by Ondjaki
“hide the goods for fuck’s sake, if the Deputy Superintendent sees that, he’ll take it all for himself!”
“but how do we do this?”
“meet me out there at the corner and we’ll settle everything, order something to drink and you can rely on me”
“i don’t drink”
“don’t worry, i’ll drink yours.”
Agent Belo entered the tiny street-corner bar but didn’t see Odonato
he looked again, waited for the indoor gloom to forgive the intense outdoor brightness and imagined he had seen a form seated in a corner, frowned and stepped closer to confirm that this was the same man he had spoken to earlier
“but you...”
“don’t worry, that’s how i am”
“have you talked to a doctor?”
“sure, but tell me, when can i see my son? i’m worried about his wound”
“naw,” the policeman said, pulling out the food, asking for a plate and cutlery, “with these steaks you’ve got nothing to worry about”
“but you’re eating the steaks!” Odonato said, speaking seriously
“i’m only eating half the steak, someone else will eat the other half”
“when will i be able to see my kid?”
“he’s a kid?”
“you didn’t see him?”
“yeah, but i mean... how old a kid?”
“how old, man?” Odonato’s voice sounded tearful, a dark, paternal presentiment, “when can i see him?”
“well... i’m not sure... i can neither promise nor dispromise, i’ve already tried to bring in the Deputy Superintendent, but he doesn’t accept French fries unless they’re green”
“green?”
“greenbacks, bucks, hundred-dollar bills”
“that part’s going to be more complicated”
“well, everything’s more complicated here in Luanda,” Agent Belo chewed with satisfaction, “just look at you, comrade.”
Little Daddy, in the burning heat, took his frequent work breaks on the first floor, lying down in the area where the waters fell hardest to reinvigorate the muscles of his body and the rhythms of his mind
he had mastered the secrets of those waters to the extent that they allowed themselves to be understood, just as the mysterious Noah’s Barque never experienced a power outage even when the whole city had been plunged into more or less permanent blackness, the first floor never succumbed to the most dire general water shortages and this secret, though it might be of great value to more business-oriented minds, was kept by the building’s inhabitants, almost as a matter of pride
“if the world runs out of water, i know where there’ll still be a drop to drink,” João Slowly joked, “when you’re finished, come and see me, i need to speak to you, Little Daddy”
“yes, Uncle João, i’ll be right there”
the terrace was now impeccably clean, Little Daddy officially received a miniscule salary from João Slowly for the morning cleaning and tidying up he did up there
“we have to give this movie house a sense of dignity,” João Slowly had explained, “our Rooster Camões over there won’t let us act inappropriately, cleanliness is the dignity of the poor, as my grandmother used to say”
“tell me then, Uncle João. what’s wrong? isn’t everything clean?”
“it’s excellent, boy, you’re a serious, hard-working guy, you know that sloth is the worst enemy of your profession, you know that, right?”
“what?”
“that sloth is the mother of all vices?”
“the mother?”
“yes, the start”
“i get it,” the lad went on his way to clean everything again
“cool it, boy, calm down, we’re talking here, have a seat,” João Slowly pulled a bottle of whisky, so well cooled it was sweating, out of a styrofoam cooler, “we’re going to commemorate”
“we’re going to what?”
“commemorate, celebrate your job here in the cinema and your TV appearance”
“thanks, but i don’t even like whisky”
“so what? just shut your mouth, you don’t refuse whisky, especially when it’s free, i’m not charging you a cent... drink it down like a man”
“thanks, Uncle João”
“take a drink, then, so you can’t say i treat my advisors badly”
from his pocket he pulled a Nokia, battered by time and the countless hands it had passed through, no one could say for certain whether its peculiar colour was an ash-grey that had once been silver
“is that for me, uncle?”
“so you can be contactable, available... you see this thing? now you go buy a cellphone card from Auntie Strong Maria and bingo, we’re in the age of global communication, we ain’t in Huambo any more!” João Slowly laughed
“but people say that in Huambo the network coverage is better”
“okay, sure, but this is a real Luandan cellphone, with all the latest gadgets! you get the picture?”
“yeah, uncle, i get it, thank you very much, doesn’t it need credit?”
“shut your goddamn mouth, what we need around here is for you to learn to drink whisky, who ever saw an Angolan your size not drinking a good cold whisky at this time of day...!”
“thanks, uncle”
“you’re welcome, listen, tonight you’re going to have to stay late, we’re going to have a special session”
“an adult film?”
“that’s right, but it’s not just adult... tonight you’re going to see pornographic internationalism”
“what’s that, uncle?”
“it’s called An African Man’s Hard Revenge, it was recommended to me by some friends, i already saw part of it and it’s promising... come and see it, you’ll like it, it’s like a blue movie!”
“is that like a blue moon?”
“blue movie, like a movie from Sweden, you people from Huambo...! well kid, we’ll talk soon, tidy up here because tonight we’re going to have an extra-big crowd”
“yes, uncle,” delighted, Little Daddy looked at his new phone
“go downstairs and give this whisky to Comrade Mute, it’s got too much water in it”
“sure, uncle.”
at the agreed-upon time, the English journalist found Odonato halfway up the staircase and helped him up the remaining floors to the sixth
finding Granma Kunjikise in the hall outside his apartment, seated with Amarelinha at her feet, the two of them amused themselves threading necklaces with seashells and beads sold or given to them by Seashell Seller
the smile on Granma Kunjikise’s face was the soothing sight that, without knowing it, Odonato was looking for
“good afternoon, mother”
the old woman smiled at her son-in-law and the journalist
Granma Kunjikise took a liking to her, even without knowing her, from the movements of her hands, she seemed like someone who had an impulse to learn rather than make deductions based on scant knowledge, as was the usual practice among other journalists, whatever their nationality
“Baba,” Odonato hugged his wife, “can we offer this girl something? she wants to record a conversation with me”
“yes, we do, will you have a tea?”
“yes, thank you very much”
they sat down in the living room, remaining still, as if both enjoyed watching the time pass
“do you send the things you record to the BBC?”
“i’m not going to record anything, i just want to chat, and take some notes, if that’s not a problem”
“but they’re for the BBC?”
the young woman smiled in a way that was both discreet and open
“no, i don’t send anything to the BBC any more, they don’t want it”
“oh no?”
“no, nobody wants my stories any more, it seems they’re too good-news”
“but if they’re good-news... that’s good news!”
“no, nobody wants good news about Angola, or about Africa, not too good, you see? a small good-news item from time to time is one thing, but always reporting interesting things is something else”
“i see,” Odonato appeared slightly startled, “so what are we going to talk about? i don’t know any more than you about the excavations, maybe less... as for the eclipse, i just know what i see on the billboards and in the newspapers...”
“we’re going to talk about life, about the building, about whatever you like”
Odonato rolled up his sleeves and the journalist had to suppress a start, his arms were even more transparent than his face, the movements of his bones were visible, perfectly visible, as was the flow of his blood from one extremity of his body to another, the tendons obeying the movements of the nerves, or perhaps the reverse,
she gradually managed to meet Odonato’s gaze again
“you know, aside from becoming transparent, i’m getting lighter and lighter”
“how do you deal with all of this?”
“how would you deal with it?”
“i’ve never been transparent, i wouldn’t know what to say”
“i wouldn’t know what to say either”
“how did it begin?”
“are you recording?” Odonato asked
“no, i’m not”
“i think it’s better if you record, we may not have another chance... it started with hunger, i was hungry and i didn’t have anything to eat”
“here in Luanda, in this building? there’s always a helping hand”
“but i was sick of eating out of helping hands, i wanted to eat from the hand of my government, but not the way our rulers eat, i wanted to eat from the fruit of my labours, from my profession”
“you were fired?”
“i was being fired”
“what do you mean?”
“i was being prevented from doing my work, i was being forced to leave”
“physically?”
“not physically, no... anyway, i ended up without money and, in Luanda, if you don’t have a gift for money-making schemes...”
“i understand”
“i was eating less and less so that my children would be able to eat what little i didn’t”
“how did this happen? you should have become weak, ill”
“but i didn’t!”
“what happened?”
“life freed me”
Xilisbaba, her eyes moist with tears, glanced into the kitchen, shaken by her husband’s detailed confession
“life freed me little by little from the burden of hunger and pain”
“may i ask how this came about?”
“i had aches at the beginning, hunger, stomach cramps, but for some reason my instinct told me not to eat any more, it was a kind of relinquishment, but i can’t explain it very well because it wasn’t thought through, i just kept going... i just kept going, and at a certain point i stopped feeling hunger, i even stopped feeling my stomach, it got so that i had a drink of water and i felt great, better all the time, until the day”
“until the day...?”
“until the day when my hands started to become transparent”
“weren’t you afraid?”
“you want the truth?”
“i want your truth”
“i wasn’t afraid, it seemed appropriate”
“appropriate? the outcome?”
“the appearance”
“aren’t you afraid of dying?”
“i think i’ve already got past that fear”
“you said you felt the appearance was fair?”
“because it’s a symbol, transparency is a symbol, and i love this city to a point where i’d do anything for it, it was my turn, i couldn’t refuse”
“what do you mean?”
“i don’t know how to explain it very well, and that’s what i keep thinking about, when i go and sit by myself on the terrace and feel the wind and stare out at the city, a man can be a people, his image can be that of the people...”
“the people are transparent?”
“the people are beautiful, merry, arrogant, fantastical, crazy, drunken... Luanda is a city of people who fantasize about anything they can imagine”
“it’s not the people who are transparent...” the journalist tried
“no, it’s not all of the people, there are some who are transparent, i figure the city is speaking through my body...”
“that’s the truth of your life,” the young journalist murmured
“it’s important to let the truth appear, even at the cost of disappearing, are you recording?”
the building shook, its motion slow, but everyone was able to feel its trembling
Xilisbaba sought out her husband in the living room, Granma Kunjikise and Amarelinha appeared also
it was a small, brief earthquake, which left dents only in everyone’s certainties and in their faces
“either this passes or it splits right open,” Odonato murmured
“they dig up the tree’s roots and they think that the shadow will stay in the same place...”
Granma Kunjikise murmured in the direction of the journalist’s recorder.
the people who had just landed at Quatro de Fevereiro International Airport, while still in the line-up for Immigration, concluded that some sort of earthquake had occurred
“don’t worry,” an Angolan joked, speaking to the foreigners in the line-up, “this is just part of the welcome celebrations”
the other locals joined in his laughter
“celebrations for the Angolan eclipse have already begun, our government’s really efficient!”
and they continued, smiling, while searching for suitcases full of items purchased in Brazil, South Africa, or the Europes
brightly coloured T-shirts for summer, warm suits in spite of the Angolan heat, expensive dresses for wives, high-heeled shoes for lovers, soccer balls for nephews, dynamite necklaces for daughters, goddaughters, and nieces, fancy running shoes to give to friends or even sell under the counter, thousands of lacy feminine panties to sell to black-market clothing guys, silk pyjamas, ties, dress shoes for weddings or funerals, bands for girlfriends’ frizzy hair, caps with the monograms of American basketball teams, hi-tech gadgets, MP3s or MP4s, next-generation cellphones with services not yet offered by local networks, miniature televisions and DVD players for the cars, bluish LED lamps for automobiles’ interiors or exteriors, apparatuses to annoy neighbours at more than a hundred metres’ distance
plus
digital photo frames compatible with all kinds of chargers, GPSes that could speak and receive spoken orders, sensors to prevent cars backing into others, dry fruit, Serrano cheese, Minas Gerais cheese, condoms of different colours and tastes, expensive brand-name silver or gold watches, more shoes, more ties, more warm suits, name-brand sunglasses, television remotes, security alarms, articles for the kitchen or garden, inflatable swimming pools, televisions with screens of uncountable inches, external hard drives, books on management, business, or international law, Blue-ray DVDs, wireless phones, kitchen frying pans, tiny electric shavers, earphones with mute buttons, waterproof cameras, children’s car seats, many expensive perfumes
“you don’t mess with an Angolan when it comes to shopping,” they said, emerging from the airport’s filthy bathroom, “even if your suitcase gets delayed, that’s life, you bought it, now you put up with it! we’ve got people here travelling with twelve suitcases, are you kidding or what?”
many foreigners belonged to the so-called international scientific community and had come to A
ngola, precisely now, to study the eclipse from one of several privileged viewing points
as per the flyers and publicity right there in the baggage area
“Angola has never seen an eclipse like this,” a foreigner explained, taking notes, photographing, commenting to another that he found this national appropriation of a universal phenomenon very interesting, but in reality, looking at it clearly, there was no denying that it was also local
Don’t get eclipsed, use appropriate sunglasses, was legible on a billboard underwritten by the Party, in minuscule letters, but with an enormous partisan symbol that glowed in the half-light
Made here, watched here, said an ad from the satellite-dish company and all the television stations
An eclipse seen live is worth two watched on TV, said the flyer from the Kwanza Sul government, whose capital, Sumbe, as we know, was the most propitious spot from which to enjoy the full spectacle, and was the likely destination of the majority of the scientists present
“we’ve been here for two hours and no suitcases, is that what it’s like here?” asked a Brazilian scientist, paunchy and drenched in sweat
“you just got to put up with it, Pops, just put up with it,” an equally sweaty but upbeat Angolan replied, “do you get one of the best eclipses in the world in your country?”
“that’s by chance...”
“we do here! this is Angola, brother, put up with it a bit and everything’ll work out”
“tell me something, brother, is there jungle here? am i going to be able to see the Angolan jungle?”
the Angolans around the Brazilian killed themselves with loud laughing, confusing him for a few seconds
“there’s jungle here, don’t worry,” an Angolan replied
“just step out of the airport and you’ll see it... the urban jungle,” another said, the gathering burst out into a laughter that intensified the heat
“because they told me there’s jungle here, i’d like to see wild animals... hey, there’s my suitcase, what luck, well, guys, i’m on my way,” the Brazilian concluded, wiping his forehead after pulling his suitcase off the belt
“have a good eclipse,” the Angolan said
“you, too”
the enormous group of scientists, divided by nationality, went to face exacting agents who checked the numbers of their luggage tags and made the appropriate inspection