Requiem (3 page)

I thanked him and said goodbye. I picked up my bottle of champagne and went out into the
heat. I found the first row on the right and began walking slowly along it. I was feeling
terribly anxious again and my heart was pounding hard. It was a modest grave, just a headstone
placed on the ground. There he was with his Polish name and above his name was a photograph
that I recognised. It was a full-length photograph, he was wearing a shirt with the sleeves
rolled up and was leaning against a boat, behind him you could see the sea. I had taken that
photograph in 1965, it was in Caparica in September and we were so happy, he’d just got
out of prison a week before, thanks to the pressure of public opinion abroad, a French
newspaper had said: “The Salazar régime must free all writers,” and there
he was, leaning against the boat with the French newspaper in his hands. I went closer to see
if I could read the name of the paper, but I couldn’t, it was out of focus in the
photograph, other times, I thought, time swallowed up everything, and then I said: Hello,
Tadeus, it’s me, I’ve come to visit you. And then I said it again, more loudly
this time: Hello Tadeus, it’s me, I’ve come to visit you.

COME ON IN THEN,
said
Tadeus’ voice, you know the way. I closed the door behind me and walked along the
corridor. It was dark and I stumbled into a pile of things that toppled over. I paused to pick
up the objects I’d stumbled into: books, a wooden toy, the sort you buy at fairs, a
Barcelos cockerel, a small statue of a saint, the figure of a friar bought in Caldas
*
with a huge penis protruding from beneath his habit. Bumping
into things always was your speciality, I heard Tadeus’ voice say from the next room.
And yours was collecting junk, I replied, you’re stony broke and you go and buy a friar
with his willy hanging out, when will you grow up, Tadeus? I heard a guffaw, then Tadeus
appeared at the door, silhouetted against the light. Come in, he said, come in, don’t be
shy, this is the house I’ve always lived in, the house where you ate, slept, fucked,
don’t tell me you don’t recognise it? It isn’t that, I protested, it’s
just that there are a few matters I need to clear up, you died without telling me anything,
and I’ve spent years agonising over it, now it’s time that I knew, I’m free
now, today I feel extraordinarily free, look, I’ve even lost my Super-Ego, it just
reached its expiry date, like milk in a carton, I mean it, I feel free, liberated,
that’s why I’m here. Have you had lunch?, asked Tadeus. No, I said, I had
breakfast in the garden where I was this morning, but I haven’t eaten anything since.
Let’s go and get something to eat then, said Tadeus, down the road, in Casimiro’s
place, just wait till you see what’s in store for you, yesterday I ordered a
sarrabulho à moda do Douro
, which was out of this world, Casimiro’s
wife is actually from the Douro and she makes a divine
sarrabulho
, you could die a
happy man once you’ve eaten it, do you know what I mean? I don’t know what a
sarrabulho
is, I said, doubtless something lethal, like all your favourite dishes,
I bet it’s got pork in it, you always adored pork, you’re even prepared to eat it
on a blazing hot day like today, but before we go to the restaurant I have to talk to you, I
even brought a bottle of champagne, it’s probably warm by now, but we could put some ice
cubes in the glasses, here it is, it’s a Laurent-Perrier, I bought it in the Café
Brasileira in the Chiado. Tadeus took charge of the bottle and went off to look for some
glasses. Let’s talk in the restaurant, if you don’t mind that is, he said from the
kitchen, be patient, it would be best to talk about the things
you
want to talk about
in the restaurant, here we can drink the champagne and talk about literature. He returned with
the glasses and the ice. Let’s sit down, he said, let’s drink our champagne
sitting down. He stretched out on the sofa and waved me into the armchair by his side.
It’s just like old times, he said, but don’t lecture me about food and pork,
I’m going to die in a few years’ time of a coronary and here you are giving me
lectures, forget it, don’t go on at me. All right, I said, I didn’t mean to go on
at you, but I think you owe me an explanation. All in good time, said Tadeus, with a dish of
sarrabulbo
in front of us, wouldn’t you rather talk about literature now, so
much more refined? OK, I replied, let’s talk about literature, what are you writing at
the moment? A short novel in verse, he said, a story about a love affair between a bishop and
a nun, it takes place in seventeenth-century Portugal, it’s a rather sombre story,
possibly obscene, a metaphor for debasement, what do you think of the idea? I don’t
know, I said, do they eat
sarrabulho
in your story? From what you’ve said it
sounds like the sort of story that needs
sarrabulho
. Anyway, here’s health,
said Tadeus, raising his glass, you’re the one with the soul, my fearful friend, I only
have a body, and I haven’t even got that for much longer. I haven’t got a soul any
more, I replied, now I have an Unconscious, it’s a virus I caught, and that’s why
I’m here in your house, that’s how come I found you. Well, here’s to your
Unconscious then, said Tadeus, filling the glasses again, another couple of drinks and then
off to Casimiro’s. We drank in silence. From the barracks on the other side of the road
came the sound of a trumpet. Somewhere a clock chimed the hours. We’d better go, said
Tadeus, if we don’t, Casimiro’s will be closed. I got up and walked back down the
corridor on unsteady legs, feeling the effect of the champagne. We left his house and walked
down the street. The small square was full of pigeons. A soldier was stretched out on a bench
by the fountain. We walked along arm in arm, keeping step with each other. Tadeus seemed more
serious now, less jokey, as if troubled by something. What’s wrong, Tadeus?, I asked. I
don’t know, he said, maybe it’s just an attack of melancholy, I miss the days when
we used to stroll round the city like this, do you remember?, everything was different then,
everything seemed brighter, cleaner somehow. Youth, I said, our eyes saw things differently
then. I’m really glad you came to see me though, he said, it’s the best present
you could give me, we couldn’t just say goodbye the way we did, you’re right, we
really do need to talk about that whole sad business. I stopped and made Tadeus stop too.
Look, Tadeus, I said, the really mysterious thing, the thing that most intrigues me is the
note you’ll give me the day you die, do you remember? You’re at death’s
door, lying on your bed of pain in Santa Maria hospital, there’s a monstrous machine by
your side to which you’re attached, you’ve got a tube up your nose and a drip in
your right arm, you gesture to me to move closer, I do, you indicate with your left hand that
you want to write something, I find a piece of paper and a pen and I give them to you, your
eyes look dull and you have death written on your face, you make an enormous effort to write,
using your left hand, and then you give me the note and on it is this really odd sentence,
Tadeus, what did you mean by it? I don’t know, he said, I can’t remember, I was
dying, how do you expect me to remember? Besides, he went on, I don’t even know what the
sentence was, why don’t you tell me? All right, I said, the sentence went like this:
Blame it all on herpes zoster
, honestly, Tadeus, is that any kind of sentence to
say goodbye with, to leave with a friend when you’re dying? Listen, my fearful friend,
he said, there are two possibilities: either I was completely out of it and I was writing
things that have no meaning, or I was just playing a trick on you, I spent my whole life
playing tricks on people, you know that, I played them on you, on everyone, it was my last
prank, and thus dies Tadeus, with a final pirouette,
olé!
I don’t know
why, Tadeus, I said, but I always connected that idiotic phrase with Isabel, that’s
really why I’m here, it’s her I want to talk about. Later, he said, walking
on.

We had reached the restaurant. Senhor Casimiro was
leaning in the doorway, a white apron covering his enormous belly. Good afternoon, Senhor
Casimiro, Tadeus said in greeting, I’ve got a surprise for you, do you recognise this
man?, you don’t remember him, eh? Well he’s an old friend come back from the void
on this blazing hot day, he’s come to see me again before I go to the devil once and for
all, and I’ve invited him to eat
sarrabulho.
Senhor Casimiro solicitously
opened the door for us and let us pass. An excellent idea, excellent, he exclaimed, waddling
after us into the large empty room, where would you like to sit?, today you have the whole
restaurant at your disposal. Tadeus chose a table in a corner, beneath the fan. Senhor
Casimiro’s restaurant was lovely. The floor was laid with black and white slabs of
marble, the walls lined with blue and white tiles from the early part of the century. In the
opposite corner of the room, near the kitchen, was a parrot on a perch, who every now and then
let out a cry: Just as well! Senhor Casimiro arrived bearing bread, butter and olives. With
sarrabulbo
you really ought to drink red wine, he said, but I don’t know if
your friend would like that, I have a Reguengos in the cellar that I can heartily recommend.
The
Reguengos is fine by me, said Tadeus. I nodded and sighed: All right, but
it’ll finish me off.

The
sarrabulho
was served in an earthenware dish, the traditional type, terracotta
with yellow flowers painted on it in relief. At first glance, it looked revolting. In the
middle of the dish were the potatoes, roasted in fat, surrounded by chunks of pork and tripe.
The whole thing was drenched in a brown sauce that was probably made from wine or cooked
blood, I hadn’t the slightest idea which. It’s the first time I’ve ever
eaten anything like this, I said, I’ve been coming to Portugal for years and years,
I’ve travelled the country from north to south and I’ve never felt brave enough to
eat this, today will be the death of me, I’ll get food poisoning. You won’t regret
it, Tadeus said, serving me, eat up, my fearful friend, and stop talking nonsense. I stuck a
fork into a bit of pork, almost closing my eyes to do so, and raised it to my lips. It was
delicious, it had the subtlest of flavours. Tadeus saw this and looked delighted, his eyes
shining. It’s wonderful, I said, you’re right, it’s one of the most
delicious things I’ve eaten in my whole life. Just as well! croaked the parrot. I second
the parrot, said Tadeus, and poured me a glass of Reguengos. We ate in silence. Now, my
fearful friend, said Tadeus, why have you come? I’ve already told you, I replied,
because of that note you’ll write to me before you die, because I’m obsessed by
those words, Tadeus, and I want to live in peace, I want you to rest in peace too, I want
peace for all of us, Tadeus, that’s why I’m here, but I’m here too because
of another idea that obsesses me, because of Isabel, but I’ll tell you about that later.
All right, said Tadeus, and he made a sign to Senhor Casimiro. Senhor Casimiro must call his
wife, said Tadeus, we must offer her our congratulations. Senhor Casimiro
disappeared into the kitchen and shortly afterwards a woman in a white overall came out. She
was plump and had a faint moustache. Did you enjoy it?, she asked, looking embarrassed. We
adored it, said Tadeus, my friend says it’s the best thing he’s eaten in his
entire life. He looked at me and said: Tell her, my friend. I told Senhor Casimiro’s
Wife and she looked even more embarrassed. They’re just simple dishes, she said, things
people in my village used to cook, it was my mother who taught me. Simple my eye, replied
Tadeus, don’t talk nonsense, Casimira, there’s nothing simple about this,
it’s a work of art. Senhor Tadeus will have his little joke, said Senhor
Casimiro’s Wife, and I’ve already told you not to call me Casimira, my
name’s Maria da Conceição. But Casimiro’s wife should be called
Casimira, said Tadeus, I’m sorry Casimira, but that’s decided, and now explain to
this young man how you make
sarrabulho à moda do Douro
, so that he can return
to his own country and make it at home, because where he lives they only ever eat spaghetti.
Really?, asked Senhor Casimiro’s Wife. Absolutely, said Tadeus, they eat nothing but
spaghetti. No, no, said Senhor Casimiro’s Wife, even more embarrassed, I didn’t
mean that, I meant does your friend really want to know how to make
sarrabulbo
. Of
course I do, I said, I’d love to know the recipe, if you don’t mind telling me
that is. First, you’ll have to forgive me, sir, said Senhor Casimiro’s Wife,
because where I come from, the real
sarrabulho
is served with
polenta
, but I
didn’t have any maize flour today so I used potatoes, but anyway I’ll tell you the
ingredients for a real
sarrabulho,
I never measure anything, I do everything by eye,
anyway, you need loin of pork, fat, lard, pig’s liver, tripe, a bowl of cooked blood, a
whole bulb of garlic, a glass of white wine, an onion, oil, salt, pepper and cumin. Sit down,
Casimira, said Tadeus, and have a little glass of this Reguengos de Monsaraz, it’ll help
you to explain even better. Senhor Casimiro’s Wife thanked Tadeus, sat down and accepted
the glass of wine he offered her. Right, said Senhor Casimiro’s Wife, if you want to
make a good
sarrabulho
you have to prepare the meat the night before, cut the pork
into cubes and marinate it with the chopped garlic, wine, salt, pepper and cumin, by the next
day the meat will be really tender and will smell delicious, next you take an earthenware dish
and add the chopped up fat from the
folhos
, that’s what the fat joining the
intestines together is called, and let it melt over a low flame, brown the cubed pork in the
lard over a high flame and then leave to cook slowly. When the meat is almost done, pour over
the marinade from the night before and let it boil off. Meanwhile, cut up the tripe and the
liver and fry it all in the lard until it’s nicely browned. Then fry the chopped onion
in the oil and add it to the bowl of cooked blood. Then mix everything together in the
earthenware dish and the
sarrabulho
is ready, flavour with more cumin if you want and
serve with potatoes,
polenta
or rice, as I said I prefer
polenta
because
that’s how they serve it where I come from, but that’s entirely up to you.