by Ondjaki
“yes, boss, but this party here...”
“enough of this chit-chat, now we bosses are gonna try out a few old-style kizomba steps, if there’s any confusion here at the door, i’m Colonel Hoffman, you guys can call me”
“okay, boss, thanks”
they made a grand entrance into the party, Hoffman smiled and bragged about his verbal manoeuvring, made his way straight to the bar, brought drinks for everybody, proposed a toast, and let his gaze wander over the party, appreciating the big-boobed dames, the withdrawn elders with their whisky glasses in their hands, some smoking, others not, the swaggering bodies of the young women who smiled with their mouths and their eyes
and then he saw that, on an improvised stage in a corner, a band was playing live and it was Paulo Flores himself who was there, also with a glass in his hand, clearly at ease as he sang for the dancing crowd
Colonel Hoffman, truly moved, made a signal with his hand, waved in greeting, and Paulo Flores replied with a slight bow and his open smile, this kept the situation under control, the party’s hosts couldn’t help but note Colonel Hoffman’s familiarity with Paulo, and Hoffman rushed to hug his friends so that everyone else would understand that they were with him, the American tapped his foot in a hesitant and suspect rhythm, Paulo Paused went over to greet a few politicians and media people, after which the group reunited for another round of drinks, Davide Airosa found leftovers from a gargantuan plate of cachupa on the table and brought over a fresh plate, Hoffman thanked him and ate in a hurry in order to go and dance with a young woman who seemed to be smiling at him
Paulo Flores, over the sound of the guitar and drums, after giving a brief introduction, began singing Meu Segredo
“this goes out to my boss-elder who’s here tonight, Artur Arriscado, or Scratch Man, better known in Moxico and the surrounding environs as Colonel Hoffman...!”
the group of friends whistled and clapped, the young woman looked impressed and joined her hands around the Colonel’s neck
“so, young lady, are you ready to dance with a Luandan from Moxico?” Hoffman joked
“this young lady is ready for anything,” she said into the Colonel’s ear
her feminine body came closer to him, he made two twists to the left and pulled the girl behind him in a swift manoeuvre to gauge her dancing abilities
“very nice, let’s go”
“you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, colonel”
“call me Artur, what’s your name?”
“Manucha”
“pleased to meet you, Manucha...”
“the pleasure’s all mine, Artur”
the colonel was having a great time and wasn’t about to quit now, he took a few breaks between dances to top up his whisky glass with lots of ice
“what is this, are you joking, or what?” he complained to the young barman, “you’re giving me this watery scotch, cooked up in the Roque Santeiro market, with a fake J&B label?”
“no, elder, i apologize”
“don’t apologize, just pass me the goddamn Black Label you’ve got hidden there, you think i didn’t see it? i’m from here, too, you little jimmy-fuck”
“yes, elder”
“elder no, we never studied together or sweated together on the same football field, it’s ‘colonel, sir,’ to you, didn’t you hear Paulo Flores welcome me at the microphone?”
“here’s your whisky, colonel, sir”
“hey, are you kidding or what? two rocks of ice? you think i’m a kitten who’s afraid of the water?”
“sorry, colonel, sir”
Paulo Paused and Davide Airosa were explaining to the American how Luandans behaved at parties, how masculine conventions were expressed insofar as drink, food, women, and elders were concerned, who was there and was married, who was already flirting, those who had retreated to dark corners, those who had the confidence to drag someone into a back room or underneath a tree, who had come here to eat, who had come mainly to dance and, in a jocular manner, they bet on whether anyone, other than themselves, might be a gatecrasher at this party
that was when, pumped up by his seventh whisky and wrapped up in Manucha’s arms, Colonel Hoffman felt his dancing being interrupted when the music suddenly cut out, everyone’s initial reaction was to look in the direction of the light to see whether it was a lack of electricity, but no
“comrades, please excuse this break in your dancing,” said a man in a dubious state of sobriety, “but too many gatecrashers have arrived at this party, we’re gonna set everything straight”
murmurs, complaints, and barks of laughter were heard, Davide Airosa became nervous and was unable to disguise it, Hoffman made a quick coded signal that Paulo Paused failed to catch, the colonel apologized to the girl and came over to talk to them
“we’re going to assume preventive positions, but nobody should abandon the place”
“what?” Paulo couldn’t hear very well because the man at the microphone was continuing his speech
“we were already given permission by the dude himself, Paulo Flores, we’ve just got to put up with this sermon then the gatecrashers will beat a retreat and we can stay here taking it easy, don’t let me down,” Hoffman pulled the chair upright and was already off to look for another whisky, “look at the ice here, dude...”
a few people were voluntarily retreating from the party, the security guards let them leave without any trouble, it looked as though everything was going to return to normal, had the man at the microphone not become inspired
“excuse me please, but that’s not good enough, there are still too many gatecrashers, here’s what we’re gonna do...” he strung out his alcoholic pause, “the bride’s guests on the right of the yard, ple-e-e-ss-e... this won’t take a minute”
in lowered voices, the crowd commented on the oddity of the situation
“the groom’s guests on the left-hand side, let’s get moving...”
but few people obeyed his orders
“this is getting really weird,” Davide Airosa commented
“keep your cool, you’re all young, i know all about this trick, it’s been around for a long time, you’ll see,” Colonel Hoffman laughed with the anticipatory pleasure of an elder and an accomplished professional in the art of gatecrashing Luandan parties
“Now, all of those who are on the right... and all of those who are on the left...” the man made an effort to keep his eyes open and his voice strong, “get out of this party, you pricks! this isn’t a shitty wedding, it’s my daughter’s christening!”
the crowd broke into an easy chortling, the gatecrashers, both on the right and on the left, were escorted to the exit, the party started again and picked up a good pace, with people clapping their hands
on leaving the microphone, the man was embraced and greeted by Hoffman, who looked very satisfied with the cultural manoeuvring that allowed him to show the American a bit of local reality
“hey, Rambo, you guys over there in the Americas don’t have those tricks, eh?”
“a very good trick, really...”
“yeah, right, if we were in Texas you guys would call the FBI to investigate the gatecrashers,” Hoffman laughed, “here it just takes silver-tongued off-the-cuff words to send the whole gatecrashing gang out the door... and we’re here sitting pretty, no doubt about that? hmm?”
“it’s true”
“learn it and you can take it back to your country”
hours of dancing ensued, countless bottles and cans of beer were consumed, the bottles of J&B whisky were downed by the younger people and the Black Label reserved for the elders present, the women danced in a joyful circle to Brazlian rhythms
it must have been close to two o’clock in the morning when the elders showed off their prowess in the circle, shaking up their aching backs and their stiff knees, taking advantage of the d
ance to toss off their boozing and delight their wives with an impromptu clinch to the sounds of samba music
there were people of all ages, including the elderly and small children holding hands, the people in the circle sang in tune with their bodies into the first light of dawn, Colonel Hoffman himself, more at ease than ever before, barked out commands, “ladies to one side, gents to the other... ready...” the bodies followed the rhythm of their stout asses and lips wide open in smiles of celebration
“fogope!” Hoffman shouted
in a harsh voice and with an attentive eye on young Manucha, who was ever more impressed by the huge colonel’s performance, young people, adults, and the elderly bumped their pelvises together, wheeled their bodies into each other, insisting on bodily gyrations
“fogope!” Hoffman repeated
laughing and opening his arms for the embrace that the young woman asked him to give her, he let his hands run over Manucha’s naked back, the force of gravity carrying them down to her ass, testing how far the girl would let him go, she smiled, pretending not to understand, and at that moment Hoffman sensed the security guard approaching him
“is there a problem, bud? can’t you see the colonel is putting the moves on a lady?”
“there’s a problem with a thief outside, my elder, we’ve neutralized him, now we’re coming to call you, elder”
“good work, just let me finish this dance, i’ll be right there”
the young security guard, with an expression too serious for the mood that surrounded him, saluted and returned to the front door, from where the now undisguisable sounds of a skirmish filtered into the room, the host made mention of the possibility of interrupting the party, but Hoffman whispered into his ear and promised to settle the situation
“as long as you guarantee the Black Label won’t run out, this party still has a long time to go”
he took his leave of Manucha, danced across the room gyrating his waist, straightened his shirt, and went out the door with a triumphal air
“what’s goin’ on? who came to interrupt my niece’s christening?”
“this is the guy we caught trying to rip off the elders’ cars”
the young man’s face was already somewhat swollen, his shirt torn, his expression demoralized from being punched and slapped by the party’s security guards, and Hoffman, still under the influence of the whisky in his blood, failed to recognize that this was The Real Zé, one of the most notorious and audacious thieves in the city of Luanda
“hey kid... so you came here to bust up somebody else’s party?”
“no, elder, that’s not it, i was like just passin’ by, i was gonna clean them jalopies”
“clean them? clean what? clean them out? or wash them?”
“yes, elder, i was gonna to wash them, i was just dismantling the mirrors so i could wash them real good”
“at this time of night? you came here to jinx yourself, kid”
“don’t say that, elder, they already beat the shit out of me”
“well, first you should know there’s no ‘elder’ here, i’m an army officer of nocturnal rank”
“ah, elder, don’t say that”
“shut your goddamn mouth, fucker, you come here to interrupt my party, and you’re still giving me lip? washing cars at this time of night? yeah, right...!” Hoffman looked pensive, he had to get back to the party but he also had to uphold his fame and standing as a colonel, “here’s what we’re gonna do,” he said to the security guards, “if he can make a lemon-face, he’s free to go”
“how’s that, colonel?” the security guard asked, confused
“lemon-face, if he can make a real lemon-face, you release the guy, if not, punch him some more, make a lemon-face, you!” Hoffman ordered in a harsh voice, looking at The Real Zé as though this were in fact possible
“elder, i don’t know...”
“make a lemon-face, fucker,” Hoffman gave him the first smack
“like this?” The Real Zé attempted an ugly, ridiculous grimace
“no, that’s not it, you can give it to him”
the security guards began to hit him hard, imitating Colonel Hoffman’s strange, unknown phrase, “make the lemon-face if you want us to let you go”
“like this?” he made another grimace
“no, that’s no good, that’s not a lemon-face,” the security guards regarded him with care as though giving the grimace a meticulous evaluation
the colonel entered the party, danced two more songs, got the phone number of the young woman with the exposed back, and advised his gang to beat a retreat because this party might end badly
they said farewell, understood at last which child was being christened, Hoffman went to embrace Paulo Flores, thanking him for his gesture at the microphone, he gave the host of the party a big hug and was introduced to the family, to the little girl’s mother, her grandmother, and even her great-grandmother, who was present and wide awake, accompanied by her large glass of whisky, he welcomed the in-laws and the nephews and nieces, the wife’s brothers and sisters, the host’s cousins, then it was the godparents’ turn, then the godfather’s older brother and the cousin who had come from Portugal, in addition to the neighbour who was an immigrant from the Cape Verde Islands and their respective daughters, finally he bid farewell to the husbands of the Cape Verdean’s daughters, as he did to the man’s sisters, and he was accompanied to the door by the host of the party himself who, along the way, made sure the colonel met his cousin as well as his brother, his brother’s wife, and their four children
“it was a pleasure, Senhor Colonel”
“i’m always here to help, my friend”
“so what about the crook?”
“severe punishment for him, beyond the lemon!”
“what do you mean?” the security guard asked, tired already from having punched The Real Zé so many times
“everybody who leaves the party has to punch this kid, he has to learn that stealing is really ugly,” Hoffman gave the thief a crushing blow to the face, “now the rest of you, my gang”
Davide Airosa positioned himself at the end of the line, he really didn’t want to hit anyone, he didn’t think it was right, or necessary, Paulo Paused said the same thing as he tried to calm the American, who had a horrified expression on his face
“look, the host, my buddy, might get blamed, you just don’t do that, especially not you, an American, a last-minute guest, as we might call you”
Hoffman insisted, he shoved them towards the thief, and they had to give him a more or less hard punch, the thief took the beating in silence, now and then wiping sweat or tears off his face
“listen here,” he said to the security guards, “everybody at the party has to punch the thief, by order of Colonel Hoffman, including the birthday girl!”
“hey, elder, you said it was a christening,” the thief whispered
“fairy son of a bitch, are you still making fun of us...? give it to him good...”
they walked through the dark streets of Luanda
Davide Airosa smiled timidly, wrapped in an alcoholic haze, the American could no longer disguise his astonishment at the way in which Angolans solved the issues that had arisen during the party
“here you are back home, senhor, gud naite, suite dreems!” Hoffman bid farewell to Raago at the door of the hotel
“thanks very much, it was a very... well, you know... a very interesting experience”
“we’ll talk tomorrow,” Davide Airosa said goodbye, adding in English, “sorry about all of this”
“sleep well,” Paulo Paused said
the three of them walked back to Maianga, to Paulo’s apartment, and Hoffman would have invited himself in had the journalist not explained that if they entered in their current happy state it would be too much for his partner, and that this
could bring him serious conjugal problems
“conjugal problems are shit, haven’t you learned that?”
“what?”
“if the chick gives you a hard time, make a lemon-face and everything’s cool”
they hugged, laughed, and spent more than forty-five minutes prolonging the night by saying goodbye, including reliving the party they had just left
Artur Arriscado, or Scratch Man, after accompanying Davide Airosa to the door of his home, went for a walk, as he used to do years ago, giving his body the opportunity to shake off the alcohol’s unwanted effects, feasting his eyes on the heated spectacle of the Luandan sun rise
“a muzonguê soup... with good hot red peppers, please”
the colonel placed his order, beneath a sun that was already yellow, at a bar that had just opened its doors.
“but who gives the orders here?”
“the higher-ups”
“higher... like god?”
“no, really higher! here in Angola there are people who give more orders than god”
[from the voice of the people]
it’s well known that bad news travels fast
and there were no clock-hands or ways to measure it, yet before the news was official the whole country already knew it, a wave of sadness and melancholy gripped the elders’ faces above all, the younger people weren’t indifferent but it didn’t disrupt their day, though they knew to adopt a more restrained tone
soon after, there was an official declaration, first on National Radio and later on television, the condolences and preparations for the ceremonies ensued, the city muffled the sound of its collective musicality and the candongueiros slowed the rhythm of their movements, even people dancing the batucada tried to be more discreet
in the outlying neighbourhoods there was civil and political mobilization so that the event would not go unnoticed, the professional mourners oiled their dry heels and prepared potions to soothe their throats, girls’ hair was coifed in the latest style, medicine men were ordered to begin farewell ceremonies so that the other world might receive the deceased woman in peace