The Abyss

by Lara Blunte

  Sometimes this longing for him took the shape of elaborate thoughts or memories that would last for hours on end, and she would understand why the church tried to forbid lust, because it seemed to scorch her like a fire going through endless land.

  The next day she would be at the window to watch his easy movement onto the saddle as he prepared to go to work, his strong legs gripping the horse, his tanned hands holding the reins or a coiled whip that he used to pull down branches and guide animals. She would see how strong he was, how savage his eyes. She knew it was wrong that the frown on his face should make her want him, and that it was certainly wicked that she should sigh and shiver when he rode home in the afternoon all grimy.

  Get these thoughts out of my mind! she would beg in her little chapel and in church on Sunday.

  The servants would take up the water for his bath and she was thinking of his body, made strong and muscular by physical effort; she could not have felt hungrier than if she had not eaten in a week, and a meal that was not for her were being served in another room.

  The days were getting hot, and in the afternoon Teté closed the shutters of to keep the heat out, but Clara would not nap, she would think of her husband and turn to all sides in bed and then face down, pressing her body against the mattress.

  The days were getting hot, and Gabriel thought no less of her, and was no less persecuted by his thoughts.

  He had withstood other times of abstinence in his life, when he would not touch a woman for months. When he had courted Clara in Lisbon he had not thought it decent that he should go from her house to another woman's arms. When he had been in the mountains looking for his fortune, weeks might go by without him seeing Iaci in Salvador.

  But he was now living in close quarters with a wife who seemed to get more beautiful by the day. He knew well what she was like under the skirt and shirt she had made, or under the short sleeved sheer dress she would wear at night for supper.

  When she looked down at her dish, his eyes could not help going to her breasts, to the medallion that hung tantalizingly between them from a thin gold chain. When he walked behind her to light the way to her room, he could divine the small waist underneath her clothes, he could see her hips swaying, he could almost touch her arms, or her neck.

  Give me strength, he would mutter, because he was always a second away from doing what she wanted him to do.

  He had said he would never touch her again and he would inflict the same fate on himself, like the Grand Inquisitor that he was meant to be, but she was a terrible temptation. He wanted to forbid her from wearing her hair down in long curls, or from putting on clothes that revealed her form, or from even looking at him.

  The days were getting hot and when he watched her come in from a ride, or from cutting flowers in the garden, and he saw her brilliant black eyes, her lips, and the drops of perspiration on her skin he had enough to torment him for days.

  Pai Bernardo saw him staring at the saint he was carving and chuckled silently. The man seemed to know what he was thinking. There must be gossip coming from the house that husband and wife did not sleep together, and anyone would know that, whatever reason there were for it, staying away from a woman like Clara would be the closest thing to impossible.

  But then, with his ability to control his impulses, he might have made a model priest. There was the pride he had in being able to stop himself from doing what he considered wrong, the same pride that had kept him from sinking into mindless lust as so many men did.

  He wanted Clara so badly that it physically hurt him every day, but he would not give in to this desire, even if he thought less and less of the Baron, and more and more of her.

  On his way back to the house from Bernardo's cottage he would pass the servants' quarters and some of the women there would be watching him. There was an African as beautiful as a queen with her long neck and fine shoulders, her perfect body and mouth. There was a girl with burnished skin and light eyes who always smiled at him. There was a cabocla with hair down to her waist and a narrow oblique gaze that promised pleasure.

  He would pass by them all as Ulysses had sailed by the sirens, yearning for his wife all the time. Instead of paying any attention to the temptresses, he would go to the big waterfall and sit underneath the weight of freezing water, letting it beat on his shoulders like punishment. He was not completely devoid of humor, and more than once he laughed out loud reflecting that he was the opposite of all men on earth: able to have any woman he wanted, but wanting only the woman he had married.

  The Baron was fading from his mind, and Gabriel held on to the thought of him like a man drowning might hold on to the wreck of his ship. If he gave in Clara would conquer him, and he didn't yet trust who she was.

  Then the torture would begin again at supper, when she would appear smelling of flowers, her skin smooth and probably cool to the touch, her lashes long, a pulse beating in her throat.

  He would walk her to her room, and sometimes he would allow himself to be so close to her that her dress touched him, but he would bow his head, wish her good night and walk the opposite way.

  So husband and wife would go to their separate beds, and each would lie thinking of the other so relentlessly that the ghosts that they would one day become would get up and move outside, past Pride, the grim sentinel at their doors. Their spirits would meet halfway along the corridors and make wild love all night, as their bodies longed to do.

  Twenty-Two: The Land and the Foreman

  In one month a great event for the estate would take place: the Botada.

  The sugar cane would be cut in fifteen days, and fifteen days after that the mills would start turning, but not without first being blessed by a priest, and not without a lot of food, music and presents for the workers and servants in a celebration that would last all day.

  Gabriel had left for Rio on royal business, but he would be back for the cutting of the cane. It was backbreaking toil to cut so much cane by hand, and he would be among the workers doing his bit, as he had been the year before. He did not ask of others what he did not do himself, as Clara knew only too well.

  She had been entrusted by him with the preparations for the Botada, and she felt nervous and happy at the same time, and meant to prepare a feast to be remembered. She wanted to return the affection she had received from everyone she had met so far in the estate, and she knew that, from the smallest child to the oldest servant, they talked of nothing else at Caprichosa than the upcoming holiday.

  Lucia and Maninha had both overseen the only Botada under Gabriel the year before, so they told her what had been done, and what they thought could be improved.

  For one, they explained, Dom Gabriel had had little patience with the mass and had wanted it to be short, when the people on the estate who had been born Christian, or had converted, felt it necessary to be blessed in the place where they worked, so that no accidents or disease might befall them.

  Also, they explained after looking at each other, Dom Gabriel had not stayed to the end of the feast, though his people had wanted to honor him with songs and dancing.

  Clara shook her head slightly, and could not help a sly smile, "Dom Gabriel will be there this time!" She looked at Maninha, suddenly businesslike, "When will the man come with the pork for us to taste?"

  "He promised to come today," Maninha answered. "He said the pigs would be killed yesterday."

  "If the pork is very good we shall order plenty, and sinhô has given instructions about how many cows to kill, and how many chickens," Clara said. "No one should go even slightly hungry!"

  "Oh, you don't know how your people can eat!" Lucia said, opening her eyes.

  Clara went through the rest of the list of things she wanted to know and after Lucia went back to her duties, she walked toward an earthenware pot on the fire and sniffed, "I love the smell of clove!"

  "That is my banana pudding," Maninha said. "It's the first time I am making it for you, as the banana had to be right."

 
"Send me some now!" Clara asked as she went toward the breakfast room.

  A hearty and delicious meal was brought to her. Everything smelled so good and fresh that she couldn't help sticking spoons in all the bowls and putting things in a dish for her, and another one for Guelo, who had come to stand next to her, holding on to her skirt as he usually did.

  Guelo particularly loved papaya and mango, but now he was making huge eyes at Maninha's banana and clove pudding, and lapping his lips.

  "You'll spoil him, sinhá," Celso said, shaking his head. "That silly Teté already does enough of that."

  "I know you are right,' Clara said, caressing the boy's hair. "But I can't help it. It's only a little while longer. He was so sad only a month ago, and is only beginning to be happy now."

  "Sinhô is not going to like it," Celso insisted. "He will grow up soft!"

  Clara thought of the hard life Celso had led, as he had been taken prisoner in the Congo and brought over as a slave. Before being freed by Gabriel he had run away so many times that his legs had been broken on purpose, so that now he had a limp and could only work in the house. Clara thought it must be difficult for a strong man like him not to be outdoors, and understood why he was more skittish than the other servants.

  "Will you send someone to the stables, to tell Jiló that I am ready to go out?" Clara asked.

  Celso nodded and walked away.

  "I can't stop spoiling you yet," Clara said to Guelo, putting another spoonful of banana pudding in his mouth. "But I will have to, soon. It's true that sinhô won't like it..."

  The boy looked at her without understanding most of what she said, but he was so adorable that she had to refrain from raining kisses on his cheeks. She felt the usual cold pain in her stomach at the thought that she might never have a child of her own; but instead of entertaining that fear, she got out of her chair and ran up the stairs. Guelo followed her, still holding on to her skirt, but he was firmly closed out of her bedroom by Teté, who was there to help Clara bathe and dress. Guelo sat on the floor outside the door and crossed his arms, waiting.

  "You look so beautiful, sinhá!" Teté cried when she was done dressing her.

  Clara wore a crisp white shirt with a collar like a man's, and a white linen skirt that allowed her to ride comfortably. The boots of supple leather that Pai Bernardo had made for her were on her feet, and the seamstress had also fashioned a flat black hat to keep the sun from her face.

  She ran down the stairs with Teté right behind her, and the open door revealed that Jiló was already waiting with Sugar.

  "Oh! My riding stick!" she cried.

  Teté shrieked, turned and ran up again, with Guelo on her wake. Lucia was at the door, frowning, "Don't scream, Teté, and don't run inside the house, how many times do I have to tell you? And look out for the boy, or he will fall and break his head!"

  Clara greeted Jiló and accepted his help to mount Sugar. Teté was already running down the stairs with Guelo, "I'm coming, I'm here!"

  She slowed down when she passed Lucia, but ran again on the gravel to hand the riding stick to Clara.

  "Oh, I wish I could go with you!" she told her mistress.

  Clara laughed, "Then don't be such a ninny and learn how to ride!"

  She turned the filly, nodding at Jiló, and then urged Sugar into a light gallop.

  "Cuidado, be careful!" Teté cried, running after them for a bit. "Oh, I am out of breath!"

  "Cuidado!" Guelo still cried after Clara.

  The sun was hot, though it was only seven o'clock, but Clara couldn't help feeling happy. It was December, and it felt like high summer already. Sometimes the heat brought sudden tempests, but she liked the smell of the earth and the grass once they passed, and liked to be on the verandah afterwards to hear the birds as they recovered from being wet. Just the night before she had gone out with Sebastião and Guelo to look at the frogs sleeping inside the bromeliads after the rain, and to hear them croaking.

  It was almost a year since she had arrived in Brazil, and more than a year since she had left Lisbon, but she was happy that her life would now be in this wild place, in this house filled with beautiful things her husband had bought for her, in the land that she would now explore for the first time, taking advantage of his absence.

  She had asked Jiló to go through the river, which was the quickest route to the plantations; she knew it was the way that Gabriel had taken the day before to Paraty, so as to embark from there toward Rio.

  For weeks she had longed to follow this trail and discover more about the estate, but she had hung back because it was Gabriel's daily route. She had waited until she could do it on her own, and not feel that she was imposing her presence on him.

  Clara was rewarded with a ride through a forest with huge ancient trees wrapped in vines. Liana fell from the branches as if they had been deposited there thousands of years ago, and moss covered the stones on the ground. There were so many shades of green that, loving color, she would yet have been unable to reproduce them all. There was silence, too, as if they had entered a venerable place, a place almost like a cathedral with a tall canopy of leaves for a roof. It seemed as if blue butterflies were following them, and birds of all colors looked down and tweeted as they passed.

  The silence was replaced by the roar of the river as they approached. She looked at the water rushing by, limpid and probably cold. When they arrived at the natural pool formed by the big waterfall, there were laundresses washing the house linen, beating it against the stones and chatting. They had lit a fire underneath a cauldron, where the white clothes and sheets were being boiled.

  "Sinhá!"

  "Sinhá!"

  Their voices rose in greeting and laughter as she waved to them.

  Jiló led her away from the banks of the river after a while, and she heard singing before they arrived at a part of the woods that was being cleared. The scene that opened before her eyes was quite impressive, with two men on horseback watching workers cut enormous trees, or carry their trunks.

  One of the men looked toward them, his face half hidden by his hat. He rode in their direction and Clara recognized Tarcisio, the foreman she had met on the day she arrived at Caprichosa. Since then she had only seen him from the window of her room, as he went to meet Gabriel in the library for business. He smiled and tipped his hat.

  "Dona Clara, what a surprise!"

  "Good morning, Tarcisio! I hope I am not intruding."

  "Not at all!"

  "I came to finally see what we plant and how! And to see the mill, as I am preparing the Botada!"

  "I will gladly show you, if you want."

  She turned Sugar toward him and told Jiló to wait for her. She and Tarcisio set out on their horses.

  "Just through there," he pointed.

  They started trotting until they were clear of the forest, and then they were on open land, with the hills in the distance. Clara's eyes widened in wonder at how much land there was: it seemed to go on and on, just as Teté had told her.

  She laughed, "Good heavens, it's like a whole country!"

  Tarcisio smiled at her with strong white teeth, his dark eyes crinkling. He had the easy friendliness of the Brazilians, the ability to seem like a person one had known forever within a few minutes. Clara realized that she was riding alone with him and wondered if Jiló should have come, but he was explaining the crops to her, and she forgot any misgivings as she listened to him.

  "Dom Gabriel has dedicated all this land to sugar cane," Tarcisio said as he motioned with his hand. "And he makes a tidy profit from it, here and abroad. If you look at the slopes of the hills, he has been planting coffee. He believes it will become more and more important. Beyond there, he has planted cocoa, we will be selling it for the first time this year. People are mad for chocolate, and I think he is right to plant it, and it will do very well. Then there is cotton, beyond that part there. With the coming of the prince, there are more people than ever wanting to buy these things, not to mention the big m
arkets in Europe."

  She narrowed her eyes at what he was showing as they went by the different crops, watching the workers.

  "What are they singing?" she asked.

  "Those over there are malungos," Tarcisio explained. "That means they came on the same ship, so they have a special bond. God knows what they might be saying!"

  "I presume they get along like brothers," she said somewhat wryly.

  Tarcisio let out a small laugh, "Until they meet malungos from another ship and another tribe, or the free men born here! Then there might be some words. But Dom Gabriel is no innocent, he has laid down the law. When fights occur, they are given a chance and if they do it again they are sent packing. People don't usually want to leave, not when they have good working conditions, good living quarters, and a wage."

  "Do they ever get violent?"

  He nodded, "A little bit of cachaça on Sunday and some can get testy, but if they pull out a knife, they're thrown out without a hearing, so it happens only rarely."

  "I know many of them are married, with babies. Does that not make them behave better?"

  Tarcisio pushed the hat off his head and ran a hand over his dark hair, "Well, as soon as a wife enters the picture, the man tends to behave. I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of one these African women!" He threw her a mischievous look that was free from insolence. "I wouldn't want to be on the bad side of any woman!"

  Clara smiled and stood listening for a moment, then said, "Their singing is quite beautiful!"

  "Oh, you'll hear their drums at the Botada, it's hard to stand still when you listen to them."

  As they rode further, Clara saw a white man in a tent, and a small line of workers outside. He was dressed in an impeccable white shirt and cravat, his grey hair meticulously brushed.