Transparent City

by Ondjaki

  “my dad left, he’s looking for Ciente, there’s no real news”

  “hmm, oh well, and your granma’s well?”

  “yes, thank you”

  João Slowly asked the crowd for a minute’s attention, somebody shouted, “i doubt it’ll be just a minute,” they laughed, they drank more, but gradually they allowed silence to fall

  João Slowly’s strategic pause caught the crowd’s attention, the smell of beer-breath mixed with the sweet smoke from the enormous grills, the noise of bottles being set down at the edges of the terrace, the shuffle of Blind Man’s feet, which was heard close to Edú, the not-very-discreet sound of Edú’s hand vehemently scratching his gigantic pet testicle, in addition to the nearly uniform aroma of collective body odour

  João Slowly knew how to use these elements to call the crowd to order

  he waited, drawing out the pause and, when it became unsettling, extended his arm in search of what some thought was the future, but was actually in the direction of the one-eyed rooster, Blind Man found out, without seeing the things others saw, that over there was a being who in his way saw things before they could actually be seen

  “at times business... leisure... and our social obligations are very close to us,” João Slowly coughed deliberately, “the city’s fresh air, our country’s marvellous climate, and here in our city, particularly, this proximity to the sea and to the country’s modernity, and the simple vision of a rooster”

  the crowd finally saw the rooster, and the rooster, smitten with the weight of so many gazes, lowered his head, stole away to a more remote corner, and the crowd laughed

  “yes, let’s say a fearless performer of a rooster, with an aesthetic worthy of a major figure of the literatures of a certain Portuguese language... almost an actor, but on the other side of the wall... a rooster is what inspired and gave me this idea, ladies and gentlemen”

  they clapped, they whistled, Colonel Hoffman ordered another beer, the tax inspectors This Time and Next Time crept into the vicinity, as did a young woman with fair hair and dark eyes

  João Slowly did not allow himself to be disturbed

  “it’s in this cultural... gastronomic context,” he pointed to his side, where Strong Maria acknowledged his words with a smile, “that we inaugurate a new locale in our own inimitable way here in Luanda, let’s say a cultural locale... with us today are members of our artistic community... journalistic community... socialistic community... peoples from our neighbourhood, from other neighbourhoods, and i believe even individuals from the international sphere, except maybe the UNs and NGOs,” he smiled in the direction of the young foreign woman who hadn’t understood that this was a reference to her, “nevertheless, it’s important to mention two points... this cultural space is going to receive the very illustrious name of Rooster Camões,” the crowd sighed in unison, “out of the highest respect for our little mascot who will remain over there in the far-off neighbourhood... because we know that in these times... in some emergency of appetite, we know that certain elements of our society,” João Slowly regarded Little Daddy, who tried to feign innocence, “are prone to roostering, er, roasting tendencies with regard to any living animal wandering around the neighbourhood...”

  “cut to the chase, man, the beer’s getting warm!” somebody shouted

  João Slowly didn’t like this, but as the crowd burst out laughing, he judged it better to go along with them

  “our hurried and ethylic friend is right... we shall move on to the finallys”

  “long live Odorico!” the same man shouted, causing a general uproar of laughter that shook the building

  “i would ask the comrade to have the decency,” João Slowly said, irritated now, “to abstain from speaking, and to sign up in advance should he wish to do so... let’s show respect, this is a solemn session, furthermore we have elders present here,” he pointed to Blind Man, “and even people who’ve been on television due to utterly extraordinary physiological conditions,” he pointed at Edú, “or even goodwill ambassadors and representatives of one of the greatest voices on the national musical scene,” he pointed at Paulo Flores, and the crowd broke into another loud ovation

  the young woman journalist smiled and took photographs of those present, failing to realize at least two things that Angolans don’t like very much, one—which has nothing to do with the present situation—is for a woman to come to a party and not dance with anyone, and the other, this one certainly more relevant to the case, is for someone to suddenly start taking photographs without identifying herself or explaining the reason for these shots

  “so culture, that immensely vast field that always has a place in Luandans’ daily lives... and even, according to some reports, in the daily lives of people from Malanje... culture requires neither a schedule nor complicated explanations: i declare this cultural space open and inaugurated, a place where, as we’ll see later, we’re going to listen and sit and drink... it will accommodate the widest possible range of forms in the areas of performance, both on film and on stage, as much the ultra-modern theatre of improvised confession as other cultural forms that i won’t divulge here for reasons of our leadership’s strategic planning, end of quote, i have spoken!” João Slowly lifted his bottle of now-warm beer and the crowd clapped its hands hard, mixing its applause with comments and laughter

  “bravo,” Hoffman said in his loud voice

  “long live Odorico!” the drunk shouted again

  the tax inspectors This Time and Next Time accepted, without paying, the beer that Strong Maria offered them, strolled through the party, looked at the distant rooster, exchanged a few words with Edú and moved deliberately towards the young female journalist

  “young lady, are you supplied with the necessary authorization?”

  “sorry?”

  “young lady, are you accompanied by the appropriate documentation?”

  “sorry, what do you mean?”

  “we’re in Angola, my young lady, here the cohorts of the mass media require a variety of documents”

  “i don’t understand”

  “but you’re going to understand,” This Time smiled

  “yes, you’re going to understand,” Next Time confirmed

  “and the other journalists, do they need these documents, too?”

  “domestics are inherent”

  “what?!”

  “domestics are inherent, my lady, documentation for news reports, particularly of photographic content, costs money, i hope you’re prepared for that, my lady”

  “i don’t know if i understand”

  “fortunately we’re tax inspectors of multiple functions, perhaps we will be able to impart to you some information, maybe even the appropriate authorization”

  “you gentlemen provide these documents?” the girl, in a serious mood, tried to solve this problem so she could keep taking her photographs, “i work for the BBC and i’m accredited”

  “but are you accredited for this event?”

  “for this event in particular, no... but in general...”

  “in general is one thing,” This Time said slowly

  “in particular, even in the hypothetical case...” Next Time said, “is a different story”

  “who are you gentlemen?”

  “we’re This Time and Next Time, the tax inspectors”

  “inspectors? from which ministry?”

  “from various ministries”

  “various? but which ones?”

  “various, meaning those that issue this type of authorization”

  “i don’t know if i understand”

  “that i can see, that you are having difficulties understanding, the more difficult it is for you to understand, the more difficult it will be for you to do your work”

  “but is special authorization needed to cover events?”

&nbs
p; “yes, because there is a difference between attending and covering,” This Time announced

  “yes, there is a difference,” Next Time confirmed

  “but normally...”

  “my lady, this is not a normal situation, this is a cultural opening of parallel proportions...”

  “what?” the journalist was beginning to think the tax inspectors were drunk

  “look at it this way, the issue is that you, my lady, need an authorization, but only we know that you need it... isn’t that it?”

  “i suppose so”

  “and only you, my lady, know that you don’t have it, so why make it complicated?”

  “it’s you gentlemen who are complicating things”

  “no, it’s you, my lady, who’s not facilitating matters, if you don’t get down to it and facilitate, complications appear later”

  “and how do i ‘get down to it and facilitate’?”

  “for example, with half a big-head”

  “what?”

  “half a big-head,” Next Time explained, “is a bill, normally green, of fifty American dollars, so that we don’t charge you in Euros, which we’re doing in this case only because we’re dealing with a Madame Journalist”

  “and if i were a man?”

  “a man?” Next Time looked towards This Time so his brother could size up the situation

  “a man would be one hundred Euros or more”

  “and why’s that?” the journalist was irritated

  “because Angolans are kinder to ladies”

  “and if it were an Angolan who likes men?”

  “who likes men? but what’s that?” This Time was nervous

  “for men, if it were a tax inspector who likes men... you know? in that case maybe he’d charge a half big-head to a male BBC journalist... and he could charge one hundred Euros to a female journalist...”

  “i’m not aware of any such case,” Next Time, also, looked confused

  “i was told that the tax inspectors here in Luanda... are usually kinder to male journalists... i don’t know if this is the case with you, as a matter of fact i was going to write about exactly that question... i saw so many men here at this party... including you gentlemen, who arrived together”

  “we’re brothers on our father’s side”

  “but nobody at the BBC knows that...”

  “well, then, we’re going to settle this without any trouble...” This Time coughed, “this time, my lady, you may proceed with your work with this verbal warning”

  “i thank you for your indulgence, Senhor Tax Inspector”

  “very good,” This Time said

  “yes, very good,” Next Time said

  “then go forth and be glad, as they say in church”

  “thank you, Senhor Tax Inspector”

  the crowd was dispersing, there were no free drinks left, from the moment the speech had ended, everything had to be purchased, which displeased some members of the crowd, especially those known as “gatecrashers,” a social stratum composed of people who, blissfully and almost in a spirit of social reform, devote themselves from an early age to showing up at weddings, funerals, baptisms, social or sectarian meetings, anniversaries or associative assemblies, with the intention of eating and drinking without paying a thing, being particularly aware and proud of not having been directly or indirectly invited

  Nga Nelucha, Edú’s wife, came to look for him on the terrace, not only because her husband had already exposed himself to the sun and the vagaries of social, and even journalistic contact for too many hours, but also because his sister, a famous Luandan cultural agent, was downstairs ready to figure out a strategy for the commercial exploitation of Edú’s singular anatomical issue, he was lifted to his feet, with Little Daddy’s help, nor did he forget the tiny stool that had accompanied him for so many years

  after answering some questions from media representatives, during which João Slowly avoided concrete revelations about the type of activities that would happen in that space, leaving almost all possibilities open, reiterating with greater or lesser eloquence what he had just said in his improvised speech, the event’s principal organizer saw the tax inspectors This Time and Next Time approaching him

  “you gentlemen are here?”

  “we weren’t formally invited, unfortunately, but news travels quickly in Luanda”

  “it’s just as well”

  “so you haven’t yet settled that question of the exchange problems...”

  “problems?” João Slowly queried, “i don’t have any exchange problem, Senhor Tax Inspector, you must be getting confused, as you’re drinking on the job,” he pointed to the bottle in This Time’s hand

  the tax inspector gave him a serious, irritated look, and swallowed the rest of the beer in a single gulp, taking responsibility for the bottle and the rest of the liquid

  “you think you can joke with us, Senhor João Totally Slowly?”

  “i don’t think anything, Senhor Tax Inspector”

  “you want me to order the arrest of your wife and her friends, who are sitting outside downstairs pretending to sell fish and meat and peanuts cooked in sugar from the time before, and have dollars hidden under the food?”

  “but you have to understand... i’m not actually involved in parallel exchange procedures...”

  “and this cultural centre or whatever it is? what’s the deal?”

  “it started today, as you can see”

  “and without commercial licences, i imagine”

  “you imagine very well,” João Slowly confirmed

  “well, now, that’s the complicated part,” This Time commented

  “that’s the complicated part,” Next Time agreed

  “in that case, and the way things are going... from the look of the inaugural session... with so many people from our country and even from abroad,” they looked again at the young female journalist who winked at them, “it would be best for you to take measures”

  “what measures?”

  “preventive measures, that way you’re not going to have a surprise visit from some branch of the tax services”

  “what’s your proposal?”

  “we’d like to hear your proposal”

  “how’s that?”

  “neither we nor anyone else here understood... what is this going to be in the end?”

  “it’s going to be a new cinema... in a modern sense, we’re still not sure”

  “stop talking like you’re from Sucupira and roll out the plan”

  “it can be anything... we’re going to have some sessions for adults at night... we might have afternoon matinees, with dancing or movies, we’re still not sure which”

  “plus your wife’s gastronomic profits, grilled foods and such-like...”

  “yes, eventually”

  “but we also tax the eventually”

  “i understand”

  “so let’s leave it at that... we’re going to be stopping by to see how your business is doing and you’re going to stop what you’re doing to pass us the dough so that we won’t officially be seeing how your business is doing...”

  “understood”

  “and we don’t have to pay for our tickets at the adult-film sessions”

  “fine”

  “just one question”

  “what, Senhor Tax Inspector?”

  “what’s with that journalist with the BBC accent?”

  “i don’t know her”

  “then i’ll give you a piece of friendly advice... be careful with her”

  “why?”

  “everything she says is completely off the wall, and on top of that we have the risk that the BBC’ll go and write things for the rest of the world about us Angolans...”

  “like what?”
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  “be careful, that’s all i’m saying”

  “fine, i’ll take care of it, but is she with the opposition, or what?”

  “you know, my friend... opposition is a matter of whom you’re in favour of, i don’t know if you understand me...”

  the journalist had taken advantage of the event to get to know other people from the building and, not missing an opportunity, had conversations with both Seashell Seller and Blind Man, introduced herself to the silent Comrade Mute, and was now on her way downstairs with them to get to know the apartments and the people, fascinated by the building’s peculiar and diversified human scope, and struggling to understand who, among so many strange names and occupations, actually lived in the building

  “and the water? hasn’t anybody solved the water problem?”

  “but what’s the problem?”

  “the water downstairs, where it looks like a waterfall and everybody has to take such care to go upstairs”

  “no, no, it’s not necessary to take such care, it’s necessary to know,” Edú replied, serious, “if you don’t know, you mustn’t go upstairs, but if you don’t know, that’s also a warning for us: what’s this person doing here?”

  “meaning me?”

  “no, not you, people in general, you understand?”

  “so the water isn’t a problem?”

  “but is water some sort of problem in your country? water’s for everybody, it arrives here at the building and it’s distributed through the building, what’s the maka, young lady?”

  “maka?”

  “maka means problem”

  “i understand”

  “maka grossa is a more complicated problem”

  “maka grossa?”

  “yes, maka grossa, and then there’s maka mesmo”

  “maka mesmo?”

  “which happens just to you, which affects you in your life or your heart”

  “you can have a maka in your heart as well?”

  “you mean you can’t? so young and you don’t know about that?”

  the journalist laughed and nodded, now it was Nga Nelucha who wasn’t much enjoying the situation

  “oh, Edú, a minute ago you were so tired, you had to go and rest your mbumbi at home, and now you’re giving classes in Kimbundu?”