Darkness had fallen and the candles shed a wan light. I don’t know why I’m doing all this for you Monteiro Rossi, said Pereira. Perhaps it’s because you’re a decent person, replied Monteiro Rossi. That’s too simple, retorted Pereira, the world is full of decent people but they don’t go looking for trouble. Then I don’t know, said Monteiro Rossi, I really can’t imagine. The real problem is that I don’t know either, said Pereira, until a few days ago I kept on asking myself, but maybe it’s better for me to stop asking. He brought cherries in maraschino to the table and Monteiro Rossi helped himself to a whole glassful. Pereira took only one cherry and a drop of juice, because he was afraid of ruining his diet.
But tell me all about it, said Pereira, what have you been up to all this time in Alentejo? We covered the whole region, replied Monteiro Rossi, stopping in the safe places, the places where there’s most turbulence. Excuse me, put in Pereira, but your cousin scarcely seems a suitable person, I only saw him the once but he seemed to me a little ill-equipped, I’d even say rather slow-witted, and on top of that he doesn’t even speak Portuguese. True, said Monteiro Rossi, but in civilian life he’s a printer, he’s good at handling documents, there’s no one like him for forging a passport. Then he might have done a better job on his own, said Pereira, he had an Argentine passport you could see was a fake from a mile off. He didn’t make that one himself, replied Monteiro Rossi, they gave it him in Spain. And then what? asked Pereira. Well, replied Monteiro Rossi, we found a safe printer’s in Portalegre and my cousin got to work, we did a first-class job, my cousin made up a whole bunch of passports, a lot of them we managed to distribute but some are left over because we didn’t have time. Monteiro Rossi picked up his bag from an armchair and reached into it. Here’s what I’ve got left over, he said. And he placed a bundle of passports on the table, there must have been a couple of dozen of them. My dear Monteiro Rossi you are mad, said Pereira, you traipse about with those things in your bag as if they were sweeties, if they find you with these documents you’ll be for the high-jump.
Pereira picked up the passports and said: I’ll see to hiding these. He first thought of putting them in a drawer, but that didn’t seem safe enough. Then he went into the hall and slid them into the book-shelves right behind his wife’s photograph. Please excuse me, said he, addressing the picture, but no one will come looking here, it’s the safest place in the whole house. Then he went back to the living-room and said: Time’s getting on, maybe we’d better go to bed. I’ve got to get in touch with Marta, said Monteiro Rossi, she’ll be worried, she doesn’t know what’s become of me, she might think they’ve arrested me as well. Look here Monteiro Rossi, said Pereira, tomorrow I’ll call Marta myself, but from a public telephone, for this evening the best thing for you is to stop worrying and get to bed, jot me down the number on this pad. I’ll give you two numbers, said Monteiro Rossi, if she doesn’t answer at one she’ll certainly be at the other, and if she doesn’t answer in person ask to speak to Lise Delaunay, that’s what she calls herself now. I know, admitted Pereira, I met her a few days ago, that girl has got as thin as a rake, she’s unrecognizable, this way of life is doing her a bit of no good, Monteiro Rossi, she’s ruining her health, and now off to bed.
Pereira snuffed out the candles and asked himself why he had got mixed up in this business, why shelter Monteiro Rossi and ring Marta and leave coded messages, why meddle with things that didn’t concern him? Was it perhaps that Marta had got so thin that her shoulder-blades stuck out like the wings of a plucked chicken? Was it that Monteiro Rossi had no mother or father to shelter him? Was it his visit to Parede and Dr Cardoso explaining his theory of the confederation of souls? Pereira did not know, and even today he could not presume to say. He wanted to get to bed because next morning he intended to be up early and make careful arrangements for the day, but before doing so he went into the hall for a brief glance at his wife’s photograph. He said not a word to it, just gave it an affectionate wave of the hand, he maintains.