Читать книгу Sea Loves Me - Mia Couto - Страница 17

Then one night the widow opened the door. Was she naked? Or was it a play of light which eliminated her clothes? She waved to him. Patanhoca stayed where he was without revealing himself. Then she beckoned him. Her voice was a mother’s:

—Come out of the dark, come in!

He did not move, guardian of fears, unschooled in matters of happiness. He had never had any. She called him again, this time more hoarsely. She went down the steps, and pushed forwards into the darkness. She tasted the smell of the mixtures and potions spreading their terror. She had never set eyes on such a smell before.

—Get back inside, Mississe!

This was Patanhoca’s order. It was the first time he had spoken. The words came out spitting and scraping, without the shape lips could provide. The crickets fell silent, the night air stifled. The widow pretended she hadn’t heard and went on without turning. Again Patanhoca shouted his warning:

—Be careful! Snakes!

Then she stopped. He came nearer, keeping to the dark side.

He held out a little cloth pouch:

—Warm up this tea: it’s your medicine.

—No, I don’t need it.

—What do you mean, you don’t need it?

—All I want is for you to come and stay here.

—Stay where?

—To live here, together with me. Stay, João.

He shuddered: João? His eyes closed, pained: can a word, such a trifle, do so much harm to a man?

—Don’t say that name again, Mississe.

She advanced further, wanting ever more strongly to lean against his shadow.

—João? It’s your name. Why can’t I say it?

Silence gave the crickets their leave. Men and animals speak in turn, such is the law of nature.

Can a man weep? Yes, if you awaken the child he has inside him. Patanhoca wept, but he couldn’t shed tears, for he had no lips.

—Why don’t you come back again?

—I’m Patanhoca, snake catcher. It’s not just a name I was given. I’ve got a snout, not the face of a person.

—No, you’re João. You’re my João.

He explained his sorrows, said his life was shattered and that when you want to pick up the pieces, it’s always too late. The Chinawoman wearied of his lament:

—Then let me out. Release me from this nightly prison, these terrors, these snakes encircling my life.

In his fury he threw the little pouch to the ground and moved away from the circle of light to which he had brought his sadness.