The Collected Novels of José Saramago (325 page)

Marçal phoned after supper, I’m speaking from our new home, he said, I left the security staff dorm today and tonight I’ll be sleeping in our own bed, Good, you must be pleased, Yes, and I have some news to give you too, So have we, said Marta, Which shall we begin with, mine or yours, he asked, It would be best to begin with the bad news and leave the good news, if there is any, to last, My news is neither good nor bad, it’s just news, Then I’ll begin with ours, this afternoon the Center told us that they won’t be buying the figurines, they carried out a survey and the result was negative. There was a silence at the other end. Marta waited. Then Marçal said, I knew about the survey, Yes, I know you knew, Pa told me, And I was afraid that would be the result, Your fears were confirmed, Are you annoyed with me for not telling you what was going on, No, I’m not angry with you or with him, that’s how things are, we have to do our best to understand and accept it, what I found most difficult was having to give up the hope that, even once we were living in the Center, we would still be able to come and work in the pottery, That wasn’t a possibility I had ever considered, It wasn’t an idea that I thought up either, it emerged in conversation with Pa, But he couldn’t be sure that the figurines would be accepted, Like you, he wanted to save me any pain, and the result of that deceit was that I’ve been happy as a lark these last few days, which, I suppose, is better than nothing, but there’s no point crying over the spilt milk that has been the cause of so many tears in this world, tell me your news, They’ve given me three days’ leave for the move, that’s including my normal day off, which this time happens to fall on a Monday, so I’ll leave here on Friday afternoon, in a taxi, it’s not worth your father’s coming to pick me up, we’ll get everything ready on Saturday, and on Sunday morning, we’ll set sail, Hm, I’ve already put to one side everything we need to take with us, said Marta rather distractedly. There was another silence. Aren’t you happy, asked Marçal, Yes, I am, really I am, replied Marta. Then she said again, I am happy, really I am. Outside, the dog Found barked, some shadow in the dark night must have moved.

The van had been loaded, the windows and doors of the pottery and the house had been closed, all they had to do now, as Marçal had said a few days before, was to set sail. Strained and tense, looking suddenly much older, Cipriano Algor called the dog. Despite the anxious tone that any attentive ear would have picked up, his master’s voice raised Round’s spirits. He had spent the morning running about, perplexed and uneasy, sniffing the suitcases and packages that were brought out of the house, he had barked loudly in order to attract their attention, and his instincts had not misled him, something singular and out of the ordinary had been happening lately, and now the time had come when luck or fate or chance or the unstable nature of human desires and constraints were about to reach a decision on what was to become of him. He had lain down by the kennel, his head resting on his paws, waiting. When his master said, Found, come here, he thought he was being summoned in order to get into the van as had happened on other occasions, a sign that nothing had really changed in his life, that today would be the same as yesterday, which is the constant dream of all dogs. He thought it odd that they should put the lead on him, which they did not usually do when they went traveling, and this sense of oddness only increased and changed into confusion when his mistress and his younger master stroked his head, at the same time murmuring incomprehensible words among which the sound of his own name kept being repeated in the most disquieting fashion, not that they were saying anything very bad, We’ll come and see you soon. A gentle tug on the leash told him that he should follow his master, the situation had suddenly become clear, the van was for his mistress and his other master, he would be going for a walk with the older master. Having to wear a leash still struck him as odd, but it nevertheless seemed a relatively minor detail. Once they reached the countryside, his master would let him off the leash so he could race off after whatever living creature happened to appear, even if it was only a lizard. It’s a cool morning, the sky is cloudy, but there’s no sign of rain. When they reached the road, instead of turning left toward the open countryside, as he expected, his master turned right, which meant that they would be going into the village. Three times during the walk, Found had to stop suddenly. Cipriano Algor was doing what most of us would do in similar circumstances, when we engage in a futile discussion with our inner selves as to whether we do or do not want what it has become clear that we do in fact want, we begin a sentence and fail to finish it, we stop suddenly, then tear along as if we had to save our own father from the gallows, then we stop again, even the most patient and devoted of dogs will end up wondering if he wouldn’t be better off with a more decisive master. He cannot know how firm his master’s resolve is. Cipriano Algor has already reached Isaura Madruga’s door, he holds out his hand as if to knock on the door, hesitates, and again holds out his hand, at that moment, the door opens as if it had been expecting him, which wasn’t, in fact, the case, Isaura Madruga had heard the bell and come to see who it was. Good morning, Senhora Isaura, said the potter, Good morning, Senhor Algor, Forgive me for troubling you at home, but there’s something I’d like to discuss with you, I have a great favor to ask of you, Come in, We can talk out here, there’s no need for us to come inside, No, please, don’t stand on ceremony, come in, Can the dog come too, asked Cipriano Algor, he’s got muddy feet, Oh, Found is like one of the family, we’re old friends. The door closed, the darkness in the small sitting room closed around them. Isaura indicated a chair and sat down herself. I have a feeling that you know what I’ve come about, said the potter, as he made the dog lie down at his feet, That’s possible, Perhaps my daughter has already spoken to you, About what, About Found, No, we’ve never spoken about Found, at least, not in the way you mean, What way, In the sense of having spoken specifically about Found, we’ve often talked about him, of course, but never had a real chat about him in particular. Cipriano Algor looked down, I’ve come to ask you if you would look after Found in my absence, Are you going away, asked Isaura, Yes, today, and obviously we can’t take the dog with us, the Center doesn’t allow pets, I’ll look after him, Yes, I know you’ll look after him as if he was your own, I’ll look after him better than if he was my own, because he’s yours. Without thinking, perhaps just to ease his nerves, Cipriano Algor had removed the dog’s leash. I think I owe you an apology, he said, Why, Because I haven’t always treated you with the politeness you deserve, My memory remembers other things, the afternoon when I met you at the cemetery, the conversation we had about the jug handle that had come off, your coming to my house to bring me a new water jug, Yes, but it was afterward that I behaved badly, rudely, and on more than one occasion too, It doesn’t matter, It does, The proof that it doesn’t matter is that you’re here now, But I’m just about to cease being here, Yes, just about to cease being here. Dark clouds must have covered the sky, the darkness inside the house grew still denser, the natural thing would have been for Isaura to get up now from her chair and turn on the light. She did not do so, though not out of indifference or for some other subterranean reason, but simply because she had not noticed that she could barely see Cipriano Algor’s face opposite her, just within reach of her arm if she were to lean slightly forward. The pitcher is still all right then, keeping the water nice and fresh, asked Cipriano Algor, As it did from the start, replied Isaura, and it was at that moment that she realized how dark the room was, I should turn on the light, she said to herself, but she did not get up. No one had ever told her that the fates of many people in the world have been changed radically by that simple gesture of turning a light on or off, whether it be an old-fashioned lantern, or a candle, or an oil lamp, or a modern electric lightbulb, it’s true that she thought she should get up, this was what common sense was telling her, but her body would not move, it refused to obey the order from her brain. This was the darkness that Cipriano Algor had needed in order finally to declare himself, I love you, Isaura, and she replied in what seemed wounded tones, And you leave it until the day you’re going away to tell me, It would have been pointless telling you before, well, as pointless as it is for me to be telling you now, But you have told me, It was my last chance, take it as a farewell, Why, Because I have nothing else to offer you, I’m a species on the verge of extinction, I have no future, I haven’t even got a present, We do have a present, this moment, this room, your daughter and son-in-law waiting to carry you off, this dog lying at your feet, But not this woman, You haven’t asked, I don’t want to ask, Why not, Like I said, because I have nothing to offer you, If what you told me just now was truly felt and meant, you have love to offer, Love isn’t a house, it isn’t clothes or food, But food, clothes, and a house are not in themselves love, Please, let’s not play with words, a man isn’t going to ask a woman to marry him if he has no way of earning a living, Is that how it is with you, asked Isaura, You know it is, the pottery has closed and I don’t know how to do anything else, So you’re going to live off your son-in-law, What other option do I have, You could live off what your wife earned, How long would love last in those circumstances, asked Cipriano Algor, But I didn’t work when I was married, I lived off my husband’s earnings, No one could disapprove of that, that’s normal, but put a man in that situation and see what happens, Would love necessarily have to die because of that, asked Isaura, does love die for such trivial reasons, I’m not in a position to answer that, I’ve no experience. Found got discreetly to his feet, in his opinion, this courtesy visit was going on far too long, he wanted to go back to the kennel, to the mulberry tree, to the bench of meditations. Cipriano Algor said, I have to go, they’re waiting for me, So this is good-bye, then, said Isaura, We’ll come back now and then, to see how Found is, to see if the house is still standing, it’s not good-bye forever. He put the dog on the leash again and placed the leash in Isaura’s hands, Here you are, he’s only a dog, but. We will never know what ontological ideas Cipriano Algor was about to develop after that conjunction left hanging in the air, because his right hand, the one holding the leash, got lost or else allowed itself to be found in the hands of Isaura Madruga, the woman he had not wanted to include in his present and who, nevertheless, was saying to him now, I love you, Cipriano, you know that. The leash slipped to the floor, and Found, suddenly free again, wandered off to sniff the baseboard, and when, shortly afterward, he turned his head, he realized that the visit had changed direction, there was nothing courteous about that embrace, those kisses, that irregular breathing, nor the words which, for very different reasons, were begun but never completed. Cipriano Algor and Isaura had got to their feet, she was crying with laughter and grief, he was stammering, I’ll come back, I’ll come back, it really is a shame that the street door is not suddenly flung wide open so that the neighbors can see for themselves and spread the word that the widow Estudioso and the old potter love each other with a true and finally declared love. In a voice that had almost recovered its normal tone, Cipriano Algor said again, I’ll come back, I’ll come back, there must be some solution for us, The only solution is for you to stay, said Isaura, You know I can’t, We’ll be here waiting for you, Found and me. The dog could not understand why the woman was holding his leash, since all three of them were moving toward the door, a sure sign that he and his master were finally leaving, he could not understand why the leash had still not been passed back to the hand of the person who had the right to put it on him. Panic began to rise from his guts to his throat, but at the same time, his legs were trembling with excitement at the plan that instinct had just outlined to him, to lunge forward when the door was opened and then triumphantly wait outside for his master to come for him. The door only opened after more embraces and more kisses, more murmured words, however, the woman was still holding him firmly, saying, Stay, stay, as is the way with speech, the same verb that had proved incapable of preventing Cipriano Algor from leaving was the very verb that would not now allow Found to escape. The door closed, separating the dog from his master, but, as is the way with feelings, the pain of abandonment experienced by one could not, at least at that moment, expect to find sympathy or understanding in the tormented happiness of the other. It will not be long before we find out more about Found’s life in his new home, whether it was easy or difficult to adapt to his new mistress, if the kindness and limitless affection she showered on him were enough to make him forget the sadness of being unjustly abandoned. Right now we have to follow Cipriano Algor, just follow him, trot along behind him, accompany his somnambular footsteps. As for imagining how one person can possibly contain such opposing feelings as, in the case we have been looking at, the most profound of joys and the most painful of griefs, and then going on to discover or to create the single word by which the particular feeling born of that conjunction would come to be designated, this is a task that many have undertaken in the past, but all abandoned the attempt knowing that, as is the case with a constantly shifting horizon, they would never even reach the threshold of the door to those ineffabilities longing for expression. Human vocabulary is still not capable, and probably never will be, of knowing, recognizing, and communicating everything that can be humanly experienced and felt. Some say that the main cause of this very serious difficulty lies in the fact that human beings are basically made of clay, which, as the encyclopedias helpfully explain, is a detrital sedimentary rock made up of tiny mineral fragments measuring one two hundred and fiftysixths of a millimeter. Until now, despite long linguistic study, no one has managed to come up with a name for this.