The Stone Raft (Harvest Book) (12 page)

They reach Orce in the dead of night. The roads at this hour are a desert of shadows and silence, Deux Chevaux can be left at the door of the pharmacy, and it is no bad thing that they should give it a rest, tomorrow the car will be back on the road carrying the three men, a matter about to be decided indoors as they sit round the table enjoying a simple meal, for Pedro Orce also lives alone and there is not time enough to prepare anything elaborate. They switched on the television, the news is broadcast hourly, and they saw Gibraltar, not simply separated from Spain, but already at a considerable distance, like an island abandoned in the middle of the ocean, transformed, poor thing, into a peak, a sugarloaf, a reef, with its thousand cannon out of action. Even if they should insist on opening new loopholes on the northern side, perhaps to gratify imperial pride, they would be throwing their money into the sea, in both the literal and the figurative senses. Those scenes undoubtedly made an impression, but were nothing when compared to the shock produced by a series of satellite pictures showing the progressive widening of the canal between the peninsula and France, flesh froze and hair bristled at the sight of this great catastrophe, beyond human powers, for this was no longer a canal but open sea, where ships sailed at will, over water that had truly never been sailed before. Obviously, the displacement could not be observed, at this altitude a speed of seven hundred and fifty meters per hour cannot be captured by the naked eye, but for one observing it was as if the great mass of stone were shifting in his head, sensitive people almost fainted, others complained of feeling dizzy. And there were pictures that had been taken from aboard the indefatigable helicopters, the gigantic Pyrenean escarpment, cut vertically, and the minute swarm of ants heading south, like a sudden migration, just to see Gibraltar adrift, an optical illusion, for it is we who are being carried off with the current, and also, to add a colorful detail, an entry worthy of a diary, a flock of starlings, thousands of them, like a cloud obscuring one's field of vision, darkening the sky. Even the birds are responding to the crowd's excitement, that was the verb the announcer used, responding, when we know from natural history that birds have their own good reasons for going whithersoever they choose or must, they
act neither for me nor for you, at most for José Anaiço, who ungratefully confesses, I'd forgotten about them.

There were also shots of Portugal, taken on the Atlantic coast, showing the waves beating on the rocks or swirling over the sands, and lots of people watching the horizon, all with the tragic expression of someone who for centuries has been prepared for the unknown and fears that it may not come after all, or may turn out to be no different from the common, banal experiences of everyday life. There they are now, as Unamuno described them, his swarthy face cupped in the palms of his hands,
Fix your eyes where the lonely sun sets in the immense sea,
all nations with the sea to the west do the same, this race is swarthy, there is no other particularity, and it has sailed the seas. Lyrical, ecstatic, the Spanish announcer declaims, Look at the Portuguese, all along their golden beaches, once but no longer the prow of Europe, for we have left the European quayside to sail once more the Atlantic waves, what admiral will guide us, what port awaits us, the closing shot showed a young lad throwing a pebble into the sea, practicing the art of ricochet, one that requires no training, and Joaquim Sassa said, He has the strength of his years, the stone couldn't possibly go any farther, but the peninsula, or whatever it might be, appeared to be advancing with even greater vigor over the deep sea, so different from what it normally is in the summer. The final item of news was given by the announcer, in passing, as if he did not consider it very important, Some volatility has been observed among the population, lots of people are leaving their homes, not only in Andalusia, there we know the reason, but, bearing in mind that most of them are heading for the sea, we may assume that they are driven by natural curiosity, in any case we can assure our viewers that there is nothing to see on the coast, as we have just confirmed, all those Portuguese who were staring at the sea, stared and saw nothing, let us not make the same mistake. Then Pedro Orce said, If you have room for me, I'm coming with you.

Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço remained silent, they could not understand why such a sensible Spaniard should want to visit the regions and beaches of Portugal. The question was worth raising, and as the owner of Deux Chevaux, it was up to Joaquim Sassa to ask, and Pedro Orce replied, I don't want to stay here, with the earth shaking under my feet all the time, and people telling me that I'm only imagining things, You might well feel the earth shaking in Portugal too, and very likely people there will say much the same thing, José Anaiço told him, and we have our jobs waiting for us. I won't be a burden to you, just take me with you and leave me in Lisbon, where I've never been, I'll come back here one day, And what about your family and your pharmacy, You must have gathered by now that I have no family, I'm the last survivor, the pharmacy will be all right, I have an assistant who will look after things. There was nothing more to be said, no reason for refusing, We'll be glad of your company, was the phrase Joaquim Sassa used, The worst thing would be if they were to detain you at the frontier, José Anaiço reminded him, I'll tell them I've been touring Spain, so I couldn't possibly have known that anyone was looking for me, and that I'm just about to present myself to the authorities, but it's unlikely there will be any need for explanations, they're sure to be paying more attention to those who are leaving than to those who are entering, Let's cross over at some other frontier post, I'm worried about the starlings, José Anaiço reminded them, and, having spoken, he spread out on the table a map of the whole Iberian peninsula, drawn and colored at a time when everything was terra firma and the ossified callus of the Pyrenees discouraged any temptation to venture beyond, in silence the three men stood looking at the flat area representing this part of the world as if they failed to recognize it, Strabo used to say that the peninsula is formed like the hide of an ox, Pedro Orce muttered these words earnestly, and despite the warm night Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço broke out in goose pimples, as if suddenly confronted by the Cyclopean beast that was about to be sacrificed and skinned in order to burden the continent of Europe with yet another carcass that would go on bleeding until the end of time.

The open map showed the two countries, Portugal indented, suspended, Spain unhinged to the south, and the regions, the provinces, the districts, the thick rubble of the major cities, the dust of the towns
and villages, but not of all of them, for dust is often invisible to the naked eye, Venta Micena being merely one example. Their hands smooth and stroke the paper, they pass over Alentejo and continue northwards, as if they were caressing a human face, from right to left, following the hands of the clock, the direction of time, the Beiras, Ribatejo before them, and then Trás-os-Montes and Minho, Galicia, Asturias, the Basque country and Navarre, Castile and Leon, Aragon and Catalonia, Valencia, Estremadura, both the Spanish and the Portuguese, Andalusia where we still find ourselves, the Algarve, then José Anaiço pointed with his finger to the mouth of the Guadiana and said, Let's enter through here.

Swept away by the volley of gunfire from Rosal de la Frontera of bitter memory, the starlings, prudent on this occasion, made a wide circle northward and crossed to where the air was clear and the circulation free, some three kilometers from the bridge, which was already built by then, and none too soon. The police on the Portuguese side expressed no surprise that one of the three travelers was called Joaquim Sassa, there were clearly more serious matters worrying the authorities, and these soon became apparent from the ensuing dialogue, Where are you gentlemen heading for, the guard inquired, For Lisbon, replied José Anaiço, who was at the wheel, and he in turn asked, Why do you ask, officer, You will run into roadblocks along the highway, follow any orders you may receive, under no circumstances should you try to force your way through or look for ways around, otherwise you'll be in trouble, Has there been some kind of disaster, Depends what you mean by disaster, Don't tell us the Algarve is also breaking away, it had to come sooner or later, they've always thought of themselves as being a separate kingdom, No, it's something else, something more serious, people are trying to occupy the hotels, they claim that if there are no tourists they ought to be given shelter, We've heard nothing about this, when did the occupation begin, Last night, Well I never, exclaimed José Anaiço, had he been French he would have said
Ça alors,
everyone has his own way of expressing the surprise the next man also experienced, listen to Pedro Orce who gave
a resounding
Caramba,
while from Joaquim Sassa you could scarcely hear the echo of that, Well I never.

The police instructed them to carry on, warned them for a second time, Look out for the roadblocks, and Deux Chevaux was able to cross Vila Real de Santo António while the passengers went on discussing this extraordinary affair, Seriously, who would have believed it, there are two different types of Portuguese, those who take off for the beaches and sand dunes to contemplate the horizon despondently, and others who advance intrepidly on those hotels-cum-fortresses defended by the police, by the Republican Guard, and even, it would seem, by the army itself, Already people have been wounded, this they were told secretly in a café where they decided to stop and gather some information. This was how they learned that in three hotels, one in Albufeira, one in Praia da Rocha, the last in Lagos, the situation is critical, the forces of order are on the point of surrounding the buildings where the insurgents are digging in, barricading doors and windows, blocking all points of access, they are like besieged Moors, infidels without mercy, apostates heeding neither appeals nor threats, they know that the white flag will be followed by tear gas, therefore they refuse to negotiate, they reject the very word surrender. Pedro Orce is shaken, goes on repeating
Caramba
under his breath, and one can detect a hint of patriotic pique in his expression, deep regret that the Spanish should have failed to take the initiative.

At the first roadblock they were asked to turn off in the direction of Castro Marim, but José Anaiço protested that he had important business in Silves, it must be dealt with urgently, he said Silves to allay any suspicions, Besides, I have to travel along country roads, And keep as far off the beaten track as possible, if you want to avoid complications, the officer in charge advised him, reassured by the harmless appearance of the three passengers and the jaded respectability of Deux Chevaux, But officer, in a situation like this, with the country going adrift, and the expression could not have been more apt, here we are worrying ourselves about some hotels being occupied, this isn't the kind of revolution that warrants a general mobilization, people get impatient sometimes, that's all, the comment came from Joaquim
Sassa, scarcely diplomatic, fortunately the lieutenant was not a man to go back on his word but a soldier who upheld ancient traditions, otherwise they would have found themselves obliged to go through Castro Marim after all. Joaquim Sassa's impertinence was duly reprimanded nonetheless, The army is here to carry out its orders, what would you say if we were to abandon our uncomfortable barracks and occupy the Sheraton or the Ritz, the officer must really have been mad to condescend to giving explanations to a civilian. You're absolutely right, lieutenant, just like my friend to speak without thinking, as I'm always telling him, Well, he should make a point of thinking, he's old enough, the officer retorted sharply. With an abrupt gesture he waved them on, he did not hear what Joaquim Sassa said, and just as well, otherwise they might have ended up behind bars.

They were detained at other roadblocks manned by the Republican Guard, who were not quite so obliging, sometimes they were forced to make detours along bad roads before returning to the main highway. Joaquim Sassa was angry, not without reason, he had been reprimanded twice, That the lieutenant should throw his weight around, I can accept, but you had no right to say that I don't think before speaking, Forgive me, I was only trying to keep the situation from deteriorating, you were being ironic with the man and that was a mistake, you must never be ironic with the authorities, either they don't notice and it's pointless, or they notice, and it only makes things worse. Pedro Orce asked them to explain, slowly, what they were arguing about, and the inevitable change of tone, the repetitions, revealed that it was a matter of no importance, when Pedro Orce understood everything, everything had been understood.

After the road forked at Boliqueime, on a deserted stretch José Anaiço took advantage of a shallow ditch and with no warning drove Deux Chevaux straight into an open field, Where are you going, Joaquim Sassa called out, If we keep to the road, like obedient little children, we'll never get close to any of those hotels, and we do want to see what's going on there, don't we, José Anaiço retorted between one jolt and another, struggling with the unsteady steering wheel as the car bounced over the ruts like something demented. Pedro Orce,
sitting on the back seat, was thrown from one side to another with neither pity nor mercy, and Joaquim Sassa, who had burst out laughing, replied in fits and starts, That's really funny, that's really very funny. Fortunately, three hundred meters ahead they found a hidden path among the fig trees, behind a broken-down wall of dry stones, or one that had lost its mortar with time. They were, in a manner of speaking, in the field of operations. Taking every precaution they close in on Albufeira, wherever possible they choose flat terrain, worst of all are the clouds of dust sent up by Deux Chevaux, ill-equipped to act as beater and vanguard, but the police are already far away, guarding the crossroads, the major road junctions as they are called in the current terminology of communications, besides, the effective strength of the forces of order is not so great that it could strategically cover a province that is as rich in hotels as in locust trees, if such a comparison were permissible. In fact, anyone whose next destination is the city of Lisbon would not need to venture into those parts where subversion reigns, but we might as well confirm whether our information is correct, time and time again one has seen how stories get exaggerated in the telling, there might have been the odd isolated incident, but the roadblocks might turn out in the end to be nothing more than the putting into practice of that wise proverb that warns us that prevention is better than cure. But there were already infiltrations. From among the sparse trees, eagerly tramping over the red soil, came men and women carrying sacks, suitcases and bundles on their shoulders, tiny children in their arms, their intention being to secure a place in a hotel, with these few belongings and the closest members of the family as a guaranty, wife, children, then, if all goes well, they will send for the rest of their relatives, and the bed, the chest, and the table, for want of any other belongings, no one seems to have remembered that there are plenty of beds and tables in hotels, and while there may not be all that many chests, there are wardrobes serving the same purpose.