Raised from the Ground

of Sherlock Holmes the weakness of their alibi and the conflicting times, but there’s no danger of that, Sherlock Holmes is dead and buried, as dead as Germano Santos Vidigal, buried as deep as Germano soon will be, and the years will pass and these cases will remain swathed in silence until the ants acquire the gift of speech and tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Meanwhile, if we hurry, we’ll still be in time to catch up with Dr. Romano, he’s over there, head bowed, small black bag over his left arm, which is why we can ask him to raise his right hand, Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, that’s how it is with doctors, they’re used to such solemn acts, Speak up, Dr. Romano, doctor of medicine, you who have sworn the Hippocratic oath with its various modern revisions to form and sense, speak up, Dr. Romano, here beneath the bright sun, is it really true that this man hanged himself. The doctor raises his right hand, looks at us with candid, innocent eyes, he’s a much-respected man in the town, a regular churchgoer and punctilious in carrying out his social duties, and having shown us what a pure soul he is, he says, If someone has a wire wound twice around his own neck, with the other end tied to a nail above his head, and if the wire is pulled taut enough, even by only the partial weight of the body, then there is no doubt that, technically speaking, the man has hanged himself, and having said this, he lowered his hand and went about his business, Not so fast, Dr. Romano, doctor of medicine, it’s not time for supper yet, if you still have any appetite after what you’ve just seen, I envy you your strong stomach, tell me, didn’t you see the man’s body, didn’t you see the welts, the bruises, the battered genitals, the blood, No, I didn’t, they told me the prisoner had hanged himself and he had, there was nothing else to see, You’re a liar, Dr. Romano, medical practitioner, how and why and when did you acquire the ugly habit of lying, No, I’m not a liar, it’s just that I can’t tell the truth, Why, Because I’m afraid, Go in peace, Dr. Pilate, sleep in peace with your conscience, and give her a good screwing, because she deserves both you and the screwing, Goodbye, Senhor Author, Goodbye, Senhor Doctor, but take my advice, keep well away from ants, especially those that raise their heads like dogs, they’re very observant creatures, you can’t imagine, you will be watched from now on by all ants, don’t worry, they won’t harm you, but you never know, one day your conscience might make a cuckold of you, and that would be your salvation.

The street we are on is Rua da Parreira, or the street of the vine trellis, presumably because in days gone by, it was shaded by a trellis of fine grapes, and since the council couldn’t come up with the name of a saint or a politician or a benefactor or a martyr to bestow on the street, it will for the time being continue to be called Rua da Parreira. What shall we do now, given that the men from Monte Lavre, Escoural, Safira and Torre da Gadanha only arrive tomorrow, given that the bullring is closed and no one can get in, what shall we do, let’s go to the cemetery, perhaps Germano Santos Vidigal has arrived there already, the dead, when they choose to, can move very fast, and it’s not that far and it’s cooler now, you go down this street, turn right, as if we were going to Évora, it’s easy enough, then left, you can’t go wrong, there are the white walls and the cypresses, the same as everywhere else. The mortuary is here, but it’s locked, they lock everything and they’ve taken away the key, we can’t go in, Good afternoon, Senhor Ourique, no rest for the wicked, eh, That’s true, but what’s a man to do, people may not die every day, but you still have to straighten their beds and sweep the paths, Yes, I saw your wife Cesaltina and your son earlier on, he’s a lovely child, That’s true, True is a good word, Senhor Ourique, That’s true, Tell me, is it true that the body in the mortuary died of a beating or simply because its former owner decided to hang himself, It’s true that my son is a lovely boy, always wanting to be out playing in the sun, it’s true that the body in there is that of a hanged man, it’s true that given the state he was in, he wouldn’t have had the strength to hang himself, it’s true that his private parts were battered and bruised, it’s true that his body was caked in blood, it’s true that even after death the swellings didn’t go down, the size of partridge eggs, they were, and it’s true that I would have died of far less, and I’m used to death, Thank you, Senhor Ourique, you’re a gravedigger and a serious man, perhaps because you’re so fond of your son, but tell me, whose skull is that you’re holding in your hand, does it belong to the king’s son, That I don’t know, I wasn’t working here then, Goodbye, Senhor Ourique, it’s time to close the gates, give my regards to Cesaltina and my love to your boy who so likes to play in the sun.

We have said our farewells, from down here you can see the castle, who could recount all its stories, those from the past and those to come, it would be quite wrong to think that just because wars are no longer fought outside castles, such military actions, however petty, however inglorious, are a thing of the past,