Baltasar and Blimunda (Harvest Book) Read online

  They lay down together. Blimunda was a virgin. What age are you, Baltasar asked her and Blimunda replied, Nineteen, but even as she spoke, she became older. Some drops of blood trickled on to the mat. Dipping the tips of her middle and index fingers into the blood, Blimunda made the sign of the cross and marked a cross on Baltasar's chest, near his heart. They were both naked. From a nearby street they heard the angry shouts of a quarrel, the clashing of swords and scurrying of feet. Then silence. The bleeding had stopped.

  When Baltasar woke next morning, he saw Blimunda lying at his side, eating bread, but with her eyes firmly closed. She only opened them when she had finished eating, at that moment they looked grey, and she told him, I shall never look into your soul.

  TO RAISE THIS bread to one's mouth requires little effort, an excellent thing to do when hunger demands it, eating bread nourishes the body and benefits the farmer, some farmers more than others, who from the moment the wheat is cut until the bread is eaten know how to turn their labours to profit, and that is the rule. In Portugal there is never enough wheat to satisfy the perpetual hunger of the Portuguese for bread, and they give the impression of being unable to eat anything else, and that explains why the foreigners who live here, in their anxiety to satisfy our needs, which germinate more abundantly than pumpkin seeds, have dispatched from their own and other lands fleets of a hundred ships laden with grain, like the fleets that have just sailed up the Tagus, firing their salute at the Torre de Belem and presenting the customary documents to the Governor and this time there are more than thirty thousand sacks of grain imported from Ireland, and such abundant supplies have transformed the shortage into a temporary surfeit, so that the granaries and private storehouses are so full of grain that the dealers are desperate to hire storage at any price, posting notices on doorways throughout the city for the attention of anyone with space to rent, the importers find themselves in serious difficulties and are obliged to lower prices because of the sudden glut, and to make matters worse, there is talk of the imminent arrival of a Dutch fleet carrying much the same cargo, but subsequently news arrives that the Dutch fleet has been attacked by a French squadron almost at the approach to the straits, causing the price that was about to be lowered to stay where it is and whenever it proves necessary, several granaries are burned to the ground and a shortage is immediately declared because of the grain lost in the blaze, although it is widely known that there is more than enough grain for everyone. These are the mysteries of commerce as taught by foreign merchants and learned by those who live here, though our own merchants are on the whole cretins and leave it to foreigners to arrange the import of merchandise from other lands and are quite content to buy the grain from foreigners who take advantage of our ingenuousness and get rich at our expense, by buying at prices we do not know and selling at prices we do know to be excessive, while we repay them with malicious tongues and eventually with our lives.

  However, since laughter is so close to tears, reassurance so close to anxiety, relief so close to panic, and the lives of individuals and nations hover between these extremes, João Elvas describes for Baltasar Sete-Sóis the splendid martial display the navy of Lisbon marshalled from Belem to Xabregas for two days and two nights, while the infantry and cavalry took up defence positions on land, because a rumour had spread that a French fleet was about to invade, a hypothesis which would transform any nobleman or commoner into another Duarte Pacheco Pereira, and convert Lisbon into another Fortress of Diu, but the invading armada turned out to be a fishing fleet with a consignment of cod, obviously in short supply, judging from the greed with which it was devoured. The ministers received the news with a withered smile, soldiers, arms, and horses were disbanded with a jaundiced smile, and the guffaws of the populace were loud and strident when they found themselves avenged of so many vexations. In short, it would have been much more shameful to have expected a consignment of cod only to find a French invasion than to have expected a French invasion only to be confronted with crates of cod.

  Sete-Sóis agrees, But put yourself in the shoes of any soldiers prepared for battle, you know how a man's heart beats furiously at such moments as he thinks to himself, What will become of me, will I come out of this alive, a soldier tenses up when he faces possible death, and imagine his disappointment when he is told they are simply unloading supplies of cod at Ribeira Nova, if the French were to discover our mistake, they would be even more amused at our stupidity. Baltasar is about to become nostalgic again for the war when suddenly he remembers Blimunda and longs to contemplate the colour of her eyes, a battle he wages with his own memory, which remembers one colour much like any other, his own eyes unable to distinguish the colour of her eyes even when he looks straight into them. These thoughts soon dispel any nostalgia he was about to indulge in, and he remarks to João Elvas, There should be some means of discovering who is arriving and what brings them here, the seagulls know these things when they perch on the ship's mast, while we, for whom it is much more important, know nothing, and the old soldier rejoined, The seagulls have wings, the angels, too, but the seagulls do not speak, and angels I have never seen.

  Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço was crossing the Palace Square, coming from the Palace, where he had gone at the insistence of Sete-Sóis, who was anxious to find out whether he was entitled to a war pension, if the simple loss of a left hand warranted as much and when João Elvas, who did not know everything about Baltasar's life, saw the priest approach, he continued the conversation and informed Baltasar, That priest who is now approaching is Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço, whom they call the Flying Man, but his wings have not grown sufficiently, so we shall not be able to go and spy out the fleets hoping to enter port or to discover what merchandise they bring or why they have come here. Sete-Sóis was unable to offer any comment, because the priest, pausing at a distance, was beckoning him to approach, and João Elvas was much bemused that his friend should enjoy the protection of Church and State, and began to ask himself if there could be some advantage here for a vagrant soldier like himself. But, busying himself in the meantime, he stretched out his hand for alms, first to a fine gentleman, who readily obliged, then distractedly to a mendicant friar, who passed by bearing a sacred relic that he extended to the faithful so they might kiss it with reverence, with the result that João Elvas finished up by parting with the alms he had collected, Well I'll be damned, it may be a sin but there is nothing like a good curse for giving vent to one's feelings.

  Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço assured Sete-Sóis, I've discussed these matters with the judges, they have promised to consider your petition, and when they have reached their decision they will inform me, and when are you likely to know, Father, Baltasar asked with the innocent curiosity of someone who has just arrived at court and is still unfamiliar with its ways, I cannot tell you, but should things delay, perhaps I shall have a word with His Majesty, who honours me with his esteem and protection, You can speak to the King, Baltasar asked in astonishment, while thinking to himself, He can speak to the King, yet he knew Blimunda's mother, who was condemned by the Inquisition, what kind of priest can he be, and this final question, which Sete-Sóis was careful not to voice aloud, left him feeling troubled. Padre Bartolomeu made no attempt to reply but looked him straight in the eye, and there they stood confronting each other, the priest somewhat shorter and more youthful in appearance even though they are both the same age, twenty-six years old, the age we have already established for Baltasar, yet their lives could scarcely be more different, that of Sete-Sóis destined to labour and war and although the war is now over the labour is about to commence, Bartolomeu Lourenço, on the other hand, was born in Brazil and arrived in Portugal for the first time as a young lad endowed with a good mind and an excellent memory, so that by the time he was fifteen his enormous potential was already being fulfilled, he could recite Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Quintus Curtius, Suetonius, Maecenas, and Seneca from beginning to end and back again, or from any passage you cared to quote, and he could also inte
rpret all the fables that had ever been written and explain why they had been invented in the first place by the Greeks and Romans, identify the authors of all the books and verse, both ancient and modern, right back to the year twelve hundred, and if someone were to suggest a theme for a poem, he would improvise some ten verses then and there without a moment's hesitation, he could also expound and defend every philosophical system and discuss the most complicated details, elucidate all the discourses of Aristotle, unravel their intricacies, terms, and middle terms, and clear up all the controversial issues in the Holy Scriptures, whether from the Old or the New Testament, he could recite from memory, in their entirety or in snatches, all the Gospels of the four Evangelists in any order, likewise the Epistles of St Paul and St Jerome, he knew by heart the sequence and dates of every prophet and holy king, and could quote from any passage and in any order from the Book of Psalms, Song of Songs, Book of Exodus, and all the Books of Kings, as well as from the somewhat less canonical Books of Esdras, which, confidentially speaking, do not give the impression of being all that orthodox, this sublime genius, this prodigious intellect and memory, was the product of a land from which the Portuguese have only exacted gold and diamonds, tobacco and sugar, the riches of the jungle, and everything else that may still be waiting to be discovered there, the land of another world, the land of tomorrow and for centuries to come, not to mention the evangelisation of the Tapuyan Indians, which in itself would gain us eternity.

  My friend João Elvas has just told me that you are known as the Flying Man, tell me, Father, why have they given you such a nickname, Baltasar asked him. Bartolomeu Lourenço started to move away, but the soldier pursued him and, walking two paces apart, they proceeded alongside the Arsenal de Ribeira das Naus and past the Royal Palace, and further on, when they reached Remolares, where the square opens up towards the river, the priest rested on a boulder and invited Sete-Sóis to join him and finally answered his question as if it had just been asked, They call me the Flying Man because I have flown, Baltasar was puzzled and, begging pardon for his boldness, pointed out that only birds and angels can fly, and men when they are dreaming, although there is nothing very stable about dreams, You haven't been living in Lisbon very long, at least I don't recall ever having seen you before, No, I was away in the war for four years, and my home is in Mafra, Well, it was two years ago that I flew, the first time I constructed a balloon it went up in flames, then I made a second balloon which landed on the palace roof, and finally I made a third balloon, which went out through a window of the Casa da India, never to be seen again, But did you fly in person or was it only the balloons that flew, Only the balloons but it was just as if I myself had flown, Surely a balloon flying is not the same thing as a man flying, A man stumbles at first, then walks, then runs, and eventually flies, Bartolomeu Lourenço replied, but suddenly he fell to his knees, because the Blessed Sacrament was being taken to some invalid of rank and importance, the priest carrying the pyx containing the Host walked under a canopy supported by six acolytes, trumpets to the fore, and members of a confraternity behind, wearing red cloaks and bearing candles in one hand as well as the religious objects required for administering the Holy Sacrament, some soul was impatient for flight and only waiting to be released from its anchorage, to be set before the wind blowing in from the high seas, from the depth of the universe, or the ultimate confines of the horizon. Sete-Sóis also knelt, resting his iron hook on the ground as he made the sign of the cross with his right hand.

  Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço was already on his feet and heading slowly towards the edge of the river, with Baltasar at his heels, and there on one side, a barge was unloading straw in great bales that youths balanced on their shoulders as they ran down the gangway, on the other side, two black slave women were coming to empty their masters' chamber pots, the urine and faeces of the day or week, amidst the natural odours of straw and excrement, the priest confided, I have been the laughing-stock of the court and its poets, one of them, Tomás Pinto Brandão, dubbed my invention a wind machine and declared it would soon perish, and had it not been for the King's support, I don't know what would have become of me, but the King, had faith in my invention and consented that I continue with my experiments on the estate of the Duke of Aveiro at São Sebastião da Pedreira, which finally silenced the gossips and scandalmongers who were maliciously hoping that I would break my legs when I took off from the castle ramparts, although I had never promised any such thing, and that my art had more to do with the jurisdiction of the Holy Office of the Inquisition than with the laws of geometry, Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço, this is something I don't understand, I started life as a simple peasant, and my career as a soldier was short-lived, I do not believe that anyone can fly unless he has grown wings, and those who claim otherwise know as much about flying as they do about olive presses, Nevertheless, you yourself did not invent that hook you are wearing, someone had to discover the need for such an implement and hit on the idea of combining iron and leather in order to make it practical, and the same is true for those ships on the river, at one time sails had not been invented, and before that there were no oars, and before that no helm, and just as man, who inhabits the earth, found it necessary to become a sailor, so he will find it necessary to become a flier, Anyone who puts sails on a boat is in the water, and in the water he remains, to fly is to soar above the earth up into the sky, where there is no ground to support our feet, We must imitate the birds, who spend as much time in the sky as they do settled on land, So it was because you wanted to fly that you came to know Blimunda's mother, possessed as she was of hidden powers, I heard it rumoured that she had visions of people flying with cloth wings and there are many people who claim to have experienced visions, but what I learned about her sounded so convincing that I secretly went to visit her one day, and we became close friends, And did you discover what you wanted, No, I did not, I soon realised that her insights, if they were genuine, were of another order, and that I should have to go on struggling to overcome my own ignorance without help, and I hope I'm not deceiving myself, It strikes me that those who claim that flying has more to do with the Holy Office of the Inquisition than with the laws of geometry are right and if I were in your shoes I would be twice as cautious, don't forget that prison, exile, and the stake are often the price to be paid for such excesses, but a priest ought to know more about these matters than a common soldier, I'm cautious and I'm not without friends who can protect me, the day will come.

  They retraced their steps and passed through Remolares once more. SeteSóis made as if to speak, then held back, and the priest, sensing his hesitation, asked, Is there something worrying you, I'm anxious to know, Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço, why Blimunda always eats bread before opening her eyes in the morning, So you have been sleeping with her, We live under the same roof, Take heed that you're committing adultery and you'd do better to marry her, She doesn't want to marry me, and I'm not certain that I want to marry her and if I go back to my native Mafra one day and she prefers to remain in Lisbon, there's little point in our marrying, but to come back to my question, Why does Blimunda eat bread before opening her eyes in the morning, Yes, if you ever do find out, it will be from her, not me, So you know the answer, That's right, But you won't tell me, All I will tell you is that it's something of a mystery, flying is simple when compared with Blimunda.

  Walking and chatting together, they arrived at the stables of a horse trader at the Gate of Corpo Santo. The priest hired a mule and climbed on to the saddle, I'm on my way to São Sebastião da Pedreira to inspect my machine, if you would like to come with me, the mule can carry both of us, Yes I'll come, but on foot, for that's the route followed by the infantry, You're just an ordinary man without either the hooves of a mule or the wings of the Passarola, Is that what you call your flying machine, Baltasar asked, and the priest replied, That's what others have called it to show their contempt.

  They climbed up to the Church of St Roch and then, skirting the hills around Taipas, d
escended through the Praça da Alegria as far as Valverde. Sete-Sóis kept abreast of the mule without any difficulty, and only when they were on flat ground did he fall behind a little, to catch up again on the next slope, whether going up or coming down. Although not a single drop of rain had fallen since April, and that was four months ago, all the fields were green and luxuriant above Valverde, because of the large number of perennial springs, whose waters were exploited for the cultivation of the vegetables that grew in abundance on the outskirts of the city. Having passed the Convent of St Martha and, farther along, that of Princess Joan the Saint, they came upon vast stretches of olive groves, here, too, vegetables were cultivated, but, in the absence of any natural springs to irrigate the land, the problem was solved by the well sweeps which drew water in buckets tied to a long pole and by donkeys turning water wheels, with their eyes blinkered so that they might imagine themselves to be moving in a straight line like their masters ignoring the fact that if they were really going in a straight line, they would eventually finish up in the same place. For the world itself is like a water wheel, and it is men who by treading it pull it and make it go, and even though Sebastiana Maria de Jesus is no longer here to assist us with her revelations, it is easy to see that if there are no men, the world comes to a standstill.