Where Tigers Are at Home (44 page)

If I have taken the trouble to go through the matter of this
Great Art of Light and Shade
, it is not for my well-informed readers, who will be perfectly familiar with it, but to give an example to the younger among them, who will hardly be acquainted with Kircher’s work, if at all, with his phenomenal knowledge in all things & with his very individual manner of disentangling the most difficult subjects in a way that is both pleasant & useful. My master never ignored any aspect of the world & whether he was interested in light, in Egypt or in any other specific subject, every time he felt compelled to embrace the whole of the universe before returning to its Creator to praise Him for all these many marvels.

As soon as it was published, this work enjoyed remarkable success. No praise was loud enough to express the admiration of scholars, who devoured it with relish, as if it were a great delicacy. Copies were sent to all the Jesuit missions throughout the world.

Meanwhile, intrigued by the frontispiece & unable to grasp all its subtleties, I went to see Kircher in his study. He welcomed me as usual & interrupted his work to explain the marvelous
allegory that the Burgundian, Pierre Miotte, had engraved to his order.

I admitted to Kircher that, although I could understand a good number of these symbols, I had difficulty relating them to each other & that consequently the deeper meaning of the picture escaped me.

“Sit down,” my master said in kindly tones, “there’s nothing very mysterious about it, a little more effort & you would have understood all this mumbo jumbo. But first of all pour us some of this excellent Burgundy that the good Father Mersenne has sent to me, it will perhaps enlighten your mind, provided it doesn’t cloud it entirely …

“There it is,” said the Countess, stepping aside at the entrance to a large, isolated building a hundred yards or so from the main part of the residence. “I’ll leave you in my husband’s clutches. Don’t join in his game,” she advised with a smile, “or you’ve had it. See you later, I hope …”

With a meaningful glance at Loredana, she turned and left.

“So what do you think of her?” Eléazard asked. “Nice, don’t you think?”

“Odd, I’d say,” Loredana replied without knowing what she really thought of the Countess. “She can certainly knock it back. She was close to making a declaration of love! Good thing you came back with the champagne, I didn’t know how I was going to get out of it.”

Eléazard raised his eyebrows in surprise. She was annoyed with herself for summing up the Countess’s attitude to her in such an off-hand way, with this habit she had of always wanting to get the
upper hand, to dismiss others with a single defining comment for the sole reason that she’d been deeply moved by them and didn’t know how to assess the feeling. She immediately made amends: “I’m just talking off the top of my head. The truth is, I liked her. Very much, even. She asked me to give her some Italian lessons and I think I’m going to agree. What do you think?”

“Why not?” said Eléazard, glancing inside the garage. “You can even tell her to come to my place, if that suits you better. Shall we go in?”

“OK,” she said, her mind elsewhere.

They entered what had been the heart of the
fazenda
when it had been a working farm, in the days when José Moreira’s father was still growing sugarcane on his land: a vast, circular construction where two pairs of oxen went round and round continuously to operate a mill with vertical rollers. Preserved by the Colonel, the mill was prominently displayed in the middle of the shed. Radiating from it, a circle of twenty or so old cars shimmered under halogen lamps that bathed them in a museum light. There were red carpets between the vehicles. A small group of people, among whom several Asian faces could be seen, were gathered around the tall figure of the governor.

“Come and join us,” he said when he saw Eléazard and his companion. “You’ve taken your time, I can say.”

They went over to them beside a splendid coupe with cream and brown paintwork recalling certain tasteless two-tone shoes.

“Here’s something that ought to interest you, Monsieur Von Wogau. I was just showing these people one of the finest items in my collection, a Panhard et Levassor 1936”—he mispronounced the names as
Panarde et Lévassor
but with something about his intonation that indicated he was convinced he was speaking them in the French manner. “The
Dynamic
with a freewheel! Four speeds, automatic clutch, torsion-bar suspension … Three
parallel windshield wipers, headlamps and radiator with matching grilles and a centrally placed steering wheel, if you please. The best your country produced.”

“What speed?” a nasal voice asked.

“
Eighty-seven miles an hour
,” the governor said in English, as if he were announcing a profit he’d made on the stock exchange. “And fifteen miles a gallon,” he confessed to Loredana in guilty tones but with a smile at the corner of his mouth showing that he was just as proud of the excessive fuel consumption as he was of the speed.

“I’m sorry,” Loredana said, “but I can’t really appreciate these things. Aesthetically at most. I haven’t even got a driver’s licence, so cars, you know …”

For a moment the governor was dumbstruck. “Did you hear that?” he then said to the assembled company. “The lady hasn’t got a driver’s licence! And she’s Italian!”

A young man with the look of a Mormon missionary immediately translated this into English, which aroused a certain amount of polite amusement from some and, with a slight delay, had the Asians springing grotesquely to attention.

Eléazard started as a hand was placed on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Euclides’s beaming face: “Your move, my friend,” he whispered in his ear, pretending to be interested in the conversation. “Quite a gathering. The Pentagon, does that mean anything to you?” With his eyes he indicated two graying-at-the-temples bucks who could have come from a TV ad for cheap aftershave.

All at once Eléazard was overcome with the irresistible longing for a cigarette. Not that he felt intimidated by the occult power of those men or nervous at the godsend of an explosive revelation—that modern tendency of journalism was precisely what he found nauseating about his profession, but he suddenly felt the prickling lies set off in him. Nothing equals the feeling of having access to
the truth like a whiff of falsehood, the imminence of evidence to expose as false something that was claiming to be genuine—a system, a theory, but equally the stature, the honest image of a man and what he says. As a result, Eléazard felt as exultant as a police inspector at the moment when the possibility emerges of demolishing the defense of a suspect he’d known for ages was guilty.

Every sense on the alert, he listened as the governor continued his whimsical address. With all the mannerisms of a passionate collector, and not without a certain brilliance, Moreira sang the praises of the perfect curves of the Panhard, its lines,
not feminine, that would be an insult to women
, but animal, fleshly, organic … Beautiful cars, he said, went beyond the simple idea of transport, they were cult objects, magic scarabs, pure talismans destined for those whose thirst for progress, power and mastery over things impelled them irresistibly toward the future.

“Talking of
thirst
,” Loredana broke in, “you wouldn’t have something to drink?”

He laughed at her forthrightness and, excusing himself for forgetting his duty toward his guests, signalled to one of the twenty mulattos in overalls he employed to look after his cars.

“We’re sticking to champagne, yes? It’s a celebration this evening.”

“And what are you celebrating?” Loredana asked out of simple curiosity.

A mischievous, teasing expression appeared on Moreira’s face. “But the pleasure of having made your acquaintance, of course. That alone would justify emptying my cellars completely …”

Loredana’s response to the flattery was a skeptical pout. The alcohol had suddenly gone to her head. All at once she was very annoyed with Eléazard for having left her in Moreira’s hands. By way of revenge, she allowed the governor to take her hand and lead her to the rear of the car.

BROUGHT FROM THE
fazenda
by the mechanic, two waiters distributed glasses of champagne all around.

“Why do people call you ‘Colonel?’ ” Loredana asked after having emptied her glass in three gulps. “Have you been in the army?”

“No, not really,” the governor replied nonchalantly, gesturing to a waiter to refill her glass. “It’s a kind of assumed title.” He mechanically smoothed one of his sideburns. “It’s still used for political leaders and the
fazendeiros
, the owners of the big estates. It’s a tradition going back to imperial times: in his struggle against the rabble-rousers, Don Pedro I organized regional militias, putting the notables of the Interior in command with the rank of colonel. The militias have disappeared but the title has remained. Having said that, we can dispense with the formalities. I would be honored it you would simply call me José.”

She drew herself up with a thoughtful air, though her words were starting to get slightly slurred. “You’re a fast worker, Colonel.”

Apart from the Japanese, who were talking among themselves, examining the Panhard with ceremonious courtesies, the guests were gathered in a circle around the governor; with no obvious malice, they fed his banter with questions or remarks that were too accommodating not to bespeak a grotesque smugness.

With impassible faces, hands in their pockets, Eléazard and Dr. Euclides seemed lost in thought.

“I agree with you, William.” The governor, his eyes fixed on Loredana, as if seeking her approval, started to hold forth. “Destitution is a genuine problem. To think that a country such as ours is still ravaged by the plague or cholera, not to mention the lepers you see begging more or less everywhere! It’s more than a tragedy, it’s a waste! It’s easy to blame the incompetence of the politicians, corruption or even the disparity in wealth between the
fazandeiro
and the peasant. But that is to take a very narrow
view of things. Our foreign debt is one of the biggest in the world, it’s come to the point where we’re reduced to having to borrow again and again simply to pay the interest! It’s obvious we won’t be able to get out of it as long as there isn’t a permanent moratorium. In the meantime, Brazil remains the world leader in the production of tin, the second most important producer of steel and the third for manganese, not to mention arms. Whom do you think we have to thank for that? The
Partido dos Trabalhadores
? The Communists? All these pseudorevolutionaries who spend their time criticizing without the least comprehension of the economic realities of the country? Or perhaps those peasants who stop cultivating their fields as soon as they’ve harvested enough maize to feel secure. We must face up to facts: the Brazilians are still in their childhood. If we weren’t here to change things, we, the entrepreneurs who have a vision of Brazil and give ourselves the means to satisfy our ambitions, who would do it, I ask you? Destitution is just one symptom among others of our immaturity as a country. It’s sad, lamentable, tragic, whatever you want, but the people must be educated, whether they like it or not, so that they will finally grow up, see reason and get down to work.” Then, turning to Eléazard, he asked, “You’re a journalist, Monsieur Von Wogau, tell me the truth: am I right or not?”

Eléazard stared at him without replying, contempt oozing from every pore. Grab him by the collar, heap abuse on him, spit his nauseating cynicism right back in his face! The words came tumbling down without managing to cross his lips; he was clearly aware of the pointlessness of making a scene, but unable to bring himself to mutter an agreement out of pure expediency, he remained silent, wavering, muzzled more by his own fury than by etiquette.

Loredana’s remark was like the flap of a sail in the unruffled calm: “The day beggars get forks they’ll be given gruel …”

Dumbfounded for a moment, the governor decided to laugh, following Dr. Euclides, who was giving muffled applause.

“Not bad,” said Moreira with a nasty grimace. “Not bad at all. And do you know this one? What does a blind beggar say when he’s feeling a rich man’s car?”

…?

“Oh my God,” he whined, caricaturing the plaintive tones of the people of the
Nordeste
, “what a little bus!”

Eléazard gritted his teeth, concentrating fully on keeping his face expressionless. There were a few polite smiles but a tangible unease had people staring into space. Furious at Eléazard and Loredana, the governor was searching for an anecdote that would relax the atmosphere, when Loredana broke the silence again: “How about taking me out for a spin?” she said in a playful tone. Adding, as she stroked the curve of the Panhard’s wing, “I’m dying to see what she can do …”

José Moreira looked her up and down, as if he were wondering if she were serious. Flattered by what he saw in her eyes, he opened the door of the car and invited her to get in.

“Take a seat,
senhorita
. I’m sorry to have to abandon you like this,” he said to the other guests, “but what a woman wants … We’ll be back in a few minutes, makes yourselves at home until we return.”

Starting up as soon as he was at the controls, the Panhard reversed briefly then drove silently toward the garage exit. With a brief flash of the headlights and a resonant blast on the horn, the car disappeared into the night.

After the departure of the governor and his capricious passenger, the abandoned guests took a few minutes to decide what to do. Visibly annoyed with their host for his discourtesy, the Asians agreed to withdraw; having translated a bouquet of flowery farewells, their factotum followed them, tight-lipped and stiff-legged.
Ignoring Euclides and Eléazard, the Americans were consulting together in low voices.

“You mustn’t condemn her,” the doctor said, placing his hand on Eléazard’s arm. “Jealousy—just like despair, by the way—is a pleasure we must be able to deny ourselves. Especially since it seemed to me that our dear Loredana was perfectly aware of what she was doing. If you want my opinion, there’s more trouble in store for that old fuddy-duddy colonel.”