Читать книгу Sea Loves Me - Mia Couto - Страница 13

It is a truth: the dead ought not to return, to cross the frontier of their world. They only come and disturb our sadness. We already know for sure: so and so has gone. We comfort widows, shed all our tears.

On the other hand, there are those dead who, having died, persist in coming back. This is what happened in that village which the waters had wrenched from the earth. The floods carried the village away, pulled up by its roots. Not even the scar of the place remained. Many were rescued. Luís Fernando and Aníbal Mucavel vanished. They perished beneath the waters, swept along by the river’s furious current like a pair of fish. Their deaths had been taken for a certainty when, one afternoon, they turned up again.

The living asked them many questions. Then, alarmed, they called the militia. Raimundo appeared, he who carried his rifle as if it were a hoe. He was trembling with fear, and he could find no other words than:

—Show me your papers.

—You’re mad, Raimundo. Put that gun down.

The militiaman gathered courage when he heard the dead men speak. He ordered them back:

—Go back to where you came from. It’s no use trying anything: you’ll be thrown out.

The conversation was not getting them anywhere. Estevão, who was responsible for guard duties, arrived on the scene.

Luís and Aníbal were allowed in so that they might explain themselves to the authorities.

—You’re no longer on our list. Where are you going to live?

The two apparitions were offended by the manner of their welcome.

—We were swept away by the river. We ended up God knows where, and now you treat us like a couple of infiltrators?

—Wait, we’ll have to speak to the director of social affairs. He is the only one who can deal with your case.

Aníbal became even more dejected.

—So we’ve become a case, have we? A person is not a divorce, a lawsuit. Nor was it that they had a problem: they just had their whole lives to sort out.

The official arrived on the scene. He was a tubby man, his belly inquisitive, peeping out of his tunic. They were complimented with the respect due to the dead. The official explained the difficulties and the extra burden they represented, as two dead people who had returned without warning.

—Look: they’ve sent us supplies. Clothes, blankets, sheets of zinc, a lot of things. But you two weren’t included in the estimate.

Aníbal became agitated when he heard they had been excluded:

—What do you mean not included? Do you strike people off just like that?

—But you have died. I don’t even know how you came to be here.

—What do you mean died? Don’t you believe we are alive?

—Maybe, I’m not sure anymore. But this business of being alive and not alive had best be discussed with the other comrades.

So they went to the village hall. They explained their story but failed to prove their truth. A man dragged along like a fish only seeks air, he’s not interested in anything else.

After some consultation the official concluded rapidly:

—It doesn’t matter whether you are completely dead or not. If you’re alive, it’s worse still. It would have been better to take advantage of the water to die.

The other, the one with the tunic that played tug-of-war with its own buttons, added:

—We can’t go along to the administrative cadres of the district and tell them a couple of ghosts have turned up. They’ll tell us we’ve got ourselves mixed up in obscurantism. We could even be punished.

—That’s true, agreed the other. We did a political orientation course. You are souls, you’re not the material reality that I and all the others with us in the new village are.

The fat one added emphatically:

—To feed you, we’d have to ask for an increase in our quota. How would we justify that? By telling them we’d got two souls to feed?

And there the conversation ended.

Luís and Aníbal left the village hall, confused and baffled. Outside, a crowd had gathered to watch them. The two apparitions decided to look for Samuel, the teacher.

Samuel welcomed them to his house. He explained why they had not been included in the ration quotas.

—The officials here aren’t like the ones in other villages. They divert supplies. First they distribute them to their own families. Sometimes, they even say there isn’t enough to go round, when in fact their houses are brimming full.

—Why don’t you denounce them?

Samuel shrugged. He blew into the embers to give the fire new strength. Red petals of flame spread the scent of light through the little room.

—Listen, I’ll tell you a secret. Someone did complain to their superiors. They say that this week a commission is coming to investigate the truth of such allegations. You should take the opportunity to explain your case to the commission.

Samuel offered them a roof and food until the commission of inquiry arrived.

Aníbal sat his thoughts down at the rear of the house. He gazed long and hard at his feet and muttered, as if he were talking to them:

—My God, how unfair we are to our body. What part of it do we take most for granted? The feet, poor things, which drag themselves along to hold us up. It’s they that bear both sadness and happiness. But as they are far from the eyes, we ignore our feet, as if they didn’t belong to us. Just because we are above, we tread on our feet. That’s how injustice begins in this world. Now in this case, those feet are myself and Luís, scorned, plunged into the silt of the river.

There was less light than a shadow when Luís came over and asked him what he was muttering about. Aníbal told him about how he had discovered his feet.

—You’d do better to think of how we are going to show these folk that we are real people.

—Do you know something? In the old days, the forest used to scare me, so empty of people. I thought I could only live with others around me. Now, it’s the other way round. I want to go back to where the animals are. I miss not being anybody.

—Do be quiet now. This is becoming like a conversation between spirits.

The two stopped talking, fearful of their rickety condition. They began to fidget with things, to scrape their feet on the ground, as if trying to prove the substance of their bodies. Luís asked:

—Can it be true? Might it not be that we really are dead? Maybe they’re right. Or perhaps we are being born again.

—Who knows, brother? It could be any of these things. But what is not right is that you should be blamed, forgotten, struck off the list, rejected.

It was the voice of Samuel, the teacher. He came over with some mangoes, which he gave to the two candidates for life.

They peeled the fruit, while the teacher continued to speak:

—It’s not fair they should forget that, whether you’re alive or dead, you still belong to our village. After all, when we had to defend it against the bandits, didn’t you take up arms?

—That’s true. I even got this scar from an enemy bullet. Here, look.

Aníbal got to his feet in order to show the others proof of his suffering, a deep groove that death had carved in his back.

—Everyone knows that you deserve to be counted among the living. It’s fear alone that causes them to keep quiet, to accept lies.

Standing there like that, Aníbal clenched his fist as if to squeeze out his anger. Drops of the sweet-sad juice of the mango fell to the ground.

—Samuel, you know about life. Don’t you think it would be better if we left, if we chose another place to live?

—No, Aníbal. You must stay. You are bound to win in the end, I’m sure. After all, a man who leaves because he is beaten, no longer lives. He will find nowhere else to begin again.

—And you, Samuel, are you one of those who doesn’t believe we are alive?

—Be quiet, Luís. Let Samuel here advise us.

—These people who bedevil you are bound to fall. It is they who do not belong here, not you. Stay, my friends. Help us in our plight. We too are not being considered: we are alive but it is as if we had less life, it’s as if we were only halves. We don’t want that.

Luís got up and peeped out into the darkness. He walked round in a circle, returning to the centre, and, coming near to the teacher, said:

—Samuel, aren’t you scared?

—Scared? But these people must fall. Wasn’t this why we fought, to get rid of such scum?

—I’m not talking about that, replied Luís.

—Aren’t you scared that they will catch us here with you?

—With you? But do you really exist? Surely I can’t be with people who don’t exist.

They laughed, got up, and left through the two doors of the house. Aníbal, before taking his leave, said:

—Hey, Samuel! Long Live the Revolution!

Three days later, the commission arrived. It was accompanied by a journalist who had become interested in the story of Luís and Aníbal. He had promised to investigate the affair. If the matter could not be resolved, he would expose the activities of the village officials in his newspaper.

The commission met for two days. Then the villagers were summoned to a general assembly. The room was packed out with people who had come to hear the verdict. The chairman of the commission announced its solemn conclusions:

—We have closely examined the situation of the two individuals who arrived in the village, and have reached the following formal decision, namely that comrades Luís Fernando and Aníbal Mucavel should be deemed members of the existing population.

Applause. The meeting seemed more relieved than happy.

The speaker continued:

—But the two apparitions would be well advised not to leave the village, or life, or anywhere else again. We have shown clemency this time, but will not tolerate this behaviour next time.

The meeting now applauded with real conviction.

Next day, Luís Fernando and Aníbal Mucavel began to see to the question of the documents that would prove they were alive.