At first he thought that

At first he thought that the lesson under the almond trees was a casual innovation due,perhaps, to the interminable repairs on the house, but in the days that followed he came tounderstand that Fermina Daza would be there, within view, every afternoon at the same timeduring the three months of vacation, and that certainty filled him with new hope. He did not havethe impression that he was seen, he could not detect any sign of interest or rejection, but in herindifference there was a distinct radiance that encouraged him to persevere. Then, one afternoontoward the end of January, the aunt put her work on the chair and left her niece alone in thedoorway under the shower of yellow leaves falling from the almond trees. Encouraged by theimpetuous thought that this was an arranged opportunity, Florentino Ariza crossed the street andstopped in front of Fermina Daza, so close to her that he could detect the catches in her breathingand the floral scent that he would identify with her for the rest of his life. He spoke with his headhigh and with a determination that would be his again only half a century later, and for the samereason.

“All I ask is that you accept a letter from me,” he said.

It was not the voice that Fermina Daza had expected from him: it was sharp and clear, with acontrol that had nothing to do with his languid manner. Without lifting her eyes from herembroidery, she replied: “I cannot accept it without my father’s permission.” Florentino Arizashuddered at the warmth of that voice, whose hushed tones he was not to forget for the rest of hislife. But he held himself steady and replied without hesitation: “Get it.” Then he sweetened thecommand with a plea: “It is a matter of life and death.” Fermina Daza did not look at him, she didnot interrupt her embroidering, but her decision opened the door a crack, wide enough for theentire world to pass through.

“Come back every afternoon,” she said to him, “and wait until I change my seat.”Florentino Ariza did not understand what she meant until the following Monday when, fromthe bench in the little park, he saw the same scene with one variation: when Aunt Escol醩 ticawent into the house, Fermina Daza stood up and then sat in the other chair. Florentino Ariza, witha white camellia in his lapel, crossed the street and stood in front of her. He said: “This is thegreatest moment of my life.” Fermina Daza did not raise her eyes to him, but she looked allaround her and saw the deserted streets in the heat of the dry season and a swirl of dead leavespulled along by the wind.

“Give it to me,” she said.

Florentino Ariza had intended to give her the seventy sheets he could recite from memoryafter reading them so often, but then he decided on a sober and explicit half page in which hepromised only what was essential: his perfect fidelity and his everlasting love. He took the letterout of his inside jacket pocket and held it before the eyes of the troubled embroiderer, who hadstill not dared to look at him. She saw the blue envelope trembling in a hand petrified with terror,and she raised the embroidery frame so he could put the letter on it, for she could not admit thatshe had noticed the trembling of his fingers. Then it happened: a bird shook himself among theleaves of the almond trees, and his droppings fell right on the embroidery. Fermina Daza movedthe frame out of the way, hid it behind the chair so that he would not notice what had happened,and looked at him for the first time, her face aflame. Florentino Ariza was impassive as he held theletter in his hand and said: “It’s good luck.” She thanked him with her first smile and almostsnatched the letter away from him, folded it, and hid it in her bodice. Then he offered her thecamellia he wore in his lapel. She refused: “It is a flower of promises.” Then, conscious that theirtime was almost over, she again took refuge in her composure.