HQ Vítoria 3PG
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- I arrived very sweaty; and, With maternal affection, the old mango trees, wholined up in a lane in front of the owner's house, they received me, welcomed me andthey comforted me. In all my life, it was the only time I came tofeel the sympathy of nature...It was a huge house that appeared to be deserted; was poorly treated, but notI know why it came to me thinking that in this bad treatment there was more sloppiness and tirednessto live that same poverty. It must have been years since it had been painted. The wallspeeled and the eaves of the roof, those glazed tiles from other times,they were bare here and there, like decaying or ill-kept dentures.I looked a little at the garden and saw the vengeful vigor with which the sedge and theburr had expelled the tinhorãos and the begonias. The crotons continued,however, to live with its fading foliage. I knocked. They cost me to open it.
- Finally came an ancient black African, whose beards and cotton hair gave thehis countenance an acute impression of old age, sweetness and suffering.In the living room, there was a gallery of portraits: arrogant gentlemen with beards innecklace were profiled framed in immense gilded frames, and sweet profiles ofladies, in bands, with large fans, seemed to want to take to the air,puffed up by round balloon dresses; but, from those old things, about thewhich dust put more antiquity and respect, the one I liked most to see was abeautiful porcelain vase from China or India, as they say. That purity of the dishes,its fragility, the ingenuity of the design and that dull moonlight glow,I was told that that object had been made by the hands of a child, dreaming,to delight the tired eyes of disillusioned old men...I waited a moment for the owner of the house. It took a while. A little shaky,with the cotton handkerchief in his hand, venerably taking the simont of the past,it was full of respect that I saw him arrive. I wanted to leave.
- even if notwere he the disciple, it was always a crime to mystify that old man whose old ageit brought to the surface of my thoughts something august, something sacred. I hesitated,but I stayed.— I am, I advanced, the teacher of Javanese, whom you said you need."Sit down," the old man replied. Are you from here, from Rio?— No, I'm from Canavieiras.- Like? did he. Speak a little loudly, I'm deaf, — I'm from Canavieiras,in Bahia, I insisted. — Where did you study?— In San Salvador."Where did you learn Javanese?" he asked, with that peculiar stubbornnessto old people.I didn't count on this question, but I immediately concocted a lie.I told him my father was Javanese. A crew member of a merchant ship, he had come to theBahia, had established himself near Canavieiras as a fisherman, housewife,I had prospered and it was with him that I learned Javanese."And he believed it?" And the physical? asked my friend, who had listened to me until then.shut up.
- What do I want, my dear sir...."Castle," I said.— What I want, my dear Senhor Castelo, is to fulfill an oath offamily. I don't know if you know that I am the grandson of Counselor Albernaz, thatwho accompanied Pedro I when he abdicated. Coming back from London, brought herea book in a strange language, the one he held dear. out a hindu orSiamese who had given it to him in London, in thanks for what service I did not know.— What I want, my dear Senhor Castelo, is to fulfill an oath offamily. I don't know if you know that I am the grandson of Counselor Albernaz, thatwho accompanied Pedro I when he abdicated. Coming back from London, brought herea book in a strange language, the one he held dear. out a hindu orSiamese who had given it to him in London, in thanks for what service I did not know.
- by my grandfather. When my grandfather died, he called my father and told him: "Son, I have thisbook here, written in Javanese. He told me who gave it to me that he avoids misfortunes and bringsbest wishes for those who have it. I don't know anything for sure. In any case, keep it;but if you want the fate that the oriental sage set me to be fulfilled, make ityour son will understand, so that our race may always be happy." My father, continued theold baron, he didn't really believe the story; however, he kept the book. at the doors ofDeath, he gave it to me and told me what he had promised his father. At first, I didn't careof the story of the book. I laid him in a corner and made my life. I got to theforget about him; but, for some time now, I've been through so muchdisgust, so many misfortunes have befallen my old age that.and I remembered thefamily talisman. I have to read it, understand it, if I don't want mylast days herald the disaster of my posterity; and to understand it, of course,that I need to understand Javanese. There you are.He fell silent and I noticed that the old man's eyes had misted over. he drieddiscreetly his eyes and asked me if he wanted to see that book. I replied thatyea.
- He called the servant, gave him instructions and explained to me that he had lost all thesons, nephews, with only one married daughter left, whose offspring, however, werereduced to a child, weak in body and in fragile and wavering health.The book came. It was an old hemlock, an old in-room, bound inleather, printed in large letters, on thick yellowed paper. lacked thecover sheet and therefore the print date could not be read. There were still somepreface pages, written in English, where I read that they were the stories of thePrince Kulanga, Javanese writer of great merit.I soon informed the old baron who, not realizing that I had arrivedthen, for English, he was given high regard for my Malay knowledge. I was stillleafing through the letterpacio, like someone who masterfully knows that kind ofvasconço, until we finally contract the price and time conditions,pledging to have him read the booklet within a year.Soon I was giving my first lesson, but the old man wasn't sodiligent as I am. He couldn't learn to distinguish and even writefour letters. Anyway, with half the alphabet it took us a month and Mr. Baron deJacuecanga was not very master of the subject: he learned and unlearned.
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