Transparent City

by Ondjaki

  “no, i came to look for a man”

  “a skinny cop?”

  “that’s him”

  “he’s in the room, just let him finish, then i’ll call him, will you have a drink?”

  “thank you,” he accepted out of courtesy

  “hey, boy,” she shouted towards the kitchen, “a beer, good and cold”

  “there isn’t any, Granma”

  “go get one from next door, you insolent twerp,” then she turned towards Odonato, looking him in the eyes again, as though seeking his inner being, “the drink’s on its way, we’ll stay here in the shade”

  “yes, mother, that’s fine”

  “i’m Granma Humps”

  “i’m Odonato, thanks”

  the elder-woman lit her cigarette

  the skinny dog returned to the yard, skulked in the corners, sniffed the trunk of a stunted banana tree and, obedient and lazy, came to sit down at Granma Humps’s feet, it yawned and set its eyes on the parrot, which was whistling an extended melody

  “but this dog... so skinny and all...” Odonato seemed puzzled, “doesn’t he eat?”

  “him?” Granma Humps stroked his head and hindquarters, “this dog eats a ton... we just don’t give him anything!”

  they half-laughed, Odonato realized that, without meaning to, he had asked the classic question that had been part of the collective repertoire of Luanda anecdotes for years

  the parrot repeated its melody

  “i heard that tune earlier today”

  “he’s always singing that song, who’s it by?”

  “Ruy Mingas”

  “ah...” Granma Humps passed him the beer the kid had fetched, “listen here, you insolent twerp, beer with the cap on? is the gentleman supposed to open it with his teeth?”

  “sorry, Granma”

  “just go and open the bottle on the gate”

  a metal orifice, halfway up the gate, served as a bottle opener

  “thanks,” Odonato smiled at the child

  “sorry”

  “it’s okay”

  “kids these days...” Granma Humps stroked the dog but continued looking at Odonato

  he was going to say something, any old thing, his chest expanded to prepare the words, but his body desisted before he could make the necessary vocal movements, the curtain opened, fluttering, Agent Belo came out tightening the belt of his trousers, repositioning his pistol and nightstick at his waist

  “this gentleman is waiting for you”

  “yes, good afternoon,” Belo shook Odonato’s hand

  “hey, boy, bring another stool”

  “yes, Granma”

  “yeah, and a beer, good and cold,” the policeman ordered

  “but we don’t have be—”

  “that story again? are you kidding me? go get it from next door”

  the boy got ready to leave

  “hey, kid, first you bring the stool, are you going to leave the officer standing?”

  “sorry, Granma”

  the beer arrived, Belo drank most of the bottle’s contents in a single swallow, he became more serious

  “so, tell me, comrade, i hear you want to talk with me”

  “my name’s Odonato, i’m the father of Ciente-the-Grand, i got a phone call and i wanted to know how we can resolve the situation”

  “well... your son’s situation, it’s complicated. you know we don’t have the power to help very much, right?”

  “i understand”

  “but we can always help in some way, at least to make sure the other offenders treat your boy right, it’s a small comfort, you know, jail’s not an easy place”

  “that’s true”

  “but our lives aren’t easy either... beat cops who make the neighbourhood rounds, or even transit cops, who shake down the candongueiros, get extra salary, you know... now us guys, assigned to the station, all we can do is wait for the end of the month when we get our tiny little salary...”

  “that’s true”

  “so that’s how it is,” Agent Belo finished

  “so where do we stand?”

  “as it stands, family visits haven’t been authorized yet, and if you, sir, went to bother the Deputy Superintendent, that makes it worse, the best thing you can do is wait calmly, and we can go in and get you a visit, but maybe only a week from now”

  “and now—what can we do now?”

  “now, sir, you can bring food, i’ll hand it over, there’s still time today, did you bring the special order?”

  “i brought it... i mean i brought it but i left at the station”

  “at the station? who with?”

  “unfortunately, with the Deputy Superintendent”

  “oh fuck... we’re off to a bad start,” Belo finished his beer, “sorry, Gramps, i’m talking out of turn now... so if we could just settle on tomorrow”

  “that’s fine, i’ll come by tomorrow, the same order?”

  “the same, did it have fried egg?”

  “it did”

  “and onion?”

  “that, too”

  “so it’s g-o-o-d”

  “what time should i come?”

  “the same as always”

  “but are you always here at this time, or are you at the station?”

  “i’m collateral”

  “what do you mean?”

  “if i’m not here, i’ll be there, you just bring the merchandise and i’ll hand it over”

  “but you’ll really hand it over?”

  “oh, so you think i’m not going to hand it over? i’ll take a sample, the rest is for your son”

  “can you tell me if he’s well? he doesn’t need medicine?”

  “medicine?”

  “yes, he’s wounded”

  “well, i can ask tomorrow, geez, what time is it?”

  “it’s well after—” Granma Humps said

  “then i’ve got to get going, Senhor Ornato...”

  “it’s Odonato”

  “yes, Odonato, see you tomorrow, it’s business hours for me, if i don’t move they’re going to say the police don’t do any work”

  “until tomorrow”

  “excuse me, mother,” Belo shook Granma Humps’s hand

  “have a good day and be careful not to trip on your way out”

  “i already know my way out,” Belo, laughing, left

  but Granma Humps, a lady steeped in ancient wisdom, wasn’t referring to the gate

  “did you see that, Senhor Odonato?”

  “see what, mother?”

  “i don’t want to meddle in other people’s suffering, but you know that men lie a lot, right?”

  “thank you, Dona Humps”

  the sun had softened a bit and in reality Odonato felt tempted to let his body lie where it was, in that cool, appetizing shade, but it didn’t make sense, nothing now held him to this place

  “are you going already?” a coy voice said from the window

  Ninon took advantage of the afternoon, and the sunlight, to put a huge smile on her face

  “don’t you want to lie down for a bit? to rest? or maybe to tire yourself out?” the young girl laughed

  “no, thanks”

  “then come back another day”

  “all right,” Odonato got up, cast a last look at the dog, whistled a farewell at the parrot, and did not hide his hands when Granma Humps looked at them, confirming what she had suspected from the beginning

  “thank you, senhora”

  he left through the gate, holding in his nostrils the dull odour of the grill where the fish had burned.

  at nightfall Luanda was suffused by a pleasant coolness and the sound of car horns and jackhammers was replaced by a l
ulling lethargy, and by the sound of radios, which turned the metropolis into an almost pleasant place in which to idle away the time

  the candongueiros undertook their bewildering work, transporting the population from its more or less official workplaces to its more or less comfortable, more or less dignified homes, for on the subject of dignity much may be said or conjectured

  that which in some countries is a hearth, made up of a certain combination of objects and possibilities, in another might not be so at all, since, in human terms, on the most varied continents, it’s force of habit that dictates which circumstances each citizen regards as acceptable, collectively unbearable, or democratically fair and just

  “as somebody else used to say,” the Leftist proposed a toast, “to Caesar that which is Caesar’s and to the rest whatever they can grab!”

  drinks flowed steadily at Noah’s Barque, sometimes in silence, sometimes in words half-spoken, listening to the news, or the rumours brought in from the street, here time seemed to have come to rest in some broad net that beckoned the people and things of this world into idleness

  “you have to be careful with this thing called progress,” the Leftist was saying, pointing at a nearby sidewalk, where an enormous placard with the acronym CIROL stood next to other advertising

  “don’t tell me you know something other people here don’t,” Noah opened the ark, checked that everything was in its proper place, cast a quick glance at the lighted lamp, closed up again and served another round of good, cold beer

  “i know what everybody knows: haste makes waste”

  “haste?”

  “you have to read between the lines, my friends... everybody’s lost it, they’re convinced they’re going to find oil in their own backyard... but i’m not going around with my eyes shut, i may be going around drinking, but i’m not going around asleep...”

  “how’s that?”

  “you only reading the big stories? the banner headlines? you have to read everything that’s in the papers, from the most official to the most officious... did anybody here read the name of a certain Raago, the American? did anybody hear or see the first interviews he gave?”

  “the specialist guy?” somebody said

  “but what kind of name’s that?”

  “the specialist, yeah... the great scientist, i’ve read about him before, it’s not the first time i’ve heard about that guy”

  “spill it, man”

  “there’s a controversy, my friends... in his first interviews he spoke about exercising care, about risks, potential consequences, now you never hear him... the system must have already set its course, now they just talk about the advantages, they’ve already opened a new water distribution system... where have you ever heard of such a thing!... privatizing water...”

  “but isn’t it just the distribution system, keeping track of the pipes and so on?”

  “wake up, guys... what distribution?! so now the state needs somebody from the private sector to distribute water? and we just sit here in silence, is that it? the state admits, ‘i can’t distribute quality drinking water, but this gentleman, whose name is actually Crystal-Clear, yeah, sure, he can do it! from now on, water will be well distributed, well purified! long live water privatization!’ but where have we seen that before?”

  “you don’t have to act like that either, man”

  “keep sleeping, then...” the Leftist said with an ironic and sad and disappointed and serious air, “keep sleeping while they stick their finger up your ass with their unclipped nails...keep sleeping while they anaesthetize you with doses of supposed modernity! and pretty cars, and an internet that doesn’t even work, and a new Marginal with buildings put up on land dredged without asking Kianda’s blessing, and drill the city’s body without listening to others who already drilled their own cities’ bodies, about how it didn’t work out... listen here, sleepyheads, it didn’t work out there and here, because we’re stupid, blind, and conniving, that’s to say, because we are globally corrupt, here, too, the city is going to be drilled, water is going to be privatized, oil is going to be sucked up from under our houses, under our noses, from beneath our dignity... while the politicians pretend to be politicians... while the people sleep... while the people sleep...”

  a harsh silence, the sound of thoughts finally being processed, was broken only by the sound of four or five men doing what seemed to be all they could do at that moment, chugging noisily from their beers, staring into the distance without looking each other in the eyes, scratching their heads and their chests, letting the walls of the place speak in muted voices, raised over men’s the muted voices

  “don’t fuck with me...”

  the Leftist concluded, seating himself at his table, pulling his endless supply of papers out of his attaché case, and beginning to write without stopping.

  far off, in that limited far off that Luanda allows, close to the sea

  walking along the Marginal, allowing the salt from the whitecaps to seep into his skin, Odonato wandered as he hadn’t done for a long time, absorbing the voices and the noises, the honking of car horns and the shouted insults, the finely tuned horizontal beauty of the National Bank of Angola, the smells of Baleizão Square now with no ice cream for sale, the strangely chaotic vision of the ruined buildings beneath the hilltop foundations of the São Miguel Fortress, the bay’s extensive, elongated breadth, like the smile of some Luandan adolescent, the peaceful murmur of the coconut palms that had withstood time and construction on the Marginal’s sidewalks, taking in the spectacle of billboards announcing the latest and most expensive cellphones and jeeps

  he smiled in the manner of those accustomed to smiling to themselves

  a few years ago he could count his friends with cars, allowing for the fact those cars might be owned by the State, or even borrowed, back in the time when you could ask for a ride in the street or a glass of cold water at the gate of an unfamiliar backyard, in the time when carnivals were danced by weaving bodies in front of crowds of smiling people

  the people always find an excuse for a celebration, their joyfulness remains their own, it cannot be predicted or bought, at most it’s induced, and even then doesn’t happen as expected

  Odonato smiled

  watching the sea and the bay now infested with human intrusions that shrank it, the areas reclaimed by dredging revising the original contours of its body shaped only by the sea, the currents and the gales, or by time, that greatest of machines which, in the final instance, is the force freest to suggest that we change or cease our human activities

  «it’s time»

  the semitransparent man thought, heading home, not wishing to delay and concern his wife, already much given to the arts of supposition and chronic worry.

  “it’s time,” the production assistant said

  and Little Daddy, more nervous than he’d expected, was taken to an enormous room with intense white lighting, where three television cameras pointed at him as though it were judgment day

  “and what do i say now?” he asked

  “you have one minute to explain that you’re looking for your mother, the important thing is to say where you fled from, the last time you saw your family, the province and the neighbourhood you come from, and also say where you are... if you’re lucky...”

  the word “luck” stuck in his head, it had taken him a number of years to understand the mysteries of this term, he’d slept in the street, he’d taken drugs, he’d stolen food and clothing, and in some way life had seen fit to arrange his time and his activities, he approached the building, he didn’t really remember how, he began to wash cars and earn people’s trust until he was given permission to spend the night there, first at the back of the building, in the company of countless cockroaches and mosquitoes, later inside its doors, a spot where it was unclear whether he was on the ground floor or on a landing on the notorious fir
st floor with its mysterious waters, until, by virtue of a consensus reached among the residents, during the business of a condominium meeting, he was granted the very much abandoned third floor, if he accepted it and wouldn’t take offence, it was completely emptied out and dark, well-ventilated by missing doors and windows, and he accepted it with emotion and gratitude, and on that first night, thrilled finally to have a roof over his head, he was unable to sleep, he spent the night feeling the strangeness of the silence created by the night and the absence of cockroaches, confirming that the permanent coolness kept the mosquitoes away and that even on the hottest nights the site remained ventilated, a powerful upheaval shook his chest and his eyes, he cried quietly in a corner, and he remained still for a long time until day broke, accepting the salt of his tears on his hands and the tremulous spasms of his stomach making his whole body quiver, and only later, beneath the first rays of pre-dawn sunlight, did he think of that word that they now applied to him—luck—not with a thorough consciousness of its meaning, but making do with whatever the word’s echo might be, and his body grew still, and his tears stopped and he tried to believe that yes, Luanda and some of its people had granted him a big, lucky break, which started right there, on the third floor of that building, during a night of nervous invocations and self-admonishing memories,

  “hey, buddy, you ready to record?” the Brazilian assistant understood the boy’s suffering, brought him a glass of water and gave his shoulder a gentle touch, “it’s like getting a vaccination, you know? just a little prick... and before you know it, it’s over... are we gonna record?”

  in the studio next door

  they brought a special, comfortable chair, and Edú said he was ready to record

  before he’d had a long conversation with Fató about the key points to raise and the questions to which he should not, under any circumstances, reply in order not to compromise himself relating to either the past or the future

  the lights irritated his eyes

  for Edú the experience was more like a music hall, a world that exercised a certain attraction and fascination over him, he had even inquired whether the lights would be sufficiently strong to illuminate the bulk of his seated body, as well as the mbumbi swelling in his crotch