Raised from the Ground (3 page)

João was made, or to use a more biblical term, conceived, on that same day, which, it would seem, is most unusual, because, in the haste and confusion of the moment, semen does not necessarily do its job the first time, only later. And it’s true that there was considerable consternation, not to say suspicion, regarding João’s blue eyes, for no one else in the family had such eyes nor, as far as they could recall, had any relative, close or distant, we, however, know that such thoughts were grossly unfair to a woman who, after much soul-searching, had deviated from the straight virginal path and lain down in a wheatfield with that one man alone and, by her own choice, opened her legs to him. It had not been the choice, almost five hundred years before, of another young woman, who, standing alone at the fountain filling her jug with water, was approached by one of the foreigners who had arrived with Lamberto Horques Alemão, the governor of Monte Lavre appointed by Dom João the First, by a man whose speech she couldn’t understand, and who, ignoring the poor girl’s cries and pleas, carried her off into the bracken where, purely for his own enjoyment, he raped her. He was a handsome fellow with pale skin and blue eyes, whose only fault was the fire in his blood, but she, naturally enough, could not bring herself to love him, and when her time came, she gave birth alone. Thus, for four centuries those blue German eyes appeared and disappeared, like the comets that vanish and return when we least expect them or simply because no one has bothered to record their appearances and thus discover a pattern.

This is the family’s first move. They came from Monte Lavre to São Cristóvão on a strangely rainy summer’s day. They traversed the whole district from north to south, what on earth can have made Domingos Mau-Tempo decide to move so far away, well, he’s a bungler and a good-for-nothing, and things were getting difficult for him in Monte Lavre because of drink and certain shady deals, and so he said to his father-in-law, Lend me your cart and your donkey, will you, I’m going to live in São Cristóvão, By all means go, and let’s hope you acquire a little common sense, for your own good and for the sake of your wife and son, but be sure to bring that donkey and cart back promptly, because I need them. They took the shortest route, following cart tracks, or highways when they could, but mostly heading across country, skirting the hills. They lunched in the shade of a tree, and Domingos Mau-Tempo gulped down a whole bottle of wine that he soon sweated out again in the heat of the day. They saw Montemor in the distance, to the left, and continued south. It rained on them when they were just one hour from São Cristóvão, a deluge that presaged no good at all, but today it is sunny, and Sara da Conceição, sitting in the garden, is sewing a skirt, while her son, still rather unsteady on his legs, is feeling his way along the wall of the house. Domingos Mau-Tempo has gone to Monte Lavre to return the donkey and cart to his father-in-law and tell him that they’re living in an excellent house, that customers are already beating a path to his door and that he won’t lack for work. He will return on foot the following day, as long as he doesn’t get drunk, because apart from his drinking, he isn’t a bad man, and God willing he’ll sort himself out, after all, there have been worse men than him and they’ve turned out all right in the end, and if there’s any justice in the world, what with one small child and another on the way, he’ll shape up to be a respectable father too, and as for me, well, I’ll do what I can to give us all a good life.

João has reached the end of the wall, where the picket fence begins. He grips it hard, his arms being stronger than his legs, and peers out. His horizon is quite limited, a strip of muddy road with puddles that reflect the sky, and a ginger cat sprawled on the doorstep opposite, sunning its belly. Somewhere a cock crows. A woman can be heard shouting out, Maria, and another, almost childish voice answers, Yes, Senhora. And then the silence of the great heat settles again, the mud will soon harden and return to the dust it was. João lets go of the fence, that’s quite enough looking at the landscape for the moment, executes a difficult half-turn and commences the long journey back to his mother. Sara da Conceição sees him, puts her sewing down on her lap and holds out her arms to her son, Come here, little one, come here. Her arms are like two protective hedges. Between them and João lies a confusing, uncertain world with no beginning and no end. The sun sketches a hesitant shadow on the ground, a tremulously advancing hour. Like the hand of a clock on the great expanse of the latifundio.

When Lamberto Horques Alemão stepped out onto the terrace of his castle, his gaze could not encompass all that lay before him. He was the lord of the village and its lands, ten leagues long and three leagues wide, and he had the right to exact a tribute, and although he had been charged to go forth and multiply, he had not ordered the rape of the girl at the fountain, it happened and that was that. He himself, with his virtuous wife and his children, will scatter his seed where he pleases, depending on how the mood takes him, This land cannot remain as uninhabited as it is now, for you can count on the fingers of one hand the number of settlements in the whole estate, while the uncultivated areas are as many as the hairs on your head, Yes, sir, but these women are the swarthy cursed remnants of the Moors, and these silent men can be vengeful, besides, our king did not call on you to go forth and multiply like a Solomon, but to cultivate the land and rule over it so that people will come here and stay, That is what I am doing and will do, and whatever else I deem appropriate, for this land is mine and everything on it, although there are sure to be people who will try to hamper my efforts and cause trouble, there always will be, You are quite right, sir, you obviously gleaned such knowledge from the cold lands of your birth, where people know far more than we natives of these remote western lands, Since we are in agreement, let us discuss what tributes should be imposed on these lands I am to govern. Thus, a minor episode in the history of the latifundio.

T
HIS SO-CALLED SHOEMAKER
is really nothing but a cobbler. He soles and heels and dawdles over his work when he isn’t in the mood, often abandoning last, awl and knife to go to the taberna, he argues with impatient customers and, for all these reasons, beats his wife. Not just because he is obliged to sole and heel, but also because he can find no peace in himself, he’s a restless man who has no sooner sat down than he wants to get up again, who as soon as he has arrived in one place is already thinking about another. He’s a child of the wind, a wanderer, this bad-weather Domingos, who returns from the taberna and enters the house, bumping into the walls, glancing sourly at his son, and for no reason at all lashes out at his wife, wretched woman, let that be a lesson to you. And then he leaves again, goes back to the wine and his carousing mates, put this one on the slate, will you, landlord, of course, sir, but there’s quite a lot on the slate already, so what, I always pay my debts, don’t I, I’ve never owed anyone a penny. And more than once, Sara da Conceição, having left her child with the neighbor, went out into the night to search for her husband, using the shawl and the darkness to conceal her tears, going from taberna to taberna, of which there weren’t many in São Cristóvão, but enough, peering in from outside, and if her husband was there, she would stand waiting in the shadows, like another shadow. And sometimes she would find him lost on the road, abandoned by his friends, with no idea where his house was, and then the world would suddenly brighten, because Domingos Mau-Tempo, grateful to have been found in that frightening desert, among hordes of ghosts, would put an arm about his wife’s shoulders and allow himself to be led like the child he doubtless still was.

And one day, because he had more work than he could cope with, Domingos Mau-Tempo took on an assistant, thus giving himself more time with his fellow drinkers, but then, on another ill-fated day, he got it into his head that his wife, poor, innocent Sara da Conceição, was deceiving him in his absence, and that was the end of São Cristóvão, which the guiltless assistant had to flee at knifepoint, and Sara, pregnant, quite legitimately, for a second time, underwent her own painful via dolorosa, and the cart was loaded up again, another trek to Monte Lavre, more toing and froing, We’re fine, and your daughter and grandson are happy, with another on the way, but I’ve found a better job in Torre da Gadanha, my father lives there and will be able to help us out. And once more they set off north, except that this time the landlord was waiting for them on the way out of São Cristóvão, Just a moment, Mau-Tempo, you owe me for the rent and the wine that you drank, and if you don’t pay up, me and my two sons here will make you, so pay me what you owe or die.

It was a short journey, which was just as well, because almost as soon as Sara da Conceição set foot in the house, she gave birth to her second son, who, for some forgotten reason, was named Anselmo. He was fortunate from the cradle on because his paternal grandfather was a carpenter by trade and very pleased to have his grandson born so close to home, almost next door. His grandfather worked as a carpenter and had no boss and no apprentice, no wife either, and he lived among lengths of timber and planks, permanently perfumed by sawdust, and used a vocabulary particular to laths, planes, battens, mallets and adzes. He was a serious man of few words and not given to drinking, which is why he disapproved of his son, who was hardly a credit to his name. Given Domingos Mau-Tempo’s restless nature, however, his father had little time in which to enjoy being a grandfather, just long enough to teach his oldest grandson that this is a claw hammer, this is a plane and this a chisel. But Domingos Mau-Tempo could bear neither what his father said nor what he didn’t say, and like a bird hurling itself against the bars of its cage, what prison is this in my soul, damn it, off he went again, this time to Landeira, in the extreme west of the district. Preferring this time not to approach his father-in-law, who would find such wanderings and uncertainties odd, he had, at some expense, hired a cart and a mule, intending to keep quiet about his plans and tell his father-in-law later. We never seem to settle anywhere, we go from one place to another like the wandering Jew, and it’s not easy with two small children, Be quiet, woman, I know what I’m doing, there are good people in Landeira and plenty of work, besides, I’m a craftsman, not like your father and brothers tied to their hoes, I learned a trade and have a skill, That’s not what I’m saying, you were a shoemaker when I married you and that’s fine, but I just want some peace and to stop all this moving around. Sara da Conceição said nothing about the beatings, nor would it have been appropriate, because Domingos Mau-Tempo was traveling toward Landeira as if to the promised land and carrying on his shoulders his eldest son, holding on to his tender little ankles, which were a bit grubby, of course, but what does that matter. He barely felt the weight, because years of sewing leather had given him muscles and tendons of iron. With the mule trotting along behind, with a sun as warm as a cozy blanket, Sara da Conceição was even allowed to ride in the cart. But when they reached the new house, they found that their furniture was once again badly damaged, At this rate, Domingos, we’ll end up with no furniture at all.

It was in Landeira that João, who already had his real godparents in Monte Lavre, found a new and more illustrious godfather. He was Father Agamedes, who, because he lived with a woman he called his niece, provided João with a borrowed godmother too. The child did not lack for blessings, being as protected in heaven as he had been on earth up until then. Especially when Domingos Mau-Tempo, encouraged by Father Agamedes, took on the duties of sacristan, helping at mass and at funerals, because thanks to this, the priest befriended him and adopted João. Domingos Mau-Tempo’s sole aim in being received into the bosom of the church was to find a respectable reason for avoiding work and a respite from his persistent vagabond restlessness. But God rewarded him as soon as he saw him at his altar, clumsily performing the ritualistic gestures he was taught, for Father Agamedes also liked his drink, and thus celebrant and acolyte came together over that other sacrifice. Father Agamedes owned a grocery store, not far from the church, where he worked whenever his priestly duties allowed, and when they didn’t, his niece would come down to the square and, from behind the counter, rule over the family’s earthly business. Domingos Mau-Tempo would drop in and drink a glass of wine, then another and another, alone, unless the priest was there, and then they drank together. God, meanwhile, was up above with the angels.

But all heavens have their Lucifers and all paradises their temptations. Domingos Mau-Tempo began to look on his neighbor’s companion with covetous eyes, and she, as niece, took offense and mentioned it to her uncle, and that was enough to create bad feeling between those two servants of the holy mother church, one permanent and the other temporary. Father Agamedes could not speak frankly for fear of giving credence to the evil thoughts of those parishioners who had their doubts about that niece-uncle relationship, and so, to drive away the threat to his own honor, he focused on the married status of the offending party. Deprived of his easy access to wine and weary of plying his trade here, there and everywhere, Domingos Mau-Tempo declared his intention at home of avenging himself on the priest. He did not say exactly what he was avenging himself for, and Sara da Conceição did not ask. She continued to suffer in silence.