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106 erotic stories in the manager of the wine cellars to tell him that he was to send a half-barrel of red wine and two jeraboams of sweet wine to Pegos Verdes that day. Sagreira seemed overwhelmed. ‘Well,’ he remarked. ‘what a great party for the lads, and they deserve it too… and of course nothing is too much when we have to celebrate the arrival of the little one divine providence gave you…’ He was indeed my first son (up to then I had only had daughters) but though he was far from my thoughts at the time, I quickly grasped what Sagreira was talking about. ‘Quite right, quite right…’, I agreed hurriedly, and turned to the cellar manager: ‘Instead of a half barrel of red, make it a full one.’ It was agreed that the doll was to be life-size and would be placed in the barn, where there would be shade early in the afternoon, and where the floor was excellent for dancing. Sagreira was charged with organizing the invitations as well as hiring two of the best local harmonica players. This all in honour of my Julia, who was so happy at the idea of the feast, though I was sad that I wouldn’t be able to celebrate it with her in smart drawing-rooms with tables laden with exotic food, washed down with champagne… On the Tuesday I set out before sunrise (‘It’s a good idea to go early so that you miss the heat,’ my loving wife remarked), and at nine o’clock I was in the barn, checking the doll and the decorations, all of which I found most disappointing. ‘I can see that Julia hasn’t got much of a touch when it comes to rustic festivities…’ I said to myself. In the Convent there were great goings-on, with no fewer than twelve girls working in the kitchen; my avid eyes searched in vain among them for the slender figure and beautiful face of my Julia – a fact which did not escape Emília, who, as soon as I reached my bedroom, ran to tell me that her friend was ill and was unable to be at the party.
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dead woman’s grove 107 ‘Perhaps she’ll come in the evening, but it’ll just be for a short, snatched moment…’ she said, and then, in a mysterious tone, ‘It’s not just being ill that’s her problem; José Cravo got really angry with her; I think he even hit her, and told her she can’t come to the party…’ At about midday José Cravo arrived, saying that he was coming to carry out his duty: to take orders. He didn’t stay long, and not once during our conversation did I manage to look him in the eyes, which he averted immediately he realized I was looking at him. You can easily imagine the fears this caused me. On the pretext of a migraine I avoided the dinner, staying at home in a fever of anxiety, waiting for Julia to come, and at the same time begging the gods not to let her risk the danger that disobedience to her lover would bring her. The route (and what a route – rather a goat path!) from her home to the Convent took at least twenty minutes and it would be impossible for him not to notice her absence. But she came all the same, just as evening was falling and when I no longer hoped to see her. And God, her appearance! Waxen, purple eyelids and lips; frozen hands, and, extraordinarily, more enchanting than ever. Her lover had not hit her, but on the Sunday evening, when he returned from collecting payment for some sheep he had sold in Figueira, he arrived home in silence, threw himself fully clothed on the bed and began to cry. She was preparing supper and, hearing his sobs, was genuinely upset, as she had never seen him crying, and so went to comfort him. But he pushed her away with such force that she fell to the floor, and then he sat on the edge of the bed and began to swear at her. He told her that Isidro from Vila do Bispo (the one who’d been filled with lead) had been going round all the houses in town telling everyone that she had been meeting me in the office, staying for hours while I was alone, and never going out through the same door she had entered by, as though wanting to avoid the curiosity of the neighbours, who, he

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106 erotic stories in the manager of the wine cellars to tell him that he was to send a half-barrel of red wine and two jeraboams of sweet wine to Pegos Verdes that day. Sagreira seemed overwhelmed.

‘Well,’ he remarked. ‘what a great party for the lads, and they deserve it too… and of course nothing is too much when we have to celebrate the arrival of the little one divine providence gave you…’

He was indeed my first son (up to then I had only had daughters) but though he was far from my thoughts at the time, I quickly grasped what Sagreira was talking about.

‘Quite right, quite right…’, I agreed hurriedly, and turned to the cellar manager: ‘Instead of a half barrel of red, make it a full one.’

It was agreed that the doll was to be life-size and would be placed in the barn, where there would be shade early in the afternoon, and where the floor was excellent for dancing. Sagreira was charged with organizing the invitations as well as hiring two of the best local harmonica players.

This all in honour of my Julia, who was so happy at the idea of the feast, though I was sad that I wouldn’t be able to celebrate it with her in smart drawing-rooms with tables laden with exotic food, washed down with champagne…

On the Tuesday I set out before sunrise (‘It’s a good idea to go early so that you miss the heat,’ my loving wife remarked), and at nine o’clock I was in the barn, checking the doll and the decorations, all of which I found most disappointing.

‘I can see that Julia hasn’t got much of a touch when it comes to rustic festivities…’ I said to myself.

In the Convent there were great goings-on, with no fewer than twelve girls working in the kitchen; my avid eyes searched in vain among them for the slender figure and beautiful face of my Julia – a fact which did not escape Emília, who, as soon as I reached my bedroom, ran to tell me that her friend was ill and was unable to be at the party.

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