When he entered the Café Orquídea Dr Cardoso had not yet arrived. Pereira had the table near the fan laid for two and made himself comfortable. He was pretty thirsty, so for an aperitif he ordered a lemonade, but without sugar. When the waiter came with the lemonade Pereira asked him: What’s the news, Manuel? Conflicting reports, replied the waiter, it seems that in Spain at the moment there’s rather a stalemate, the nationalists have conquered the north but the republicans are getting the better of it in the centre of the country, it seems the fifteenth international brigade fought bravely at Saragossa, the centre is in republican hands and the Italians fighting for Franco are behaving shamefully. Pereira smiled and asked: Who are you for, Manuel? Sometimes one side and sometimes the other, replied the waiter, because they’re both strong, but I don’t care for this business of our boys of the Viriato Brigade fighting against the republicans, after all we’re a republic ourselves, we kicked out the king in Nineteen Ten, I don’t see what reason we have to go fighting against a republic. No more do I, agreed Pereira.
At that moment in came Dr Cardoso. Pereira had always seen him in a doctor’s white coat, and seeing him now in everyday clothes he looked younger, Pereira maintains. Dr Cardoso was wearing a striped shirt and light-coloured jacket and seemed to be feeling the heat. They exchanged a friendly smile, shook hands, and Dr Cardoso sat down. Tremendous, Dr Pereira, said he, really tremendous, that really is a beautiful story, I never realized Daudet had such power, I’ve come to offer my congratulations, but it’s a shame you didn’t sign the translation, I’d have liked to see your name at the foot of the page. Pereira patiently explained that the reason was humility, or perhaps you could call it pride, because he didn’t want the readers to tumble to the fact that the whole page was written by the editor himself, he wanted to give the impression that the paper had other contributors, that it was a proper newspaper, in a word he hadn’t signed it for the sake of the Lisboa.
They ordered two seafood salads. Pereira would have preferred an omelette aux fines herbes, but he didn’t dare order one in front of Dr Cardoso. Perhaps your new ruling ego has scored a point or two, murmured Dr Cardoso. How do you mean? asked Pereira. I mean that you were capable of writing ‘Vive la France!’, said Dr Cardoso, even though the words were put in someone else’s mouth. It did make me feel good, admitted Pereira. And then, with the air of one with all the facts at his fingertips, he went on: Have you heard that the fifteenth international brigade has the upper hand in central Spain? it seems it fought heroically at Saragossa. Don’t cherish too many illusions, Dr Pereira, replied Dr Cardoso, Mussolini has sent Franco a whole fleet of submarines and the Germans are backing him with their Air Force, the republicans are not going to make it. But they have the Soviets on their side, objected Pereira, the international brigades, people from all over the world have poured down into Spain to give the republicans a hand. I shouldn’t cherish too many illusions, repeated Dr Cardoso, and incidentally I was meaning to tell you that I’ve reached an agreement with that clinic in Saint-Malo, I’ll be leaving in two weeks’ time. Don’t leave me, Dr Cardoso! was what Pereira wanted to say, I beg you not to leave me! Instead he said: Don’t leave us, Dr Cardoso, don’t leave our people, this country needs people like you. Unfortunately the truth is that it does
not need people like me, replied Dr Cardoso, or at least I don’t need it, I think it better for me to go to France before the disaster strikes. Disaster? exclaimed Pereira, what disaster? I don’t know, replied Dr Cardoso, but I am living in fear of a disaster, a widespread disaster, but I don’t want to cause you anxiety, Dr Pereira, it may be you are working out your new ruling ego and need peace of mind, however I am leaving no matter what, and now tell me about your young people, how are they doing, the youngsters you met who contribute to your paper? Only one of them works for me, replied Pereira, but he has yet to come up with a publishable article, just imagine that yesterday he sent me one on Mayakovsky, talking up that revolutionary bolshevik, I don’t know why I go on giving him good money for unpublishable articles, maybe because he’s in trouble, in fact I’m certain of that, and his girl’s in trouble too, and I’m the only person they can appeal to. You’re helping them, said Dr Cardoso, I realize that, but helping them less than you’d really like to, perhaps if your new ruling ego comes to the surface you’ll do something more, you must excuse me for being frank with you, Dr Pereira. Look here, Dr Cardoso, said Pereira, I took on this lad to write anniversaries and advance obituaries and so far he’s sent me nothing but raving revolutionary stuff, as if he didn’t know what kind of country we’re living in, I’ve always given him money out of my own pocket so as not to burden the paper and because it’s better not to involve the editor-in-chief, I’ve taken him under my wing, I hid his cousin, who seemed to me a poor fish and is fighting in the international brigade in Spain, now I’m still sending him money and he’s wandering round in Alentejo, what more can I do? You could go and see him, replied Dr Cardoso simply. Go and see him! exclaimed Pereira, follow him into Alentejo, follow his secret movements, and anyway, where could I go and see him when I don’t even know where he’s living? His girl will certainly know, said Dr Cardoso, in fact I’m sure his girl knows but doesn’t tell you because she doesn’t have complete faith in you, Dr Pereira, but perhaps you could gain her confidence, be more forthcoming with her, you have a strong super-ego, Dr Pereira, and this super-ego is fighting against your new ruling ego, you are in conflict with yourself in this battle raging in your soul, you must shed your super-ego, you must allow it to go to its doom like the sloughed-off thing it is. But what would be left of me? quavered Pereira, I am what I am, with my memories, my past life, the memories I have of Coimbra, of my wife, a whole lifetime as a reporter on a great newspaper, what would be left of me? You must work your way through grief, said Dr Cardoso, it’s a Freudian concept, you must forgive me, I am a syncretist so I’ve drawn ideas from here there and everywhere, but what you need to do is slough off grief, you have to say goodbye to your past life, you need to live in the present, a man cannot live as you do, Dr Pereira, thinking only of the past. But what about my memories, cried Pereira, all the things that have happened to me? They would be memories and nothing but memories, replied Dr Cardoso, they would not tyrannize so violently over your present, your life is all backward-looking, for you it’s as if you were in Coimbra thirty years ago with your wife still alive, if you go on this way you’ll become a sort of fetishist of memories, maybe you’ll even start talking to your wife’s photograph. Pereira wiped his mouth with his napkin, lowered his voice and said: Dr Cardoso, I already do. Dr Cardoso smiled. I saw the picture of your wife in your room at the clinic, he said, and I thought: this man converses mentally with his wife’s portrait, he has not yet done his grief-work, that’s exactly what I thought, Dr Pereira. To be perfectly frank it’s not that I converse mentally, confessed Pereira, I talk out loud, I tell it everything that happens to me and it’s as if the picture answered me. These are fantasies dictated by the super-ego, said Dr Cardoso, you should talk to someone real about such things. But I have no one to talk to, confessed Pereira, I live alone, I have a friend who teaches at the University of Coimbra, I went to visit him at the spa at Buçaco and left the very next day because I couldn’t stand him, these dons are all of them in favour of the present regime and he’s no exception, and then there’s my editor-in-chief, but he’s on show at all the official functions with his arm stuck out like a javelin, just imagine me talking to him of all people, and then there’s Celeste, the caretaker at the office, who’s a police spy and is now my switchboard operator into the bargain, and then there’s Monteiro Rossi, but he’s in hiding. He’s the young fellow you met recently, isn’t he? asked Dr Cardoso. Yes, he’s my assistant, replied Pereira, the one who writes me articles I can’t publish. You should seek him out, said Dr Cardoso, as I said before you should go and seek him out, he’s young, he’s the future, you badly need young company, even if he does write articles which can’t be published in your paper, stop haunting your past and try to drop in on the future. What a splendid way of putting it, said Pereira, to drop in on the future, it would never have occurred to me to put it that way. Pereira ordered a lemonade without sugar and continued: And then there’d be you, Dr Cardoso, I find it easy to talk to you and would like to talk to you again and again, but you’re leaving us, you’re leaving me, you’re leaving me alone here, and I’ll have no one except that photograph of my wife, as you can well understand. Dr Cardoso drank the coffee which Manuel had brought him. We can talk at Saint-Malo if you’ll come and look me up, Dr Pereira, said Dr Cardoso, I’m far from convinced that this is the right country for you, it’s too full of memories, try to toss your super-ego out of the window and make room for your new ruling ego, maybe then we’ll be able to meet again and you’ll be a new man.