!

—Yours, Master Jeronymo! the other competed. Jeronymo thanked him and said, after having the glasses filled:

—To the friends and countrymen with whom I found myself for my endeavour!

And drank.

—To Sora Piedade de Jesus! claimed the Pataca.

-Thanks! replied the digger, getting up. Well! Let us not now let ourselves stay here all night; get to work! It's almost eight o'clock.

The other two emptied what was still at the bottom of their glasses in one gulp and got up too.

"It's too early yet..." Zé Carlos said, spitting sideways and wiping his mustache on the back of his hand.

—But perhaps we will have some delay along the way, I warn the companion, going to fetch the package of cudgels along with the kites.

"In any case, we'll follow," he decided. Jeronymo, impatient, not even if he feared that the night would suddenly escape him.

He paid the cost, and the three of them left, not staggering, but as if pushed by a strong wind, which from time to time made them take a few quicker steps forward. They continued along Rua de Sorocaba and then headed towards the beach, talking in low voices, very excited. They only stopped near Garnizé.

"You go then, don't you?" asked the cowboy to the Pataca.

The latter responded by handing him the package of bread and walking away with his hands in his pockets, looking at his feet, pretending to be more drunk than he really was.