Raised from the Ground

Anacleto should go by cart to Montemor, he is furious and trembling, his face tinged with the holy blush that marks the faces of all those who struggle passionately for the preservation of the world, yes, it’s understandable that he should rush to Montemor where these matters can be dealt with properly and that he should inform the guards that four men from Monte Lavre have declared themselves to be on strike, What will become of me, what shall I tell the boss when he wants to know how the threshing is going, now that I’ve lost these men. Lieutenant Contente said, Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it, and Anacleto returned to the threshing floor with his mind at rest, and as he was driving back, in less of a hurry now, enjoying the warm glow of one who has performed a pleasant duty, a car laden with men passed him, and someone inside waved, it was the district administrator, and with him, shouting, Goodbye, Anacleto, were the lieutenant and a whole patrol, bearing down on the enemy in a panzer sherman tank bristling with weapons of all calibers, from the standard-issue pistol to the recoilless rifle, and off they go, with the nation watching them, they offer their breasts to bullets, sound their horn, and it’s like a bugle giving the order to charge, while somewhere on the estate, walking, as we have said, along old paths, those four hardened criminals have stopped for a moment to see who can pee highest and farthest.

At the entrance to Monte Lavre, the dogs bark at the would-be tank, it would seem unreal without that detail, and since it’s a steep road, the patrol gets out and advances in formation, with the administrator at the front this time and his back protected. Their first call, carried out with the efficiency of someone on maneuvers, in the knowledge that they are only firing blanks, leads them to the local parish councilor, who is, so to speak, dumbstruck when he sees the lieutenant and the administrator coming into his shop, while outside, the patrol scans the surrounding area with suspicious eyes. On the other side of the street, some boys have gathered, and in places invisible or unidentifiable, mothers call for their children, as they did at the time of the massacre of the innocents. Let them call, much good may it do them, and let’s go to the shop, where the parish councilor has recovered his voice and is now all politeness and flourishes, unctuously addressing both the administrator and the lieutenant as sir, he stops short of calling the soldiers sir, because that would sound odd, and the administrator takes from his pocket Anacleto’s statement, on which he had noted the names of the criminals, Can you tell me where Manuel Espada, Augusto Patracão, Felisberto Lampas and José Palminha live, and not contented with his role as informer, the parish councilor summons his wife to keep watch over the counter and the cash drawer, and then the company, enlarged by one, sets off into the labyrinths of Monte Lavre, with one eye peeled for ambushes, just like the Spanish civil guard, may God preserve them. Monte Lavre is a desert under the blazing heat of the sun, even the boys have lost interest, it’s like an oven, all doors are shut, but some are open just a crack, cracks being the resort of those who do not wish to show themselves, and when the guards march past, they are followed by the eyes of women and by those of the occasional inquisitive old man with nothing else to do. Imagine if now we were to launch into a detailed explanation of the expression in those eyes, we’d never get to the end of the story, and yet all those things, the seemingly unimportant and the seemingly important, form part of the same narrative, and might be as good a way as any to explain the latifundio.

Some things are innately funny, for example, the armed forces and the civil authority coming to arrest four dangerous agitators and finding none of them. The strikers are still a long way off. You wouldn’t be able to see them from the highest point in Monte Lavre, even from the tower, if it is the tower, which it is, from which Lamberto Horques witnessed the charge of his cavalry in that fifteenth century we mentioned earlier. In the midst of that tangled landscape, not even the sun would help them spot the four tiny ruffians, who are probably lying down in the shade, perhaps dozing, waiting for the relative cool of evening. Not everyone finds their exploits so amusing, their mothers, for example, who have been informed by the lieutenant and the administrator that their sons are to present themselves in Montemor the next morning, if not, the guards will come to Monte Lavre and drag them to Montemor kicking and screaming, as they rather extravagantly put it. The tank sets off down the road, throwing up dust all around, but before it does, the administrator goes to present his respects to the largest landowner resident there, whether Lamberto or Dagoberto it doesn’t matter, who receives them all, apart from the soldiers, who are dispatched to the cellar, but Lieutenant Contente and that bestower of respects, the administrator, are ushered into a cool reception room on the first floor, how delightful it is here in the dark, your wife and daughters are well, I hope, and yourself, have another glass of liqueur, and on the way out, the lieutenant stands at attention and gives the most perfect salute, the administrator is trying to speak man to man, but the latifundio is so very large, and Alberto holds out one strong hand and says, Don’t let them get away with it, and the administrator, who bears the singular name of Goncelho, says, I can’t understand them, when there’s no work, they complain there’s no work, and when