The Collected Novels of José Saramago (350 page)

The sun had sunk behind the mountains that obscured the horizon on the far side of the river, but the light from the cloudless sky was almost undiminished, except where the harsh intensity of the blue had been tempered by a pale, slowly spreading pink. Tertuliano Máximo Afonso started the car and
turned the wheel to head off down the road that went through the village. Looking back at the house, he saw António Claro standing at the door, but he continued on. Neither of them waved good-bye. You’re still wearing that ridiculous beard, said common sense, I’ll take it off when we get to the main road, and this will be the last time you catch me wearing it, from now on, I’ll go around barefaced, let other people disguise themselves if they want to, How do you know it’s the last time, Oh, I couldn’t honestly say, it’s just an idea I have, a feeling, an intuition, Well, I have to confess I didn’t expect you to cope so well, you behaved admirably, like a man, But I am a man, Yes, I’m not saying you’re not, but in the past your weaknesses have always tended to get the better of your strengths, So a man is anyone who isn’t subject to weaknesses, A man is also someone who isn’t dominated by them, In that case, a woman capable of overcoming her female weaknesses is a man, or is like a man, In a figurative sense, yes, you could say that, Well, it seems to me that common sense has a very chauvinistic way of expressing itself, That’s not my fault, it’s just the way I was made, That’s hardly a good excuse from someone who does nothing but offer advice and opinions, But I’m not always wrong, This sudden rush of modesty suits you, Look, I would be better than I am, more efficient, more useful, if you helped me, Who, All of you, men and women, after all, common sense is just a kind of arithmetic mean that rises and falls according to the tide, Predictable, you mean, Yes, I am the most predictable of all things, Which is why you were waiting for me in the car, It was time I came back, indeed, I could even be accused of having been away too long, You heard everything, From start to finish, Do you think I was wrong to come and talk to him, That depends on what you mean by wrong or right, besides, it
doesn’t matter, given the situation you were in, there wasn’t really any alternative, This was the only way of drawing a line under the matter, What line, We’ve agreed between us that there will be no more meetings, Are you trying to tell me that after all the fuss you’ve made it’s going to end just like that, that you’ll go back to your work and he to his, you to your Maria da Paz, for as long as that lasts, and he to his Helena or whatever her name is, and everything will be discreetly brushed under the carpet, is that what you’re trying to say, There’s no reason why it should be any other way, There is every reason why it should be another way, believe you me, It’s entirely up to us, If you turned off the engine, the car would continue to move, But we’re going downhill, Even if we were on a flat surface, it would still continue to move, although admittedly for much less time, it’s called inertia, as you should know, even though it’s nothing to do with history, or perhaps it is, now that I think of it, I would say that it is precisely in history that one is most aware of inertia, Don’t give opinions about things you know nothing about, a game of chess can be interrupted at any moment, But I was talking about history, And I’m talking about chess, All right, have it your way, one of the players can go on playing alone if he wants to, and, without resorting to tricks, he will inevitably end up winning, whether he plays white or black, because he’s playing with all the pieces, Let’s say I’ve got up from the table, left the room, am no longer there, There are still three players remaining, You’re referring, I suppose, to Antonio Claro, And to his wife and to Maria da Paz, What’s Maria da Paz got to do with it, You have a very poor memory, my friend, you seem to have forgotten that you used her name in your investigations, sooner or later, either through you or someone else, Maria da Paz will find out all about the plot she is unwittingly
involved in, and as for the actor’s wife, always assuming she hasn’t yet made a move, tomorrow she could be the victorious queen, You have rather too much imagination for common sense, Remember what I said to you a few weeks ago, that only a common sense with the imagination of a poet could have invented the wheel, That isn’t quite what you said, It doesn’t matter, that’s what I’m saying now, You would be better company if you didn’t always want to be right, But I’ve never claimed to be always right, whenever I make a mistake, I’m always the first to hold out my hand for the cane, Possibly, but always with the look on your face of someone who has been the victim of the most terrible miscarriage of justice, What about the horseshoe, What about the horseshoe, Well, I, common sense, also invented the horseshoe, With the imagination of a poet I suppose, Horses would be inclined to say so, All right, that’s enough, we’re in the realms of fantasy now, What do you think you’ll do next, Make two phone calls, one to my mother to tell her that I’ll be coming to see her the day after tomorrow and another to Maria da Paz to tell her that the day after tomorrow I’ll be going to see my mother and will be away for a week, as you see, nothing could be simpler, more innocent, nothing could be more familiar and domestic. At that moment, a car overtook them at great speed, the driver waved with his right hand. Do you know that man, who is he, asked common sense, He’s the man I was talking to, António Claro, Daniel Santa-Clara, the original of which I am the duplicate, I’d have thought you’d recognize him, How can I recognize someone I’ve never seen, Seeing me is the same as seeing him, But not behind a beard like that, With all this talking I’d forgotten to take it off, there you are, how do I look now, His car is more powerful than yours, Much more powerful, He was gone in an instant, He’ll be racing back to tell his wife about our meeting, Possibly, but I wouldn’t be so sure, You’re a systematic doubting Thomas, No, I’m not, I’m just what you call common sense because you haven’t yet found a better name for me, The inventor of the wheel and the horseshoe, In my poetic moments, only in my poetic moments, It’s a shame there aren’t more of them, When we arrive, just drop me at the end of the street, if you don’t mind, Don’t you want to come up and have a bit of a rest, No, I’d rather set my imagination to work, because we’re certainly going to need it.

W
HEN
T
ERTULIANO
M
ÁXIMO
A
FONSO WOKE UP THE NEXT
day, he knew why he had told common sense, as soon as it got into the car, that that would be the last time it would see him wearing the false beard and that, from then on, he would go about barefaced, for everyone to see. Let other people disguise themselves if they want to, had been his categorical words. What at the time might have seemed to the unwary little more than an emotional statement of intent provoked by the justifiable impatience of someone who has been through a series of very tough trials, was, in fact, unbeknownst to us, the seed of an action pregnant with future consequences, like sending off a letter of challenge to the enemy, in the knowledge that things could not possibly stay as they were. Before we go on, however, it would be beneficial to the harmony of the story if we were to devote a few lines to the analysis of any inadvertent contradiction there might be between the action we will describe shortly and the resolutions announced by Tertuliano Máximo Afonso during his brief car journey with common sense. A rapid perusal of the final pages of the previous chapter will immediately reveal the existence of a basic contradiction made manifest in a variety of different expressions,
such as those spoken by Tertuliano Máximo Afonso and received with prudent scepticism by common sense, firstly, that he had drawn a line under the matter of the two identical men, secondly, that he and António Claro had agreed they would never meet again, and, thirdly, employing the ingenuous rhetoric of a dramatic final scene, that he had got up from the table, had left the room, was no longer there. That is the contradiction. How can Tertuliano Máximo Afonso say he was no longer there, that he had left the room, had got up from the table when, no sooner has he finished breakfast than we see him rush out to the nearest stationer’s and buy a cardboard box in which he will send to António Claro, through the post, the very beard we have just seen him use as a disguise. Should Antonio Claro one day have a need to disguise himself, that’s up to him, but this will have nothing to do with the Tertuliano Máximo Afonso who slammed out of the house, saying that he would never be back. When, in two or three days’ time, António Claro opens the box at home and finds an immediately-recognizable false beard, he will inevitably say to his wife, What you’re seeing here may look like a beard, but it’s actually a letter of challenge, and his wife will ask, But how can that be, you don’t have any enemies. Antonio Claro will not waste his breath by replying that it’s impossible not to have enemies, that enemies are born not out of our will to have them but out of their irresistible desire to have us. In the world of actors, for example, roles with ten lines arouse, with discouraging frequency, the envy of roles with only five lines, that is where it always begins, with envy, and if the roles with ten lines then go on to have twenty and those with five have to content themselves with seven, then the ground has been well manured to encourage the growth of a leafy, prosperous, and lasting enmity. But what role does the beard
play in all this, Helena will ask, This beard, as I forgot to mention the other day, is the one that Tertuliano Máximo Afonso was wearing when he came to meet me, it’s quite understandable really, in fact, I’m grateful to him, I mean, imagine the complications that could have arisen if someone had seen him driving through the village and mistaken him for me, So what are you going to do with it, Well, I could return it with a curt note putting the wretched meddler in his place, but that would mean getting involved in a tit for tat with unforeseeable consequences, you know how it starts but not how it will end, and I have a career to think about now that I’m getting roles with fifty lines, with the possibility of getting more if everything continues to go as well as the script over there promises it will, If I were you, I would tear it up and throw it away or burn it, after all, dead dogs don’t bite, It’s hardly a matter of life or death, Besides, I don’t think the beard would suit you, This is no joke, It was just a manner of speaking, all I know is that it unsettles my mind, it even troubles my body to know that there is a man in this city who looks exactly like you, although I still can’t believe the resemblance can be so exact, But I’m telling you the resemblance is total, absolute, even the fingerprints on our identity cards are identical, I looked, It makes me dizzy just to think about it, Don’t let it get to you, take a tranquilizer, Oh, I already have, I’ve been taking them ever since that man first phoned, Well, I hadn’t noticed, You never do notice much about me, That’s not true, how could I know you were taking pills if you were doing it secretly, Sorry, my nerves are on edge, it doesn’t matter, it will pass, The day will come when we won’t even remember this wretched affair, Until that day comes, you’ll have to decide what to do with that horrible hairy thing, I think I’ll put it with the mustache I wore in that film, Why would you want to keep a beard that has been on someone else’s face, That’s precisely the point, it does belong to someone else, but the face is the same, It’s not the same, It is, If you really want me to go mad, then just keep on saying that your face is his face, Please, calm down, Anyway, how do you square your intention of keeping the beard, as if it were some kind of relic, with calling it a letter of challenge sent by an enemy, which is what you said when you opened the box, I didn’t say it came from an enemy, No, but you thought it, Possibly, though I’m not sure it’s the right word, the man’s never done me any actual harm, He exists, He exists for me just as I exist for him, Yes, but you weren’t the one who went looking for him, In his place, I wouldn’t have behaved any differently, You would have if you had asked my advice first, Look, I know it isn’t exactly a pleasant situation for either of us, but I can’t understand why you’re getting so inflamed about it, What do you mean inflamed, Any moment now there’ll be flames starting from your eyes. Unexpectedly, tears, not flames, started from Helena’s eyes. She turned her back on her husband and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door loudly behind her. Anyone of a superstitious bent, and who had witnessed the deplorable conjugal scene we have just described, would probably lose no time in attributing the cause of the conflict to some malign influence emanating from the false beard that António Claro is determined to keep alongside the mustache with which he more or less began his career as an actor. That person would probably shake his head, put on a pitying air, and say in oracular fashion, If you invite your enemy into the house, don’t come complaining to me about it afterward, you were warned and you took no notice.

More than four hundred kilometers from here, in his childhood bedroom, Tertuliano Máximo Afonso is preparing to
go to sleep. Having left the city on Tuesday morning, he spent the whole journey arguing with himself about whether he should tell his mother at least part of what was going on or if, on the contrary, it would make more sense to keep his mouth firmly shut. After fifty kilometers, he decided that it would be best to make a clean breast of things, after a hundred twenty, he raged against himself for having even been capable of such an idea, after two hundred ten, it seemed to him that a superficial explanation given in an anecdotal tone might be sufficient to satisfy his mother’s curiosity, after three hundred fourteen, he called himself a fool and said that surely he knew his mother better than that, at four hundred forty-seven, when he stopped outside the door of the family home, he had absolutely no idea what to do. And now, as he puts on his pajamas, he is thinking that the trip was a grave error, an out-and-out mistake, that he would have been better off not leaving his apartment, staying shut up in his protective shell, waiting. It’s true that here he is out of the way, but, no offense to Dona Carolina, who does not deserve such comparisons either on physical or on moral grounds, Tertuliano Máximo Afonso feels as if he had fallen into the wolf’s mouth like an unwary sparrow that has flown into the trap without realizing the consequences. His mother did not ask him any questions, she just looked at him expectantly now and then, then immediately looked away again, the look said, I don’t mean to be indiscreet, but the message said, If you think you’re going to leave here without telling me, you can think again. Lying on his bed, Tertuliano Máximo Afonso goes over and over the problem in his head but reaches no solution. His mother is made of sterner stuff than Maria da Paz, who is satisfied, or so she allows him to believe, with any explanation that he gives her and would wait her whole life, if
necessary, for the moment of revelation. Tertuliano Máximo Afonso’s mother, with every gesture, every movement, when she puts his plate down in front of him, when she helps him on with his jacket, when she hands him a newly laundered shirt, is saying to him, I’m not asking you to tell me everything, you have a right to your secrets, but with one absolute exception, the secrets on which your life, future, and happiness depend, those I want to know, it’s my right, and that you cannot deny me. Tertuliano Máximo Afonso turned out the bedside lamp, he had brought some books with him, but tonight his spirit does not want reading matter, and as for the Mesopotamian civilizations, which doubtless would have gently carried him off to the diaphanous threshold of sleep, these were too heavy and so stayed at home on the bedside table, with the bookmark placed at the beginning of the illustrative chapter on King Tukulti-Ninurta I, who flourished, as they say of historical figures, between the thirteenth and twelfth centuries before Christ. The bedroom door, which was only pushed to, opened softly in the darkness. Tomarctus, the household dog, had come in. He came to find out if this master, who only turns up very infrequently, was still here. He is a medium-sized dog, and ink black, not like other dogs that, when seen from up close, are really gray. The strange name was given to him by Tertuliano Máximo Afonso, that’s what happens when you have an erudite master, instead of christening the creature with a name that he could pick up easily through direct genetic routes, as must have been the case with Faithful, Pilot, Sultan, or Admiral, names inherited and then transmitted from generation to generation, he gave him the name of a canine said to have lived about fifteen million years ago and that, according to the paleontologists, is the fossil-Adam of these four-legged creatures who run, sniff, and scratch their fleas and who, as is only natural in a friend, occasionally bite. Tomarctus has not come to stay for very long, he will sleep for a few minutes curled at the foot of the bed, then he will get up and take a turn about the house to see if everything is in order, and then, for the rest of the night, will be the watchful companion of his constant mistress, apart from the odd sortie into the yard to bark and, while he’s there, drink some water from his bowl and lift his leg against the bed of geraniums or the rosemary bush. He will return to Tertuliano Máximo Afonso’s bedroom at first light to check that nothing has moved on this side of the earth either, for what dogs most want in life is for no one to go away. When Tertuliano Máximo Afonso wakes, the bedroom door will be closed, a sign that his mother is already up and about and that Tomarctus has gone out with her. Tertuliano Máximo Afonso looks at his watch, says to himself, It’s still early, as long as this last, vague sleep endures his worries can wait.