by Ondjaki
“i can barely walk, let alone act”
“act imaginatively, my friend, imaginatively... do creative things, i’m not sure i’m making myself clear...”
“a few entities have visited me already—the Church, television...”
“you’ve got to make money from it, take it to an international level, you’re not worth less than other people, you understand?”
“i guess so”
“well, i guess not, you’ve got great potential here,” tax inspector Next Time observed, with a nod of his head he intended his brother to see, “you’ve got to go on CNN... for you Globo and RTP would be a joke... you’ve got to think big”
“dough? like ask for dough?”
“for dough you should ask the government for a health subsidy,” the tax inspector’s eyes gleamed, “but in terms of marketing, you’ve got to aim higher, my friend”
“that South African program where they put cameras in the bathroom? i’d be ashamed”
“even that program could work, but you’ve got to dream bigger: Oprah!”
“opera?”
“Oprah! the Oprah show, an American program that’ll ensure nobody will ever forget your mbumbi, Edú...”
after speaking with Strong Maria and João Slowly, Nga Nelucha returned with pots of coffee and milk, sandwiches with butter and a little cheese, and slices of a pre-sliced cake
“comrade inspectors, my partner Nga Nelucha”
“very pleased to meet you, comrade, forgive us for entering your home at this early hour, but our workday begins early”
“i understand, no problem,” Nga Nelucha started serving
having eaten, drunk, and conversed, their conversation turned acrimonious when Edú said he wanted to think twice about this idea of publicizing his mbumbi worldwide because he’d already had serious hassles for years with the type and number of people who had appeared at his home, including those who, in a similar vein to what was taking shape here, meant to exploit his swollen condition for economic gain
“but you need a cultural agent like artists and people like that!”
“i’m not an artist,” Edú complained, “i’m a sick man”
“but it’s an artistic illness, let’s say...” he paused, “well, we’re going to continue our evaluation mission”
“what is your evaluation, if it’s not rude to ask?” Nga Nelucha wanted to know
“our evaluation...” tax inspector This Time stammered, looking at Next Time
“our evaluation is to evaluate the conditions of the buildings in Maianga... and namely!”
“namely what?”
“namely the rest, the conditioners”
“which conditioners?”
“the surroundings and the fillng”
“of what?”
“of the building itself! and you, ma’am, are inadvertently interrogating the authorities”
“which authorities?” Nga Nelucha laughed her open, brazen laugh, which was more of a diversion than a disobedience, “you guys don’t even have papers to prove you’re tax inspectors”
“Comrade Titucha...!”
“Nelucha, what are you saying, show some respect,” Edú protested
“Comrade Nelucha, we have conditioners of nephewness!”
“what?”
“that’s right,” the two of them laughed, leaving the apartment, “it goes without saying that we’re both nephews of the Senhor Advisor to the Comrade Minister!”
Edú and Nga Nelucha remained silent
the truth was so obvious that it silenced them, the tax inspectors began to stroll through the building, with caution, lest there be another waterfall equal to the one on the first floor, they knocked on locked doors, peered down hallways which they could not fathom, and without wishing to admit this to each other, did not know very well what to do or where to begin
Nga Nelucha went downstairs and asked Little Daddy to warn Odonato as quickly as possible that the tax inspectors were on the loose in the building
Seashell Seller and Blind Man arrived at the building in good time, together they climbed to the fifth floor where the tax inspectors were getting ready to knock on Comrade Mute’s door
“don’t you buy seashells, comrades?”
“you’re selling seashells? seashells from where?”
“seashells from the sea,” the Seller replied, “i dive, i find, i wash and i sell, but they’re shells that are useful for all sorts of things, and beyond that, they bring people luck”
aware of the issue of Ciente-the-Grand’s wound, Comrade Mute allowed everyone into his apartment and, since he liked to talk, put on a jazz record, offered water
his living room resembled a Moroccan merchant’s alley, on the floor Seashell Seller had laid out his gleaming shells with their thousands of shapes and smell of the sea, the tax inspectors distractedly allowed themselves to be mesmerized by the shapes and colours, Seashell Seller took advantage of the water, and of being able to escape the sun, to rest his body and his back, and Blind Man relaxed into a corner, accompanying the notes of the half-scratched record playing in the morning heat by tapping the wall lightly with his cane
the setting, then, of a calculated plot
while Morocco was going on in the living room, Ciente-the-Grand’s body was transferred from his father’s home to Edú and Nga Nelucha’s apartment on the fourth floor
interrupting the get-together, Odonato, surpassing the most extreme notions of gauntness, entered the Mute’s apartment, making his way towards the tax inspectors
“gentlemen, i’m a resident of the sixth floor and i came looking for you so that you could see the rest of the building, so that you can then leave it right away, since we know our rights”
“do you know who you’re talking to, comrade?” tax inspector This Time began
“do you know who we’re related to?” Next Time questioned
Comrade Mute had to grip Odonato’s sleeve, for an invisible impulse propelled the very gaunt man towards the other two
“show respect, comrades...!” Odonato spoke with such force that no one had the courage to utter another word, “you can be assured that this is a building of honest people”
the tax inspectors glanced at each other, Blind Man coughed and the Seller, very, very slowly, began picking up his shells one by one in order not to ruin the energy that had taken over the room
“by chance, do you know who i am?”
Comrade Mute recoiled, he didn’t know of any distinction or occupation of Odonato’s worth mentioning, and he wasn’t used to seeing his neighbour put on these kinds of airs
“i’m part of this people! the Angolan people, the people...do you know that word? it’s a word that contains human beings! now, if you wish, you can come upstairs with me”
“very good, let’s go see this sixth floor and the terrace,” This Time said
the tax inspectors accompanied Odonato up the stairs in silence, they saw his apartment and wanted to nose around more than expected, but in the dark hallway were stopped by the gaze of Granma Kunjikise
“good morning, elderwoman,” they greeted her with apprehension
“good morning,” Granma Kunjikise replied in Umbundu, “are you poking around in other people’s homes?” her lips sketched something approaching a smile
“no, senhora, we’re just on our way out”
when they reached the roof-top terrace, Odonato was far away, in a shaded area, the sun was strong, the tax inspectors regarded the terrace’s cardinal points as though appraising them
João Slowly arrived
“take it easy, Odonato, they’ll be leaving soon, just put up with them a little longer”
he went over to them in his amiable way, responded to their doubts, enlightened them as to the building’s dimensions, spok
e of the neighbourhood customs, and of how, in spite of their being in Maianga, in the heart of the city, it was a peaceful building
“and that rooster that’s missing an eye?” one tax inspector asked, glancing at the rooster, which balanced with a sad air on the plucked barbed wire of the adjacent building
“i never noticed it”
“it’s not a sorcerer?”
“i don’t think so,” João Slowly said seriously, “these are difficult times for socerer roosters”
“well, my friend,” one of the tax inspectors sat down close to João Slowly, “the issue here is that this building is full of irregularities, starting with that swimming pool-thing down on the first floor”
“starting with ecological reasons,” said the other tax inspector
“all that water being wasted downstairs”
“but people make use of that water, Senhor Tax Inspector, everybody in the building uses that water to cook, to wash cars, to clean the building...”
“but it’s over- and under-utilized!”
“what do you mean?”
“it’s over-utilized because too much of it comes out and you people can’t control it, it’s under-utilized because other members of the community aren’t enjoying the benefits”
“you’re right,” João Slowly agreed
“and this terrace, also”
“what?”
“it must be put to better use, you’re a man of ideas...” the tax inspector said, “you must have already thought about that”
“i bet he’s already thought about it,” the other tax inspector commented
“i might have already thought about it,” João Slowly smiled
“an isolated terrace, without any real problems in the neighbourhood... why don’t you put in... for example... a homemade movie theatre?”
“a cinema? but what about authorization?”
“but we’re the tax inspectors for Maianga... you’d be authorized, and we’d have a public, limited-liability company... that only we knew about”
“what do you mean?”
“it’s easy... on one hand, you people from the building, you talk, you get organized and you set up the scheme, on the other hand, us two, providing legal protection and collecting the goodies”
“a cinema?”
“a cinema—low-key, discreet”
“and the paperwork?”
“no paperwork is necessary”
“how’s that?”
“only an official cinema requires papers, a disofficial one doesn’t need them”
“i understand”
“in that case, it’s all settled”
“and the name?”
“the name doesn’t matter, what matters is that it has customers”
“and the films?”
“you’ll figure it out, afternoon sessions with lots of punch-ups and stuff, some Bruce Lee... and at night something hotter, porno stuff, higher ticket prices and then you can even expand the business, a few closed rooms here in your building...”
pleased, João Slowly shook the tax inspectors’ hands and said goodbye, he was a friend of money, especially the easy kind, and he agreed that the terrace was underutilized and would, in fact, be a good spot for cinephilic activity
later, when Odonato criticized him, he played the victim, saying that, trapped by the circumstances, and worried about Ciente-the-Grand’s health, he’d been forced to accept the tax inspectors’ proposal for the sake of the building.
João Slowly tried again to speak to Odonato about his condition
two days without seeing Odonato was enough time for him to notice the change in something he had no idea how to explain
it was almost lunch time when Xilisbaba appeared on the terrace with a plate with scant food, which she offered to her husband
“no, thank you, love, i’m not hungry”
“i know, but you have to eat”
“i’m not hungry, give it to our ravenous comrade, João Slowly, he eats—and quickly, too,” Odonato smiled
“i’d be grateful”
Xilisbaba mentioned that she’d had a phone call with a doctor friend, a friend of a friend, who was willing to come and see Ciente-the-Grand, even though it had been difficult to explain why the boy had been at home since last night with a bullet lodged in his body
“i didn’t know what to say,” Xilisbaba commented
“you don’t have to say anything, if he wants to understand, he’ll understand, if not, there’s nothing to do”
“but he can’t stay at home bleeding like that, he’s got to go to the hospital”
“it’ll work out,” Odonato reassured his wife
“are you coming downstairs with me?”
“i’m going to stay here a little longer”
Xilisbaba withdrew, she went to ask Little Daddy and others to carry Ciente-the-Grand back up to the sixth floor to await the doctor’s arrival
as the sunlight’s position changed, after tidying up some scrap iron that was lying around, picking up and distributing loose pieces of wood, trying to imagine how the space could become an unofficial cinema, in one corner João Slowly found an enormous cracked mirror that resembled a map
it brought back memories of some place he’d seen, he was turning the mirror, and using the rotation to solve the enigma the mirror posed, the sun, strong at that hour, found the position ideal and sprang forth in intense clusterings of light that hurt Odonato’s gaze, he crossed his arms before his eyes and stood there, still and leaning backwards, like an emaciated soldier who had just been struck by a hail of bullets
“Odonato... you...” João Slowly stammered, while his hands shook, while the mirror shook, while the light shook, while it was enhanced by a deep yellow in the still-dark tone of Odonato’s skin
the bright beam of light faded to mulatto tones as it reached Odonato’s body, João Slowly’s mouth opened and closed again without leaving time for wonder, in slow motion he laid the mirror flat with a tremor of fear
Odonato uncrossed his arms, lowered them slowly, looking into his friend’s eyes
behind him, torn threads of light remained on the wall, as though his body were holding back part of the glow
“lay down the mirror, João, before you hurt yourself,” Odonato murmured
João Slowly’s eyebrows had ridged up so high that Odonato was surprised, his friend tried not to let his hands shake as he kept the mirror trained at an angle that directed the rays of light through Odonato’s body so that every second he continued to believe in what he was seeing, in that state of semi-transparency that allowed him, in a single instant, to see and to believe he was not seeing the blood sprinting and dancing through Odonato’s veins and muscles
“don’t be afraid,” Odonato said, “i’m turning transparent.”
was i afraid?
to see my city of Luanda in black and yellow tongues of flame, and the houses falling down from sweating in the fire and the voices shouting in fear?
yes, i was afraid, fear was a thing that came from inside me, because the whole city looked like it was about to die;
when did i see him? for the first time?
i was in the street, lost in my thoughts, and i spotted something i’ll never forget: in front of me an elder was walking slow and muttering to himself... i glanced at the clouds and tried to return to the vision; the gent had mingled with some of those kids who sell stuff in the streets, i took a quick look for him, spotted him up ahead, ran with steps that tried not to make a sound, and i saw him again and was afraid all over again; and i saw! my near-death fright; the elder was slightly transparent! fear made me stop right there and turn away—but i’d already seen and couldn’t forget this miracle of his!
i ran farther, i disconcealed myself behind a tree, the gent gl
anced around
he suspected i was there but didn’t see me, he turned his back in my direction and climbed a little ways up his street, suddenly he disappeared, i went slowly forward and looked at the doorway of the only building he could have entered!
the building where the whole story that i’m going to tell you happens: you see it’s not right for me to keep this story just for myself, life is like a sea, you see it and you wade in deeper...
if i saw things, i can speak of them only to set a few more events in the city; if i cried from suffering and beauty, i’ll tell you right off that i was happy, if i seem sad today in my voice as i start talking, it’s because melancholy, too, comes disguised in sad events which can only be discovered by our eyes...
what i mean is, what i’m saying is, to get it right: life looks bigger than the sea...!
am i shooting my mouth off?
[from Seashell Seller’s recording]
the American hadn’t slept this badly in years
the air conditioner sounded like it was stuttering all night, but a stuttering that produced nothing cool, expelling lashings of hot air like a blower whose cooling function had packed it in
and that wasn’t all
strange thoughts and dreams tormented him to the point of mixing up the sweaty reality of his body odour with the images he thought he was seeing in the darkness
only in the morning, taking a calm look at the light that filled his room, did he confirm it was true
it had been right next to him all night: a flattened insect of a washed-out yellowish appearance, whose long whiskers were in slow but constant motion
it was, beyond a doubt, an albino cockroach
the American wasn’t troubled by this, nor was he disgusted by the insect, precisely because he had the feeling that the cockroach had been simply observing him as if it were going to talk,
a strange, serene, enormous, albino cockroach
the American took a long shower and was going to call reception to complain about the malfunctioning air conditioner when it began to function perfectly, the room became cold, very cold, the albino cockroach changed location, climbing onto his nightstand and settling down much too close to his wristwatch
