Orphans of Eldorado - Milton Hatoum [29]
Sometimes an omen is more powerful than reason, don’t you think? A porter put all my luggage in a cart when I disembarked in Vila Bela. Before paying a visit to Estiliano, I decided to give the boxes with the pieces of cloth to Becassis’s daughter. I remembered I’d bought nothing for Azário. That brat disturbed me. Something about him reminded me of my father. I decided to face Azário and accompanied the carter to the white palace. I went round the house to the end of the back yard, but there was no scent of oils and essences, no aroma. All there was was the smell of horse- and cow-shit. Where were the owners? The carter didn’t know. And Florita?
She’s out and about somewhere.
Go and find her.
It was strange to see the front of the house all boarded up. The Becassises must have gone to Boa Vida, I thought. But when I saw Florita pushing a tray with wooden wheels, I realised she no longer lived in the white palace.
She told me that the perfumery was a lie. A week after I left, Becassis sold the two properties to the Adel family. The next day Florita had to leave the house. Estiliano rented a small room for her at the Santa Clara Harbour, and Leontino Byron gave her a tray to sell beijus and curd cheese.
Two friends of your father’s saved me from the gutter, said Florita angrily. Even in death, he still helps me. And look what they’ve done to you.
I was on the bare earth of the street, between a cart full of boxes and a humiliated woman. I gave Florita the presents and said we could spend a few days in Estiliano’s house. She put the packets on her tray and left without saying a word.
Stubbornness is stupid, it destroys our lives. I was flippant and stubborn to have ignored Florita’s prophecy. This is what I was thinking as I walked towards the Francesa Lagoon. Estiliano was eating his lunch halfway along the table; around his plate were open books. He chewed, drank and paused to read one of the volumes. When he saw me, he put his spoon down and invited me to lunch. I refused and put the French books on the table; he smiled with pleasure. Becassis and Adel were clowns, I said, and I wanted to know what was behind their antics.
Why are they clowns? That’s business. You know nothing of these things. Horadour Bonplant decided not to sell the perfumery. I even went to talk to him, but the Frenchman wanted a fortune. He put the price up each week, and so Becassis got fed up and decided to sell the two properties to Genesino Adel.
I don’t believe that, I said to Estiliano.
Go by the perfumery and ask Bonplant yourself . . .
Amando, I interrupted. Where does he come into the story?
What do you mean?
Azário, Estrela’s son. That sour young man, just like Amando. The same big hands, the same look as my father.
Fantasies, that’s all you’ve got in your head, Arminto. Any money left in your pockets? Nothing left over, I bet? You’ve lost the white palace and the Boa Vida. You’ve lost everything.
He got up and walked round the table, shutting the books.
In times of prosperity it would just be a waste, said Estiliano. But in these poverty-struck times, it’s suicide.
I stayed in the best hotel in Belém, tried to get the longing for Dinaura out of my system, threw money away as if there was no tomorrow. My father hadn’t even mentioned me to the hotel receptionist. But I got my revenge . . .
Revenge? What is there after death? he asked. Now we’re going to look for a house, the last