Antonio Tabucchi - Pereira Maintains

All the people you know! thought Pereira. But what if with all the people he knew he still didn’t really know anyone, he knew Father António whom he could scarcely burden with a problem like this, he knew his friend Silva who was away at Coimbra and couldn’t be trusted anyway, and there was the caretaker at Rua Rodrigo da Fonseca who was most probably a police spy. But then he was suddenly reminded of a little doss-house in La Graça, up beyond the Castle, where illicit couples used to go and they never asked for anyone’s documents. Pereira knew of it because his friend Silva had once asked him to book a room in some such unobtrusive place for him to spend a night with a Lisbon lady who couldn’t risk scandal. So he said: I’ll see about it tomorrow morning, but don’t send or bring your cousin to the office, because of the caretaker, bring him round at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning to my home and then stay around yourself, I may need you, I’ll give you the address right away, but no telephone calls if you please.

Why did Pereira say all this? Because he felt sorry for Monteiro Rossi? Because he had been at the spa and had such a disheartening conversation with his friend Silva? Because on the train he had met Senhora Delgado who had told him that he must do something, be it ever so little? Pereira has no idea, he maintains. He only knows that clearly he had got himself into a fix and needed to talk to someone about it. But this someone was not in the offing so he thought that when he got home he would talk it over with the photograph of his wife. And that, he maintains, is what he did.

On the dot of eleven, Pereira maintains, his doorbell rang. He’d got up early, had breakfast, and made a jug of lemonade packed with ice, which now stood on the dining-room table. Monteiro Rossi came in with a furtive air and a muttered good morning. Pereira, slightly perplexed, closed the door and asked if his cousin wasn’t coming after all. Oh yes, he’s here, replied Monteiro Rossi, but he doesn’t like to burst in just like that, he’s sent me on ahead to take a dekko. A dekko at what? asked Pereira rather huffily, do you think you’re playing at cops and robbers, or did you imagine the police were here waiting for you? Oh it isn’t that, Dr Pereira, apologized Monteiro Rossi, it’s just that my cousin is all on edge, he’s in a difficult position you know, he’s here on a delicate mission, he has an Argentine passport and doesn’t know which way to turn. You told me all that last night, retorted Pereira, and now please call him in, that’s quite enough of this tomfoolery. Monteiro Rossi opened the door and beckoned. Come on in Bruno, he said in Italian, the coast is clear.

And in there came a skinny little shrimp, with hair cut en brosse , a yellowish moustache and a blue jacket. Dr Pereira, said Monteiro Rossi, let me introduce my cousin Bruno Rossi, however as the name on his passport is Bruno Lugones it’d be better to make a point of calling him Lugones. What language can we talk in? asked Pereira, does your cousin speak Portuguese? No, said Monteiro Rossi, but he speaks Spanish.

Pereira seated them at the dining-table and helped them to lemonade. This Bruno Rossi said not a word, but darted suspicious glances this way and that. At the distant siren of an ambulance he stiffened and went over to the window. Tell him to relax, Pereira advised Monteiro Rossi, we’re not in Spain here, there’s no civil war on. Bruno Rossi returned to his seat and said: Perdone la molestia pero estoy aquí por la causa republicana. Listen here Senhor Lugones, said Pereira in Portuguese, I will speak slowly so that you can understand me, I am not interested either in the republican or in the monarchist cause, I edit the culture page of an evening paper and such things do not fall within my province. I have found you some out-of-the-way accommodation, more than that I cannot do, and you will kindly take care not to come calling on me because I want nothing to do with either you or your cause. This Bruno Rossi turned to his cousin and said in Italian: He isn’t at all how you described him, I expected to find a comrade. Pereira caught the meaning and said: I am nobody’s comrade, I am a lone wolf and like it, my only comrade is myself, I don’t know if I make myself clear Senhor Lugones, that being the name on your passport. Yes, yes, said Monteiro Rossi almost tripping over his tongue, but the fact is that, well, the fact is we need your help and understanding, because we need money. What exactly do you mean? asked Pereira. Well, said Monteiro Rossi, my cousin has no money and if we get to the hotel and they want payment in advance we can’t fork out, not for the moment, I’ll put things straight afterwards, or rather Marta will, it’ll only be a loan.

On hearing this Pereira stood up, he maintains. He apologized, saying: Please excuse me but I need a few moments’ thought, all I ask is a couple of minutes. He left the two of them alone at the dining-table and went through into the hall. Standing before his wife’s photograph he told it: You know, it’s not so much this Lugones who worries me, it’s Marta, in my opinion she’s the one to blame for all this, Marta is Monteiro Rossi’s girl, the one with the copper-coloured hair, I think I mentioned her to you, well, she’s the one who’s getting Monteiro Rossi into a scrape, and he’s allowing himself to be got into a scrape because he’s in love with her, I ought to drop him a word of warning, don’t you think? His wife’s photograph smiled its faraway smile and Pereira thought he’d got its message. He returned to the dining-room and asked Monteiro Rossi: Why Marta? what’s Marta got to do with it? Oh well, babbled Monteiro Rossi blushing slightly, because Marta has a lot of resources behind her, that’s all. You listen to me carefully, Monteiro Rossi, said Pereira, I can’t help feeling that you’re getting into a scrape all because of a beautiful girl, but anyway I’m not your father and don’t wish to adopt a fatherly air in case you think it patronizing, so there’s only one thing I wish to say to you: take care. Yes, yes, said Monteiro Rossi, I am taking care but what about the loan? We’ll see to that, replied Pereira, but why should it have to come from me of all people? But Dr Pereira, said Monteiro Rossi, digging a sheet of paper from his pocket and holding it out to him, I’ve written this article and I’ll write two more next week, I took the liberty of doing an anniversary, I’ve done D’Annunzio, I’ve put my heart into it but my reason as well, as you advised me, and I promise you that the next two will be Catholic writers of the kind you’re so keen on.

A flush of irritation came over Pereira, he maintains. Now look here, he said, it’s not that I want nothing but Catholic writers, but someone who’s written a thesis on death might give a little more thought to the writers who have dealt with this subject, who are interested in the soul, in short, and instead you bring me an anniversary article on a downright vitalist like D’Annunzio, who may possibly have been a good poet but who frittered his life away in frivolities, and my newspaper doesn’t care for frivolous people, or at least I don’t, do I make myself clear? Perfectly, said Monteiro Rossi, I’ve got the message. Good, said Pereira, then now let’s get along to this hotel, I’ve remembered a cheap hotel in the Graça where they don’t make a lot of fuss, I will pay the advance if they ask for it, however I expect at least two more obituaries from you, Monteiro Rossi, this is your two weeks’ wages. I should tell you, Dr Pereira, said Monteiro Rossi, that I did that anniversary article on D’Annunzio because last Saturday I bought the Lisboa and saw there’s a feature called ‘Anniversaries’, it isn’t signed but I imagine you write it yourself, but if you’d like a hand I’d be very willing to give you one, I’d like to work on that sort of feature, there’s a mass of authors I could write about, and what’s more, seeing as how it’s printed anonymously there’d be no risk of getting you into trouble. So you are in trouble are you? Pereira maintains he said. Well, a little, as you can see, replied Monteiro Rossi, but if you prefer a pseudonym I’ve thought one up, what do you think of Roxy? That would do fine, said Pereira. He removed the lemonade jug, placed it in the ice-chest, and putting on his jacket: Very well, let’s be on our way, he said.