José Anaiço studied the details of the journey they are about to make, along paths that will not be direct if they are to avoid the great slopes of the Cantabrian mountains, and he explained what he had worked out, From Palas de Rei, which is about where we are now, to Valladolid must be about four hundred kilometers, and from there to the frontier, forgive me, but on this map I still have a frontier, there are another four hundred, making eight hundred kilometers altogether, a long journey at a horse's pace, Not a horse's pace, that's a thing of the past, and it won't be so much a pace as a trot, Maria Guavaira corrected him. Then Joaquim Sassa spoke, With two horses pulling, he broke off in mid-sentence with the expression of someone on whom a light is dawning, and then bursts out laughing, Isn't it ironic, we've abandoned Deux Chevaux and now we're traveling with two horses, I suggest we call the wagon Deux Chevaux, de facto et de jure, not that I've ever studied Latin, but I've heard others use the expression, as one of my grandfathers used to say who also didn't know the language of his ancestors. The Deux Chevaux are munching hay behind the wagon, the sore on the sorrel's back is now completely healed, and the gray horse, if not exactly rejuvenated, looks fitter and stronger, it can't lift its head as high as the sorrel, but they don't make a bad pair. Joaquim Sassa repeated his question once the laughter had subsided. As I was saying, with two horses pulling, how many kilometers will we cover in an hour, and Maria Guavaira replied, About three leagues, So about fifteen kilometers as we say nowadays, Right, Ten hours at fifteen kilometers an hour makes one hundred and fifty, within three days we'll be in Valladolid, and three days after that we'll reach the Pyrenees, it won't take long. Looking dismayed Maria Guavaira replied, That's quite a schedule unless we're trying to work the horses to death in no time, But you said, I said fifteen kilometers, but that was on flat land and in any case the horses will never keep going for ten hours each day, They can rest, Just as well you haven't forgotten they need to rest. From the sarcastic tone in her voice it was clear that Maria Guavaira was close to losing her temper.
At such moments, even when horses are not at issue, men become submissive, a fact women generally ignore, they only notice what they take to be male resentment, that is how mistakes and misunderstandings arise, perhaps the root of the problem lies in the inadequate hearing of human beings, in particular of women, who nevertheless pride themselves on being good listeners. I must admit, I know nothing about horses, I belong to the infantry, Joaquim Sassa muttered. The others eavesdrop on this duel of words, they smile because it's not to be taken seriously, the blue thread is the most powerful bond in the universe, as we shall soon see. Maria Guavaira said, Six hours a day is the most we can hope for, at best we'll cover three leagues in an hour, or whatever the horses can manage. Do we leave tomorrow, José Anaiçone agrees, Maria Guavaira told him, and softening her tone she inquired of Joaquim Sassa, Is that all right, and taken by surprise he smiled and said, That's fine by me.
That night they counted their money, so many escudos, so many pesetas, some foreign currency belonging to Joaquim Sassa who had acquired it when they left Oporto, only a few days ago and yet centuries seem to have passed, scarcely an original thought but as irresistible as most banal statements. The provisions they brought with them from Maria Guavaira's house have almost run out, their supply of food will have to be replenished and that will not be easy, given the chaos and disruption and the marauding horde in whose wake not even cabbage stalks remained, not to mention the plundered chicken coops, the angry response of starving people asked to pay a fortune for a scraggly chicken. Once the situation began to return to normal, prices fell a little, but not to what they were before, for as we know they never do. And now there is a shortage of everything, even finding anything to steal would be a problem, if anyone should want to resort to such wickedness. The horse's was a special case. Had it not been for that sore, it would still be adorning the stables and assisting the labors of its former owner, who knows nothing of the beast's fate except that it was taken away by two scoundrels and a dog who left abundant evidence behind. People say time and time again that out of evil comes good, it has been said so often and by so many that it might well be a universal truth, so long as we take the trouble to distinguish evil from good, and those who have experienced the one or the other. Then Pedro Orce said, We'll have to work to earn some money, it seemed a sensible idea, but after taking stock of their skills they arrived at the depressing conclusion one might have expected. For Joana Carda, after getting a degree in humanities, never taught but married and became a housewife, here in Spain there is not a great deal of interest in Portuguese literature and, besides, the Spaniards have more important things on their minds right now, Joaquim Scissa, as he declared with some annoyance, belongs to the infantry, which, coming from his lips, meant that he holds the lowly rank of office clerk, a useful profession undoubtedly, but only in times of social stability and normal trading, Pedro Orce has spent his life making up prescriptions, when first we met him he was filling capsules with quinine, what a pity he didn't remember to bring his pharmacy with him, he could now be offering consultations and earning good money, for in these rural districts the pharmacist and doctor are one and the same, José Anaiço is an elementary schoolteacher, and that tells us everything, let alone the fact that he is in a country with a different geography and history and how could he explain to Spanish children that the Battle of Aljubarrota was a victory when they are usually taught to forget that it was a resounding defeat. Maria Guavaira is the only person in the group who could look for work on one of these farms and be equal to it, if only in proportion to her strength and experience, which are limited.
They look at each other not knowing what to do and Joaquim Sassa says hesitantly, If we have to stop every five minutes to make some money we'll never reach the Pyrenees, money made like this never lasts, it's no sooner made than spent, the ideal solution would be for us to travel like gypsies, I mean those who wander from country to country, they must live on something, he was asking a question, expressing his doubt, perhaps manna fell from heaven on the gypsies. Pedro Orce answered him, hailing as he did from the south where the gypsy race abounds, Some of them trade in horses, others sell clothes in the market, others hawk their wares from door to door, the women tell fortunes, Let's not hear any more about horses, we'll never live this one down, besides, it's a profession we know nothing about, and as for telling fortunes, let's hope our own won't give us cause for concern, And not to mention that in order to sell horses one has to start by buying them. Their money would not stretch that far, even the horse they have had to be stolen. Silence fell, no one knew how, but when it passed, Joaquim Sassa, who is beginning to reveal that he has a practical mind, told them, I can see only one way out of this situation, let's buy clothes from one of those wholesalers, there are bound to be some in the first big town we come to, and then we can sell them in the villages at a reasonable profit, I can look after the accounts. It seemed a good idea for want of a better one, and they might as well give it a try. Since they could not be farmers or pharmacists or teachers or landlords, they might as well be peddlers and traveling salesmen, selling clothes for men, women, and children is no dishonor, and with careful bookkeeping they'd be able to live.
Having drawn up this plan for survival, they settled down for the night, the moment having arrived to decide how the five of them should accommodate themselves in the wagon, now called Deux Chevaux, which is as follows, Pedro Orce sleeps in front, lying crosswise on a narrow pallet just big enough for him, then Joana Carda and José Anaiço, lengthwise in an empty space amid some of the luggage, and the same for Maria Guavaira and Joaquim Sassa further back. Improvised curtains create imaginary compartments and some semblance of privacy, if Joana Carda and José Anaiço, who sleep in the middle of the wagon, need to go outside during the night, they pass alongside Pedro Orce, who does not mind, here they share discomfort as they share everything else. And what about the kisses, embraces, and sexual intercourse, inquisitive spirits
will inquire, endowed by nature with a perverse taste for malice. Let us say that the lovers had two ways of satisfying the sweet impulses of nature, either they go through the fields in search of some lonely and pleasant spot, or they take advantage of the temporary and deliberate absence of their companions to do what need not be spelled out, the signs speak for themselves unless we choose to ignore them, and while they might lack money they are not without understanding.
They did not set out at break of day, as poetry would demand, for why get up early when they have all the time in the world now, but this was not the only or the most persuasive reason, they took their time in getting ready, the men clean-shaven, the women neat and tidy, their clothes carefully brushed, in a suitable corner of the wood, having carried a bucket to draw water from the stream, the couples washed one after the other, perhaps stark naked for there was no one to look on. Pedro Orce was the last to wash and he took the dog with him, they looked like two animals, I'm tempted to say the one laughed as much as the other, the dog pushing Pedro Orce and Pedro Orce splashing water on the dog, a man of his age should not make such a fool of himself in public, anyone passing by would have said at once, That old man ought to show more self-respect, he is certainly old enough to know better. Few traces remain of the encampment, nothing except the trampled ground, the water splashed from their ablutions under the trees, ashes among blackened stones, the first gust of wind will sweep everything away, the first heavy shower will flatten the soil and dissolve the ashes, only the stones will reveal that people have been here, and if needed they will serve for another campfire.
It is a good day for traveling. From the slope of the hillock where they had taken shelter they descend the road, Maria Guavaira is in the driver's seat for she does not trust anyone else with the reins, one has to know how to talk to horses, there are boulders and potholes in the road and if one of the axles should break that would be the end of all their endeavors, God protect us from any such misfortune. The chestnut sorrel and the gray horse still make an ill-matched pair, Chess seems uncertain about the steadiness of Grizzly's legs, and Grizzly once harnessed and yoked tends to pull outward as if trying to get away from its companion, forcing Chess to make an even greater effort. Maria Guavaira is watching their goings-on, once they are on the road she will bring Chess under control with a skillful combination of whipping and tugging on the reins.
Joaquim Sassa had dreamed up the names Chess and Grizzly, always bearing in mind that these Deux Chevaux are not like those of the car, the latter were so closely knit that they were indistinguishable and wanted the same thing at the same time, while these two differ in everything, color, age, strength, size, and temperament, so it seems only right and proper that each one have a name. But Grizzly in English usually refers to bears, Chess is a game, complained José Anaiço, whereupon Joaquim Sassa retorted, We're not in England, the gray horse has been baptized Grizzly and the sorrel Chess and I'm their godfather. Joana Carda and Maria Guavaira exchange smiles at the men's childishness. And Pedro Orce unexpectedly joins in, If these were a mare and a stallion and they had a foal, we might end up with a chess-playing bear.
On the first day they traveled no more than seventy kilometers, first because it did not seem right to put pressure on the horses after they had been idle for so long, one of them because suffering from sores, the other because awaiting certain decisions that were slow in coming, and second because, to go through the town of Lugo, where they would go to stock up on the merchandise from which they hoped to earn their living, they had to depart from their northeast route. They bought a local newspaper to catch up with the latest news, the most interesting item of all being a photograph taken yesterday of the peninsula. Its displacement to the north, one day after its departure from its previous route, was clearly indicated by a superimposed dotted line. No doubt about it, it was unmistakably a right angle. But the conflicting theories we summarized earlier had made little progress, and as for the views held by the newspaper itself, one could detect a note of caution and skepticism, perhaps justified in the light of previous disappointments but also typical of the narrow-mindedness one tends to find in the provinces.
In the wholesale warehouses the women, for naturally it was left to them to choose the clothes, with Joaquim Sassa on hand to negotiate the prices, could not decide what to buy, whether they should select garments for the approaching winter, or plan ahead for the following spring. Joaquim Sassa referred to midterm planning but Joana Carda insisted it should be mid-season, whereupon Joaquim Sassa told her curtly, Back in the office that was the expression we used, we always referred to short-, mid-, or long-term planning. The final choice was dictated by their own needs, for they were all badly in need of some new clothes for the autumn, besides it was inevitable that Maria Guavaira and Joana Carda should be tempted to buy what they themselves wanted. All in all, they completed their purchases to everyone's satisfaction, and there were healthy profits in store if demand should match up to the stock they now had to offer. Joaquim Sassa expressed some disquiet, We've tied up more than half our money, and unless we recoup half of what we've spent within a week, we'll be in trouble, in our situation, with no funds in reserve and no chance of obtaining a bank loan, we must manage our stock so as to maintain a steady turnover and bring our income into line with our investment. Joaquim Sassa delivered this little speech, in his capacity as bookkeeper, at the first stop they made after leaving Lugo, and it was benevolently received by the others.
They soon realized that this business would not be a bed of roses when a woman who knew how to strike a bargain obliged them to lower the price of two skirts so far as to deprive them of any profit. As it happened, Joana Carda was doing the selling, and she later apologized to her trading partners and promised that in future she would be the most intransigent saleswoman operating in the peninsula. Repeating his warning, Joaquim Sassa told them, Unless we're cautious from the outset, we'll find ourselves bankrupt, with neither money nor goods, and besides, it's not just a question of our livelihood, we have three more mouths to feed, the dog's and the horses'. The dog looks after itself, interrupted Pedro Orce. So far it has managed to look after itself, but should it ever be unable to hunt for its own food, it will come back to us with its tail between its legs, and if we have nothing to give it, what then, Half of everything I own is for the dog, That's a kind thought but our main concern should be to share wealth instead of poverty. Wealth and poverty is one way of expressing it, José Anaiço observed, but at this moment in our lives we find ourselves poorer than we really are, it's an odd situation, we're living as if we had chosen to be poor. If it were a matter of choice, I don't believe it would be in good faith, it was a question of circumstances only some of which we accepted, those that served our personal aims, we're like actors, or mere characters, said Joana Carda before asking, For example, if I were to go back to my husband, who would I be, the actor outside the character, or a character playing the part of an actor, and where would I stand between the one and the other. Maria Guavaira had been listening in silence and now she began speaking like someone beginning another conversation, perhaps she had not fully grasped what the others had said, People are reborn each day, but they can decide whether to go on living the previous day or to make a fresh start. But there is experience, all that we've learned, Pedro Orce pointed out. Yes, you're right, Joaquim Sassa said, but we usually live our lives as if we had no previous experience, or make use only of that part of life that allows us to go on making mistakes, quoting examples and the fruits of experience, I've just thought of something that you may find absurd and nonsensical, perhaps experience has a greater effect on society as a whole than on individuals, society takes advantage of everyone's experience, but no one wishes, knows, or is able to take full advantage of his own experience.
They debate these interesting problems in the shade of a tree while having their lunch, a frugal one as befits traveling salesmen who have not yet finished their day's work, and lest anyone find this
discussion unlikely in these circumstances and in such a place, we must remind him that in general the level of learning and culture typical of pilgrims fosters without blatant impropriety, a conversation whose drift, from the exclusive point of view of literary composition in search of strict verisimilitude, should in fact betray some flaws. But everyone, independent of whatever skills he may possess, has at one time or another said or done things far above his nature and condition, and if we could remove those people from the dull humdrum existence in which they gradually lose their identity, or if they were to throw off their fetters and chains, how many more wonders would they be able to perform, how many fragments of deep knowledge would they be able to communicate, for we all know infinitely more than we think, and others know infinitely more than we are prepared to acknowledge. Five individuals are assembled here for the most extraordinary reasons and it would be most surprising if they were not to say some astonishing things.
In these parts there is rarely a car to be seen. Now and then a big truck goes by carrying provisions, mainly foodstuffs, to the villages. With everything that has happened local food supplies have been disrupted, shortages are common, with an occasional sudden glut, but there is always some excuse, remember, the human race has never experienced a similar situation. As for sailing, man has always sailed, but in small ships. Many refugees are on foot, others ride donkeys, and if the road were not so uneven there would be more bicycles around. People here are usually good-natured and peaceable, but envy is probably the one trait to be found in every social class and indeed in most human beings, so it was no surprise that the sight of Deux Chevaux passing along the road, when nearly everyone was without transport, should have provoked some jealousy. Any determined and violent gang of brigands would soon have disposed of the occupants, one is an old man, the others could hardly be mistaken for Samson or Hercules, and as for the women, once their men had been overpowered, they would be easy prey, true, Maria Guavaira is a woman who can stand up to any man, but not without a firebrand in her hand. It might well have happened, therefore, that our traveling salesmen should be suddenly attacked and then left to their fate, the poor women raped, the men injured and humiliated. But the dog was there, if anyone appeared it came out from under the wagon, and whether in front or behind, stationary or walking, its nose down like that of a wolfhound, with its icy stare it transfixed the passersby, these were nearly always harmless, but they felt every bit as afraid as any would-be assailants. If we consider everything this dog has done so far, it would deserve to be called guardian angel, despite the continuous innuendo about its infernal origins. Objections will be raised that cite the traditional teachings of doctrine, Christian and non-Christian, according to which angels have always been depicted with wings, but in all those cases where the necessary angel would not be required to fly, what harm would be done if it were to appear now and then in the guise of a dog, without being obliged to bark, which would in any case be quite unfitting for a spiritual being. At least let us acknowledge that dogs that do not bark are just as good as angels.
The Collected Novels of José Saramago Page 145
