José Saramago - Small Memories

Here they are, Josefa and Jerónimo. I find that hand on my grandmother's shoulder very touching. They didn't much go in for public displays of affection, but I know they loved each other and still did then.

My grandmother has a child in her arms, but I don't know who it is. He looks to me like Uncle Manuel's son.

I'm not sure what to make of this gentleman. His face is that of my grandfather Jerónimo, but the suit isn't him at all. It was lent to him for the occasion by the husband of my Aunt Maria da Luz, who, at the time, lived in Oporto, where the photo was taken.

My mother was a beauty.

It's not me who says so, but the photo.

They made a handsome couple. My mother was pregnant with my brother Francisco at the time. I came along later, but there's no photo.

My father, when he'd already been promoted to sergeant. He was what people used to call "a fine figure of a man. "

So beautiful!

The years passed, and this is possibly the last photo of my father. Despite his various shenanigans, he was not a bad person. One day, when I was already a grown man, he said to me: "Now you, you've always been a good son." At that moment, I forgave him everything. We had never been so close before.

The translator would like to thank José Saramago, Tânia Ganho and Ben Sherriff for all their help and advice.