Ines realized that Manu was using the past tense. She looked more carefully at the child cowering in the bath, knees hugged.
“What’s your name again?” she asked.
Her husband had asked, and the child gave the same answer.
“Manu.”
The lady did not beat around the bush. She asked directly, eye to eye, “Manuel or Manuela?”
If the correct answer had been Manuel, the child might have been offended. But since it was Manuela, she burst into tears. They were tears of fear, relief, sadness, longing, all mixed together. Fear of the consequences of being discovered. Relief at not having to hide and lie to the lady, who seemed gentle and affectionate. Sadness because she was ruining Bento’s whole plan to protect her by pretending to be a boy and never leaving his side. Longing for her father, her mother, her whole family. At that moment she was mainly missing Bento, who was so far away, the poor boy, in some dungeon that she could neither imagine nor find.
In the midst of her crying, she was barely able to answer.
“Manuela …”
Dona Ines wasn’t angry. Manu’s response only confirmed what she had suspected as soon as she saw the child. Not caring that the wet little body was soaking her clothes, Dona Ines hugged and comforted Manu, patting her on the head.
“So let’s get really clean, beautiful and fragrant. Then you can tell me your story.”
“Please do not tell anyone,” the girl managed to say. “I promised. It’s a secret. No one can know.”
“Who did you make the promise to?”
“Bento, my brother.”
“Where is he?”
“I’m not sure … But I need to rescue him. He and I are the only ones left. And we promised to care for each other.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t betray your trust. I’ll just tell my husband. He can help us.”
Maybe it was a good idea. There certainly wasn’t a better one. And Manuela had no choice. She stayed silent and didn’t agree or disagree.
Dona Ines continued, “But let’s deal with that later. Now it’s bath time. Scrub yourself well and then put on these clothes here.” She smiled and added, “They’re boy’s clothes, so they won’t betray your secret.”
6
—
Don Gaspar
Lying between the sheets in her soft, new bed, her head resting on a pillow, Manu could hear various noises coming through the darkness. Outside, the street was waking up, too.
A horseman had just passed by, the cloque cloque of the horse’s hooves hitting the cobblestones with the jingling sound of a harness and its delicate silver bell. In the distance, a rooster was singing and a dog barked. Then the wheels of a cart drummed rhythmically on the uneven roadway, indicating the arrival of sellers with their goods, ready to set up stalls in the square — the racket and momentum of a market day was about to begin. The bells of a nearby church chimed. Answering their call to mass, neighbors opened and closed doors that creaked and slammed. They were soon hurrying to the house of God.
In a few short days, Manu had learned to distinguish the first sounds of the morning. Once again she felt like going to pray herself. She wanted to ask for good fortune for her brother and give thanks for being sheltered in this home. Perhaps the church nearby also had an Our Lady with a loving smile to remind her of her mother. Like the smile she saw on the face of Dona Ines. Manu knew that they would all go to church together on Sunday. But she didn’t need to be in a chapel or in front of an altar to say her prayers or talk to her parents. Over the past few days she had been doing this every night and every morning, snuggled between real sheets in her soft, warm bed. It wasn’t even necessary to say a word out loud.
Mother, how lucky that the lady came to my aid just in time. I couldn’t have taken any more. I didn’t know what to do on my own. But Bento needs help now. Father, I know that he’s older and should be able to take care of himself and that you told him to take care of me. But he didn’t neglect me — what happened was not his fault. It was those guards. I saw everything from the landing, hidden behind the chest. I’m fine, as you can see. Don Diogo and Dona Ines are taking care of me. I know that my prayers were heard, that you asked God and Our Lady to bring this kind couple into my life. Thank you. Now I’m fine. But we have to save Bento. Help us, God.
Birds were singing outside, a sign that the day was really beginning. Soon a ray of sunlight would enter through the tiny window, making the dust dance in the air, bright as the stars of the Milky Way in the speckled night sky. Could the sky where her father and mother and brothers were be the same? Was there night and day there, too? Did they have the sun, moon and stars?
At night, when she thought about these things, Manu would become dreamy and end up falling asleep. But early in the morning these thoughts and memories would take wing, waking her up. Then they would quickly be interrupted by the sounds outside and the thoughts of what would happen that day.
So much had happened in the past few days in the big stone house that Manu could barely remember it all. At the end of that first bath, she put on the clothes that were on the bench. Good clothes made of fine fabric. Where did they come from?
“They belonged to my son,” explained Dona Ines. “He was about your age when he died.”
She wiped away a tear with one end of the towel. Manu did the same with the other end. They talked about the people in their lives who had died. The girl discovered that the plague had also marched through Lisbon, paying no heed to big city or small, old or young, man or woman. It left behind a trail of death and fear. The bishop held masses for everyone to pray for the dead and ask that the epidemic never return. The procession she and Bento had seen when they arrived in Lisbon was just one of many held for this purpose. Manu started to pray again.
My mother, as you are now close to God, talk with the mother of the child Jesus and ask her to explain to him that the plague is a very bad thing and should never appear anywhere again.
Even Don Diogo hid the tears filling his eyes when Dona Ines brought Manu to him, fresh out of the bath, her hair cut, and dressed in his son’s clothes. The woman quickly told her husband the story she had just heard about the girl and her brother’s adventures — their escape from the plague, her disguise as a boy, their work at the tavern, the fight, the prison, Manu’s days roaming the streets.
At the end of the story, the gentleman said, “Give me your brother’s full name. I will try to discover his whereabouts. Most likely he is imprisoned in the castle. I have friends who can find out.”
“Talk to Gaspar,” suggested Dona Ines. “You can tell him everything. My brother knows what it means to want the best for a sister.”
“That’s what I’ll do.”
Manu soon learned that Don Gaspar was a rich and powerful man who owned merchant ships that carried goods all over the world. He had connections with important people.
They had news the next day. Don Diogo arrived home to say that his brother-in-law had managed to locate Bento, but that so far there was no chance of seeing him. There was even less chance of having him released or guaranteeing him a fair trial.
“The situation is worrying. The charges are serious. Your brother is imprisoned not just for being rowdy. He is also accused of not respecting the authorities and insulting His Majesty. According to what Don Gaspar could find out, there is no chance of him being released soon.”
Manu’s heart sank. She couldn’t let Bento pass the rest of his days locked in a dungeon. Especially since he hadn’t done anything wrong. But what could a slight young girl do on her own?
You are not alone, my daughter. You have good friends and protectors in Dona Ines and Don Diogo. Thank God for this, and see that you do not lose faith or hope.
The thought was like a reminder of her parents, part of the prayers that Manu was always saying these days.
“What can I do
to help?” she asked.
“At the moment, nothing,” said Don Diogo. “Even I don’t know what to do. But Gaspar is helping us and will be here tomorrow night. We’ll all think about what might be possible —”
“There must be something we can do,” interrupted Dona Ines. “The heavens cannot tolerate this situation. The Holy Virgin wouldn’t permit an injustice such as this.”
The Holy Virgin has already allowed so many injustices, thought Don Diogo. Every day people saw how the heavens seemed to be totally indifferent to their pain and suffering. But he said nothing. He knew that saying something could be dangerous. The Inquisition still had eyes and ears everywhere, even though it was no longer at the height of its power. The consequences could be dire. It was important not to speak without thinking. All this just made him even more convinced that, as far as he could tell, the heavens went along with absurd and cruel things. Even with the Inquisition, it seemed.
Without saying what was going through his mind, Don Diogo came up with a few words.
“If there is any possibility of doing something, the Blessed Virgin will surely enlighten us.”
Manu prayed for this revelation.
Heavenly Mother, please help us. Cast a light on our ideas. We have to think of something that will work. We must free Bento somehow. My mother, don’t let my brother give up hope.
Manu spent the day making these appeals to the two mothers she prayed to. By the time Don Gaspar arrived, she was anxious, wringing her hands. She found Dona Ines’s brother a little frightening. He was even bigger and burlier than Don Diogo, with a beard, huge hands and a heavy step. He spoke loudly. When he began to talk about her brother, Manu became even more worried.
“I have bad news.” After a pause, he continued. “The boy has been sentenced to exile.”
Manu did not know what exile was. But she knew very well what “bad news” and “sentenced” meant. She began to tremble.
“But then he will be released,” Don Diogo said. “That’s a lot better than rotting in a dungeon.”
Rotting? Was there a danger that her brother would rot?
Don Gaspar explained. “They’re going to put him in a ship’s hold, take him across the ocean and leave him someplace on the coast of Brazil. He will work the rest of his life in hellish heat, among all kinds of animals and poisonous insects. Settling a new land is an arduous task. He’ll need to work hard.”
“But the boy is innocent,” Ines protested. “He didn’t do anything serious. He just got into a fight …”
“Don’t give me that look, Ines. I wasn’t the one who judged or condemned him,” her brother said.
“And you don’t have to commit a serious crime to get the penalty of exile,” Don Diogo reminded them. “The law demands that punishment for lots of people — for vagrants who commit crimes like stealing bags along the riverside, for anyone who takes out their sword in a procession or sacred place, for any forger, liar or slanderer …”
“Bento did nothing!” insisted Manu.
“… or any stray, ruffian or scoundrel,” completed Don Diogo. “He was arrested as a troublemaker.”
“There is nothing you can do,” Don Gaspar confirmed.
The two men began to talk about crimes and their punishments, the difficulties of getting labor in the colonies, exports, sugar mills, slave labor, the African slave trade, brazilwood factories — a lot of different things that the girl could not keep up with. Then they talked about the king, who lived in Spain but who ran Portugal through his representatives in Lisbon, the wars between the Dutch and the Spaniards, and how it was necessary to restore a Portuguese king to the throne.
Manu just wanted to know more about Bento. When would he embark — and exactly where? People said that Brazil was a huge country. How would she be able to find him there? But the men talked and talked, poured themselves some wine and talked some more, and she did not know how to bring them back to the only thing that mattered — Bento’s fate.
Dona Ines must have been feeling the same, because she suddenly interrupted the conversation between her brother and her husband.
“And when is his sentence being carried out?”
Don Gaspar took a few seconds to realize that she was referring to the prisoner. He said he did not know.
His sister asked another question. “And when is your next trip to Brazil? Don’t you have a ship about to sail there? Can’t you take him with you?”
“Maybe — that’s something that hadn’t occurred to me. I haven’t yet set the date. It depends on receiving a shipment of goods from Seville. But maybe I can talk to a friend and offer to take the convict in exchange for his work on board during the voyage. We are no longer forced to carry exiles, but the authorities like it when we do.”
The glimmer of a small hope, an idea. Thank you, Mother. Give me courage, Father. I need it because I’m going to interrupt these big men and speak directly to Don Gaspar.
“And if you manage that, couldn’t I be exiled along with him? I don’t mind working in the hellish heat among beasts and poisonous insects. Since he is my brother …”
“Things don’t work that way, girl. You can’t travel with men on a ship.”
The negative tone was firm. But the merchant’s gaze was softening. He was amazed by Manu’s courage and vivacity, and above all, recognized her love for Bento.
“Why not? asked Dona Ines, embracing the idea. “You only know she is a girl because we told you. She’s been passing as a boy for some time, wearing men’s clothes, with her hair cut. You could take her on as a cabin boy.”
“Impossible. She’d have to sleep in the hold with all the sailors.”
He looked at Manu again, fondly. Then he had an idea.
“But who knows? Perhaps she could be my page. Some captains use a valet. I never thought about doing that, but I could pretend to have one for this trip. And then no one would think it strange if she slept on the floor outside my cabin — they’d just think I wanted to be able to give her orders anytime. She’d always be close to me, so I could look out for her more easily.”
Then he said to Dona Ines, “I can’t promise, but I’ll think about it. I’m doing this for you, sister. These two siblings take care of each other the same way we do. And I know that you would make sacrifices for me if need be. The way I would for you.”
Hearing this, Manu looked up through the window to the blue sky outside. A beautiful day, a few clouds. Perhaps it was a good omen. She reached into her pocket and squeezed the ceramic dove that her father had given her. It was almost as if she were praying and asking the Holy Spirit, from on high, to look out for her and Bento.
7
—
Odjidi
Months earlier, a long way from Lisbon, much farther south and on another continent, it was also a sunny day. A boy Manu’s age was looking upward. He wasn’t praying, though. He was just trying to figure out the direction of the wind.
White clouds were moving across the blue sky and gliding softly toward the grove of trees where Odjidi was hiding with his father, uncles, cousins and other men of the village. He didn’t need to wet a fingertip with his tongue and then lift it to feel where the breeze was coming from. It was enough just to look up at the clouds. It was a light breeze, barely stirring the leaves of the trees. But the grass leaned slightly toward the hidden hunters, a sign that they were not against the wind. If they were very careful, maybe the herd of gazelles grazing below, between the trees and the waterhole, wouldn’t sense their presence just yet. Maybe the animals wouldn’t run off right away, allowing the men to get a little closer.
His heart pounding, Odjidi watched his father, who was crouched down, tiptoeing in front of the group. His precise gestures demonstrated his experience and confidence. The boy was proud of him. He knew that Guezo was a great hunter, admired by everyone in the village. And he was very happy because n
ow he was grown up enough to go hunting with the men.
Odjidi knew and loved every bit of the savanna he moved around in, but he had only recently reached the age where he was admitted into the company of adults and became part of the hunting expeditions that provided everyone’s food. He loved the land, its warmth, the hum of insects, the hopping of small animals. He was familiar with the roar of lions, and the hyenas’ laugh that they heard at night. He was happy smelling the dry grass, or the wet earth near the waterhole where the animals came to drink. They would leave their footprints in the mud, revealing the stories of what had happened there while the men were away.
He would follow the changing of the moon and the seasons — the rains that wouldn’t allow them to leave the house for days, the small fresh flowers that bloomed when the rain stopped, the green that the rains left, full of promise for harvests to come. He even liked the drought that the heat would bring, with days of warm rays beating down on the skin, and festive orange and red sunsets.
He knew the name of every tree, every bird, and every small animal that ran scared through the underbrush or quickly climbed a tree. He was learning to recognize the tracks of large animals, whose odor he was already able to make out amid the grasses.
He liked to be there, in the great silence of a thousand sounds, in the immense calm of tiny movements. It was as if time stopped and was waiting to start up again. In the savanna, he was as much at home as he was in the village.
He didn’t know the forest as well. He’d only been there a few times with his father. But he knew that soon it would also be part of his territory, now that he was hunting with the men and could venture a little farther. He was getting used to that stretch of the savanna where larger trees started to appear amid the scattered baobabs and acacias and tall grass, and where he could just make out the distant green of the forest, with its rivers and fish.
It was a wetter place, with more shade and less dust, the older boys told him. The day was coming when he would hunt there. It would be yet another place where he could run free, look for food, know that he was taking part in everything. He dreamed of this day.
Until the Day Arrives Page 3
