"The Stone Raft" - читать интересную книгу автора (Saramago José)

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They have spoken about stones and starlings, now they are speaking about decisions taken. They are in the yard behind the house, José Anaiço is seated on the doorstep, Joaquim Sassa in a chair since he is a visitor, and because José Anaiço is sitting with his back to the kitchen where the light is coming from, we still do not know what he looks like, this man appears to be hiding himself, but this is not the case, how often have we shown ourselves as we really are, and yet we need not have bothered, there was no one there to notice. José Anaiço poured a little more white wine into their glasses, they are drinking it at room temperature, which is how it should be drunk, in the opinion of experts, rather than this modern fad of chilling the wine, something in any case out of the question here, because there is no refrigerator in the teacher's house. That's enough for me, said Joaquim Sassa, after the red wine I had with dinner, I've already passed my limit. Let's drink to the trip, replied José Anaiço, and he smiled, showing the whitest of teeth, a detail worth noting. It makes good sense to go off in search of Pedro Orce, since I'm still on vacation, no commitments, Me too, and for much longer, until the schools reopen at the beginning of October, I'm on my own, So am I, It wasn't my intention to come here to persuade you to accompany me, I didn't even know you, I'm the one who's asking you to take me along, if there's room in your car, but you've already agreed and you can't go back on your word now. Just imagine all the excitement there'll be when they discover you've gone, most likely they'll call the police at once, start thinking you're already dead and buried, hanging from some tree, or lying at the bottom of the river, obviously they'll suspect me, the stranger with superhuman strength who turned up from nowhere, asked some questions, and disappeared, it's like something out of a book, I'll leave a note on the door of the town hall saying that I had to leave unexpectedly for Lisbon, I hope no one remembers to go and ask at the station if anyone saw me buy a ticket.

For several moments they remained silent, then José Anaiço rose to his feet, took a few steps in the direction of the fig tree as he drank the rest of his wine, the starlings kept on screeching and began to stir uneasily, some had awakened as the men spoke, others, perhaps, were dreaming aloud, that terrible nightmare of the species, in which they feel themselves to be flying alone, disoriented and separated from the flock, moving through an atmosphere that resists and hinders the flapping of their wings as if it were made of water, the same thing happens to men when they are dreaming and their will tells them to run and they cannot. So we'll leave an hour before sunrise, José Anaiço said, and now we must get some sleep. Joaquim Sassa rose from his chair, I'll sleep in the car and come to get you before dawn, Why don't you sleep here, I've only one bed but it's wide, there's plenty of room for both of us. It was a clear night, the vast expanse of the sky dotted with stars, so close, it seemed, that they might have been magically suspended motes of glass dust, or a snow-white veil, and the great constellations shone dramatically, the morning star, the two Bears, the Pleiades, a fine shower of tiny crystals of light fell on the two men's upturned faces and clung to their skin, got caught in their hair, it was not the first time this phenomenon had occurred, but suddenly all the murmurings of the night fell silent, above the trees the first light of the moon appeared, now the stars must go out. Then Joaquim Sassa said, On a night like this, I might even sleep under the fig tree, if you can lend me a blanket, I'll keep you company. They gathered and then spread enough straw for their beds, as one does for cattle, each one spread out his blanket, lying down on one half and covering himself with the other. The starlings watched their shadowy forms from the branches, Who can that be, beneath the tree, among the branches everything is wide awake, and with a moon like this, getting to sleep is going to be very difficult. The moon is rising swiftly, the squat, rotund crown of the fig tree transforms itself into a black and white labyrinth, and José Anaiço remarks, These shadows are not what they were, The peninsula has moved so little, a few meters, it can't have had much effect, Joaquim Sassa observed, pleased at having understood the remark, It has moved, and that was enough for all the shadows to change, there are branches there that the moonlight is touching for the first time at this hour. Some minutes passed, the starlings began to settle down, and José Anaiço murmured, in a voice that sleep finally interrupted, each word waiting or searching for the next one, Once upon a time, our King, Dom Joào II, known as the Perfect King and in my opinion the perfect wit, made a certain nobleman a gift of an imaginary island, now tell me, do you know of any other nation where such a thing could happen, and the nobleman, what did the nobleman do, he set out to look for it, now, what I'd like to know is how you can find an imaginary island, That's something I can't tell you, but this other island, the Iberian one, which was once a peninsula but is no longer, I find just as amusing, as if it had set out to sea in search of imaginary men. Nicely phrased, couldn't be more poetic. Well, let me assure you that I've never written a line of verse in my life, Don't worry, if all men were to become poets, none would write verses. That phrase also has a certain charm, We've had too much to drink, I agree. Silence, calm, infinite harmony, and Joaquim Sassa murmured, as if he were dreaming, What will the starlings do tomorrow, will they stay or will they accompany us, When we leave we'll find out, it's always the same, José Anaiço said, the moon is lost among the branches of the fig tree and will spend all night searching for a way out.

It was still dark when Joaquim Sassa rose from his bed of straw to go and look for Deux Chevaux, which had been parked under the plane trees in the square, right beside the fountain. To avoid being seen together by some early riser, of whom there are many in farming communities, they had agreed to meet on the outskirts of the village, at some distance from the last houses. José Anaiço would turn off the main road, take side roads and short cuts, keeping well out of sight, Joaquim Sassa, however, would discreetly take the main road used by everyone, he was one of those travelers who go neither in debt nor in fear, he set out early to enjoy the fresh morning air and to make the most of the day, tourists who are out and about early are like this, at heart troubled and restless, unable to accept life's inescapable brevity, late to bed and early to rise does not make one healthy, but it does prolong life. Deux Chevaux has a quiet engine, the ignition is as smooth as silk, only the few inhabitants who could not sleep heard anything, and these thought they had finally fallen asleep and were dreaming, in the stillness of dawn even the steady noise of a water pump can scarcely be heard. Joaquim Sassa left the village, passed the first bend, then the second, then brought Deux Chevaux to a halt and waited.

In the silvery depths of the olive grove the trunks started to become visible, there was already a touch of humidity in the air, the faintest hint of a breeze, as if the morning were emerging from a well of clouded water, and now a bird sang, or were his ears deceiving him, for not even the larks sing at this early hour. Time passed and Joaquim Sassa began muttering to himself, Perhaps he's thought it over and decided not to come, but he didn't strike me as being like that, or perhaps he had to take a much more roundabout way than he imagined, that must be the explanation, and then he's carrying a heavy suitcase, that's something I overlooked, I could have carried it to the car myself. Then, from amid the olive trees, emerged José Anaiço, surrounded by starlings, a frenzy of wings ruffling continuously, strident cries, whoever mentioned two hundred is unable to count, this reminds me more of a swarm of big black bees, but what Joaquim Sassa obviously had in mind were the birds in Hitchcock's classic film, although those were wicked assassins. José Anaiço approaches the car with his garland of winged creatures, he comes smiling, which makes him look younger than Joaquim Sassa, for, as everyone knows, a serious expression makes one look older, he has the whitest of teeth, as we discovered last night, and while there is nothing remarkable about any individual feature, there is a certain harmony in those sunken cheeks, besides, no one is obliged to be good-looking. He put his suitcase into the car, climbed in beside Joaquim Sassa, and before closing the door looked out to see the starlings, Let's go, I wondered what they would do, but you can see for yourself, If we had a rifle here and fired a few shots, two cartridges of buckshot would finish them off, Are you a hunting man, No, I'm only repeating what I've heard others say, We don't have a rifle, Perhaps there might be another solution, I'll get Deux Chevaux moving, and the starlings will be left behind, they're a species with short wings and little stamina, Try. Deux Cheveaux changed gear, accelerated on a long stretch of straight road, and, taking advantage of the flat terrain, soon left the starlings behind. The morning light became tinged with contrasting shades of pale and bright pink, colors fallen from the sky, and the air turned blue, we repeat, the air and not the sky, as we also observed yesterday evening, these hours are much the same, the one beginning the day, the other ending it. Joaquim Sassa switched off the headlights and reduced speed, he knows that Deux Chevaux was not destined for such bold exploits, its ancestry is undistinguished, anyway, the car has seen better days and the engine's tameness is nothing more than stoic resignation, Good, that's the end of the starlings, these were the words of José Anaiço, but there was a note of regret in his voice.

Two hours later, in the Province of Alentejo, they stopped for a bite to eat, coffee with milk, cinnamon-flavored sponge cakes, then they returned to the car, chewing over the same old worries, The worst thing that could happen wouldn't be to find myself barred from Spain, it would be much worse if they were to keep me there, You haven't been accused of anything, They can invent some pretext, detain me for questioning. Don't worry, before we reach the frontier we're sure to find some means of getting across, this was their dialogue, which adds nothing to our understanding of the story, perhaps it was only put here so that we would understand that Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço are already on familiar terms, something they must have decided during the journey. Let's not stand on ceremony, one of them said, and the other replied, I was just about to make the same suggestion. Joaquim Sassa was on the point of opening the car door when the starlings reappeared, that enormous cloud, resembling more than ever some great swarm whirling overhead and making a deafening noise, one could see that they were angry, people standing beneath them stopped and looked up, pointed to the sky, someone declared, I've never seen so many birds together in my whole life, and to judge from his appearance he was old enough to have had this experience and many others, There are more than a thousand of them, he added, and he was right, at least twelve hundred and fifty birds had gathered on this occasion, They've finally caught up with us, said Joaquim Sassa, let them wear themselves out and we'll be rid of them for good. José Anaiço watched the starlings as they flew triumphantly in a great circle, he stood there transfixed, staring at them intently, Let's drive slowly, from now on we'll go slowly, Why, I don't know, it's just a premonition, for some reason these birds won't leave us alone, You could be right, so do me a favor and go slowly, and we'll see what happens.

How they crossed the Alentejo in this blazing heat, under a sky more white than blue, amid shining stubble with the occasional holm oak on the bare land and bundles of straw waiting to be gathered, beneath the incessant chirping of the cicadas, would make a whole story in itself, perhaps even harder to tell than that other one I re-counted on an earlier occasion. It's true that for kilometer after kilometer along this road there is not a living soul to be seen, but the corn has been cut, the grain threshed, and all these tasks required men and women, but on this occasion we shall learn nothing about all this, all too true is the proverb that warns us, Don't count your chickens before they're hatched. The heat is oppressive, suffocating, but Deux Chevaux is in no hurry, is only too pleased to stop wherever there is a little shade, then José Anaiço and Joaquim Sassa get out to scan the horizon, they wait as long as they have to, finally it comes, the only cloud in the sky, these stops wouldn't be necessary if the starlings knew how to fly in a straight line, but because there are so many of them, each with its own disposition despite its attachment to the flock, dispersions and distractions are inevitable, some would prefer to rest, others to drink water or to peck at berries, and until their desires coincide, the flock will be scattered and its itinerary upset. Along the route, in addition to the kites, solitary raptors, and members of less gregarious species, other birds of the starling family had been sighted, but they didn't join the flock, perhaps because they were not black but speckled, or perhaps because they had some other destiny in life. José Anaiço and Joaquim Sassa got into the car, Deux Chevaux resumed its journey, and so, starting and stopping, stopping and starting, they arrived at the frontier. Then Joaquim Sassa said, And now let's see if they'll allow me to pass, you follow, perhaps the starlings will help.

Just as in those tales about fairies and enchantments, knights and damsels, or in those no less admirable Homeric epics in which, thanks to the bounty of the tree of fables or through some caprice of the gods or other superhuman beings, anything might happen, however contrary to custom or opposed to nature, it came about that Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço had stopped at the police lookout, or frontier post in technical jargon, and God alone knows how anxious they must have felt as they presented their papers, when the next moment, like a sudden downpour of lashing rain or cyclone sweeping all before it, the flock of starlings swooped down from the heavens like a black meteor, bird bodies transformed into flashes of lightning, hissing, screeching, finally scattering in all directions when they reached the low roofs of the lookout, just like a whirlwind out of control. The terrified policemen waved their arms about, ran to take shelter, Joaquim Sassa saw his chance, got out of the car and retrieved the documents one of the policemen had dropped, there was no one to observe this infringement of customs regulations, and that was that, secret crossings had been made by many routes, but never before like this. Hitchcock is applauding from the wings, the applause of someone who is a master of the genre. The excellence of this method was soon confirmed, showing that the Spanish police, like their Portuguese counterparts, take these avian omens, these black starlings, in all seriousness. The travelers passed with no difficulty, but dozens of birds stayed behind, for there was a loaded shotgun at the customs post across the border, even a blind man would have been able to hit the target, all you had to do was to shoot into the air, and this was needless slaughter, because in Spain, as we know, no one was looking for Joaquim Sassa. Nor is it certain that this is the action the Andalusian guards would have taken, for the starlings were Portuguese by nationality, born and bred in the lands of Ribatejo, and they had come a long way only to die, let us hope that these cruel guards will at least have the decency to invite their colleagues from Alentejo to share the feast of fried starlings in an atmosphere of wholesome conviviality and comradeship.

Accompanied by the canopy of birds overhead, the travelers are heading for Granada and the surrounding region, when they are obliged to seek assistance at the crossroads, for the map they are using does not indicate the village of Orce, how very inconsiderate on the part of the cartographers, I'll bet they didn't forget to indicate their own hometowns, in future they should remember how vexing it is for someone to check out his birthplace on a map only to find a blank space, this has given rise to the gravest of problems for those trying to establish personal and national identities. Along the route, they pass Seat cars and Pegaso trucks, these can be recognized immediately by their insignia and license plates, and the villages through which Deux Chevaux passes have that sleepy air said to be characteristic of the south, the people here are accused by northern tribes of being indolent, facile and arrogant remarks of racial disparagement made by those who have never had to work with the sun beating down on them. But it is true that there are differences between one world and another, everybody knows that on Mars the inhabitants are green, while here on earth they are every color except green.

From an inhabitant of the north we would never hear what we are about to hear, if we stop to ask the man going by astride a donkey what he thinks about this extraordinary business, the Iberian peninsula's having separated from Europe, he will pull the donkey's reins, Whoa!, and reply without mincing his words, The whole thing's a joke. Roque Lozano judges from appearances, they have helped him to form his own judgment, which is easy to understand, behold the bucolic tranquillity of these fields, the serene sky, the harmony of the rocks, the mountains of Morena and Aracena, which have remained unaltered since they were born, or, if not that long, since we were born. But television has shown the whole world how the Pyrenees have split open like a watermelon, let us say for argument's sake, using a metaphor within the grasp of rustic minds, I don't trust television, unless I can see things with these eyes of mine that the earth will one day devour, I don't believe in them, Roque Lozano replies without dismounting, So what are you going to do, I've left my family to look after my business and I'm off to see if it's true, With these eyes of yours that the earth will devour, With these eyes of mine that the earth hasn't devoured yet, And do you expect to arrive there riding a donkey, When it can't carry my weight any longer, we'll both go by foot, What name does your donkey answer to, A donkey doesn't answer to anything, it's called by its master, So what do you call your donkey then, Platero, and we're both making the journey, Platero and I, Can you tell us where Orce is, No sir, I don't know, It would appear to be a little way beyond Granada, Oh, in that case, you've still got some way to go, and I must bid you gentlemen from Portugal farewell, for my journey is much longer and I'm riding a donkey, Probably by the time you get there, you won't be able to see Europe any longer, If I don't see it, that'll be because the place never existed. Roque Lozano is absolutely right when all is said and done, because for something to exist there are two essential conditions, that a man should see it and that he be able to give it a name.

Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço spent the night in Aracena, following in the footsteps of our King, Dom Afonso III, who conquered the town from the Moors, but his victory was the briefest of false dawns, for those were the Dark Ages. The starlings disappeared into the various trees in the vicinity, being too many to stay together as a flock, as they would have preferred. In the hotel, already lying down, each in his own bed, José Anaiço and Joaquim Sassa discuss the threatening images and words they have seen and heard on television, Venice in peril, and that appeared to be true, St. Mark's Square flooded at a time when the water is not normally high, a smooth, liquid surface that reflected in every detail the campanile and the façade of the Basilica, As the Iberian peninsula gradually moves away, the announcer said in solemn, measured tones, the damaging effect on tides is certain to worsen, grave consequences are predicted throughout the entire Mediterranean basin, the cradle of civilization, we must save Venice, this is our plea to humanity, even if it means making one fewer hydrogen bomb, one fewer nuclear submarine, if it is not too late. Joaquim Sassa, like Roque Lozano, has never seen the Pearl of the Adriatic, but José Anaiço could vouch for its existence, it is true that he had not given it either its name or its sobriquet, but he had seen it with his own living eyes, had touched it with his own living hands, What a terrible tragedy if Venice should be lost, he said, and these anguished words affected Joaquim Sassa more than the agitated waters in the canals, the tumultuous currents, the encroaching tide penetrating the ground floors of the palaces, the flooded quaysides, the awesome spectacle of an entire city sinking, an incomparable Atlantis, a submerged cathedral, the Moors, their eyes blinded by water, striking the bell with their bronze hammers until seaweed and barnacles paralyze the mechanism, liquid echoes, the Christ Pantocrator of the Basilica finally in theological conversation with the seagods subordinate to Jupiter, the Roman Neptune, the Greek Poseidon, and Venus and Amphitrite, now deliberately restored to the waters from which they emerged. Only the God of Christians is without a wife. Perhaps I'm to blame, Joaquim Sassa murmured, Don't overestimate yourself to the point of thinking you're to blame for everything, I'm referring to Venice, the loss of Venice, If Venice should be lost, everyone will be to blame, and that goes for past generations as well, the city has been declining for some time through neglect and speculation, I'm not talking about that, the whole world is suffering on that account, I'm referring to what I did, I threw a stone into the sea and some people believe that that caused the peninsula to break away from Europe. If you should have a son one day, he will die because you were born, no one will absolve you from this crime, the hands that make and weave are the same hands that dismantle and undo, right engenders wrong, wrong produces right, Poor consolation for a man in distress, There is no consolation, I'm afraid, man is a creature beyond consoling.

Perhaps Joaquim Sassa, who voiced this opinion, is right, perhaps man is a creature who cannot and will not be consoled, but certain human actions, with no meaning but that of being to all appearances meaningless, sustain the hope that man will one day come to weep on man's shoulder, probably when it is too late, when there is no longer time for anything else. The television announcer mentioned one of these actions in the news bulletin and tomorrow the newspapers will debate it further, with detailed statements from historians, critics, and poets, this was the secret landing in France, on a beach near Collioure, of a band of Spanish citizens and men of letters, who in the dead hours of the night, fearing neither hooting owls nor ghosts, burst into the cemetery where the poet Antonio Machado had been buried for many years. They had a brush with the gendarmes, who, alerted by some nighthawk, pursued the grave robbers but could not catch up with them. The sack containing the poet's mortal remains was thrown into a launch waiting on the beach, its engine running quietly, and within five minutes the pirate ship was out in the open sea, on the shore the gendarmes fired into the air, just to give vent to their annoyance, not because they felt bereft of the poetic bones. In an interview with France-Presse, the moire of Collioure tried to discredit the deed, even going so far as to insinuate that no one could be sure after all this time that the remains were those of Antonio Machado, nor is it worth inquiring how many years have passed, only through some improbable oversight on the part of the local authorities would they still be found there, despite the particular reverence with which the bones of poets are usually handled.

The journalist, a man of much experience, but so lacking in skepticism that he did not even appear to be French, stated that in his opinion, the cult of relics requires only a suitable object, its authenticity is of no importance, for the sake of verisimilitude one asks for nothing more than a mild resemblance, consider the Cathedral of Valencia, where in times gone by the faith was promoted with a col lection of precious relics, namely, the chalice used by Our Lord during the Last Supper, the shirt He wore as a boy, some drops of Our Lady's milk, locks of Her hair, fair in color, and the comb She used, and also some fragments from the Holy Cross, some indefinable object that had belonged to one of the Holy Innocents, two of those thirty pieces, made of silver after all, with which Judas allowed himself to be bought through no fault of his own, and, to end the list, one of St. Christopher's teeth, four fingers in length and three in width, dimensions undeniably excessive, that will surprise only those unaware of the saint's gigantic proportions. Where will the Spaniards bury the poet now, asked Joaquim Sassa, who had never read Machado, and José Anaiço replied, If, despite the ups and downs of life and the reversals of fortune, everything has its place and every place claims what belongs to it, what remains of Antonio Machado today must be buried somewhere in the fields of Soria, beneath a holm oak, the Castilian word is encina, without any cross or tombstone, nothing but a tiny mound of earth, it doesn't even have to look like a stretched-out corpse, in the fullness of time earth will turn to earth and all will be equal. And we Portuguese, what poet should we go and look for in France, if any of our poets ever stayed there, As far as I know, only Mario de'Sà Cameiro, but in his case there's no point even trying, first of all, because he wouldn't have wanted to come, second, because the cemeteries in Paris are well protected, third, because so many years have passed since he died, the administration of a capital city would not commit the errors of a provincial town, especially one with the additional excuse of being Mediterranean, And besides, what purpose would it serve to remove him from one cemetery in order to put him in another, now that in Portugal it is forbidden to bury the dead in an unauthorized place or in the open air, not even his bones would rest in peace if we were to leave him in the shade of an olive tree in the Parque Eduardo VII, But are there any olive trees left in the Parque Eduardo VII, That's a good question, but I can't give you an answer, and now let's get some sleep, for tomorrow we must go in search of Pedro Orce, the man who can feel the earth shaking. They switched off the light, lay there with open eyes waiting to drop off, but, before sleep arrived, Joaquim asked another question, And what about Venice, what's going to happen there, Believe me, the easiest of all the difficult tasks in this world would be to save Venice, all they would have to do would be to close the lagoon, and link the islands together so that the sea wouldn't be able to enter so readily, if the Italians aren't capable of carrying out the job on their own, let them send for the Dutch, they could dry out Venice in no time at all, We should help, we have certain responsibilities, We are no longer Europeans, well, perhaps that's not entirely true, For the time being you are still in territorial waters, interrupted an unknown voice.

In the morning, as they were paying their bill, the manager started to unburden himself, the hotel was almost empty at the height of the season, such a pity, Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço, absorbed in their own affairs, had not even noticed the dearth of guests. And the grottoes, no one is visiting the grottoes, the man repeated in dismay, for no one to visit the grottoes was the worst of catastrophes. On the street there was great excitement, the children of Aracena had never seen so many starlings together, not even when they went bird-watching in the countryside, but the pleasure of this novelty did not last long, no sooner had the Portuguese Deux Chevaux started off in the direction of Seville than the starlings took flight as if the entire flock were a single bird, they circled twice as if saying farewell or trying to get their bearings, and disappeared behind the castle of the Knights Templar. The morning is clear, you could touch the sky with your fingers, and today promises to be less hot than yesterday, but the journey is long, From here to Granada it's more than three hundred kilometers, and then we have to go in search of Orce, let's hope we're successful and we find the man, these were the words of José Anaiço, that they might not find the man was a possibility that only now came to mind, And if we do find him, what are we going to say to him, now it was Joaquim Sassa's turn to be doubtful. In the merciless light of another day, or perhaps as a result of night's evil counsel, he suddenly found all these events absurd, could it be true that a continent had divided simply because someone had thrown a stone into the sea, a stone that exceeded the strength of the person who threw it, yet there was no shadow of doubt that a stone had been thrown and the continent had divided, and a Spaniard swears that he can feel the earth shaking, and a flock of demented birds is following a Portuguese schoolmaster everywhere, and who knows what else has happened or is about to happen throughout the peninsula, Let's talk about your stone and my starlings, and he will talk about the earth that shook or is still shaking, And then, Then, if there is nothing more to see, nothing to experience and learn, we'll go home, you to your job, I to my school, pretend it was all a dream, and by the way, you still haven't told me what you do for a living, I work in an office, I also work in an office, I'm a teacher. They both laughed, and Deux Chevaux, ever prudent, pointed out on the gauge that they were running out of gas. They refilled the tank at the first service station they encountered, but they had to wait more than half an hour, the line of vehicles stretched way down the road, everyone was anxious to have a full tank. They got back on the road, Joaquim Sassa was now seriously worried, There's a run on gas, very soon they'll close the pumps, and then what, We should have been prepared for this, gas is a sensitive commodity, unstable, whenever there's a crisis it's the first indication, some years ago there was a ban here on supplies of gas, I don't know if you can remember that or even heard about it, it was utter chaos, I'm beginning to think we'll never reach Orce, Don't be a pessimist, I'm a born pessimist.

They passed through Seville without stopping, but the starlings lingered for a few minutes to admire the Giralda, which they had never seen before. Had there been only half a dozen of them they could have formed a diadem of black angels for the Statue of Faith, but because there were thousands of them, in their avalanche-like descent they covered the statue, transforming it into an indefinable figure, one that could just as easily have been taken for the symbol of Doubt as for the Statue of Faith. The metamorphosis was short-lived, José Anaiço is already speeding through this labyrinth of streets, let's follow him, winged species. Along the way, Deux Chevaux drank wherever possible, some gas stations had notices saying Sold Out, but the pump attendants said Mariana, they're an optimistic bunch, or perhaps they have simply learned how to make life tolerable. But the starlings had no lack of water, thank God, for Our Lord is much more concerned about birds than about humans, nearby are the tributaries of the Guadalquivir, the lagoons, the reservoirs, more water than those tiny beaks could drink in a million years. It's already mid-afternoon when they arrive in Granada, Deux Chevaux is panting, shuddering after all that effort, while Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço go off to investigate, as if they were carrying sealed orders and the moment had come to open them, now we shall know where our destiny awaits us.

At the tourist office, an employee asked them if they were Portuguese archaeologists or anthropologists, that they were Portuguese could be seen at once, but why anthropologists and archaeologists, Because Orce is generally visited only by the latter, some years ago a discovery was made in nearby Venta Micena, the oldest human remains to be found in Europe, A whole skeleton, asked José Anaiço, Only a skull, but ancient, going back somewhere between one million three hundred thousand and one million four hundred thousand years, And do we know for certain they are human remains, Joaquim Sassa cautiously inquired, whereupon Maria Dolores replied with a knowing smile, Whenever human remains from ancient times are discovered, they always belong to some man, Cro-Magnon Man, Neanderthal Man, Swanscombe Man, Peking Man, Heidelberg Man, Java Man, at that time there were no women, Eve still hadn't been created, she was only created later, You're being ironic, No, I'm an anthropologist by training and a militant feminist by inclination, Well, we're journalists and we want to interview a certain Pedro Orce, the one who felt the earth shaking. How does such news make it to Portugal, Everything comes in Portugal and we go everywhere, this part of the dialogue was conducted solely by José Anaiço, who always has an answer ready, undoubtedly because he's used to coping with schoolchildren. Joaquim Sassa had moved away to examine some illustrated posters of the Courtyard of the Lions, the Gardens of Generalife, the entombed effigies of the Catholic Kings, studying them he had to ask himself if there would be any point in visiting these places after having seen the photographs. Absorbed in these thoughts about perceptions of reality, he lost the drift of the conversation, what could José Anaiço have said to make Maria Dolores laugh so heartily, if every Dolores had not changed her name to Lola, each of those guffaws would have been a scandal. But she no longer showed the slightest hint of feminist aggression, perhaps because this Ribatejo Man was something more than just a mandible, a molar, and a patch of skull, and because there is plenty of evidence, in this age in which we live, that women do exist. Maria Dolores, who works in tourism because she cannot find employment as an anthropologist, draws the missing road on the map for José Anaiço, indicates with a black dot the village of Orce, and that of Venta Micena right beside it, now the travelers may proceed, the sorceress at the crossroads has shown them the way, It's a desert, a lunar landscape, but one can see in her eyes that she regrets not being able to accompany them, to practice her skills in the company of Portuguese journalists, especially that rather more discreet one who moved away to look at the posters, how often life has taught us not to judge by appearances, as Joaquim Sassa himself is now doing, his mistake, modest man that he is, If we were to stay here you would be getting it on with the lady anthropologist, let us forgive him this vulgar expression, when men are together that's how they talk, and José Anaiço, presumptuous, but also fooled, replied, Who knows.

This world, we shall never tire of repeating, is a comedy of errors. Another proof of this maxim is that the name Orce Man should have been given to some old bones found not in Orce but in Venta Micena, which would make a nice palaeontological label, were it not for that name Venta, which translates as Sale, the sign and symbol of inferior merchandise. The fate of words is truly strange. Unless Micenae was a woman's name, before it became that of a man, like that celebrated Galician woman who gave her name to the town of Golegâ in Portugal, perhaps some Greeks from Mycenae, in flight from the demented Atridae, arrived in these remote parts, and anxious to reestablish the name of their native region, they happened to choose this place, much farther away than Cerbère, at the heart of hell, and never so remote as now, as we go sailing off. However difficult you may find it to believe.