Baltasar and Blimunda (Harvest Book) Read online

  It is still a little early for such mishaps. When Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço rounded the final bend on the road and began to descend into the valley, he came across a multitude of people, multitude is perhaps an exaggeration, for they were no more than several hundred, and at first he could not see what was happening, because the crowd was running to one side, a trumpet sounded, some festivity perhaps, or even war, then suddenly came an explosion of gunfire, and rubble and gravel were hurled through the air, there were twenty shots in all before the trumpet sounded once more, but this time on a different note, labourers advanced toward the scene of the blasting with hand-carts and spades, filling in here on the hill, and clearing yonder on the slope facing Mafra, others, with their hoes slung over their shoulders, disappeared down into the excavations, while still others lowered baskets and then hauled them up filled with soil, which they then emptied out some distance away, where another group of workers were shovelling earth into carts, to be scattered over the embankment, there is no difference whatsoever between a hundred men and a hundred ants, the soil is transported from here to there because a man has not enough strength to do any more, then another man carries the load to the next ant, until, as usual, everything finishes up in the hole, for ants a place of life, for men a place of death, so, as you can see, there is no difference whatsoever.

  Prodding with his heels, Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço spurred his mule forward, it was a seasoned animal, inured to the sound of gunfire, that is the advantage of not being a thoroughbred, hybrid creatures have been through so much, and as a result of their crossbreeding they are not easily alarmed, which is the best way for beasts and men to survive in this world. Along the road bogged down in mud, a sign that the springs in the earth were lost in that disturbance and were welling up to no advantage, or dividing into many little veins until the atoms of water completely separated and the hill remained dry, along this road, gently spurring on his mule, Padre Bartolomeu descended into the town, where he called on the parish priest to inquire about the family of Sete-Sóis. This particular parish priest had made a handsome profit from the sale of some land he had owned on the Alto da Vela, either because the land was considered to be worth a great deal or the owner himself was, it was valued at one hundred and forty thousand réis, a much higher sum than the thirteen thousand five hundred réis paid to João Francisco. The parish priest feels very pleased at the thought of the impressive convent that is about to enhance his parish with its community of eighty friars, such a convent here on his very doorstep will undoubtedly increase the number of baptisms, marriages, and deaths in the town, each sacrament will bestow material and spiritual benefits by reinforcing the church's coffers and the hope of salvation in direct ratio to the various functions and stipends, Truly, Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço, it is a great honour to receive you here in my house, the Sete-Sóises live nearby, they owned some land adjacent to mine on the Alto da Vela, a smaller holding than mine, needless to say, now the old man and his family earn their living by farming rented land, their son, Baltasar, returned home four years ago, he came from the war maimed for life and turned up here with his wife, I don't believe that they're married in the eyes of Holy Mother Church, and the woman has a name that's certainly not Christian, Is she called Blimunda, interrupted Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço, Then you know her, I married them, Ah, so they are married, I married them myself in Lisbon, whereupon the Flying Man, although not known in these parts by that name, expressed his gratitude to the parish priest, whose effusive welcome could be attributed to certain recommendations from the Palace, he then went off to call on the Sete-Sóis household, secretly pleased at having lied before God in the safe knowledge that God could not care less, for a man must know for himself when lies can be forgiven even as they are being told.

  It was Blimunda who opened the door. Dusk was already falling, but she recognised the priest the moment he dismounted, after all, four years is not such a long time, she kissed his hand and were it not for the presence of some inquisitive neighbours, the greeting might have been quite different, for these two, or three when Baltasar is present, are governed by their emotions, all three have shared the same dream, all will see the flying machine beat its wings, the sun explode into even greater splendour, the amber attract the ether, the ether attract the magnet, the magnet attract the iron, all things attract each other, the real problem being to know how to arrange them in the right sequence, Padre Bartolomeu, this is my mother-in-law, Marta Maria had approached, puzzled that she could hear no one speaking, yet convinced that she heard Blimunda go to open the door although no one had knocked, and now there was an unknown priest standing there and inquiring about Baltasar, this is not the manner in which visits were conducted in those days, but there were exceptions, just as there are exceptions in every age, so here was a priest who came from Lisbon to Mafra to speak to a crippled soldier and a clairvoyant of the worst possible kind, because she can see what exists, as Marta Maria has already discovered for herself, because when she confided her fears that she might have a tumour in her stomach, Blimunda dismissed the idea, but it was true and they both knew it, Eat your bread, Blimunda, eat your bread.

  Padre Bartolomeo Lourenço was sitting by the fire, for the night was already becoming chilly, when Baltasar and his father finally arrived. They saw the mule tethered in front of the house under the olive tree and noticed that it was still harnessed, Whose could this be, João Francisco asked and Baltasar made no reply but suspected that it might be a priest, the mules used by the clergy betray a certain evangelical submissiveness, which is quite unlike the spirited rebelliousness you find among the horses ridden by laymen, if, as Baltasar imagined, the mule belonged to a priest and had travelled for some distance, and no one was expecting a papal legate or nuncio, then it must be Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço, as indeed turned out to be the case. Anyone who expresses surprise that Baltasar Sete-Sóis should have observed all those details when it was already growing dark should know that the splendour of the saints is no vain illusion reflected by the anguished souls of mystics, or religious hocus-pocus propagated by effigies and oil paintings, for, after sharing Blimunda's bed for so long and enjoying sexual intercourse night after night, Baltasar was beginning to experience a spiritual light that bestowed dual vision, and though it did not provide for any deep probings, it did enable him to make such observations. João Francisco undid the mule's harness and came back into the house just as the priest was telling Baltasar and Blimunda that he had accepted an invitation to supper from the parish priest and accommodation for the night, first because there was not enough room in the Sete-Sóis household, and, second, because it would cause people in Mafra to gossip if a priest who had travelled a considerable distance should decide to lodge in a house that was little better than the stable at Bethlehem rather than avail himself of the comforts at the parochial residence or at the Viscounts' Palace, where hospitality would not be denied to a future doctor of canon law, Marta Maria told him, Had we known Your Reverence was coming, we would at least have killed a cockerel, for we've nothing in the larder worth offering an important guest, I should be happy to accept whatever you have to offer me, but it will cause everyone less inconvenience if I do not stay here for supper, as for the cockerel, Senhora Marta Maria, let it crow as much as it likes now that it has been saved from the pot, hearing it crowing is certain to give much greater pleasure, besides, it wouldn't be fair to the hens. João Francisco laughed heartily at this witty little speech, but Marta Maria could not even muster a smile as she tried to suppress a sharp twinge of pain in her stomach, Baltasar and Blimunda smiled politely, feeling that no more was expected of them, for they knew only too well that the priest's sayings always deviated from the words one expected and this was simply further proof, Tomorrow, one hour before sunrise, bring the mule already harnessed to the presbytery, both of you come, because we must have a chat together before I leave for Coimbra, and now, Senhor João Francisco and Senhora Marta Maria, receive my blessing, should it serve any
purpose in the eyes of God, for it is a great presumption to imagine that we priests can judge the effectiveness of our own blessings, don't forget, one hour before sunrise, and with these words he departed, Baltasar accompanied him, carrying an oil lamp that gave scarcely any light, it was as if the lamp were saying to the night, I am a light and during the short walk, they did not exchange a single word, Baltasar made his way back in pitch darkness, his feet knew where they were treading, and when he entered the kitchen Blimunda asked, Well, then, did Padre Bartolomeu say what he wanted, He said nothing, tomorrow we shall find out, and João Francisco, remembering the priest's words, burst out laughing, That was a good story about the cock. As for Marta Maria, she was pondering some enigma, Now let's have supper, the two men sat at the table while the women ate apart, as was the custom.

  They all slept as best they could, each with his own secret dreams, for dreams are like human beings, bearing some resemblance to one another but never quite identical, it would be as inaccurate to say, I saw a man, as to say, Today I dreamt about flowing water, for this is not enough to tell us who the man was or which water was flowing, the water that flowed in the dream belongs only to the dreamer, we shall never know what the flowing water signifies if we know nothing about the dreamer, and so we move to and fro, from the dreamer to the dreamt and from the dreamt to the dreamer, in search of an answer, Future generations will take pity on us, Padre Francisco Gonçalves, because they will know us so little and so badly, these were Padre Bartolomeu's words before retiring to his room, and Padre Francisco Gonçalves dutifully replied, All knowledge resides in God, That is true, the Flying Man replied, but God's knowledge is like a river coursing towards the sea, God is the source and men are the ocean, it would scarcely have been worth His while to have created so much universe if things should have turned out otherwise, and it seems incredible to us that anyone should be able to sleep after having said or heard such things.

  At dawn, Baltasar and Blimunda arrived, leading the mule by its halter, but Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço did not need to be called, he opened the door the moment he heard the sound of the mule's hoofs striking the cobblestones and came out at once, he had already taken his leave of the parish priest of Mafra and left him with something to ponder, if God were the source and men the ocean, then how much did he still have to discover, for the parish priest of Mafra had forgotten almost everything he had ever learned, except, thanks to continuous practice, the Latin of the Mass and the sacraments, and the road that led between the legs of his housekeeper, who had slept in a cupboard under the stairs last night because there was a guest in the house. Baltasar held the mule by the reins while Blimunda stood a few paces away, her eyes lowered and her hood pulled forward, Good morning, they greeted him, Good morning, the priest replied before asking Blimunda if she had broken her fast, and from the shadows cast by her hood, she replied, I have not yet eaten, Tell Blimunda not to eat, Padre Bartolomeu had said to Baltasar, and those words were passed on to her, whispered into her ear as she and Baltasar lay together, so that the old couple would not hear, and their secret should remain safe.

  Through the dark street they made their way up to the Alto da Vela, not the road to the village of Paz, which the priest should have taken if he was heading north, however, they seemed to feel obliged to avoid inhabited places, though there might be men sleeping or waking up in the huts they were passing, ramshackle buildings where you would find no one apart from roadworkers, men of brute strength and few graces, and should we chance to pass along these roads in a few months, or, better still, within the next few years, then we shall see a large city built from wood, bigger than Mafra, those who survive will see this and more, for the present, these primitive dwellings provide a refuge where men who are worn out from hours of digging and shovelling soil may rest their weary bones, soon there will even be a military fanfare, for the regiment has also arrived, but not to die in battle this time, now their only task is to keep a watchful eye over the hordes of workers and to lend a hand from time to time without disgracing the uniform, and frankly, one can scarcely distinguish the guards from those whom they are guarding, for if the latter are in tatters, the former are in rags. The sky has turned a pearly grey towards the sea, while over the hills a patch of colour like diluted blood gradually becomes more and more vivid, dawn will break soon, a medley of blue and gold, for the weather is perfect at this time of the year. Blimunda, however, sees nothing, her eyes are lowered, in her pocket nestles a piece of bread, which she must not eat just yet, What are they about to ask of me.

  It is the priest who wants something, not Baltasar, who is as much in the dark as Blimunda. Below you can scarcely make out the outlines of the excavations, black forms against shadows, that must be the basilica down there. Labourers begin to crowd the site, they start to light bonfires and heat up some food, yesterday's leftovers, before the day's work begins, soon they will be enjoying broth from their porringers, which they soak up with chunks of rough-grained bread. Blimunda will have to bide her time. Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço says, In this world I have you, Blimunda, and you, Baltasar, my parents are in Brazil, my brothers in Portugal, so I have both parents and brothers, but for this enterprise I need neither parents nor brothers but friends, so listen carefully, I discovered everything there is to know about ether in Holland, it is not what most people believe and teach, and it cannot be obtained by means of alchemy, in order to go up into the sky and fetch it, we would have to be able to fly, and that is something we are still unable to do, but, mark my words, before it rises into the atmosphere to keep the stars aloft and become the air that God breathes, ether is to be found inside men and women, Then it must be the soul, Baltasar concluded, No, it is not the soul, at first I, too, thought that it might be the soul, I also thought that the ether might be formed by souls when death releases them from bodies and before they are finally judged, but ether is not constituted from the souls of the dead, it is constituted, note carefully, from the wills of living souls.

  Down below, the men were starting to descend into the excavations, which were still enshrouded in darkness. The priest said, Inside us there is a will and a soul, the soul departs with death and goes where souls await judgment, no one knows for certain, but the will either detaches itself from man while he is still alive, or it is separated from the soul at death, and that will is ether, therefore it is the human will that sustains the stars, it is the human will that God breathes, And what must I do, Blimunda asked, but she guessed the reply, You will see the will inside people, I have never seen their will, just as I have never seen their soul, You do not see their soul because the soul cannot be seen, you have not seen their will because you were not looking for it, What does will look like, It's like a dark cloud, What does a dark cloud look like, You will recognise it when you see it, try it out with Baltasar, for that is why we have come here, I cannot, for I have promised that I'd never look inside him, Then try it with me.

  Blimunda lifted her head, looked at the priest, and saw what she had always seen, that people are more alike inside than outside, and only differ when they are ailing, she took another look and insisted, I cannot see anything. The priest smiled, Perhaps I no longer have any will, but take a closer look, Yes, now I can see, I can see a dark cloud over the cavity of your stomach. The priest made the sign of the cross, Thanks be to God, now I shall fly. He took from his knapsack a glass phial with a flat piece of yellow amber stuck inside the bottom, This amber, which is also known as electron, attracts the ether, carry it with you wherever you are likely to meet people, for example, in processions, at autos-da-fé, or here on the site where the convent is being built, and the moment you perceive that a cloud is about to emerge from anyone, which invariably happens, hold out the open phial and allow the will to filter inside, And when the phial is full, It needs only a single will to make the phial full, but this is the impenetrable mystery of wills, where one can be stored, millions can be stored, one is equal to an infinite number, And what shall we do in the me
antime, I'm off to Coimbra, from there, at the right moment, I shall send a message, then you will both travel to Lisbon, you will build the machine, and you, Blimunda, will collect wills, we three shall meet when the day finally comes for us to fly, I embrace you, Blimunda, and beg of you not to look at me so closely, I embrace you, Baltasar, and bid you farewell until we meet again. He mounted his mule and began to descend the slope. The sun had appeared over the crest of the hills. Eat your bread, Baltasar said, and Blimunda replied, Not yet, first I must go and see the wills of those men.

  THEY HAVE RETURNED from Holy Mass and are seated under the roof of the oven. A light shower of rain falls gently amid the sunshine, Autumn is early this year, therefore Inês Antónia scolds her little boy, Come away from there or you'll get wet, but the child pretends not to hear, even in those days it was what one expected of children, although their acts of disobedience were less radical than they are today, and having warned him once, Inês Antónia does not insist, barely three months have passed since she buried his little brother, so why bother nagging this child, let him play in the rain if it makes him happy, splashing around barefoot in the puddles in the yard, May the Virgin Mother protect him from the smallpox that carried off his brother. Álvaro Diogo tells her, I've been promised work on the site of the Royal Convent, this was what they appeared to be talking about, but the mother is thinking about the child she has buried, their thoughts are divided, and just as well, for certain obsessions can become unbearable, just like this pain that troubles Marta Maria, a persistent stabbing that pierces her womb like the daggers piercing the heart of the Mother of God, why her heart, when it is in the womb that children are born, it is in the womb that the furnace of life is to be found, and how should one nourish life unless by labour, which explains why Álvaro Diogo is feeling so happy, the building of such a convent will take many, many years to complete, any stone-mason who knows his trade will earn a good living, three hundred réis for a day's work, five hundred réis when they can work longer hours, And what about you, Baltasar, have you decided to go back to Lisbon, you're making a big mistake, for there will be plenty of work here, They won't want disabled men with so many labourers around, With that hook of yours you can do almost as much as any able-bodied man, That's true, unless you are only trying to spare my feelings, but we must go back to Lisbon, is that not so, Blimunda, and Blimunda, who has remained silent, nods her head in agreement. Lost in thought, the elderly João Francisco is braiding a leather thong, he hears them converse but pays little attention to what they are saying, he knows that his son will leave home during the next few weeks, but he is displeased with him, to leave home once more after all those years of enforced separation because of the war, you would only have yourself to blame if you were to come back without your right hand next time, such is love that people harbour these thoughts. Blimunda rose to her feet, crossed the yard, and went out into the countryside, she walked under the olive trees skirting the road all the way up to the boundaries of the building site, her heavy clogs sinking into the soil, which had been softened by the rain, but even if she had been walking barefoot and stepping over rough stones she would have felt nothing, how could she feel so little pain, when her whole being is filled with horror at her rash behaviour that very morning, when she took communion while still fasting, she had pretended to eat her bread in bed, out of habit and obligation, but she had not eaten it, with lowered eyes and pretending to be contrite and submissive, she went into church, attended Holy Mass as if she were in the presence of Almighty God and listened to the sermon without raising her head, overwhelmed, or so it appeared, by all the threats of hell and damnation that rained from the pulpit, then she finally went up to the altar to receive the Sacred Host, and she saw. During all these years since she had first become aware of the gift she possessed, she had always taken communion in a state of sin, with food in her stomach, but today, without mentioning anything to Baltasar, she had decided that she would take communion while fasting, not to receive God but to see Him, if He truly existed.