Luz wasn’t completely wrong. You couldn’t just revive a friendship that had remained forgotten for so long, and my relationship with Diogo didn’t immediately go back to what it was before. Both he and I had changed, as it happens with all children as they grow up. We had to get to know each other anew and respect our new selves. But a person never completely changes, the essence always remains the same, and based on our childhood friendship, we were able to build a new friendship, more solid and mature, which would be with us for the rest of our lives. But if Diogo and I encountered some difficulties, for Luz it was even more difficult to recover the links that had bound us together. For weeks, my sister wouldn’t say a thing about the matter. It seemed like she had decided to ignore all that Diogo and I had said. Only one thing made me believe she had not completely dismissed our words. Luz was a modest girl but not overly shy. She could usually be found in the living room, playing the piano or embroidering, or simply keeping my Father company, but since the day of our argument, Maria da Luz did all she could to avoid me and also Diogo. I had a feeling that she felt ashamed of the things she had said to Diogo and so didn’t want to face him. «Maybe I was wrong about Luz», I confessed to my friend. «Maybe she is not as petty as my Father». «I told you we could trust your sister’s feelings». «Apparently, you know my family better than I do...»
Diogo was going to reply but he remained silent because he had sighted Father Ricardo, who was coming towards us in a fast pace that made him look kind of comical.
«Morning, Father», I greeted, and asked for him to bless me. «Hello, children», he replied, looking extremely pale. «May God bless you. I need to talk to D. José».
Diogo and I looked at each other, trying to guess what might have distressed the good Father so much.
«What happened, Father?», Diogo asked. «Why are you so winded? Would you like me to ask my Mother for a glass of water?» «No, no, thank you, my son. I need to talk to D José right way. Where is he?» «I believe he is in his room. Would you like me to go fetch him?» «Yes, Diogo, please fetch him. And you, Pedro, go and get your sister. What I have to say should interest you too».
Intrigued, Diogo and I shrunk our shoulders. All we could do was obey and wait and that’s what we did. When I arrived in the living room with Maria da Luz, the priest and my Father were already there. Diogo had already left the room. «Well, Father Ricardo» said D. José Ávila in his grave and slow voice, «Pedro and Maria da Luz are already here. What terrible news do you have for us?» «It is terrible, D. José, terrible! Our country... Our country is in mourning!» «Our country, in mourning? Why?» «Our king... D. João VI has passed away».
I felt as if someone had punched me in the chest. We were all perplexed. Despite the seriousness of the news and the solemnity it required, Father Ricardo could hardly conceal that he felt innerly pleased with the impact he had caused. But my Father sank in his chair and asked: «When? How?» «Two weeks ago. News don’t always travel fast».
I suppose my Father made the poor priest tell him about the monarch’s death with all the details he might know about, but I was already thinking about the future. D. Pedro had already been proclaimed Emperor of Brazil and I didn’t think we could count on his presence on the throne, and if the people accepted that D. Miguel came back from exile to rule, there would be nothing he wouldn’t do to crush the liberals. No, D. Pedro could not abandon us now. D. Pedro had to return! D. João VI hadn’t been capable of introducing politics that would guide the country, he had tried to reconcile the sides but that hadn’t worked. D. Pedro and D. Miguel were both different from their Father. Both had inherited the strength of D. Carlota Joaquina and they would decide, one way or another, how the nation would now be led.
Without listening to anything that was being said in the living room anymore, I left running, without heeding my Father’s words, who was shouting: «Pedro, come back here this instant! I didn’t give you permission to leave the room! Pedro!»
I ran like an arrow to the kitchen, where I found Diogo eating a sandwich prepared by Cecília.
«Master Pedro», Cecília asked, surprised to see me in her kitchen, where I didn’t often enter anymore, «would you like a roast beef sandwich? I just finished one for my son». «No, thank you, Cecília».
And after a brief silence, I said: «D. João VI is dead».
I believe the pain that Cecília felt was truly deep, because for her, more sacred than the royal family, only the Holy Family. Diogo stood up in what I interpreted as an impulse of respect towards the dead king. But he also looked worried. «Who told you that?», Cecília asked, vaguely hoping that it was just a rumour. «Father Ricardo. Jesus, I didn’t even realise until now that I left them in the middle of the conversation...» «What else did Father Ricardo say?», Diogo asked, always with the same worried expression. «Is D. Miguel returning from Vienna?» «I don’t know. And I don’t think Father Ricardo knows. In fact, I don’t believe there’s even been enough time for the news of his Father’s death to reach D. Miguel».
Diogo glanced at his Mother, who was saying a prayer for the dead monarch and discreetly took me by my arm and dragged me out. We went to the stables again, so as not to be surprised by D. José. «Sir», he said, «I think it’s time for you to know the truth». «What truth?» «My Father... He was a liberal».
Although I had already guessed that Diogo’s political inclinations matched mine, and despite vaguely recalling he had once admitted to me that his Father was friends with liberals, I could not help being surprised at the revelation, at least because of the fact that my Father had harboured a liberal’s family in his home. «And so am I», he proceeded. «But you always said...» «If I’ve been evasive, it was to avoid being the cause of a conflict between you and your Father. I know you sympathize with Liberalism but I didn’t want to be accused of adding fuel to the fire». «So what made you change your mind? Was it because the king died?» «No... The fact that His Majesty died will cause a lot of turmoil in the country’s domestic peace and we must be prepared for great change, but if I’m only telling you this now, it’s because I feel that if that conflict between you and D. José happens, I won’t be the cause anymore». «You think it’s inevitable». «I didn’t say that». «But you feel it. I feel it too. I’m a liberal and my Father is an absolutist. And as a liberal I can even respect his opinions. But he, as an absolutist, will not respect mine». And after a short pause, I added: «I’m glad you trusted me enough to talk about your Father».
Diogo lowered his head and for the first time since I had met him, I saw the serenity which he had always about him leave him and give way to anger. I could see he was clenching his fists, his cheek muscles contracting and his eyes were bright and moist as if he was about to cry. Making a huge effort to pull himself together and be able to speak, he said in a rough voice: «They killed him. They killed him, Sir!» «Who?» «Some group of absolutists. They murdered him».
I didn’t really know if I should ask how it had happened or if that would only make Diogo relive memories that he’d certainly rather forget. It was Diogo, however, that having recovered his usual calmness, told me everything without me having to ask anything. «They came in the night», he said. «My Father was a dreamer. He thought that Liberalism could cure Portugal of all its ills. He acted so naively... He used to deliver speeches. The Police wouldn’t let him go. They arrested him several times, accusing him of disturbing the peace. His words were so... childish! But there was truth in what he said. A lot of people felt disturbed. A day didn’t go by without us receiving threats. At first, my Mother was scared to death. Then we learned to ignore. Maybe we ignored too much... One night, a group of men in disguise invaded our house and shot my Father. They weren’t thieves, they didn’t take anything. They went there just to kill him. I was eight then. All I remember is clinging to my Mother’s leg and feeling myself shaking when I looked at my Father’s body. The men left us there, a woman and a child. My Mother was screaming desperately and I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even avenge him!...»
I placed my hand on Diogo’s shoulder, trying to relieve his pain. He went on: «Alerted by my Mother’s screaming, the neighbours came to see what was going on and some of them tried to go after the killers, but it was too late. After the funeral, my Mother and I came to live here. At first, my Mother feared that D. José wouldn’t let us stay because my Father was a liberal but he said he wouldn’t fail his wife’s maid in such a difficult moment.
I looked at Diogo with true respect and admiration. I shared his pain, not only as his friend, but as a liberal.
«Diogo», I said to him, «I’m so sorry for your Father, but I’m glad you chose to confide in me».
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