Mia Couto - The Tuner of Silences

Whereupon, he handed the machine to Zachary. The Portuguese woman made as if to protest. But Aproximado’s look convinced her not to do anything. Silvestre returned to the podium, drank from a glass of water, and cleared his throat before continuing:

— Jezoosalem is a young, independent nation and I am the President. I am the President of the Nation.

And as he refined his terms, he became even more puffed up with pride at his own titles:

— In fact, as my name, Vitalício, suggests, I am President for Life. .

His bulging eyes alighted on me. But instead of looking at him, I focused on the fly crawling across his beard. As far as I was concerned, it was the same fly as ever, following the same route: it crossed his left cheek and ascended in the direction of his forehead awaiting the brisk slap that would send it spinning into the air. My father had indeed been transformed. Previously, I used to fear losing my father. Now, I couldn’t wait to be an orphan.

— It is a pity that our youth, lifeblood of the nation, should be so depraved, we who placed such hopes. .

Once again, I sought out Ntunzi’s gaze, hoping for some look of solidarity and understanding. But unlike Marta, my brother seemed terrified. Zachary and Aproximado exuded concern. Their apprehension reinforced my own when the new Silvestre announced his final decision:

— For reasons of security, an obligatory curfew will be imposed throughout the nation.

And martial law would be imposed in response to that which he designated, looking hard at Marta, as “interference by colonial powers.” Everything would be subject to his direct presidential supervision. And all acts would be executed with the help of his right-hand man, Minister Zachary Kalash.

As he walked off, flanked by a glorious mirage of light, he turned to us with a concluding statement:

— I have spoken. .

The truth is sad when it is only one. Sadder still when its ugliness doesn’t have, like Zachary’s aerogrammes, the remedy of a lie. At that particular moment in Jezoosalem, the truth was that our father had gone mad. And it wasn’t the madness of benevolence and redemption. It was a demon that had taken up residence within him.

— I’ll talk to him —Marta said, noting the general concern.

Ntunzi didn’t think it a good idea. Aproximado, on the other hand, encouraged her to visit the old ranter in his lair. I would accompany the Portuguese woman to make sure that the situation didn’t get out of hand.

The moment we entered the half-light of the room, we were brought to a halt by Silvestre’s gruff voice:

— Did you request an audience?

— I did. I spoke to the Minister, Zachary.

Marta was playing her part to an extent that Silvestre couldn’t have anticipated. My father’s expression was tinged with surprise and suspicion. The foreign woman got to the point without more ado:

— I’ve come to tell you that I am going to comply with your instructions, Your Excellency.

— You’re going to leave Jezoosalem? How?

— I’ll walk the twenty kilometres to the entrance gate. After that, I’ll find someone to help me on the road.

— In that case, you have immediate authorization.

— The problem is the track within the reserve. It’s not safe. I would ask your Minister for the Army to arrange for an escort as far as the gate.

— I don’t know, I’ll think about it. To be honest, I wouldn’t want to leave you alone with Zachary.

— Why?

— I no longer trust him.

After a pause, he added:

— I don’t trust anyone.

The Portuguese woman approached him, almost maternally. It looked as if her hand was going to touch our old man’s shoulder, but then the visitor thought better.

— Dearest Silvestre, you know only too well what is needed here.

— Nothing is needed here. Nor anyone for that matter.

— What’s missing here is a farewell.

— Yes, your farewell.

— You never bade farewell to your late wife. That’s what is tormenting you, that lack of proper mourning doesn’t bring you any peace.

— I do not authorize you to talk about such matters, I am the President of Jezoosalem, and I don’t need advice coming from Europe.

— But I learnt this here, with you, in Africa. Dordalma needs to die in peace, to die definitively.

— Leave the Presidential Palace before my fury prevents me from being responsible for my actions.

I took the Portuguese woman by the hand and hurried her from the room, I knew my father’s limits, even when he was in his normal state. In these circumstances, his madness was making him still more unpredictable. Before we left, Marta took a step back and once again confronted the irate Silvestre.

— Just tell me one thing. She was leaving, wasn’t she?

— What do you mean?

— On the bus, Dordalma. She was running away from home. .

— Who told you?

— I know, I’m a woman.

— You can prime your rifle, my dear Zachary.

— But, Silvestre, is it to kill someone?

— To kill, and to kill stone dead.

Zachary should feel happy to receive such a major responsibility. Killing wild animals wasn’t a task worthy of a career soldier. It was when God created Man that he earned his certificate. Wild animals aren’t yet proper living creatures. It’s Man who can be patented. Only by tearing out the last page of God’s book can he defy divine power.

One couldn’t say what the soldier’s feelings were when he was given the mission to kill the Portuguese woman. To me, he looked impassive. And that’s how Zachary left, rifle over his shoulder, his expression impenetrable, his step silent, before my stupefied state. I looked at my father sitting there like a king on his new throne. There was no point in my throwing myself at his feet to appeal for clemency. It was irreversible: Marta, my recent mother, was going to be killed without my being able to do anything about it. Where could Ntunzi be? I ran across the room, the kitchen, the hall. There was no sign of my brother. And Uncle Aproximado hadn’t yet arrived from the other side of the world. I threw myself to the ground, empty and defeated, awaiting the inevitable shot. Would I know how to be an orphan all over again?

But nothing happened. The soldier couldn’t have gone far, for a few minutes later he was back, his shadow filling the doorway of our house.

— What’s happened? — my old man asked.

— I couldn’t.

— Nonsense. Go back there and do what I told you to do.

— I can’t.

— Have you stopped being a soldier?

— I’ve stopped being Zachary Kalash.

— Nonsense — insisted my father. — The order I gave you. .

— Don’t get angry, Silvestre, but not even God could give me that order.

— Get out of here, Zachary Kalash. Go out the back, and you two as well, you’re no longer my sons.

The only creature that merited his affection was Jezebel. And he, Silvestre Vitalício, was going to send us to the corral. In exchange, his sweetheart would come and live inside the house. His decision was final and irrevocable.