Dom Casmurro 15.9 · 15.9

The comedy of the moment is complete: the father's entire grievance is masonry. Where the reader braces for a scene about two children caught too close, Pádua worries about his 'reboco,' the plaster the nail has scratched. His anxiety is domestic and small, and it sails clean past the real event. The love is safe because the man cannot even imagine it.

The ethical dative 'me' — 'don't ruin the plaster on me' — is pure spoken Portuguese, the possessive fret of a homeowner. Machado catches Pádua's whole character in one clause: a modest man attached to his modest property, easily distracted from the human drama under his nose. It is a kindness of the narrative, this obliviousness. For once the household's blindness protects Bento and Capitú instead of exposing them.

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