The Violent Land (21 page)

Dr. Jessé examined the patient, mechanically tapped his chest, front and back, listened to his breathing, told him to say “thirty-three.” But the truth was his mind was far away, occupied with other things. His office had been full of people today. It was always like that. Whenever he was in a hurry or distracted, his waiting-room would be filled with patients who had nothing whatsoever the matter with them, who just came to take up his time. Telling the man to put his clothes on, he scrawled a prescription.

“Have that made up for you at St. Joseph's Pharmacy; they will give you a better price there.” This did not happen to be the truth, but St. Joseph's Pharmacy belonged to a member of the opposition party, whereas the Springtime was the property of one of the Badaró followers.

“Nothing serious, is it, doctor?”

“It's nothing. Just a little catarrh from the forest rains. Take the medicine and you'll be all right. Come back in a couple of weeks.”

“But I can't do that, doctor. I lose money, you know, leaving the grove to run down here. The place where I work is a long way off.”

Dr. Jessé sought to cut the conversation short.

“All right, come back when you can. You've got nothing serious the matter with you.”

The man paid his fee and the doctor pushed him toward the door. Another patient then came in, an aged plantation labourer with bare feet and clad in working-clothes. He had come for medicine for his wife, who “has a fever that comes and goes and lays her flat on her back every month.” As the man told his long-drawn-out story, Dr. Jessé was thinking of what he had heard in the tailor-shop. There had been two pieces of disagreeable news. First there was Teodoro's coming to Tabocas. What the devil was he up to? He must know that Tabocas was not a healthy place for him. But Teodoro was a man of courage, who liked to kick up a row. If he came to Tabocas, he was certainly up to no good. Dr. Jessé should have got a message to Horacio, who was in Ilhéos, but the worst of it was, the train had already left and he would not be able to do anything until the next day. In any case, he must talk to Lawyer Virgilio at once.

And then he recalled the second piece of news: the gossip that was going around town about Virgilio and Ester—the latter and Horacio had been the godparents of one of the doctor's numerous progeny—he now had nine all together, like stairs, each being a year older than the preceding one. Dr. Jessé did some thinking. He remembered. Ester had spent four days in Tabocas while waiting for Horacio to arrange his affairs so that he might accompany her to Ilhéos. During those four days Virgilio had frequently been at the doctor's house, where the colonel was a guest. He and Ester had spent an enormous amount of time together in the parlour, talking and laughing. Jessé himself had had to put a stop to the servants' chattering. But worst of all had been that party at the home of Rezende, a merchant whose wife was having a birthday. There had been refreshments; and afterwards, since they had a piano in the house and young ladies who played it, they had got up a dance on the spur of the moment. Now, in Tabocas a married woman did not dance. Even in Ilhéos, when one who was “more modern” ventured to do so, it was with her husband. Hence the scandal when Ester stepped out on the floor to dance with Virgilio. Dr. Jessé recalled that Virgilio had asked Horacio's permission to dance with her, and the latter had granted it, being proud to see his wife shine in company. But the people of the town did not know this and went on gossiping. It was bad business. As bad or even worse than Teodoro's coming to town. Dr. Jessé scratched his head. Ah, if Horacio should come to hear of it! There would be the devil to pay. The patient had now finished telling of his wife's troubles and was waiting silently for the doctor's diagnosis.

“You don't think it's the ague, do you, doctor?”

Dr. Jessé gave him a startled look. He had forgotten all about the man's being there. He had him repeat the details.

“Yes, it's swamp fever,” he agreed.

He prescribed quinine and recommended St. Joseph's Pharmacy; but his thoughts were once more with Tabocas and the complications of life. So the wicked tongues—and who in Tabocas did not have a wicked tongue?—were meddling with Ester's personal affairs? Bad business, that was what it was. To hear these folks tell it, there was not a married woman who was respectable. There was nothing that the town so enjoyed as a scandal or a tragedy growing out of a love-affair. And then, on top of it all, that news about Teodoro. What the devil was he up to, anyhow?

Slipping on his coat, Dr. Jessé went out to call upon two or three of his patients. In each house he was obliged to enter into a discussion of the looming row over the forest of Sequeiro Grande. Everybody wanted the latest news; and seeing that the doctor was Horacio's intimate friend, he ought to be in a position to give it to them. After that he went down to the school, of which he had been superintendent ever since a preceding government, that of his own party, had been in power. He had never been dismissed from the post, for that would have created too much of a scandal, in view of the fact that it was he who had had the new building erected, while the teachers, all of whom were women, strongly supported him. Entering the courtyard, he made his way through an outer room. By this time he had forgotten all about Ester, and all about Teodoro as well. He had forgotten all about the forest of Sequeiro Grande. He was thinking of the celebration the school was planning for Arbour Day, later in the week. The children playing in the courtyard came running up to clasp the doctor's short, stout legs, and he now dispatched two or three of them to go in search of the assistant superintendent and the teacher of Portuguese. Then he crossed another classroom, the pupils rising as he came through. Making a sign for them to be seated, he went on to where the assistant superintendent and a number of the other teachers were waiting for him.

Dropping into a seat, and placing his hat and medicine-case on a table, he took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat that was streaming from his fat face.

“The program is all prepared,” the assistant superintendent informed him.

“Let's hear about it.”

“Well, first we'll have the meeting here, a speech—”

“Dr. Virgilio cannot be present, for he's going into Ilhéos tomorrow on business for Colonel Horacio. Estanislau will speak, of course.”

Estanislau was a teacher in a private school and an obligatory speaker at any affair in Ferradas. In each address that he made, whatever the occasion, he invariably employed the same figures of rhetoric, the same metaphors, until the town had come to know by heart what they called “Estanislau's speech.”

“That's too bad,” said one of the teachers, regretfully. She was a thin little creature who was a great admirer of Virgilio. “He makes such a nice speech and he is so good-looking.”

The others laughed. Dr. Jessé was still mopping the sweat.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

The assistant superintendent went on outlining the arrangements.

“Well, then: first the formal meeting in the school; a speech by Professor Estanislau” (she corrected the name on the program as she read); “then a recitation by the pupils; and in conclusion they will all sing the ‘Arbour Day Song.' After that they will form in line and march to Church Square. There they will plant a cacao tree, Dr. Freitas will give his talk, and Professora Irene will read a poem.”

“Very good, very good,” said the doctor, rubbing his hands. Opening his satchel, he took out a number of sheets of manuscript paper, folded in half lengthwise. This was his speech, which he now began to read to the teachers. As he read, in a loud and ringing voice, he grew more and more enthusiastic and rose to his feet so as to be better able to make all the appropriate gestures. The children crowded about the door and, in spite of repeated “shushes” from the assistant superintendent, could not keep silent. It made little difference to Dr. Jessé, however, for he was intoxicated with his own eloquence, as he read, with emphasis:

“The tree is a gift of God to men. It is our vegetable brother, which gives us cooling shade, luscious fruit, and wood that is so useful in the construction of furniture and other objects that go to increase our comfort. Out of the trunks of trees were built those caravels which led to the discovery of our beloved Brazil. Children ought to love and respect trees.”

“Very nice, very nice,” the assistant superintendent applauded; and the others chimed in: “Very pretty—it will be a big success.”

Dr. Jessé was sweating at every pore. Running his handkerchief over his face, he gave a bark at the children who were still standing in the door and who now scurried away.

“So it's good, eh?” he said, seating himself once more. “I dashed it off last night. I wasn't able to work on it these past few days, for my friend and his wife were at our house and I had to do the honours.”

“If what I hear is true,” said one of the teachers, “that shouldn't have been necessary in Dona Ester's case. They say Dr. Virgilio does them all day long.”

“Oh, they talk about everybody,” the thin-looking one protested. “That always happens in a backward place like this.” She came from Bahia and could not get used to the ways of Tabocas.

Another teacher, who was a
grapiúna
—that is to say, a native—took offence at this. “I don't know what you call backward,” she said, “unless you think that certain shameless carryings-on that I could mention are a sign of progress. Maybe it's progress to stand in the doorway until ten o'clock at night hanging on to young men. If so, then thank God Tabocas
is
backward.”

This was an allusion to a love-affair that the skinny teacher was having with a lad who also came from Bahia and who was employed by an export house. The entire town was scandalized by it. But the object of their gossip stood her ground.

“Is it me you're talking about? Very well, then, I'll have you know that I will do what I please. I don't care what anybody thinks about it. My life's my own; why should others meddle with it? I'll stand there talking until any hour I see fit. I prefer that to being an old maid like you. I wasn't born to be a dried-up heifer.”

Dr. Jessé took a hand at this point.

“Be calm now,” he said, “be calm. There are things that are talked about for good reason, and there are other things that are exaggerated for no reason at all. Just because a young man calls upon a married lady and lends her a few books to read, is that any cause for making a scandal? That really is backward.”

They all agreed that it was. Moreover, according to the assistant superintendent, that was as far as the talk went. People merely had noticed that the young attorney was in the habit of spending practically the entire day at the doctor's house, talking to Dona Ester in the parlour. The teacher who had protested when the skinny one spoke of Tabocas being a backward place now added a further comment:

“That Dr. Virgilio doesn't even respect the family life of the town. Why, he keeps a fast woman in a respectable street, and it's a scandal every time they say good-bye to each other. They stand there hugging and kissing so that everybody can see.”

The other teachers gave an excited little laugh at this, and Dr. Jessé himself was anxious for more details. The moralistic one, who lived near Margot, thereupon grew expansive.

“It's immoral, that's what it is. As I was saying to Father Tomé, one can sin without meaning to; one can sin with one's eyes and with one's ears. With a woman like that coming to the door in a dressing-gown that's open half-way down the front—almost naked—and hanging on to Dr. Virgilio's neck as they stand there kissing and slobbering over each other, worse than a couple of dogs, and saying all kinds of things.”

“What do they say?” the teacher from Bahia wanted to know. Her body was twitching nervously and there was a convulsive look in her eyes as she listened to the description of the scene.

The other teacher now had her revenge. “Wouldn't it be backward for me to tell you?”

“Don't be a fool. Tell us.”

“It's ‘my little puppy-dog' here and ‘my little kitty-cat' there, ‘my pretty little poodle,' and—” here she dropped her voice and covered her face with her hands, at the thought of the doctor's presence—“and ‘my bounding little filly.'”

“What was that?” said the assistant superintendent, blushing furiously.

“Just what I told you. It's immoral.”

“And in a family street,” put in another.

“Yes, in broad daylight the people come from other streets to look on. It's a free show, like being in a theatre,” she added by way of summing it all up.

Dr. Jessé clapped a hand to his head; he had remembered something.

“Theatre—there's a rehearsal today; I had forgotten all about it. I shall have to snatch a bite and run or I'll hold up everything.”

Almost on the run now, he made his way out of the empty building, through the deserted classrooms and silent courtyards. The voice of the teachers, still discussing Lawyer Virgilio, followed him all the way to the street entrance; it was the only sound to be heard.

“It's indecent. . . .”

Dr. Jessé had a hasty meal, and then, after answering his wife's questions about the health of one Ribeirinho, a patient who was a friend of theirs, and pulling one of his children's ears, he set out for the Lauro home, where he was to direct the Tabocas Amateur Group, which was giving a performance soon. Already there was being circulated through the town all the way to Ferradas a hand-bill announcing:

S
ATURDAY, JUNE 10

ST. JOSEPH'S THEATRE

WILL PRESENT AN OUTSTANDING DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS

SOCIAL VAMPIRES

Watch for Announcement

TABOCAS AMATEUR GROUP