Original subtitles

Based on a novel by Machado de Assis

To the worm who gnawed the cold flesh of my corpse

I dedicate as a nostalgic remembrance these

��POSTHUMOUS MEMOIRS��

For some time Iwas in doubt as to whether to start these memoirs...

at the beginning orthe end, with my birth or my death.

Usually one starts at the beginning...

but I decided to start at the end fortwo reasons:

The first is that as I came back to be the author...

more than a writer who is dead, I am a dead man who is a writer...

for whom the grave was a second cradle.

The second is that by doing so, it gets more innovative and modern.

Moses, who also recounted his story in the Bible...

began with his birth, not his death.

This, in fact, is a radical difference between my story and the Bible.

Nature seems to weep at the loss...

of one of its finest characters.

Iwas 64 and had had a full life. Iwas single and rich.

To the good friend you see giving my eulogy...

I left a goodly sum. I don�t regret it.

...all of this is sublime praise for our illustrious departed.

Just a few People witnessed my departure...

among them a lady.

The family doctorwas there...

the friend you saw sPeaking at my burial...

a pious neighbour and the said lady.

Dead. Dead.

I died more than 100 years ago in Rio de Janeiro.

More precisely,at 2 o�clock on a Friday afternoon in August of 1869.

Should anyone think my death was caused by pneumonia...

he would not be wrong.

However,it would be more accurate to say that I died of an idea.

And not just any idea, but a magnificent idea:

the invention of a sublime remedy, the Bras Cubas Poultice.

The poultice became such an obsession...

that one day, trying to clear my head, I oPened the window.

But instead of a gentle breeze, Iwas struck by a blast of air.

And that�s how I caught pneumonia.

The colonization of our country requires railroads...

trains are the lungs of the economy.

I remember it as if it were today...

her apPearance at the door, pale,upset,dressed in black.

She stood there for a while, reluctant to come closer...

hereyes disbelieving, her mouth half-oPen.

Virgilia. Yes,her name was Virgilia.

Imagine, we had been in love, long ago.

Who would have thought, two great lovers...

two boundless passions, would have ended this way.

Aftertwenty years, there was nothing left between us.

Visiting the dead, are we?

The dead!

More like trying to get a vagabond out of bed.

Hold on.

Afterwards l�ll tell the story of Virgilia.

But first I want to do something very unusual.

As far as I know, up to now, no one... no one...

has ever described his own final delirium.

You, the spectator, already fidgeting in your seat...

be patient, we�ll soon get to the main story.

l� m sure you�II find very interesting...

what went through my head in the final minutes of my existence.

First I felt myself being transformed into St Thomas� �Summa Theologica�.

My hands were the book clasps...

but Virgilia found that position made me look like a corpse.

Then I felt cold...

and thought Iwas entering the land of eternal ice.

But in fact Iwas riding a hippopotamus.

And it carried me off to the beginning of time.

What is your name?

-You can call me Nature. -Nature? You?

You are absurd, a fable!

Tremble!

Mistress Nature, please give me a few more years.

I have no more need for you.

The minute that passes means little to time...

only the minute that comes. Go down and look.

Then I saw something amazing:

the condensation of the ages.

I saw the tumult of empires, the warof apPetites...

the reciprocal destruction of creatures and things.

Ambition, vanity,greed and envy shaking man like a rattle.

And moving on to the centuries of the future...

everything began to pass more quickly.

But with the same monotony.

When I recovered my senses, there she was.

I will tell you about Virgilia, but be patient, one thing at a time.

Now make yourself comfortable as l�m about to start.

And watch how skillfully I handle...

the passage of time in this story.

My delirium began in Virgilia�s presence.

She was the great sin of my youth.

And as there is no youth without childhood...

and no childhood without birth...

this is how we arrive without effort...

at 0ctober 20th 1805, the day Iwas born.

-He is so chubby. -He�s beautiful.

-He�s very pretty. -He�s got more hair than me.

Very clever.

All I know is that I grew naturally,like plants and cats do.

Shut up and move.

Although cats are less clever and plants less mischievous...

than Iwas as a child.

A poet once said that the child is fatherto the man.

I hoPe it�s not true, as since the age of five...

Iwas known as the "little devil".

My mother made me learn some prayers...

trying to transform her devil-child into a saint.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.

However,more than the prayers...

what ruled me were nerves and blood.

0r,at that moment, the stomach.

...the hero that deserves the medal is the one that stays...

not the one that departs.

-Councillor Aires, a theme. -Sweets!

Eggs, flour, baking powder...

cakes, pies and cheeses.

But I only take nourishment from your sweet kisses.

Admirable, Doctor Vilaca.

You say that, Madame, because you never heard Bocage...

as I did, in Lisbon.

That was something. What skill.

Vilaca would make poems and more poems...

and the dessert never arrived.

When I thought it would be the last, there came another.

Theme!

This crime merited a huge revenge...

an exemplary revenge.

-Go through. -l�m very angry with you.

-Why? -Because...

Because it �s my fate...

Sometimes I think it would be better to die.

Don�t say that, my angel.

-Leave me alone. -What kind of idea is that?

If you die, so will I.

What am I saying? I die every day...

of passion, longing, melancholy.

Do not weep...

you don�t want the day to break with two dawns.

Dr. Vilaca kissed Dona Eusebia! Dr. Vilaca kissed Dona Eusebia!

Dr. Vilaca kissed Dona Eusebia! Dr. Vilaca kissed Dona Eusebia!

Dr. Vilaca kissed Dona Eusebia! Dr. Vilaca kissed... Dona Eusebia!

Dr. Vilaca...

Having described this episode, let �s skip past school.

Tiresome school where I learned to read, write...

hit my classmates, cut classes.

Let �s jump ahead to...

Brazil�s independence.

At the indePendence celebrations...

the country and I were two young men...

fresh from childhood, full of the reckless impulses of youth.

Iwas a handsome fellow. Handsome and bold.

That night, while the country celebrated its new emPeror...

I selected a new queen.

Beautiful Marcela...

Beautiful Marcela.

Ah,Marcela! First passion of my youth.

It took me 30 days and three emeralds...

to reach Marcela�s heart.

Is that any way to behave?

Such an expensive present.

The emeralds were the proof that Iwas the suPerior man.

But my beautiful Marcela was somewhat lacking in innocence.

In fact she barely understood morality.

Do you really like it?

0ur passion had two stages.

The first was a kind of parliament...

with Xavier as the president and l, the prime-minister.

But it didn�t last long. I launched a coup d�etat...

and seized all the power.

I became a dictator without opposition.

I think.

You�re trying to pick a fight.

Is that any way to behave? Such an expensive gift.

Tell me what else I can do for you?

This necklace is so lovely...

almost as lovely as the one in Klopstock, the jeweler�s window.

Which one?

The one I saw the other day. In gold with many diamonds...

five rubies and matching earrings.

But our love doesn�t need these stimulants.

l�d never forgive you if you thought of me like that.

I would never allow anyone to buy my affection.

I have often sold the appearance of affection, I must confess...

but I have kept the real thing for very few.

Marcela was very dearto me.

So dearthat very soon my father�s money was not enough.

I apPealed to my guardian angel.

In fact he seemed more like a bank manager.

Angels and demons disguise themselves in various ways.

Some as bankers, others,jewelers.

To remind you of me when we part.

Marcela! No, please.

Don�t do it, Marcela. Don�t do it.

I beg you, Marcela!

My angel!

Marcela loved me for 15 months and $11,000.

My angel.

It �s over!

Over!

Enough, enough!

When my father found out about the $11,000...

he made me pack my bags and put me on a boat to Lisbon.

The first day I thought of killing myself.

0n the second, of becoming a priest.

0n the third, of drinking myself senseless.

0n the fourth,I thought of writing a letterto Marcela.

0n the fifth, I began to think of EuroPe...

and on the sixth I dreamed about the nights in Lisbon.

In six days God made the world and I remade mine.

I can�t say my university days didn�t teach me some philosophy...

but I just memorized the formulas, the vocabulary, the skeleton.

It was during the night that I learned things about the soul...

poetry and the flesh.

Brothers, now that we�re gathered...

as our tradition demands, let us drink a toast to us.

To us!

One up, one down, one in the middle and one down the hatch.

Iwas a suPerficial and Petulant scholar,given to adventures.

Forthis reason, the day the university presented me a diploma...

in a science that I had little knowledge in...

I must confess I felt both foolish and proud.

I came to the conclusion that law could not be a serious business...

since even I could earn a degree in it.

After graduating,I decided to extend my university lifestyle...

and set off to explore EuroPe.

Iwon�t relate everything I did in the 0Id World.

It would be too much for a brief memoir like this...

in which only the substance of life apPears.

Iwill just mention that I discovered Italy with Isabela...

Spain with Carmencita...

London with Margareth, Paris with Michelle...

and Germany with Helga.

When Iwas finally sick of all my travels...

I received a letter from my father.

Bras,return at once, your mother is very ill.

My poor child, l�ll never see you again.

Come quickly, my son, or you�ll find your mother dead.

This final phrase came as a blow to me.

I decided to exchange the women for my mother...

and EuroPe for my home.

I returned.

Seeing Rio de Janeiro I felt a new sensation.

The place where I had grown up... the street... the steeple...

the fountain on the corner...

Scenes of childhood engraved in my memory.

Mother.

My son.

Mother.

I am dying.

Don�t say that.

-Take care of your father. -I will.

And my roses.

I will.

My son, I want to give you a final piece of advice.

What is it?

Life, my little Bras, is a lottery.

Iwas stuPefied witnessing...

this final duel between to be or not to be.

I renounced everything and sought refuge...

in ourcountry house in Tijuca.

How good it is to be sad and say nothing...

I was prostrate.

The problem of life and death had never weighed me down.

Never until this day...

had I looked into the abyss of the inexplicable.

Perhaps the audience is astonished at the frankness...

with which I reveal my mediocrity.

But remember that frankness is the prime virtue of the deceased.

In life, public opinion...

the conflict of interests, competing greed...

oblige us to hide, disguise...

and deceive others.

But in death, what a difference...

what a release, what freedom.

Good morning...

Well, well, little Bras!

Little Bras!

A grown man. Who would have thought it?

-How have you been, ma�am? -Well, very well.

But come with me, I want you to see my house.

You probably don�t remember me too well.

Of course I do, Dona Eusebia.

How could I forget such a close family friend.

Tell me about your travels.

How did your studies go? And the love affairs?

I want to know about them too.

Mama, mama.

-Mama. -Come here, Eugenia.

Say hello to Dr. Bras Cubas...

Mr. Cubas� son, just back from Europe.

My daughter, Eugenia.

You little scamp, let me help you with your braids.

Little scamp? Isn�t she beyond that age now?

How old do you think she is?

Seventeen.

Less one.

Then she�s a young lady.

She has many qualities. Did you know that Eugenia...

is learning French?

-St. Bartholomew, a black butterfly! -It �s only a butterfly, Eusebia.

The next day,I returned to Dona Eusebia�s house...

to get a better look at that young girl with the face of a nymphet...

and the airof a woman.

Beautiful lips and few words.

But on closer insPection, I noticed she limPed.

Did you hurt your foot?

No, thank you. I am lame, from birth.

Come and see how beautiful this flower is.

Eyes so clear,lips so fresh, such a beautiful girl...

and lame!

Why lame,if beautiful?

Oh, my! What a beautiful butterfly.

And seeing my Venus limping, I couldn�t stopwondering...

why lame,if beautiful, why beautiful if lame...

why beautiful if lame, why lame if beautiful?

It �s time you return to Rio.

I have no reason.

You need a reason? Then l�ll give you two.

-A seat in Parliament and a marriage. -What?

A seat in Parliament and a marriage.

I know nothing of politics...

and as for a bride, let me live like the bear that I am.

A political career is necessary, my son.

You�ll be a Congressman. And you will have a lovely wife.

The bride is an angel, you dummy...

an angel with no wings.

Virgilia is her name.

Virgilia.

An explanation:

Virgilia...

Virgilia is that lady who in 1869...

would be present at my final hour.

And long before that, was an important part...

of my most intimate feelings.

This is the young Virgilia...

perhaps the most petulant creature in the human race.

Certainly the most headstrong.

I was to meet her very soon.

And very soon a romance will begin.

But let us get on with the story without interruptions.

We are with my father, drinking coffee, when...

-Virgilia...? -Councillor Dutra�s daughter.

Dutra?

An influential politician, don�t you know him?

I am prepared to examine the two things...

provided l�m not obliged to accept both.

I can be a married man without being a public man.

Every public man should be married.

But be that as it may, l�m game for anything...

provided you don�t remain here...

wasting your time obscure and sad.

I didn�t expend money, care and effort not to see you shine.

Life is one great lottery...

and two tickets increase your chances of happiness.

-Come back with me? -l�ll go tomorrow.

Blessed are those that do not return...

fortheirs is the first kiss of a maiden.

This is not exactly a biblical phrase...

but it certainly is full of wisdom.

And since we are talking about the Bible...

I also worked out 3 commandments for receiving a maiden�s kiss.

The first step is to bring flowers...

the second is to touch her lightly on the arm...

lightly but with Persistence...

the third is to look at her with tender loving eyes...

and only then should the lover slowly draw close with his lips.

And so it was with Eugenia�s first kiss.

Eugenia! Are you there?

Are you there?

Ah,Eugenia,such cleareyes, such fresh lips...

such a beautiful girl.

Beautiful,but...

lame.

Among you there must be a sensitive soul...

trembling at the thought that I simply used Eugenia...

to forget my mother�s death.

Perhaps you�re calling me a cynic. Me, a cynic?

I swear to God, I even thought of marrying her.

She was beautiful, but... lame.

So I decided to follow the words of the Holy Scriptures which say:

"Arise and go into the city." Acts 9, 6.

I have to go back to the city. I want you so much.

So much.

Don�t you believe me?

I believe you�re doing the right thing.

What do you mean?

You�re right not to marry me.

She was beautiful,but...

lame.

Such are the hurdles of life.

I left Tijuca embittered but pleased.

I kept thinking that I had done the best thing...

that is was right to obey my father.

I remembered the importance of a political career...

my bride to be, the Constitution, my hat,my horse,my boots.

Tight boots,by the way, are one of man�s greatest joys.

Yes,because having made one�s feet hurt...

they give one enormous pleasure on being removed.

Torture your feet and then release them...

and there you have inexPensive joy.

I felt the same of love:

I knew that my heart would soon take off its boots...

and put on some slipPers.

Good afternoon, Councillor.

I would like to introduce my son...

Madame Dutra.

I have heard such high praise of you, ma�am.

I don�t understand.

My father holds you in high esteem.

What �s that?

Bras speaks of you highly.

Virgilia was beautiful, fresh...

a miracle of nature, full of that eternal enchantment...

that passes from one to another...

forthe secret purposes of procreation.

My wife hears nothing at all.

I think that �s why we never fight. It �s the old saying, dear Bento.

What the ears don�t hear the heart doesn�t feel.

-At least she must read a lot. -Not a bit of it!

Her eyes are none too good either.

It is not worth recounting how we came together.

l� II just say that with Virgilia there was no need for flowers...

oreven to lightly touch her arm.

We went straight to tender looks.

While waiting forthe time of my daily encounterwith Virgilia...

Iwould wanderthe streets.

Time passed slowly. Seconds seemed like minutes...

minutes like hours, hours like days.

It was as if my watch was broken.

Good afternoon.

May I help you?

How are you, Bras?

Marcela.

You wanted to talk to me?

I thought it was a watchmaker�s shop.

I wanted to get my watch repaired.

Let me see.

l�m in a hurry.

Forgive me. l�ll go somewhere else.

Cosme!

Did you marry?

Not yet.

My life has changed a lot, Bras...

You made me shed many tears...

I miss those days.

Yes, me too.

I have to go.

l�ll return soon, Marcela.

Beautiful Marcela.

My story seemed to be heading for a happy ending.

Then Lobo Neves apPeared...

a man who was no more handsome, norelegant...

better read or charming than I.

Yet it was he who snatched Virgilia and the candidacy away from me.

It is sad but true that my whole family suffers from heart problems.

At times, for no reason it starts pounding over nothing.

The truth is my whole family has an unsteady heart.

It must be just a murmur.

A murmur?

-More like a shriek, l�d say. -Just a murmur, Councillor...

nothing more than a murmur.

Promise you�ll make me a Baroness?

A Marchioness, for I shall be a Marquis.

A Cubas!

How could this happen to a Cubas?

A Cubas! A Cubas!

As Iwas not yet in love with Virgilia...

the episode for me was just a pinprick. However my father...

Ioved the idea of seeing me married and a Congressman.

A Cubas!

For him,it was like a sword through his heart.

0r rather,his lung.

A Cubas! A Cubas!

He might not have died exactly because of the Virgilia disaster...

but that it complicated his final days is beyond doubt.

I could talk now of the sobs, the black velvet, the coffin...

candles,priest, prayers and tears.

But I preferto talk about the nose.

Has the audience ever meditated on the function of the nose...

in the destiny of mankind?

No otherorgan is so important. Not the eyes that weep...

orthe hands that give condolences...

orthe arms that carry the coffin.

There is a populartheory that the nose was created...

forthe wearing of sPectacles...

like the head forwearing a hat.

For a while, this explanation seemed definitive to me.

But a little knowledge of Orientalism was all it took...

to radically change my point of view.

An Oriental spends long hours looking at the tip of his nose...

with the sole purpose of seeing the celestial light.

Pay attention.

When he fixes his eyes on the tip of his nose...

he loses his sense of external things...

he ponders the invisible...

grasps the intangible, detaches himself from the world...

becomes dissolved, etherized...

leaves his own body.

From this I learned an important lesson.

There are two basic forces: Love which multiplies the sPecies...

and the nose which subordinates it to the individual.

The nose is equilibrium.

For some time I lived as a recluse, writing politics...

and practicing philosophy.

Iwrote a long essay on the nose�s function in mankind�s destiny.

Then threw it away.

Every once and a while, I remembered that Lobo Neves and Virgilia...

had married and gone to Sao Paulo.

I also remembered that he was already a Congressman.

Not that it bothered me very much...

but whenever I asked myself why Iwouldn�t be...

a betterCongressman and Marquis than Lobo Neves...

I had no reply.

During that time Iwrote phrases of great wisdom.

Forexample: Endure with patience thy neighbour�s bile.

Also: Believe in yourself but do not always doubt others.

Betterto be knocked down by a featherthan a carriage...

is one of the most important.

But my favorite is: We kill time but time buries us.

And so the years passed until 1842...

when I saw in the distance, a splendid woman.

It was she.

Until then I didn�t know she had returned from Sao Paulo.

I only recognized Virgilia when she was a few steps away.

She was so different...

Nature and art had combined to create Perfection.

A week laterwe met at a ball.

I thought you�d never return.

How are you?

Political duties, you know, my dear Cubas.

Anyway, you�re back to the court.

I couldn�t wait to return.

Shall we dance this waltz?

Wouldn�t you like to dance with Mr. Bras?

My pleasure.

Afterthree dances, the waltz lost us.

Excuse me.

She�s mine,I thought.

She�s mine.

Mine.

Mine.

I started to frequent the home of Virgilia and Lobo Neves...

and soon became an intimate friend.

Nurtured with looks and smiles, our love was like a plant...

that sprouts quickly and unexPectedly.

I do not remember how many days the plant took to grow...

but it was so full of sap that it soon became...

the most exuberant in the forest.

And in the spring it blossomed...

0r if you prefer, we kissed.

A kiss that she gave me, trembling.

Tremblingwith fear,poorthing, because we were at the front gate.

A kiss as brief as the moment, but ardent as love.

A prologue to a life of delights,horror,remorse...

pleasures that ended in pain.

Yes, we were in love.

Now that everything stood in ourway,now we were in love.

-Do you have the courage? -For what?

For running away.

Somewhere more comfortable.

A small house, a big house...

in the country, in the city, in Europe.

Wherever you wish.

Where there�s no danger.

Let �s run away, Virgilia.

Sooner or later he will discover something and then you�ll be lost.

You hear?

Dead. And he too, because I would kill him.

-I swear it. -We�d never escape.

He�d find and kill me just the same.

The world is huge, Virgilia. I have the means to live...

wherever we want. Somewhere...

with pure air and lots of sunshine.

He�d never find us.

Only great passions are capable of great actions.

He doesn�t love you enough to go in search of you.

He loves me very much.

Perhaps.

Perhaps he does.

Hello, Neves!

My dear Bras, you honor us with your visit.

Do not worry, my dear audience...

I shall not stain this story with blood.

I felt like strangling Lobo Neves...

but that �s a far cry from actually doing it.

My dear Bras, you honor us with your visit.

Lobo, my friend, you took your time.

Let �s move on with our story. Let �s arrange a little house.

This one here.

This was our little love nest.

How sweet it was to see Virgilia arriving in the early days...

all shy and trembling.

Things went well during that time.

Virgilia loved me, the birds sang, the sun shone.

I even thought of doing somethingwith my life...

like being a minister, forexample.

A ministerof state.

It �s an idea.

A minister.

I bet you don�t know me. Mr... er... Doctor Cubas.

-No, I don�t remember you. -l�m Quincas Borba.

No need to tell you anything, you can guess it all.

A life of misery, tribulations and struggles.

Remember our parties where I played the king?

What a comedown, to end up a beggar.

Come and see me, I might be able to do something for you.

You�re not the first to promise me something...

and I dare say you won�t be the last to do nothing for me.

I ask for nothing, except money.

One needs it to eat.

-Look, I haven�t lunched yet. -No?

No, I left home very early. You know where I live?

On the steps of Sao Francisco Church...

the third one on the right as you go up.

Well, I left early and still haven�t eaten.

Forgive my joy. It �s a long time since I saw one of these.

It �s in your hands to see many others.

-How? -Working.

-I must go. -No! No! Don�t go.

If we meet again, give me another one of these.

And now, farewell. I can see you�re getting impatient.

Goodbye.

My watch! He stole my watch!

Quincas Borba was the past. I decided to forget him...

and take refuge in the present which was Virgilia.

But then Lobo Neves started to talk about the future.

I have news.

I learned today...

that I might be made president of a province in the north.

What splendid news.

Your efforts have finally been rewarded.

It is still not certain, but likely.

And what did Virgilia think about the news?

None too pleased with the idea...

particularly because we have to go to the north.

But I have an idea.

A great idea.

How would you like to go to the north?

You�re rich, no need of the paltry salary.

But if you�d care to do me a favor...

you would come with us to the north...

and be my Secretary.

To accept such an invitation would be sheer imprudence.

But I had little choice.

I would like to offer a toast to Mr. Bras Cubas...

who has done me the honor of accepting my invitation.

I would like to announce that he will be...

the Secretary in my government.

To my distress, we were appointed shortly afterwards.

Lobo Neves and l, President and Secretary...

of the province of Maranhao.

I can�t accept it.

Why not?

Because. Because...

-But we are not going any more. -What do you mean?

Lobo Neves is going to refuse the appointment.

The decree is number 13 and dated the 13th.

This gives the mournful memories.

My father died on the 13th at 13:OO hours...

13 days after a dinner with 13 people.

My mother died giving birth to her 13th child...

in a house which was number 13...

and this child died at 13.

Thirteen,unlucky number, how I blessed you.

After such close shave with danger, one lives life with new intensity.

I started to love Virgilia even more after almost losing her.

And the same hapPened to her.

I think this was the highest point in our love.

The mountain summit from where, for some time...

we looked out upon the valleys to the east and the west.

Then we began to descend the mountain.

Down we came. Down,down...

down...

down to the very bottom.

And now a mystery: why did Virgilia faint?

Whoever guessed she was pregnant,guessed right.

What are you going to be when you grow up, my son?

I will have a law degree, father...

and will make speeches in the Congress that will fill you with pride.

Do you hear?

Do you hear?

Is mama angry with you, father?

No, mama is tired.

What did you say, Bras?

l�m just exchanging a few words with our son.

Talk to me, little baby. Talk to me.

I couldn�t think of anything else. I felt like a God...

and only wanted to talk to my little Adam.

But my son was lost at that point where the embryo...

still seems more like a tortoise.

He�s gone.

Dr. Cubas, Mr. Damasceno and his daughter, Miss Eulalia.

Miss Lolo. At home simply called Nha Lolo.

Nha Lolo, how charming.

Mr. Damasceno knew your father when you were still in Europe.

Your father was an extraordinary man.

Excuse me, make yourselves comfortable.

After losing our son,nothing interested me anymore.

Neither political conflicts,nor revolutions,norearthquakes...

nothing.

I only thought of having a child with Virgilia.

And this only increased my jealousy.

At parties,Iwould look around but see nothing.

At the theatre, Iwould listen but not hear.

I had reached the age of forty and was neither a father nor minister.

Iwas nothing.

Forthis reason I meditated constantly.

To meditate alone is traditional.

I preferred to meditate in the midst of a crowd.

While People thought Iwas just walking around...

Iwas actually thinking. Forexample...

I thought Lobo Neves might no longer love his wife.

Perhaps he was ready to separate from her...

but social formalities would not allow it.

I also thought about othertyPes of formalities,like clothing.

I looked at Nha Lolo and saw how beautiful she was.

Perhaps it was her beautiful low-cut dress.

It was precisely at this moment, imagining human nakedness...

that I made the purest philosophical discovery:

Habitual nudity would tend to dull the senses...

and retard sex.

Clothing,by concealing nature,attracts and provokes.

The result of this is that the very survival of the human sPecies...

would be threatened if it were not forclothing.

Clothing, that is a simple matterof formality...

has a fundamental roll in the development of the human being.

One hour, Bras, one hour.

Yes...

it �s my memory.

It seems that you want nothing more to do with me.

I said that you want nothing to do with me and you don�t reply?

What �s there to reply? It seems that you�ve grown weary...

that you�re bored with me, that you want to end it.

Dona Placida, go and see if I can leave.

Not even my husband answers me in such a way.

In fact, he is the very model of courtesy and affection.

Lobo Neves is an honorable man, much more than you.

All right, come here...

I said nothing to her.

She stood there tapping her foot impatiently on the floor.

Arms folded and tense.

I drew closer and kissed her on the forehead.

She recoiled as if she had been kissed by a corpse.

Then Dona Placida, Virgilia�s former servant...

and guardian of our infidelity...

realized that what was going badly could get even worse.

Much worse.

-Holy Mother of God! -What is it?

Here comes your husband.

Dona Placida, go and stand at the door. Come here.

For a brief moment,I thought of confronting Lobo Neves.

But only for a brief moment.

Such an honor for an old lady.

Please come in.

Guess who�s here?

No need to guess, that �s why you�re here...

What are you doing here?

I was just passing by...

I saw Dona Placida at the door...

and decided to say hello.

Thank you for coming.

You know my little angel here never forgets her old Placida.

But please sit down, sir.

-I can�t stay. -Are you going home?

-We can go together. -I am.

Let me have my hat, Dona Placida.

Shall we go?

Goodbye, Dona Placida. Don�t forget to visit me.

You can come out now, Dr. Bras.

I had reached the point of not knowing...

whetherto challenge Lobo Neves to a bloody duel...

orto seek a Peaceful marriage to a pure,chaste and austere woman.

Then we�d live in a beautiful country home...

surrounded by trees and a bubbling brook...

listening to the birds sing...

and the sweet crying of my baby.

But before I made up my mind, an extraordinary letter arrived.

Some time ago in the Passeio Publico I borrowed a watch from you.

It gives me much satisfaction to return it with this letter.

The only difference is that it is not the same watch...

but another. I shall not say a betterone...

but at least equal to the first.

Many things have hapPened since our last meeting.

I shall relate them in detail if you don�t slam the door in my face.

l� d like you to know I no longerwear shabby boots...

I have vacated my spot on the Sao Francisco Church steps...

and lunch regularly.

If the body of a man were his clothing...

then surely this could not be the same Quincas who stole my watch...

His chest was a fine frock coat and his legs...

a pairof well-tailored trousers.

Not to mention his feet, which now were French boots.

This whole transformation...

was because he had inherited a tidy sum from a kindly uncle.

The death of one can be another�s good fortune.

Look, the first night I spent on the Sao Francisco steps...

I slept...

as if it were the softest down.

Why?

Because I had gone gradually from a bed to a straw mat...

from a straw mat to a wooden board...

from my own bedroom to a police cell...

from a police cell to the street.

And this was the origin of my new philosophy...

the most supreme of all philosophies.

The winner takes the potatoes!

Let us move on to the next important event:

Lobo Neves� appointment as president of a province.

Iwas hoping that the decree would come again dated the 13th...

or at least the number of the decree would be 13.

But no, the date was the 31st.

The simple change of number from 13 to 31...

eliminated the diabolic substance.

0ne and three, three and one...

two odd numbers that separated an odd couple.

Yes, it �s tomorrow. Are you going to see us off?

Are you mad? It �s impossible.

Then goodbye.

Goodbye.

Don�t forget Dona Placida. Go and see her from time to time...

poor soul. She�s a good person, isn�t she?

She certainly is.

l�ll write to you.

-Goodbye now, until... -Perhaps two years.

He says it is only until they hold elections.

Yes, then l�ll see you soon.

Be careful, they are watching us.

-Who? -We�d better part.

-It �s very hard for me. -For me too.

-l�m almost crying. -And me? l�m distraught.

We must be strong.

Goodbye, Virgilia.

See you soon.

Goodbye.

While Iwas thinking of Virgilia�s departure...

my legs were transporting me through the streets.

As I didn�t deliberately walk anywhere...

my legs were moving by theirown volition.

Blessed legs,blessed friends.

And until that moment, I had despised you.

But that event was a ray of light.

You allowed my mind to think, as one leg said to the other:

He has to go home, He�s tired,let�s take him.

My dearest legs,you fulfilled to the letteryourstated goal:

you carried me along the right path without tripping over People...

ortreading in puddles. This noble gesture...

obliges me to recognize your importance in this story.

0h,legs of mine!

As forVirgilia...

I should say that I felt something that was neither pain nor pleasure.

A mixture of relief and longing.

I didn�t see her depart...

but at the appointed time I felt that my love was disapPearing...

across the sea and Iwas left behind, forty-odd years old...

forty idle,empty years.

Her departure gave me a taste of what it�s like to be a widow.

The first few days I reread old letters...

slept a lot and dreamed little.

Iwas a mixture of ambitions, a few memories...

a touch of tedium and endless daydreaming.

At times, Quincas came to visit me...

and finally expounded on his new philosophy,Humanitism.

In truth there is only one misfortune:

not to be born.

Imagine if l�d never been born.

I wouldn�t now have the pleasure of talking to you...

of eating this potato...

of going to the theatre...

To say it in a single word: live.

Why not admit it? Iwas impressed with Quincas.

His ideas were mature, his opinions full of zest.

I savored the clarity of the exposition...

the logic of the principles, the rigorof the conclusions.

I digested the philosophy.

Pain, according to my philosophy of Humanitism, is pure illusion.

But another idea took hold of me:to have children.

Forthis reason I drew closer to Damasceno...

who wanted to marry off his daughter Nha Lolo.

Damasceno, let �s go.

Damasceno!

Nha Lolo was deeply annoyed.

The ease with which her father mixed with gamblers...

showed his family origins.

But for a child...

Iwas prepared to pluck this flower from the swamp.

To hop from a beach to a cemetery ...

may be realistic... maybe even commonplace.

After all, what separates life from death?

A short bridge.

But if I skip this part, it might be disconcerting...

and spoil the whole story.

And as audiences only follow stories to escape life...

I need to give an explanation before jumping to Nha Lolo�s grave.

Eulalia Damasceno de Brito...

dead at the age of nineteen.

That says it all.

Says more than if I had recounted all the details of Nha Lolo�s illness.

The desperation of the family, the burial.

l�ll just say she died in the first yellow fever epidemic.

The origin of that disease was uncertain.

Some thought that the immigrants were the cause .

0thers thought the pigs were to blame .

While others put the blame on the slaves.

But the majority thought the feverwas divine retribution.

I couldn�t agree.

There was no reason forGod to punish the good soul of Nha Lolo.

Then I realized that death, too,is a lottery.

In the following years, the lottery continued...

but I neverwon a prize. I continued to live...

although a little older.

The first time I saw Virgilia again was at a ball in 1865.

She no longer had the fresh bloom of youth...

but she was still beautiful...

an autumnal beauty enhanced by the night.

Magnificent!

If I have not said it yet,it�s because you�ve already noticed.

I had changed when this scene took place...

I was sixty years old. Therefore...

it was my life that was going down those stairs...

or at least the best part of it.

Sixty years old.

0ne can already notice that I am not so nimble...

but even so I danced.

I danced and became intoxicated with the lights, the flowers...

the chandeliers, the pretty eyes and the hum of conversation.

Sixty years is the age of science and government.

Don�t let yourself be overcome by these vapors, my dear Bras.

You�ve got to be a man, to be strong...

fight, dominate, influence...

conquer, shine.

Courage, Bras Cubas.

Don�t be an idiot.

Quinca�s words shook me...

and Iwent after my objective which was to be a minister.

I became a Congressman and began to address the Chamber.

The size of the shakos worn by the National Guard...

needs to be drastically reduced. Not only because they are...

inelegant...

And so it was that the sea of life had brought me once again...

to the same shore as Lobo Neves.

He,containing his resentment and me,my remorse.

...for risking his health and life...

and the future of the family.

And, consequently, the future of the nation... why not?

I didn�t seem to have much success...

or my time was simply not ready to understand me.

Whatever it was, I soon gave up politics.

It is not worth going into the details of the matter.

What is important is what hapPened next.

I joined a worthy order where I held various posts.

But the oath I took prevents me from divulging my duties.

Forthis reason,Iwill not relate how I helPed the poor...

assisted the infirm, consoled the despairing.

Not a word will I say.

During that time, I visited more cemeteries, wakes, deceased...

than the spectator can imagine.

On one of these occasions, I met Virgilia.

It was the time Lobo Neves died...

just as it was rumored he would become a minister.

This is my vehement proposal...

at least for the moment.

Perhaps the news of his death had brought me a touch of tranquillity...

relief and a minute ortwo of pleasure.

And it was for pleasure that I went to Lobo Neves� wake.

Iwent to the wake but didn�t feel much like approaching the casket.

I had a lump in my throat or in my conscience.

Virgilia�s tears were as genuine...

as her love for me had once been.

She, who betrayed her husband with sincerity...

with sincerity, now wept for him.

How can one explain it?

I myself took a long time to understand.

But the truth is,pain can be derived as much from good as evil.

It seemed to me that this was a suPeriorconclusion...

worthy of being examined by the best of philosophers...

Quincas Borba. By coincidence...

he reapPeared a few days later. But greatly changed.

l�ve burned all my annotations and theories of Humanitism...

my dear Bras.

I shall rewrite them.

But now l�m devoting myself to religion...

and the liturgical part of my philosophy.

There is gratitude for having been born...

which is the ritual that marks the beginning and end...

of the whole ceremony.

And this ritual is celebrated in the followingway.

He died shortly afterwards in my house...

swearing rePeatedly that pain was an illusion.

Between Quinca�s death and my own...

the main event was the invention of the "Bras Cubas Poultice".

It was an obsession. Iwas going to invent a remedy...

designed to ease the melancholic suffering of humanity.

Those three words: Bras Cubas Poultice...

would make me eternal.

From 1869, the poultice would be at the service of man�s health...

and the joy of nations.

The Bras Cubas Poultice.

Since 1869 the Bras Cubas Poultice...

has been at the service of man�s health and the joy of nations.

My sacred remedy would span the years...

survivingwars and passing fads.

Great inventions would change the world but the poultice...

would remain the same for more than a century.

This sacred remedy spanned decades...

surviving the bloodiest wars and all passing fads.

For heartburn or melancholy, use Bras Cubas...

our daily miracle cure.

Whetheryou�re old oryoung, always use Bras Cubas...

the divine miracle cure.

The only genuine poultice, for all eternity.

Today, without exaggerating...

one has to consider the Bras Cubas Poultice...

as one of the most striking marks of ourcivilization.

The symbol of Brazilian grandeur, the Bras Cubas Poultice...

is the cure for mankind�s melancholic suffering.

Whetherold oryoung, use Bras Cubas...

Divine Poultice,you would have given me first place among men...

above science and wealth...

because you were the genuine inspiration of heaven.

You would have been the cure for mankind�s melancholic suffering.

And I thought so much of the poultice,it became an obsession.

Such an obsession that I had to clear my head.

I oPened the window...

was struck by a blast of air, and caught pneumonia...

which prevented me from inventing the poultice.

And so we are back to the beginning of the story.

Virgilia,pale,upset, dressed in black...

standing there, reluctant to come closer.

Visiting the dead, are we?

The dead? More like trying to get a vagabond out of bed.

As you all know, these were my final moments.

But Iwas still able to make a brief assessment of my life...

and I concluded that I hadn�t achieved celebrity...

with the invention of the poultice, was not a minister, did not marry.

However, at the same time I had had the good fortune...

of not having to earn my bread by the sweat of my brow.

Taking a balance of the positive and negative...

one might think that there was neither a surplus nor a deficit...

that I was even with life on my departure.

But no...

I had a small surplus...

I had no children.

I transmitted to no one the legacy of our misery.

C APTl0NS BY VIDE0LAR