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The Fortune Teller, by Machado de Assis, Brazilian writer

  • Writer: John
    John
  • Sep 1, 2024
  • 12 min read

HAMLET observes to Horace that there are more things in heaven and earth than our philosophy dreams of. It was the same explanation that the beautiful Rita gave to young Camilo, on a Friday in November 1869, when he laughed at her, for having gone the day before to consult a fortune teller; the difference is that he did it in other words.


A Cartomante Machado de Assis
A Cartomante, Machado de Assis


— Laugh, laugh. Men are like that; they don't believe in anything. Well, know that I went, and that she guessed the reason for the appointment, before I even told her what it was. She just started to lay out the cards, she said to me: "You like someone..." I confessed that I did, and then she continued to lay out the cards, combined them, and in the end she told me that I was afraid of that you forgot me, but that wasn't true...

— You made a mistake! interrupted Camilo, laughing.

—Don't say that, Camilo. If you only knew how I've been, because of you. You know; I already told you. Don't laugh at me, don't laugh...

Camilo took her hands and looked at her seriously and fixedly. He swore that he loved him very much, that his scares seemed like a child's; In any case, when he had any fears, the best fortune teller was himself. Then he reprimanded her; I told him it was unwise to walk around those houses. Vilela could have known, and then...

— What to know! I was very cautious when entering the house.

— Where is the house?

— Nearby, on Rua da Guarda Velha; No one passed by at that time. Rest; I'm not crazy.

Camilo laughed again:

— Do you really believe in these things? he asked him.

It was then that she, without knowing that she was translating Hamlet into vulgar, told him that there were many mysterious and true things in this world. If he didn't believe, patience; but the truth is that the fortune teller had guessed everything. What else? The proof is that she was now calm and satisfied.

I think he was going to speak, but he held back. I didn't want to tear away his illusions. He too, as a child, and even later, was superstitious, he had a whole arsenal of beliefs, which his mother instilled in him and which at the age of twenty disappeared. On the day he dropped all this parasitic vegetation, and only the trunk of religion was left, he, as if he had received both teachings from his mother, involved them in the same doubt, and soon after in a single total denial. Camilo didn't believe in anything. Why? He couldn't say it, he didn't have a single argument: he limited himself to denying everything. And I say wrong, because denying is still affirming, and he did not formulate incredulity; faced with the mystery, he contented himself with lifting his shoulders, and walked on.

They separated happily, he even more than she. Rita was sure she was loved; Not only was Camilo, but he saw her shudder and risk herself for him, running to fortune tellers, and, no matter how much he reprimanded her, he couldn't help but feel flattered. The meeting house was on the old Rua dos Barbonos, where a woman from Rita's neighborhood lived. This one went down Rua das Mangueiras, in the direction of Botafogo, where he lived; Camilo went down Guarda Velha, looking in passing at the fortune teller's house.

Vilela, Camilo and Rita, three names, an adventure and no explanation of their origins. Let's go to her. The first two were childhood friends. Vilela pursued a career as a judge. Camilo joined civil service, against the wishes of his father, who wanted to see him as a doctor; but his father died, and Camilo preferred to be nothing, until his mother found him a public job. At the beginning of 1869, Vilela returned from the province, where he had married a beautiful and foolish lady; He abandoned the judiciary and opened a law practice. Camilo found him a house near Botafogo, and went on board to welcome him.

— Is that you? exclaimed Rita, extending her hand. You can't imagine how my husband is your friend, he always talked about you.

Camilo and Vilela looked at each other tenderly. They were true friends. Afterwards, Camilo confessed to himself that Vilela's wife did not deny her husband's letters. Indeed, she was graceful and lively in her gestures, she had warm eyes, a thin and questioning mouth. She was a little older than both of them: she was thirty years old, Vilela was twenty-nine and Camilo was twenty-six. However, Vilela's serious bearing made him appear older than his wife, while Camilo was naive in moral and practical life. He lacked both the action of time and the crystal glasses that nature places in the cradle of some to advance the years. Neither experience nor intuition.

The three of them came together. Living together brought intimacy. Shortly afterwards, Camilo's mother died, and in that disaster, which was, the two proved to be great friends of his. Vilela took care of the burial, suffrages and inventory; Rita took special care of the heart, and no one could do it better.

How they came to love from there, Camilo never knew. The truth is that I liked spending the hours with her, she was his moral nurse, almost a sister, but, above all, she was a woman and beautiful. Female smell: this is what he aspired to in her, and around her, to incorporate into himself. They read the same books, went to theaters and walks together. Camilo taught him checkers and chess, and they played at night; — she badly, — he, to be pleasant to her, little less badly. That's it for things. Now, the person's action, Rita's stubborn eyes, which often looked for his, which she consulted before asking her husband, her cold hands, her unusual attitudes.

One day, on his birthday, he received a rich cane as a gift from Vilela and from Rita just a card with a vulgar greeting in pencil. And it was then that he was able to read it in his own heart, unable to take his eyes off the note. Vulgar words; but there are vulgarities that are sublime, or at least delightful. The old sidewalk in the square, in which for the first time you walked with the woman you loved, both of you close together, is worth Apollo's car. This is how man is, this is how the things that surround him are.

Camilo sincerely wanted to run away, but he couldn't anymore. Rita, like a snake, approached him, enveloped him completely, made his bones crack in a spasm, and dripped the poison into his mouth. He was stunned and subdued. Embarrassment, fright, remorse, desire, everything was mixed together, but the battle was short and the victory was delirious. Goodbye, scruples! It didn't take long for the shoe to settle on the foot, and then they both went, out on the road, arms linked, stepping freely over grass and boulders, without suffering anything more than a few regrets, when they were absent from each other. Vilela's trust and esteem continued to be the same.

One day, however, Camilo received an anonymous letter, calling him immoral and perfidious, and saying that the adventure was known to everyone. Camilo was afraid and, to divert suspicion, began to rarely visit Vilela's house. He noticed his absences. Camilo replied that the reason was a boy's frivolous passion. Candor bred cunning. The absences were prolonged, and the visits stopped entirely. It may be that a little self-love also came into this, an intention to reduce the husband's obsequiousness, to make the act less harsh.

It was around this time that Rita, suspicious and fearful, ran to the fortune teller to consult her about the true cause of Camilo's procedure. We saw that the fortune teller restored his trust, and that the boy reprimanded her for doing what she did. It was still a few weeks later. Camilo received two or three more anonymous letters, so passionate that they could not be a warning of virtue, but rather spite of some suitor; Such was Rita's opinion, who, in other poorly composed words, formulated this thought: — virtue is lazy and greedy, it doesn't waste time or paper; only interest is active and prodigal.

Camilo stood there, standing in front of the fortune teller's house, with his heart divided between the temptation to seek an immediate answer and the logic that impelled him to move forward. "It would be ridiculous," he thought, "for an educated man like me to resort to such superstitions." But fear, that primordial feeling that tears at rationality, whispered to him to try. After all, what did it cost?

In his mind, the image of Vilela waiting for him at home, perhaps armed, ready to deliver the final blow, only increased his anguish. The tilbury was still stopped, and the five minutes seemed like an eternity. On impulse, Camilo got down, almost without thinking, and went to the fortune teller's door. He hit hard, three times. Nobody responded. He hesitated, but then the door opened slowly, as if moved by an invisible hand. Entered.

The fortune teller was sitting in the same position as last time, like a statue. The environment, shrouded in gloom, had an even more mysterious air, as if time in there ran differently. She raised her eyes, looking at him with an expression that mixed curiosity and veiled knowledge. Without him saying anything, she said:

— I already know why you came. He is distressed, afraid of a truth that perhaps he would prefer not to know.

Camilo trembled, but gestured for her to continue. The fortune teller took the deck of worn-out cards and began shuffling them with a calm, almost ritualistic skill. The sound of shuffling cards seemed to echo in the silent room.

“Cut,” she said, handing him the deck.

Camilo obeyed, with shaking hands. She then started turning the cards over, one by one. His eyes narrowed as he saw the combination revealed on the table. Camilo watched each movement, not knowing exactly what the figures meant, but feeling a growing weight in his chest.

Finally, she spoke, in a serious and slow tone:

— I see danger, yes, but I also see a choice. You can change the course of events, but you need to be quick and, above all, have courage.

Camilo felt a chill run down his spine. He wanted to ask what exactly he should do, but the fortune teller just looked at him with a piercing look. He knew she wouldn't say anything else. Leaving the house, he felt slightly calmer, but at the same time, more confused.

He returned to the tilbury and ordered the coachman to go ahead. Now his fate was in the hands of chance, or perhaps the fate he had chosen himself. "Courage," he thought to himself, "courage is what I need." And, with his heart racing, he prepared to face whatever awaited him at Vilela's house.

Camilo leaned back in the tilbury so he couldn't see anything. His agitation was great, extraordinary, and from the depths of the moral layers emerged some ghosts from another time, the old beliefs, the ancient superstitions. The coachman suggested that he return to the first street and go another way: he replied no, he should wait. And he leaned over to look at the house... Then he made an incredulous gesture: it was the idea of ​​hearing the fortune teller, who was passing by in the distance, very far away, with vast gray wings; disappeared, reappeared and vanished again in the brain; but after a while it moved its wings again, closer, making concentric turns... In the street, the men shouted, pulling away the cart:

— Come on! now! push! go! go!

Soon the obstacle would be removed. Camilo closed his eyes, thought about other things: but his husband's voice whispered the words of the letter in his ear: "Come, now, now..." And he saw the contortions of the drama and trembled. The house looked at him. The legs wanted to go down and in. Camilo found himself in front of a long opaque veil... he quickly thought about the inexplicability of so many things. His mother's voice repeated to him a series of extraordinary cases: and the same phrase from the Prince of Denmark echoed inside him: "There are more things in heaven and on earth than philosophy dreams of..." What a loss he was, if. ..?

He found himself on the sidewalk, near the door: he told the coachman to wait, and quickly went down the corridor and up the stairs. The light was poor, the steps were worn out, the handrail was sticky; but he neither saw nor felt anything. Climbed and hit. When no one appeared, he had the idea of ​​going down; but it was late, curiosity was beating his blood, his fountains were throbbing; He hit once, twice, three times again. A woman came; it was the fortune teller. Camilo said he was going to consult her, she made him come in. From there they went up to the attic, through a staircase even worse than the first and darker. Above, there was a small room, dimly lit by a window that looked onto the back roof. Old junk, gloomy walls, an air of poverty, which increased rather than destroyed prestige.

The fortune teller made him sit in front of the table and sat on the opposite side, with his back to the window, so that the little light from outside hit Camilo's face. He opened a drawer and took out a deck of long, cluttered cards. As she shuffled them quickly, she looked at him, not in the face, but beneath the eyes. She was a forty-year-old Italian woman, dark and thin, with large, sharp, sounding eyes. He placed three letters on the table and said:

— Let's first see what brings you here. You are in for a big scare...

Camilo, amazed, made an affirmative gesture.

—And you want to know, she continued, if anything will happen to you or not...

— Me and her, he explained vividly.

The fortune teller didn't smile: she just told him to wait. He quickly picked up the cards again and shuffled them, with his long, thin fingers, with careless nails; He shuffled them well, transposed the packs once, twice, three times; then he began to extend them. Camilo's eyes were curious and anxious.

— The letters tell me...

Camilo leaned over to drink the words one by one. Then she told him not to be afraid of anything. Nothing would happen to one or the other; he, the third, ignored everything. However, great caution was essential: envy and spite were boiling. He told her about the love that linked them, about Rita's beauty... Camilo was dazzled. The fortune teller finished, collected the cards and closed them in the drawer.

— You have restored peace to my spirit, he said, extending his hand across the table and shaking the fortune teller's hand.

She stood up, laughing.

— Go, said she; go, boy in love...

And standing up, with his index finger, he touched his forehead. Camilo trembled, as if it were the sibyl's own hand, and stood up too. The fortune teller went to the dresser, on which was a plate of raisins, took out a bunch of them, began to pick them and eat them, showing two rows of teeth that belied her nails. In this same common action, the woman had a particular air. Camilo, eager to leave, didn't know how to pay; ignored the price.

— Raisins cost money, he said finally, taking out his wallet. How many do you want to send for?

— Ask your heart, she replied.

Camilo took out a ten mil-reis note and gave it to him. The fortune teller's eyes blazed. The usual price was two milreis.

— I can see that you like her a lot... And you do it well; She likes you very much. Go, go, calm down. Look at the stairs, it's dark; put on your hat...

The fortune teller had already put the note in her pocket and went downstairs with him, speaking with a slight accent. Camilo said goodbye to her below and went down the stairs that led to the street, while the fortune teller, happy with her payment, went back up, humming a barcarole. Camilo found the tilbury waiting; the street was free. He got in and followed at a long trot.

Everything now seemed better to him, other things took on a different aspect, the sky was clear and the faces were jovial. He even laughed at his fears, which he called childish; he recalled the terms of Vilela's letter and recognized that they were intimate and familiar. Where had he discovered the threat to him? He also warned that they were urgent and that he was wrong to delay so long; It could be some serious and very serious matter.

— Come on, let's go quickly, he repeated to the coachman.

And with him, to explain the delay to his friend, he came up with something; It seems that he also formed a plan to take advantage of the incident to return to his old assiduity... Back with his plans, the fortune teller's words echoed in his soul. In truth, she had guessed the object of the consultation, his condition, the existence of a third party; Why wouldn't I guess the rest? The present that is ignored is worth the future. It was like this, slowly and continuously, that the boy's old beliefs were coming to the fore, and the mystery gripped him with iron nails. Sometimes he wanted to laugh, and he laughed at himself, somewhat vexed; but the woman, the letters, the dry and affirmative words, the exhortation: — Go, go, ragazzo innamorato; and at the end, in the distance, the farewell boat, slow and graceful, such were the recent elements, which formed, with the ancients, a new and lively faith.

The truth is that my heart was happy and impatient, thinking about the happy times of the past and those to come. When passing through Glória, Camilo looked at the sea, stretched his eyes outwards, to where the water and the sky give an infinite embrace, and thus had a feeling of the future, long, long, endless.

After a while, he arrived at Vilela's house. He got off, pushed the iron garden door and entered. The house was silent. He climbed the six stone steps, and barely had time to knock, the door opened, and Vilela appeared.


— Sorry, I couldn't come sooner; what's up?

Vilela didn't answer him; his features were decomposed; He signaled to him, and they went to an inner room. Entering, Camilo could not suppress a scream of terror: in the background, on the sofa, was Rita, dead and bloody. Vilela grabbed him by the collar and, with two shots from a revolver, laid him dead on the ground.

END



The Fortune Teller, Machado de Assis Source: ASSIS, Machado de. Complete Work. Rio de Janeiro: Nova Aguilar 1994. v. II. Text from: The Brazilian Student Virtual Library The School of the Future of the University of São Paulo Only use for educational purposes is permitted. Base text digitized by: Center for Research in Informatics, Literature and Linguistics (http://www.cce.ufsc.br/~nupill/literatura/literat.html) This material may be freely redistributed, as long as it is not altered, and that the above information is maintained. For more information, write to . 


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