Palmares

by Gayl Jones

  He paused, waiting for me to speak, but I said nothing. He looked for a moment like he wasn’t being clear enough. He looked like he wanted to be clear enough, to say something I would remember.

  “But that man, that man of yours, perhaps it is here he wants to be because he does have such choices. Is he a historian? Do you think he is writing about us?”

  He paused again and waited. I said nothing.

  “But he comes to hear no one’s story. He is a man of few words, and does not mingle well. How can he be a historian? He must be an astrologer. He must have some enchantment with the stars. He must set down such things as the stars are doing.” He shook his head with sadness. He looked like he wanted to say something memorable, but couldn’t find the words. He shook his head again. “I am a free man today. I was beginning to think it would not come. Do you think I thought it would be something I could see? Do you see that woman? I’ve noticed her for a long time, but she’s free. Do you think I should trust her? Do you think that is the only place my freedom will take me?” He laughed with despair. “Is that where the road leads to with the least difficulty? If I hurry, do you think she will talk to me?”

  I said I didn’t know.

  “Well, I must hurry anyway,” he said, stepping away from the door. “For I see your husband advancing.”

  He hurried away from the door and I saw him run to catch up with the woman. I did not look to see how she greeted him, for Anninho came in the door.

  “What did he want?” he asked.

  “He came only to tell me that he had his freedom. He captured another slave and so they gave him his freedom.”

  He nodded but said nothing, still looking at me.

  “We were slaves in the same place,” I explained. “The shoemakers’ . . .”

  “Well, he has a gift for talk,” he said. “I was at the lookout post and saw him standing here a good long while.”

  A Praise of Heroes and a Paid Informer

  I WENT WITH MY GRANDMOTHER to view the man. I did not know where I was going, but my grandmother said that everyone must go out to view the conspirator. This was to be a warning to potential conspirators. This man, it was said, was a paid informer, whose job it was to ferret out the hiding places of renegades. He was one who had been trusted. He had taken part in all the raids on pack trains, sugar mills, and plantations. He had been a slave and had purchased his own freedom. I could not believe my eyes when I saw the man. It was Pedro the Third. I left my grandmother and drew closer till he was looking at me.

  “Almeyda,” he said.

  People looked at me. They had first tied him to a tree. In the evening he would be hanged. He tipped his head to me.

  “Have you come to praise the hero?” he asked. I heard a man curse and spit in his direction.

  “That is why you are here, in praise of the hero,” he said, sarcastically.

  He kept staring at me.

  “Do you know that you’re all a threat to Brazilian civilization,” he said. “All of you. The whole history of this place would be different if it weren’t for you. I wish you’d leave me alone. Or are you trying to find yourselves in me? Look at me. I don’t know where I’m going. Where will I be tomorrow? Yes, you’ve all come to praise the hero.”

  Someone spit in his direction.

  “Almeyda, have you come to find yourself too? Do you think you’re a traitor?”

  I said nothing. Now the eyes of the Palmaristas were on me.

  “Let this be a lesson to all potential traitors,” he said. “But this is my greatest work,” he whispered. “A triumph of imagination.” He began to laugh. “I’ve got no right to determine your liberty, but haven’t I determined mine? Almeyda, after this is done, I’ll go all about my country. Mine.

  “Anywhere. I’ll visit the South first, then the Northeast, then the rest of it. Study the political, military, social history. The memories of the people. Mine. And the intimate histories. I’ll find myself in everybody. Ha. My country. My freedom. How far am I from Porto Calvo?” He waited as if he expected an answer from me, then he went on, “Sixteen leagues? I’ll be there tomorrow. Then in the mountains, canoeing on the rivers. No need to fight with guns and spears and knives. Always protected. All the time.

  “And then I won’t move my lips not at all, just watch all of you. I’ll be watching all of you. The whole panorama of my country. Mine. I’ll go to any tavern in any territory. I’ll go to the theaters, the churches, into the big houses, into the innermost chambers. I won’t say a thing. Not even ‘This is me, Pedro.’ No, not a word. I’ll wear a gold halo of feathers. I’ll wear enormous rings on my fingers, satin shoes, armbands. I’ll climb hills. I’ll go to other countries. I’ll go from city to city. Always the stranger. Always free. I’ll hear your conversations, all of them, but never a word from me.

  “I’ll be in out-of-the-way places and in-the-way places. Everywhere. Always see the new and different, in the world and in me too. No, I won’t be the same Pedro. I’ll move from one vocation to the other. I’ll be my own man forever.”

  Did I actually hear him talking? Had he really spoken? I did not see him when they hanged him and placed his head on a pole. I did not see it until after it was done and my grandmother drew me away.

  “Did he say anything? Did you hear what he said?” I asked her.

  “No, he was silent the whole time,” she replied. “He was silent, but he couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

  Malaria Fever; Dreams of Escape and Capture; of Zumbi, the Chieftain

  Circles under my eyes. I run into the stream. I paint cacao on my eyelids. My grandmother rubs oil on my forehead and shoulders, gives me leaves to chew.

  She lifts my arms, tells me to breathe this way and this.

  Is it true that in that place beautiful women paint their bodies and are allowed to go naked?

  What place? She takes the leaf from my mouth and gives me another to chew. Swallow this one.

  In the old days it was the Dutch and now it is the Portuguese. They are building a fence around the outside of ours.

  What fence? What do you see, Almeyda?

  A fence. There is no other way. They want me to go to Parahyba with them. He wants me to follow him through that space.

  Anninho comes in and touches my forehead and eyelids.

  Have they cut us off now? I was in the circle with the other women.

  She doesn’t know what she’s saying, my grandmother tells him. It’s dreams and senseless talk.

  He touches my breasts and stomach. I stand with him on a deserted beach and then in a place in the mountains. We walk through a palm forest.

  Look at me, Almeyda.

  Will you take me with you to Porto Calvo? No, you’re dreaming.

  Did you see the strange man and woman come into camp? Why did they come now?

  I’ll draw the poison out with bark from a cabbage tree, says my grandmother.

  Why did they come now?

  Anninho, keep away from your woman at this moment. Do not lay with her. She has the fever.

  Anninho, where are we going now? Did you see the strange man and woman? I’m told they are brave warriors. Hold on to the spirits of such men and women.

  He lifts my head and she rubs oil on the back of my neck. I swing the moon up on my shoulders and climb over fallen trees and roots. I am covered with dirt and mud. We walk in the river. My blood comes. We crawl under roots to sleep hidden on the ground. My hair has not been combed.

  Grandmother, is here an absolute future? An absolute past?

  Absolute? Unchanging.

  Soft cassava, soft banana, on the back of my tongue. Anninho cuts his shoulder on a sharp stone. I sew it up with hard brown threads. He stands over me, silent. I wipe the blood from his shoulder.

  Is the future absolute? What is she saying, Indaya? Senseless talk.

  Vera, you’ve come.

  Old Vera touches my shoulder with sunlight. Are you a spirit or a woman?

  She is carrying the
sun on her dark shoulders and touching me with it.

  Here, stand over here and protect your woman. But do not lay with her.

  I see these things, Anninho. Is the future absolute?

  Zumbi, the chieftain, bows his head and enters. His broad shoulders touch the sun. They say he is immortal.

  What is the name of this woman?

  Almeyda.

  Does she prophesy the future?

  Almeyda, the war will always be needed. War of swords or consciousness.

  I see these things happening.

  Is Almeyda the one you have chosen? Is Almeyda the one? Yes.

  A man in a hammock with his woman. Two white men enter carrying rifles and they have a striped Indian with them, his body filled with striped tattoos. They enter even while the man is with his woman. He stands up, his arms held out to protect his woman, to cover her naked body.

  The sun red and gold stands on his dark shoulders. He looks as if he is all shadow.

  Are you a man or the spirit of one? I will not tell you the rest of the story. Ah, I won’t tell you the rest of that sad story.

  Is this the one you have chosen? Yes.

  Did you see Old Vera appear and disappear?

  Anninho turns his back to me, whispers to someone, then turns back, touches my head again, kisses the side of my mouth.

  My grandmother fed me crushed pineapple and more leaves to chew and a heavy oil to drink.

  Do not lay with her tonight. I have two sleeping rooms and a kitchen. Luiza, did you get your earrings back?

  What is she saying?

  Four snakes’ heads beaten together in buttermilk and powdered scorpion ashes. A butterfly alights on my forehead.

  Almeyda, what do you want? Liberty, safety, solitude.

  Is this the oil that protects? Yes, put some more on her.

  It’s Iararaca come to visit. Put him on her forehead, to draw the fever out.

  Can’t you see the fever rise out of her body? Take him away now.

  He’s tasted the fever and now it’s rising out of her.

  Old Vera and my grandmother rub leaves all over my body and give me others to chew.

  Anninho, I said I have two sleeping rooms. He turns and goes out.

  Zumbi?

  There’s no Zumbi here.

  They’re holding him by the hair. Is he a man or a spirit?

  They burn coca leaves. I see large ants, scorpions, snakes. I walk over sharp stones, a creek, deep swamp. I feel hot days, cold days, heavy rains.

  We stand on the edge of a camp. Anninho circles a point on a map he has drawn.

  She is quiet now.

  They lean down, touching my head.

  Anninho, an older man, enters. No, it’s his father. Are you the woman?

  Are you the general of arms? Where’s Anninho?

  I sent him away, so he won’t observe what two old women do. Some sorcery?

  Herbs that preserve health. He touches my forehead.

  The blessings of Allah. Where’s my son? I must speak with my son.

  Where is he?

  Across the street. I have two sleeping rooms. I have heard there will be another expedition.

  But we know the territory better, the layout of the land. The forest is difficult to penetrate.

  What to do now? Await the enemy.

  They are building a new line of defense. Pits full of spears. Some to pierce the feet, others the groin, the throat. We have our own observers in the town. Now they have Indians with them, and blacks. Shall I use a knife? A hatchet? A shovel? A scythe? A sword? A hoe?

  Old Vera is holding a long pipe and begins to puff from it. More coca leaves. She waves the smoke under my nose.

  Leave me alone with my granddaughter. She has no experience in wars. I want to bless her and pray alone.

  A LEAP THROUGH TIME AND SPIRIT

  Oranges and Fresh Butter

  WHEN I AM WELL, Anninho brings me oranges and fresh butter.

  First I saw his shadow standing outside the door and then he entered.

  He kissed my forehead and mouth.

  “Did you see your father?” I asked.

  “What?” he said, frowning.

  I said that his father had come in with many people. But he shook his head and said it was not so, that I must have seen his father through my fever and delirium. Then he lay the oranges and fresh butter beside me on the hammock, and went back into the street. There were two shouts but I could not make out whose voices or what was said. Then I heard plainly:

  “I can leave this place anytime I want to. Why do I stay?”

  It sounded like the voice of the old man Xavier, the medicine man.

  Once when I had had menstrual trouble I had gone to him for some remedy. I sat on the mat with him outside his hut. He had taken me inside, touched me in places, rubbed my palms, then he had brewed me a tea to drink that did the work in three minutes.

  “What kind of root is it?” I’d asked.

  “Maybe it’s no root,” he’d said. “Maybe it’s scorpion dung.”

  He was playful like that about his remedies, teasing me with all kinds of ingredients, though most times he was solemn and serious and guarded about the matter; and there was a certain young man whom he taught the real ingredients.

  “How do you feel?” he’d asked.

  I’d told him that I felt very fine now.

  “I should take an herb and leave this place,” he’d said. “I don’t have to stay here, you know. No, Xavier does not have to stay here, he can leave this place anytime he wants to. But one day Wencelau (where he got that name I don’t know)—but one day he will take over, and Xavier will take off,” he’d said, laughing. “Wencelau will have the workload and old Peixoto will be free. Peixoto’s my name too. A man has to have a name for his body and a name for his soul too, that’s what I feel. Old Peixoto will be free, and watch how he’ll leap through time then. Ah, I do it now, but I always come back. I return here. So many need healing. But watch how he’ll leap through time and space then, ha ha. Drop me off a cliff and see how I’ll soar.”

  He’d looked at me and spread his arms out, and I’ll tell anyone he was a bird, then he became a man again. I’ll tell that to anybody.

  “I’ll go through real time and I’ll go through legendary time, imaginary time,” he’d said with another laugh, pointing his chin at me and looking up. “Watch Peixoto make his leaps and bounds and move through time. He’ll move through names too. How do you like Alves, Pecanho, Ribeiro, Garostazu? I could leave here now,” he said, looking at me firmly, “but I’m not. So many need my healing. I’ll have other names, but I won’t tell you. And I’ll have different shapes and forms. But I’ll have the same eyes. That’s how you’ll know me.”

  I sleep and dream that I am looking at Anninho’s eyes. “What is it?” he asks.

  “Your eyes haven’t changed,” I say.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly, then I ask him if the soul peeks out through the eyes as they say it does.

  Xavier is standing before me smiling now.

  “I’m all shapes and forms,” he says, “but my eyes haven’t changed. Don’t you recognize Peixoto? Don’t you remember Peixoto?”

  “Yes,” I say, but it comes out funny, it comes out sounding more like “Yis.”

  He takes both my hands and pulls me up off the hammock, and we are out in a flat, wide, sunny field. He begins to turn me around and around as he turns around, making a circle.

  “How do you like me now?” he says again and again. With each turn he changes, but I can’t make out any of the faces. Then he’s a blur, but I don’t feel dizzy. He disappears, but still I’m not dizzy. Around and around in a circle with him.

  “Do you like me now?” the invisible man asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  Around and around till we lift off, and I see the field and feel the sun against my forehead, then there’s my whole country, and my continent, and the round ball.
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br />   “Watch how the universe expands and contracts,” he says. “Watch how we go away from each other and come back.”

  Then darkness, the sunlight on my forehead and face again. Anninho standing there smiling.

  “I told you I could leap through time and the spirit,” Peixoto says. Anninho touches my forehead and jaw.

  “You sleep and dream and I always come back,” Peixoto says. “Do you want to go down into the ocean and look at the turtle grass?”

  “What’s the matter?” asks Anninho.

  “Nothing.”

  “One more time,” says Peixoto. “See how that part of space moves away from us and this one returns. Now into the sea.”

  I hold Peixoto’s hand and he dives down to the bottom. “Are you having a good time?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re such a good woman. I enjoy being with you.”

  He makes circles and loops and strange patterns appear. I see colors of the rain.

  “Now you seem relaxed and calm. Do you like this place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you see the figure of a woman circling there? She circles and circles. Let’s join her.”

  They begin to speak quietly in a language I don’t know or don’t remember. They speak as if they’re old dear friends. Then the woman swims away.

  “Who is the woman?”

  “Your idea is as good as mine. I see beauty everywhere. Somehow I always find it, or it finds me.” He smiles gently. “Now let’s enter the school of fish. We must get to the middle to avoid being eaten. We’ve gotten to the middle, haven’t we? It’s not the middle, it’s the center.

  And how well we see each other. How well we hear. How well our spirits meet. Do you think we’re dreaming together or is it real?”

  “I’ve heard that sometimes one can enter the dream of another.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  The Return of the White Woman to Those to Whom She Belongs

  I STOOD IN THE DOORWAY and watched them take the white woman out of the village.