The Tuner of Silences (34 page)

Then they came to get Uncle. An incrimination from an unknown source, we were told. Only I knew that the telltale documents had come from his drawer, and that it was his own girlfriend, with my complicity, who had sent the papers. When he came home, having paid his bail, Aproximado was suspicious of everything and of everyone. Above all, he suspected my father's secret powers. At dinner, taking advantage of Noci's absence, Aproximado spoke belligerently:

—
It was you, Silvestre, I bet it was you.

My father didn't hear, didn't look, didn't speak. He existed in some other dimension and it was only his physical projection that appeared before us. Uncle resumed his menacing discourse:

—
Well let me tell you this: just as you arrived here, my dear Silvestre, so you'll be booted out. I'll have you exported like some hunting trophy.

I could swear I detected a mocking smile on my father's face. It's possible his brother-in-law got the same impression because he asked in a tone of surprise:

—
What's happening? Has your hearing come back?

Well, if that was the case, Silvestre had better listen. Whereupon Uncle launched forth with a litany of mishaps. My father got up from his chair abruptly and slowly poured the contents of his glass on the floor. We all understood: he was
giving the dead something to drink, and was apologizing in advance for any ill omen.

—
It's too much, this is just too much!
—Aproximado roared.

The provocation meted out by his brother-in-law-widower had gone beyond all acceptable limits. Limping more than usual, Uncle went to the bedroom and brought back a photograph. He shook it in front of my nose and shouted:

—
Take a good look at this, nephew.

His spirit suddenly and unexpectedly energized, my old man jumped onto the table and covered the photo with his body. Aproximado pushed him and the two fought for possession of the picture. I realized that it was my mother's image that was dancing around in Aproximado's hands, and I decided to join in the tussle. In no time at all, however, the paper was torn and each one of us ended up holding a piece in our fingers. Silvestre took hold of the remaining pieces and ripped them to shreds. I kept the portion I had ended up with. All it showed were Dordalma's hands. On her entwined fingers, could be seen an engagement ring. Once I was in bed, I kissed my mother's hands repeatedly. For the first time, I said goodnight to the person who had given me all my nights.

Before I fell asleep I sensed that Noci was coming into my room. This time she was real. Naked, she lay down next to me and I followed the contours of her body while losing the notion of my own substance.

—
You're the one who knows I'm here, you're the one touching me . . .

—
Let's not make any noise, Miss Noci.

—
This isn't noise, Mwanito. It's music.

Music it may have been, but I was terrified at the thought of my father lying there next to us and, even more so, that Aproximado might hear us. But Noci's presence was more powerful than my fear. As she bounced up and down on my legs, I was afflicted once again by a doubt: what if women
blinded me as they had my brother Ntunzi? I closed my eyes and didn't open them again until Noci shut the door as she left.

The following day, there was no day. Halfway though the morning, Aproximado was back from his office and his shouts reverberated down the hall.

—
Son-of-a-bitch!

I shuddered: Uncle was insulting me after discovering that I, along with Noci, had betrayed him. The unequal echo of his steps approached down the hall and I sat on my bed expecting the worst. But his yells, when he reached the doorway, suggested something very different from my initial fears:

—
I've been punished! I've been transferred! You great sonof-a-bitch, I know it was you who fixed all this . . .

The image of a once discreet and affable uncle vanished forever before our eyes. His gesticulations, as he stormed round old Silvestre's bed, were both grandiloquent and burlesque. He pulled out his cellphone as if he were drawing a pistol and declared:

—
I'm going to call your eldest son, he's the one who's going to take charge of this mess.

And he went on moaning while he waited for his call to be answered. He'd had to put up with this nutcase all his life. Now he had this deadweight, in fact two deadweights, in his own home. He stopped his grumbling when he realized Ntunzi had answered. Aproximado told us he was going to turn the speaker on so that we could all hear the conversation.

—
Who's that? Is that Ntunzi?

—
Ntunzi? No. This is Sergeant Ventura speaking.

Can nostalgia sometimes take the form of a sudden lack of moisture in the mouth, a cold glow in the throat? In the stuffiness of that room, I swallowed drily upon hearing the
evocative power of an absent voice. Aproximado repeated his acrimonious list of complaints against his brother-in-law. At the other end of the line, Ntunzi made light of it:

—
But old Silvestre is so feeble, so cut off from the world, so remote from it all . . .

—
That's where you're wrong, Ntunzi. Silvestre is more heavy and troublesome than ever.

—
My poor father, he's never been so harmless . . .

—
Oh! Is that so? Well in that case tell me why he still calls me Aproximado? Eh? Why doesn't he call me Uncle Orlando, or even Uncle Godmother, like he always did before?

—
Don't tell me you're thinking of kicking Silvestre out? Because it's his house.

—
It was. I've already paid more than I should for it and for all the rest.

—
Wait, Uncle . . .

—
I'm the one giving the orders here, nephew. You're going to ask your regiment for some leave, and then you're going to come to the city and take these two useless creatures off my hands . . .

—
And where do you want me to take them?

—
To hell . . . or rather, to Jezoosalem, that's it, take them back to Jezoosalem again, who knows, maybe God's already there waiting?

Straight after this, Aproximado packed up his things and left. Noci tried to organize a farewell dinner, but Uncle slipped out of it. What was there to celebrate? And off he went. Along with Aproximado went his girlfriend, my secret lover. In my desire, I got as far as invoking her, and in my dream, I made her recline on the empty double bed. But Noci showed no sign of herself. And I realized this: I had a body, but I lacked maturity. One day, I would go and look for her, and tell her how much I had remained faithful to her in my dreams.

One week later, Ntunzi returned home. He was elated, eager for our reunion. He had progressed in his military career: the stripes on his shoulders showed that he was no longer a common soldier. I had thought I would throw myself into my brother's arms. But I surprised myself with my apathy and the phlegmatic tone with which I greeted him:

—
Hi, Ntunzi.

—
Forget Ntunzi. I'm Sergeant Olindo Ventura now.

Shocked by my indifference, the sergeant stepped backwards and, frowning, showed his disappointment:

—
It's me, your brother. I'm here, Mwanito.

—
So I see.

—
And Father?

—
He's in there, you can go in. He doesn't react . . .

—
By the looks of it, he isn't the only one.

The soldier turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall. I listened to the inaudible murmur of his monologue in my father's room. Shortly afterwards, he returned and handed me a cloth bag:

—
I've brought you this.

As I didn't move so much as a muscle, he himself took my old pack of cards out of the bag. There were still some grains of sand and a bit of dirt clinging to them. Faced with my impassiveness, Ntunzi placed the gift on my lap. The cards, however, didn't stay there. Without a hand to hold them, they fell to the floor one by one.

—
What's wrong, little brother? Do you need something?

—
I'd like to be bitten by the snake that attacked our father.

Ntunzi stood there speechless, in a state of puzzlement. He swallowed bitter doubts and then asked:

—
Are you all right, little brother?

I nodded. I was as I'd always been. He was the one who
had changed. I was suddenly taken with the memory of how Ntunzi, when we were still in Jezoosalem, had announced his decision to abandon me. This time, his long, painful absence had had its effect and I had ceased feeling anything.

—
Why did you never visit us?

—
I'm a soldier. I'm not in charge of my life.

—
Not in charge? Then, why are you so happy?

—
I don't know. Maybe because, for the first time, I'm in charge of others.

From the interior of the house came sounds that were familiar to me. Silvestre was tapping the floor with his walking stick, calling me to help him go to the bathroom. Ntunzi followed me and watched me care for our old father.

—
Is he always like this?

—
More than ever.

We placed Silvestre back again in his eternal bed, without him even noticing Ntunzi's presence. I filled a glass with water and added a bit of sugar to it. I switched on the television, arranged the pillows behind his head and left him gazing vacantly at the luminous screen.

—
I find it strange: Silvestre isn't all that old. Is this death-like state of his for real?

I didn't know what to answer. To be honest, is there any other way of living in this world of ours that doesn't involve deception?