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On rainy days, I am usually sparse with greetings, as well as sparing withconversation, avaricious with comments, but I remain polished and affable, as longas no thunder roars in in the sky.If however, there are thunderstorms in the Altiplanuras, I am inevitably assailedby fear, panic and the absolute inability to speak.When subjected to such unpleasantries I usually seek refuge under the tables,perspiring and eyes bulging.The nearest table, at the first thunderclap.Almada had opened a folded page of the Diário de Lisboa on the restauranttable.Before I settled into the leather-seated chair, he began reading an excerpt froma very instructive and provocative article – “The Secret Associations: A Poised andThorough Analysis of a Bill Presented to Parliament,” which I had written for thatpolitically independent evening newspaper:“...like most anti-Masonists, the author of this bill is totally ignorant of the subjectof Freemasonry. What is known of him is, perhaps, worse than nothing, because,of course, he must have nurtured his anti-Masonicism by reading the so-calledCatholic press, where even in the most basic aspects of the subject, errors are built onerrors, combining those errors with churlishness, lies and slander, their distinguisheddaughters...”When he finished reading, Almada removed his glasses, closed the paper, andgrumbled:“As if it were not enough to call the author of the bill an idiot, you had the nerveto grace him with the epithet of liar! Not satisfied, you even offended pious biddies!What were you thinking, Fernando, when you wrote this article? CongressmanJosé Cabral, the author of the bill, is part of the entourage of the Chairman of theCouncil of Ministers: the professor will not like this outrageous criticism!” observedmy faithful friend in muffled voice, looking around warily.“Furthermore, you put António Ferro, our friend who works at the NationalDepartment of Propaganda, in an awkward position...,” Montalvor mutteredunder his breath.I asked the waiter for a glass of my favorite brandy. I had no plans to eatlunch: I was in such dire financial straits, stone broke, that I lacked the cash tocommit such an extravagance at the Martinho da Arcada. I might come back atthe end of the day, to try to have some supper – perhaps some julienne soup –with old Sá Mourão, the owner of that establishment, if invited, which happenedreasonably often.I adjusted my wire-rimmed glasses on my nose and lit a cigarette. Quickly, Istole a glimpse of the flash of ankle bared by the young lady at the next table, andsaid: “In the first place, Almada, entourage is a masculine noun, the French createdit that way, patience, it’s their language. Secondly, the more appropriate term, in myopinion, to qualify the group of politicians that surrounds the good Chairman of theCouncil of Ministers, is coterie, also of French origin, and that in fact is feminine. AtRUY TAPIOCA355