The Maias by Jose Maria Eca de Queiroz

Author:Jose Maria Eca de Queiroz
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978 1 907650 33 8
Publisher: Dedalus
Published: 2011-01-20T16:00:00+00:00

Then every day, for weeks, he enjoyed that delicious, splendid, perfect hour when he visited ‘the Englishwoman’.

He would leap out of bed, singing like a canary, and launch into his day as if into some triumphal march. The post would arrive and it invariably brought him a letter from the Countess, three sheets of paper from which some small, fading flower would always fall. He left the flower where it fell on the carpet, and he would have been hard pressed to say what information was contained in the letter’s long, tortuous lines. He gleaned vaguely that, three days after she arrived in Oporto, her father, old Mr Thompson, had had an attack of apoplexy. She was there now in the role of nurse. Then, taking two or three particularly lovely flowers from the garden and wrapping them in silk paper, he would set out for Rua de São Francisco, always in his coupé, for the weather had changed, the days passing gloomily, full of rain and a constant south-west wind.

At the door, Domingos would welcome him with an ever more affectionate smile. Niniche would come bounding gleefully out to meet him and he would scoop the dog up in his arms and kiss her. He would stand for a moment in the living-room, greeting with his eyes the furniture, the flowers and the bright orderliness of all things; he would go over and see what music she had been playing that morning, or the book she had left unfinished, the ivory paper knife placed between the pages.

Then she would enter the room. Each day, her smile and her golden voice when she said ‘Good morning’ had a new and more penetrating charm for Carlos. She usually wore a dark, simple dress; a fichu of fine antique lace or a belt with a jewel-encrusted buckle would occasionally enliven her sober, almost severe attire, which seemed very beautiful to Carlos, almost an expression of her soul.

They would start by talking about Miss Sara and about the wild, wet weather which was so unfavourable to Miss Sara’s state of health. Still standing, Maria Eduarda would continue talking, now and then adjusting the position of a book or moving a chair that was not quite straight; she had the restless habit of constantly trying to restore things to symmetry; and, as she passed, she would mechanically run the magnificent lace of her handkerchief over already perfectly dusted surfaces.

She always went with him now to Miss Sara’s room. Along the yellow corridor, walking by her side, Carlos would be troubled by the caress of that intimate jasmine-tinged perfume, which seemed to emerge from the movement of her skirts. She would sometimes casually push open the door of a room which was furnished only with an old sofa; that was where Rosa played and where Cricri’s clothes and carriages and kitchen were kept. They would find Rosa dressing the doll or engaged in deep conversation with her; or else, sitting very still at one end

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