Raised from the Ground (23 page)

When it returns from the ants’ nest, it will find the room full of men. Escarro and Escarrilho are there, along with Lieutenant Contente, Sergeant Armamento, Corporal Tacabo, two nameless privates and three specially chosen prisoners who state that the policemen left the room for a minute, no more than that, to deal with some urgent matter, and when they returned, found the prisoner had hanged himself on a piece of wire, just as we see him now, with one end tied around that nail there, and the other wound twice around Germano Santos Vidigal’s neck, yes, his name’s Germano Santos Vidigal, it’s important to know that for the death certificate, the official doctor must be called, yes, as you can see, he’s kneeling, yes, kneeling, but there’s nothing odd about that, if someone wants to hang himself, even if it’s only from a bedstead, it’s all a matter of will, does anyone have any questions, Not me, say the lieutenant, the sergeant and the corporal, and the two privates and the three prisoners, who thanks to this stroke of luck will probably be set free today. There is great indignation among the ants, who witnessed everything, at different times, but meanwhile they have joined forces and pieced together what they saw, they know the whole truth, even the larger of the ants, who was the last to see the man’s face close up, like a vast landscape, and it’s a well-known fact that landscapes die because they are killed, not because they commit suicide.

The body has been removed. Escarro and Escarrilho put away the tools of their trade, the stick, the cat-o’-nine-tails, they rub their knuckles, inspect the tips and heels of their shoes, in case some thread of clothing or some bloodstain should reveal to the sharp eyes of Sherlock Holmes the weakness of their alibi and the conflicting times, but there’s no danger of that, Sherlock Holmes is dead and buried, as dead as Germano Santos Vidigal, buried as deep as Germano soon will be, and the years will pass and these cases will remain swathed in silence until the ants acquire the gift of speech and tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Meanwhile, if we hurry, we’ll still be in time to catch up with Dr. Romano, he’s over there, head bowed, small black bag over his left arm, which is why we can ask him to raise his right hand, Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, that’s how it is with doctors, they’re used to such solemn acts, Speak up, Dr. Romano, doctor of medicine, you who have sworn the Hippocratic oath with its various modern revisions to form and sense, speak up, Dr. Romano, here beneath the bright sun, is it really true that this man hanged himself. The doctor raises his right hand, looks at us with candid, innocent eyes, he’s a much-respected man in the town, a regular churchgoer and punctilious in carrying out his social duties, and having shown us what a pure soul he is, he says, If someone has a wire wound twice around his own neck, with the other end tied to a nail above his head, and if the wire is pulled taut enough, even by only the partial weight of the body, then there is no doubt that, technically speaking, the man has hanged himself, and having said this, he lowered his hand and went about his business, Not so fast, Dr. Romano, doctor of medicine, it’s not time for supper yet, if you still have any appetite after what you’ve just seen, I envy you your strong stomach, tell me, didn’t you see the man’s body, didn’t you see the welts, the bruises, the battered genitals, the blood, No, I didn’t, they told me the prisoner had hanged himself and he had, there was nothing else to see, You’re a liar, Dr. Romano, medical practitioner, how and why and when did you acquire the ugly habit of lying, No, I’m not a liar, it’s just that I can’t tell the truth, Why, Because I’m afraid, Go in peace, Dr. Pilate, sleep in peace with your conscience, and give her a good screwing, because she deserves both you and the screwing, Goodbye, Senhor Author, Goodbye, Senhor Doctor, but take my advice, keep well away from ants, especially those that raise their heads like dogs, they’re very observant creatures, you can’t imagine, you will be watched from now on by all ants, don’t worry, they won’t harm you, but you never know, one day your conscience might make a cuckold of you, and that would be your salvation.

The street we are on is Rua da Parreira, or the street of the vine trellis, presumably because in days gone by, it was shaded by a trellis of fine grapes, and since the council couldn’t come up with the name of a saint or a politician or a benefactor or a martyr to bestow on the street, it will for the time being continue to be called Rua da Parreira. What shall we do now, given that the men from Monte Lavre, Escoural, Safira and Torre da Gadanha only arrive tomorrow, given that the bullring is closed and no one can get in, what shall we do, let’s go to the cemetery, perhaps Germano Santos Vidigal has arrived there already, the dead, when they choose to, can move very fast, and it’s not that far and it’s cooler now, you go down this street, turn right, as if we were going to Évora, it’s easy enough, then left, you can’t go wrong, there are the white walls and the cypresses, the same as everywhere else. The mortuary is here, but it’s locked, they lock everything and they’ve taken away the key, we can’t go in, Good afternoon, Senhor Ourique, no rest for the wicked, eh, That’s true, but what’s a man to do, people may not die every day, but you still have to straighten their beds and sweep the paths, Yes, I saw your wife Cesaltina and your son earlier on, he’s a lovely child, That’s true, True is a good word, Senhor Ourique, That’s true, Tell me, is it true that the body in the mortuary died of a beating or simply because its former owner decided to hang himself, It’s true that my son is a lovely boy, always wanting to be out playing in the sun, it’s true that the body in there is that of a hanged man, it’s true that given the state he was in, he wouldn’t have had the strength to hang himself, it’s true that his private parts were battered and bruised, it’s true that his body was caked in blood, it’s true that even after death the swellings didn’t go down, the size of partridge eggs, they were, and it’s true that I would have died of far less, and I’m used to death, Thank you, Senhor Ourique, you’re a gravedigger and a serious man, perhaps because you’re so fond of your son, but tell me, whose skull is that you’re holding in your hand, does it belong to the king’s son, That I don’t know, I wasn’t working here then, Goodbye, Senhor Ourique, it’s time to close the gates, give my regards to Cesaltina and my love to your boy who so likes to play in the sun.

We have said our farewells, from down here you can see the castle, who could recount all its stories, those from the past and those to come, it would be quite wrong to think that just because wars are no longer fought outside castles, such military actions, however petty, however inglorious, are a thing of the past, as the Marquis de Marialva put it, Have you noticed, your majesty, how poorly Manuel Ruiz Adibe, governor of Montemor, runs the barracks there, because quite apart from his general incompetence, if the workers give him enough money, he excuses them from having to help build the fortifications, which is why so little work has been done, as anyone can see, and so I am asking your majesty if I might suggest someone more suited to the post, notably the lieutenant general of artillery, Manuel da Rocha Pereira, who possesses all the necessary qualities, efficiency, energy, zeal, as well as a desire to occupy said post, so if your majesty would be so kind as to write the requisite letter of appointment, giving him the title of field marshal, then Manuel Ruiz Adibe can still enjoy his salary, as do the other cavalry captains whom your majesty has retired, he’s not so needy nor does he have so many responsibilities that he need live uncomfortably, even if his salary isn’t always paid promptly. Devil take Adibe, who took such poor care of your majesty’s service and such good care of his own, the times have changed, now there are zealous functionaries willing to kill a man in the Montemor barracks, then go outside to smoke a cigarette, wave goodbye to the sentry courageously gazing out at the horizon to make sure no Spaniards are approaching, and set off down the road with a firm step, chatting serenely and totting up their day’s work, so many punches, so many kicks, so many blows with a stick, and they feel proud of themselves, neither of them is called Adibe, their names are Escarro and Escarrilho, they’re like twins, they pause outside the cinema, where the film being shown tomorrow, on Sunday, is advertised, the summer season is getting off to a good start with an interesting comedy called The Magnificent Dope. Bring your wives, they’ll enjoy it, poor ladies, when things calm down a bit, it’s sure to be worth seeing, but if you want a really good film, don’t miss the Thursday showing, with Estrellita Castro, the goddess of song and dance, starring alongside Antonio Vico, Ricardo Merino and Rafaela Satorrés in that marvelous musical Mariquilla Terremoto, olé.

T
HESE MEN ESCAPED
from among the dead and the wounded. We will not name them one by one, it’s enough to know that some went to Lisbon to languish in prisons and dungeons, and others returned to the threshing machine, being paid the new wage for as long as the harvest lasted. Father Agamedes issues a paternal admonishment to these madmen, reminds them directly or indirectly how much they owe him and how they, therefore, have still more of an obligation to fulfill their Christian duties, for did not the Holy Mother clearly demonstrate her power and influence by touching the bolts on the prison doors and making them fall away and by prying open the bars on the windows, hallelujah. He makes these grand statements to a church almost empty apart from old ladies, because the other parishioners are still brooding over how much that gratitude has cost them and are not consoled. In Monte Lavre, they know little of the arrests, it’s all very vague, however often Sigismundo Canastro tells them how many there were, and only tomorrow will it become known how many deaths there were, as worker talks to worker, but the weariness of the living seems to hang heavier than a death about which they can do nothing, My father is ill and I don’t know what to do with him, these are private concerns particular to each household, not to mention that the harvest is coming to an end, and then what will happen. It will be no different from other years, but now Norberto, Alberto and Dagoberto are saying, through the mouths of the overseers, that this rabble will regret ever going on strike, and the extra money they earned will cost them dearly. Adalberto has already sent written instructions from Lisbon to the effect that, once the harvest and the threshing are over, he will keep on only the swineherds and shepherds and the watchman, because he doesn’t want his land trampled by strikers and idlers, later we’ll see, it depends on the olives, how are the olives doing, by the way. The overseer will reply, but this is the kind of correspondence no one bothers to keep, you receive the letter, do what it tells you to do or send an answer to the question asked, and then it’s, Now where did I put that letter, it would be amusing to base a whole history on such letters, it would be another way of doing it, our problem is that we think only the big things are important, and so we talk about them, but then when we want to know how things really were, who was there and what they said, we’re in trouble.

Her name is Gracinda Mau-Tempo and she is seventeen. She will marry Manuel Espada, but not just yet. She’s young, she can’t simply get married from one day to the next, with no trousseau, they will have to be patient. Quite apart from these obvious social obligations, they have nowhere to live, It would mean having to move somewhere else, You don’t want to be like your brother, always having to live so far away, I know it’s not the same thing, because you’re a girl, but it’s bad enough never seeing one child, ah me, that boy of mine. These are Faustina’s words, and João Mau-Tempo nods, he always feels a pang in his heart whenever they talk about his son, the little devil, who was only eighteen when it became clear that he had inherited his late grandfather’s wanderlust. Gracinda Mau-Tempo will tell Manuel Espada the substance of these conversations later, and he will say, I want to marry you and I don’t mind waiting, and he says this gravely, as is his custom on all occasions, a manner that makes him seem older than his years, and there was already quite an age difference, as Faustina had pointed out to Gracinda when Gracinda told her that Manuel Espada had asked her to be his girl, But he’s much older than you, What’s that got to do with it, Gracinda had replied, offended, and quite right, too, because that wasn’t what mattered, what mattered was that she had liked Manuel Espada ever since that June day in Montemor, what did age have to do with anything, although Manuel Espada, when he spoke to her, had also pointed this out, I’m seven years older than you, and she, smiling, not sure quite what she was saying, had replied, The husband should be older than the wife, and then she had blushed because she realized that she had said yes without actually saying yes, as Manuel Espada realized, and he passed on to the next question, So that’s a yes, is it, and she said, Yes, and from then on they spent time with each other as the rules of courtship demanded, at the front door of her house, because it was too soon for him to be allowed into the house, but where Manuel Espada did not follow the rules was in speaking to her parents right away, rather than waiting until both he and she were sure of their feelings and of their ill-kept secret. It was then that João Mau-Tempo and Faustina explained, and this was hardly news, that marriage was an economic impossibility just then, and that they would have to wait, I’ll wait as long as I have to, said Manuel Espada, and then he left, determined to work and save, although he also had to help his own parents, with whom he still lived. These are the problems of ordinary life, which change little or so little in two generations that one hardly notices, and Gracinda Mau-Tempo knows that in future she will have to agree, by negotiation with her mother, how much of her wage she can put aside for her trousseau, as is her duty.