as if he felt the need to get rid of excess energy, impatient of time becoming one of the slowest moving things of this world, capricious too, or stubborn, as Senhora Maria mentally called him, on seeing her cleaning routine upset by the quite absurd demands of a man who was usually so accommodating. She first became suspicious that there might be Moors on the coast when she saw the rose in the vase, and this became a near certainty, albeit a certainty without any object, when the roses became two, finally turning into a firm conviction before the somewhat unseemly agitation of someone who had been on the point of showing a forefinger covered in dust gathered on a door ledge, thus repeating that disagreeable tradition of housewives obsessed with cleanliness. Raimundo Silva only became aware that he must control himself when Senhora Maria asked him provocatively, Would you like me to change the sheets today or can it wait until Friday as usual. Men are not only childish, they are also transparent. Just as well Raimundo Silva was not in the bedroom at that moment, otherwise Senhora Maria would have seen him become flustered, although all she needed as confirmation that she had touched on a sore point was the unmistakable tremor in his voice, readily identified by someone with her keen hearing. I can see no reason for changing the domestic routine, a phrase that failed to deceive her and served to provoke another worry, vague and devious, that tried to check the only words with which he could sincerely express himself, too crude to be introduced into his interior monologue, If we were to end up in bed, will the sheets be clean enough, he would ask, and he does not know the answer, he can hear Senhora Maria with just the right note of facetiousness, no more no less, I thought you'd want them changed, he sheepishly remains silent, if she wants to change the sheets that is up to her, fate will decide. Only when the cleaner departs will he go and investigate only to discover that the sheets have been laundered, for all her faults, Senhora Maria is a kind-hearted soul, but he cannot make up his mind whether to be pleased or disgruntled. What a complicated life.
Shortly after five, the bell rang. A light, rapid ring, which caused Raimundo Silva to rush to the door as if afraid that it would ring but once only and never again, only in Beethoven's symphony does destiny summon more than once, in life it is different, there are times when we had the feeling that someone was out there waiting, and when we went to see there was no one, and at other times we arrived just a moment too late, not that it mattered, the difference here being that we can go on asking ourselves, Who could it have been, and spend the rest of our life dreaming about this. Raimundo Silva will not need to dream. Maria Sara is there on the threshold and makes her entrance, Hello, she said, Hello, he replied, and both of them lingered in the narrow passageway, rather gloomy now that the door is closed. Raimundo Silva switched on the light, murmuring, Excuse me, as if he had divined a suspicious and equivocal thought going through Maria Sara's mind, What you want is to take advantage of the dark, you think I don't see through you, frankly this much desired visit has got off to a bad start, these two who could be so intelligent and witty on the telephone, have said nothing to each other so far apart from, Hello, it is difficult to believe that after so many implicit promises, this game of roses, these courageous steps she had taken, who can tell whether she is disappointed at the manner in which she is being received. Fortunately, in such difficult situations, the body is quick to understand that the brain is in no fit condition to give orders and acts of its own accord, generally doing what is necessary and by the shortest route, without words, or using only those that have preserved some hint of innocence and spontaneity, this was how Raimundo Silva and Maria Sara found themselves in the study, she has not yet sat down, her hand in his, perhaps neither of them aware that they have been like this since she arrived, all they know is that they are holding hands, his right hand holding her left hand, Maria Sara looks for a chair, and that is when Raimundo Silva, as if there were no other way of detaining her even for an instant, raises her hand to his lips, and it worked, yes, Sir, for the next moment Maria Sara was looking straight at him and he drew her gently towards him, his lips barely grazing her forehead, close to the roots of her hair. So close, and then so far, for she drew back without being brusque, saying as she did so, This is a visit, remember. He gently released her, I remember, he said, and pointed to a chair, There's a little sitting-room next door with more comfortable chairs, but I think you'll feel more at ease in here, and with these words, he went and sat at his desk in the only remaining chair, the two of them separated by the table as if they were in a consulting room, Tell me what's wrong, but Maria Sara said nothing, they both knew that it was up to him to speak, even if only to welcome her. And he spoke. The words came out in a uniform tone, practically devoid of any modulations of persuasion or insinuation, each word intended to count in its own right, because of the naked meaning it might have at that moment and in those circumstances. I've lived alone in this apartment for many years, there are no women in my life except when the urge becomes irresistible, and even then I feel I'm on my own, I'm a person without any special qualities, normal even in my defects, and I haven't wanted much from life apart from keeping in good health which is a blessing, and not to be without work, these have been my only ambitions and I realise that I might be asking too much, but what I now want from life is something I cannot remember ever having, that taste of life that must surely exist. Maria Sara listened without taking her eyes off him, except for one fleeting moment when her concentration was replaced by an expression of surprise and curiosity, and when Raimundo stopped talking, she said, We're not here to discuss a contract, and besides, there's no need to tell me things I already knew, This is the first time I've mentioned the details of my private life, The things we consider private are nearly always known to everyone, you cannot imagine what one can find out from two or three apparently disinterested conversations, Have you been going around asking questions about me, Only the usual routine inquiries about the proof-readers working for the publishing house simply to form some impression, but people are usually prepared to say more than has been asked of them, they only need a little encouragement, a little prompting without them noticing, I could see you had this ability when we first met, But I only exploit it for the right reasons, Don't think I'm complaining. Raimundo Silva ran his hand over his forehead for a second, then said, I used to dye my hair but no longer, white roots are not a pretty sight, forgive me, in time my hair will get back to its natural colour, Mine has stopped being natural, because of you I went to the hairdresser today to have these venerable white hairs tinted, They were so few I shouldn't have thought it worth the bother, So you did notice, I looked at you closely enough, just as you must have looked at me and asked yourself how a man of my age could be without white hairs, No such question entered my mind, it was obvious that you dyed your hair, who did you think you were deceiving, Probably only myself, Just as I've decided to start deceiving myself, It comes to the same thing, What do you mean by the same thing, Your reason for dyeing your hair, mine for no longer dyeing it, Explain yourself, I stopped dyeing my hair in order to be as I am, And what about me, why have I tinted my hair, To go on being as you are, Smart thinking, I can see that I'll have to practise mental gymnastics daily in order to keep up with you, I'm no more intelligent than you are, simply older. Maria Sara smiled quietly, Irremovable evidence that clearly worries you, Not really, our age only matters in relation to that of others, I suspect I'm young in the eyes of someone who is seventy, but I'm in no doubt that a youth of twenty would consider me an old man. And in relation to me, how do you see yourself, Now that you've tinted the few white hairs you possess and I'm allowing all of mine to show, I've become a man of seventy in the presence of a girl of twenty, You can't count, there is only a difference of fifteen years between us, Then I must be thirty-five, They both laughed and Maria Sara suggested, Let's come to an agreement, What agreement, That we say no more about people's ages, I'll try not to bring up the subject again, You'd better do more than try if you want to hold a conversation with me, I'll speak to the mirror, You can speak to yourself if you wish to, but that isn't why I came here, I suppose it would be presumptuous to ask why you came, Or impolite, I'm not expressing myself very well, a phrase suddenly slips out and spoils everything, Forget it, you haven't spoilt anything, the fact is that we're both terrified, Suppose I were to get up and give you a kiss, Don't, but if you do, give me no warning, From bad to worse, any other man in this situation would know exactly what to do, Any other man in this situation would have another woman here, I give up, I told you it was only a visit, and I asked you to be patient, I'm prepared to wait but I know what I want, I concede it's important to know what one wants, everybody has these words on their lips, but in my opinion it is much better to want what one knows, it takes more time, of course, and people don't have the patience, Once again, I give in, so what do you suggest I do, You can start showing me your apartment, Tell me how you live and I'll tell you who you are, On the contrary, I'll tell you how you shouldn't live if you tell me who you are, Let me try and tell you who I am, And I'll try to discover how we should live. Raimundo Silva rose to his feet, Maria Sara did the same, he sidled round the desk, drew close, but not too close, he merely touched her on one arm, as if indicating that the visit was about to begin, yet she lingered, looked at the table, the objects on top of it, the lamp, papers, two dictionaries, Is this where you work, she asked, Yes, this is where I work, I see no signs of a certain siege, You're about to see them, the fortress is not simply this study.
We know that there is not much more than this, the bathroom, which until a few weeks ago was also a cosmetics laboratory, the kitchen where he toasted bread and ate the same old frugal meals, the study where we are right now, the sitting-room, inhospitable and abandoned, this door that leads into the bedroom. With his hand on the door-handle, Raimundo Silva appears to hesitate in opening it, he holds back respectfully as if observing some superstition, decidedly a man of another age, who is fearful of offending a woman's modesty by confronting
