That night, Sigismundo Canastro went over to João Mau-Tempo’s house to talk to him and António Mau-Tempo, and from there he went to Manuel Espada’s house, where he spent some time. He visited another three houses, two of which were far out in the country, he spoke to people in this way and that, used these words and those, because you can’t talk to everyone in the same way, if you do, your words might be misconstrued, and his message, in essence, is to meet in Montemor in two days’ time to demonstrate outside the town hall, we want as many people to be there as possible, to demand work, because there’s plenty of work to be done, but they’re refusing to let us do it. En route they will discuss what the men of the latifundio think about the farce of handing the presidency of this wretched republic over to an out-and-out imbecile and yes man, surely one was enough, how many more will there be. These bitter words come not from excessive drinking or eating, neither of which is much practiced on the latifundio, although having said that, there’s no shortage of men who bend the elbow rather too much, but that can be excused, for when a man finds himself tethered to a stake all his life, smoking and drinking are ways of escape, especially drinking, though each drink is another step toward death. This bitterness comes from the frustrated hope that they were finally going to be able to speak freely, had freedom come, but it didn’t, someone once caught a glimpse of that much-vaunted freedom, but she is not one to be seen out walking the highways, she won’t sit on a stone and wait to be invited in to supper or to share our bed for the rest of our life. Groups of men and some women had been out and about, cheering and shouting, and now we are left with a bitter taste in our mouths as if we, too, had been drinking, our eyes see ashes and little more, only wheatfields as yet unharvested, What are we going to do, Sigismundo Canastro, you who are older and more experienced than us, On Monday we’ll go to Montemor to demand bread for our children and for the parents who have to bring them up, But that’s what we always do, and to what end, We’ve done it in the past, we must do it now and must continue to do it until things change, It feels like a never-ending struggle, But it will end, When we’re dead and buried and our bones are there for all to see, if there are any dogs around to dig them up, There’ll still be enough people around when the time comes, your daughter, you know, gets prettier by the day, She has my father’s eyes, these words were spoken by Gracinda Mau-Tempo, all the conversation prior to this having been with her husband Manuel Espada, and it is he who says, I’d sell my soul to the devil to see that day come, not tomorrow, but now, and Gracinda Mau-Tempo picks up her three-year-old daughter and scolds her husband, Don’t say such things, Manuel, and Sigismundo Canastro, older in years and experience, smiles, The devil doesn’t exist and so can’t make any deals, and no amount of oaths and promises will change anything, work is the only way to get what we want, and our work now consists in going to Montemor on Monday, people will be coming from all over.
These June nights are beautiful. If there’s a moon, you can see the whole world from high up in Monte Lavre, well, let’s pretend you can, we’re not that ignorant, we know the world is much bigger, I’ve been to France, António Mau-Tempo would say, and that’s a long way away, but in this silence, anyone, even I, would believe it if someone said, There is no other world apart from Montemor, where we’re going on Monday to ask for work. And if there is no moon,* then the world is simply this place where I put my feet and all the rest is stars, perhaps there’s a latifundio up there too, which is why our new president is a rear admiral who’s never been to sea and who won the election game with four aces and a few more besides, because nothing trumps being an apparent pillar of society and a cheat. Had Sigismundo Canastro thought such wicked, witty thoughts, we would have stood back at the edge of the road, hat in hand, astonished at the worldly wisdom of the latifundio, but what he is really thinking is that he has spoken to everyone he needed to speak to and that he was right to speak to them today rather than leave it until tomorrow, which is why we don’t know what to do with our hat, or even if we should be holding it in our hand, Sigismundo Canastro has done his duty, and that’s that. However, despite the gravity of the steps to be taken, he also has a spritely, mischievous side, as we have seen before, and so, noticing that the door to the guards’ barracks was locked and in darkness, he went over to the wall and peed long and pleasurably as if he were peeing on the whole lot of them. The childish tricks of
