the Child Jesus in the cloister, or an angel playing the harp in the choir, and should she be locked away in her cell, where, in private, the manifestations are of a more corporeal nature, she is tormented by demons who shake her bed and wriggle her body, first the upper part, so that her breasts quiver, then the lower part, where her orifice trembles and perspires, that vista of hell or gate to heaven, the latter when enjoying an orgasm, the former when the orgasm has passed, and one believes in all of this, therefore, Baltasar Mateus, alias Sete-Sois, cannot go around saying, I've flown from Lisbon to Monte Junto, or he will be taken for a madman, which might be just as well, if he wants to avoid the attention of the Holy Office of the Inquisition, for there are plenty of raving lunatics in this land beset by madness. So far, Baltasar and Blimunda have managed to survive with the money Padre Bartolomeu Lourenco had given them, and on a modest diet of cabbage and beans gathered from the kitchen garden, the odd piece of meat, and some salted sardines when there were no fresh ones, and whatever they spent or ate was not so much in order to nourish their own bodies as to ensure the well-being of the flying machine, if they cherished any hope of seeing it fly again.
The machine, if that is what one believes it to be, has flown, and its body demands nourishment, that explains why their dreams soar to such heights, Sete-Sois cannot even ply his trade as a drover, the oxen have been sold, the cart is broken, and if God were not so inconsiderate, the chattels of the poor would be eternal. If he had his own yoke of oxen and cart, Baltasar would be able to offer his services to the Inspectorate General, and despite his disability they would employ him. But with only one hand, they would seriously question his ability to handle animals for the King, the nobles, or any other wealthy landowners who had lent them to ingratiate themselves with the crown. So, what work can I hope to find, Baltasar asked his brother-in-law, Alvaro Diogo, after supper that same night, for they were all now living in the paternal home, but first Baltasar and Blimunda were given a detailed account by Ines Antonia of the Holy Ghost's remarkable flight over Mafra, With these very eyes, which the earth will consume one day, I saw the Holy Ghost, my dear Blimunda, and Alvaro Diogo saw the apparition, too, as he was working on the site, Is that not true, husband, whereupon Alvaro Diogo, blowing on a live ember, confirmed that something had passed over the site where they were building the convent, It was the Holy Ghost, Ines Antonia insisted, The friars said as much to all those who cared to listen, and people were so confident that it was the Holy Ghost that they organised a procession of thanksgiving, So it was the Holy Ghost, then, her husband conceded, and Baltasar, looking at a smiling Blimunda, said, There are things in the heavens that we cannot explain, and Blimunda fell in with those sentiments by adding, If we were able to explain them, things in the heavens would be known by other names. In the corner by the hearth, old Joao Francisco drowsed quietly, bereft of cart, yoke of oxen, land, and Marta Maria, he seemed estranged from their conversation, but muttered before dozing off once more, In this world there is only life and death, they waited for him to finish, and it is strange how the elderly fall silent when they ought to go on speaking, obliging the young to learn everything from scratch. There is someone else here who is asleep and therefore silent, but even if he were awake, it is doubtful whether he would be allowed to say anything, for he is only twelve years old, truth may come out of the mouths of babes, but they have to grow up before they are allowed to speak, and by then they have usually started telling lies, this is the boy who has survived, and he arrives home at night worn out from his labours as a builder's apprentice and all that climbing up and down scaffolding all day long, and no sooner does he eat his supper than he is fast asleep, There is work for any man who wants it, Alvaro Diogo assured Baltasar, you can run errands or work as a porter with a handcart, your hook is all you need for holding the shaft, these are the misfortunes of life, a man goes to war, he comes back wounded, flies through the air by some mysterious power, and then, when he tries to earn a modest living, this is what he is offered, and he is fortunate, for in all probability there were not even hooks a thousand years ago to substitute for a missing hand, and who knows what will have been invented a thousand years from now.
Early next morning, Baltasar and Alvaro Diogo, accompanied by the latter's son, left for work, the Sete-Sois house, as has already been mentioned, is by the Church of St Andrew and the Viscounts' Palace, here in the oldest part of the town where the ruins of the castle built by the Moors are still standing, they left early, meeting up with other men along the route, whom Baltasar recognised as neighbours also helping to build the convent, which might explain why the surrounding fields have been abandoned, the old folks and the women cannot cultivate the land on their own, and since Mafra lies at the bottom of the valley, the men have to climb improvised paths, for those of former times have been covered over with the rubble cleared from the Alto da Vela. Seen from below, the walls of the future convent scarcely suggest another Tower of Babel, and as one reaches the bottom of the slope, the walls completely disappear, the work has now been in progress for some seven years, and at this rate it will not be ready before the Day of Judgment and will therefore turn out to be futile, It's a big job, Alvaro assures Baltasar, as you will see for yourself when we get nearer, and Baltasar, who feels a certain contempt for stone-masons and bricklayers, is astounded, not so much by the work that has been completed as by the hordes of workers swarming the place, an ant-hill of men rushing about in all directions, If all these people have come here to work, then I must eat my words. The boy has left them and gone off to start his day's work carrying hods of lime, while the two men cross the site to the left on their way to the Inspectorate General's office, Alvaro Diogo will explain, This is my brother-in-law, who lives in Mafra, and although he has spent many years in Lisbon, has now returned to his father's house and needs a job, not that personal recommendations necessarily do much good, but Alvaro Diogo has been here from the outset and is known to be a reliable worker and a word in the right ear always helps. Baltasar gapes in astonishment, he has come from a village and is now entering a city, and Lisbon, of course, is an impressive sight, as the capital of a great kingdom that incorporates the Algarve, which is small and nearby, but also other territories, such as Brazil, Africa, and India, not to mention the Portuguese domains scattered throughout the world, it is only natural, I say, that Lisbon should be so overwhelming and chaotic, but who would expect to find this vast conglomeration of rooftops of every conceivable shape and size so close to Mafra, it has to be seen to be believed, when Sete-Sois flew over this place three days ago, he was in such an anxious state that he thought his eyes were deceiving him as he looked down on this conglomeration of houses and streets and thought the future basilica was no bigger than a chapel. If God Himself has the same difficulty in seeing things from up above, then He might do well to tread the earth on His own divine feet, and dispense with intermediaries and envoys who are never trustworthy, and He might start by correcting the optical illusion whereby what looks small from a distance turns out to be large when seen up close, unless God uses a spyglass, like Padre Bartolomeu Lourenco and is looking at me this very minute as I wait to see whether they will offer me a job or turn me away.
Alvaro Diogo has already gone off to start laying stones, one on top of another, had he delayed any longer, it would have meant forfeiting a quarter of the day's wage, which would have been a serious loss, now Baltasar has to convince the recruiting officer that an iron hook is as good as a hand made of flesh and blood. The clerk seems doubtful about his chances and, rather than accept the responsibility, goes inside to make some inquiries, a pity that Baltasar cannot produce any documents certifying that he is a builder of airships, or at least that he has fought in the war, if this were to do him some good, for the nation has been at peace for the last fourteen years, and who wants to know about wars, once wars are over, it is as if they had never taken place. The clerk returns looking cheerful, What's your name, and he takes up his duck quill and dips it into the brown ink, so Alvaro Diogo's recommendation has helped after all, or the fact that he has some claim on this land, or that he is still in his prime, thirty-nine years of age despite those first grey hairs, or simply that God might be offended if a man in need of work should be turned away when He has favoured Mafra by allowing the Holy Ghost to fly over the town three days before, What's your name, Baltasar Mateus, nicknamed Sete-Sois, You can start work next Monday as a porter. Baltasar dutifully thanks the recruiting clerk and leaves the Inspectorate General feeling neither happy nor sad, a man must earn his daily bread by some means somewhere, and if that bread fails to nourish his soul, at least his body will be nourished while his soul suffers.
Baltasar knew that this place was known as the Ilha da Madeira, the Island of Wood, and it was well named, because, apart from a few houses built in stone and mortar, all the others were timber constructions, but built to last. There were also blacksmiths working on the site, and Baltasar could have mentioned his experience at the forge, although he had already forgotten much of what he had learned, not to mention the other skills about which he knew nothing, subsequently there would be coopers, glaziers, painters, and many other craftsmen on the site. Many of the timber houses had upper storeys, on the ground floor were housed the livestock and oxen, and above lodged the personnel of greater and lesser rank, the masters of works, the clerks and other officers of the Inspectorate General, as well as the military officers in charge of the troops. At this hour of the morning, oxen and mules were being led out of the stables, others had been led out even earlier, and the ground was soaked with urine and littered with manure, and as in Lisbon during the Corpus Christi procession, street urchins were running wild amid the crowds and cattle jostling and chasing one another, and one lad who was trying to escape from another slipped and fell under a yoke of oxen but escaped being trampled, because his guardian angel was watching
