The Collected Novels Of Jose Saramago Part 10

When they reached Bethany, they noticed that that the people who appeared in their doorways looked at them with pity, but the disciples thought this only natural, given the lamentable state in which they had returned from battle. They learned the real reason for the gloom on everyone's face when they came to the street where Lazarus lived and sensed a tragedy had occurred. Jesus ran ahead of the others, entered the yard, the people gathered there stepped aside with mournful sighs to let him pa.s.s, and from within came the sound of weeping and lamentation, Oh my beloved brother, Martha could be heard sobbing, Oh my beloved brother, wailed the voice of Mary. Stretched out on the ground, on a pallet, Lazarus seemed to be sleeping, but he was not sleeping, he was dead. Nearly all his life he had suffered from a weak heart, then was cured, as everyone in Bethany could testify, and now was as composed as if carved from marble, as serene as if he had already pa.s.sed into eternity, soon the first signs of putrefaction will appear, causing those around the corpse to feel even greater pain. Jesus, as if the strength had suddenly gone from his legs, fell to his knees, groaning and weeping, How did this happen, how did this happen, words that never fail to spring to our lips when we are confronted by something irremediable. We ask how it happened, a desperate, futile attempt to postpone the awful moment when we must accept the truth, we ask how it happened, as if we could replace death with life, exchange what is with what should be. From the depths of her grief Martha said to Jesus, Had you been here, my brother would not have died, but I know that everything you ask of G.o.d He will grant you, He granted you sight for the blind, healing for the lepers, speech for the mute, and all the other wonders that reside in your will and await your word. Jesus told her, Your brother will be raised from the dead, and Martha replied, I know he will rise to life on the day of resurrection. Jesus stood, an infinite strength took possession of him, in that moment he knew he could do anything, banish death from this body, restore it to life, give it speech, movement, laughter, even tears, but not of sorrow, and truly say, I am the resurrection and the life, he who believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and he asked Martha, Do you believe this, and she said, Yes, I believe you are the son of G.o.d who has come into this world. This being so, and with everything necessary in place, the power and the will to use that power, all Jesus has to do is stretch out his arms to that body abandoned by its soul, and say, Lazarus, arise, and Lazarus will rise from the dead, because it is the will of G.o.d, but at the very last moment Mary Magdalene placed a hand on Jesus' shoulder and said, No one has committed so much sin in his life that he deserves to die twice, and dropping his arms, Jesus went outside to weep.

LIKE AN ICY GUST OF WIND, THE DEATH OF L LAZARUS EXTINguished the zeal John had kindled in Jesus' heart, a zeal in which serving G.o.d and serving the people had become one and the same thing. After the first few days of mourning, when the duties and habits of everyday life were gradually resumed, Peter and Andrew went to speak to Jesus. They questioned him about his plans, asked whether they should go preach once more in the towns or instead return to Jerusalem for a fresh a.s.sault, the disciples were beginning to feel restless, eager to be doing something, We didn't part with our possessions, our work, and our families, they complained, just to sit around all day. Jesus looked at them as if in a blur and listened as if having difficulty recognizing their voices amid a chorus of discordant cries. After a long silence he told them they must be patient, must wait a little more, he still had some thinking to do, could sense that something was about to happen which would decide their fate once and for all. And he a.s.sured them he would soon join them in the camp, which puzzled Peter and Andrew, for why should the two sisters remain alone when the men still had not decided what to do, You don't need to come back for our sake, said Peter, who had no way of knowing that Jesus was torn between two duties, the first toward the men and women who had abandoned everything to follow him, the second here in this house, toward the sisters, duties similar yet opposed, like a face and a mirror. The ghost of Lazarus was present and refused to go away, he was in the harsh words spoken by Martha, who could not forgive Mary for having prevented their brother from being restored to life, nor could she forgive Jesus for not using his G.o.d-given power. Lazarus was present too in Mary's tears, for by delivering her brother from a second death she would have to live forever with the remorse of having failed to deliver him from his first. Like an enormous presence filling every s.p.a.ce, Lazarus was also in Jesus' troubled soul, in which horses pulled in four directions, or four ropes coiled around winches were slowly tearing him apart, and the hands of G.o.d and the devil were amusing themselves, divinely and diabolically, with the remains.

The afflicted and diseased, hoping to be healed, came to the door of the house that had once belonged to Lazarus. Sometimes Martha would appear and drive them away, as if to say, There was no salvation for my brother, why should there be for you, but they would keep returning until they succeeded in reaching Jesus, who healed them and sent them away without once saying, Repent. To be healed is like being reborn without having died, for the newborn have no sins and therefore no need to repent. But these acts of physical rebirth, if I may call them that, although most merciful, left a sour feeling in Jesus' heart, for they were only a postponement of the inevitable, he who today leaves healthy and content will be back tomorrow with new woes that have no remedy. Jesus became so melancholy that one day Martha said, Don't you die on me, for that would be like losing Lazarus all over again, and Mary Magdalene, beneath the sheet they shared, whimpered like a wounded animal hiding in the dark, You need me now more than ever, but I cannot reach you if you lock yourself behind a door beyond human strength. Jesus answered Martha, saying, My death will embrace all the deaths of Lazarus, who will go on dying without ever being restored to life, and to Mary he said, Even if you cannot enter, do not abandon me, even if you cannot see me, stretch out your hand, otherwise I will forget life or it will forget me. A few days later he went to join his disciples, and Mary Magdalene went with him. I'll look at your shadow if you don't wish me to look at you, she told him, and he replied, I wish to be wherever my shadow is if that is where your eyes are. Loving each other, they exchanged these amorous phrases not only because they were beautiful and true, but because shadows were closing in, and it was time for the two to prepare themselves for the darkness of final absence.

News reached the camp that John the Baptist had been taken prisoner. Nothing was known except that he had been arrested and Herod himself ordered his imprisonment. Jesus and his followers were inclined to think that Herod had been provoked by John's prophecies about the coming of the Messiah, which he repeated everywhere between baptisms, He who comes after me will baptize you with fire, and between imprecations, O generation of vipers, who has warned you to flee from the wrath to come. Jesus told his disciples that they must be prepared for every manner of persecution, because rumors had been rife for some time that they were preaching the same message, it was only to be expected that Herod would put two and two together and pursue the carpenter's son, who claimed to be the son of G.o.d, and his followers, for this was the second and more powerful head of the dragon threatening to topple him from his throne. Bad news may not be preferable to no news, but it was received with equanimity by men who had been waiting and hoping for everything but lately had had to make do with nothing. They asked one another, and Jesus too, what they should now do, stand together and resist Herod's wickedness, scatter throughout the towns, or retreat into the wilderness, where they could eat wild honey and locusts, as John the Baptist had done before he left to herald the glory of Jesus and, by the looks of it, to meet a miserable end. Yet there was no sign of Herod's troops arriving in Bethany to slaughter more innocents, thus Jesus and his disciples were considering carefully the various alternatives when another report arrived, informing them that John had been beheaded and that his punishment had nothing to do with the coming of the Messiah or the kingdom of G.o.d, he had incurred Herod's wrath by speaking out against adultery, of which the king himself was guilty, having married Herodias, his niece and sister-in-law, while her husband still lived. The news of John's death brought tears to the eyes of men and women alike, and the entire camp mourned, but no one believed that he had been killed for the reason given. Judas Iscariot, whom, you may remember, John baptized, was beside himself with rage, he said that Herod's decision must have had a more serious motive, How can this be, he asked the company gathered there, including the women, John proclaims the Messiah is coming to redeem people, and they kill him for condemning an adulterous marriage between uncle and niece, when adultery has been common practice in that family since the time of the first Herod. How can this be, he railed, when G.o.d Himself ordered John to proclaim the coming of the Messiah, it must have been G.o.d, because nothing can happen without His willing it, so perhaps those of you who know G.o.d better than I can explain to me why He should allow His plan to go awry like this on earth, and before you tell me that G.o.d knows even if we don't, let me tell you that I insist on knowing what G.o.d knows.

A s.h.i.+ver pa.s.sed through everyone listening, who feared the wrath of G.o.d would descend on this insolent fellow, and on themselves for not punis.h.i.+ng such blasphemy at once. But since He was not present to deal with Judas, the challenge could only be taken up by Jesus, closest to the Supreme Being whose wisdom was called into question. Had this been another religion and the circ.u.mstances different, perhaps things would have gone no further than Jesus' enigmatic smile, which, however faint and fleeting, showed many things, surprise, benevolence, and curiosity, though the surprise was short-lived, the benevolence condescending, and the curiosity somewhat ironic. The smile, leaving, left behind a deathly pallor, a face that suddenly looked cadaverous, as if it had just beheld the image of its own fate. In a voice without expression Jesus finally said, Let the women withdraw, and Mary Magdalene was the first to rise to her feet. Then, after the silence had slowly formed walls and a ceiling to enclose them in the deepest cave on earth, Jesus said, Let John ask G.o.d why He allowed a man prophesying such good tidings to die for so paltry a reason. Judas Iscariot was about to speak, but Jesus raised his hand to silence him and said, I now see I must tell you what I learned from G.o.d, unless He Himself prevents me. Voices grew louder as the disciples began talking nervously among themselves, afraid of what they were about to hear. Judas alone maintained the att.i.tude of defiance with which he had begun all this. Jesus told them, I know my future and yours, and that of generations to come, I know G.o.d's intention and design, and we will speak of these matters, for they concern all of us. Peter asked, Must we know what G.o.d has revealed to you, would it not be better to keep it to yourself. If He wished, G.o.d could silence me this instant. Then surely He doesn't care whether you remain silent or speak, it's all the same, and if He has spoken through you, He will continue to speak through you, even when you think you oppose His will. as at present. Do you know, Peter, that I am to be crucified. Yes, you told me. But I didn't tell you that you too, with Andrew and Philip here, will be crucified, and that Bartholomew will be skinned alive, and that Matthew will be butchered by barbarians, and that they will behead James the son of Zebedee, and that another James, the son of Alphaeus, will be stoned to death, and Thomas will be killed with a lance, and Judas Thaddaeus will have his skull crushed, and Simon will be sawed in half, these things you didn't know, but I am telling all of you now. This was received in silence, there is no further reason to fear the future, once revealed, as if Jesus had finally told them, You will die, and they replied in chorus, So what, we know already. But John and Judas Iscariot have not heard what will happen to them, so they ask, What about us, and Jesus said, You, John, will live to a ripe old age and die of natural causes, as for you, Judas, keep away from fig trees, because it won't be long before you hang yourself from one. So we will die because of you, a voice asked, but no one ever identified the person who spoke. Because of G.o.d, answered Jesus. What does G.o.d want, asked John. He wants a larger congregation than the one He has at present, He wants the entire world for Himself. But if G.o.d is Lord of the universe, how can the world belong to anyone but Him, not just since yesterday or starting tomorrow but from the beginning of time, asked Thomas. That I cannot tell you, replied Jesus. But if you've kept all these things in your heart for so long, why tell us now. Because Lazarus, whom I healed, died, and John the Baptist, who prophesied my coming, was killed, and now death has joined us. All creatures have to die, said Peter, and men like all the rest. Many will die in future because of G.o.d and His will. If willed by G.o.d, then it must be for some holy cause. They will die because they were born neither before nor after. Will they receive eternal life, asked Matthew. Yes, but the condition should be less horrible. If the son of G.o.d has said what he has said, he has denied himself, said Peter. You're mistaken, only the son of G.o.d is permitted to say these things, and what is blasphemy on your lips is the word of G.o.d on mine, replied Jesus. You speak as if we had to choose between you and G.o.d, said Peter. You will always have to choose between G.o.d and G.o.d, and like you and all other men, I am in the middle. So what do you want us to do. Help my death protect the lives of future generations. But you cannot oppose G.o.d's will. No, but I can at least try. You are safe because you are the son of G.o.d, but we will lose our souls. No, for if you obey me, you will still be obeying G.o.d. The edge of a red moon could be seen on the horizon of the distant wilderness. Speak, said Andrew, but Jesus waited until the entire moon, an enormous blood-red disk, had risen from the earth, and only then did he speak, telling them, The son of G.o.d must die on the cross so that the will of the father may be done, but if we replace him with an ordinary man, G.o.d will no longer be able to sacrifice His son. Do you wish one of us to take your place, asked Peter. No, I myself will take the son's place. For the love of G.o.d, explain yourself. An ordinary man, who has proclaimed himself king of the Jews to incite the people to depose Herod from his throne and expel the Romans from the land, and all I ask is that one of you go immediately to the Temple and say that I am this man, and if justice is swift, perhaps G.o.d's justice will not have time to stay man's, just as it did not stay the ax of the executioner who beheaded John. Everyone was struck dumb, but not for long, soon there was an outcry of indignation, protest, disbelief. If you are the son of G.o.d, then you must die as the son of G.o.d, a voice exclaimed, Having eaten your bread, how can I now denounce you, wailed another, Surely he who is destined to be king of the universe cannot wish to be king of the Jews, said one man, Death to anyone who dares stir from here to denounce you, threatened another. At that moment the voice of Judas Iscariot rang out above the din, I'll go. They seized him, were already drawing daggers from their tunics, when Jesus said, Leave him alone and do him no harm. He then rose and embraced Judas, kissing him on both cheeks, Go, my hour is yours. Without a word, Judas Iscariot threw the hem of his cape over one shoulder and vanished into the black night.

The Temple guards, accompanied by Herod's soldiers, came to arrest Jesus at first light. After surrounding the camp by stealth, a small detachment armed with swords and lances quickly advanced, and the soldier in command called out, Where is this man who claims to be king of the Jews. He called a second time, Let the man who claims to be king of the Jews come forward, whereupon Jesus emerged from his tent with a tearful Mary Magdalene and told them, I am king of the Jews. A soldier went up to him and tied his hands, whispering in his ear, Although now my prisoner, if you become my king, remember that I acted under orders from another, and should you ask me to arrest him, I'll obey you as I'm now obeying him. Jesus told him, A king does not arrest another king a G.o.d does not kill another G.o.d, and that is why ordinal y men were created, so that arrests and killings could be left to them. A rope was also tied around his feet to prevent him from running away, and Jesus said to himself, Too late, I have already fled. Then Mary Magdalene let out a cry as if her heart were breaking, and Jesus said, You will weep for me, and all you women will weep when such an hour befalls your men or you yourselves, but know that for every tear you shed a thousand would have been shed in times to come had I not died thus. And turning to the soldier in command, he asked of him, Release these men with me, for I am king of the Jews, not they, and without further delay he stepped into the midst of the soldiers. The sun was up and hovering over the roofs of Bethany when the mult.i.tude, with Jesus in front, between two soldiers holding the ends of the rope tied around his wrists, began climbing the road to Jerusalem. Behind walked the disciples and their womenfolk, the men fuming, the women sobbing, but their anger and tears were of no avail. What are we to do, they asked themselves under their breath, should we throw ourselves on the soldiers and try to free Jesus, perhaps losing our lives in the struggle, or should we disperse before an order is also given for our arrest. On the horns of this dilemma, they did nothing, and continued following at a distance behind the retinue of soldiers. After a while they saw that the procession had come to a halt, and wondered if the order had been revoked, if now the ropes around Jesus' hands and feet would be untied, but one would have to be naive to think any such thing. Another knot, however, has come untied, that of Judas Iscariot's life, there on a fig tree by the side of the road where Jesus will pa.s.s. Dangling from a branch is the disciple who carried out his master's last wish. The soldier leading the retinue ordered two soldiers to cut the cord and lower the body, He's still warm, observed one of them. Perhaps Judas Iscariot was sitting in the tree with the noose already around his neck, patiently waiting for Jesus to appear in the distance before letting go of the branch, finally at peace with himself now that he had done his duty. Jesus drew near, and the soldiers made no attempt to restrain him. He stood, staring at Judas's face twisted by sudden death. He's still warm, the soldier said a second time, and it occurred to Jesus that he could do for Judas what he had not done for Lazarus, bring him back to life, so that on some other day and in some other place the man might have his own death, remote and obscure, instead of being the haunting symbol of betrayal. But, as we know, only the son of G.o.d has the power to bring people back to life, not this king of the Jews who walks here, his spirit broken and his hands and feet bound. The soldier in command told his men, Leave the body there to be buried by the people of Bethany, if the vultures don't eat it first, but check to see whether he is carrying anything of value. The soldiers searched but found nothing, Not a single coin, one of the soldiers said, and little wonder, for the disciple in charge of the community's funds is Matthew, who knows his job, having served as a tax collector in the days when he was called Levi. Didn't they pay him for his betrayal, asked Jesus, and Matthew, who overheard, replied, They wanted to, but he said he was in the habit of settling his accounts, and that's it, he has settled them. The procession continued, but some of the disciples lingered behind to stare in pity at the body, until John said, Let's leave it here, he was not one of us, but the other Judas, also called Thaddaeus, hastened to correct him, Whether we like it or not he will always be one of us, we may not know what to do with him, but he will go on being one of us. Let's move on, said Peter, this is no place for us, here at the feet of Judas Iscariot. You're right, said Thomas, our place should be at Jesus' side, but that place is empty.

At last they entered Jerusalem, and Jesus was taken before the council of elders, high priests, and scribes. Delighted to see him there, the high priest said, I gave you fair warning, but you refused to listen, your pride won't save you now and your lies will d.a.m.n you. What lies, asked Jesus. First, that you are king of the Jews. But I am king of the Jews. And second, that you are the son of G.o.d. Who told you that I claim to be the son of G.o.d. Everyone says so. Pay no heed to them, I am king of the Jews. So you admit you're not the son of G.o.d. How often do I have to tell you, I am king of the Jews. Be careful what you say, a statement like that is enough to have you sentenced. I stand by what I've said. Very well, you will appear before the Roman prefect, who is keen to meet the man who wishes to depose him and wrest these territories from Caesar's power. The soldiers escorted Jesus to Pilate's residence. The news had already spread that the man who claimed to be king of the Jews, the one who thrashed the money changers and set fire to their stalls, had been arrested, and people rushed to see what a king looked like when led through the streets for all to see, his hands tied like those of a common thief. And, as always happens, since not everyone is alike in this world, there were some who took pity on Jesus and some who did not, some said, Set the fellow free, he's mad, while some believed that punis.h.i.+ng a crime serves as a warning to others, and there were as many of the latter as of the former. The disciples, mingling with the crowd, were distraught. You could easily recognize the women with them because of their tears, but one woman did not weep, she was Mary Magdalene, who grieved in silence.

The distance between the house of the high priest and the prefect's palace was not great, but Jesus thought he would never get there, not because of the hissing and jeering from the crowd, who thus expressed its disappointment with this sad figure of a king, but because he was anxious to keep his appointment with death, lest G.o.d look this way and say, What's going on, are you backing out of our agreement. At the palace gates, soldiers from Rome took charge of the prisoner, while Herod's soldiers and the Temple guards remained outside to await the verdict. Apart from a few priests no one was allowed to accompany Jesus into the palace. Seated on his throne, the prefect Pilate, for that was his name, inspected the man being led in, who looked like a beggar, with a heavy beard and bare feet, his tunic soiled with stains both old and new, the new from ripe fruit the G.o.ds created for eating rather than for showing hatred and leaving marks of shame. Standing before Pilate, the prisoner waited, his head erect, his eyes fixed on some point between himself and the prefect. Pilate knew only two kinds of culprit, the kind who lowered their eyes and the kind who stared in defiance, the first he despised, the second made him nervous, in either case he lost no time in pa.s.sing sentence. But this man standing here seemed oblivious of his surroundings, and so self-a.s.sured that he might well have been a royal personage, in fact and in law, the victim of a lamentable misunderstanding who would soon have his crown, scepter, and mantle restored. Pilate finally decided the prisoner belonged in the second category, so he began the interrogation without delay, What is your name. I am Jesus son of Joseph and was born in Bethlehem of Judaea, but having lived in Nazareth of Galilee, I am known as Jesus of Nazareth. Who was your father. I just told you, his name was Joseph. What was his trade. Carpenter. Then would you care to explain how a carpenter named Joseph came to father a king. If a king can beget carpenters, why should a carpenter not beget a king. Hearing this, one of the priests intervened, Don't forget, Pilate, this man also claims to be the son of G.o.d. That isn't true, I am only the son of man, said Jesus, but the priest continued, Don't let him deceive you, Pilate, in our religion the son of man and of G.o.d are one and the same. Pilate waved his hand indifferently, If he had proclaimed himself the son of Jupiter, though he would not be the first, then this case would be of some interest, but whether he is or is not the son of your G.o.d is a matter of no importance. Then sentence him for claiming to be king of the Jews, and we'll leave satisfied. It remains to be seen if that will satisfy me, Pilate said sharply. Jesus waited patiently for this dialogue to end and the interrogation to resume. Who do you say you are, the prefect asked Jesus. I am who I am, king of the Jews. And as king of the Jews what do you hope to gain. All that a king can expect. For example. To govern and protect his people. Protect them from what. From whatever threatens them. And from whom. From whoever opposes them. If I understand you rightly, you would defend them against Rome. That is so. And in order to protect them, would you attack the Romans. There is no other way. And expel the Romans from these lands. One thing follows from another. Then you are the enemy of Caesar. I am king of the Jews. Confess you are the enemy of Caesar. I am king of the Jews and will say no more. The high priest raised his hands to heaven in triumph, You see, Pilate, he confesses, and you cannot spare the life of one who publicly declares his hatred of you and Caesar. Sighing with exasperation, Pilate rebuked the priest, Be quiet, then turning to Jesus, asked him, Have you anything more to say. Nothing, said Jesus. Then I have no choice but to sentence you. Do as you must. How do you wish to die. I have already decided, How then, On the cross, Very well, you'll be crucified. Jesus' eyes sought and finally met those of Pilate, Can I ask a favor, he said. So long as it doesn't interfere with the sentence I've just pa.s.sed. Would you have them put an inscription above my head which says who and what I am, for all to see. Nothing else. Nothing else. Pilate beckoned a secretary, who brought writing materials, and in his own hand Pilate wrote, Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews. Roused from his complacency, the high priest suddenly realized what was happening and protested, You mustn't write king of the Jews but Jesus of Nazareth who claimed to be king of the Jews. Annoyed with himself, Pilate regretted not having dismissed the prisoner with a warning, for even the most vigilant of judges could see that this fellow was no threat to anyone let alone to Caesar, and turning to the high priest, he told him dryly, Stop interfering, I have written what I have written. He signaled to the soldiers to remove the condemned man and requested water to wash his hands, as was his custom after pa.s.sing sentence.

They led Jesus away and took him to a hill known as Golgotha. Despite his strong const.i.tution, his legs soon weakened under the weight of the cross, and the centurion in charge ordered a man who had stopped to watch to relieve the prisoner of his burden. The crowd continued to jeer and shout insults, but now and then someone would utter words of compa.s.sion. As for the disciples, they walked in a daze. A woman stopped Peter and challenged him, You also were with Jesus of Galilee, but he denied it, I don't know what you're talking about, and tried to hide in the crowd, only to meet the same woman a second time, and once more she asked him, Were you not with Jesus, and again Peter denied it with an oath, I do not know the man. And since three is a number favored by G.o.d, Peter was challenged a third time, and for the third time he swore, saying, I do not know the man. The women went to Golgotha with Jesus, a few on either side, but Mary Magdalene, who stays closest of all, is not allowed to reach him, the soldiers push her away, just as they will make everyone keep their distance from the three crosses that have been put up, two already occupied by convicted men who howl with pain, the third now ready for occupation, standing tall and erect like a column that supports the sky. Ordering Jesus to he down, the soldiers extend his arms on the crossbar. As they hammer in the first nail, piercing the flesh of his wrist between two bones, a sudden dizziness sends him back in time, he feels the pain as his father felt it before him, sees himself as he saw him on the cross at Sepphoris. Then they drove a nail through his other wrist, and he experienced that first tearing of flesh as the soldiers began to hoist the crossbar to the top of the cross, his entire weight suspended from fragile bones, and it was almost a relief when they pushed his legs upward and hammered another nail through his heels, now there is nothing more to be done but wait for death.

Jesus is dying slowly, life ebbing from him, ebbing, when suddenly the heavens overhead open wide and G.o.d appears in the same attire he wore in the boat, and His words resound throughout the earth, This is My beloved son, in whom I am well pleased. Jesus realized then that he had been tricked, as the lamb led to sacrifice is tricked, and that his life had been planned for death from the very beginning. Remembering the river of blood and suffering that would flow from his side and flood the globe, he called out to the open sky, where G.o.d could be seen smiling, Men, forgive Him, for He knows not what He has done. Then he began expiring in the midst of a dream. He found himself back in Nazareth and saw his father shrugging his shoulders and smiling as he told him, Just as I cannot ask you all the questions, neither can you give me all the answers. There was still some life in him when he felt a sponge soaked in water and vinegar moisten his lips, and looking down, he saw a man walking away with a bucket, a staff over his shoulder. But what Jesus did not see, on the ground, was the black bowl into which his blood was dripping.

THE STONE RAFT.

Translated from the Portuguese by Giovanni Pontiero A HARVEST BOOK * HARCOURT, INC.

SAN DIEGO NEW YORK LONDON.

Jose Saramago e Editorial Caminho, SARL, Lisboa, 1986 English translation copyright 1995 by Harcourt, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address: Permissions Department, Harcourt, Inc., 6277 Sea Harbor Drive, Orlando, Florida 32887-6777.

This translation of A Jangada de Pedra Jangada de Pedra has been made possible, in part, by a grant has been made possible, in part, by a grant from the Inst.i.tuto da Biblioteca Nacional e do Livro.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Saramago, Jose [A Jangada de pedra. English]

The stone raft/Jose Saramago; translated from the Portuguese by Giovanni Pontiero.

A Harvest book p. cm.

ISBN 0-15-185198-0.

ISBN 0-15-600401-1 (pbk.) 1. Pontiero, Giovanni. 11. t.i.tle.

PQ9281 A66J313 1995 94-49622.

869 3'42-dc20 Designed by Lori J. McThomas First Harvest edition 1996 Printed in the United States of America J L N M K.

Every future is fabulous. - -ALEJO CARPENTIER

When Joana Carda scratched the ground with the elm branch all the dogs of Cerbere began to bark, throwing the inhabitants into panic and terror, because from time immemorial it was believed that, when these canine creatures that had always been silent started to bark, the entire universe was nearing its end. No one remembers any longer the origin of this deep-rooted superst.i.tion, or firm conviction, in many cases these are simply alternative ways of expressing the same thing, but as so often happens, having heard the story and now pa.s.sing it on with fresh distortions, French grandmothers used to amuse their grandchildren with the fable that in the times of the ancient Greek myths, here, in the district of Cerbere in the Eastern Pyrenees, a dog with three heads and the above-mentioned named of Cerberus had barked when summoned by its master, the ferryman Charon. We are equally unclear about the organic change this legendary howling canine must have undergone to acquire the historically proven muteness of its degenerate one-headed offspring. Nevertheless, and this is a point of doctrine known to almost everyone, especially to those of the older generation, the dog Cerberus, as written and p.r.o.nounced in English, guarded with ferocity the gates of h.e.l.l, so that no soul would dare try to escape, and then, perhaps as one final act of mercy on the part of the moribund G.o.ds, all the dogs fell silent for the rest of eternity, perhaps hoping that their silence might erase the memory of the infernal regions. But since the everlasting does not last forever, as the modern age has clearly shown us, it sufficed that a few days ago and hundreds of kilometers from Cerbere, somewhere in Portugal, in a place whose name we shall record anon, a woman named Joana Carda scratched the ground with an elm branch whereupon all the dogs came onto the streets howling, dogs, let me remind you, that had never barked before. Were someone to ask Joana Carda what had possessed her to scratch the ground with an elm branch, more the gesture of a moonstruck adolescent than that of a mature woman, if she had not thought of the possible consequences of an act that seemed meaningless, and these are the most dangerous acts of all, perhaps she might reply, I don't know what came over me, the branch was lying on the ground, I picked it up and drew a line. She had no idea that it might be a magic wand. It seemed rather big for a magic wand, and besides I've always heard it said that magic wands are made of s.h.i.+mmering gold and crystal and have a star on top. Did you know it was an elm branch. I know very little about trees, they told me afterwards that wych-elm is the same as wych-hazel, botanically known as ulmus, ulmus, none of these having supernatural powers, even when they change their names, but in this case I'm sure that a matchstick would have produced the same effect, Why do you say that, What must be, must be, and there's no way around it, I've heard the old people say this a thousand times, Do you believe in fate, I believe in what has to be. none of these having supernatural powers, even when they change their names, but in this case I'm sure that a matchstick would have produced the same effect, Why do you say that, What must be, must be, and there's no way around it, I've heard the old people say this a thousand times, Do you believe in fate, I believe in what has to be.

In Paris they had a good laugh at the appeal made by the maire, maire, who appeared to be telephoning from a kennel at the hour when they were feeding the dogs, and it was only at the insistent pleading of a member of parliament born and bred in the commune, and thus familiar with local legends and tales, that two qualified veterinary surgeons of the who appeared to be telephoning from a kennel at the hour when they were feeding the dogs, and it was only at the insistent pleading of a member of parliament born and bred in the commune, and thus familiar with local legends and tales, that two qualified veterinary surgeons of the Deuxieme Bureau Deuxieme Bureau were dispatched to the south, with the special mission of investigating this unusual phenomenon and presenting a report and a plan of action. Meanwhile, the desperate inhabitants, reduced to near-deafness, had crisscrossed the streets and squares of the agreeable resort town suddenly transformed into a h.e.l.lhole, setting out dozens of poisoned meat pies, a method of supreme simplicity and one whose effectiveness has been confirmed by experience in every age and lat.i.tude. As it happened, only one dog died, but the lesson was not lost on the survivors, who soon disappeared, yelping, barking, and howling, into the surrounding fields, where, for no apparent reason, they fell silent within a few minutes. When the veterinary surgeons finally arrived, they were presented with the sad Medor, cold, swollen, so different from the contented animal who accompanied his mistress when she went shopping, and who, old dog that he was, liked nothing better than sleeping peacefully in the sun. But since justice has not yet entirely abandoned this world, G.o.d decided, poetically, that Medor should die from eating the meat pie cooked by his beloved mistress, who, let it be said, had meant the pie for a certain b.i.t.c.h of the neighborhood who never left her garden alone. The older of the veterinary surgeons, confronted by that sad corpse, suggested, Let's hold an autopsy, which was pointless, for any inhabitant of Cerbere could, if he or she so wished, testify to the cause of death. But the hidden intention of the Faculty, as it was referred to in the jargon of that secret service, was to proceed in secrecy to an examination of the vocal cords of an animal that, between the quietude of death, which was now definitive, and its lifelong silence, which had seemed eternal, had finally enjoyed a few hours of speech like any other dog. Their efforts were futile, Medor did not even have any vocal cords. The surgeons were amazed, but the were dispatched to the south, with the special mission of investigating this unusual phenomenon and presenting a report and a plan of action. Meanwhile, the desperate inhabitants, reduced to near-deafness, had crisscrossed the streets and squares of the agreeable resort town suddenly transformed into a h.e.l.lhole, setting out dozens of poisoned meat pies, a method of supreme simplicity and one whose effectiveness has been confirmed by experience in every age and lat.i.tude. As it happened, only one dog died, but the lesson was not lost on the survivors, who soon disappeared, yelping, barking, and howling, into the surrounding fields, where, for no apparent reason, they fell silent within a few minutes. When the veterinary surgeons finally arrived, they were presented with the sad Medor, cold, swollen, so different from the contented animal who accompanied his mistress when she went shopping, and who, old dog that he was, liked nothing better than sleeping peacefully in the sun. But since justice has not yet entirely abandoned this world, G.o.d decided, poetically, that Medor should die from eating the meat pie cooked by his beloved mistress, who, let it be said, had meant the pie for a certain b.i.t.c.h of the neighborhood who never left her garden alone. The older of the veterinary surgeons, confronted by that sad corpse, suggested, Let's hold an autopsy, which was pointless, for any inhabitant of Cerbere could, if he or she so wished, testify to the cause of death. But the hidden intention of the Faculty, as it was referred to in the jargon of that secret service, was to proceed in secrecy to an examination of the vocal cords of an animal that, between the quietude of death, which was now definitive, and its lifelong silence, which had seemed eternal, had finally enjoyed a few hours of speech like any other dog. Their efforts were futile, Medor did not even have any vocal cords. The surgeons were amazed, but the maire, maire, giving his official and judicious opinion, said, That's not surprising, for centuries the dogs of Cerbere have not barked, their vocal cords had wasted away. Then why the sudden change, I don't know, I'm not a veterinary surgeon, but our worries are over, the giving his official and judicious opinion, said, That's not surprising, for centuries the dogs of Cerbere have not barked, their vocal cords had wasted away. Then why the sudden change, I don't know, I'm not a veterinary surgeon, but our worries are over, the chiens chiens have disappeared, from wherever they are they cannot be heard. Medor, dissected and badly st.i.tched up again, was delivered to his weeping mistress, as a living reproach, which is what reproaches are even after they are dead. On the way to the airport, where they were about to catch a plane to Paris, the veterinary surgeons agreed that they would omit from their report the curious business about the missing vocal cords. And to all appearances definitive, for that same night there was Cerberus himself out prowling, an enormous dog as tall as a tree, three-headed but mute. have disappeared, from wherever they are they cannot be heard. Medor, dissected and badly st.i.tched up again, was delivered to his weeping mistress, as a living reproach, which is what reproaches are even after they are dead. On the way to the airport, where they were about to catch a plane to Paris, the veterinary surgeons agreed that they would omit from their report the curious business about the missing vocal cords. And to all appearances definitive, for that same night there was Cerberus himself out prowling, an enormous dog as tall as a tree, three-headed but mute.

About the same time, perhaps before Joana Carda had scratched the ground with the elm branch, perhaps after, a man was strolling along the beach, it was toward evening, when the noise of the waves, brief and restrained like an unprovoked sigh, can scarcely be heard, and that man, who will later say that his name is Joaquim Sa.s.sa, was walking above the tidemark that distinguishes the dry sands from the wet, and from time to time he bent down to pick up a sh.e.l.l, a crab's claw, a strand of green seaweed, we often while away the hours in this way, and this solitary pa.s.serby was doing likewise. Since he had neither pockets nor sack to h.o.a.rd his findings, he put the lifeless remnants back in the water when his hands were full, let the sea have what belongs to the sea, let the earth remain with the earth. But every rule has its exceptions, and Joaquim Sa.s.sa picked up a stone he had seen ahead, beyond the reach of the tides, a stone as large and heavy as a discus and irregular in shape. If it had been like the others, light, with smooth outlines, like those stones that fit easily between the thumb and the index finger, then Joaquim Sa.s.sa would have skimmed it on the surface of the water, watching it bounce, childishly satisfied with his own ability, and finally sink, the impetus gone, a stone that appeared to have its destiny traced out, dried by the sun, dampened only by the rain, but now finally sinking into the dark depths to wait a million years, until this sea evaporates, or, receding, brings the stone back to land for another million years, allowing sufficient time for another Joaquim Sa.s.sa to come down to the beach and unwittingly perform the same gesture and movement, let no man say I will not do it, for no stone is secure and firm.

On the southern sh.o.r.es, at this tepid hour, there is someone having one last dip, swimming, playing with a ball, diving under the waves, or taking it easy on an air mattress, or feeling the first waft of the evening breeze on his skin, or s.h.i.+fting his position to receive one last caress from the sun that is about to settle momentarily on the sea, the longest moment of all, for we look at the sun and the sun allows itself to be watched. But here, on this northern sh.o.r.e where Joaquim Sa.s.sa is carrying a stone, so heavy that his arms are already tiring, the breeze is chilly, the sun is already halfway down, and there is not a sea gull in sight flying over the waters. Joaquim Sa.s.sa has thrown the stone, expecting it to fall a few paces away, not very far from where he's standing, each of us is obliged to know his own strength, there were not even any witnesses there to mock the efforts of the frustrated discus thrower, it was he who was prepared to laugh at himself, but things did not turn out as he expected, the stone, dark and heavy, went up into the air, came down and hit the surface of the water, the impact sent it back up in a great flight or leap, and down it came again, and then up, and finally it sank in the distance, unless the whiteness we have just seen some distance away is not just the froth of a breaking wave. How did that happen, Joaquim Sa.s.sa mused in bewilderment, how could I, weak as I am, have thrown such a heavy stone so far, way out on that sea that is already darkening, and there is no one here to say, Well done, Joaquim Sa.s.sa, I'm your witness for the Guinness Book of Records, Book of Records, such a feat cannot be ignored, what rotten luck, if I were to tell people what has happened, they would call me a liar. A towering wave came in from the open sea, foaming and gus.h.i.+ng, the stone finally dropped into the water, this evokes the rivers of childhood, for anyone who had rivers in his childhood, this concentric undulation caused by stones thrown into the water. Joaquim Sa.s.sa ran up the sh.o.r.e, and the wave broke on the sand, dragging with it sh.e.l.ls, crab's claws, green algae, but also other species, gulfweed, coralline, sea-tangle, and a small stone, light, of the type that can fit easily between the thumb and the index finger. How many years since it has seen the light of the sun. such a feat cannot be ignored, what rotten luck, if I were to tell people what has happened, they would call me a liar. A towering wave came in from the open sea, foaming and gus.h.i.+ng, the stone finally dropped into the water, this evokes the rivers of childhood, for anyone who had rivers in his childhood, this concentric undulation caused by stones thrown into the water. Joaquim Sa.s.sa ran up the sh.o.r.e, and the wave broke on the sand, dragging with it sh.e.l.ls, crab's claws, green algae, but also other species, gulfweed, coralline, sea-tangle, and a small stone, light, of the type that can fit easily between the thumb and the index finger. How many years since it has seen the light of the sun.

Writing is extremely difficult, it is an enormous responsibility, you need only think of the exhausting work involved in setting out events in chronological order, first this one, then that, or, if more conducive to the desired effect, today's event before yesterday's episode, and other no less risky acrobatics, presenting the past as if it were something new, or the present as a continuous process with neither beginning nor end, but, however hard writers might try, there is one feat they cannot achieve, and that is to put into writing, in the same tense, two events that have occurred simultaneously. Some believe the difficulty can be solved by dividing the page into two columns, side by side, but this proposal is too simple, because the one will have been written first and the other afterwards, nor may we forget that the reader will have to read this one first and then the other one, or vice versa. The people who come off best are the opera singers, each with his or her own part to sing, three, four, five, six in all among the tenors, ba.s.ses, sopranos, and baritones, all singing different words, the cynic mocking, for example, the ingenue pleading, the gallant lover slow in coming to her aid, what interests the operagoer is the music, but the reader is not like this, he wants everything explained, syllable by syllable, one after the other, as they are shown here. That is why, having first spoken of Joaquim Sa.s.sa, only now will we mention Pedro Orce, when in fact Joaquim Sa.s.sa threw the stone into the sea and Pedro Orce rose from his chair at the very same instant, although according to the clocks there was an hour's difference, because the latter happened to be in Spain and the former in Portugal.

It is common knowledge that every effect has its cause, and this is a universal truth, but it is impossible to avoid certain errors of judgment, or of simple identification, for we might think that this effect comes from that cause, when after all it was some other cause, beyond any understanding we possess or any knowledge we think we possess. For example, there appeared to be proof that if the dogs of Cerbere barked it was because Joana Carda scratched the ground with an elm branch, and yet only a very credulous child, if any child has survived from the golden decades of credulity, or an innocent one, if the holy name of innocence can thus be taken in vain, only a child capable of believing that by closing its hands it has trapped the sunlight inside would believe that dogs could bark that had never barked before, for reasons as much historical as physiological. In these tens and tens of thousands of hamlets, villages, towns, and cities, there are many people who would swear that they were the cause or causes of the barking of the dogs and of all that was to follow, because they slammed a door, or split a fingernail, or picked a fruit, or drew back the curtain, or lit a cigarette, or died, or, not the same people, were born, these hypotheses about death and birth would be more difficult to credit, bearing in mind that we are the ones who would have to propose them, for no child comes out of its mother's womb speaking, just as no one speaks any more once he has entered the womb of the earth. And there is no point in adding that any one of us has reasons enough for judging himself the cause of all effects, the reasons we have just mentioned as well as those that are our exclusive contribution to the functioning of the world, and I should dearly like to know what it will be like when people and the effects they alone cause will exist no more, best not to think of such an enormity, for it is enough to make one dizzy, but it will be quite sufficient for some tiny animals, some insects, to survive for there still to be worlds, the world of the ant and the cicada, for example, they will not draw back curtains, they will not look at themselves in the mirror, and what does it matter, after all, the only great truth is that the world cannot die.

Pedro Orce would say, if he so dared, that what caused the earth to tremble were his feet hitting the floor when he rose from the chair, great presumption on his part, if not ours, since we are frivolously expressing doubt, if every person leaves at least one sign in the world, this could be that of Pedro Orce, which is why he declares, I put my feet on the ground and the earth shook. It was an extraordinary trembling, so much so that no one appeared to have felt it, and even now, after two minutes, as the wave on the beach began to recede and Joaquim Sa.s.sa said to himself, If I were to tell anyone they would call me a liar, the earth still vibrates just as the chord continues to vibrate although it can no longer be heard, Pedro Orce can feel it in the soles of his feet, he continues to feel it as he leaves the pharmacy and steps out into the street, and no one there notices a thing, it's like watching a star and saying, What lovely light, what a beautiful star, without knowing that it went out in mid-sentence, and your children and grandchildren will repeat the same words, poor things, they speak of what is dead and say that it is alive, this deception is not confined to the science of astronomy. Here precisely the opposite happens, everyone would swear that the earth is firm and only Pedro Orce would say that it is trembling, just as well he kept his mouth shut and did not run away in terror, besides the walls are not swaying, the lamps hanging from the ceiling are as straight as a plumb line, and the little caged birds, who are usually the first to sound the alarm, doze peacefully on their perches, each with its head tucked under one wing, the needle of the seismograph has traced and continues to trace a straight horizontal line on the millimetric graph paper.

The next morning, a man was crossing an uncultivated plain, part scrubland, part swampy pasture, he was making his way along paths and tracks between the trees, poplars and ash, as elevated as the names by which they are known, and clumps of tamarisks, with their African scent, this man could not have chosen greater solitude or a loftier sky, and overhead, making the most incredible din, a flock of starlings followed him, so many of them that they formed a huge dark cloud, like the prelude to a storm. Whenever he paused the starlings began to fly in a circle or swooped noisily to roost in a tree, disappearing amid the branches until all the leaves were shaking and the crown echoed with harsh, strident sounds, giving the impression that some ferocious battle was being fought inside. Jose Anaico started walking again, for that was his name, and the starlings took sudden flight, all at once, vruuuuuuuuuu. vruuuuuuuuuu. If we did not know this man, and started guessing, we might decide that he was a bird-catcher by trade or, like the snake, had the power to charm and entice, when, in fact, Jose Anaico is as puzzled as we are about the reason for this winged festivity. What can these creatures desire of me, do not wonder at this archaic phrasing, for there are days when one does not feel like using commonplace words. If we did not know this man, and started guessing, we might decide that he was a bird-catcher by trade or, like the snake, had the power to charm and entice, when, in fact, Jose Anaico is as puzzled as we are about the reason for this winged festivity. What can these creatures desire of me, do not wonder at this archaic phrasing, for there are days when one does not feel like using commonplace words.

The man was traveling from east to west, for this was the route he favored, but, forced out of his way by a great reservoir, he now turned south around the bend, hugging the water's edge. By late morning the temperature will soar, but meanwhile there is a fresh, clean breeze, what a pity one cannot store it in one's pocket and keep it there until it is needed once the heat builds up. Jose Anaico was turning these thoughts over in his mind as he walked, vague and involuntary as if they did not belong to him, when he suddenly became aware that the starlings had stayed behind, were fluttering over where the road curves to skirt the reservoir, their behavior was quite extraordinary, but when all is said and done, whoever goes, goes, whoever remains, remains, good-bye little birds. Jose Anaico had now circled the lake, an awkward journey that took nearly half an hour, amid thistles and nettles, and he picked up his original route, proceeding as he had begun, east to west like the sun, when suddenly, vruuuu, vruuuu, the starlings reappeared, where had they been hiding. Well, here's something for which there is no explanation. If a flock of starlings accompanies a man on his morning stroll, like a dog faithful to his master, and waits for him the time it takes to go around a reservoir, and then follows him as before, one doesn't ask him to explain or investigate their motives, birds don't have reasons, just instincts, often vague and involuntary as if they were not part of us, we spoke about instincts, but also about reasons and motives. So let us not ask Jose Anaico who he is and what he does for a living, where he comes from and where he is going, whatever we find out about him, we shall only find out from him, and this description, this sketchy information will also have to serve for Joana Carda and her elm branch, for Joaquim Sa.s.sa and the stone he threw into the sea, for Pedro Orce and the chair he got up from, life does not begin when people are born, if it were so, each day would be a day gained, life begins much later, and how often too late, not to mention those lives that have no sooner begun than they are over, which has led one poet to exclaim, Ah, who will write the history of what might have been. the starlings reappeared, where had they been hiding. Well, here's something for which there is no explanation. If a flock of starlings accompanies a man on his morning stroll, like a dog faithful to his master, and waits for him the time it takes to go around a reservoir, and then follows him as before, one doesn't ask him to explain or investigate their motives, birds don't have reasons, just instincts, often vague and involuntary as if they were not part of us, we spoke about instincts, but also about reasons and motives. So let us not ask Jose Anaico who he is and what he does for a living, where he comes from and where he is going, whatever we find out about him, we shall only find out from him, and this description, this sketchy information will also have to serve for Joana Carda and her elm branch, for Joaquim Sa.s.sa and the stone he threw into the sea, for Pedro Orce and the chair he got up from, life does not begin when people are born, if it were so, each day would be a day gained, life begins much later, and how often too late, not to mention those lives that have no sooner begun than they are over, which has led one poet to exclaim, Ah, who will write the history of what might have been.

And now this woman called Maria Guavaira, such a strange name, who climbed up into the attic of the house and found an old sock, of the real old-fas.h.i.+oned kind that were used to keep money as safely as in any bank vault, symbolic h.o.a.rdings, gratuitous savings, and upon finding the sock empty she set about unraveling the st.i.tches to amuse herself, having nothing else with which to occupy her hands. An hour pa.s.sed and another and yet another, and the long strand of blue wool is still unwinding, yet the sock does not appear to get any smaller, the four enigmas already mentioned were not enough, which shows us that at least on this occasion the contents can be greater than the container. The sound of the waves does not reach this silent house, the shadow of pa.s.sing birds does not darken the window, there must be dogs but they do not bark, the earth, if it trembled, trembles no more. At the feet of the woman unraveling the thread is the mountain that goes on growing. Maria Guavaira is not called Ariadne, with this thread we shall not emerge from the labyrinth, perhaps it will help us to succeed at last in losing ourselves. Where is the end of this thread.

The first crack appeared in a large slab of natural stone, as smooth as the table of the winds, somewhere in these mountains of Alberes, which, at the eastern end of the Pyrenees, slope gently down to the sea and where the ill-starred dogs of Cerbere now rove, an allusion that is not inappropriate in time or place, for all these things, despite their appearances, are interconnected. Excluded, as has been stated, from any domestic sustenance, and consequently forced by necessity to recall in his unconscious memory the skills of his predatory ancestors in order to catch some stray rabbit, one of those dogs, Ardent by name and endowed with the acute hearing characteristic of the species, must have heard the stone cracking, for, although incapable of sniffing, the dog approached the stone, dilating his nostrils, his hairs bristling as much from curiosity as from fear. The crack, ever so fine, would remind any human observer of a line drawn with the sharpened point of a pencil, altogether different from that other line made with a branch on hard soil or in the loose, soft dust, or in the mud, should we choose to waste our time on such daydreams. But as the dog was approaching, the crack grew bigger, grew deeper and began to spread, splitting the stone up to the edges of the slab, and then all the way across, there was room to put a hand inside, a whole arm in width and length, had there been any man around with enough courage to cope with this phenomenon. The dog Ardent prowled around, agitated, yet unable to escape, attracted by the snake of which neither the head nor the tail could be seen, and suddenly he was lost, not knowing on which side to stay, whether in France, where he now found himself, or in Spain, no more than three spans away. But this dog, thanks be to G.o.d, was not one of those creatures who adapt to situations, the proof being that, with a single jump, he leapt over the abyss, if you'll pardon the obvious exaggeration in this expression, and ended up on this side, he preferred the infernal regions, and we shall never know what longings influence a dog's soul, what dreams, what temptations.

The second crack, but for the world the first, appeared a considerable distance away, toward the Bay of Biscay, not far from a place called Roncevalles, alas all too famous in the history of Charlemagne and his twelve Paladins, where Roland died when he blew on Oli-phant, without Angelica or Durandal to come to his a.s.sistance. There, descending along the northeastern strip of the Sierra Abodi, runs the River Irati, which, originating in France, flows into the Spanish Erro, in its turn an affluent of the Aragon, which is a tributary of the Ebro, which, bearing all their waters, will finally deposit them in the Mediterranean. At the bottom of the valley, on the edge of the Irati, there is a town, Orbaiceta by name, and upstream exists a dam, or weir, as it is called in those parts.

It is time to explain that what is reported here, or may come to be reported, is the truth and nothing but the truth, as you may verify on any map, provided it is sufficiently comprehensive to include certain details that might seem insignificant, for that is the virtue of maps, they show what can be done with limited s.p.a.ce, they foresee that everything can happen therein. And it does. We've already mentioned the rod of destiny, we've already shown that a stone, even if it be removed from the highest tidemark, can end up falling into the sea or make its way back to the sh.o.r.e, now it is the turn of Orbaiceta, where, after the salutary upheaval caused by the construction of the dam many years ago, calm had been restored, a city in the Province of Navarre and dormant amid mountains, now thrown into turmoil once more. For some days...o...b..iceta became the nerve center of Europe, if not of the world, invaded by government ministers, politicians, civil and military authorities, geologists and geographers, journalists and mineralogists, photographers, film and television crews, engineers of every kind, inspectors and sightseers. But Orbaiceta's fame will not last for long, a few fleeting days, not much longer than the roses of Malherbe, and how long could the latter, grown on poor soil, have lasted, but we are talking about Orbaiceta, nothing else, until some more notable event is reported elsewhere, which is what happens with notable events.

In the history of rivers there had never been anything like it, water flowing eternally and suddenly it flows no more, like a tap abruptly turned off, as when someone is was.h.i.+ng his hands in a basin after shutting off the tap, he pulls the plug, the water drains away, goes down the pipe, disappears, what has remained in the enameled basin will soon evaporate. To put it more aptly, the waters of the Irati retreated like waves that ebb from the sh.o.r.e and vanish, leaving the riverbed exposed, nothing but pebbles, mud, slime, fishes that gasp as they leap and die, then sudden silence.

The engineers were not on the spot when this incredible event took place, but they noticed that something abnormal had occurred, the dials on the observation panels indicated that the river had stopped feeding the great aquatic basin. Three technicians set off in a jeep to investigate the intriguing development, they made their way along the edge of the weir, considered the different possible hypotheses, they had plenty of time to do so for they traveled almost five kilometers, and one of those hypotheses was that a subsidence or landslide on the mountain might have diverted the river's course, another was that it might be the work of the French, typical Gallic perfidy, notwithstanding the bilateral agreement about fluvial waters and their hydroelectric uses, yet another hypothesis, and the most radical of all, was that the source, the fountainhead, the spring, had dried up, the eternity that appeared to exist but did not exist after all. On this point, opinions were divided. One of the engineers, a quiet man, the thoughtful type, and someon