by Ondjaki
“you, compañero, are an hombre with suerte,” the doctor smiled as he saw The Real Zé wake up, “this one’s not going to be the end of you”
“thank you, doctor, do you know if my sister’s arrived yet? i don’t like these hospital clothes”
“your sister, sí, and a very big hombre, said he was a colonel by the name of Hoffman”
The Real Zé trembled
his intestines were invaded by torrential stomachache that sent his hands to his belly
“are you bien?” the doctor asked
“it’s just that i’m not ready for visits,” The Real Zé was sweating
“don’t sweat it, hombre, your sister, your boss, it doesn’t matter if they come in” the doctor admonished
the sister approached with a worried look as though, even looking straight ahead, she were making signals that aimed behind her, slowly, behind the sister, a big, tall, white-bearded man, entered as well and stood next to the door
the sister set down the clothes and asked in a whisper
“and now?”
“just keep calm...” The Real Zé recovered the rhythm of his breathing, “everything’s okay, just get ready to make a strategic retreat, did you warn Ciente?”
“yes, he’s on his way”
the sister withdrew without looking at Colonel Hoffman, the door closed on a hard, hospital-like silence, the serum bag dripped drops in a halting rhythm that could almost be discerned by the two men present
“do you know who i am?” the colonel’s serious voice resounded
“my friend, you must be...”
“friend from where?” Hoffman interrupted,“did we go to daycare together or what? i grew up in Moxico, who are you?”
“my name’s José, better known as The Real Zé”
“better known? better known where?”
“here in the city of Luanda”
“you guys from Luanda are obsessed with making a splash... right?” Hoffman said in a threatening tone
“you’re right, colonel”
“you send them to call me this early in the morning? do you know who you’re talking to?”
“i didn’t send them to call you, colonel”
“but they called me from reception to tell me my bodyguard was here, do you think i go around with bodyguards? have you taken a good look at the size of my body?”
the silence alone took over the room
“when your friend arrives, you’re going to leave these facilities without making a peep, you get it?”
“yes, colonel”
“you never met me, i wasn’t here”
“yes, colonel”
the big-shot Colonel Hoffman withdrew, murmuring a threatening, barely audible, “hmm!”
The Real Zé got dressed and prepared to leave the hospital, in spite of his pain, when his sister came in, The Real Zé was ready
“you can leave already?”
“it’s not that i can or can’t, it’s that i have to leave”
Ciente-the-Grand had borrowed a hearse and entered the Military Hospital on the pretext of removing a dead body in an advanced state of decomposition, The Real Zé left the grounds lying down, covered in a blanket, and the guards refused to search the car before it left
moments earlier, the sister, sitting in the front seat, was forced to shed a few tears
“either you cry now or you cry at home when i give you a couple of slaps”
once a few days had passed, they laughed at the story, Ciente was given the mission to recover the motorcycle from the guards at the Military Hospital
The Real Zé was utterly convinced that the mission would be unsuccessful and was surprised by Ciente-the-Grand’s loud arrival on the motorcycle, which looked sparkling clean, as though it had just left the factory
“how did you get it?”
“i said i was Colonel Hoffman’s other bodyguard, and they even washed the motorcycle”
The Real Zé gave Ciente-the-Grand two hard slugs in the face
“you makin’ fun o’ me, or what? didn’t i tell you what went down there?”
“but...”
“shut your goddamn mouth, nobody can ever use that name again, the man’s dangerous, you guys didn’t see his face, that’s the end of tales about the colonel from Moxico!”
in spite of his anger, that was the day their friendship began
but
they never again mentioned the name of the mysterious Colonel Hoffman.
Blind Man yearned for colours, all colours
this business of once having seen the world around him as a foggy memory—mist from a recently forgotten dream—he felt within him a tenacious yearning for colours, he knew how to imagine them, the warmth of a reddish yellow, the peace of sky-blue, the fresh pink of the inside of a papaya and even the implacable simplicity of white
“Nganda Zambi could still lend me a light, just once in a while, even if i always had to pretend i was still blind”
“are you talking to yourself, Comrade Blind Man?” Strong Maria said with sympathy in her voice
“i was having a thought, did you hear me, ma’am?”
“i didn’t understand a thing”
“it wasn’t for understanding, i was remembering colours”
“then you’ve seen colours”
“you know, colours aren’t just for seeing, there are colours i know in my skin, in my hands, life has lots of different spots... comrade?”
“Strong Maria”
“i like your name”
Seashell Seller gave Strong Maria a nod, took Blind Man by the arm and off they went, there was lots to do, the bag was full of beautiful shells with the smell of salt in the depths of their folds
“they smell of the colour of the sea, those shells of yours,” Blind Man said
they wandered down the city’s potholed sidewalks and, except for a few warnings from the Seashell Seller, Blind Man seemed to see, if one can put it that way, each trap that lay in wait for him
“are you silent from sadness or from thinking about matters of the heart?”
“excuse me, elder, i’m just thinking along the way, at home they told me about a woman with money who was going to buy lots of shells from me, i’m still remembering”
“i know you’re remembering, you just spoke to that girl with the colourful name”
“how do you know that?”
“because people have smells, i’m familiar with that girl’s skin, what’s her name?”
“Amarelinha...”
they continued in silence, Seashell Seller did not seem to be prepared to speak and Blind Man did not seem to be prepared to force him to speak, they passed Noah’s Barque, they greeted people from a distance
“good morning, Noah, how’s your ark?” Blind Man loved this joke
“everything’s great, watch where you step,” Noah replied with equal provocation
after crossing a few intersections, they reached a peaceful square with immense houses, Big-Man houses with guards at the gates, some with two or three soldiers, others with those guards from private security firms
they tried to find out about the house of a lady who answered to the name of Pomposa
“hey, watch out for the guards,” Blind Man said
they knocked again and a strange voice, in a strange language, said something in a tone that ordered them to wait
in the front-door peephole, a short Chinese man appeared with very whitish skin and a curious gaze like a pair of parakeets
“comrade, we’re looking for Senhora Pomposa’s house”
“Senhora Famosa?” the Chinese man said
“no, i think it’s Pomposa, the wife of a Senhor Minister”
“she car brue Vorvo?”
“i don’t
know, comrade”
“yes, that’s the one,” Blind Man shouted, “i’m blind and even i know the Minister’s car is a Vorvo”
“house have guards, you sell fish?”
“no, i sell seashells”
“sell what?”
“seashell”
“say shall?”
“let’s just say we get out of here,” Blind Man laughed, “this Bruce Lee guy is mixing Kimbundu with Chinese!”
“seashell, comrade, to decorate the house,” the seller showed him a small, pretty pink seashell, which he was holding in his hand
“Chinese always little money, no buy”
“keep it, it’s on special”
“me like special, you no have fish?”
“no”
the Chinese man accepted the seashell and closed the peephole, Seashell Seller, then Blind Man, made their way at a leisurely pace to the enormous house, which was surrounded by guards, and had the Volvo parked inside the gate
“hey, get lost, there’s no point in asking for anything here”
“apologies, comrade, i came here to make an offer”
“offer what?”
“they say the lady of this house is looking for my seashells”
“seashells from the sea? are you sure?”
“one of her friends, a client of mine, said so”
“you sell seashells?”
“yes, i do”
“so you make a profit on something you just pick up out of the sea?”
“excuse me, comrade, but i don’t just pick them up out of the sea, i dive under the water to find the most beautiful ones, that’s why everybody likes them”
“you dive and pick up tons of shells without paying a cent, and after that you come to sell them in the Big-Man houses? you’re a smart guy”
“you could go diving too,” Blind Man said
the guard made a threatening gesture but grasped that the old man, in addition to being old, was blind
“you’re lucky i can’t give a blind elder a punch in the face, or i’d make you dance the bungula”
“excuse me, comrade, we do what we do out of hunger, the lady’s not in?”
“yes, she’s in”
“so?”
“so what?”
“can’t you go to call her?”
“i can”
“and you’re not going to call?” Blind Man grumbled again
“i can go get her, but if any business comes out of this, i want my cut”
“fine,” Seashell Seller agreed, setting down his bag, “if business comes out of it, you get to choose three seashells for your lady”
“agreed”
the guard lowered his weapon, he was about to go inside when Blind Man asked for a glass of water
“no,” the guard said, “you can drink the water from the sea where you guys pick the shells,” he started to laugh
through the open door, the garden was visible, the grass mown into attractive patterns the seller appreciated for the way they brought together the flowers, roses, cloves, pretty creepers that rose up out of the garden and invaded the porch, cactus, huge porcelain roses and dark green porcelain ferns that reminded him of the sea
“elder, if you could just lay your eyes on that garden... it’s a joy to behold”
“i can smell the fragrance, it’s got lots of flowers, right?”
the seller’s gaze slid over the shining mobiles on the porch, a small bottle rack with whisky, gin, and vermouth, bottles he recognized from the bars where he offered seashells as ashtrays and, inside, voluminous curtains
the guard returned, leaning back against the gate, blocking the view
“the lady’s coming, don’t forget about our agreement”
“i never forget”
the guard brought a plastic bottle with ice water, opened it with a leisurely gesture, and drank while observing Blind Man’s muted reactions.
“you know what i’m doing, elder?” he said when he was finished
“hmm, i know...” Blind Man murmured, “and do you know what you’re doing with the other bottles?”
another car arrived at high speed and honked its horn
Blind Man and the seller got out of the way quickly, the gates opened, the car entered on the right-hand side, a bodyguard got out in a rush and went to open the back door, where the Minister stepped out
“good morning, everybody,” the Minister addressed those at the gate
“good morning, indeed,” the guards replied
“don’t shut the gate,” Pomposa’s voice was heard, “is everything all right, dear? i’ll be right in, i’m just looking at some things here”
if not for his internalized belief in the persuasive power of the shells, Seashell Seller would have given up on the visit and turned away then and there, the lady approached bursting with gold from her toes to her ears, a long, Indian-style vest of an elegant fabric with suggestive transparencies that his eyes preferred not to contemplate, Blind Man, too, changed his expression on account of the innumerable perfumes that preceded Pomposa, her recently painted nails, her over-shined shoes, hand cream, perfumed neck and deodorized armpits, «a carnival» Blind Man thought.
“this is a carnival of shells,” Pomposa joked as the bag opened
“good afternoon, ma’am”
“afternoon! so you’re the fellow who’s selling the shells my friends are taking to Europe?”
“yes i am, they’re shells from right here in Luanda, it depends on what the lady wants”
“i want to look”
“you don’t have to pay to look,” Blind Man exclaimed, “except that i, even if i had money, couldn’t even pay to look”
“your father?”
“no, he’s my friend, we sell stuff in the street together”
“you’re the first seashell street seller i’ve met, show me your merchandise”
there was a bit of everything and, knowing what sort of house this was, the seller had already adapted the bag to the occasion, he hadn’t brought the simplest, most beautiful shells, nor the flat, almost colourless ashtrays, nor the slender, pendulous earrings that hung from a wire, nor the necklace made of miniature fish-hooks strung together with soft, pink shells
only the bright, the big, that which could be seen and bought for future display
“i think the lady will like these,” he started to lay out his goods on the sidewalk
Pomposa made her choices quickly and did not touch the objects, she pointed and the guard set aside ashtrays, long shells for the centre of the table, greenish shells for soap dishes, and a beautiful object which she took to be a candlestick
“so how much is it?”
“you’re taking all that?”
“spit it out, i’m in a hurry”
“one hundred fifty dollars for coming to our Minister’s house”
“i can see they’ve given you big ideas, you think this is a bank or something?”
“no, ma’am”
“if you want, i’ll give you sixty dollars and a soft drink”
“thanks, ma’am, but let’s make it a hundred and a glass of water since i don’t like soft drinks very much”
“oh, you’re a picky one, you think you’re cool?”
“i’m not cool, ma’am, you can bring me the soft drink,” Blind Man exclaimed
“a hundred dollars and a bottle of ice water so you don’t go around pretending to be hotshots who need to cool off”
she pulled from her wallet a hundred-dollar bill that was surrounded by many others
“this way you won’t complain, wise guy” Pomposa concluded
“yes, thank you”
while the guard picked up the things, after opening the bag, nobody moved
Pomposa regarded the movements of the street, mostly from past habit, and waited for the others to withdraw, the other guard returned with a big bottle of ice water with a French label, nobody moved
“don’t you have something else to do?”
“we just came in here for a rest, ma’am”
“can’t you go rest somewhere else? there’s more shade over at the Chinaman’s house”
Seashell Seller looked the guard in the eyes, the guard coughed
“are you guys deaf? get out of here,” the guard growled
“are you sure?”
“scat!”
they headed out, looking back over their shoulders, waiting for Pomposa to enter the house, but the lady didn’t withdraw, intrigued by the slowness of their movements, the Chinese man peaked out from the front-door window, the guard pretended to sling his weapon onto his shoulder and the Chinese man disappeared in a hurry
“we’ll just go across the street, they don’t want us here any more,” Blind Man murmured
they backed away, turned the first corner, then waited a moment, not a sign from the guard
the traffic was heavy on the avenue, Chinese motorcycles threaded between the enormous cars, American, Japanese and Korean jeeps, lots of Toyota HiAces acting as candongas to transport the people, for whom this was the only way to move around, plenty of Toyota Starlets, also known as slum-strollers, doing candonga service as well, in spite of being illegal and far more risky
“careful when you cross, nowadays nobody respects either traffic or blind men, aren’t you coming?”
“just a minute, i’m looking at something,” Seller had stopped to read an enormous sign, “this is all over the place”
“what?”
“this sign, it must be a new service”
“what does it say?”
“CIROL”
“cirol? i never heard of it, is it some service, a bank or something from the Party?”
“no…Commission for the Installation of Recoverable Oil in Luanda...”
“never heard of it”
“but Luanda has oil?”
“well, it says oil... recoverable oil... in Luanda, this is Luanda”
“but before that it says ‘commission’?”
