Loredana, somewhat flustered, blushed to her ears. “Yes … That is, no. I lied to him. Let’s say I’m here on business. But please don’t go shouting it from the rooftops. If it came out, that is if some Brazilians got to know, it could work against me.”
Loredana was furious with herself. What had got into her? The shady lawyer in São Luís (the term she always used for that individual with the manner of a con man) had made her promise to keep it absolutely secret and here she was telling the first person she came across. She had caught herself just in time, but if he started asking questions she wouldn’t be able to keep up the new lie for long. God, what an idiot, what a damned idiot I am, she told herself, going even brighter red.
The blush made her look like a little girl. Eléazard almost paid her a compliment along those lines, but then changed his mind. Nothing was worse than being in a situation like that.
“What business would that be?” he asked with a touch of irony. “If I’m not being indiscreet, of course.”
“Gold, precious stones …” (Stop, Loredana, you’re mad. You’ll never get out of it! a voice screamed inside her head.) “But I prefer not to talk about it. It’s an operation that is—how shall I put it—on the borderline of legality … I hope you can understand.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t bother you with that anymore. But take care, the Brazilian police are no angels and I’d be sorry to see you in their hands.” He refilled her glass and then his own. Without quite knowing why, he added, “Don’t worry. I know it’s wrong, but it’s the way things are: if I had to choose I’d always be on the side of the smugglers rather than the police.”
“That’s all right, then. So I’m a contrabbandiere, for the moment …” Loredana said with a laugh. Then, with a change of tone but without it being clear whether the remark was connected with what had gone before, she said, “You certainly like a drink. It’s almost …”
Eléazard pursed his lips. “A bit too much perhaps. Is that what you mean? In Brazil the water’s more dangerous than wine and since the idea of drinking Coca Cola fills me with horror … Joking apart, avoid tap water like the plague; even filtered, it’s still dangerous. There’s new cases of hepatitis every day.”
“I know. I’ve already been warned.”
A flash of lightning followed by a particularly resounding clap of thunder made her start. The echo was still fading in the distance when the downpour hit the patio. It was heavy, violent rain, pattering on the polished leaves of the banana trees with force. The unexpected deluge created a kind of intimacy between Eléazard and Loredana, an enclosure of quiet and togetherness where they were happy to take refuge. The candle dribbled little transparent pearls, the mosquitos sizzled in the flame, bringing a momentary warm tone to the light. To the strong odor rising from the soil, the candle added unusual fragrances of church and of sandalwood.
“Perhaps we could call each other tu?” Loredana suggested, after a few minutes of silence enjoying the rain. “I’m fed up with having to make the effort.”
“I was going to suggest the same,” Eléazard agreed with a smile. Abandoning Lei, which suddenly brought them closer together, gave him an almost physical sensation of pleasure. “Your repellent really works,” he said, picking a mosquito out of his glass, “I haven’t had a bite since that one ages ago. But it’s true that it stinks to high heaven. I’m sure it would keep off policemen as well …”
Loredana laughed, but it was a slightly forced laugh. She felt guilty at having fooled Eléazard with her silly story of smuggling. The wine was starting to go to her head.
“So what do you do all day when you’re not sending your despatches, which don’t seem to take up much of your time anyway?”
“I live, I dream … I write. Recently I’ve been spending quite a lot of time at my computer.”
“What kind of things do you write?”
“Oh, nothing exciting. I’ve been commissioned to prepare a seventeenth-century manuscript for publication. The biography of a Jesuit father I’ve been working on for several years. It’s a piece of research rather than writing.”
“You’re a believer?” she asked, surprised.
“Not at all,” Eléazard assured her, “but this guy no one’s heard of is an interesting oddity. He wrote about absolutely everything, claiming each time and on each subject to have the sum total of knowledge. That was fairly standard at the time, but what fascinates me about him—and I’m talking about a man who was a contemporary of people like Leibniz, Galileo, Huygens and was much more famous than they—is that he was entirely wrong about everything. He even thought he’d managed to decipher the Egyptian hieroglyphs and everyone believed him until Champollion came along.
“Surely you’re not talking about Athanasius Kircher?” Loredana broke in, visibly interested.
Eléazard felt his hair stand on end. “It’s not possible … It’s just not possible,” he said as he looked at her, dumbfounded. “How come you know that?”
“I haven’t told you everything, far from it,” said Loredana in a tone of mystery and enjoying her advantage over him. “I’ve more than one string to my bow.”
“Please …” said Eléazard, putting on a hangdog expression.
“The simple reason is because I’m a sinologist. Well, not quite; I studied Chinese, a long time ago and I’ve read one or two books that talked about Kircher because of his work on China. Cazzo!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Puta merda!”
“What’s the matter?” Eléazard asked, taken aback by her swearing.
“Nothing,” she said, blushing again. “I’ve been bitten by a mosquito.”
SÃO LUÍS Swollen lips, the yielding fruit of the mango tree …
“Yes … Right … I want all of them, every last one … It’s of vital importance, I hope you understand that. Who?… One moment, I’ll check.”
The telephone wedged between his shoulder and his right ear, in a posture that made his cheek bulge around the receiver, Colonel José Moreira da Rocha unrolled a little more of the cadastral map spread out on his desk.
“What was it you said?… 367 … N.P.… B? N.B.… 40 … There, I’ve got it. Why is he refusing to sell? It’s nothing but forest and marshes. My God, what a load of cretins! Offer him twice the price and let him go hang. It all has to be sorted out within the fortnight … No … I said no, Wagner! I don’t want any trouble, especially not at the moment. And you know I don’t really like those methods anyway … How does he earn his living?… OK, I’ll see to it. Don’t you worry, it’ll go through even quicker than we thought. By the way, they’ve moved the meeting up: tomorrow, three o’clock … I don’t want to know! Be there without fail, I’m counting on you … That’s right … That’s right … OK, call back if there’s the least problem.”
As soon as he’d replaced the receiver, the Colonel leaned over to the intercom. “Anita, get me Frutas do Maranhão, please. And then I wouldn’t mind a little coffee.”
“Right, Colonel … Who do you want to speak to?”
“Bernardo Carvalho, the CEO …”
The Colonel leaned back in his chair to light a long cigarillo, savoring the first puffs with evident enjoyment. Behind him a little colonial-style window, the lower half with small yellow and green panes, cast a slightly acid light on his off-white suit. With his broad, clear forehead and wavy, black Franz Liszt hair hanging down over his ears, Governor Moreira da Rocha’s face was like a picture of a politician from the previous century. The impression was confirmed—or perhaps it was the detail that created it—by the presence of a pair of huge white side-whiskers encroaching on his cheeks to the corners of his mouth, setting off in a way that bordered on the obscene a heavy chin split in two by a cleft. With this frame, all eyes were drawn to his mouth; seen by itself, its fullness and the sensual pout of disdain that twisted it slightly made it look youthful. Meeting the Colonel’s eyes after that, lodged like two pieces of lead shot between the reptilian folds of his lids, one became aware of the cynicism a
ccumulated in their deep, grainy, blackish rings and it became impossible to say whether one was dealing with a fairly well-preserved old man or one prematurely aged by overindulgence. Moreira was aware of the unease caused by his expressive features and he always made skillful, sometimes even cruel, use of it.
The intercom crackled briefly. “That’s Bernardo Carvalho on the line, Colonel, extension three.”
The Colonel pressed a switch and settled back in his chair again. “Hi there, Nando?… Fine, and you? How are things with you, old chap?… Yes … Ha ha ha! You’d better watch out, at your age getting up to that kind of lark could cost you! You’ll have to introduce me to her so I can show her what life’s really about. But let’s get down to serious stuff. There’s a little shit, name of Nicanor Carneiro, who owns some property and who’s giving me problems. You know who it is?… No, nothing serious, but I’d like to give him a lesson, teach him good manners. You’re going to forget him for a while when you’re purchasing fruit … Just long enough for his bloody mangoes to rot. That’s right, yes … And do it so he can’t pass them off to someone else, eh … OK, amigo, don’t worry, I owe you. And I expect to see you at my little party, don’t forget. See you soon … Yes, that’s right … That’s right … Ciao, Nando, got to go now, there’s someone on the other line … Ciao …”
He relit his cigar when his secretary came in carrying a silver tray. Closing the door with her hip, she crossed the room carefully so as not to spill anything on the crimson wall-to-wall carpet.
A translucent, fine linen suit, boxwood pearls on her tanned skin, austere bun and stiletto heels. A woman to tempt all the saints of Bahia! Certainly something different from those frumps of the Nordeste.
“Your coffee, sir,” she said hesitantly, suddenly embarrassed at finding herself mentally undressed by the governor.
Moreira moved some papers that were right in front of him. “Put it down there, please.”
To put the tray down where he had indicated, Anita had to go around the desk to his right-hand side. The Colonel felt her body brush against his shoulder. Just as she was about to pour the coffee he slipped a hand up her skirt.
“No … Not that, sir …” she said, trying to move away. “Please … Don’t …”
His hand clamped to the flesh of her thigh, unmoving like a handler subduing a dog, he maintained his hold, relishing the way the young woman stiffened and the waves of panic running across her skin.
The ring of the telephone caught them in this petrified stuggle. Without letting go, the Colonel picked up the receiver with his free hand.
“Yes? No, darling … At the moment I still don’t know when I’ll be able to get away. But I’ll send the driver if you want … The sudden capture of the crotch, swollen lips, the yielding fruit of the mango tree … Now don’t be silly … Of course I love you, where did you get that idea … Earthy moisture, the jungle of the genitals, spongy under the kneading fingers … But of course, my love, I promise … Put on your glad rags, there’ll be quite a crowd … Go on, I’m listening. I’ve said I’m listening, now be reasonable, please.”
Tears in her eyes, leaning forward as if being searched by the police, Anita desperately scrutinized the bust facing her. Antônio Francisco Lisboa … Antônio Francisco Lisboa … With an absurd sense of urgency, she read and reread the inscription on the plaster, gorging on it as if it were an exorcism that could purify her.
CHAPTER 3
The happy chance that took Kircher to Provence, the distinguished figures he met there & how he achieved his first successes
HARDLY HAD WE reached the security of the Jesuit college in Mainz than the superiors of our Order decided to send Athanasius Kircher far away from the war and the German states. This favor was due solely to his renown, which was already considerable both within our Order & in learned societies the world over. He was given letters of recommendation to the College of Avignon & I was granted permission to accompany him in the capacity of private secretary.
In Paris, where we arrived without mishap, we were received with open arms by the Jesuits of the Collège de la Place Royale. There Kircher was to meet some of the learned scholars with whom he had been in correspondence for several years: Henry Oldenburg, first secretary of the Royal Society in London, who was visiting Paris, La Mothe Le Vayer & the Franciscan Marin Mersenne. With the latter he had long disputations on all kinds of questions that at the time were beyond my understanding. He also saw Monsieur Pascal, who seemed to him a peerless mathematician but a sad specimen of humanity & one whose faith smacked of heresy. The same was true of Monsieur Descartes, the apostle of the New Philosophy, who made a mixed impression on him.
He likewise met Monsieur Thévenot de Melquisedeq, who had travelled to China & had returned with an inordinate taste for oriental philosophies. Fascinated by Kircher’s knowledge of these difficult subjects, he invited him to spend several days at the Désert de Retz, a property he owned on the outskirts of Paris. I was not allowed to accompany him & am therefore not in a position to say what happened there, especially since Athanasius always maintained a discreet silence on the subject. But on the pretext of religion or some Chinoiseries, my master was compelled to witness scenes decency forbade him to describe, for every time he mentioned an example of human lechery or excesses to which idolatry or ignorance can lead, he would cite the Désert de Retz as the principal source of his experience.
After just a few weeks spent in Paris, we finally arrived at the Collège d’Avignon, where Father Kircher was to teach mathematics & Biblical languages. A Northerner brought up in the Germanic mists, Athanasius was immediately taken with the brightness of the South. It was as if the world were opening up again for him, as if he could suddenly see its divine light. More than a simple star to observe through the telescope, the Sun proved to be the lamp of God, His presence & His aura among men.
Discovering in the plain of Arles the wonderful predisposition of the sunflower to follow the course of the sun, my master conceived and immediately constructed a clock based on this singular principle. He filled a small, circular basin with water on which he floated a smaller disc bearing a pot containing one of those plants. No longer held back by its fixed roots, the sunflower was free to turn toward the daystar. A needle attached to the center of its corolla indicated the hours on the fixed ring which crowned this curious device.
“But above all this machine,” Kircher said when he presented it to the college authorities, “or, to be more precise, this biological engine in which art & nature are so perfectly combined, shows us how our soul turns toward the divine light, attracted to it by an analogous sympathy or magnetism of a spiritual order when we manage to free it from the vain passions that impede this natural inclination.”
The heliotropic clock was soon known through Provence & contributed greatly to the spread of his fame.
My master also found it a valuable advantage to be living close to the port of Marseilles. Thus it was that he had the good fortune to meet David Magy, a merchant of Marseilles; Michel Bégon, treasurer of the Levant Fleet in Toulon; & Nicolas Arnoul, master of the galleys, who had been commissioned to go to Egypt & bring back various objects for the King of France’s collections. It was through these people, who purchased all the curiosities the Jews & Arabs could bring them, that Kircher saw any number of little dried crocodiles & lizards, vipers & serpents, scorpions & chameleons, stones of rare color engraved with ancient figures & hieroglyphs as well as all sorts of Egyptian images made of glazed terracotta. He also saw some sarcophagi & a few mummies at the house of Monsieur de Fouquet, idols, stelae & inscriptions, of which he always begged to be allowed to make an impression. Athanasius never wearied of going around the country to visit these people and admire their collections. He bought, exchanged or copied everything that was directly relevant to his researches, especially Oriental books or manuscripts that reached the continent in Provence. Thus it was that one day he had the great good fortune to exchange an old astronomical telescope f
or an exceedingly rare Persian transcription of Saint Matthew’s Gospel.
Conjecturing that the Coptic still spoken in Egypt was like the petrified language of the ancient Egyptians & that it would be useful in penetrating the secrets of the hieroglyphs, Kircher immediately started to study it & became very knowledgeable in it within a few months.
My master seemed to have forgotten Germany & all his ties with Fulda; he never ceased to learn, nor to put his astonishing ingenuity into practice. Thus it was that, shortly after our arrival in Avignon, he had the idea of illustrating his knowledge of catoptrics by constructing an extraordinary machine. Working day and night in the tower of the Collège de la Motte he assembled, with his own hands, a device capable of representing the whole of the heavens. On the appointed day he astounded everyone by projecting the entire celestial mechanics onto the vault of the grand staircase. As if impelled by their own motion, the Moon, the Sun & the constellations moved in accordance with the rules established by Tycho Brahe, & by a simple & swift contrivance he was able to reproduce the precise state of the sky at any date in the past. In response to requests from teachers and students he thus presented the horoscopes of Our Lord Jesus Christ, of Pyrrhus, of Aristotle & Alexander.
It was on that occasion, as Pierre Gassendi recounts in his memoirs, that Nicolas Fabri de Peiresc, councillor at the parliament of Aix and a native of Beaugensier, was informed of Kircher’s researches. When he learned that my master was already well known for his knowledge of hieroglyphs, he insisted on meeting him.
A strange man, this Provençal country squire: fascinated by the sciences & the friend of some of the most distinguished scholars, he had conceived a passion for the antiquities of Egypt and their enigmatic script. He spent a fortune acquiring any object of importance in that area. Not long previously Father Minutius, a missionary in Egypt & the Levant, had offered him a papyrus roll covered in hieroglyphs that had been found in a sarcophagus, at the feet of a mummy. Peiresc had great hopes of Kircher’s ability to translate the pages and wrote inviting him to stay with him in Aix, at the same time sending him, as a gift, several rare books and a copy of the Table of Isis, also called the Bembine Table. As a postscript he asked him to bring with him the famous manuscript of Barachias Abenephuis, which Athanasius had been fortunate enough to acquire.
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