Biriba met all questions with an idiotic expression. He explained nothing. Knew nothing. Cataleptic sleep? Witchery? He did not understand what had happened. To him he seemed to have left the day before and to have come back today.
Everyone was astonished and looked foolish. Fidencio was in bed with brain-fever and delirious. He had lost the election completely. "Out and out defeat," said Evandro's followers, setting off whistling fire-works.
In consequence of the inexplicable eclipse of the postman, the exominous Evandro assumed leadership. The slaughter began. Everything savouring of Fidencio was turned out.
However the new broom of dismissals spared Biriba! The new chief approached him and said:
"I threw out all the trash, Biriba, except you. You are the only saving grace of the Fidencio tribe. Rest easy, your little place will not be taken from you, even though the heavens fall! . . . ."
Biriba, for the last time in Itaóca murmured his, “Yes, Sir." That night he kissed his mare's nozzle and went forth on his tip-toes. He reached the high-road, disappeared, and no one ever saw him again…
