He started with Monti’s czárdás; the audience was slightly confused but loved it. The Bulgarian played well but, as he had warned Cardoso, he was no soloist. Luckily, he soon had the backing of four string players from his band whom the superintendent had mobilized and sent onto the stage. And so, the five of them continued with the programme, giving it their best, though their playing was more suited for a ballroom than a concert of classical music. They finished their more than hour-long performance with a rousing rendition of some Balkan folk dance that had the whole audience stamping their feet to the music. The musicians, whose names were never recorded, were seen off with such applause that it almost matched the reception received by the Prime Minister.
To everybody’s great surprise, the encore saw Mr Paderewski come out on stage again; in the meantime, somebody had persuaded him to play at least once more for the audience. He chose Chopin’s ‘Etude Tristesse’, a piece he had played more often than any other in his life. But this time he played it so that the audience mourned not the sad fate of Poland, but the inevitability of old age and the genius whose last trace would soon forever disappear; nothing could stop or revert the process. It received the most honest and heart-warming applause of the evening. For his lifetime’s work.
In the end, everybody was happy, both the performers and the audience, because they had all experienced something they would be able to tell their grandchildren about.
But it was not yet time for Cardoso to relax. While the concert was still in progress, he issued instructions that he wanted all the journalists present to go quietly to the office of the casino’s managing director as soon as the concert was over.
‘Gentlemen, we shall not talk this evening about freedom of the press but rather about elementary decency. Surely that’s clear to everybody?’ he said to the group of three reporters and two photographers.
It wasn’t clear, but Cardoso ploughed ahead mournfully:
‘You all saw it for yourselves...’
Nobody said a word. No one in his right mind would start arguing with the police.
Using this brief pause to add weight to what he was about to say next, Cardoso tried to catch a glimpse of what the young woman journalist was writing in her notebook. She turned the page just in time to prevent him from seeing what she had jotted down. Otherwise, her notes would have convinced him that he had been right to take such unusual, repressive action. The young woman had compressed her impression of the concert into one short but clear line: Great man. Noble idea. Poor performance.
Choosing his words and adjusting his tone to an audience of journalists from the world of the arts and culture, Cardoso continued with his speech:
‘You are educated people, civilized, you know better than I do that this is a great musician and admirable statesman from a friendly, Catholic country, which is currently facing enormous, unimaginable problems. It is amazing that a man of his age can manage, despite ill health, to find such inner strength. It is admirable. What we witnessed this evening is an interesting, even inspiring and instructive story, but personally I think the event risks being ridiculed and that is something we don’t want, do we? It would be unkind to laugh at old age and make fun of our honoured guest,’ the superintendent said to the assembled members of the press. They remained silent and so he continued:
‘I hope you now understand my reasons for kindly asking you not to write about this. You listened to, saw and enjoyed the concert, but please, this time keep your impressions to yourself... Agreed?’
*
As they were leaving, he placed a friendly hand on the shoulder of an American correspondent, the only foreign reporter at the concert.
‘Do you like Portugal?’
The American was surprised by the friendliness.
‘It’s all fine,’ he replied honestly.
‘Good... I’m glad to hear it. Just so you know, if, God forbid, you should ever have any trouble with the bureaucracy over your visa, I’m here to help.’
*
Late that evening, when he finally got to bed, Cardoso couldn’t help speaking his mind.
‘I think the old man is pretending. He’s not like your late mother. There’s intelligence in his eyes.’
‘Never mind. That’s all water under the bridge now,’ his wife said.
*
As for the interview at the beginning of this story, the one Mr Paderewski gave to Diário de Notícias, it was never published. It failed to pass the censors.
TRANSCRIPT OF DOCUMENT
STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL
Surveillance and State Defence Police
Central Service
Lisbon
26 November 1940
REPORT
I have the honour of informing you that your order of 5 October this year has been successfully implemented, to which I can personally attest, having been in the field and overseen the assignment. Mr Paderewski’s stay in the country was without incident, and of no interest to the press.
Of frail but stable health, he left the territory of our country for New York on the evening of 25 November 1940, travelling on the Excambion passenger ship.
For the Well-being of the Nation!
Superintendent
(signature illegible)
THE TALE OF THE DESERT FOX
An homage to the pilot
If it happened the way he later described it, that day Big Man fell asleep on the sand miles away from the nearest town. He felt alone, more isolated than a shipwrecked sailor on a raft in the middle of the ocean. He had not even noticed that he had dozed off. You can imagine his amazement, at sunset, when he was awakened by an odd litle voice. It said:
‘If you please, would you catch me a puppy?’
Big Man opened one eye. To the boy he looked like a bear waking up from his winter sleep.
‘What?’ He didn’t understand what the boy wanted.
‘Please... Catch me a puppy...’ the boy said.
Big Man was lying stretched out on the sand. He was two metres tall, a giant. He had a huge round head and rubbed his huge round eyes with his huge paws. At first he thought he was still dreaming. For a moment he even thought that he was dazed by the sun, but he immediately realized that this could not be the case. It was late autumn. He stood up. He took a second look at a most extraordinary small person, who stood there examining him with great seriousness.
‘Please do that for me!’ the strange little boy said.
The boy was ten years old and Big Man thought, ‘This child looks like a miniature grown-up.’ Now, he stared at this sudden apparition with his eyes fairly starting out of his head with astonishment. The boy did not mind. He knew that people could be envious of those who are different. When you are strange, you get used to surprising people from a young age and it stops bothering you. Anyway, Big Man was just as strange to him. With his big head and bulging eyes, he reminded the boy of a giant Mickey Mouse.
When at last he was able to speak, Big Man asked the boy:
‘Excuse me, son, but what are you doing here?’
They were alone, the two of them, if you don’t count the stray dogs and handful of seagulls prancing in the shallow water, leaving a sinuous trail behind them. It was not an odd question because adults usually care for children, especially when they come across someone who is alone and unprotected. And yet, as he would later write, this little man seemed neither to be straying uncertainly among the sands, nor to be fainting from fatigue or hunger or thirst or fear. Nothing about him gave any suggestion of a child lost on a deserted, secluded beach very far from any habitation; there was not even a dirt road nearby. The man asked the boy what he was doing there, and in answer the boy repeated, very slowly, as if he were speaking of a matter of great consequence:
‘What am I doing? I’m asking you for a favour. For you to catch me a puppy.’
‘What do you want with a puppy? Why don’t you leave them alone and let them play?’ Big Man seemed a bit grumpy.
But
the child pressed on.
‘I need it for company. So that I always have someone to play with. Come on, be kind enough to catch me one of those puppies, please... Please...’
‘Why don’t you go and catch one yourself?’
‘Please. You’re three times bigger than I am,’ the boy replied.
Big Man set off to hunt one down even though it all seemed silly to him. He did not know that it was anything but easy to catch a wild puppy on a beach. However hard he tried to get close, the four-legged creatures outran him because Big Man, heavy and long-limbed as he was, sank into the sand, slipping as he climbed up and down the dunes. After several attempts and hilarious falls, the ungainly giant grabbed a grey, scrawny little puppy and brought it to the boy. The child looked at it carefully and said:
‘No, that’s not it! It should be a girl. They are smaller when they grow up and will take up less space. And they are sweeter.’
So Big Man went and caught another puppy, motley-coloured this time, but it too was rejected.
‘It’s cute but it is not a girl. I can see its willy.’
Having lost all patience, Big Man grabbed a little yellow girl puppy with pointed ears and a round stomach, wrapped it up in his jacket with only its little nose peering out, and brought it to the boy.
‘Your puppy is here inside.’
He was very surprised to see a light break over the face of his young judge.
‘That’s exactly the one I wanted!’ and he took it into his arms. ‘Do you think it will need a lot to eat?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ll have to share some of my lunch with it. At the hotel, they give me children’s portions, you know.’
‘She doesn’t need a lot to eat. Look at how small she is,’ said Big Man.
The strange boy leaned over the bundle.
‘She’s not really that small. She’s got big ears... Look! She’s fallen asleep...’ He thought a bit and then said: ‘We have to give her a name. Any ideas?’
‘She reminds me of a desert fox. You know the small ones with the big ears? The Bedouins call them fennec foxes. You can call her Fennec,’ suggested Big Man.
‘Perfect. Her name will be Fennec. And what’s your name?’
‘Antoine. Tonio. And yours?’
‘I’m Gavriel. Gaby. Thank you, Tonio.’
‘Don’t mention it. But take good care of Fennec. Promise?’
‘Promise.’
And they headed for town, walking along the sea. The sand shifted under their feet.
‘It’s hard when you don’t look like everybody else, isn’t it?’ said Big Man. It was both a question and a statement.
‘Yes, it is,’ agreed the boy. ‘How do you know?’
‘How? Look at how much taller I am than everybody else.’
‘It’s the suit,’ the boy said, ‘and the sideburns.’
‘Do you know, in 1909 a Turkish astronomer saw a new asteroid through his telescope. He officially introduced his discovery at the International Astronomical Congress but nobody believed him. You know why? Because of how he was dressed. He was wearing wide trousers, like a skirt, a narrow sleeveless embroidered jacket and a strange cap, like an upside-down flowerpot, only red. People are suspicious of the unknown, they are like that. Later, a Turkish dictator made a law that his subjects, under pain of death, should change to European costume. So in 1920 the astronomer gave his demonstration all over again, dressed with impressive style and elegance. And this time everybody accepted his report.’
‘Are you saying that I should start dressing differently too?’
‘No, of course not. You wear what you want. You just have to know that it is not always easy.’
Their walk in the sand was taking time.
‘Have you ever had a dog?’ the boy asked.
‘Yes, several, but a long time ago, when I was a boy. In the meantime, I had a fox as well, but only for a short while,’ Big Man replied.
‘Really? A real fox?’
‘A real, honest to God fennec. A small desert fox. She weighed less than two kilos, like a fat chicken, if that much.’
‘Where was that?’
‘In the desert.’
‘You were in the desert?’ the boy asked surprised.
‘Yep. For over a year I lived in Mauritania where the Sahara meets the ocean. I was a pilot.’
‘You flew over the desert?’
‘Yes. I carried the mail.’
‘When was that?’
‘A long time ago. When I was young.’
‘How old were you when you were young?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘Did you like it there?’
‘I never liked home as much as I did there. I had a little house, actually a wood cabin smaller than your room. I had a board and straw mattress to sleep on, but my bed was short so I added a crate to extend it.’
‘The crate was for your feet or your head?’ asked the boy.
‘It served as my pillow, of course,’ Big Man said, laughing. ‘I made a table out of two barrels and a wooden door. That’s where I did my writing. I had a jug of water, a tin wash-basin, a typewriter, a bookshelf, a wind-up gramophone and a deck of cards.’
‘Were you all alone there?’ asked the boy.
‘There was a fortress nearby; Spanish soldiers slept there but they were afraid to go out so we didn’t run into them often. All of it together was a thousand kilometres from the nearest bar. But I wasn’t exactly alone in the camp. A human being can’t be alone like a piece of wood. With me were four other Frenchmen, mechanics, and a dozen Moors. We weren’t friends but we all worked for the same company... If you think of yourself as being alone because you haven’t got any friends nearby, then yes, I was alone. But I was seldom lonely or sad.’
‘Of course it’s nicer when you’ve got somebody next to you. Even just a friend. Or a dog.’
‘Pilot friends would sometimes visit. But there were days and nights when I was completely alone. I wasn’t sad, except sometimes, at night. But I had more pets than ever before. We had a dog, a little monkey, his name was Kiki, a fat cat, twice the size of Fennec, and a hyena, she was completely tame but she stank...’
‘You had a hyena?’ the boy asked, intrigued.
‘Yes. If I had taken her away with me she would probably still be alive. She was still a cub, and they live a long time.’
‘How long?’
‘Up to twenty years.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Forty.’
‘And what happened to the fox?’ the boy remembered to ask.
‘I tried to tame her. I wanted to give her to my sister, but it didn’t work out.’
‘What does that mean exactly – to tame?’
‘To establish ties... become friends... Something like that.’
‘So you didn’t establish ties with her?’
‘Not really... She was hurt when I found her and while I was nursing her wounds she was with me in the cabin and ate whatever I gave her. But as soon as she was back on her feet she ran away because she didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Not anything. It made no difference that I gave her food and water, that there was nothing in the desert; she ran away. She preferred to be free.’
After a brief silence the boy revealed his thoughts.
‘It must be fantastic in the desert,’ he pronounced.
‘It is wonderful,’ confirmed the pilot. ‘And I have lived in South America as well. In Patagonia.’
‘Patagonia? What were you doing there?’
‘I flew my plane from Chile, over the Andes. Again, carrying the post.’
‘Tell me about it,’ the boy asked.
‘It’s a long story. I can’t talk about it now. I’ll tell you tomorrow. You’re staying here at the Palácio? Have you got any obligations? How about having lunch together, what do you say, eh?’
‘Okay.’
They continued walking in the sand along the shoreline.
‘You know, I’ve heard that sometimes people appear here on this beach dressed in suits and toting suitcases.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. They say that they’re spies dropped off by German submarines.’
The boy didn’t like stories about German spies, so he changed the subject.
‘And do you know that the imperial boa swallows its prey whole? It doesn’t chew it.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. I read it in a book called True Stories from Nature. When it swallows something big, the boa constrictor is not able to move and lies there like that for the six months it needs to digest it all.’
They walked on, listening to the lapping of the waves.
‘Do you collect butterflies?’ the boy asked out of the blue.
And that is how Big Man made the acquaintance of the strange boy. Later he even did a drawing of the boy with his blond, dishevelled hair, but he made his suit more extravagant and of a different colour, because he didn’t like the one he was wearing too much. Anyway, his drawing, as he was the first to admit, was certainly very much less charming than its model.
IVAN
‘I’m terribly sorry, Sir, but at the moment the hotel has no vacancies, unless you have already booked a room,’ the receptionist said apologetically, letting Ivan know that he had come in vain.
‘Are you quite sure...? Couldn’t you do something?’ asked Ivan, two or three greenbacks peering out of the wallet he placed on the reception desk in support of his argument.
The moustachioed concierge immediately realized that the man either had not understood him or, which was more likely, did not believe him, and so he would have to explain it all over again and apologize. He was sorry about the money that was within reach of his fingers but there was no way that he could take it. Therefore, he said regretfully:
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