A General Theory of Oblivion

LULLABY FOR A SMALL DEATH

Odete insisted that they leave Angola. Her husband responded with muttered, harsh words. The women could go if they wanted. Let the settlers set sail. Nobody wanted them here. A cycle was being completed. A new time was beginning. Come sun or storm, the Portuguese would not be lit by the light of the future, nor lashed by wild hurricanes. The more he and Odete whispered, the angrier the engineer got. He could spend hours enumerating the crimes committed against the Africans, the mistakes, the injustices, the disgraces, until his wife gave up and shut herself away in the guest bedroom in tears. It was a huge surprise when he arrived home, two days before Independence, and announced that in a week’s time they would be in Lisbon. Odete opened her eyes wide:

‘Why?’

Orlando sat down in one of the living room armchairs. He pulled off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt and, finally, in a gesture quite unlike him, took off his shoes and put his feet up on the little coffee table.

‘Because we can. We can go, now.’

The next night the couple went out for yet another farewell party. Ludo waited for them to come home — reading, knitting, till two in the morning. She went to bed worried, and she slept badly. She got up at seven, put on a dressing gown, called out to her sister. Nobody answered. She was certain some tragedy must have befallen them. She waited an hour before looking for their address book. First she called the Nuneses, the couple who had organised the previous night’s party. One of the servants answered. The family had gone off to the airport. Mr Orlando the engineer and his wife had indeed been at the party, that was right, but they hadn’t stayed long. He’d never seen Mr Orlando in such a good mood. Ludo thanked him and hung up. She opened the address book again. Odete had scratched out in red ink the names of the friends who had left Luanda. Few remained. Only three answered, and none of them knew a thing. One of them, a maths teacher at the Salvador Correia high school, promised to phone a policeman friend of his. He would call back as soon as he had any information.

Hours passed. There was gunfire. First some isolated shots and then the intense crackle of dozens of automatic weapons. The telephone rang. A man who seemed still young, with a Lisbon accent, who sounded like he came from a good family, asked if he might speak to Miss Odete’s sister.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Take it easy, ma’m, we just want the stones.’

‘The stones?’

‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Give us your jewels and I give you my word of honour we’ll leave you in peace. Nothing’s going to happen to you. Not to you or to your sister. The two of you can go back to the big city on the next plane if that’s what you want.’

‘What have you done with Odete and my brother-in-law?’

‘The old man has been behaving irresponsibly. There are some people who mistake stupidity for courage. I’m an officer in the Portuguese army and I don’t like people trying to trick me.’

‘What have you done with her? What have you done with my sister?’

‘We don’t have much time. This can end well or it can end badly.’

‘I don’t know what you mean, I swear I don’t know …’

‘Look, you wanna see your sister again? Keep nice and quiet at home, don’t try to tell anyone. As soon as things have calmed down a bit we’ll come by your apartment to fetch the stones. You hand over the package and we’ll release Miss Odete.’

He said this and hung up. Night fell. Bullet-lines streaked across the sky. Explosions shook the windowpanes. Phantom hid behind one of the sofas. He was whimpering quietly. Ludo felt dizziness, felt agony. She ran to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet, then sat down on the floor, trembling. As soon as she had recovered her strength, she went straight over to Orlando’s study, which she entered only once every five days to dust and sweep the floor. The engineer was very proud of his desk, a solemn, fragile piece of furniture he had bought from a Portuguese antiques dealer. Ludo tried to open the first drawer. She couldn’t do it. She went to fetch a hammer and split it open in three furious blows. She found a pornographic magazine. She pushed it aside, disgusted, only to find a wad of hundred-dollar bills underneath, and a pistol. She held the gun with both hands. She felt its weight. She stroked it. This was what men used to kill each other. A dense, dark instrument, almost alive. She turned the apartment upside down. She found nothing. Finally she stretched out on one of the living room sofas and fell asleep. She awoke with a start. Phantom was tugging at her skirt. He was growling. A sea breeze gently lifted the fine lace curtains. There were stars floating in the void. The silence amplified the darkness. A wave of voices was coming up the corridor. Ludo got up, and she walked, barefoot, to the front door and looked through the spyhole. Outside, by the elevators, there were three men arguing in low voices. One of them pointed towards her — towards the door — with a crowbar:

‘A dog, I’m sure of it. I heard a dog barking.’

‘What are you talking about, Minguito?’ He was challenged by a tiny, very thin man dressed in a military dolman that was too wide and too long. ‘There’s nobody here. The settlers have gone. Go on. Knock that piece of shit down.’

Minguito walked up. Ludo stepped back. She heard the blow and, without stopping to think, she returned it, a violent blow against the wood that left her breathless. Silence. Then a shout:

‘Who’s there?’

‘Go away.’

Laughter. The same voice:

‘There’s one left behind! What’s up, ma, did they forget you?’

‘Please, go away.’

‘Open the door, ma. We only want what belongs to us. You people have been stealing from us for five hundred years. We’ve come to take what’s ours.’

‘I have a gun. Nobody is coming in.’

‘Lady, just take it easy. You give us your jewels, a bit of money, and we’ll leave. We’ve got mothers, too.’

‘No. I’m not opening up.’

‘OK, Minguito, knock it down.’

Ludo ran to Orlando’s study. She grabbed the pistol, walked back, and pointed it at the front door, squeezing the trigger. She would remember the moment of the gunshot day after day for the next thirty-five years. The bang, the slight jump of the gun. The quick pain in her wrist.

What would her life have been like without that one moment?

‘Argh, I’m bleeding. Ma, you’ve killed me.’

‘Trinitá! Pal, are you hurt?’

‘Get out of here, move it …’

Gunshots out in the street, very close. Shots attract other shots. Fire a bullet in the air and it will soon be joined by dozens of others. In a country in a state of war, any bang is enough. A faulty car exhaust. A rocket. Anything. Ludo went over to the door. She saw the hole made by the bullet. She put her ear to the wood. She heard the muted gasping of the wounded man:

‘Water, ma. Help me …’

‘I can’t … I can’t.’

‘Please, lady. I’m dying.’

The woman opened the door, shaking badly, never releasing her grip on the pistol. The burglar was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Were it not for the thick black beard, he might have been taken for a child. A childlike little face, covered in sweat, with big eyes that gazed at her without any bitterness.

‘Such bad luck, such bad luck, I’m not going to see Independence.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.’

‘Water. I’m so terribly thirsty.’

Ludo threw a frightened glance down the corridor.

‘Come inside. I can’t leave you here.’

The man dragged himself in, groaning. He moved across the floor, leaving behind a second shadow on the wall. One darkness unsticking itself from another. Ludo stepped in that shadow with her bare feet and slipped.

‘Oh God!’

‘I’m sorry, grandma. I’m messing up your house.’

Ludo closed the door. She locked it. She headed for the kitchen, took some cold water from the fridge, filled a glass and returned to the living room. The man drank greedily.

‘What I really need is just a little glass of fresh air.’

‘I have to call a doctor.’

‘It’s not worth it. They’d kill me anyway. Sing me a song, grandma?’

‘What?’

‘Sing. Sing me a song, something soft like cotton wool.’

Ludo thought of her father, humming popular old ditties from Rio de Janeiro to put her to sleep. She placed the pistol on the wooden floor tiles, knelt down, took the burglar’s tiny hands in hers, brought her mouth close to his ear, and sang.

She sang for a long time.

No sooner had the dawn light woken the house than Ludo summoned all her courage, gathered the dead man in her arms, without too much effort, and carried him out to the terrace. She went to fetch a shovel. She dug a narrow grave in one of the flowerbeds, amid the yellow roses.

Months earlier, Orlando had started to build a small swimming pool on the terrace. The war had stopped the work. The workers had left piles of bricks, and bags of cement and sand leaning against the walls. The woman dragged some of the material down the stairs. She unlocked the front door and went out. She began to construct a wall in the hallway, cutting off the apartment from the rest of the building. She spent the whole morning doing it. It was not until the wall was ready, and she had smoothed down the cement, that she felt hungry and thirsty. She heated up some soup, sat at the kitchen table and ate slowly. She gave some leftover roast chicken to the dog.

‘Now it’s just you and me.’

The animal came over and licked her fingers.

The blood had dried by the front door, forming a dark stain. There were footprints leading from there to the kitchen. Phantom licked them. Ludo pushed him away. She went to fetch a bucket of water, some soap and a brush, and she cleaned it all up. Then she took a hot shower. As she was stepping out of the tub the phone rang. She picked it up.

‘Things got complicated. We weren’t able to come by yesterday to collect the goods. We’ll be coming over soon.’

Ludo put down the phone without answering. It rang again. Then it let up for a moment, but as soon as the woman turned her back it resumed its shrieking, nervously insisting on her attention. Phantom came out of the kitchen. He began to run in circles, barking fiercely at each jingling noise. Suddenly he jumped onto the table, knocking over the handset. The fall was violent. Ludo shook the black box. Something inside had come loose. She smiled.

‘Thank you, Phantom. I don’t think this will be bothering us any more.’

Outside in the turbulent night, rockets and mortars exploded. Cars hooted their horns. Looking out of the window, the Portuguese woman saw the crowd making its way along the roads, filling the squares with an urgent, desperate euphoria. She shut herself in her room. She stretched out on the bed. She buried her face in the pillow. She tried to imagine herself very far away, in the safety of her old house in Aveiro, watching old movies on television while sipping tea and crunching on pieces of toast. She couldn’t do it.