Mia Couto - Confession of the Lioness

I can’t. I promised I wouldn’t let you go out.

I just want to go out and come back in again.

Let’s go, then, but only for a bit. And only here, next to the house.

She takes me by the hand and leads me to the open ground in front of the administration building. Everyone in the village is asleep, and from the bushes all we can hear is the sad hoot of the nightjars. Naftalinda contemplates the darkened houses and laments:

I feel sorry for Florindo. He’s a clown. He thinks that people venerate him. No one respects him, no one loves him.

She takes a few steps toward the bushes that surround the garden, chooses an old tree trunk, sits down on it, and remains in that position as if she were in prayer. Naftalinda falls asleep while I keep watch on her from a distance. Gradually I surrender to sleep until, in a split second, there is chaos and confusion: A rustling in the long grass, a low growl, and a shadow hurtles toward Naftalinda like a fireball. In a flash I see a lioness clutching her vast body and both of them, almost indistinct from one another, embracing in a deadly dance.

Help, a lioness! Help!

Yelling aloud, I rush forward to help the girl. The lioness is startled by my attack. With an impetus that I never guessed I was capable of, I grow in strength and size and force the lioness to back off. Here is an opportunity for Naftalinda to get away. But she rejects my help and runs to embrace her aggressor once again. In an instant, the three of us are rolling around together, there is a confusion of nails and claws, slobbering and panting, roars and screams. My frenzy causes my body to double in strength: I bite, scratch, kick. Surprised, the lioness eventually gives up. Defeated, she retreats with all the dignity of a queen dethroned. And she disappears into the darkness on the other side of the road.

For a few seconds, I remain on top of Naftalinda, but then suddenly the sky itself collapses on top of me. The pain is huge, I scream in despair, I turn on myself and catch a glimpse of Florindo with a stick raised above his head, ready to deliver the final blow.

It’s me! It’s me, Mariamar!

A chorus of voices breaks out: Kill her, Florindo! That woman is the lioness herself! The whole village throngs together around us, demanding justice. Next to me, Naftalinda is covered in blood. She gets up on her knees, opens her arms to protect my body, and proclaims in a kind of screech:

No one touch this woman. No one!

Still clutching the stick, Florindo Makwala, confused, orders the crowd back. He kneels down next to me to ask how I am. His voice is also on its knees as he murmurs:

I’m sorry, Mariamar, but in the darkness I didn’t see it was you.

At first the people retreat. But then, of one voice, they begin to yell once more, demanding my immediate execution. And once again they advance in a frenzy. I’m assailed by the old dream, that I’m going to die as I always dreamed I would, flat-out on a stretch of beach, shapes hovering above me like vultures, ready to devour my soul. And the kicking and punching no longer hurt me, I don’t hear the insults anymore, and I’m not even aware that the crowd is dispersing like an ocean wave. The person responsible for causing the crazed horde to melt away is Florindo Makwala, who has grown in both body and voice. Seen from down on the ground, he is like a mountain and his command is that of an irate demigod:

Back! Get back or I’ll kill you with my own hands.

Astounded, Naftalinda looks at her husband as if she doesn’t recognize him. Then she sighs:

My man, my man’s come back!

The administrator stands there, statuesque and threatening, until suddenly we hear shots. At first far away. For a long moment the people are paralyzed between expectation and fear. Then there are more shots, this time nearer. The onlookers dash off in the direction of the road. It’s not long before the sound of voices reaches us, excited but indistinguishable. It’s Archie who’s coming, I think. The hunter has come to rescue me — he’s finally appeared before my weary heart. The cries are now clear:

They’ve killed the lions! They’ve killed the lions!

I get to my feet with difficulty and stagger toward the road. And there he is, my savior! His weapon over his shoulder, he stands out in the darkness and is walking toward me. But gradually the figure becomes clearer and I realize it’s not Archie Bullseye. It’s Maniqueto, the policeman. Surrounded by the crowd that welcomes him in all his glory, he brandishes the bloodied ear of the slaughtered lion in his right hand.

I killed this lion out there in the bush.

But we heard shots nearby …

The other one, the lioness, was killed right here, on the road.

He is greeted with euphoric applause. No one notices Florindo helping his injured wife back home. Only I haven’t a home to go back to. Only I weep on the dark ground of Kulumani.

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

* * *

How I missed being awake!

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

Have you been looking at me for long?

Forever.

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

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

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

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

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

This pillow must be packed with pollen.

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

Did anyone else get injured?

Genito was killed.

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