Where Tigers Are at Home (85 page)

Following a sudden inspiration, Nelson went to fetch the soap and climbed back into the dream-inducing nest in his hammock. His nose on the translucent bar of soap and the towel Moéma had used, he was in a hurry to return to the scene he had evoked.

“It’ll come back to me, I promise.”

“What did you do then?”

“I treated her wounds as best I could and I watched her sleeping. When she woke up, I showed her the place where she could wash. I told her she should put some ointment on her bruises, I hadn’t done that, out of respect for her, well, you know … There was no way I could get a word out of her. She was looking right through me, as if I was a shop window or a windscreen. Then I could tell she had the
encosto
. She was possessed, ill. I even thought she’d never been able to speak … So I spoke for both of us. I made some questions and the answers, then I told her all the stories I’d promised … ’cause I’m sure that’s what got her to come. What are you called, Princess? Where’s your kingdom? Things like that … She opened her eyes, then she went back to sleep. There must have been several of them had a go at her.”

“Oh yes? And why didn’t you tell the police?”

“With all due respect,
comandante
, the less we see of the cops, the better off we are, as they say. Anyway, they wouldn’t have come, they’re a load of cretins … (This time I’d duck just at the right moment and his fist would go over my head.) I called Uncle Zé, from a telephone booth. It was a bit of luck that he was there at all, at the depot. I can only come tomorrow evening, he said, I’ve a delivery for João Pessoa. In the meantime keep a good eye on her. So I came back home, on the double, around the back way, because it’s shorter. And there I saw she was washing herself: just her arm came out to get some water from the can … You can se a bit of what’s going on through the pallets, if you look—”

“And you got an eyeful,
viado
!”

“No I didn’t, sir. It was the same as the first time, I saw her and I didn’t see her … I can’t really explain it. She didn’t stop washing herself, she wasn’t paying attention to anything else. But all I saw was little bits of her and I couldn’t go in because of the curtain. I didn’t want her to think I’d been watching her.”

“But you still had a hard-on, eh, you swine?”

So then he took out his switchblade and stuck it in the stupid pig, right in the belly and ripped it open. You just couldn’t allow people to say things like that to you. To be honest, though, seeing her like that had turned him on. But not like at the VASP plane. He’d felt like a man, how should he put it, like a man who’d controlled himself. Zé had told him that it had happened to him once, when he was looking at a statue of the Virgin. Well, it was that kind of thing. You know, feelings … But, shit, that cop’s intestines in the hammock, that just made it impossible for him to think … The damn corpse was taking up all the space, he’d have to put it back up on its feet, with the knife in its stomach, as of nothing had happened …

“OK, then … But there must have come a moment when she’d finished washing herself?”

“Yes, but I still waited. Quite a while, even, to let her get dressed, instead of pretending I wasn’t looking … Well, I know what I mean. When I went in she was lying down again. It was just like before, except that she smelled good,
meu Deus!
A baby all cleaned up, the arnica … But what had happened to her still had her in its grip, she didn’t see me, so I went on talking to her, all the time, until the evening … And then suddenly she spoke to me: ‘Moéma’—that was even better than Alzira or Theodora. She could hardly remember anything. I told her what I knew, how I’d found her and then what I’ve told you. But for her, it was all dammed up inside her. She just wanted to stay there, she was afraid of going out, of people finding her … like a wounded animal. She wanted
me to tell her about myself, so I did. Everything, my father, who was dead and converted into a rail, my saving for the wheelchair, I even showed her the place so that she knew I trusted her …”

“And the pistol? You told her about the pistol?”

No, it was stupid, the fat slob couldn’t know that. And anyway, he’d kept the story of the pistol to himself. What might she have thought, eh? It wasn’t good that he’d kept it from her, but above all he hadn’t wanted to frighten her.

“OK … And once you’d finished telling her your life story?”

“After that there was Uncle Zé. It was he who did everything. I mean … he’s a bit of a
paï de santo
, a father of saints, he knows how to deal with minds. He told her about Pirambú, a load of things about us lot, the
faveleros
. And I don’t know how, but it took the hurt away. She kept on saying she’d come back, that she’d found something to do with her life. Zé, I know him, didn’t really believe that but he knew it was definitely doing her good, ’cause he didn’t contradict her; as for me, I’m sure she was being honest. And then … he came for her this morning. As she left, she said she’d bring back the things I’d bought for her. I’d meant them as a gift, but I said nothing, to make sure she’d come back …”

The sound of a loudspeaker burst the bubble of his memories—surely they hadn’t decided to flatten the whole favela today?! Nelson hurried out to see what was going on, but it was just an election agent, with a loudspeaker in his hand, come to sell his tawdry wares. People had gathered around the van, aware that this kind of thing always ended with a handout.

“Who got the bus shelter in Goiavera built?” the guy with the smallpox-ravaged cheeks was asking. “Edson Barbosa, Jr.! Who’s been fighting for four years to get mains drainage in Pirambú? Edson Barbosa, Jr.! Who allowed the building of the Health Centre for All? Edson Barbosa, Jr.! Who spoke to the Pope about your situation, in a personal audience, if you please? Edson Barbosa, Jr. again!
The other candidates promise all sorts of things, but they don’t do anything. Only Edson Barbosa, Jr. has slaved away to make life better for you all! And this time he has some great news for you—if you want to know what it is, come to the big meeting that will be held tomorrow on the Future Beach. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed! And in addition everyone wearing one of these baseball caps or one of these magnificent T-shirts will be entitled to a basket of food! That is Edson Barbosa, Jr., generosity in person! Vote for him or get others to vote for him and these baskets will multiply! There’ll be so many you won’t know what to do with them! Come to Edson Barbosa, Jr.’s meeting for the feast of Yemanjá, the patron saint of Pirambú. Even the governor of Maranhão is taking the trouble to come. Just think, his Excellency José Moreira da Rocha will be there to support your candidate! José Moreira da Rocha, the big industrialist! José Moreira da Rocha, the millionaire who talks to our beloved president just as I’m talking to you. The one they call ‘the Benefactor’ because he did away with the favelas of San Luís. It’s as true as I’m standing here, go and see for yourselves if you don’t believe me: no shantytown, not a single shack left! May God give me a deadly dose of cholera if I’m spinning you a yarn! All the poor have been rehoused in permanent homes, everyone’s got a regular job and can eat their fill! And this is the man who has come to advise our governor so he can do the same in Fortaleza! José Moreira da Rocha and Edson Barbosa, Jr. on the Future Beach—for your future, my friends! And it starts tomorrow!

Nelson didn’t even try to get a cap in the throng that formed around the political huckster. He had fled back to his hut, quivering with emotion. Moreira da Rocha … The almanac hadn’t lied … 
Laudato seja Deus!
His wheel of destiny had suddenly engaged like the cogs in a gearbox. He felt drunk with a terrible joy, it was like a boiler roaring inside his head as he tried to calm himself down by slashing the pictures of the governor.

“Should we reject Marxism, abandon the struggle against oppression, our hope of the Great Day, just because the Communists fell in Russia?” Uncle Zé had said only yesterday. “No, Princess, that would suit too many people down to the ground. It’s not clear at all. They strut about today, but all they’ve managed to develop is underdevelopment, if you want my opinion. Even the aid to third-world countries, you know how that works? They take the dough from the poor of rich countries to give it to the rich of the poor countries … It’s just going round in circles … I’m not a Communist, but the only political action for a fly is to get off the flypaper and no one will persuade me any different …”

I’m not a Communist either, Nelson said to himself, I’m not much at all … I’m not even a fly, I’m just a cockroach. But I’m going to show them what a cockroach can do! What it can do to get out of the insect trap.

The words of the only song ever composed by Lampião came back to mind:
Olé, Mulher Rendeira, olé Mulher renda! Tu me ensinas a fazer renda, que eu te ensino a namorar …

The Future Beach. He’d be there for sure!

“
I THINK HERE
is no better way to start,” Kircher said after a brief moment of reflection, “than by asking you a very simple question: what, according to you, is the task of a teacher? Try to reply simply & not using any faculty other than common sense.”

“I think I would not be wrong,” Don Luis Camacho said earnestly, “if I said his task was to instruct. Is that not the case?”

“Very good; but to instruct in what?”

“Some area of knowledge … or, at least, one he is reputed to have mastered.”

“Of course. And I think we can say that so far you haven’t made the slightest mistake. However, there are thousands of kinds of knowledge & I imagine you will agree that they are not all of equal importance. One man might know the art of making
mirrors, another that of tailoring a fine suit or of concocting a sovereign remedy for gout. Which would you say are essential to the student to attain understanding?”

“For anyone who wants to learn a trade, that of apothecary, tailor or mirror-maker, knowledge of each of these arts is essential. However, it is clear that anyone who aspires to universal understanding of things & to acquire the wellspring from which these rivers & their innumerable tributaries flow, so to speak, will have to learn the sciences …”

“Well thought out, Don Luis. But what do we mean by ‘sciences’? Would it be alchemy, magic or the art of predicting the future you were thinking of?”

“Obviously not. What I had in mind was the exact sciences, the ones that can be verified by experiment or by reason & that no one could doubt, as for example mathematics, logic, physics, mechanics …”

“Ah yes, definitely! However, we also need to define what is meant by ‘verify by experiment or reason’ in a way that does not give rise to criticism.”

“It means to go back from the effect to the cause so that we can understand the true principles at work in the world. In this I’m just repeating what I have heard people say, but it seems correct to me.”

“Absolutely correct, my son. It would be impossible to define science better than you have done. By the very act of drawing the world out of chaos, God created the principles necessary to maintain the universe and ensure that it runs harmoniously. Now, would this teacher not be at fault if he stopped halfway & did not go back to the celestial origin of these principles? Should he not, on the contrary, make every effort to show how the laws of physics, as those of the other sciences, ultimately rest on the will of the Creator alone?”

“Indeed—”

“And what is it that teaches us this holy truth, more essential than all the others? Is it the Mohammedans, the bonzes of the Buddhists or the Brahmins of China?”

“Definitely not! For it is the Bible & the Gospels, that alone contain the word of God, the Church, in that she is the principal support of the Christian religion, & her theologians, who are better equipped than anyone to understand the mysteries …”

“Well, my son, you could not define the task of a teacher more correctly: a master worthy of that name is not simply someone who teaches the true sciences, he must also expound the true religion, which is the foundation on which the laws and natural principles rest. Imagine that you are one of our missionaries. There you are in Peking, charged with both practicing & inculcating that true science which is astronomy. But one of your Chinese students makes a mistake in predicting an eclipse of the moon. What do you need to teach him?”

“The correct way of pursuing astronomy; that is, the laws regulating the movements of the planets & allowing us to calculate their courses.”

“Very good. But is that sufficient? Will your pupil not be mistaken if, predicting a new eclipse accurately, he attributes the ultimate cause of this phenomenon to some occult power of the god Fo-hi?”

“Of course. It would be my duty to get him to see that he was just as mistaken in believing in a false god as he was in his false astronomy.”

“Very good. And how should one proceed if not by using the same rule of returning to the origins, to the first principles of all things? What is valid for the sciences is equally valid for theology. So how would you go about making him see his error?”