The Collected Novels of José Saramago (11 page)

The Portuguese navigations, however, are not always so disastrous. Several days ago a long-awaited ship from Macao finally arrived, having set sail some twenty months earlier, just as Sete-Sóis was leaving to fight in the war, and the ship had made a good voyage despite the time it took, for Macao is situated well beyond Goa, in China, that much-favoured land that excels all other nations in riches and treasures, and merchandise as cheap as one could wish for, besides having the most agreeable and healthy of climates, infirmities and diseases are virtually unknown, which eliminates any need for doctors or surgeons, and the Chinese die only from old age or when they find themselves abandoned by nature, which cannot be expected to protect us forever. The ship took on a load of precious cargo in China, then sailed to Brazil to do some trading and to fill the hold with sugar and tobacco and an abundant supply of gold, activities which detained it for two and a half months in Rio and Bahia, and the return journey from Brazil to Portugal took another fifty-six days, and it was nothing short of miraculous that not a single man fell ill or died during this long and hazardous voyage, the Mass celebrated here every day in honour of Our Lady of Compassion for the Wounded clearly secured the ship’s safe return, and helped it to stay on course, notwithstanding allegations that the pilot did not know the route, if such a thing is possible, hence the popular saying that there is nothing so profitable as trade with China. Since things are never quite perfect, however, news soon arrived that civil war had broken out between the settlers in Pernambuco and those in Recife, clashes break out in the region daily, some of them extremely violent, and there have been reports that certain factions are threatening to set fire to plantations and destroy crops of sugar and tobacco, which mean heavy losses for the Portuguese crown.

Whenever it seems opportune, these and other items of news are given to Dona Maria Ana, but she is already floating, indifferent to all around her in the torpor of pregnancy, so it makes little difference whether they give her those reports or decide to suppress them, even that initial moment of glory when she discovered she was pregnant has become a faded memory, the tiniest breeze in the wake of the tornado of pride that gripped her during the first weeks of pregnancy, when she felt like one of those figureheads erected on the ship’s prow, though incapable of seeing into the distant horizon, therefore there has to be a telescope and lookout for they can see further. A pregnant woman, no matter whether queen or commoner, enjoys a moment in life when she feels herself to be the oracle of all wisdom, even of that which cannot be translated into words, then, as she watches her stomach swell out of all proportion and begins to experience the other discomforts that accompany pregnancy, her thoughts, not all of them happy, turn to the day when she will finally give birth, and the Queen’s mind is constantly beset by disturbing omens, but here the Franciscan Order will come to her assistance, rather than lose the convent they have been promised. All the Franciscan communities of the province take up the challenge by celebrating Masses, making novenas, and encouraging prayers for intentions at once general and particular, both explicit and implicit, so that the Infante may be delivered safely and at a propitious hour, without any defects either visible or invisible, and that the child be male, which would compensate for any minor blemishes unless they were to be regarded as an auspicious sign ordained by divine providence. Most important, a male heir would give the King enormous satisfaction.

Dom João V, alas, will have to be satisfied with a little girl. One cannot have everything, and often when you ask for one thing you receive another, this is the mysterious thing about prayer, we address them to heaven with some private intention, but they choose their own path, sometimes they delay, allowing other prayers to overtake them, frequently they overlap and become hybrid prayers of dubious origin, which quarrel and argue among themselves. This explains why a little girl is born when everyone had prayed for a boy, but, judging from her screams, she is a healthy child with a fine pair of lungs. The entire kingdom is blissfully happy not simply because there is an heir to the throne or on account of the three days of festive illuminations that have been decreed, but also because of the secondary effect achieved by prayers concerning natural forces, for no sooner had the prayers ended than the serious drought that had lasted for eight months was over, and there was rain at long last, only prayers could have brought about this change, the birth of the Infanta has been marked by favourable omens auguring prosperity for the nation, and now there is so much rain that it could only come from God, who is relieving Himself of the vexations we cause Him. The peasants are busy working the land, tilling their fields even when it is raining, the seed springs from the humid earth, just as children spring from wherever they originate, incapable of screaming like a child, the seed murmurs as it is raked by iron tools, and falls over on its side, glistening and offering itself to the rain, which continues to trickle very slowly, an almost intangible dust, the furrow undisturbed, the soil turned over to shelter the seedlings. This birth is very simple but it cannot come about without the things essential for any form of birth, namely, energy and seed. All men are kings, all women are queens, and the labours of all are princes.

We should not, however, lose sight of the numerous distinctions that exist. The Princess is taken to be baptized on the feast of Our Lady of O, a day that is contradictory
par excellence,
for the Queen has already shed her plumpness, and it is easy to see that not all princes are equal after all, the differences clearly demonstrated by the pomp and ceremony with which the name and sacrament are bestowed on this infante or on that infanta, with the entire Palace and Royal Chapel bedecked with draperies and gold, and the court dressed up with so much finery that faces and shapes can scarcely be distinguished beneath all the frills and furbelows. The members of the Queen’s household have left the chapel, passing through the Hall of the Tedeschi, and behind comes the Duke of Cadaval, with his train trailing behind him. He walks under a baldachin, the shafts supported by privileged nobles of the highest rank and the counsellors of state, and in his arms he carries none other than the newborn Infanta, swathed in fine linen robes that are gathered with bows and ribbons, and behind the baldachin comes the appointed governess, the dowager Condesa de Santa Cruz, and all the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, some pretty and some not so pretty, and finally a half-dozen marquises and the Duke’s son, who carry the symbolic towel, the salt cellar, the holy oils, and all the other paraphernalia associated with the sacrament of baptism, so there is something for everyone to carry.

Seven bishops, who look like seven planets in gold and silver as they officiate on the steps of the high altar, baptise the Infanta Maria Xavier Francisca Leonor Bárbara, already referred to as Dona, even though she is only a tiny babe in arms and is given to drooling and who can tell what she will be doing when she grows up. The Infanta wears a cross set with precious gems, valued at five thousand cruzados, a gift from her godfather and uncle, the Infante Dom Francisco, and the same Dom Francisco presented her mother, the Queen, with a decorative aigrette, no doubt out of gallantry, and a pair of exquisite diamond earrings valued at twenty-five thousand cruzados, truly magnificent but made in France.

For this special occasion, the King has momentarily laid aside his royal prerogatives and attends the ceremony in public instead of from behind a screen and in order to show his respect for the mother of his child, he joins the Queen on her dais, so the happy mother is seated beside the happy father, although on a lower chair, and in the evening there are fireworks. Sete-Sóis has come down with Blimunda from the castle above the city to see the lights and decorations, the palace festooned with banners, and the festive arches specially erected by the guilds. Sete-Sóis is feeling more weary than usual, probably as a result of having carried so much meat for the banquets being held to celebrate the birth and baptism of the Infanta. His left arm is hurting after so much pulling, dragging, and heaving. His hook rests inside the knapsack that he carries over one shoulder. Blimunda is holding his right hand.

Some months previously, Friar Antony of St Joseph died a holy death. Unless he should appear to the King in his dreams, he will no longer be able to remind him of his promise, but there is no cause for alarm, Neither lend to the poor, nor borrow from the rich, and make no promises to a friar, but Dom João V is a king who keeps his word. We shall have our convent.

B
ALTASAR HAS SLEPT
on the right-hand side of the pallet ever since they spent their first night together, because his right arm and hand are intact and when he turns towards Blimunda he can hold her against him, run his fingers from the nape of her neck down to her waist, and even lower still if their sexual appetites have been roused in the heat of sleep, in the fantasy of some dream, or because they were already craving sex when they went to bed. Their union is illicit out of choice, and their marriage is unsanctified by Holy Mother Church, for they disregard the social conventions and proprieties, and if he feels like having sex, she will oblige, and if she craves it, he will gratify her. Perhaps some deeper and more mysterious sacrament sustains this union, the sign of the cross imprinted with the blood of breached virginity when, by the yellow light of the oil lamp, they lie on their backs resting, and their first breach of custom is to lie there as naked as the day they were born, Blimunda has wiped from between her legs a discharge of deep-red blood, and this was their communion, if it is not heresy to say so and even greater heresy to have done so. Many months have passed since that first night together, and we have already entered into a new year, the rain can be heard pattering down on the roof, there are strong currents of wind blowing across the river and the straits, and although dawn is approaching the sky is still in darkness. Anyone else might be deceived, but not Baltasar, who always awakens at the same hour, long before the sun rises, a habit he acquired during his restless days and nights as a soldier, and he remains alert as he lies watching the shadows recede to uncover objects and humans, his chest heaving with that enormous sense of relief as day breaks and the first, indistinct rays of greyish light filter through the chinks in the wall until Blimunda is awakened by a faint sound, and this provokes another, more persistent sound, which is unmistakable, the sound of Blimunda eating bread, and once she has finished she opens her eyes, turns toward Baltasar, and rests her head on his shoulder while placing her left hand where his is missing, arm touches arm, wrist touches wrist, life is amending death as best it can. But today things will be different. On several occasions Baltasar has asked Blimunda why she eats bread every morning before opening her eyes and has begged of Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço to explain all this secrecy she once told him that she had fallen into this habit as a child, the priest, however, confided that it was a great mystery, so great that flying was a mere trifle by comparison. Today we shall know.

When Blimunda awakens, she stretches out her hand to retrieve the little sack in which she keeps her bread, only to find that it is not in its usual place by her pillow. She runs her hand over the floor and the pallet and fumbles under the pillow and then she hears Baltasar say, Don’t bother searching, for you will not find it and Blimunda, covering her eyes with clenched fists, implores him, Give me my bread, Baltasar, for pity’s sake, give me my bread, First you must tell me what all this means, I cannot, she cried out, as she made a sudden effort to get up, but Sete-Sóis restrained her with his right hand and gripped her firmly by the waist, she put up a fierce struggle but he held her down with his right leg, and with his free hand he tried to pull her fists from her eyes, terrified, she started to cry out once more, Let me go, she screamed, making such a din that Baltasar released her, startled by her vehemence, he felt almost ashamed of having treated her so roughly, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I only wanted to clear up this mystery, Give me my bread and I shall tell you everything, On your oath, What use are oaths if a simple yes or no is not enough, There’s your bread, eat, said Baltasar removing the small bag from the knapsack he was using as a pillow.

Shielding her face with her forearm, Blimunda finally ate the bread. She munched it slowly. When she had finished she gave a deep sigh and opened her eyes. The grey light pervading the room was tinged with blue on the far side, a thought that might have occurred to Baltasar had he learned to think in such poetic terms, but, rather than indulge in refinements better suited to the antechambers at court or the convent parlour, he was absorbed by the heat of his own blood as Blimunda turned to face him, her eyes growing dark with sudden flashes of green light, what did secrets matter now, much better to go back to learning what he already knew, Blimunda’s body, her secret could be solved some other time, because once this woman has made a promise, she is certain to keep it, Do you remember the first time we slept together, she asks him, when you said I had looked inside you, I remember, You did not know what you were saying, nor did you know what you were hearing when I told you that I would never look inside you. Baltasar had no time to reply and he was still trying to comprehend the meaning of those words and of other incredible words heard in that room when she told him, I can look inside people.