It should already have been winter, but winter, which seemed at one point to have arrived, suddenly backed away, that is the only verb to describe it. It was neither winter nor autumn, certainly not spring, not remotely like summer. It was a season in suspension, without a date, as if the world were just beginning and the seasons and their timing had still to be decided. Deux Chevaux proceeded slowly along the foothills and the travelers now stopped from time to time, astonished above all at the spectacle of the sun, which no longer appeared over the Pyrenees but rose from the sea, casting its first rays on the uppermost slopes of the mountain as far as the snow-covered peaks. Here, in one of these villages, Maria Guavaira and Joana Carda realized that they were pregnant. Both of them. There was nothing surprising about their situation, one might even say that these women had done their utmost to become pregnant during these months and weeks, giving themselves wholeheartedly to their men without the slightest precaution on either side. Nor should anyone be surprised that both women became pregnant at the same time, this was simply another of those coincidences that constitute life on this earth, the good thing being that they can sometimes be clearly identified for the enlightenment of the skeptics. But the situation is embarrassing, it leaps to the eye, and the embarrassment stems from the difficulty of ascertaining two dubious paternities. The fact is, were it not for the false step taken by Joana Carda and Maria Guavaira when, moved by pity or some other more obscure sentiment, they went into the woods and forests in search of the solitary Pedro, whom, such was his confusion and disquiet, they almost had to beg to penetrate them, to impregnate them with his last seeds, were it not for this lyrical and far from erotic episode, Maria Guavaira's child would undoubtedly be accepted as that fathered by Joaquim Sassa and Joana Carda's child as that efficiently fathered by José Ana 150. But then Pedro Orce had to cross their path, although it might be truer to say that the temptresses waylaid him, and decency overcome by shame concealed its face. I don't know who the father is, said Maria Guavaira, who had set the example, Neither do I, said Joana Carda, who later followed her example, for two reasons, first to prove that she was no less heroic, and second to correct error with error, making exception the rule.
But neither this argument nor another, however subtle, can help them to evade the main problem. José Anaiço and Joaquim Sassa must be told. How will they react and what expression will come over their faces when their respective women tell them, I'm pregnant. Were the situation more harmonious, they would be, as one is wont to say, overcome with joy, and perhaps even now, with the initial shock, their faces and expressions would betray the sudden jubilation that springs from the soul, but their faces would soon cloud over, their eyes would darken, foretelling a dreadful scene. Joana Carda suggested that they say nothing, with the passing of time and the swelling of their bellies, the evident fact of the matter would soothe ruffled susceptibilities, would appease offended honor and reawakened resentment. But Maria Guavaira did not agree, she felt that it would be sad for the courage and generosity shown on all sides to end in a feeble deception, in a cowardice worse than tacit complacency. You're right, Joana Carda conceded, we must take the bull by the horns, she answered, without realizing what she was saying, that is the danger of using certain expressions without paying enough attention to the context.
That same day the two women each called her man aside and walked out with him into the country, there where the wide open spaces reduce the most choleric and rending cries to mere whispers, that unfortunately is the reason why human voices fail to reach heaven, and there, without beating about the bush, as they had agreed, the women said, I'm pregnant and I'm not sure whether you're the father or Pedro Orce is. Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço reacted as one might have expected. There was the furious outburst, the violent gesticulations, the poignant sorrow, they were out of sight of each other, but their gestures were identical, their words equally bitter, Not satisfied with what has happened, you have the nerve to come and tell me you're pregnant and you don't know who's responsible, How can I be expected to know, and in any case when the child is born there won't be any doubt, What on earth are you talking about, There will be some resemblance, Of course, but suppose it only resembles you, If it only resembles me then it will be my child and no one else's, Are you trying to make a fool of me, I'm not making a fool of anyone, that's something I never do, So how are we supposed to solve the problem, If you could accept that I might have slept with Pedro Orce for one night, then you can put up with waiting nine months before making any decision, if the child resembles you then it's yours, and if it resembles Pedro Orce then it's his and you can disown it and me as well, if that's what you want, and as for only resembling me, don't you believe it, there's always some physical trait that comes from the other partner. And what about Pedro Orce, how do we deal with him, are you going to tell him, No, for another two months nothing will show, especially in these floppy blouses and loose jackets, I think it's best to say nothing, I must say that it would make me angry to see Pedro Orce looking smugly at you, at both of you, with the expression of a champion stud, that was the expression José Anaiço used, with his superior command of language. Joaquim Sassa was much more down to earth, I'd hate to see Senhor Pedro Orce strutting around like the cock of the walk. So in the end the two men resigned themselves to this affront, encouraged by the thought that their worst fears might be proved groundless once nature took its course and the mystery was cleared up.
It did not even dawn on Pedro Orce, who had never known what it meant to have children, that his semen might be germinating in the wombs of the two women. How true that man never gets to know all the consequences of his deeds, here is an excellent example, the memory of the happy moments he enjoyed begins to fade, and their possible effect, modest as yet, but more important in itself than all the rest, should it come to pass and be confirmed, is invisible to his eye and concealed from his knowledge. God Himself made men, yet does not see them. Pedro Orce, however, is not entirely blind, he can see that something has upset the harmony within the couples, a certain remoteness has crept in, not exactly coldness, more a note of reserve without hostility, but causing long periods of silence, the journey had begun so well and now it is as if they had nothing more to say to each other, or as if they were too frightened to utter the only words that would have made any sense. It was over and done with, what had been alive was now dead, if that is what it is all about. It could also be that the fire of those first jealous moments had been rekindled with the passage of time. And perhaps because no one saw me passing, Pedro Orce started going for long strolls again into the surrounding neighborhood whenever they set up camp. It is almost incredible how much this man can walk.
One day, after they'd already left behind the first foothills that announce the Pyrenees from afar, Pedro Orce had gone ahead along secluded roads, feeling almost tempted never to go back to the camp, these are thoughts that come into one's head in moments of weariness, when he came across a man resting by the roadside. He looked about his own age, if not older, but worn out and tired. Beside him stood a donkey with packsaddle and load, nibbling at the sun-bleached grass with its yellow teeth, for the weather, as we mentioned earlier, is not very favorable for fresh growth and causes what new shoots there are to sprout out of place and out of season, nature has lost its way, as any lover of metaphors would say. The man was chewing a lump of stale bread and nothing else, obviously in bad shape, a tramp without food or shelter, but he seemed peaceful and harmless and, besides, Pedro Orce is not easily intimidated, sis he has clearly shown on these long walks through deserted countryside. The dog hasn't left him for a moment, or rather it has left him twice, but in better company and out of sheer discretion.
Pedro Orce greeted the man, Good afternoon, and the other replied, Good afternoon, both men noted a familiar pronunciation, a southern accent, that of Andalusia, to put it in a nutshell. But the man eating the stale bread found it highly suspicious to come across a man and a dog in these parts, remote
from any habitation, and looking as if they had been dropped there by a flying saucer, as a precaution, and without trying to conceal it, he reached out for his stick, which had a metal tip and was lying on the ground. Pedro Orce observed this gesture and the tramp's uneasiness, he was probably afraid of the dog as it stood there watching him, its head lowered, without moving a muscle. Don't worry about the dog, it's quite gentle, well, not exactly gentle, but it won't attack unless it thinks it's in danger of being harmed. How can the dog tell when someone is going to harm it. Now that's a good question and I wish I knew the answer, but neither I nor my traveling companions have been able to discover the dog's breed or where it came from. I thought you were on your own and lived nearby, I'm traveling with some friends, we have a wagon and because of what's happened we set out along the road, and we've never left it. You're from Andalusia, I can tell from your accent. I'm from Orce in the province of Granada. I hail from Zufre in the province of Huelva. Pleased to meet you, The pleasure's mine. May I join you for a moment, Make yourself comfortable, but I'm afraid all I can offer you is some stale bread. Many thanks, but I've already eaten with my companions, Who are they, Two friends and their women, the two men and one of the women are Portuguese, the other woman is Galician, And how did you all meet up. Ah, that's a long story.
The other did not insist, saw that he should not, and said, You must be wondering how someone from the province of Huelva landed up here. In times like these, you rarely find people where you would expect to find them. I come from Zufire and have relatives living there unless they've gone elsewhere, but when the rumor spread that Spain was about to break away from France, I decided to go and see for myself. Not Spain, the Iberian peninsula. Yes, of course. And it wasn't from France that the peninsula broke away but from Europe, that may sound like the same thing but there's a difference. I don't understand these niceties, I only wanted to go and see for myself. And what did you see. Nothing, I reached the Pyrenees and saw only the sea. That was all we saw. There was no France and there was no Europe, now in my opinion, something that isn't there is the same as something that never was and I had wasted my time traveling league after league in search of something that didn't exist. Well, that's where you're wrong. Wrong in what way. Before the peninsula separated from Europe, Europe did exist, naturally there was a frontier, and you had to cross from one side to the other, the Spanish went, the Portuguese went, foreigners came, did you never see tourists in your region. Sometimes, but there was nothing to see there. They were tourists coming from Europe, But if I never saw Europe when I was living in Zufre, and if I've now left Zufre and I still haven't seen Europe, what's the difference. You haven't been to the moon either, yet it exists. But I can see it, at the moment it's off course, but I can still see it. What's your name. Roque Lozano at your service. I am Pedro Orce, Are you named after the place where you were born. I wasn't born in Orce, I was born in Venta Micena, which is nearby. That reminds me, when I began my journey I met two Portuguese who were traveling to Orce. Perhaps they are the same two. I'd really like to know. Come with me and you'll find out. If that's an invitation, I'll gladly accept it, I've been traveling alone for such a long time. Get up slowly in case the dog thinks you're going to attack me, I'll hand you your stick. Roque Lozano put his bundle on his back and pulled the donkey's rein, off they went, the dog at Pedro Orce's side, perhaps this is how it should always be, wherever there is a man there should be an animal with him, a parrot perched on his shoulder, a snake coiled around his wrist, a beetle on his lapel, a scorpion curled up, we might even say a louse in his hair, if this bug did not belong to that detested race of parasites, a tribe not tolerated even by insects, although they, poor creatures, are not to blame, for God willed them as they are.
Traveling at the same aimless pace, the wagon had penetrated the heart of Catalonia. Business flourished, it was a brilliant idea to have launched themselves into this branch of commerce. Fewer people are to be seen on the roads now, which means that, although the peninsula is still rotating, people are returning to their normal habits and pursuits, if that is the right word to describe their former habits and pursuits. Villages are no longer deserted, although one cannot be sure that all the houses are now lived in by their previous occupants, some men are now with other women, some women with other men, and their children are thrown together. This is the inevitable outcome of all great wars and migrations. That very morning José Anaiçounced that they must come to a decision about the group's future, since there no longer appeared to be any danger of collisions or clashes. On the most likely or at least most plausible hypothesis, in his opinion, the peninsula would go on rotating on the same spot, which would not inconvenience people's everyday existence, and although it might no longer be possible to know where the various cardinal points are, what does it matter, for there's no law that says that we cannot live without the north. But now they had seen the Pyrenees, and what a wonderful thrill they had experienced, looking down at the sea from such a height, Just like being in an airplane, Maria Guavaira had exclaimed, only to be corrected by the experienced José Anaiço, There's no comparison, no one feels dizzy looking out the window of an airplane after all, but up here, unless we hold on with all our might, we'd be tempted to throw ourselves into the sea. Sooner or later, said José Anaiço, referring to the warning he had given that morning, we shall have to decide about our future, unless we mean to spend the rest of our lives on the road. Joaquim Sassa agreed but the women were reluctant to express any opinion, they suspect there may be some ulterior motive in this sudden haste, only Pedro Orce timidly reminded them that the earth was still trembling, and if this was not a sign that the journey had not reached its end, then perhaps they could explain to him why they had made it in the first place. At another time, the wisdom of this argument, however speculative, would have made some impression, but one must bear in mind that the wounds of the soul are deep, otherwise they would not be of the soul, but now whatever Pedro Orce says, he is suspected of some ulterior motive, this is the thought one can read in the eyes of José Anaiço as he says, Immediately after dinner, each person will say what he thinks ought to be done, whether we should return home or carry on, and Joana Carda simply asked, Which home.
Now here comes Pedro Orce bringing another man with him. From this distance he looks old, just as well, we have quite enough problems of cohabitation already. The man is leading a donkey harnessed with packsaddle and load, as old-fashioned a donkey as you have ever seen, but this one is an unusual silvery color, were it called Platero, it would, like the scraggly Rocinante, be worthy of its name. Pedro Orce comes to a halt on the invisible line that marks the boundary of the encampment, he must observe the formalities of presenting and introducing the visitor, something that must always be done on the other side of the threshold, these are rules we do not have to learn, the historic man within us observes them, one day we tried to enter the castle without permission and we were taught a lesson. Pedro Orce says emphatically, I came across this fellow countryman and I've brought him along to have a bowl of soup with us, there is obvious exaggeration in the term fellow countryman, but it is understandable at a time like this, a Portuguese from Minho and one from Alentejo feel nostalgia for the same fatherland, even though five hundred kilometers had separated the one from the other, and now they are both six hundred kilometers from home.
Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço not recognize the man, but the same cannot be said regarding the donkey. There is something unmistakable and familiar about it, in a manner of speaking, which is not surprising, for a donkey does not change in appearance over a few months, while a man, if he is dirty and unkempt, if he has let his beard grow, has become thin or fat, or has lost his hair, would need his own wife to strip him to see if that special mark is in the same place, sometimes much too late, when everything is over and repentance will not gather the fruit of pardon. Observing the rules of hospitality, José Anaiço said, You are welcome, do join us, and if you'd like to unload the donkey and gi
ve it a rest, there's enough fodder there for all of them, the donkey and the horses. Without its packsaddle and load the donkey looked much younger, and its coat was now seen to be in two tones of silver, the one dark, the other light, and both quite striking. When the man went to tether the beast, the horses looked askance at the newcomer, doubting whether it could be of much assistance to them with its scraggly frame that would be difficult to harness. The man returned to the campfire and before pulling over the stone on which he would sit, he introduced himself, My name is Roque Lozano. As for the rest, the most elementary rules of narrative demand that it avoid repetition. José Anaiço was about to ask if the donkey had a name, if it was named by any chance Platero or Silver, but the final words uttered by Roque Lozano, which in the end always repeat themselves, I came to see Europe, caused him to fall silent. His memory was suddenly jolted and he muttered to himself, I know this man, just as well he remembered in time, it would be nothing less than offensive if it took a donkey for people to recognize each other. Similar thoughts must have been stirring in Joaquim Sassa's head when he said hesitantly, I have the impression that we've met before, Me too, replied Roque Lozano, you remind me of two Portuguese I met at the beginning of my journey, but they were traveling by car and they had no women with them, Life takes so many turns, Senhor Roque Lozano, and one gains and loses so much that one could just as easily lose a Deux Chevaux car as find a wagon with two horses, two women, and yet another man, quipped Maria Guavaira, And there's more on the way, interrupted Joana Carda. Neither Pedro Orce nor Roque Lozano had any idea what she was talking about, but José Anaiço and Joaquim Sassa knew, and they did not much like this allusion to secrets of the human body, especially women's bodies.
The Collected Novels of José Saramago Page 150