by Ondjaki
“there are things that surpass the scientific dimension, Senhor Leftist, you can be sure”
“i’m sure, but in one year, Noah...”
“haven’t you ever heard those stories? you, who are almost a writer, haven’t you heard?”
“i’ve heard incredible stories about the Chinese,” somebody commented
“so they learn Kimbundu in three months on some intensive course, who are you kidding?”
“yes, it’s one thing to learn to spout a few words of Kimbundu, it’s another to gestate a child”
“gestate? now you whip out those hundred-dollar verbs? isn’t it true that right here in the Rocha Pinto district a Chinese woman was admitted twice to the same clinic in the space of a little more than a year?”
“a little more than a year, Senhor Noah? let’s not exaggerate...”
“it’s true, the case was in the papers, it seems that here in Angola Chinese women are mixing ginger with their own spices, and the length of their pregnancies has been reduced to six months”
“six months?!” the Leftist was doubtful
“well, six and a half, sure, bah! twice that... gives you thirteen months, they’re pumpin’ out kids like they’re still back in China... didn’t you just see it with your own eyes? there used to be seven of them, but eleven moved out”
“those Chinese...” commented another of the temperamental fellows
“those Chinese have secret techniques to defy the laws of maternity... well,” Noah opened another bottle, “a toast to my new tenant”
“a toast,” João Slowly filled and lifted the glass
“are you sticking to your plan?”
“i’m sticking to it, but it’s better to keep it half-secret”
“what’s half-secret?”
“well, in technical terms it’s what you call being incorporated, me, you, and my faithful”
“so you’re still going to open a church?”
“i thought about calling it Sacred Barque, but i already know that you won’t like that, sir”
“either it’s an incorporated company or it’s not... don’t do that, the tax inspectors already give me enough headaches over my bar, now one more thing, no, it’s not possible”
“yes, i understand, i was doing some research, and i received a message from heaven,” João Slowly said in a sarcastic voice
“oh yeah?”
“yup, i was preparing biblical citations to defend my church, and a certain animal really caught my attention”
“which one?” Noah, and everyone else, looked curious
“the sheep! i think i might be close to a certain revelation, Senhor Noah, and i’ve dreamed a lot about sheep”
“in fact, it’s an interesting animal”
“the faithful will be informed shortly, and they’ll want to become acquainted with the Church of the Sacred Little Lamb”
“amen,” the Leftist joked
“therein lies one of the great differences in my parish, Senhor Leftist, and here i cite Matthew 25:31, ‘when the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne; all the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats; he will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left’”
“well, then, i prefer the goats,” the Leftist affirmed, “and i cite Genesis 27:16, ‘she also covered his hands and the smooth part of his neck with the goatskins!’”
“then i’ll send you back to Matthew, 25:41, ‘then he will say to those on his left, “depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels”’”
“then i’ll send you back to the whore who gave you birth! fucking bullshit-artist, because the left will always be better and your Matthew, up there in heaven, could have his directions mixed up,” the Leftist roared
“cool it, comrade, João Slowly is our friend, and those Bible quotations are in preparation for his church...”
“and can’t i choose other quotations? the people on the left-hand side are evil and are going to hell, is that it?”
“calm down... i just wanted to quote part of my biblical research to show you some of my preparation... it was to tell you that our word of celebration will be different, it won’t be ‘amen’”
“what will it be?” Noah tried to divert the conversation
“am-baaah!” he made the serious sound of a sheep responding to a religious call, “in homage to that much-sacrificed animal... i propose a toast to the Church of the Sacred Little Lamb!”
“am-baaah!” replied a chorus of those present
Noah served more wine, João Slowly bid farewell to everyone while the Leftist was grumbling again
“that’s it, go on your way to your little sheep church, otherwise let’s stick to Genesis 29:7, ‘“look,” he said, “the sun is still high; it is not time for the flocks to be gathered, water the sheep and take them back to pasture”’...give the sheep something to drink, Senhor Noah!”
the session was scheduled for seven o’clock, with a forty-five-minute allowance for Luandans’ chronic lateness, João Slowly smiled when he arrived on the terrace better known as the Rooster Camões Cinema and found it tidied up, clean, and with a smell resembling perfume, with flowers in the corners, the flames of the grills beginning to let off reddish sparks, Strong Maria in a pretty, modest dress, Little Daddy finishing tidying-up and arranging the chairs, at the back, near the second entrance was an alcove of more comfortable chairs that served as the VIP area, the borrowed projector was already in place and on the neighbouring terrace even the rooster’s comb looked less fallen, his gaze more youthful and revived
“i’m thinking, Maria”
“tell me, baby”
“if we shouldn’t go over to that other terrace and give our rooster something to eat”
“then the neighbours will ask why, and you’ll have to explain everything”
“you’re right, it’s not worth it, just toss any old thing from this distance and what makes it, makes it, he’ll understand”
“fine”
“the guests could arrive at any minute”
“we’re all set, i’m just getting the coal ready”
“it’s gonna be quite a night here”
“you’ve got the film, right?”
“it’s safely stored... hey, Little Daddy,” João Slowly called
“uncle?”
“when you’re done, go downstairs and help Edú get up here and bring his little bench so he doesn’t take up a seat”
“right, uncle”
when the film started the theatre was packed with people seated in the chairs and others standing up in the corners or even next to the entrance, getting in Little Daddy’s way as he acted as a general-purpose waiter, going down to look for beer or whisky in order to supply Strong Maria’s enormous styrofoam coolers, serving plastic plates of grilled snacks, with or without napkins, hauling pails of ice purchased at the last minute, and even responding to special orders from the VIP area
all went as planned, the younger members of the audience began to speak out loud lines from the film’s scenes, superimposing their words on certain dialogues, making up others, in a chaotic fashion, then leaving the floor free to give way to anyone who hadn’t expressed themselves, which included, without bias or joy, the lines and groans of the blonde women who, endowed with a pornographic and nordic voluptuousness, took care of the African plumber for more than forty-five minutes
João Slowly opened his eyes in ecstasy, caught his wife’s eye from where she stood in front of the grill, watched, hypnotized, the crowd’s reactions of laughter or open pleasure, and, considering it in retrospect, was pleased to be proved right in his prediction that the future would imitate
the silent cinema of the past
using the absence of sound, stimulating the crowd with this intentional lack of synchronicity, João Slowly became the orchestrator of a self-generating and self-sustaining theatre, the crowd took charge of bringing to life the ideas he had announced earlier in the fields of “theatrical, cinematographic and performative experimentation,” or, in short, the imagined echoes of his eighth art
“a beautiful thing... beautiful”
João Slowly shed a tear
and observed the vertical movements of the Camões Rooster’s neck.
“where’s the bottle? did you hide it or what?”
Colonel Hoffman asked
“in the usual spot,”
Paulo Paused replied, worried about hosting the American, who seemed uncomfortable with the mess in the apartment
the television was broadcasting a Brazilian soap opera in which everyone was arguing, the radio was tuned to the news, and even this late in the day the Cirolian jackhammers were putting in poorly paid overtime hours
as arranged, though an hour and a half late, Davide Airosa had come by the hotel to pick up the American, who seemed upset and a little scared by Dom Crystal-Clear’s verbal threats and the Minister’s silent compliance, backed up by the Senhor Advisor’s consent and Dona Creusa’s laughing eyebrows, he described all of this in a mixture of the Portuguese and American languages, with a wealth of detail, to the point where Davide Airosa felt compelled to appease the young American
“cool it, they’re just shooting off their mouths, while you’re there, just keep quiet”
“yes, i’m already quiet”
“so that’s the story, you did your work, you gave your opinion, the rest is up to them”
“i’m afraid everything’s going to go wrong”
“everything’s been going wrong for a long time, Raago, don’t worry, later on people will find a way to patch it up, that’s how Angolans deal with stuff, if we did everything right the first time there would be countless disadvantages, first it would look like work was quick and easy, then we wouldn’t have a pretext for looking brilliant by fixing things, you get it?”
“more or less”
“more or less is good enough, don’t worry about it, when you leave you’ll write your articles, draw your own conclusions”
“even leaving is going to be a problem, or am i mistaken?”
“what do you mean?”
“the other day Dom Crystal-Clear gave me a lift back to the hotel”
“and?”
“he told me i could be arrested”
“arrested? but why?”
“just that, arrested, in jail”
“no, they can’t grab an American citizen, far less at this stage, don’t worry, it was just a bluff”
“no, he said i’m married”
“you’re married?”
“but i didn’t know about it”
“i don’t understand”
“he says i’m married to an Angolan citizen now, and for that reason i can be jailed as an Angolan citizen”
“but did you get married to an Angolan?”
“he married me”
“are you kidding?”
“he said that when the Ministry had my passport they could’ve made up other documents, but i don’t even know my Angolan wife, who knows, maybe she’s pretty,” Raago laughed
“and you haven’t even paid the dowry, it’s gonna be expensive”
Clara had prepared huge, delicious aperitifs, she turned off the television in order not to bother the American, she came and went from the kitchen many times until everything looked pretty and the table was well laden, in addition to the food that her mother’s maid had prepared, a special main course of a super-large seafood curry with a special sauce, followed by a wicked meat pie with a topping made of blood sausage and fried eggs
“the blood sausage came from South Africa,” she said
“this sister of mine is my salvation,” Colonel Hoffman commented, his mouth full
“i can’t eat another bite,” Paulo said
“i’m full, too,” the American confessed
“really great,” Davide Airosa concluded
“watch out, i might take that amiss,” their hostess replied
“look at these fakers,” Colonel Hoffman said, in his booming, serious voice, “so many people with nothing to eat right now and these idiots claim they’re stuffed, honestly,” he struck the desk with his fist, “get down to it and eat! my apologies, sister, if i didn’t yell at them, these youngsters would never learn, they goddamn well should have fought in Cuando Cubango to see what it’s like to have a hunger that never goes away”
“sir,” Raago said in halting Portuguese, “were you a colonel in the charmed forces?”
the guests laughed softly at the American’s mistake
“sorry, Raago, it’s not charmed forces, they’re armed”
“oh, sorry, sometimes changing a letter gets you into trouble... i meant armed forces, they were known as FAPLA, weren’t they?”
“yes,” Colonel Hoffman replied, serious, “that’s more or less it,” and he returned to his food to avoid further explanations
“there was a huge battle in Cuando Cubango, i saw a good documentary on that, about the Cuban presence in Angola, a really good film”
“yes, yes, los compañeros...” Hoffman relaxed again, smiling, remembering his Cuban colleagues, soldiers, but they had worked with him at National Radio during the campaign to record traditional music undertaken in the war years, “you know, Rambo...”
“it’s Raago, his name’s Raago,” Paulo corrected
“Okay, listen, Raago... the Cubans, los cubanos... they were really funny people, except everything in Cuba was better than it was here, it led to a lot of stories...”
“what do you mean?”
“everything was better there—las playas, las chicas, la comida... everything... but they also had this obsession that they knew Angola better than we did because they were soldiers, it was true, they’d been to lots of places that we didn’t even have access to”
“i understand”
“i remember well, once, in a combat zone,” he paused in his theatrical Luandan manner, the professional pause of any Luandan when he starts to tell a more-or-less true tale, trying to figure out whether anyone present is going to refute him, “once in Moxico, i was with a Cuban, and i began to tell stories about some of the places where i’d been”
“yes”
“and i’m telling this guy that i’ve already recorded music in Lambala, and the bastard says in Spanish, ‘sure, Lambala, i was there with my unit,’ and i’m thinking all right, it’s possible, then i remembered a time when i was in Chiume and the guy goes, ‘hey, Chiume, sure, right next to Cuando Cubango, that’s where i fought the South Africans,’ and i already get this guy’s drift, i start to talk about my childhood in Lumeje and the bastard reacts right away, ‘hey, compañero, Lumeje, sure, that’s where we were last week,’ and now i’m getting pissed off with all this shit, so in a soft voice i say, ‘Sundu ya manhenu,’ and the bastard turns to me bald-faced and says, ‘hey, Sundu ya manhenu, sure, we ate there yesterday!’”
Paulo and Clara burst out laughing, unlike the American, who smiled in sympathy with his fork dangling in the air, not getting the joke, while he watched Colonel Hoffman’s exaggerated theatricality as he nearly choked with laughter at his own joke, until they explained to him in English that Sundu ya manhenu meant “your mother’s cunt” in Kimbundu
“oh, man, those Cubans were too much! Jesus, every little story...”
after they had eaten and drunk to their hearts’ content, the colonel encouraged his band of internationalists to put in an appearance at a stodgy wedding to which he had not been invited
“
we’ll do it like in the times before, every pato brings three more with him”
“we bring three ducks? pato means ‘duck’?” the American asked
“pato means a non-invited person,” Paulo Paused explained
“okay”
“trust me, you’ve go to go in looking important, that’s how it is here in Luanda, if you want to get into a place you have to look arrogant”
since the party was nearby they headed off on foot, avoiding the holes in the sidewalks, circumventing the most dangerous areas, and finally arriving at their destination followed the deafening noise of heavy, throbbing kizomba music
in the entrance, as usual, were the bouncers, formally dressed in dark suits and heavily waxed shoes
Hoffman made a rapid visual inspection, took a quick scouting excursion down the sides of the house, “in case of some emergency,” as he explained, and, gripping the American’s arm, offered a final hint
“keep your mouth shut and don’t speak Portuguese, if you’ve gotta say something, do it in the language of Shakespeare”
“okay,” the American laughed
“how’s it going, young man, everything combat-ready?” the colonel said loudly to the security guard
“yes, everything’s fine”
“we came for the wedding, we were invited, we just brought this American as a gatecrasher so he could get to know how we party here in Angola, get it?” with a sweep of his arm, he conducted Paulo Paused and Davide Airosa into the room
“so you guys...?”
“hey, ‘you guys”!? what kind of talk is that? didn’t you see this gentleman in yesterday’s newspapers? he’s a special guest of our Comrade President and came here to explain all those oil excavations”
“i didn’t see it, boss”
“‘boss’ no! we’re not on the same wavelength, hmm! i’m Colonel Hoffman, but you can be at ease, were you guys in the army?” he took advantage of this question to give the security guard a powerful slap on the arm
“no, boss, we weren’t called up”
“then be careful, you can get called up at any time, can’t you?”