The Collected Novels of José Saramago (13 page)

Every man uses his eyes to see what he can or what his eyes will permit, or some little part of what he would like to see, unless it happens to be a coincidence, as in the case of Baltasar who, since he worked in the slaughterhouse, went with the youngest of the porters and apprentice butchers to the square to watch the arrival of Cardinal Nuno da Cunha, who is about to receive the red hat from the hands of the King, accompanied by the Papal Legate in a litter upholstered in crimson velvet and trimmed with gold braiding, the panels, too, are sumptuously decorated in gilt, with the Cardinal’s coat of arms on either side. The Cardinal’s procession includes a carriage that travels empty as a mark of personal esteem, and another carriage for the steward and private secretary, and the chaplain who carries the Cardinal’s train when there is a train to be carried, two open carriages of Spanish origin carry the chaplains and pages, and in front of the litter are twelve footmen, who, together with all the coachmen and litter-bearers, add up to an impressive entourage, and we must not forget the liveried servant who heads the procession with the silver mace, it is indeed a happy populace that rejoices in such feasts and gathers in the streets to watch the nobility pass in procession as they accompany the Cardinal to the Royal Palace where Baltasar cannot enter to watch the ceremony, but, knowing the powers of Blimunda, let us imagine that she is there, we shall see the Cardinal moving forward between the guard of honour, and as he enters the last of the audience chambers, the King comes out to greet him and he gives him the holy water, and in the next chamber the King kneels on a velvet cushion and the Cardinal on another and farther back, in front of an ornate altar suitably decorated for the occasion, one of the palace chaplains celebrates High Mass with all due pomp and ceremony, and once the Mass is ended, the Papal Legate takes the papal brief of nomination and hands it to the King, who formally receives it before handing it back so that the Papal Legate may read it aloud, this, it should be said, to conform with protocol, not because the King is incapable of reading Latin, and once the reading is over, the King receives the Cardinal’s biretta from the Papal Legate and places it on the Cardinal’s head who is naturally overcome with Christian humility, for these are onerous responsibilities for a poor man finding himself chosen to become one of God’s intimates, but the courtesies and reverences are not quite finished, first the Cardinal goes off to change his vestments and when he reappears he is dressed all in red, as befits his rank and is summoned once more into the presence of the King, who stands beneath the ceremonial canopy, twice the Cardinal puts on and then removes his biretta, and the King goes through the same ritual with his hat, and then, repeating it a third time, he steps forward four paces to embrace the Cardinal, finally they both cover their heads and, seated, the one higher than the other, they say a few words, and their speeches made, it is time for them to take their leave, hats are raised and replaced, the Cardinal, however, still has to pay his respects to the Queen in her apartments, where he goes through the same ritual once more, step by step, until finally the Cardinal descends to the Royal Chapel, where a Te Deum is about to be sung, Praise be to God, who has to endure such ceremonies.

Upon arriving home, Baltasar tells Blimunda what he has seen, and since fireworks have been announced, they go down into the Rossio after supper and either there are few torches on this occasion, or the wind has blown them all out, but what matters is that the Cardinal has his biretta, it will hang at the top of his bed while he sleeps, and should he get up in the middle of the night to admire it unobserved, let us not censure this prince of the Church, for we are all susceptible to vanity, and unless a cardinal’s biretta specially commissioned and sent from Rome is some mischievous plot designed to test the modesty of these great men, then their humility deserves our wholehearted confidence, they are truly humble if they are prepared to wash the feet of the poor, as this Cardinal has done and will do again, as the King and Queen have done and will do again, the soles of Baltasar’s boots are now worn through and his feet are dirty, thus complying with the first condition whereby the Cardinal or King should kneel before him one day, with fine linen towels, silver basins, and rose-water, the second condition Baltasar is certain to satisfy, since he is poorer than ever, and the third condition is that he be chosen for being a virtuous man who cultivates virtue. There is still no sign of the pension he petitioned, and the entreaties of his patron, Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço, have been to no avail, he will soon lose his job at the slaughterhouse on some flimsy pretext, but there are still bowls of soup to be had at the convent gates and alms from the confraternities, it is difficult to die of hunger in Lisbon, and the Portuguese have learned to eke out a meagre existence. Meantime, the Infante Dom Pedro has been born, though as the second child, he only warranted four bishops at his baptism, he did gain some advantage, however, by having the Cardinal at the ceremony, who had still not been elected when his sister was baptized, and meantime, news arrived that in the siege of Campo Maior large numbers of the enemy had been killed and that few men died on our side, although by tomorrow they may be saying that large numbers of our men have died and few on the enemy side, or tit for tat, which is how things are likely to turn out when the world finally comes to an end and the dead are counted on all sides. Baltasar tells Blimunda of his experiences in the war, as she grips the hook protruding from his left arm as if she were holding a human hand and he can remember the feel of his own skin as it touches Blimunda’s hand.

The King has gone to Mafra to choose the site where the convent is to be built. It will stand on the hill known as the Alto da Vela from where one can look out to sea, and where there is no lack of fresh water for irrigating the convent’s future orchards and kitchen gardens, the Franciscans have no intention of being outdone by the Cistercians at Alcabaça when it comes to cultivating the land, and although St Francis of Assisi was content with a wilderness, he was a saint and is now dead. Let us pray.

T
HERE IS NOW
another piece of iron in the knapsack of Sete-Sóis, the key to the Duke of Aveiro’s estate. Having obtained the aforesaid magnets but not the secret substances, Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço was able to start assembling his flying machine and carry out the contract which named Baltasar as his right-hand man, since his left hand was unnecessary, just as God Himself has no left hand, according to the priest, and he has studied these highly sensitive matters and so should know. And since Costa do Castelo is some distance from Sebastião da Pedreira, and much too far to travel to and fro every day, Blimunda decided that she would abandon her home and follow Sete-Sóis wherever he might be. It was no great loss, the roof of the house and three of its walls were unsafe, the fourth wall on the other hand, could not have been safer, for it formed part of the castle wall, which had been standing there for many centuries, just so long as no one passes by and thinks to himself, Look, an empty house, and without further ado moves in, the house will crumble within the next twelve months, nothing but a few cracked bricks and rubble remaining of the house where Sebastiana Maria de Jesus lived and where Blimunda first opened her eyes to perceive the world, for she was born fasting.

One trip proved sufficient to transport their modest possessions, Blimunda carrying a bundle on her head and Baltasar another on his back, and that was all. They rested at intervals during the long journey, silent as they went, for they had nothing to say to each other, even a simple word becomes superfluous when our lives are changing, and even more so when we are changing, too. As for baggage, it should always be light when a man and a woman take their possessions with them, or those of the one to the other, so that they do not have to retrace their footsteps, for that is a great waste of precious time.

In a corner of the coach-house they unrolled their pallet and mat, and at the foot of the pallet they placed a bench in front of a chest, as if tracing an imaginary line to mark the boundaries of new territory, they then improvised partitions with cloths suspended from wires, to give the impression of a real house where they could be alone if they so desired. When, for example, Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço comes, Blimunda, if she has no washing to keep her at the wash-tub or cooking to keep her at the stove, or if she is not helping Baltasar by passing the hammer and pincers, the wire and cane, will be able to withdraw into her own little domain, which even the most adventurous of women long for at times, even though the adventure may not be as exciting as the one about to unfold. Drawn curtains also serve for the confessional, the father confessor seated on the outside, the penitents, one after the other, kneeling on the inside, which is precisely where both constantly commit sins of lust, besides being cohabitants, if that word is not more grievous than the sin itself, a sin readily absolved, however, by Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço, who has before his eyes an even greater sin, namely that of ambition and pride, for he plans to ascend into the heavens one day, where so far only Christ and the Virgin have made their ascent, along with a few chosen saints, these various parts scattered around which Baltasar is painstakingly assembling while Blimunda says from the other side of the partition, in a voice loud enough for Sete-Sóis to hear, I have no sins to confess.

To fulfil the obligation of attending Holy Mass, there is no lack of churches in the vicinity, such as that of the discalced Augustinians, which is closest of all, but if, as often happens, Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço is occupied with his priestly duties or commitments at court which take up more time than usual even though he does not have to come here every day, if the good padre does not turn up to kindle the flame of Christian zeal that Baltasar and Blimunda undoubtedly possess, he with his irons, she with her fire and water, and both with the passion that drives them on to that pallet on the floor, then they often forget their obligation to attend the divine sacrifice and fail to confess their omission which leads us to question whether their presumed souls are all that Christian after all. Whether they remain in the coach house or go out to bask in the sunshine, they are surrounded by extensive lands in a state of neglect, fruit trees are returning to their natural wildness, brambles cover the pathways, and where there was once a kitchen garden, weeds and ivy have taken over, but Baltasar has already cleared the worst of the overgrowth with a scythe, and Blimunda has used a hoe to cut the roots and lay them out to dry in the sun and in the fullness of time, this land will produce something to compensate for their labours. But they also enjoy moments of leisure, and when Baltasar begins to feel his head itching, he rests it on Blimunda’s lap and she picks off the lice, we should not be too surprised by the behaviour of these lovers and inventors of airships, if such a term existed in those days, just as one now talks about armistice instead of peace. Blimunda, alas, has no one to remove the lice from her head. Baltasar does his best, but though he has enough hands and fingers to catch lice, he has neither the fingers nor the hand to secure Blimunda’s dark, honey-coloured hair, for no sooner does he succeed in separating the strands than they fall back into place, thus concealing the prey. Life provides for everyone.

Nor are things always easy at work. It is a mistake to believe that no one misses his left hand. If God can manage without it, that is because He is God but a man needs both hands, the one hand washes the other and they both wash the face, how often has Blimunda had to wash away the grime on the back of Baltasar’s hand, something he found impossible to do, such are the misfortunes of war, and insignificant ones at that, for many a soldier has lost both arms or both legs or even his private parts, nor do they have a Blimunda to assist them, or, perhaps have lost her because of their wounds. The hook is perfect for gripping a sheet of metal or weaving cane, the spike is ideal for boring eyeholes in the canvas, but material objects are loath to obey without the contact of human flesh, they are afraid that if human beings, to whom they have become accustomed, should disappear, then the world will degenerate into chaos. That is why Blimunda always comes to Baltasar’s assistance, for when she arrives the rebellion ends, Just as well you’ve come, Baltasar says to her, or could it be the objects responding.

Sometimes Blimunda rises early, and before eating her bread, she moves quietly along the wall, taking great care not to look at Baltasar, she draws back the curtain and examines the work that has been already completed, to see if there are any flaws in the canework or any air bubbles in the metal, then, having finished her inspection, she finally starts to munch her daily ration of bread, and as she eats she gradually becomes just as blind as all those people who see only what is before their eyes. When she carried out this inspection for the first time, Baltasar commented to Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço, This iron is no good, because it’s fractured inside, How do you know, It was Blimunda who saw it, whereupon the priest turned to Blimunda, smiled, then looked from the one to the other, and said, You are Sete-Sóis or Seven-Suns, because you can see in the light of day, and you are Sete-Luas or Seven-Moons, because you can see in the darkness of night, and so Blimunda, who until that moment had only been called Blimunda de Jesus after her mother, became known as Sete-Luas and she was well baptised, for that name had been bestowed on her by a priest, and was not just a nickname given by a nodding acquaintance. That night the suns and moons slept together in each other’s embraces while the stars circled slowly in the heavens, Moon, where are you, Sun, where are you going.