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A month passed. Meanwhile, I remained sad and bound to routine, copying documents for the state. On Sundays, I still watched D. Augusta washing the dandruff from Couceiro's head.
I convinced myself that I had fallen asleep over the folio and dreamt about the temptation. Even so, I began to worry about China. I went to the Havaneza to read the telegrams and always looked for news of that country. But the telegrams only spoke about conflicts in Europe.
Little by little, I began to forget that fantastic episode. When calm returned, my old ambitions returned too. I wanted a director-general's salary, Lola's love and more tender steaks. Those desires seemed as impossible as the Mandarin's millions. And the slow caravan of my sorrows continued across the desert of life.
One Sunday morning in August, I was asleep in bed, in my shirtsleeves and with an unlit cigarette between my lips. The door creaked, and I saw a bald head bow respectfully beside me. 'Are you Mr Teodoro from the Ministry of the Realm?' a nervous voice asked. 'I am, sir,' I replied with a yawn.
The man was small and fat, wore white side-whiskers and gold spectacles, and kept bowing. He introduced himself on behalf of Silvestre, Juliano and Company. The firm had correspondents in Macao and Hong Kong, and the papers had arrived on the packet from Southampton. In his trembling hand, he held a bulging envelope sealed with black wax.
He called me Your Excellency, a flower of virtue and an example to good men. He said that the envelope contained drafts on banks in London, including Rothschild. When I heard the name Rothschild, I leapt from the bed eagerly. 'What is it, sir?' I shouted. 'It is 106,000 contos in your favour, in London, Paris, Hamburg and Amsterdam!' he replied. 'They come from the estate of the Mandarin Ti-Chin-Fú, deposited by the houses of Hong Kong, Shanghai and Canton!' he added.
I felt the world tremble beneath my feet and closed my eyes for a moment. At that moment, I believed that I had received a supernatural power. So I decided not to show a human emotion. I did not even go and weep on Madame Marques's ample breast, as I wished to do.
I wanted to seem as impassive as a god or a demon. I pulled up my trousers as if nothing had happened. 'Very well, that Mandarin behaved like a gentleman,' I said. 'It is a family matter; leave the papers and good day,' I added. The representative backed out, still bent over and with his head bowed.
I opened the window, tilted my head back and breathed the warm air with relief. In the street, the middle classes were leaving Mass between two rows of carriages.
I thought that I could hire all those carriages by the hour or by the year. I imagined that no woman would refuse my desire and that every man would bow before the money. Filled with boredom, I laughed at that humanity which believed itself free. In my hand, the envelope held the source of everyone's weakness.
In a few moments, I imagined that I had already enjoyed riches, love and power. I was soon sated and yawned like a well-fed lion.
What use were the millions if they only revealed human baseness? I thought that so much gold would make the moral beauty of the universe disappear. I sat down, hid my face in my hands and wept for a long time.
'They are waiting for you for dinner, Enguiço!' Madame Marques announced at the door. 'I am not having dinner,' I replied sharply. 'All the better, there will be more left!' she replied.
At that moment, I heard fireworks and remembered the Sunday bullfight. I imagined watching the bullfight from a box, a dinner with champagne and then an orgy. I filled my pockets with drafts and went down into the street, eager to begin.
I stopped an empty carriage and shouted, 'To the bullfight!' The coachman asked for ten tostões, but I had only 720 réis. I looked with contempt at the man who wanted silver coins from a giant of gold.
I showed him the drafts on London and Hamburg. 'Those are no use,' the coachman replied, and drove on. The bullfight, the grand dinner and the naked women vanished like a soap bubble.
I hated humanity and money in the form of coins. Another carriage, full of cheerful people, almost ran me over while I stared at the coins. I returned to my room with my head bowed and my pockets full of useless millions. I accepted Madame Marques's tough steak and spent my first night of wealth alone, while poor Couceiro laughed with D. Augusta and played the Fado da Cotovia.
Only the next morning, while shaving, did I think about the origin of my millions. Their origin was clearly supernatural and suspicious. Relying on rationalism and positivism, I refused to investigate God, the Devil or first causes and decided to make use of the phenomenon.
I then hurried to the London and Brazilian Bank. I threw a thousand-pound draft drawn on the Bank of England onto the counter and demanded, 'Gold!' The clerk suggested banknotes, but I repeated, 'Gold!'
I slowly filled my pockets with handfuls of gold and climbed into a carriage. I felt heavy, with a taste of gold in my mouth and gold dust on my hands. The houses looked like sheets of gold, and inside my head the metals made a deep noise. I leant back like a rich man who had eaten his fill, until I gave a huge belch.
Suddenly, I felt a great desire to spend and scatter that gold. 'Stop, you brute!' I shouted at the coachman. I looked for a queen's jewel or a politician's conscience to buy, but I saw neither. I went into a tobacconist's and ordered every cigar, from the cheap ones to the most expensive.
At the door, a poor woman dressed in mourning, carrying her child against her breast, held out her hand to me. I did not want to search for copper coins among the gold, and I sent her away impatiently. Then I looked coldly at the crowd.
It was then that I saw my former director-general approaching. I immediately bent my back and lowered my hat, for the millions had not yet straightened my spine.
At home, I poured the gold onto the bed and rolled over it, grunting with pleasure. At three o'clock, with my first day of wealth nearly over, I hurried away to satisfy my desires.
I dined alone at the Hotel Central, before a table full of wines and liqueurs. I wanted to drink as if I had been thirsty for thirty years, but I mainly filled myself with Colares wine. Afterwards, already staggering, I dragged myself to a brothel. At dawn, I lay on the carpet, half-naked and exhausted, amid smells of face powder, women and punch.
When I returned to my room, the windows were closed and the candle had almost gone out. When I reached the bed, I saw the Mandarin's fat body lying across the coverlet. He wore yellow silk, had a long queue and held a paper kite in his arms.
I opened the window in desperation, and the figure disappeared. Now there was only an old pale coat on the bed.