Читать книгу Sea Loves Me - Mia Couto - Страница 16

Patanhoca was a sad figure, robbed of life’s good fortune. Something had torn his lips away, leaving his mouth with no above and no below. His teeth never unclenched. His mouth, because of the way it never blinked, was like a hyena’s envy. Can a living creature keep his whole soul behind his teeth? Certainly this was Patanhoca’s punishment. It was said he was the Devil who had come to Muchatazina. This was a lie. Who knows what the Devil’s face looks like? Is it ugly? On the contrary, the Devil is as beautiful as can be, so as to deceive us into choosing backwards. A man like that is not tempted by women: he loves snakes, crawling animals, and things which don’t demand beauty. The snake catcher had taught himself to be a bachelor.

Morning, evening, and other times too, Patanhoca would shut himself away with his snakes. A snake mechanic, he would scrape the rust off their scales and nurture their poisons. His was the art of those who have lost the skill of living, the Devil’s lore. It wasn’t even worth looking for the truth behind his life’s condition. Did Patanhoca really know the secret of snakes? The answer has no document or testimony. But the doubters, if in fact there were any, were never heard.

When the evenings began to disperse the daylight, that was when he would go out, when darkness cradled the oil lamp. The paths were already pitch-black but Patanhoca would set his steps in the direction of the store.

When he arrived at his destination he put out the lamp and began the task of spreading his sorcery. His perch was there in her yard, he, an owl drawn towards the lights of Mississe.

What was Patanhoca’s motive for always spending the night there? Were his lingerings just distraction? There was a reason, and that was love.

Shame manacled the snake catcher’s passions. Looking was the only reward reaped from the shadows and the silences. To reveal the heart without showing the body, to dispense help and kindnesses: that is what João Patanhoca had decided to do in the secrecy of his life. Isn’t a widow more alone than anyone else? Where is the arm to defend her?

That arm was Patanhoca. His powers kept thieves away from the store. Every night, so they say, he would set his snakes free around the house. So many of these snakes were there that the sand was poisoned under the blanket of night. You didn’t need to be bitten. It was enough for somebody to step into the yard. In the morning, no one could enter or leave before the snake owner’s prayers had given the go-ahead. His words swept the yard clean and abolished the frontier. All this, all this guard work, Patanhoca did without asking for anything in return. He would rivet his eyes on the widow, but they were no longer eyes. They were the servants of Chinese whimsies.