Mia Couto - The Tuner of Silences

(Night approaches like a wild creature)

Anguish for being water in the midst of earth

and for my anxious, mobile mien.

And at once multiple and immobile

Not knowing whether to leave or await you.

Anguish for loving you, if it moves you.

For being water, my love, while wishing I was soil.

Finally, let me introduce you to our last member of humanity: our beloved donkey, Jezebel by name. The jenny was the same age as me, which was old for an animal of her species. And yet, Jezebel was, as my father put it, in the flower of her youth. The secret behind her elegance lay in the tobacco she chewed. This delicacy was ordered through Uncle Aproximado and shared between Zachary and the jenny. Late in the afternoon, one of us would take her whole leaves and the donkey would rejoice at the sight, trotting over happily to receive her greens. Ntunzi once remarked how he found it amusing to watch the movements of her thick lips.

— Thick? Who said they’re thick?

That was my old man jumping to Jezebel’s defence. More than the tobacco, it was the love that Silvestre devoted to the donkey that explained why she was so gorgeous. No one had ever seen such respect paid in a case of zoological affection. He would court her every Sunday. It must be said that only my father had any idea what day of the week it was. Sometimes we had a Sunday on two consecutive days. It depended on the state of his needs. But the fact was that on the last day of the week, everyone knew for sure what would happen: bearing a bouquet of flowers, and wearing a red tie, Silvestre would make his way solemnly to the corral. The fellow was parading himself to fulfil what he termed “the will of the unwilled.” At some distance from the corral, my old man would respectfully announce himself:

— May I come in?

The donkey would turn round, with an imperceptible flutter of her eyelashes, and my father would pause, hands resting on his stomach, waiting for a signal. We never found out what this signal might be. But the truth was that in due course, Silvestre would express his gratitude:

— Thank you so much, Jezebel, I’ve brought you these humble flowers. .

We would watch the donkey chew the bunch of flowers. And then, my father would disappear inside the corral. And that was that.

One particular Sunday, things can’t have gone according to plan. Silvestre returned from his love tryst in a rage. He carried his fury on the tip of his foot and his curses on the tip of his tongue. Head bowed, he kept saying:

— It’s never happened to me before, never, never! Really never.

He strode round the room, kicking the few bits of furniture. His impotent, repressed anger caused his voice to tremble:

— It’s a curse put on me by that bitch!

We almost took him literally: the bitch, by association, must be Jezebel. But no. The bitch was his late wife. My mother. My ex-mother. The disruption to Vitalício’s manly functions had been caused by Dona Dordalma’s spell.

Having lowered himself into his chair on the veranda, my father sought my services as a tuner of silences. It was the end of the afternoon, and shadows darted around taking over the world. Silvestre was like one of these shadows: fleetingly still. But it wasn’t long before he jumped up suddenly and ordered:

— Come with me to the corral!

— What are we going to do?

— I’m going to do — he corrected. — I’m going to apologize to Jezebel. So the poor girl isn’t sad, thinking it was her fault.

I remained at the entrance to the corral, saw my father hug the jenny’s neck, and then the surrounding darkness enveloped me. An inner rage prevented me from watching. I was aflame with jealousy for Jezebel. On our way back, a flash lit up the savannah and a huge crash of thunder deafened us. The November rains were beginning. It wouldn’t be long before Zachary emerged to insult the gods.

That same night, father ordered us to go and guard the corral. What about Zachary? We asked. Why not send for the person whose job it was to undertake this duty?

— That fellow’s useless when there’s thunder. You two go, and take the torch.

Jezebel was agitated, whinnying and kicking. And it wasn’t because of Zachary’s foul-mouthing, for he was quiet and keeping to himself inside his hut. It must be for some other reason and it was our mission to find out why she was so agitated. Ntunzi and I walked out under the intense thunder. The jenny looked at me with an almost human appeal, her ears pointing down in fear. There was an intermittent gleam in her velvet eyes, like flashes of lightning from within her soul.

Ntunzi sat down sleepily while I tried to soothe the animal. She began to calm down, her flank nestling up to my body, seeking comfort and support. I heard my brother’s malicious comment:

— She’s getting all come-hither, Mwanito.

— Come off it, Ntunzi.

— Go on, mount the broad.

— I didn’t hear you.

— You heard me only too well. Go on, undo your fly, the broad fancies you.

— Come on, brother, Jezebel’s scared, that’s all.

— You’re the one that’s scared. Go on, Mwanito, take your trousers off, nobody would think you’re the son of Silvestre Vitalício.

Ntunzi came over and pushed me, forcing me to lean over the jenny’s back, while I begged him:

— Stop it, stop it.

Suddenly, in amongst the trees, I glimpsed a moving shadow, creeping along, cat-like. Terrified, I pointed to it:

— A lioness! It’s a lioness!

— Let’s get out of here, quick, give me your torch. .

— And Jezebel? Are we going to leave her here?

— To hell with the bloody donkey.

Then suddenly, we heard a shot. It seemed more like a flash of lightning, but a second shot left us in no doubt. Our soldier was right: faced with a shot, whether it hits or misses, we all die. Occasionally, some lucky ones return amid the dust raised by fright. That’s what happened to us. In the confusion, Ntunzi tripped over me and both of us, covered in mud and flat on the ground, peered through the grass. Zachary had hit the prowling lioness.

The feline creature managed to stagger drunkenly a few steps, as if death were a fit of giddiness that caused you to end up on the ground. Then, it collapsed, with a fragility that didn’t match its regal stature. The moment the lioness fell to the ground, it stopped raining. Zachary made sure it was really dead, and then fell to his knees and addressed the heavens, praying the wound caused in him by his shot might be healed.

My father appeared, all in a hurry, and he didn’t stop with us. He walked along the fence looking for Jezebel, and when he found her, he stopped to comfort her.

— Poor thing, she’s trembling all over. Tonight, she’s going to sleep in the house.

— In the house? — Ntunzi asked, astonished.

— She’ll sleep there tonight and as many nights as are necessary.

She only slept there that night. That was enough for Ntunzi to vent all his jealous feelings when he addressed me:

— He never let you, his own son, in there, but the donkey’s allowed to sleep inside. .

After the accident, the corral was moved nearer. The moment night fell, bonfires were lit all around it to protect the jenny from the covetousness of any predators.

Weeks passed until one day Silvestre decided to call another meeting. Hurriedly, we gathered in silence in the square with the crucifix. Uncle Aproximado, who happened to have spent the night with us, also lined up next to me. With a stern frown, the old man looked each one of us in the face, peering unhurriedly into our eyes. Finally, he growled: