The sea beats on the shore, well, that’s one way of describing it, but not everyone would know what we meant, because there are many around here who have never been to the sea, the sea beats on the shore and if it meets a sandcastle in its path or a rickety fence, it will flatten both, if not at the first attempt, then at the second, and the sandcastle will have been razed to the ground and the fence reduced to a few planks being washed back and forth by the waves. It would be simpler to say that many men accepted the twenty-five escudos, and only a few dug in their heels and refused. And now that they are alone in the square, asking each other if it was worth it, and Sigismundo Canastro, who is one of those men, says, We mustn’t get discouraged, this isn’t happening only in Monte Lavre, if we win, then everyone will benefit. What makes him think this, when there are just twenty men unemployed. If only there were more of us, says João Mau-Tempo gloomily. And these twenty men seem about to go their separate ways, with nowhere to head but home, which is not a good place to be today. Sigismundo Canastro tells them his idea, Tomorrow, let’s go together to the fields and ask our comrades not to work, tell them that everywhere people are fighting for their thirty-three escudos, we in Monte Lavre can’t be seen to weaken, we’re as brave as they are, and if the whole district refused to work, the bosses would have to give in. Someone in the group asks, What’s happening in those other places then, and someone answers, either Sigismundo Canastro or Manuel Espada or someone else, it doesn’t matter, It’s the same in Beja, in Santarém, in Portalegre, in Setúbal, this isn’t just one man’s idea, either we all work together or we’re lost. João Mau-Tempo, who is one of the older men present and therefore has a greater responsibility, stares into the distance as if he were gazing inside himself, judging his own strength, and then he says, We should do as Sigismundo says. From where they are standing, they can see the guards’ barracks. Corporal Tacabo appeared at the door to enjoy the cool of the evening, and it was doubtless purely by chance that the first bat also appeared at the same moment, cutting smoothly through the air. It’s a strange animal, almost blind, like a rat with wings, and it flies as fast as lightning and never bumps into anything or anyone.
A scorching June morning. Twenty-two men left Monte Lavre, separately, so as not to attract the guards’ attention, and met up on the riverbank, just beyond Ponte Cava, among the reeds. They discussed whether they should set off together and decided that, since there were so few of them, it would be best not to break up the group. They would have to walk farther and more quickly, but if things went well, they would soon find others to join them. They drew up an itinerary, first Pedra Grande, then Pendão das Mulheres, followed by Casalinho, Carriça, Monte da Fogueira and Cabeço do Desgarro. They would see how they felt after that, assuming there was sufficient time and enough people to send to other places. They crossed at the ford, where the water formed a sort of natural harbor, and they were like a band of boys, wearing very serious smiles, or playful recruits with few weapons, taking off their shoes and putting them on again, with someone saying, as a joke of course, that he’d rather spend the day swimming. It’s three kilometers to Pedra Grande, along a bad road, then another four to Pendão das Mulheres, three to Casalinho, and beyond that, it’s best not to count, otherwise people might give up before they take the first step. Off they go then, the apostles, they could certainly do with a miracle of the fishes, preferably grilled over hot coals, with a drizzle of olive oil and a pinch of salt, right here underneath this holm oak, if duty were not calling to us so softly that it’s hard to know whether it’s coming from inside us or from outside, if it’s pushing us from behind or is there up ahead, opening its arms to us like Christ, how amazing, it’s the first comrade to leave the fields of his own free will, without waiting for someone to give him a reason, and now they are twenty-three, a veritable multitude. Pedra Grande comes into sight, and the fields lie before us, they’ve nearly cleared them already, as if they were working out their rage, who is this talking to them, it’s Sigismundo Canastro, who knows more than the others, Comrades, don’t be deceived, we workers must remain united, we don’t want to be exploited,
