Leaving the office to go to the printer’s Pereira felt uneasy, he maintains. He thought of going back to the office and waiting there until it was time for dinner, but he then realized what he absolutely must do was go home and have a cold bath. He therefore took a taxi and made the cabbie drive all the way up the steep slope to his house. Taximen usually refused to go up that ramp because it was hard to turn at the top, so Pereira had to promise a tip, he was quite worn out, he maintains. He entered his flat and the first thing he did was run a cold bath. He lay in it and gently massaged his paunch as Dr Cardoso had taught him to. Then he put on his bath robe, went into the hall and addressed his wife’s portrait. Marta is on the scene again, he informed it, she tells me she’s cut her hair short and bleached it, I don’t know why, and she’s bringing me an article by Monteiro Rossi, but Monteiro Rossi is evidently still off on business of his own, those kids worry me but never mind, I’ll tell you how things go by and by.
At eight thirty-five, Pereira maintains, he entered the Café Orquídea. The only reason he recognized Marta in the skinny little shrimp with cropped hair sitting near the fan was that she was wearing the same dress as ever, otherwise he would never have taken her for the same girl. She seemed another person, did Marta, with that cropped bleached hair and the fringe and the wisps curving forward over her ears, giving her a tomboy, rather foreign look, rather French, perhaps. What’s more she must have lost at least ten kilos. Of her shoulders, which Pereira remembered as so soft and shapely, there now remained two bony shoulder-blades that stuck out like the wings of a plucked chicken. Pereira sat down opposite her and said: Good evening Marta, what on earth has happened to you? I decided to change my appearance, replied Marta, in certain circumstances it’s necessary and in my case it became essential to make myself a different person.
Heaven knows why it occurred to Pereira to ask her a certain question. He cannot begin to say why he did it. Perhaps because she was too blonde and too unnatural and he could hardly recognize her as the girl he had known, perhaps because every so often she gave a furtive glance around as if expecting someone or afraid of something, but the fact is that he asked her: Is your name still Marta? To you I am Marta, of course, replied Marta, but I have a French passport, my name is Lise Delaunay, I am a painter by profession and am in Portugal to paint watercolour landscapes, though the real reason is simply travel.
Pereira felt a terrific urge to order an omelette aux fines herbes and a glass of lemonade, he maintains. What would you say to a couple of omelettes aux fines herbes? he asked Marta. With pleasure, replied Marta, but first I’d really like a glass of dry port. So would I, said Pereira, and ordered two dry ports. I scent trouble, said Pereira, you’re in the soup Marta, you might as well admit it. I don’t deny it, answered Marta, but it’s the kind of trouble I like, I feel in my element, after all it’s the life I’ve chosen. Pereira shrugged his shoulders. Just as long as you’re happy, he said, and Monteiro Rossi, he’s in trouble too I imagine, because he hasn’t been in touch, what’s happening to him? I can tell you about myself but not about Monteiro Rossi, said Marta, I can answer only for myself, he hasn’t been in touch with you so far because he’s been in difficulties, he’ll still be out of Lisbon for a while, he’s on the move in Alentejo, his problems may be bigger than mine, in any case he’s short of money into the bargain and that’s why he’s sent you this article, he says it’s an anniversary article, you can give me the money if you like and I’ll see that he gets it.
Pereira would have liked to say: Don’t speak to me of those articles of his, obituaries or anniversaries it makes no difference, all I do is pay Monteiro Rossi out of my own pocket, I still don’t know why I don’t sack him, I offered him a job as a journalist, I gave him a chance of a career. But he uttered not a word of all this. Instead he took out his wallet and extracted two banknotes. Give him this from me, he said, and now let’s have the article. Marta took a sheet of paper from her handbag and handed it over. See here Marta, said Pereira, I’d like you to know there are certain things you can count on me for, even if I’d prefer to steer clear of your problems, as you know I don’t concern myself with politics, however if you hear from Monteiro Rossi tell him to get in touch, perhaps I can be of some help to him too in my way. You are a great help to all of us, Dr Pereira, said Marta, we of the cause will not forget it. They finished their omelettes and Marta said she had to be off. Pereira wished her luck and she slipped nimbly away between the tables. Pereira stayed on and ordered another lemonade. He would have liked to talk all this over with Father António or Dr Cardoso, but Father António was certainly asleep at that time of night and Dr Cardoso was away there at Parede. He drank his lemonade and called for the bill. What’s the latest news? he asked the waiter when he came to the table. Barbarous goings on, replied Manuel, barbarous goings on, Dr Pereira. Pereira put a hand on his arm. What do you mean by barbarous? he asked. Haven’t you heard what’s happening in Spain? replied the waiter. No, I haven’t, said Pereira. It seems there’s some great French writer who’s denounced Franco’s repression in Spain, said Manuel, and it’s created an awful fuss with the Vatican. What’s the name of this French writer? asked Pereira. Hmmm, replied Manuel, it’s slipped my mind for the moment, he’s a writer you’d know for certain, the name’s Bernan, Bernadette, something of the sort. Bernanos, exclaimed Pereira, he’s called Bernanos! That’s it, replied Manuel, that’s the name. He’s a great Catholic writer, said Pereira with pride, I knew he’d take a stand, he’s a man of the highest moral principles. And it occurred to him that perhaps he might publish a couple of chapters of the Journal d’un curé de campagne, which had never been translated into Portuguese.