Where Tigers Are at Home

by Jean-Marie Blas de Robles

  When, two hours later, he reached the sitio de la Pitombera, he’d almost persuaded himself he had things under control again. When he pushed open the door of the little cottage that, unknown to his wife, he only used for amorous escapades, he found Manuel and Pablo sitting at the table with a bottle of wine.

  “Get your stuff together,” he said immediately, “we’re leaving —” It was only after he’d spoken that sentence, which he’d repeated over and over to himself during the last few miles of the journey, that he realized from their evasive looks that something was wrong. At that same moment armed police burst into the room.

  OF ALL THE things that happened following this, the only one that Loredana doubtless hadn’t foreseen was the local population’s reaction to the three Americans in the Caravela Hotel. On the day when she came back from São Luís with the ticket for her flight confirmed by Varig Airlines, she met Eléazard and Soledade to attend the funeral of the Carneiro family. It was a rainy morning, making the sad occasion even more dismal. Hundreds of people had come to join the procession organized by the priest of Alcantâra. As it passed, people opened their doors and windows to allow free access to the souls of the dead.

  “Give them rest eternal!” a relative or friend would cry. “And light perpetual, O Glorious One. Help them to die!”

  And they dropped everything to come out and join the funeral cortege.

  “Come, brother of their souls!” the crowd would repeat to welcome the one who’d just joined them.

  No one was crying, so as not to make the wings of the little corpse wet and thus stop him from entering paradise. Nicanor! Gilda! Egon! They called on the dead by their Christian names to make them feel lighter in their deal coffins. Lamentations of grief to help the deceased to die, lamentations in the hour of death, lamentations at the moment the cock crowed for the last time, lamentations on the dawn in which the inert parts of the body and every item of clothing are chanted: songs of mourning and litanies flow in one single lament, the echo reverberating from the ruined façades of the town. A long, ochre groan, rust tarnishing the steel of the sky. The men were getting drunk, a drummer was summoning the rain.

  Eléazard suspected Alfredo was behind what happened when they got back from the cemetery. Rumors went from mouth to mouth, excitement took over. Like a shoal of fish responding to the strange magnetism governing their least movement, the whole crowd gathered in the square, outside the Caravela Hotel. “Yankees out! Death to the CIA!” An almost mystical frenzy twisted their lips, raised their fists. They thought the three Americans had barricaded themselves in their room, but Alfredo saw them coming back from a bar and approaching the mob with no idea that they themselves were the cause of the commotion. A stone flew, immediately followed by dozens of other projectiles. The man put his hand to his face and stared in amazement at the blood on his fingers. Hardly restrained by the priest, who was exhorting them to remain calm, the people of Alcântara advanced toward the object of their fury. Instinctively the Americans drew back, then started to run, panic-stricken, toward the landing stage. The Dragão do mar was preparing to cast off and the people let them take refuge on board without pursuing them further. Hurrying to the scene, those who had gone into the hotel threw the foreigners’ suitcases toward the boat—not properly closed, they burst open before they reached it. The sea was covered with female clothes and items of underwear, which sent the kids clustering the bank into howls of laughter.

  Watching the boat disappear, Loredana said, with a sigh of resignation, “I suppose it was bound to end like that …”

  “It’s nice to see, all the same,” said Eléazard, misinterpreting what she had said. “Anyway, they got away, though it was a close shave. Did you see all those panties?”

  “I saw them,” she said with a smile. “To tell you the truth, I’d forgotten those clowns …”

  Eléazard looked at her, slightly surprised. Her expression showed the kind of embarrassment, tinged with a feeling of unease and vulnerability, that precedes a confession. Later on, when he was going through his memories, he would regret not having embraced her at that moment. It would doubtless have changed the course of events.

  “So what were you going to say?” he asked gently.

  “It’s not because of the suitcases,” was her enigmatic reply. “There’s not much left of a story when it’s finished. Stuff floating on the sea, like after a shipwreck …”

  Still not looking at him, she felt for his hand and took it in hers in a way that was quite natural.

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “More than that,” Eléazard said, trying to conceal his emotion, “you know very well …”

  “If one day I need you … I mean, if I call for help, from the depths of … You’ll be there?”

  Eléazard took this unusual request with the seriousness it deserved. He gave Loredana’s hand a squeeze to let her know he would answer her call, whatever happened. Overjoyed to finally see her with her defenses down, he didn’t realize that that was the very moment when she needed him. Perhaps it would have taken no more than that flash of understanding to keep her there, to stop her from turning those moments of silence on the planks of the landing stage into a farewell. Perhaps she wouldn’t have changed her decision, but how can one know? He was afraid of offending her if he took her in his arms, afraid of appearing indiscreet if he asked about the reason for her sadness, afraid of irritating her if he told her that her anxieties were not worth the bother and that life was there and he loved her.

  Together they waited for night to fall over the sea. Then she felt cold, because of the drizzle, and said she wanted to go back. Hand in hand they walked toward the square. Neither of them said a word, they were so choked with emotion and sure they would burst out sobbing. As they parted, she kissed him on the lips; Eléazard watched her go to the hotel without for a moment suspecting that they would never see each other again.

  SÃO LUÍS: He’d find himself in Manaus in no time at all!

  Going up the steps to the Palacio Estadual, Colonel José Moreira noted the sheepish expressions of the porters who stood at attention to salute him. Everyone knew already … Rats leaving the sinking ship! But surely they didn’t think he was going to let them go ahead without taking countermeasures. Quick enough when asking for handouts, but when it came to defending their boss, there was no one there … OK, that was the way the game was played, as he knew better than anyone. I’m going to show them, he told himself as he forced himself to smile at all and sundry, that people don’t defy me and get away with it. When he entered his office, briefcase under his arm, even Anna was favored with a pat on the rump. Good thing he hadn’t waited until he got to the palace to read the papers! At least he’d been alone when he’d received the shock, in the rear of his car, with no need to put a bold face on it for these hyenas. He’d also had enough time to work out a strategy for a counterattack. Having said that, the bastards who’d compiled the dossier against him had done an excellent job. Certain details were only known to a very limited number of people, they couldn’t have come out without collusion from someone close to him. You could never be too cautious … One day the guy who’d done this to him would be on his knees, begging for mercy.

  “The press review is on your desk, sir,” his secretary said, trying to sound businesslike but unable to restrain a note of satisfaction. “The minister of justice, Edson Barbosa, Jr., called and asked you to call back as a matter of urgency. There’s also a news team from TV Globo asking for an interview. I’ve put the journalist’s card in your diary.”

  “Thanks, Anna,” he said, placing both hands flat on his desk. “Cancel all my meetings for this morning, I don’t want to see anyone. Tell Jodinha and Santos to come here as soon as they arrive.”

  “They’re already here, Governor.”

  “Good.” Moreira looked at his watch, yes, even those two were in early today. “I’ll see them at ten, I’ve a few telephone calls to make and I don’t want to be distu
rbed before then. For anything that doesn’t concern merely administrative matters—you see what I mean, don’t you?—you’ll steer them toward the press secretary.”

  “What shall I say to the television people?”

  Moreira’s first impulse was to send them away, but then he thought it would be a good idea to issue an official denial of the accusations. “Eleven o’clock, after the meeting. They can set up in the meeting room now if that suits them.”

  The governor waited until she had closed the door before he dialed the first number, that of the state’s Department of Political and Social Order. “Is that Superintendent Frazão? Moreira da Rocha here … Yes, Superintendent, yes … I was one of the last to hear about it and I’m not very happy about that. How could such a blunder have been made? You have good reason to make yourself agreeable to me, if I remember rightly … No, no excuses, it’s facts I want, Superintendent, facts! Who’s responsible for this fucking mess?… What was that? Waldemar de Oliveira …” He noted the name down to remind himself. “Where’s he been all the time? OK, OK, I understand … And my lawyer, Wagner Cascudo?… But what do you expect him to say, for God’s sake? He’s done nothing wrong … How much has bail been set at? Two hundred thousand?… Yes, I’m listening … I’ll do the necessary … But of course I’m counting on you, Superintendent, and it’s in your own interest to tell me precisely what happens … I made you and I can unmake you whenever it suits me. Just remember that, Franzão.”

  He slammed the receiver down and lit a cigarette. Whoever had set this up hadn’t pulled his punches. And he’d been so quick, for Christ’s sake! It was hard to believe … He had to get Wagner out of prison before the stupid bugger turned informer …

  He called Vicente Bilunquinha, a young lawyer who owed him, amongst other little sweeteners, his membership in the Lions Club. “Good morning … Yes, a nice election stunt, they’re pulling out all the stops this time but they won’t get away with it, you’ll see … But while we’re on the subject, could you attend to our friend Wagner Cascudo? You’d be doing me a great service. I have complete confidence in you, you know that … Yes … I’ll send you the amount for bail by special courier … Exactly. Call me back as soon as he’s out and keep him snug. Be sure to tell him I’ll see to everything, he needn’t worry … A thousand thanks, Vivente, I’ll pay you back for this … With pleasure, of course. I’ll discuss it with my wife and get back to you … Ciao, Vicente, ciao. Ciao. To your wife as well, ciao …”

  He’d hardly replaced the receiver when he started as the phone rang:

  “Moreira here. Who’s that? Oh, it’s you, Edson … I was just about to call you … I know, yes, I know, but they’ve nothing they can use against me. It’s our political opponents, they’re just bluffing. It’ll all die down in a few days.… Don’t worry, I tell you, I’ve got things well in hand. I’m going to make a statement on Globo in an hour or so, just to clarify matters … There’s nothing in it, I assure you. It’s a complete fabrication. You know me, I wouldn’t do something like that … The speculation? That does exist, of course, Edson … As far as I’m aware we haven’t made a law against making a profit yet. On that point, forgive me for reminding you, but you’re hardly in a position to lecture others … That’s not what I meant, Edson, but if anyone comes looking for trouble, they’ll get it. Neither you, nor I, nor the Party stand to gain anything from all this fuss. Let me remind you that the elections take place in three weeks’ time, so I’d be grateful if you could have a look into this business. It’s in all our interest, as you very well know … Yes … De Oliveira, Waldemar de Oliveira … A little shit-stirrer from Santa Inês. I don’t know how he did it, but he’s managed to bypass all my officials here … That would be perfect, Edson. I’m delighted we speak the same language … OK, I’ll see to it and I’ll keep you up to date …”

  Moreira threw himself back in his chair and exhaled slowly. A smile on his lips, he took deep breaths, like an athlete after a race. He’d got out of that nicely, and no mistake! If the minister of justice himself was going to look into the question then that Oliveira wasn’t going to have much of a future … He’d find himself in Manaus in no time at all! The counteroffensive had started, all that was left was to close off his links to Wagner and put any compromising documents in a safe place.… There was nothing sensitive about the resort project in itself. The reason he’d kept it secret so far was merely a matter of expedience. First and foremost he had to control the media; he was going to have to grease quite a few palms, but he could use the secret funds put aside for that very purpose. A couple of favorable editorials, get that prosecutor involved in a juicy sex scandal—he’d have to speak to Santos and Jodinha, surely his advisers could find some druggie to claim he shagged little boys—and by the time the guy had managed to extricate himself from the tissue of lies he’d be back in the saddle for another term … The governor felt he was growing claws. For the first time that morning he was optimistic about the future again.

  “Moreira,” he said as he lifted the receiver. “Oh, it’s you, darling …” Suddenly he felt a hot flush down the back of his neck. “You’re not going to believe everything they say in the newspapers? Not you, surely? I swear to you I’ve nothing to … Carlotta! There’s no question of that, I refuse, d’you hear? I … Carlotta! Carlotta?”

  For a moment he considered calling straight back. But it was better to give her time to calm down. He’d see that evening, at the fazenda. It really would be the last straw if she joined in … The fact that Mauro was missing was almost driving her crazy … A twinge in the region of the sternum told him he wasn’t going to be able to get her to change her mind. Not this time. For a moment he imagined life without Carlotta, then dismissed the thought, he found it such an insult to his sense of order and symmetry.

  CHAPTER 27

  How the decision to erect another obelisk was reached & the subsequent discussion on the choice of a suitable animal

  THE WHITMONDAY CELEBRATIONS passed off perfectly. It was on that occasion that the Supreme Pontiff very clearly expressed his desire to erect an obelisk, the one, to be precise, that had just been unearthed during the works carried out by the Dominicans around the church of Santa-Maria sopra Minerva. Once more Kircher was to collaborate with his sculptor friend on the design of a statue worthy not only of that monument from antiquity but also of the Piazza Minerva, of which it would be the principal ornament.

  Cavaliere Bernini had been called to Paris by Louis XIV in order to revise the plans for his Louvre Palace & to sculpt a bust of him at the head of his army. Since he could stand neither the courtiers nor the climate of that city, he returned to Rome at the end of October, the richer by three thousand louis d’or & an annuity of twelve thousand livres as a reward for his services. When he arrived at the College to tell us his ideas on the Piazza Minerva monument, Kircher & I were busy with Father Grueber, taking notes on his journey to China.

  “Come now,” Kircher said with a smile, “don’t despair! Rome wasn’t built in a day & with God’s help I’m sure we’ll manage to restore the original wisdom of the ancients. And since the matter has cropped up at such an opportune moment, tell me, Lorenzo, what are your suggestions for the Minerva obelisk?”

  “Given the small size of the object, I feel it’s impossible to design a majestic monument in the style of the Pamphilius Fountain. Therefore I had the idea of simply placing it on the back of a animal whose symbolic value could match that of the hieroglyphs. That is as far as I’ve gotten, since I don’t know what they contain, though certain animals, for example the tortoise & the armadillo, do fascinate me from an artistic point of view, so that I have started to sketch out some designs using them.”

  Kircher looked dubious. “We’ll go into the choice of animal later. Anyway, it’s less important that it corresponds to the teaching of the hieroglyphs carved on the obelisk than to that of the Church & of the Supreme Pontiff, her symbol in this world. But so that you have all the details necessary for your
work, I will give you my translation now.”

  Athanasius picked up a sheet of paper from the table &, after having cleared his throat, read the following in solemn tones:

  “Mophta, the supreme spirit and archetype, instills his virtues into the sidereal world, that is, this solar spirit subject to him. From which the vital movement in the material or elemental world proceeds; & from which the abundance of all things as well as the variety of species arises.

  “It flows out unceasingly from the Osirian mud, attracted by some wondrous sympathy & strong in the power hidden in his figure with two faces.

  “O clairvoyant Chen-Osiris, guardian of the sacred canals, symbols of the aqueous nature of which all life consists!

  “Through the good will of Ophionus, that spirit sufficient to obtain favors and the propagation of life, principles to which this tablet is consecrated, & with the assistance of the humid Agathodaemon of divine Osiris, the seven towers of the heavens are protected from all damage. That is why the image of the Same must be presented circularly in the sacrifices & ceremonies.

  “The left hand of Nature or the fountain of Hecate, that is the swirling that is the very respiration of the universe, is evoked by sacrifices & attracted by that in which the demon Polymorphus produces the generous variety of things in the quadripartite world.