Raised from the Ground

neither small nor large, it’s a street of churches, I am under the protection of the heavenly host, and perhaps that’s why the hound speaks rather gently, Don’t tell anyone I told you, but things aren’t looking good, apparently a comrade of yours gave them your name, you’d best tell them everything you know, that’s the only way to get back to your family, you won’t gain anything by being stubborn. This street is called São Nicolau and the one over there São Francisco, and if I left some saint or other behind me along the way, you can have him, Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about, officer, I haven’t done anything wrong, I’ve been working ever since I was born, I don’t know anything about these things, I was arrested once but that was years ago, and I’ve had nothing to do with politics since, these are João Mau-Tempo’s words, some true, some false, and he won’t say anything else, that’s the good thing about words, they’re like a river flowing over rocks, it always does so in the same way, be careful not to stumble, the water flows so quickly it can dazzle you, watch out. The hound barks, João Mau-Tempo recognizes the place, this slope with the tram lines shining, Ah, so that’s it, well, just you wait, and the soft dawn is bruised by the bad words hurled at him, you this and you that, words barely known in the latifundio. And now João Mau-Tempo feels his strength leaving him, he’s been stuck in a cell for twenty-five days, scarcely moving, or only from cell to latrine and from latrine to cell, with his poor mind working overtime, tying up loose ends that immediately come undone again with more anxious thinking, not to mention the sleepless nights, and now there’s this walk, which seems so long and yet it’s nothing compared to the distances his legs used to cover on the latifundio, and suddenly he’s afraid he won’t make it, afraid he’ll tell all he knows as well as what he could never possibly know, but then he hears again the prisoner in Caxias, Listen, friend, we don’t know why you’re here, but for your own sake, take my advice, and he remembered this just in time, he covered the final meters as if in a dream, he’s through the door, going up the steps, up to the first floor again, there’s no one to be seen, a terrifying silence reigns, second floor, third floor, we’re here, João Mau-Tempo’s fate has been waiting for him, legs crossed, that’s the trouble with fates, they do nothing but wait, and we are the ones who have to do everything, for example, learn when to speak and when to keep silent.

The hound shoved João Mau-Tempo into a room and remained on guard outside. After a few minutes, the door burst open and in came a very spruce-looking gentleman, freshly shaved and smelling of cologne and brilliantine, he gestured to the other man to leave and immediately started shouting, Because of this bastard, this bloody communist, I can’t go to mass today, that really is what he said, although I doubt anyone will believe me, but it’s true, probably the influence of the ecclesiastical neighbors mentioned earlier while we were walking over from the Aljube prison, not to mention the Church of the Martyrs and the Square of the Two Churches, the Church of the Incarnation and that other one, now what the devil is it called, Father Agamedes would love it here, he’d be able to hear the confession of this Inspector Paveia, who is so upset about having missed mass you would think he’d have his own chaplain really, and now, to complete this edifying picture, imagine if João Mau-Tempo were to say, Oh, sir, please don’t miss mass on my account, if you like, I’ll go with you. We can’t believe our ears, and not even João Mau-Tempo knows why he said it, but we don’t have time now to examine these bold or spontaneous words, because Inspector Paveia doesn’t give us time to think, Bastard, faggot, swine, I’m sorry, Father Agamedes, but that’s exactly what he said, it’s not my fault, and, Shut up or it’s the trapeze for you, what circus arts these are João Mau-Tempo has no idea, but he sees Inspector Paveia go over to a desk, he’s rather ill named really, when you think that paveia means a sheaf of wheat of the kind I used to clutch to my chest, and he takes a pistol out of the drawer, along with a stick and a heavy ruler, He’s going to kill me, thought João Mau-Tempo, and the inspector said, See this, it’s for you if you don’t tell me the whole story, and be warned, you won’t leave here until you’ve told me everything you know, stay standing, don’t move, not so much as a finger, if you move, you’re in for it.

Every three hours, one man leaves and another enters. The victim doesn’t change his story, So what were you up to in your village, Working to earn enough money to feed my family, the first question and the first answer, the question is as predictable as the answer is true, and this man should be allowed to go free because he has told the truth, Do you mean working or do you mean distributing communist newspapers, you can’t fool us, you know, But I wasn’t involved in that kind of thing, sir, All right, so you weren’t distributing newspapers, you were taking it up the bum, you and your friends were taking it up the bum from the man in charge so that he would teach you the Moscow doctrine, isn’t that right, look, if you want to go back to Monte Lavre and see your children again, tell us the full story, don’t cover up for the buddies you held meetings with, think of your family,