Raised from the Ground (31 page)

Faustina Mau-Tempo and her two daughters come and go outside the barracks. They are in tears and anxious, they don’t know what their husband and father stands accused of, only that he will be taken to Vendas Novas, and as ill luck would have it, as the saying goes, the three of them, for one reason or another, are absent when the jeep from Vendas Novas arrives, complete with a patrol armed with rifles and bayonets, to fetch the criminal. When mother and daughters return, they will learn that João Mau-Tempo is no longer there, and they are left standing out in the street, at the door of the barracks, to which entry is barred, He’s not here now, that’s all we know, go home and you’ll be kept informed, they say these words to the poor women, but they are pure mockery, just as the guards who came from Vendas Novas to get João Mau-Tempo mocked him when they said, Hop in, we’re off on a little trip. The guard would never normally invite him to go anywhere, with transport paid for by the nation, which pays for all these things and out of our pockets too, and João Mau-Tempo would love to travel, to leave the latifundio and see other lands, but now that he has been dubbed a dangerous element, no thought is given to the inconvenience caused to the guards, who enjoy their rest, nor to the price of gasoline, nor to the depreciation in the value of the vehicle, and they immediately provide a jeep and a patrol complete with rifles and bayonets to go to Monte Lavre to find the malefactor and bring him safely to Vendas Novas, Hop in, we’re off on a little trip, if that isn’t mockery, I don’t know what is.

The journey is brief and silent, the guards’ fount of jokes, always the same, soon runs dry, and João Mau-Tempo, after much thought, says to himself that he might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, and that no one will get any compromising information out of him, if I were to talk, it would be better if all the mirrors in the world were shattered and all the eyes of those who come to see me were closed, so that I would never have to see my own face again. This road has many memories, it was here that Augusto Pintéu died crossing the stream with his mule cart, and over there, behind that hill, was where I first lay with Faustina, it was winter and the grass was wet, I wouldn’t do it now, but that’s youth for you. And he can taste in his mouth the bread and chorizo they ate afterward, their first meal as man and wife according to the laws of nature. João Mau-Tempo puts his hand to his eyes as if they were burning, all right, they’re tears, and a guard says, Don’t cry, man, and another adds, His sort only cry when they’re caught, but that isn’t true, I’m not crying, retorts João Mau-Tempo, and he’s right, even though his eyes are full of tears, it’s not his fault that the guards lack any understanding of their fellow man.

João Mau-Tempo is in the barracks at Vendas Novas now, the journey was all a dream, and this PIDE agent, there’s no mistaking him, once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, and João Mau-Tempo has more than enough experience of them, this agent says, while the barracks commander is picking at his teeth, Yep, this is the gentleman who’ll be coming on a little trip to Lisbon with me, what is it with these people, they all talk about going on trips, let’s go on a little trip, they say, and sometimes these are trips from which you don’t return, that’s what you hear anyway, but meanwhile, the agent turns to a guard and gives an order, the commander is here to obey, he’s a stooge, a toady. Take this man to the recreation room so he can rest until tomorrow, and João Mau-Tempo feels someone grab his arm roughly and take him out the back, into a garden, the guards love gardens, perhaps their many sins will be forgiven them because of their love of flowers, which means that not everything is lost in their hardened souls, a moment of beauty and grace redeems the worst of crimes in the eyes of the supreme judge, like this crime of taking João Mau-Tempo from Monte Lavre and throwing him into a temporary dungeon and into other, more permanent ones, not to mention what will happen later. For now, it’s a provincial cell, and over there is a truckle bed with a mat and a bundle of foul blankets, and here’s a jug of water, he’s so thirsty, he raises it to his lips and finds that the water is warm, but he drinks only after the guard has left, and now I can cry, don’t laugh at me, I’m forty-four, but forty-four is nothing, you’re still a lad, in the prime of life, don’t say that on the latifundio and to my face, when I feel so tired and when there’s this pain in my side that never leaves me and these lines and wrinkles that the mirror can still, for the time being, show me, if this is the prime of life, then allow me to weep.

We will pass over the night during which João Mau-Tempo did not sleep but merely paced up and down, not wanting to rest his body on the bed. Day dawns, he is weary and anxious, what will become of me, and when nine o’clock struck, the door opens and the guard says, Come out where I can see you, that’s how he speaks, he hasn’t been taught any other way, and the PIDE agent says, It’s time to catch the train and set off on our little trip. And they leave, accompanied to the door by the commander of the barracks, who is very scrupulous and polite in such matters, See you, then, he says, and although João Mau-Tempo may be innocent, he is not so innocent as to think that this farewell is intended for him, but on the way to the station, he says, Sir, I swear I’m innocent. If the train wasn’t about to leave, we could sit here and debate what it means to be innocent, and whether João Mau-Tempo truly believes in that oath and how he can believe in what appears to be a perjury, and we would discover, if we had time and intelligence enough, the difference between being innocently blameless and blamelessly innocent, although such subtleties are lost on João Mau-Tempo’s companion, who responds angrily, Stop your bellyaching, they’ll straighten you out in Lisbon.

Let us pass over the journey too, since it does not appear in the history of railways in Portugal. Such is the body’s sovereign power over us that João Mau-Tempo even dozed a little, lulled to sleep by the swaying carriage and the clatter of the wheels over the rails, clackety-clack, but each time, he started awake, terrified to discover that he wasn’t dreaming. Then there was the boat to Terreiro do Paço, what if I threw myself into the water, these are black thoughts, I want to die and not heroically either, what is unusual about João Mau-Tempo is that he has never seen a film and therefore doesn’t know how easy and much applauded is that leap from the side of the boat, the impeccable dive and the swim American-style that carries the fugitive to the mysterious chartered yacht that waits at a distance, along with the veiled countess who, in order to be there, has broken the sacred bonds of family and the rules of her aristocratic heritage. But João Mau-Tempo will only learn later that he is the son of the king and sole heir to the throne, three cheers for King João Mau-Tempo, king of Portugal, the boat moors at the pontoon, and the man who was asleep wakes up, and by the time he does so, there are two men standing over him, Is he the only one, they ask, and the man who came with João Mau-Tempo answers, Yes, he’s the only one this time.

Let us also pass over without much comment the journey through the city, the trams, the many cars, the passersby, the statue of Dom José on his horse,
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now which one is the horse’s right leg, João Mau-Tempo recognizes the various places, how could one forget such a big square and the arches, bigger than those in Giraldo square in Évora, but then suddenly everything is new to him, these steep, narrow streets, and just when he is finding the journey long, it becomes all too short, this half-door opening obliquely, the fly has been caught in the spider’s web, we need no better or more original image.

And now there are stairs to climb. João Mau-Tempo is still flanked by the two men, well, you can’t be too careful, high security, he is, after all, a dangerous element. Above and below, it’s like a termites’ nest, a hive of buzzing drones and ringing telephones, but as they go up, first floor, second floor, across wide landings, the noise and bustle diminish, they meet fewer people, and on the third floor there is almost complete silence, only the muted sounds of car engines and the vague murmur of the city in the heat of the afternoon. These are the attic rooms and this corridor leads to a long, low chamber where the ceiling is almost at head height, and some other men are sitting on long benches, and I am going to sit down next to them, I, João Mau-Tempo, native and inhabitant of Monte Lavre, forty-four years old, the son of Domingos Mau-Tempo, shoemaker, and Sara da Conceição, madwoman, and I have been dubbed a dangerous element, as Corporal Tacabo at the local barracks was kind enough to inform me. The other men sitting there look at João Mau-Tempo, but no one says a word. This is the house of patience, and here we await our immediate destiny. The roof is right above our heads, it creaks in the heat, if you poured water on it, it would boil, and João Mau-Tempo hasn’t eaten for more than twenty-four hours, and for him there is no heat, it’s a winter’s day, he shivers as if he were exposed to the December wind blowing across the latifundio, with no more protection than his own bare skin. That is exactly what it is like, for this is the bench of the naked, every man for himself, they will not help each other, you must clothe yourself in strength and determination, in the loneliness of the moors, in the high soaring flight of the red kite who finally descends to ground level to count his own and test their courage.

However, the victims must be fed, we don’t want to lose them sooner than would be convenient. Half an hour passed, and another, and finally in came some kitchen servant or other, bringing each prisoner a bowl of prison soup and two deciliters of wine, a kind thought from the nation to these her stepchildren, I hope they’re grateful. And as João Mau-Tempo was scraping the bowl with his spoon, he heard one policeman say to the other, they were standing by the door keeping watch over the flock and shuffling papers, That guy’s being handed over to Inspector Paveia, and the other replied, Rather him than me, and João Mau-Tempo said to himself, That’s me they’re talking about, and, as he found out later, it would have been far better not to have known. The plates and glasses were taken away, and the waiting continued, what will become of us, it was nearly night when they got their marching orders, some were being sent here and some there, Caxias or Aljube, provisional billets, there would be further moves, all of them to worse places, as the name became a face, so the face became a target. And the voice of Dona Patrocínio, a functionary in this socially useful service, was definitely the voice of the nation, So-and-so is to go there, So-and-so somewhere else, she could not have a better name as patron of displacements, it’s the same with Dona Clemência, who is now doubtless chatting with Father Agamedes, I hear that João Mau-Tempo has been arrested, Yes, Senhora, he’s paid for all his sins at once, and to think I went out of my way to help him and others, He seemed such a decent fellow, They’re always the worst, Senhora Dona Clemência, they’re always the worst, He wasn’t even a drinking man, If only he had been, then he wouldn’t have been tempted into such evil actions, What evil actions, Ah, that I don’t know, but if he was innocent, they wouldn’t have arrested him, Perhaps we should give his wife some help, You’re a saint, Senhora Dona Clemência, if it wasn’t for your kind patronage, I don’t know what would become of these wretches, but leave it for a while, and see if they learn to be less proud, because that’s their worst defect, pride, You’re quite right, Father Agamedes, and pride is a mortal sin, The worst of all sins, Senhora Dona Clemência, because it is pride that causes a man to rise up against his employer and his god.

On the way back, the truck passed through Boa-Hora to pick up some prisoners who were being tried there. All of this is carefully measured and calculated, according to the order of service, the police van must be used to capacity, it’s like saying, you have to take the rough with the smooth, and given how poor the nation is, the prisoners would be the first to agree, indeed, they might even suggest it, Let’s pass through Boa-Hora, and some will think, Hmm, Boa-Hora, Good-Hour, what an inappropriate name, and pick up those who are being judged by the worthy judges, and then we can all go together, it’ll make for better company, it’s just a shame we don’t have a guitar with which to accompany our sorrows. João Mau-Tempo has never traveled so much in his life. Or, rather, as much as any other man in the latifundio, but not as much as his son António, now a soldier, but who traveled a lot in the past, driven by life’s obligations and the needs of his stomach, with his knapsack on his back, with hoe and scythe, ax and adze, but the latifundio is the same everywhere, some parts have more cork oaks or holm oaks, some have more wheat or rice, some have guards or overseers or managers or foremen, it makes no difference, this, however, is quite different, a good tarmacked road, and if it were daytime, you’d be able to see more clearly. The nation really looks after its disobedient sons, as one can tell from these high, secure walls and the care the guards take over their work, they’re a real plague, they’re everywhere, or were they cursed at birth and this is their fate, to be wherever the suffering are, although not to minister to their misfortunes, that is why they have neither eyes nor hands, but say, Hop into the jeep, we’re off on a little trip, or Move along, or Go on, we’re off to the barracks, or You stole some acorns, so pay the fine and take a beating, they must have studied, otherwise they wouldn’t be guards, because no one was born a guard.

Which, do you think, are the narrator’s thoughts, and which are João Mau-Tempo’s, both are right, and if there are any mistakes, they are shared mistakes. This bureaucracy of registers, index cards and papers is there from the day we’re born, we take no notice of it, unless one day we’re allowed to come here and find out in detail what actually went on, from the dotted line on which his name is written, João Mau-Tempo, forty-four years old, married, native and inhabitant of Monte Lavre, where’s that, in the district of Montemor-o-Novo, well, you must be a good sort. They take João Mau-Tempo into a room along with other prisoners, sleep if you can, and if you’re hungry, tough, because suppertime is long gone. The door closes, the world vanishes. Monte Lavre is a dream, and Faustina is deaf, poor thing, however, let us not say, out of some foolish superstition, that this is the hour of bats and owls, poor creatures, it’s not their fault they’re ugly, you perhaps are convinced that you’re handsome, now who’s a fool.