The women are weeping and the men’s eyes are filling with tears, this is the best wedding you could possibly imagine, Monte Lavre has never seen the like, and then Manuel Espada stood up and went to embrace António Mau-Tempo, thinking how different this army is from the one he served in, and he remembers his national service in the Azores and hearing his fellow soldier issuing that vague threat, When I get out of here, I’m going to join the police for the vigilance and defense of the state, it’s great, say there’s someone you don’t like, well, you simply arrest him, haul him off to the civil authorities, and if you like, shoot him in the head before you get there and say he tried to resist.
Now Sigismundo Canastro, tall and thin, has got to his feet, he toasts the newlyweds, and when everyone has downed some of the fortified wine, he announces he’s going to tell a story which, while not quite the same as António Mau-Tempo’s, is nevertheless similar, because with stories and anecdotes you can always find some similarity, however unlikely, Many years ago, and at this point he pauses, just to make sure everyone is listening, and they are, their eyes fixed on him, some are rather sleepy, it’s true, but can still manage to keep awake, and then he goes on, Many years ago, I was out hunting, oh, no, not another hunting story, all lies and exaggeration, but Sigismundo Canastro isn’t joking and doesn’t respond to this interruption, he merely looks around him as if pitying such a lack of seriousness, and whether it was that look or mere curiosity to find out how big a lie this will be, silence falls, and João Mau-Tempo, who knows Sigismundo Canastro very well, is sure there will be more to this story than meets the eye, the problem will be understanding it, At the time, I didn’t have a rifle of my own, I used to borrow one from whoever I could, and I was a pretty good hunter too, just ask the people who knew me then, and I had a little dog I was training up, a real gem with a really keen nose, and one day I went out with some friends, there were quite a few of us, each of us with our dog, and we had already walked a long way and were somewhere over near Guarita do Godeal when a partridge suddenly flew up, as fast as you like, I put my rifle to my eye, and the bird fell just as I was about to pull the trigger, I certainly didn’t hit it, fortunately, though, for my good name as a hunter, there was no one else around, but Constante, my dog, ran to where the partridge had fallen, thinking perhaps that the bird was wounded, lost amid the gorse, because the undergrowth was really thick, and there were some large rocks blocking your view, but anyway, the dog disappeared, and I called and called, Constante, Constante, and I whistled and whistled, but no response, it would be even more embarrassing having to return home without the dog, besides, I was really fond of him, he was one of those dogs who could almost speak. His audience was hanging on his every word now, listening and digesting, it doesn’t take much to make a man happy and a woman content, and even if the story turned out to be pure hokum, it was a good story well told, as Sigismundo Canastro went on to show, Two years later, I happened to be in those parts again, and I came across a vast area of land which they had begun to clear but then, for some reason, abandoned, and I remembered what had happened with Constante, and I plunged in among the rocks and the undergrowth, it was the devil of a job, but something was leading me on, as if someone were saying, don’t give up, Sigismundo Canastro, and suddenly what did I see but the skeleton of my dog standing there, guarding the skeleton of the partridge, and they had been like that for two years, both equally determined. I can see it now, my dog Constante, his nose pointing forward, his front leg poised and lifted, and no wind could knock him over and no rain dissolve his bones.
Sigismundo Canastro said no more and sat down. No one else spoke a word, no one laughed, not even the younger people, who
