“I also want to work in a pottery when I grow up.”
“Well, I’ll teach you some secrets, so that when you are apprenticing you’ll know a thing or two.”
And that’s how Manu started going to work with their father. First, Manu helped him with ceramic tiles, which were easy to make because they were square and had ready-made molds that were assembled on a trivet to go into the kiln. But little by little, Manu tried other things. Playing with the clay was fun. So was shaping it into long, thin pieces that would become the handles of mugs or pitchers.
More than anything, Manu wanted to master the potter’s wheel, where your feet turned a platform on which you put the wet mass. There your hands formed a roundness out of the clay, leaving a hollow at its core, creating pitchers, candlesticks, vases, bowls, pots of all kinds. But it was hard to do with small fingers, and Manu wondered whether it would ever be possible to learn how to do it well. In spite of this, their father encouraged him to keep trying.
“This is the way your hands become used to the wheel,” he said. “It’s a matter of feeling and being familiar with it. Absorb it little by little and you’ll find that you won’t ever forget.”
Manu didn’t forget.
What Manu couldn’t have imagined is that shortly afterwards there would be no father to continue the teaching, nor a mother waiting at home with food ready on the table. Nor could Manu have imagined being on the road with Bento, every day a little farther from the place where they were born and the cemetery where they had buried the rest of their family.
Manu and Bento were the only ones left.
Each day they traveled until they could go no farther. They drank water from streams and ate fruit from trees along the way. They slept in fields, on the hard ground. And the next day they kept walking. They kept going farther and farther from home, and, they hoped, from death.
They offered to help with odd jobs on the farms and in the villages they passed through in exchange for a meal and a night sleeping in a barn or on a pile of straw. Sometimes a farmer would give them a ride on a hay wagon carting casks of wine or olive oil to a nearby market.
After a few weeks, they made it to Lisbon, tired but still alive. It was a day of celebration, with processions and singing, but they were dusty, spattered with mud and poorly dressed. It was then that Bento had the idea to go to the tavern in search of work.
When they arrived, they were both clean and tidy, having bathed in the fountain in the square. Their hair was newly cut with the pocket knife, and they were wearing clean clothes they had brought from home. The clothes may not have been exactly the right size, but they were fresh and in good condition and weren’t covered with road dust.
That was only a few months ago, but it seemed like years. They had left their family, their home, their freedom — everything — behind. Even Bento was gone now. And without Bento, Manu had no idea what to do. He was all on his own, looking for shelter.
And he was hungry. How could anyone think when their stomach was growling? The soup from the church barely warmed him or lasted him through the night. At dawn, it was a little less chilly, but Manu couldn’t worry about being hungry then. The sexton would open the main door of the church, and people would begin to arrive for mass. Manu had to go out and walk in the sun and start to warm up. But soon that miserable feeling was back. The sense of emptiness just got worse. A hollow pain. Hunger.
Manu spent the whole day walking aimlessly through the market stalls, waiting for some leftover food to fall to the ground, or hoping to nibble on a discarded fruit or vegetable that was not totally spoiled. But a lot of other people had the same idea. Manu had to compete for the scraps with beggars of all kinds. Even dogs were on the prowl for a bone to gnaw or a piece of sausage to snatch, as they circled through the legs of the customers and vendors.
A little ahead of Manu, in the shadow of a small awning, was a table full of carefully displayed fruit. He thought of passing by surreptitiously, like someone distracted, and grabbing some. It was important to plan what to take. A few berries wouldn’t help much. But a melon would certainly soothe the stomach. But what if the owner saw, or if that perfectly balanced stack collapsed all at once and all those colorful fruits tumbled to the ground? There would be a chase, a huge commotion, and someone might even call the guards. It was very risky.
Risky? Or was it, on the contrary, the perfect solution? Maybe this was just the idea that Manu was looking for.
If there was a great uproar and confusion, the guards would arrest the culprits for sure. It was Manu’s chance to find Bento. He was sure that nothing bad could happen if he was at Bento’s side, even if they were at the bottom of a dungeon.
With this in mind, Manu took another stroll around the market square. Now it was clear what to do — carefully choose the best stalls, run very quickly and grab a slab of bacon here, a peach there, another fruit at another stall, always taking care to pull from the bottom of each pile, so that everything would go flying. Manu could also throw a few pieces of sausage to the dogs, so that they would begin to fight and add to the confusion.
The plan was quickly put into action. Manu crisscrossed through the buyers and sellers, running and pulling something from every stall, knocking over baskets and spilling bags filled with grain. People were running around everywhere. Some, who were also hungry, ducked down to compete for the scattered produce. Others tried to gather whatever they could and put it back on the tables. Some, baffled, sought to help one side or the other. People shoved and yelled.
“Get your hand out of there!”
“Drop it!”
It wasn’t long before the brawl began. A woman rapped a child on the head and started throwing oranges at the crowd. An urchin came up behind her and hit her on the head with a melon.
“Here come the king’s guards!” someone yelled.
That was the cry Manu had been waiting for. Now it was only a matter of staying in the middle of it all, so as to be picked up immediately when the guards arrived. They would grab him for sure, and in an instant he would be with Bento. To attract more attention, Manu grabbed a sausage and began to eat it ostentatiously, walking slowly through the chaos.
On one side of the plaza was a stately mansion with four steps leading to a stone porch. It looked like a small stage, all set for a performance. Well, it was time to put on a show. Manu climbed the steps of the mansion and leaned against the wall beside the heavy wooden door, nibbling from a pear in one hand and half a sausage in the other. He watched the uproar with a racing heart, feigning a disdainful smile while trembling inside.
The guards came running down a side street. They were pushing people, grabbing their arms, dispensing blows. The shouting got louder. Amid the tumult, a bearded man — tall, strong and well dressed — spoke to the soldiers with vigorous gestures, as if he were giving orders. It was impossible to pick up a single word he said, there was so much noise in the square. But from his imposing manner, he could only be their boss.
Suddenly, the man saw Manu. The child stared at him boldly. Why? The man was furious. He strode toward Manu.
Everything was going according to plan. In a few moments, Manu would be arrested and would find Bento.
All at once, the big man sprang up the steps to the house, two at a time, and grabbed the little body by the shoulders, pulling the child firmly to his side.
But then he did something unexpected.
The man wrapped Manu in his cloak and threw the weight of them both against the heavy wooden door of the mansion. With a creaking sound, it opened. Quickly, the man closed it again and secured the latch — a solid iron clasp.
Manu was trapped all right, as planned, not in Bento’s dungeon but in a strange place, in the hands of an unknown, bad-tempered man.
No wonder his legs were trembling and his heart was beating so hard it seemed it would burst.
4
&nb
sp; —
Don Diogo
In the first moments of being locked inside those walls and held fast by that hefty man, Manu made a superhuman effort not to cry.
It was impossible not to be afraid, but it was necessary to hold on, whatever happened. This wasn’t part of the plan, but he must not lose control. Manu needed to stay calm in order to understand what was going on and find a way out.
The man, however, did not seem willing to wait. He gave Manu a close, firm look and then started dragging him again, through entrance halls, corridors and rooms, to the back of the house. They finally reached a huge kitchen where the aroma of bread baking in the oven was so strong and delicious that it was impossible to think of anything else.
Manu heard the man ask, “Where is the madam?”
“Upstairs, sir,” was the answer.
“Go get her,” he ordered.
The cook’s helper, who was washing vegetables in a basin, immediately stopped what she was doing, wiped her hands on her apron and disappeared.
The man gave new orders.
“Give this child a cup of milk. And see what there is for the poor boy to eat. He can barely stand straight.”
Then, examining Manu from the front, he said, “He looks like a frightened squirrel.”
“Scared but hungry,” said the cook, as Manu swallowed the milk in huge gulps, emptying the tin cup with astonishing rapidity.
“Give him all the food he wants,” the man said, in that same tone of one who was accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed. “I’ll go get the madam. It’s taking too long.”
“Yes, sir.”
The woman refilled the mug of milk. And while Manu watched, scared and not understanding what was happening, the cook talked in a continuous mumble. She complained about constantly having her work interrupted. She noted that Don Diogo was always bringing dirty, hungry creatures into the house. She said he never knew what to do with them and was always looking for orphanages, convents or homes that would welcome them. Then she announced that she was going to get ready.
“I think I’d better just put some more water on to boil. Because he’s certain to ask me to fill a tub for your bath.”
A bath? No! Manu did not want to take a bath, could not take a bath, would not let that happen.
He took another sip of milk and grumbled, “I’m not going to take any bath.”
“Well, we’ll see about that. What are you thinking? It’s just arrive on the doorstep, come in, eat and bring dirt into the house? Yes, you’re going to have a bath. I’m going to scrub off that crust of filth. Wash your hair. See if you have lice. And then …”
“I will not take any bath.”
But seeing that the woman was really determined, Manu stopped eating. It was best to go, even if it meant having to leave the warm, inviting kitchen. He was just rushing out the door when the big man returned. They bumped into each other.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home. You can’t keep me here against my will. I’ll tell my mother.”
The answer was brave and smart. But it mustn’t have been very convincing.
Don Diogo replied in the tone of one who didn’t believe a thing the child said, “Ah, you’re going home? So you have a home? And your mother? Where is she? I’ll take you there myself, this instant. That way you won’t run the risk of being arrested by the soldiers who are out there abusing everyone. I want to see your home … I want to see this mother. What’s her name?”
A lump formed in Manu’s throat.
“And what is your name?”
Silence.
“Come on, tell me.”
“Manu.”
“And where do you live, anyway?”
But remembering home and their mother was too much. The lump in Manu’s throat got bigger and bigger, and he couldn’t form a single word.
“Leave the child alone, husband. Don’t you see he’s exhausted? And very scared, as you said.”
The voice was soft, the tone of one who cared about the anguish Manu was going through. He looked in the direction of the person who spoke and only then saw the fine lady behind the immense figure of Don Diogo filling up the doorway. She was short and slim, with a fragile air. She had delicate features in a pale, sad-looking face.
She approached the child. “Did they give you something to eat?”
“Yes, they did, ma’am.”
“There’s still something more here,” said the cook, putting another dish on the table. “Sit down and finish eating. Quickly, so we can get you into the bath.”
There were a few pieces of stewed chicken, some onions and some boiled vegetables. It smelled wonderful, deliciously appetizing. And it was warm, just out of a simmering pot.
Manu sat down.
“Eat quickly, the bath can’t wait,” continued the cook, teasingly.
Then, turning to the lady, she explained, “The kid was hungry — no doubt about that. But he stopped eating and broke into a run when I told him he’d have to take a bath. We know these little piggies — they’re all scared. But he won’t escape me, even if I have to go get him out there amid the other piglets in the pigsty.”
“Let him eat in peace.”
“But, ma’am, I have a lot to do. I must take care of the kitchen. If I’m to give him a bath, it has to be now, so I don’t get behind. The kettle is already boiling.”
“Leave him alone,” the woman repeated.
Manu sighed with relief.
But his relief was short-lived, because the lady added, “Prepare the tub and I’ll take care of the bath.”
There was no escape. Or was there? Manu could always try.
“No need. I can wash myself. I’m already pretty big.”
The voice of Don Diogo ended the discussion.
“As long as you get clean, it doesn’t matter who rubs you down. But someone needs to make sure all the dirt comes off and see if your ears are clean and that you get rid of that crust of mud on your feet … and everything else.”
“Leave it to me,” the lady offered once again.
Manu ate slowly, prolonging the meal as much as possible. He had to come up with some kind of inspiration. Some way to get outside these doors and walls. Some way to get to Bento.
A bath was out of the question. What an idea! What a mania for water! Fine for a fish or a duck, but not for a kid.
5
—
Dona Ines
When the lady started to lead him out of the kitchen by the shoulder, Manu’s heart tightened. Nobody had touched him with affection since Bento had been arrested. And her touch was unexpectedly tender, much more sensitive than Bento’s. It made Manu nostalgic for their mother. He remembered her smile, so like the one on the stone statue of Our Lady on the church altar. He was seeing that same smile now.
They went through a side door, reaching a room with a stone floor and stone walls. Manu looked around. There were shelves with provisions as well as casks, bottles, hanging sausages, a string of onions and another of garlic. Maybe it was a pantry or cellar. It had two benches. On one of them, there were folded clothes. In the middle of the floor was a tub full of water.
The lady sat on the other bench, with her back to the tub.
“If you don’t want me to see you get into the bath, that’s fine,” she explained. “You get into the water and have a scrub. Then check to be sure you got all the dirt off.”
It wasn’t going to work. Manu took off his coat and shirt, rolled them up and put them on the floor near the bench with the clean, folded clothes. While he was taking off his socks, the lady picked up the dirty laundry.
Manu got into the tub and cowered under the water. It was not as cold as he had feared. It was clear that water from the kettle had been mixed with cold water, which someone had brought from a well — as h
e used to do in the tavern and the sacristy, and as Bento used to do at home. When they had a home, that is …
Thinking about Bento and the good times brought the lump back into Manu’s throat.
“But what is this?”
The lady’s voice interrupted Manu’s thoughts.
In a sudden frightened movement, the child pulled in his wet legs and hugged his knees, head lowered, as if expecting to be caught.
“It is so beautiful! A true work of art …”
Manu looked up and, realizing what was happening, could not help crying out, “Drop it! It’s mine!”
He couldn’t hold back the tears, thinking, these people took me by force, made me get into a tub of water against my will and now they’re going to seize my father’s gift? Oh no, they’ll probably take Bento’s pocket knife and Mother’s rosary, too — they’re all in my trouser pocket. They are all I have. I won’t let that happen. No.
The lady gently placed the ceramic dove on top of the folded clothes on the bench beside her. Then she began to speak.
“Calm down … I won’t hurt you or take anything that is yours. My husband was right when he said you looked like a wild creature — skittish and scared. But if you’re in my house, we need to get to know each other. So I’ll introduce myself. Who knows, we might even begin to be friends. My name is Ines.”
“I’m sorry, Dona Ines,” Manu managed to say, holding back a sob.
The lady came closer to the tub, wet her hand and passed it through the child’s hair. She looked at Manu, pulling back the bangs falling over his face.
“You have beautiful eyes, long eyelashes, soft features like an angel carved on the cathedral’s altar. And you were carrying a work of art in your pocket.”
“It’s just a toy. My father made it for me.”
“It was your father who made it? But then he must be an artist!”
“He was a potter, my lady. Like so many others. But he was one of the best.”
Until the Day Arrives Page 2