Raised from the Ground

step out of his usual rut, unless he has been employed to do so and is, therefore, being watched. However, each day brings some hope with its sorrow, or is that just laziness on the part of the narrator, who doubtless once read or heard these words somewhere and liked them, because if sorrow and hope come along together, then the sorrow will never end and the hope will only ever be just that and nothing more, this is what Father Agamedes would say, for he lives off sorrow and hope, and anyone who thinks differently is either mad or foolish. It would be nearer the truth to say that each day is the day it is, plus the day just gone, and that the two together make tomorrow, even a child should know such simple things, but there are those who try to divide up the days like someone cutting slices of melon rind to give to the pigs, the smaller the pieces, the greater the illusion of eternity, that’s why pigs say, O god of pigs, when will we ever eat our fill.

This sea of the latifundio is subject to undertows, pounded by storms, lashed by waves, enough sometimes to knock down a wall or simply leap over it, as we understand happened in Peniche, and now you can see how right we were to mention the sea, because Peniche is both a fishing port and a prison-fortress, but still they escaped,^* and that escape will be much discussed on the latifundio, but what sea are we talking about, this land is usually as dry as dust, that’s why men ask, When will we ever slake our thirst and the thirst of our parents, not to mention the thirst waiting under this stone for any children we might have. The news arrived and was impossible to hide, and there was always someone to fill in what the newspapers didn’t say, let’s sit down beneath this holm oak and I’ll tell you what I know. It’s time for the red kites to fly still higher, they cry out over the vast earth, anyone who can understand them will have much to tell, but for the moment we must make do with our human language. That’s why Dona Clemência can say to Father Agamedes, The peace we never had is over, which may seem like a contradiction and yet this lady never spoke a truer word, these are new times and they’re approaching very fast, It’s like a stone rolling down a hill, that is what Father Agamedes says, because he prefers to use secondhand words, a habit acquired at the altar, but let us have enough evangelical charity to try and understand him, what he means is that if we don’t get out of the way of the stone, God knows what will happen, and let us forgive him this new ruse, because it’s quite clear that we don’t need to wait for God in order to know what will happen to someone who fails to get out of the way of a rolling stone, which gathers no moss and spares no Lambertos.

And no sooner had this conversation ended, well, that’s not quite true, because there were a few anxious months when negligence joined forces with sacrilege, because it was sheer negligence to allow those prisoners to escape and sacrilege to see a ship once named the Santa Maria sailing the seas under the new name of Santa Liberdade,^* Dona Clemência is, of course, praying fervently and passionately for the salvation of the church and the nation, at the same time demanding punishment for the ruffians, We wouldn’t be in this situation if they had better examples to follow, you can’t play with other people’s lives, still less with my wealth. However, this is merely what the lady of the house says while safe within her four walls, always assuming Norberto is willing to listen to her, she would have no one to talk to if it wasn’t for Father Agamedes, for she barely leaves the house now, or only rarely for a trip to Lisbon to see the latest fashions, or to Figueira for the traditional family holiday by the sea, and to be honest, her mind seems to be wandering, it must be her age, talking about her wealth and some ship sailing the sea, it’s certainly not sailing on the inland sea of the latifundio, she must be going soft in the head, but there you’d be quite wrong, because she inherited shares in the colonial navigation company from her father, Alberto, God rest his soul, and that’s what bothers her.

This bitter cold isn’t just because it’s January on the latifundio. All the windows are shut, and if this were Lamberto’s castle rather than Norberto’s palatial mansion, we would see armed men on the ramparts, just as, not so long ago, we saw fearful, bloodthirsty people filling the ruins of Montemor, the times are changing, platoons of guards patrol the latifundio, in their boots and on a war footing, while Norberto reads the newspapers and listens to the radio and shouts at the maids, that’s what men do when they get upset. What really angers him is the air of sly contentment he sees on the faces of ordinary people, as if spring had arrived early for them, they don’t seem to feel the cold, at least their contentment proved short-lived, for two days later they had to change their tune, God does not sleep and they will be punished, the Santa Maria has risen from the deep, pray for us, and let us not think too badly of Father Agamedes, who succumbed to the sin of envy, it was a long time coming in such a holy creature, and all because he couldn’t hold a solemn Te Deum Laudamus as an act of thanksgiving, but that would not have gone down well in this wretched village of Monte Lavre with its godless inhabitants.

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