Confession of the Lioness

The Hunter’s Diary: SEVEN. The Demon Saint

I hear gunfire in the middle of the night. I feel like leaving Palma, setting off down the road and discovering the origins of those shots that seem to be coming from the direction of Kulumani. But I’m stuck, anchored to the floor where I’ve just loved as I’ve never loved before. Next to me, the only woman in the universe is asleep. Half dressed, Luzilia lies in repose on the bed, as if that dank, mildewy guesthouse were her palace.

* * *

How I missed being awake!

Luzilia stretches as if she were being born. I’ve been watching her for hours, in the half-light of this guesthouse in Palma.

Have you been looking at me for long?

Forever.

Well, I woke up as if I’d been sleeping forever. And you?

I heard shots a little while ago. They were coming from the direction of Kulumani. I’ve got to go.

Luzilia doesn’t seem to have been listening. She gets dressed with that slowness that only happiness confers. Then she sits down again and hugs the pillow as she speaks.

I dreamed of a madwoman, one I knew because she was a patient at my hospital. Do you know what she did?

The woman collected butterflies; she would scrape their wings and keep the pollen in a jar. What did she do with this pollen? She filled her own pillow. Like that, she flew away while she slept.

This pillow must be packed with pollen.

I dangle the car keys in my hand. Luzilia understands the message. She suggests I go back to Kulumani and return to fetch her later. She wants to sleep a bit longer, extend her time as a butterfly in search of new wings.

* * *

Palma is a small town. If there are two vehicles, they are bound to pass each other in its streets. I almost collide with the car in which Florindo Makwala is traveling. He rolls down his window, and without getting out of the jeep, wants to know what I’m doing there, far from the village.

I’ve been hunting over this way. But I heard shots coming from the village.

They’ve killed the lions. My men have killed the lions.

So what is the administrator of Kulumani doing here? Shouldn’t he be celebrating with his men, with his loyal people?

Naftalinda was injured, and I brought her to the hospital. Nothing very serious, but she’s got to stay there.

Did anyone else get injured?

Genito was killed.

Genito killed the lioness, Maliqueto killed the lion. The only thing left for me to do, the last hunter in the world, is to verify the success of these shameless killers. The only thing left for me, Archangel Bullseye, who knew about bullets but not about writing, is to write up the report of the incident.

But the administrator doesn’t want me to leave for the village just yet. He asks me to stop for a few minutes at the clinic. Naftalinda would be very happy to see me. Afterward, we would return together to Kulumani.

* * *

The First Lady occupies a private room. The sheets cover her vast body somewhat parsimoniously. Naftalinda’s shoulder is swathed in a large bandage, which looks like a minute rag on her. The woman takes my hand and looks at me with a maternal air:

I have a request to make. Take Mariamar with you to Maputo.

Mariamar?

She’s Hanifa’s youngest daughter. Next week I’ll be going back there too, and I’ll look after her.

Don’t worry, I’ll take her.

You’re a good man — you remind me of Raimundo, the village blind man. You have something in common, there’s something uncanny …

Uncanny?

That man is out and about at night, he sleeps out in the open. And yet he was always spared by the lions. Do you know why he was never attacked?

Don’t tell me he’s one of the lion-men?

On the contrary. It’s because, of all the villagers, he’s the only one who is a complete person, a complete human being. Just like you, our hunter—

And now me, Makwala butts in.

Yes, you as well. You’ve become my man again, my dear Florindo. Then she turns to me again: If you’d seen him last night …

I’ve got to go, Dona Naftalinda, I excuse myself politely.

Let me look at you. You look so happy, so young.

Last night I slept in good company.

So did I. Last night I was happy, after such a long time. Even with my pains, I was well loved, I slept well and dreamed well.

Naftalinda dreamed that her mother was lulling her once again in her arms. But she sang to her in Portuguese, which in real life never happened. All the lullabies were in Shimakonde.

Until yesterday, she says, my dreams couldn’t speak with my memories. Last night they could. Last night I was lulled by time.

* * *

On the way back, Florindo confesses that he’s going to quit his post. He’s going to be a teacher again. It’s not out of choice, but he’s resigned to it.

If it was down to me, I like politics more. But with Naftalinda, it just won’t work. Then, after a pause, he adds: You’ll write up your report on the hunt, I’ll write up the indictment against those who raped Tandi.

Tell me what happened with Genito.

It was a simple but enigmatic story, like everything that happens in Kulumani. The man had succumbed while killing the lioness, next to the road. The same lioness that had attacked Naftalinda and Mariamar.

Was Genito taken by surprise?

The administrator didn’t know the details. But he did know that the tracker and the lioness died together in mutual embrace, as if they both recognized each other as close relatives.

It was very difficult to pull their bodies apart. It was like a reverse birth. Apparently the writer even shed a tear. He couldn’t even take a photo of them.

* * *

I imagine the writer and his tear. Certainly an invented tear, just like the word he had created. And then I think the journey was worth it for him. Gustavo Regalo now knows what a lion is. And he knows even better what a man is. He’ll never again ask the reason for hunting. Because there’s no answer. Hunting happens independently of reason: It’s a passion, a giddy hallucination.

Are you sad you weren’t the one to kill the lions? Gustavo asks, point-blank.

Me, sad?

I know what you’re going to answer. That you don’t kill, you hunt.

I spent the night with the woman of my dreams. How can I be sad? For sure, maybe I’ll now want all the nights time has to offer. The hunter is a man addicted to miracles. The hunter is a demon saint.