by Ondjaki
flags were lowered to half-mast and the President decreed a two-day halt for reflection with the right to fire off guns in the air in all eighteen Angolan provinces precisely at 6 p.m. on each of the days
the priests increased production of wafers for the eucharist, the altars were dusted and the saints took pleasure in being polished by the hands of nuns and children in the service of the church, the interiors of the cathedrals were swept and the churchyards were tidied
in the more remote corners of the country, where military orders travel faster than civilian news, some people reckoned that armed conflict was flaring up again, an idea refuted by the gunfire’s isolation and its excessive punctuality
people drank with that furious inner turmoil that death incites, a blend of anxiety and revolt, nostalgia and indignation, the country boozed up gradually to the sound of soft music and incessant chants of resignation
“death spares no one,”
Granma Humps commented
“and it’s like the rain: when it falls, everyone gets wet”
the girls of the Workers’ District stopped providing their services during those days, drawing the flimsy curtains of each cubicle, they changed the naphthalene in their trunks, scrubbed the floor with vehemence, leaving the intriguing odour of Creolin disinfectant floating over the poor neighbourhoods
all the churches spoke in the dense voices of their bells, inside the churches lengthy masses were recited in Latin, Umbundu, Kimbundu, Kikongo, Chokwe
surrounded by his gigantic battalion of bodyguards, the President appeared at the ceremony for a few instants, leaving in his wake a vast trail of flowers that had arrived, hours earlier, from the best florists of Namibia and South Africa
the family, it was later learned, received an abundant sum of money and the promise of lifelong pensions for immediate family members, particularly the young who remained motherless, many of whom were also fatherless
the material published in the official newspapers spoke of a pact of silence, nobody else would make a statement on the subject, neither of free will nor when provoked, as during those days, beyond the drinks poured, the parties thrown, the hushed celebrations and secluded farewells, there remained, for those who do not forget what they read, the title, the enormous black headline of the Jornal de Angola
“Senhora Ideology is officially deceased.”
at Noah’s Barque nobody spoke of anything else, the old man was clipping headlines from the newspapers to stick on the wall, staring at them and rereading them aloud, visibly sad and depressed by the sudden news
“were you acquainted with the lady?” the Leftist asked
“very well indeed, ever since i was a child. she wasn’t even that old”
“but did you know her biblically?” someone who was drunker said, fooling around
“show some respect, comrade, her body’s not even cold and you’re already starting with the jokes? careful you don’t get a red card and be expelled from the bar before half-time”
“my apologies, elder”
“she was a lady who deserved respect, i’m acquainted with the family... the times are really changing, i don’t know what’s going to happen to us...” Noah looked from a distance at the obituary clippings gathered on the wall near his ark
“we’re going from Ba’ath to worse, as they say in the Middle East”
“that’s the truth,” the Leftist agreed, ordering another beer, “that’s why you have to write, leave a legacy,” he returned to his written notes, “young people have to know about the past and have other points of reference, today everything’s just soap operas, satellite dishes, and discotheques, but we’ve got to leave behind a statement of our displeasure!”
there was scarce mourning for the death of Senhora Ideology for the workers of CIROL, as the excavations continued at a good pace as though, on a last-minute mission, Angola’s politicians had decided to bore incessantly into the city until they saw the jet of the first geyser of Luandan oil.
leaning his weight on Little Daddy’s shoulder, Odonato decided once again to go to the police station to meet Agent Belo, carrying with him the enormous tupperware container with the delicious steaks, the greasy fried potatoes, the swollen raw onion, and the little bags of mustard that Little Daddy had discovered in the Chinese store
“Agent Belo, please”
“he went to a burial service, can i help you?”
“i don’t know... really, i don’t know”
“but tell me, sir, if there’s something we can do, i’m the right person, don’t you know who i am?”
“at first glance? i’m sorry, but no”
“i’m the Deputy Superintendent here at the station, and there are rumours that i may be promoted any day now, so you should take advantage of my being available while you can”
“i came for news of my son”
“his name?”
“he’s known by the name of Ciente-the-Grand, he arrived here wounded...”
“oh, so you’re here for news of the body?”
“what do you mean, the body?” Odonato’s voice was as transparent as his own body
“your son was consigned to the fourteenth district cemetery three days ago, i thought you knew... i thought you’d come here to make an affadavit”
a sudden dizziness knocked Odonato over and he fell against the Deputy Superintendent, catching himself with one hand while seeking with the other Little Daddy’s powerful shoulder, the sun perturbed him, breaking inwards through his line of vision, the city spun in his head, but he didn’t faint, he succeeded in breathing deeply, telling himself that he’d already sensed this days ago
images of his son burst into his mind and, after drinking several glasses of water, he pretended to feel better and thanked the Deputy Superintendent for the information
“how many days can the body remain over in the fourteenth district?”
“well, that’s a warehouse, you know, sir... if nobody claims the body, it goes into a common grave, i think you’d better hurry up, sir”
“thank you”
Little Daddy being unable to persuade Odonato to go home to his apartment for help, they went directly to the fourteenth district
they caught a candongueiro, then another one, they walked beneath the abrasive sun, people watching with astonishment and terror the man hurrying along, exhibiting his translucent appearance
when they reached the gate of the fourteenth district cemetery, the earth barely made a sound as Odonato’s feet trod upon it, not even the leaves sank beneath his weight
“you have to keep an eye out, Little Daddy”
“no problem”
“i seem to be getting lighter as well, if you hear the wind, it’s up to you to hold onto me”
“yes, uncle”
“so how do we do this, with this door all locked up?”
“we do like in the time before, uncle, we clap our hands and see if someone comes”
they whistled, they clapped their hands, they shouted, but received only a hard, empty sound as a reply
they heard the sounds of birds that divided their attention between the search for crumbs and materials to construct their nests, a gaunt dog paced inside the enclosure and looked at them through the grating, as though getting the attention of the two observers, who were solitary and unaware of the power just one of their gestures might have had in solving its sudden affliction
“we’re going to go in over the wall, like in the time before”
“what do you mean?”
“we’re going to go around the corner and find a place to climb up, where there’s a wall there’s a man to climb it, as the poet used to say”
“pardon?”
“nothing... there’re two of us, we’ll manage it”
searching with their eyes and their hands
, they found a stretch of the outside wall that had cracks and exposed bricks where their feet found purchase and they were able to climb up, first Odonato helped Little Daddy who, seated on a low parapet, hauled up the distraught father behind him, ushering him into the large yard
“what now?” Little Daddy regarded the vast stretch of tombstones at rest, with their fluttering birds and morbid, fleeting, necessary decorations of dried flowers
“now we’re going to go get my son’s body”
“we’re going to find him?” they both set off, Odonato, who appeared to possess an instinct for blood-ties stronger than any logic, deciding their route
“we have to find him, look over there,” a tiny hut, like a badly finished shanty of unpainted brick, expelled a minuscule thread of smoke pungent with the smell of grilled meat
they approached, clapped their hands again, but nobody appeared, there were two little seats, dirty plates, and embers collapsing into the ashes of faltering fires to announce that a meal had ended
“let’s go,” Odonato continued, resolute
there’s a soundless singing in cemeteries, where fresh flowers lean against each other, the brightness of their colours exhaling a life force
“there”
Odonato had glimpsed a clearing without tombstones, a helter-skelter zone of red earth and a fetid stench where a pile of bodies lay, Little Daddy went into convulsions and began to vomit
“let’s get on with this,” Odonato said, very serious, intimating that Little Daddy should control himself, “you haven’t even eaten today and you want to vomit?”
they made a quick tour of the corpses, Odonato walked uneasily from one side to the other, his eyes nearly closed, moving more by virtue of his paternal instinct than by way of visual confirmation, they heard a far-off shout
“hey, what yous doin’ over there?” the gravedigger approached them with an ancient shovel in his hand
Odonato’s body shook in time with his shaky breathing
“i came to look for my son, for fuck’s sake, they’ve been telling me for i-don’t-know-how-long that he’s in jail and it turns out he’s here”
“and you entered a closed cemetery without authorization from the authorities?”
“i’m the authority over my son,” Odonato spoke in a strange voice, half-blocked by the tremors of emotional exhaustion, “i came to look for my son to care for him, i’m going to take him,” he went through the bodies, pulling on arms, twisting heads around
“it doesn’t work like that, comrade”
“leave me in fucking peace,” Odonato shoved the gravedigger, who tripped on the leg of a corpse and fell over, “does this country work? eh? does this country work somehow, Senhor Gravedigger of open-air cemeteries and documents from the authorities?”
Odonato wasn’t looking at anyone, not even at the bodies that surrounded him, his own body was a blind entity, sobbing and transparent, less in search of a body than of an urgent necessity
the gravedigger got up, picked up the rusty shovel, and tried to crack his ribs, Little Daddy moved in quickly but didn’t get there in time, the outraged father, cowering in the shade, watched the gravedigger’s movements, before the blade could hit him, he neutralized the gravedigger with military swiftness, Odonato crouched down, whirled around, stretched out his leg and, in a movement worthy of a capoeira dancer, pulled the rug out from under the gravedigger’s feet
“there he is, Little Daddy, there’s my son’s body”
on the far outer edge of the sea of stinking corpses, humming with flies, his son lay on the roots of a huge fig tree
the gravedigger tried to get up but couldn’t reach the shovel, his back hurt and a thread of blood was seeping from a cut on his neck
“you’re tryin’ to get me riled up,” he managed to say in reaction
but Little Daddy, moving in swiftly, kicked the side of his stomach hard, following up with a shot at the gravedigger’s long-suffering back, making a lengthy, high-pitched sound like one he’d had heard in a Bruce Lee movie
Odonato was already prone, fondling his son’s face, brushing away a film of reddish mud that had formed over his cheekbones, he burst into tears, the neutralized gravedigger was moaning on the ground, in the sky the swift swooping of a tumult of birds announced the men’s misery in that repulsive setting
“we’re going to carry the body,” Odonato said, “help me carry my son’s body”
“but, Uncle Odonato, i’m sorry, but where are we going to carry him to?”
“home”
hampered by the body’s astonishing weight, the two men, the young man and the transparent man, worked their own bodies into a sweat as they stumbled along the path, finally reaching the cemetery’s entrance, Little Daddy had taken the gravedigger’s keys and opened the rusted padlock when he was overcome by the strangeness of the situation, there at the main gate of the fourteenth district cemetery, with a corpse in a dubious state of conservation and a man lacking normal skin density, whose body was outlined by the drably coloured contours of his loose clothing, damaged by the struggle
“what do we do now?”
“where there’s a will there’s a way,” in the tone of his voice, Odonato’s utterance contained, for the first time, a sign of hope
a mini-taxi skidded into the cemetery’s park and drove towards them at high speed
“The Real Zé?” Little Daddy was astonished
“so it’s true after all,” troubled, The Real Zé looked at his friend’s body
“is this car yours?”
“this isn’t the time to ask questions,” Odonato said, “The Real Zé, we’re gonna take Ciente’s body home,” he pleaded
“okay, let’s do it”
in the precise instant the word “home” was uttered, Ciente-the-Grand’s body, already very heavy, fell hard on the ground, slipping from Odonato’s and Little Daddy’s filthy hands, the three men looked at one another like people peering into the depths of a mystery, each with the mild foreboding and hollow suspicion that the body might have shaken loose of its own free will, they waited a few seconds, leaving the body inert on the ground, waiting to make sure nothing else happened
death is unendurable and, in most cases, enduring, men have known this for millennia, yet they fear feeding any hope of a return
The Real Zé joined them with slow movements, crouched down and grabbed the corpse again, inviting the others to do the same
frightened, they heard a noise coming from the gate
“take it easy, i’m just coming to help you carry the body,” the gravedigger said
he joined the others, and with great difficulty they raised the corpse, depositing it in the vehicle’s cramped trunk
“could you just give me back the key to the padlock?”
“here it is,” Odonato said, gaping at the man
“but you... you have no body colour...” the gravedigger trembled
“my apologies for the way i came to get my son’s body, but i’ve got to prepare for the funeral”
the gravedigger, still sore, closed the padlock on the front gate with his shaking hands, retreated to his smoky shanty, and the vehicle carrying the extremely heavy corpse, with the trunk open, took off along the potholed Luanda streets towards the building that was once Ciente-the-Grand’s home
“can a corpse really weigh that much?” The Real Zé asked
“i think i know the reason”
“what is it, then, Uncle Odonato?” Little Daddy was in the back seat, nauseated by the corpse’s proximity and stench
“once he told me, ‘even when i’m dead i won’t return to your house,’ that’s the only possible explanation”
“that must be it,” The Real Zé confirmed with a serious air
lethargic, with the exception of the Cirolian workers, the city look
ed as though it had been evacuated, the silence inside the houses interrupted only by radios or sad satellite dishes, the children seemed constrained from playing in a natural way, the dogs’ eyes filled with a more pointed melancholy out of respect for the premature demise of Senhora Ideology
five more men offered their help when they arrived at the building, but with eight of them now trying to haul the corpse out of the car, they succeeded only with great effort
passing along the first floor, the deceased became even heavier, “what’s that stench?” Comrade Mute asked, having come downstairs to help, on the third floor they stopped and had to set down the body, Strong Maria unleashed a weeping that accompanied each step with a fresh moaning chant, out of respect no one told her to be quiet, but the sound got on their nerves, it disturbed the silence they were trying to preserve to lend solemnity to the stinking upwards procession
upstairs Granma Kunjikise and Xilisbaba were preparing the living room to receive the body of the deceased
Amarelinha sobbed in silence on the broken-down living-room sofa, Seashell Seller’s bag had been left on the first floor, next to the elevator with the ever-moving waters where Blind Man was refreshing himself while waiting for his friend’s visit to finish
on arriving at the apartment’s entrance on the sixth floor, Edú and the women had to help because the weight had become truly unbearable, Granma Kunjikise moved objects out of the way and rolled up the carpet to let the dead man pass
“a burden in life and a burden in death,” the old woman murmured
the dead man was set down hard on the huge table that had been displaced to the kitchen, the floor creaked on receiving the weight, a crack opened up below the lower corner of the window, passed under the table, traced a line parallel to the area of the toilet, and headed towards the living room like a cobra fleeing the light of the kitchen
“careful,” someone shouted
everyone saw the table slowly split, Xilisbaba lifted her hands to her mouth and broke into silent tears as Odonato hugged her, Edú left the apartment because for the last few years he’d been afraid of tales about evil spells, Granma Kunjikise raised her hands into the air as though the sky were drawing closer and watched the table crack in two, the body fell onto the shards of wood, the crack in the floor opened up little by little and everyone understood that the inevitable was on the verge of happening