Raised from the Ground (45 page)

It isn’t Sunday today, but in this rain, with the fields waterlogged, no one can go to work. João Mau-Tempo will have all of his small family around him, apart from those who live far away and cannot come, his sister Maria da Conceição, who still works as a maid in Lisbon, still with the same employers, for such examples of loyalty do exist, give them some gold dust and, when you come back, you’ll find it all still there and possibly more besides, and his brother Anselmo, who went to live up north and was never heard of again, perhaps he’s dead, perhaps he’s gone on ahead, like Domingos in whatever year it was he died, who remembers now and who cares. Some lives are erased more completely than others, but that’s because we have so many things to think about, we end up not noticing those lives until there comes a day when we regret our neglect, I was wrong, we say, I should have paid more attention, exactly, if only we’d had those feelings earlier, but these are merely twinges of remorse that arise and, fortunately, are almost immediately forgotten. His daughter Amélia will not be there either, as we know, she has worked as a maid in a house in Montemor ever since she was a girl, she was lucky, though, to have been able to visit him in the hospital and keep him company, and she has been able to save enough money to buy false teeth, her one little luxury, alas, her smile came too late to save her. Some friends will be missing too, Tomás Espada, who long withstood the absence of his wife Flor Martinha, no one ever saw their wrists bound together by a piece of string, but then some things that are invisible nevertheless exist, perhaps the people themselves would be unable to explain how, but Sigismundo Canastro, the oldest friend of all, will come, and Joana Canastra will help as much as she can, if only to console Faustina, for they have known each other so long they do not even need to speak, but will simply exchange a look, with no tears shed, because Faustina won’t be able to cry and Joana never has, these are mysteries of nature, who can say why it is that this woman can’t weep and the other doesn’t know how.

António Mau-Tempo, my son, will be here too, he has just got up and is still barefoot, How are you feeling, Father, and I, who know that today is the day of my death, answer, Fine, perhaps he’ll believe me, he’s leaning on the frame at the foot of the bed, looking at me, he obviously doesn’t believe me, you can’t convince someone of something if you don’t believe it yourself, he’s still a long way from fifty, but France really finished him off, as everything does in the end, this pain, this pang, or perhaps it isn’t the pang of pain itself but some underlying ache, even I don’t know. And my son-in-law Manuel Espada will come, and my daughter Gracinda, they will both be here at my bedside, beside this bed from which I will be carried out, probably by Manuel and António, because they have more strength, but the women will wash me, that’s usually women’s work, to wash the corpse, ah, the things women have to do, at least I won’t hear them crying. And there’ll be my granddaughter Maria Adelaide, who has the same blue eyes as me, well, not quite, why am I boasting, my eyes are like dull ashes compared to hers, perhaps when I was younger, when I used to go to dances and was courting Faustina, when I stole her from her parents’ house, then my eyes must have been as blue as those that have just walked into the room, Your blessing, Grandfather, how are you feeling, better, I hope, and I make a gesture with my hand, that’s all that remains of blessings, none of us believes in them, but it’s the custom, and I answer that I’m feeling fine and turn my head toward her so as to see her better, Ah, Maria Adelaide, my granddaughter, although I don’t say those words, I think them, it does me good to see her, she’s wearing a scarf on her head and a little knitted jacket, her skirt is wet, the umbrella didn’t protect her entirely from the rain, and suddenly I feel a terrible urge to weep, because Maria Adelaide took my hand in hers, it was as if we had exchanged eyes, what a daft idea, but a man who is about to die can have whatever ideas he likes, that’s his prerogative, he’s not going to have many more opportunities to have new ideas or repeat old ones, I wonder what time I will die. And now Faustina is coming over with my bowl of milk, she’s going to spoon-feed it to me, I might as well stay hungry today, I would leave the world more lightly, and someone else could drink the milk, what I would really like is for my granddaughter to feed me, but I can’t ask that, I can’t upset Faustina on my last day, who would console her afterward, when she said, Ah, my dear husband, I didn’t give him his milk to drink on the day he died, the grandmother might resent the granddaughter for the rest of her days, perhaps in a little while Maria Adelaide can give me my medicine, according to the doctor’s instructions, half an hour after eating, but these are impossible desires. Maria Adelaide is leaving, she just looked in to see how I am, and I’m fine, her father and mother will be here soon, but she’s gone already, she’s still too young to be a witness to such spectacles, she’s only seventeen and has the same blue eyes as me, or have I said that already.

When João Mau-Tempo wakes from the torpor into which he slipped after taking his medicine, which was a real boon, affording him a prolonged respite from the pain and allowing him to sink into what seemed like a natural sleep, but now the pain has returned, and he wakes up moaning, it’s like a stake piercing his side, when he recovers full consciousness, he finds himself surrounded by people, there isn’t room for anyone else, Faustina and Gracinda are bending over him, Amélia too, so she did come after all, it was the moan that summoned them, and Joana Canastra is standing farther back because she’s not a family member, and the men keep their distance too, this is not their moment, they are by the door that opens onto the yard and are blocking the light, Sigismundo Canastro, Manuel Espada and António Mau-Tempo.

If João Mau-Tempo had any doubts, they end here, they all know that today is the day of his death, some of them must have guessed and then passed on the word, but in that case they’re not going to hear me groaning, so thought João Mau-Tempo and gritted his teeth, well, that again is a manner of speaking, he can’t grit the few teeth he has left, above and below, he has to grit his gums, ah, old age, old age, and yet this man is only sixty-seven, all right, he’s no stripling, the years haven’t passed in vain, but other men who are older than him are in far better health, yes, but they live far from the latifundio. Anyway, it isn’t a matter of having or not having teeth, that isn’t the point, the point is stopping the moan or groan when it’s still in its infancy and allowing the pain to grow, because that is something one cannot avoid, the point is to take away its voice, to silence it, just as he did more than twenty years ago when he was a prisoner and forced to play statues and withstand the pain in his lower back when they hit him without caring where they struck, his face is drenched in sweat, his limbs tensed, well, his arms at any rate, because he can’t feel his legs at all, indeed, at first he thinks perhaps he isn’t properly awake, but when he realizes that he is, in fact, fully conscious, he tries to move his feet, just his feet, but they don’t move either, he tries to bend his knees, but it’s useless, no one has any idea what’s going on beneath this sheet, this blanket, it’s death, death has lain down with me and no one else has noticed, somehow you imagine that death will walk in through the door or the window, but instead it’s actually here in bed with me, and how long has it been here, What time is it. This is a question that everyone asks and which always has an answer, asking what time it is distracts people from thinking about the time left or the time that has already passed, and once the question has been answered, no one thinks any more of it, it was simply the need to interrupt something or to set something else in motion again, there isn’t time now to find out, the thing we have been waiting for is here. João Mau-Tempo looks vaguely around him, there are his closest relatives and friends, three men and four women, Faustina, with the string wound around her wrist, Gracinda, who saw men killed in Montemor, Amélia, submissive, but for how much longer, Joana, ever the tough nut, Sigismundo, his comrade, Manuel, grave-faced, António, my son, ah, my son, and these are the people I am about to leave, Where’s my granddaughter, and Gracinda answers, her voice tearful, João Mau-Tempo really is about to die, She’s gone home to fetch some clothes, someone thought it best she shouldn’t be here, she’s still so young, and João Mau-Tempo feels a great relief, there’s no danger then, if they were all here that would be a bad sign, but now that his granddaughter is missing, he can’t die, he will die only when they are all here, if they knew that, they would make sure one of them was always out of the room, what could be simpler.

João Mau-Tempo uses his elbows to drag his body into an upright position, the others rush to help him, but he alone knows that this is the one way he will be able to move his legs, he is sure he will feel better sitting up, it will relieve the tightness he suddenly feels in his chest, not that he’s frightened, he knows that nothing will happen until his granddaughter returns, and then perhaps one of the others will leave the room to go and see if the rain is clearing up, it’s so hot in here, Open that door, it’s the door that opens onto the yard, it’s still raining, only in novels do the heavens open like this on these occasions, a white light enters, and suddenly João Mau-Tempo can no longer see it, and even he doesn’t know how or why.

M
ARIA ADELAIDE IS WORKING
away from home, over toward Pegões. It’s too far for her to travel back and forth, a glance at the map will tell you that it’s at least thirty kilometers from Monte Lavre, and the work is killing, as anyone who has ever set foot in a vineyard with a hoe in his hand will tell you, Now get hoeing. And this isn’t the kind of work you can finish in a week or so, Maria Adelaide has been here for three months now, and however blue her eyes may be, that counts for nothing. She goes home only every two or three weeks, on a Sunday, and while she’s there, she rests in the way women on the latifundio have always rested, by doing some other kind of work, then it’s back to the vineyard and the hoe, under the watchful eye of some neighbors who are working there too, much to the relief of her parents, well, Manuel Espada was bound to be concerned about what his only daughter might get up to, especially coming as she does from Monte Lavre, a place rife with distrust when it comes to romantic relationships, a boy can’t be seen so much as talking to a girl, and if Maria, say, and Aurora turn out to be flighty creatures who chat away quite happily with boys and laugh at their jokes, you can be sure that they’re nothing but flibbertigibbets and hussies. And all because a boy and a girl have been seen talking for a couple of minutes in broad daylight and in the middle of the street. Who knows what they might be hatching, mutter the old and the not so old ladies, and when the gossip reaches the maternal and paternal ears, the usual admonitory questions are asked, who was that boy, what did you say, you be careful, young lady, even if the parents have their own charming love story to tell, as is the case with Manuel Espada and Gracinda Mau-Tempo, although we did not perhaps give the story the detailed description it deserved, but that’s what parents are like, they forget so quickly and customs change so slowly. Maria Adelaide is only nineteen and, up until now, has given them no cause for concern, her sole concern being the hard work she has to cope with, but what alternative is there, women weren’t born to be princesses, as this story has more than demonstrated.

All days are the same and yet none resemble each other. About halfway through the afternoon, troubling news arrived at the vineyard, no one knew quite what had happened, Something about the army in Lisbon, I heard it on the radio, but if that was the case, you would expect them to know all about it, but it’s a mistake to think that it would be easy to find out the facts in a forest of vines only a few short meters from hell, people don’t have a radio dangling around their neck as if it were a cowbell, or stuck in their pocket like some singing, talking creature, such frivolities are not allowed, the news came from someone who chanced to be passing and mentioned to the foreman what he had heard on the radio, hence the confusion. The rhythm of work immediately slows, the rise and fall of the hoe seems but an embarrassing distraction, and Maria Adelaide is just as curious as the others, she has her nose up, like a hare that has sensed the presence of a newspaper, as her uncle António Mau-Tempo would say, what’s happened, what’s happened, but the foreman is no town crier, his job is to watch over and guide the workforce. Come on now, back to work, and since there is no more news, the hoes return to their labors, and those who care about such matters recall that, a month before, the troops in Caldas da Rainha came out onto the streets, although with little result. The afternoon continues and ends, and if they did hear further news, they didn’t believe it any more than they had the first lot. In the latifundio, so far from the barracks in the Largo do Carmo in Lisbon,
^*
not a shot has been heard and no one is wandering the fields shouting slogans, it’s hard to understand what revolution means and what it involves, and if we were to try and explain, someone would probably comment, with the air of someone who doesn’t believe a word we’re saying, Ah, so that’s what a revolution is.