We will pass over the night during which João Mau-Tempo did not sleep but merely paced up and down, not wanting to rest his body on the bed. Day dawns, he is weary and anxious, what will become of me, and when nine o’clock struck, the door opens and the guard says, Come out where I can see you, that’s how he speaks, he hasn’t been taught any other way, and the PIDE agent says, It’s time to catch the train and set off on our little trip. And they leave, accompanied to the door by the commander of the barracks, who is very scrupulous and polite in such matters, See you, then, he says, and although João Mau-Tempo may be innocent, he is not so innocent as to think that this farewell is intended for him, but on the way to the station, he says, Sir, I swear I’m innocent. If the train wasn’t about to leave, we could sit here and debate what it means to be innocent, and whether João Mau-Tempo truly believes in that oath and how he can believe in what appears to be a perjury, and we would discover, if we had time and intelligence enough, the difference between being innocently blameless and blamelessly innocent, although such subtleties are lost on João Mau-Tempo’s companion, who responds angrily, Stop your bellyaching, they’ll straighten you out in Lisbon.
Let us pass over the journey too, since it does not appear in the history of railways in Portugal. Such is the body’s sovereign power over us that João Mau-Tempo even dozed a little, lulled to sleep by the swaying carriage and the clatter of the wheels over the rails, clackety-clack, but each time, he started awake, terrified to discover that he wasn’t dreaming. Then there was the boat to Terreiro do Paço, what if I threw myself into the water, these are black thoughts, I want to die and not heroically either, what is unusual about João Mau-Tempo is that he has never seen a film and therefore doesn’t know how easy and much applauded is that leap from the side of the boat, the impeccable dive and the swim American-style that carries the fugitive to the mysterious chartered yacht that waits at a distance, along with the veiled countess who, in order to be there, has broken the sacred bonds of family and the rules of her aristocratic heritage. But João Mau-Tempo will only learn later that he is the son of the king and sole heir to the throne, three cheers for King João Mau-Tempo, king of Portugal, the boat moors at the pontoon, and the man who was asleep wakes up, and by the time he does so, there are two men standing over him, Is he the only one, they ask, and the man who came with João Mau-Tempo answers, Yes, he’s the only one this time.
Let us also pass over without much comment the journey through the city, the trams, the many cars, the passersby, the statue of Dom José on his horse,* now which one is the horse’s right leg, João Mau-Tempo recognizes the various places, how could one forget such a big square and the arches, bigger than those in Giraldo square in Évora, but then suddenly everything is new to him, these steep, narrow streets, and just when he is finding the journey long, it becomes all too short, this half-door opening obliquely, the fly has been caught in the spider’s web, we need no better or more original image.
And now there are stairs to climb. João Mau-Tempo is still flanked by the two men, well, you can’t be too careful, high security, he is, after all, a dangerous element. Above and below, it’s like a termites’ nest, a hive of buzzing drones and ringing telephones, but as they go up, first floor, second floor, across wide landings, the noise and bustle diminish, they meet fewer people, and on the third floor there is almost complete silence, only the muted sounds of car engines and the vague murmur of the city in the heat of the afternoon. These are the attic rooms and this corridor leads to a long, low chamber where the ceiling is almost at head height, and some other men are sitting on long benches, and I am going to sit down next to them, I, João Mau-Tempo, native and inhabitant of Monte Lavre, forty-four years old, the son of Domingos Mau-Tempo, shoemaker, and Sara da Conceição, madwoman, and I have been dubbed a dangerous element, as Corporal Tacabo at the local barracks was kind enough to inform me. The other men sitting there look at João Mau-Tempo, but no one says a word. This is the house of patience, and here we await our immediate destiny. The roof is right above our heads, it creaks in the heat, if you poured water on it, it would boil, and João Mau-Tempo hasn’t eaten for more than twenty-four hours, and for him there is no heat, it’s a winter’s day, he shivers as if he were exposed to the December wind blowing across the latifundio, with no more protection than his own bare skin. That is exactly what it is like, for this is the bench of the naked, every man for himself, they will not help each other, you must clothe yourself in strength and determination, in the loneliness of the moors, in the high soaring flight of the red kite who finally descends to ground level to count his own and test their courage.
However, the victims must be fed, we don’t want to lose them sooner than would be convenient. Half an hour passed, and another, and finally in came some kitchen servant or other, bringing each prisoner a bowl of prison soup and two deciliters of wine, a kind thought from the nation to these her stepchildren, I hope they’re grateful. And as João Mau-Tempo was scraping the bowl with his spoon, he heard one policeman say to the other, they were standing by the door keeping watch over the flock and shuffling papers, That guy’s being handed over to Inspector Paveia, and the other replied, Rather him than me, and João Mau-Tempo said to himself, That’s me they’re talking about, and, as he found out later, it would have been far better not to have known. The plates and glasses were taken away, and the waiting continued, what will become of us, it was nearly night when they got their marching orders, some were being sent here and some there, Caxias or Aljube, provisional billets, there would be further moves, all of them to worse places, as the name became a face, so the face became a target. And the voice of Dona Patrocínio, a functionary in this socially useful service, was definitely the voice of the nation, So-and-so is to go there, So-and-so somewhere else, she could not have a better name as patron of displacements, it’s the same with Dona Clemência, who is now doubtless chatting with Father Agamedes, I hear that João Mau-Tempo has been arrested, Yes, Senhora, he’s paid for all his sins at once, and to think I went out of my way to help him and others, He seemed such a decent fellow, They’re always the worst, Senhora Dona Clemência, they’re always the worst, He wasn’t even a drinking man, If only he had been, then he wouldn’t have been tempted into such evil actions, What evil actions, Ah, that I don’t know, but if he was innocent, they wouldn’t have arrested him, Perhaps we should give his wife some help, You’re a saint, Senhora Dona Clemência, if it wasn’t for your kind patronage, I don’t know what would become of these wretches, but leave it for a while, and see if they learn to be less proud, because that’s their worst defect, pride, You’re quite right, Father Agamedes, and pride is a mortal sin, The worst of all sins, Senhora Dona Clemência, because it is pride that causes a man to rise up against his employer and his god.
On the way back, the truck passed through Boa-Hora to pick up some prisoners who were being tried there. All of this is carefully measured and calculated, according to the order of service, the police van must be used to capacity, it’s like saying, you have to take the rough with the smooth, and given how poor the nation is, the prisoners would be the first to agree, indeed, they might even suggest it, Let’s pass through Boa-Hora, and some will think, Hmm, Boa-Hora, Good-Hour, what an inappropriate name, and pick up those who are being judged by the worthy judges, and then we can all go together, it’ll make for better company, it’s just a shame we don’t have a guitar with which to accompany our sorrows. João Mau-Tempo has never traveled so much in his life. Or, rather, as much as any other man in the latifundio, but not as much as his son António, now a soldier, but who traveled a lot in the past, driven by life’s obligations and the needs of his stomach, with his knapsack on his back, with hoe and scythe, ax and adze, but the latifundio is the same everywhere, some parts have more cork oaks or holm oaks, some have more wheat or rice, some have guards or overseers or managers or foremen, it makes no difference, this, however, is quite different, a good tarmacked road, and if it were daytime, you’d
be able to see more clearly. The nation really looks after its disobedient sons, as one can tell from these high, secure walls and the care the guards take over their work, they’re a real plague, they’re everywhere, or were they cursed at birth and this is their fate, to be wherever the suffering are, although not to minister to their misfortunes, that is why they have neither eyes nor hands, but say, Hop into the jeep, we’re off on a little trip, or Move along, or Go on, we’re off to the barracks, or You stole some acorns, so pay the fine and take a beating, they must have studied, otherwise they wouldn’t be guards, because no one was born a guard.
Which, do you think, are the narrator’s thoughts, and which are João Mau-Tempo’s, both are right, and if there are any mistakes, they are shared mistakes. This bureaucracy of registers, index cards and papers is there from the day we’re born, we take no notice of it, unless one day we’re allowed to come here and find out in detail what actually went on, from the dotted line on which his name is written, João Mau-Tempo, forty-four years old, married, native and inhabitant of Monte Lavre, where’s that, in the district of Montemor-o-Novo, well, you must be a good sort. They take João Mau-Tempo into a room along with other prisoners, sleep if you can, and if you’re hungry, tough, because suppertime is long gone. The door closes, the world vanishes. Monte Lavre is a dream, and Faustina is deaf, poor thing, however, let us not say, out of some foolish superstition, that this is the hour of bats and owls, poor creatures, it’s not their fault they’re ugly, you perhaps are convinced that you’re handsome, now who’s a fool.
João Mau-Tempo will be here for twenty-four hours. He won’t have much opportunity to talk, although the following day, a prisoner will come up to him and say, Listen, friend, we don’t know why you’re here, but for your own sake, take my advice.
THIRTY DAYS IN SOLITARY confinement is a month that doesn’t fit in any normal calendar. However carefully you make your calculations, there are always too many days, it’s an arithmetic invented by mad people, you start counting, one, two, three, twenty-seven, ninety-four, then find you’ve made a mistake, only six days have passed. No one interrogates him, they brought him from Caxias, this time during the day, so he at least knew where he was, although trying to see the world through those cracks was like trying to see it through the eye of a needle, and then he was ordered to undress, the nation does things like that, it happened to me once before, the doctors did it when I was called up, to decide whether or not I was good enough, well, I’m obviously good enough for these people, they’re not going to send me away, they empty my pockets, they rummage and search and ransack, they even remove the insoles in my shoes, these clever folk know where we stash our secrets, but they find nothing, of the two handkerchiefs I brought with me, they take one, of the two packs of cigarettes, they take one, farewell, knife, these police aren’t always so thorough, only now do they take my knife off me, what if I’d tried to kill myself. They read me the rubric, While in solitary confinement, you will not be allowed any visitors nor can you write to your family, and so on and so forth, otherwise, you will be punished. But one day, much later, he was given permission to write a letter, and back came some clean clothes, washed and ironed by Faustina herself and sprinkled with a few tears, for they’re a sentimental people whose fountains of tears have not as yet dried up.
On the twenty-fifth day, at three o’clock in the morning, João Mau-Tempo was, as usual, sleeping badly, and so he woke at once when the cell door opened and the guard said, Get dressed, Mau-Tempo, you’re leaving. What, you’re going to let me go, the imaginations of the wretched know no bounds, they always think the best or the worst, depending on their mood, that’s the attraction of extremes, let’s hope he’s not disappointed. He’s taken down to the ground floor, where there are people waiting, plus a fierce-looking hound, Here’s that good-for-nothing you’re taking for a walk, jokes the guard, they’re clearly obsessed with this idea of walks and trips and rides, we know exactly what they mean, they’re not fooling anyone, but they keep saying it, with a few minor variations, as if they didn’t know what else to say. The hound goes on ahead, To show you the way to brigade headquarters, that’s what the dog barks at João Mau-Tempo, and the guard from Aljube prison is such a card, just fancy, at this time of the morning and in these painful circumstances he can still manage to say, Have a good journey. Words were not presented to mankind as a gift, far from it, each word was hard won and occasionally abused, and there are some words that should only be sold at a high price, bearing in mind who is saying them and to what end, as in this case, Have a good journey, he says, when he knows full well that the journey will be far from good, animals are kinder to each other, for at least they don’t speak. But here is this hound leading me through the deserted streets, at least it’s a lovely night, although all I can see of it is this corridor of sky between the buildings, and to the left the cathedral and to the right another, smaller church, Santo António, and farther on the Madalena, neither small nor large, it’s a street of churches, I am under the protection of the heavenly host, and perhaps that’s why the hound speaks rather gently, Don’t tell anyone I told you, but things aren’t looking good, apparently a comrade of yours gave them your name, you’d best tell them everything you know, that’s the only way to get back to your family, you won’t gain anything by being stubborn. This street is called São Nicolau and the one over there São Francisco, and if I left some saint or other behind me along the way, you can have him, Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about, officer, I haven’t done anything wrong, I’ve been working ever since I was born, I don’t know anything about these things, I was arrested once but that was years ago, and I’ve had nothing to do with politics since, these are João Mau-Tempo’s words, some true, some false, and he won’t say anything else, that’s the good thing about words, they’re like a river flowing over rocks, it always does so in the same way, be careful not to stumble, the water flows so quickly it can dazzle you, watch out. The hound barks, João Mau-Tempo recognizes the place, this slope with the tram lines shining, Ah, so that’s it, well, just you wait, and the soft dawn is bruised by the bad words hurled at him, you this and you that, words barely known in the latifundio. And now João Mau-Tempo feels his strength leaving him, he’s been stuck in a cell for twenty-five days, scarcely moving, or only from cell to latrine and from latrine to cell, with his poor mind working overtime, tying up loose ends that immediately come undone again with more anxious thinking, not to mention the sleepless nights, and now there’s this walk, which seems so long and yet it’s nothing compared to the distances his legs used to cover on the latifundio, and suddenly he’s afraid he won’t make it, afraid he’ll tell all he knows as well as what he could never possibly know, but then he hears again the prisoner in Caxias, Listen, friend, we don’t know why you’re here, but for your own sake, take my advice, and he remembered this just in time, he covered the final meters as if in a dream, he’s through the door, going up the steps, up to the first floor again, there’s no one to be seen, a terrifying silence reigns, second floor, third floor, we’re here, João Mau-Tempo’s fate has been waiting for him, legs crossed, that’s the trouble with fates, they do nothing but wait, and we are the ones who have to do everything, for example, learn when to speak and when to keep silent.
The hound shoved João Mau-Tempo into a room and remained on guard outside. After a few minutes, the door burst open and in came a very spruce-looking gentleman, freshly shaved and smelling of cologne and brilliantine, he gestured to the other man to leave and immediately started shouting, Because of this bastard, this bloody communist, I can’t go to mass today, that really is what he said, although I doubt anyone will believe me, but it’s true, probably the influence of the ecclesiastical neighbors mentioned earlier while we were walking over from the Aljube prison, not to mention the Church of the Martyrs and the Square of the Two Churches, the Church of the Incarnation and that other one, now what the devil is it called, Father Agamedes would love it here, he’d be abl
e to hear the confession of this Inspector Paveia, who is so upset about having missed mass you would think he’d have his own chaplain really, and now, to complete this edifying picture, imagine if João Mau-Tempo were to say, Oh, sir, please don’t miss mass on my account, if you like, I’ll go with you. We can’t believe our ears, and not even João Mau-Tempo knows why he said it, but we don’t have time now to examine these bold or spontaneous words, because Inspector Paveia doesn’t give us time to think, Bastard, faggot, swine, I’m sorry, Father Agamedes, but that’s exactly what he said, it’s not my fault, and, Shut up or it’s the trapeze for you, what circus arts these are João Mau-Tempo has no idea, but he sees Inspector Paveia go over to a desk, he’s rather ill named really, when you think that paveia means a sheaf of wheat of the kind I used to clutch to my chest, and he takes a pistol out of the drawer, along with a stick and a heavy ruler, He’s going to kill me, thought João Mau-Tempo, and the inspector said, See this, it’s for you if you don’t tell me the whole story, and be warned, you won’t leave here until you’ve told me everything you know, stay standing, don’t move, not so much as a finger, if you move, you’re in for it.
Raised from the Ground Page 24
