The Stone Raft

...

These were also the days of the third exodus. The first, which was fully reported at the appropriate moment, was of the foreign tourists who fled in terror from what then, how time passes, still seemed no more than the possible danger that a crack would cleave the Pyrenees as far down as sea level, and what a pity this unexpected misfortune didn't stop there, just imagine how proud Europe would have felt to find itself endowed, as it were, with a geological canyon compared to which the one in Arizona would look no bigger than a tiny ditch. The second exodus was that of the rich and powerful when the fracture became irreparable, when the peninsula's course, although still slow, seemed to be gathering speed, showing, in a manner we believe definitive, the precariousness of established structures and ideas. It then became clear how the social edifice, with all its complexity, is no more than a house of cards, solid only in appearance, we need only shake the table on which it stands and the house collapses. And the table in this instance, and for the first time in history, had moved by itself, dear God, let's save our precious possessions and precious lives and get away from here.

The third exodus, the one we were discussing before summing up the first two, had in a sense two components or parts, which some believe should be referred to, in view of their essential differences, as the third and the fourth exodus. Tomorrow, that is to say in the distant future, those historians who will devote themselves to the study of events that have changed the face of the earth, in both an alle gorical and a literal sense, will decide, let us hope with the reflection and impartiality of whoever dispassionately observes the phenomena of the past, whether or not this division should be made, as some people now maintain. The latter claim that it betrays a serious lack of critical judgment or sense of proportion to equate the retreat of millions of people from the coastal regions inland and the flight of a few thousand people abroad, simply an account of the undeniable coincidence in the timing of the one exodus and the other. And although we have no intention of taking sides in the debate or of expressing any opinions, it costs us nothing to recognize that while the two groups of people might have experienced the same fear, their methods and means of remedying this fear were quite different.

In the first case, they were nearly all people with few possessions, who, finding themselves forced to move elsewhere by the authorities and the harsh realities of their situation, hoped at most to save their lives by trusting in some miracle, luck, chance, fate, good fortune, prayer, faith in the Holy Ghost, by wearing an amulet around their neck, the Star of David, or a holy medal, and by holding onto all those other traditional beliefs and customs too numerous to mention here but which can be summed up in that other well-known saying, My hour has not yet come. In the second case, the refugees were people with assets and wealth at their disposal who had held out to see how things would go, but now there was no longer any doubt, the planes operating the new shuttle service were full, the mail boats, cargo vessels, and other smaller craft carried their maximum load. Let us draw a discreet veil over certain unedifying episodes, bribes, intrigues, and treacherous betrayals were common, even crimes, and some people were murdered for a ticket, it was a sorry sight, but, the world being what it is, we would be ingenuous to expect anything better. In short, all things considered, most likely the history books will record a fourfold rather than a triple exodus, not for the sake of precise classification, but lest we should confuse the wheat with the chaff.

But they will nevertheless exclude anything in the summary analysis given here that might reflect, however involuntarily, a certain mental attitude tainted by Manichaeism, a tendency, that is, to give an idealized picture of the lower orders and a superficial condemnation of the upper classes, who are readily but not always correctly labeled as being rich and powerful, which naturally provokes hatred and dislike, along with base feelings of envy, the source of all evils. Of course the poor exist, and their presence cannot be ignored, but we must not overrate them. Especially since they are not and never have been models of patience, of resignation, of the self-imposed discipline needed in this crisis. Anyone remote from these events and locations, who imagined that the Iberian refugees who crowded into houses, shelters, hospitals, barracks, warehouses, or whatever army tents or huts it was possible to requisition, along with those relinquished and set up by the military, and the even greater number of people without accommodation, huddled here and there under bridges and trees, inside abandoned cars, or even out in the open, anyone who imagined that these angels were visited by God may know a great deal about angels and God, but he knows little about mankind.

Without fear of exaggeration one can say that the inferno, in mythical times, distributed uniformly throughout the entire peninsula, as we recalled in the opening of this narrative, is now concentrated into a vertical strip about thirty kilometers wide, extending from northern Galicia to the Algarve, along with the uninhabited lands to the west, which few people regard as effective buffers. For example, if the Spanish government had no need to leave Madrid, so comfortably positioned inland, anyone wishing to locate the Portuguese government will now have to travel to Elvas, which is the city farthest from the coast, if you draw a straight line, more or less latitudinal, from Lisbon. Among the starving refugees, exhausted from lack of sleep, with old people dying, children screaming and crying, the men without work, the women supporting the entire family, quarrels inevitably break out, insults are exchanged, there is disorder and violence, theft of clothes and food, people are kicked out and assaulted, and also, would you believe, there is so much loose living that these settlements are transformed into mass brothels, really shameful, an appalling example for the older children who may still know their father and mother but have no idea what children they themselves will engender, or where or by whom. This aspect of the situation is less important, clearly, than it appears at first sight, consider how little attention today's historians give to periods that, for one reason or another were somewhat similar, especially the present one. When all is said and done, perhaps in moments of crisis indulging the flesh is what best serves the deeper interests of humanity and of human beings, both habitually harassed as they are by morality. But since this is a controversial hypothesis, let's move on, the mere allusion is enough to satisfy the scruples of the impartial observer.

Amid this tumult and confusion, however, there exists an oasis of peace, these seven creatures who live in the most perfect harmony, two women, three men, a dog, and a horse, although the last of these may have to swallow several reasons for complaint regarding the distribution of labor, having to pull on its own a loaded wagon, but even this will be remedied one day. The two women and two of the men constitute two happy couples, only the third man is without a partner, perhaps he does not mind this privation given his age, so far, at least, there have been none of those unmistakable signs of edginess that betray an excess of blood in the glands. As for the dog, whether it seeks and finds other pleasures when it goes in search of food, we cannot say, for even though the dog is in this respect the greatest exhibitionist among animals, certain species are discreet. Let us hope no one takes it into his head to follow this one, certain unwholesome pryings must be curbed in the name of hygiene. Perhaps these considerations about relationships and forms of behavior would be less imbued with sexuality were not the newly formed couples, whether out of intense passion or because their love is so new, so exuberantly demonstrative, which, let it be said before anyone thinks evil, does not mean that they kiss and embrace each other without regard for their surroundings, they are restrained to this extent, what they cannot conceal is the aura that surrounds them or that they exude. Only a few days ago Pedro Orce saw the glow of the brazier from the summit of the mountain. Here on the edge of the forest where they now live, sufficiently remote from the settlements to imagine themselves alone, but sufficiently close to ensure supplies of provisions, they might believe in happiness were they not living, for who knows how much longer, under the threat of a cataclysm. But they are taking advantage of each moment, they would claim, as the poet exhorted, Carpe diem, the merit of these old Latin quotations is that they contain a world of secondary and tertiary meanings, not to mention the latent and undefined ones, so that when one starts to translate, Enjoy life, for example, it sounds feeble and insipid, not worth the effort. Therefore we insist on saying Carpe diem, and we feel like gods who have decided not to be eternal in order to be able, in the precise meaning of the expression, to take advantage of their time.

What time still remains, one cannot say. Radios and television sets are going twenty-four hours a day, there are no longer news bulletins at certain hours, programs are interrupted every second to read the latest news flash, and there are endless announcements, We're now at a distance of three hundred and fifty kilometers, We're now at a distance of three hundred and twenty-seven, We're able to report that the islands of Santa Maria and São Miguel have been completely evacuated, the evacuation of the remaining islands has been stepped up, We're at a distance of three hundred and twelve kilometers, A small team of American scientists has remained at the base in Lajes, they will leave, by plane of course, only at the last minute, in order to witness the collision from the air, let's use the word collision without any adjectives. A request from the government of Portugal that a Portuguese be included as an observer in the aforesaid team went unheeded. There are three hundred and four kilometers to go, those responsible for the recreational and cultural programs on television and radio discuss what should be broadcast, some insist on classical music given the seriousness of the situation, others argue that classical music is depressing, that it would be preferable to broadcast some light music, French chansons of the thirties, Portuguese fados, Spanish malagueñas and other popular airs from Seville, lots of rock and folk music, the top tunes from the Eurovision song contest. But surely such cheerful music will shock and upset people who are living through this terrible crisis, retort the classical buffs. It would be worse if we were to play funeral marches, the advocates of lighter music allege, and the argument raged on with neither side giving an inch, two hundred and eighty-five kilometers to go.

Joaquim Sassa's radio has been used sparingly, he has some batteries in reserve, but is reluctant to use them, No one can tell what tomorrow will bring, a popular saying that tells us a good deal, here we could almost bet on what tomorrow will bring, death and destruction, millions of corpses, half the peninsula going under. But those moments when the radio is switched off soon become unbearable, time grows tangible, viscous, it grips your throat, you sense that you are about to feel the impact at any moment although we are still far away, the tension is intolerable, Joaquim Sassa switches on the radio, E uma casa portuguesa com certeza é com certeza uma casa portuguesa, the delightful voice sings of life, Dónde vas de mantón de Manila dónde vas con el rojo clavel, the same delight, the same life, but in another language, then they all sigh with relief, they're twenty kilometers closer to death, but what does that matter, death has yet to be announced, the Azores are not in sight, Sing, girl, sing.

Seated in the shade of a tree, they have just finished eating, and they could pass for nomads in their habits and dress, they have changed so much in so short a time, the result of having no comforts, their clothes are creased and stained, the men are unshaven, but let us not reproach them or the women, whose lips are now their natural color, turned pale from anxiety, perhaps when their last hour comes they will put on some lipstick and prepare themselves to receive death with dignity, ebbing life does not warrant so much effort. Maria Guavaira is leaning against Joaquim Sassa's shoulder, she grips him by the hand. Several tears appear among her eyelashes, but not because she is afraid of what is about to happen. These are tears of love that come springing to her eyes. And José Anaiço cradles Joana Carda in his arms, kisses her on the forehead, then her eyelids close, If only I could take this moment with me where I am going, I would ask no more, only one moment, not this moment as I am speaking, but that previous one, and the one before that, now almost vanished, I failed to grasp it as I experienced it and now it is too late. Pedro Orce has got up and walks away, his white hair gleams m the sun, he too carries the aura of cold light. The dog has followed him with lowered head. But they won't go very far. They now keep together as much as possible, neither of them wishes to be alone when the disaster occurs. The horse, as the experts claim, is the only animal that does not know it is going to die, it feels contented despite the great trials it has endured on its long journey. It munches the hay, shakes off the gadflies with a shudder, sweeps its grizzled flank with the long hair of its tail, probably unaware that it had been about to end its days in the semidarkness of a dilapidated stable, among cobwebs and dung, its infected lungs gasping for breath, how true that the misfortune of some is the fortune of others, however short-lived.

The day passed, another came and went, one hundred and fifty kilometers to go. You can sense the terror growing like a black shadow, the panic becomes a flood seeking out weak spots in the dike, corroding the stone foundations until they finally give way, and those who so far had remained more or less peacefully in their camps, began to move farther eastward, now realizing that they were far too close to the coast, only some seventy or eighty kilometers away, they could visualize the islands tearing through the land as far as where they were, and the sea inundating everything, the mountain on the island of Pico like some ghostly presence, Who knows, perhaps with the impact the volcano will become active once more, But there is no volcano on Pico, but no one listened to this or any other explanation. Naturally, the roads became congested, each crossroads a knot impossible to untie, at one point one could neither advance nor retreat, people were trapped like mice, but scarcely any were willing to give up the few possessions they were carrying in order to seek salvation by taking to the fields. In order to arrest this influx by its own good example, the Portuguese government abandoned the security of Elvas and installed itself at Evora, while the Spanish government settled more conveniently at León, whence they issued communiqués countersigned respectively by the President of our Republic and by the Sovereign of their Realm, for we should have mentioned that our President and their King have accompanied their respective Prime Ministers at every stage of the crisis, even offering to go and confront the hysterical mobs with extended arms, exposing themselves to some act of violence or aggression, and to address them once more, Friends, Romans, countrymen, and so on and so forth. No Your Majesty, no Mr. President, crowds in a state of panic, and ignorant crowds to boot, would not understand, people have to be extremely cultured and civilized to meet a king or a president with extended arms in the middle of the road and stop to ask him what he wants. But there was also one who in an outburst of anger turned around and shouted, Better to be dead than to survive so briefly, let's put an end to this once and for all, and they stayed there waiting, contemplating the serene mountains in the distance, the rosy morning, the deep blue of the hot afternoon, the starry night, perhaps the last, but when my hour comes, I won't look away.

Then it happened. About seventy-five kilometers away from the easternmost point of the island of Santa Maria, with no warning, no one felt the slightest shock, the peninsula began to sail in a northerly direction. For several minutes, while observers in all the geographical institutes of Europe and America analyzed in disbelief the satellite data and hesitated about making them public, millions of terrified people in Portugal and Spain had already been saved from death, without knowing it. During those minutes, tragically, some began quarreling in the hope of being killed, and perhaps had their wish granted, and some, frightened out of their wits, committed suicide. Some implored pardon for their sins, while others, thinking there was no time for repentance, inquired of God and the Devil what new sins they might still commit. There were women who gave birth hoping that their offspring would be stillborn, and others who knew they were carrying children they would never deliver. And when a universal cry echoed throughout the world, They're saved, they're saved, some would not believe it and went on lamenting the approaching end until there could be no more doubt, governments swore to it in every tone, the experts started giving explanations, the reason advanced for their salvation was a mighty current, artificially produced, and a great debate ensued as to whether the Americans or the Russians were responsible.

Rejoicing spread like wildfire, filling the entire peninsula with laughter and dancing, especially on that great strip of land where millions of displaced persons had gathered. Fortunately, this occurred at midday, when those who still had some provisions were about to eat, the confusion and chaos would otherwise have been dreadful, the authorities maintained, but they were soon to regret this hasty judgment, for no sooner had the news been confirmed than thousands and thousands of people began the long trek home. It became necessary to circulate the cruel hypothesis that the peninsula might revert to its original route, now a little farther north. Not everyone believed the news, especially since another worry was quietly creeping into people's thoughts, in their mind's eye they could see abandoned cities, towns and villages, their own native city, town, or village, the street and the house where they once lived, their home ransacked by opportunists who didn't believe in old wives' tales or who accepted the hypothetical risk with the naturalness of the acrobat who must attempt a triple somersault night after night, these visions were not the fantasies of a sick mind, for throughout all those deserted places thieves, robbers, and scoundrels of every age were warily mustering, ready to pounce, and passing the word along. The first to arrive helps himself and anyone who comes later must look for another house to loot, don't start bickering, there's plenty for everyone. But let no one, say we, be tempted to break into Maria Guavaira's house, it's the worst thing anyone could do, for the man inside is armed with a shotgun, and he will open the door only to the mistress of the house to assure her, I've guarded your property, now marry me, unless, dazed and exhausted after so many nights of vigil, he might have fallen asleep on a pile of blue wool, and thus have wasted the best years of his manhood.

Exercising prudence, the inhabitants of the Azores still had not returned to their homes on the islands, let us try to put ourselves in their shoes, it is true that any immediate danger has passed, yet it continues to lurk there, this is like a new version of the tale about the iron pan and the clay pan, with the important difference that the clay in this case was only good for making the mugs typical of these islands, there was not enough to make the pan of a continent, which, if it ever existed, sank to the bottom and was called Atlantis. We would be very foolish were we not to learn from experience, or our memory of it, however false both may be. But the sentiment that causes the five people under that tree to linger is not prudence, now that everyone has set off in the direction of the coasts of Portugal and Galicia, in triumphant reentry, as it were, bearing branches and flowers, with bands playing, fireworks exploding, bells pealing as they pass in procession, families return to their homes, perhaps there are things missing, but they have brought life with them and that is the most important thing, life, the table where we eat, the bed where we sleep and where this night, out of sheer happiness, we will make the most wonderful love in the world. Underneath the tree, their wagon waiting and the horse's strength restored, the five who have remained behind look at the dog as if expecting some sign or mandate, You who came from we know not where, you who turned up one day so weary from your travels that you collapsed into my arms, you who passed and stared as I was showing the men where I drew a line on the ground with a stick, you who waited for us beside the car we parked beneath the lean-to, you who had a blue thread hanging from your mouth, you who guided us along so many roads and paths, you who accompanied me to the sea where we found the stone ship, tell us by some movement, gesture, or sign, since you cannot even bark, tell us where we must go, for none of us wishes to return to the house in the valley, for all of us it would mean the beginning of that final return, the man who wants to marry me would say, Marry me, the office manager where I work would tell me, 1 need that invoice, my husband would say to me, So you've finally come back to me, the father of my worst pupil would inform me, Schoolmaster, I've given him a few paddlings, the notary's wife who complains of headaches would plead, Give me some pills for my headache, so do tell us where we should go, arise and walk and that will be our destination.

The dog, who was lying under the wagon, lifted its head as if hearing voices, jumped up briskly, and ran to Pedro Orce, who held its head between his hands, Would you like to come with me, he asked the dog, and these were the only words he spoke. Maria Guavaira owns the horse and wagon and she still has not made up her mind, but Joana Carda looked at José Anaiço, who read her thoughts, Whatever you may decide, I'm not going back. Then Maria Guavaira said in a loud, clear voice, There's a time for staying and a time for leaving, the time hasn't yet come to return, and Joaquim Sassa asked, Where do we want to go. Nowhere in particular. Let's go to the other side of the peninsula, Pedro Orce suggested, I've never seen the Pyrenees. Nor are you likely to see them now, half of them were left behind in Europe, José Anaiço reminded them. What difference does it make, you can recognize a giant by looking at his finger. They were delighted with this decision, but Maria Guavaira warned them, The horse has carried us all this way on its own, but it can't do the rest of the journey by itself, the horse has seen better days and the wagon should really be drawn by a pair, with only one horse, it's lopsided. So what are we going to do, asked Joaquim Sassa. We'll need to find another horse, It can't be easy to find horses around here, besides a good horse costs a lot of money, and we probably can't afford it.

The problem appears to be insoluble, but here we will see further evidence of how adaptable the human spirit can be. Only a few days ago, Maria Guavaira flatly rejected the idea of spending the night in an abandoned house, her words still echo in the ears of those with a good memory, yet such is the force of circumstance that Maria Guavaira is about to turn her back on a lifetime of moral integrity, let us hope no one will taunt her with this lapse from grace, We won't buy it, we'll steal it, those were her very words, and now Joana Carda, concerned not to offend their sensibilities, tries indirectly to ease their conscience, I've never stolen anything in my life. There was sin awkward silence, people need time to adapt to new codes of morality, here the first move was made by Pedro Orce, contrary to the custom of the elderly, such staunch believers in traditional values, We've never stolen anything in our life, it's always in the life of others, this could be the maxim of a cynical philosopher, but is merely a statement of fact, said Pedro Orce with a smile, but the words had been spoken. All right, we've made up our minds, let's steal a horse, but how do we go about it, let's toss a coin to see who should go on this expe dition. I'd better go, said Maria Guavaira, you don't know anything about horses, and you'd never be able to get it here. I'll come with you, said Joaquim Sassa, but perhaps we should take the dog with us to protect us from any danger we might encounter.

That night the three of them left the encampment and set out for the east, a region that had remained relatively tranquil and where there was greater likelihood of finding what they wanted. Before departing, Joaquim Sassa said, We don't know how long we'll be, wait for us here. Come to think of it, perhaps we should have brought a bigger car with room for everyone and the luggage and the dog too, commented José Anaiço. There are no such cars, what we need is a truck, besides don't forget that we didn't find a single vehicle that was running and fit to put on the road, and now that we have a horse we can't just abandon it somewhere. In their time the musketeers declared, One for all and all for one, they were four, now they are five, without counting the dog. Or the horse.

Maria Guavaira and Joaquim Sassa set off, the animal trotting in front, sniffing out the winds and investigating the shadows. The expedition is faintly absurd, chasing off in search of a horse. A mule would do just as well, Maria Guavaira had said, without knowing if such an animal existed within five leagues, perhaps it would be easier to find an ox, but you don't hitch an ox and a horse to a wagon together, or a donkey, with such a heavy load it would be like trying to make something strong from combined weakness, something that happens only in parables, like the one about the rushes we quoted earlier. They walked and walked, left the road whenever they glimpsed any dwellings or farmhouses amid the fields, if there were any horses around that is where they would find them, for what we need are beasts of burden rather than horses bred for show or for bullfighting. The moment they approached dogs started barking, but they were soon quiet again, we will never know what secret powers the Dog possessed to make even the loudest and most excitable watchdog suddenly fall silent, and not because some wild beast from the underworld had savaged it, in that case there would have been signs of a struggle, cries of pain, the silence is not sepulchral simply because no one is dying.

By the early hours of morning, Maria Guavaira and Joaquim Sassa could scarcely lift their feet, they were so tired, he had said, We must go on searching, and they searched so hard that they found rather than discovered what they were looking for, and it came about in the simplest way imaginable. Dawn was already breaking, the night sky to the east had turned a deep blue, when they heard a muffled neigh coming from a hollow by the road, a sweet miracle, I'm here, they went to look and found a tethered horse, it was not the Good Lord who had put it there to enhance His catalog of miracles, but the beast's rightful owner, whom the blacksmith had instructed, Put this ointment on the sore and leave the horse out to catch the morning dew, do this for three consecutive nights starting on a Friday, and if the horse isn't cured, I'll give you back your money and stake my reputation. A fettered horse, unless one has a sharp knife to cut the rope, cannot be carried off on one's shoulders, but Maria Guavaira knows how to deal with animals, and despite the beast's nervousness at being handled by a stranger, she succeeded in coaxing it into the shadows of the trees, where at the risk of being trampled or receiving a mighty kick, she managed to untie the awkward knot. Usually in such cases one makes a simple knot, one easily undone, but perhaps that's a skill people do not practice in these parts. Fortunately, the horse also realized that they were trying to free it, and freedom is always welcome, even when we're facing the unknown.

They returned by roads well off the beaten track, trusting more than ever in the dog's ability to foresee anything suspicious coming in their direction, and in its effectiveness in dealing with any inopportune visitors. When day broke, already remote from the scene of the crime, they began meeting people in the fields and along the roads, but no one appeared to recognize the horse, and even if they did, perhaps they would not have given it another thought, for they made such a lovely and innocent picture, the damsel sidesaddle on the palfrey, to put it in medieval terms, and the knight-errant walking ahead, laboriously leading the horse by the reins they had fortunately remembered to bring. The mastiff completed this heavenly vision, which some mistook for a dream, others as a sign of the change of life, the former and latter both unaware that all they are seeing go past are two wicked horse thieves, how true that appearances can deceive, what is generally overlooked is that they can deceive twice, perhaps a reason for trusting first impressions and inquiring no further. That's why some will be claiming before the day is out, Why, this morning I saw Amadís and Oriana, she on horseback, he on foot, and they had a dog with them, It can't have been Amadís and Oriana, for they were never seen with a dog, Well, I saw it, and that's a fact, one witness is as good as a hundred, But in the lives, loves, and adventures of those two, no dog is ever mentioned, Then let their stories be rewritten, and as often as may prove necessary until nothing has been left out. Nothing, Well, almost nothing.

They reached the encampment early that evening and were received with much hugging and laughter. The gray horse looked askance at the sorrel, which was gasping for breath. It has a sore on its back that is almost dry, they've obviously rubbed on some ointment and left it outdoors for three nights, starting on a Friday, an infallible remedy.