Jean-Marie Blas De Robles - Where Tigers Are at Home

Eléazard felt his hair stand on end. “It’s not possible … It’s just not possible,” he said as he looked at her, dumbfounded. “How come you know that?”

“I haven’t told you everything, far from it,” said Loredana in a tone of mystery and enjoying her advantage over him. “I’ve more than one string to my bow.”

“Please …” said Eléazard, putting on a hangdog expression.

“The simple reason is because I’m a sinologist. Well, not quite; I studied Chinese, a long time ago and I’ve read one or two books that talked about Kircher because of his work on China. Cazzo! ” she suddenly exclaimed. “ Puta merda! ”

“What’s the matter?” Eléazard asked, taken aback by her swearing.

“Nothing,” she said, blushing again. “I’ve been bitten by a mosquito.”

“ Yes … Right … I want all of them, every last one … It’s of vital importance, I hope you understand that. Who?… One moment, I’ll check.”

The telephone wedged between his shoulder and his right ear, in a posture that made his cheek bulge around the receiver, Colonel José Moreira da Rocha unrolled a little more of the cadastral map spread out on his desk.

“What was it you said?… 367 … N.P.… B? N.B.… 40 … There, I’ve got it. Why is he refusing to sell? It’s nothing but forest and marshes. My God, what a load of cretins! Offer him twice the price and let him go hang. It all has to be sorted out within the fortnight … No … I said no, Wagner! I don’t want any trouble, especially not at the moment. And you know I don’t really like those methods anyway … How does he earn his living?… OK, I’ll see to it. Don’t you worry, it’ll go through even quicker than we thought. By the way, they’ve moved the meeting up: tomorrow, three o’clock … I don’t want to know! Be there without fail, I’m counting on you … That’s right … That’s right … OK, call back if there’s the least problem.”

As soon as he’d replaced the receiver, the Colonel leaned over to the intercom. “Anita, get me Frutas do Maranhão , please. And then I wouldn’t mind a little coffee.”

“Right, Colonel … Who do you want to speak to?”

“Bernardo Carvalho, the CEO …”

The Colonel leaned back in his chair to light a long cigarillo, savoring the first puffs with evident enjoyment. Behind him a little colonial-style window, the lower half with small yellow and green panes, cast a slightly acid light on his off-white suit. With his broad, clear forehead and wavy, black Franz Liszt hair hanging down over his ears, Governor Moreira da Rocha’s face was like a picture of a politician from the previous century. The impression was confirmed — or perhaps it was the detail that created it — by the presence of a pair of huge white side-whiskers encroaching on his cheeks to the corners of his mouth, setting off in a way that bordered on the obscene a heavy chin split in two by a cleft. With this frame, all eyes were drawn to his mouth; seen by itself, its fullness and the sensual pout of disdain that twisted it slightly made it look youthful. Meeting the Colonel’s eyes after that, lodged like two pieces of lead shot between the reptilian folds of his lids, one became aware of the cynicism accumulated in their deep, grainy, blackish rings and it became impossible to say whether one was dealing with a fairly well-preserved old man or one prematurely aged by overindulgence. Moreira was aware of the unease caused by his expressive features and he always made skillful, sometimes even cruel, use of it.

The intercom crackled briefly. “That’s Bernardo Carvalho on the line, Colonel, extension three.”

The Colonel pressed a switch and settled back in his chair again. “Hi there, Nando?… Fine, and you? How are things with you, old chap?… Yes … Ha ha ha! You’d better watch out, at your age getting up to that kind of lark could cost you! You’ll have to introduce me to her so I can show her what life’s really about. But let’s get down to serious stuff. There’s a little shit, name of Nicanor Carneiro, who owns some property and who’s giving me problems. You know who it is?… No, nothing serious, but I’d like to give him a lesson, teach him good manners. You’re going to forget him for a while when you’re purchasing fruit … Just long enough for his bloody mangoes to rot. That’s right, yes … And do it so he can’t pass them off to someone else, eh … OK, amigo , don’t worry, I owe you. And I expect to see you at my little party, don’t forget. See you soon … Yes, that’s right … That’s right … Ciao , Nando, got to go now, there’s someone on the other line … Ciao …”

He relit his cigar when his secretary came in carrying a silver tray. Closing the door with her hip, she crossed the room carefully so as not to spill anything on the crimson wall-to-wall carpet.

A translucent, fine linen suit, boxwood pearls on her tanned skin, austere bun and stiletto heels. A woman to tempt all the saints of Bahia! Certainly something different from those frumps of the Nordeste .

“Your coffee, sir,” she said hesitantly, suddenly embarrassed at finding herself mentally undressed by the governor.

Moreira moved some papers that were right in front of him. “Put it down there, please.”

To put the tray down where he had indicated, Anita had to go around the desk to his right-hand side. The Colonel felt her body brush against his shoulder. Just as she was about to pour the coffee he slipped a hand up her skirt.

“No … Not that, sir …” she said, trying to move away. “Please … Don’t …”

His hand clamped to the flesh of her thigh, unmoving like a handler subduing a dog, he maintained his hold, relishing the way the young woman stiffened and the waves of panic running across her skin.

The ring of the telephone caught them in this petrified stuggle. Without letting go, the Colonel picked up the receiver with his free hand.

“Yes? No, darling … At the moment I still don’t know when I’ll be able to get away. But I’ll send the driver if you want … The sudden capture of the crotch, swollen lips, the yielding fruit of the mango tree … Now don’t be silly … Of course I love you, where did you get that idea … Earthy moisture, the jungle of the genitals, spongy under the kneading fingers … But of course, my love, I promise … Put on your glad rags, there’ll be quite a crowd … Go on, I’m listening. I’ve said I’m listening, now be reasonable, please.”

Tears in her eyes, leaning forward as if being searched by the police, Anita desperately scrutinized the bust facing her. Antônio Francisco Lisboa … Antônio Francisco Lisboa … With an absurd sense of urgency, she read and reread the inscription on the plaster, gorging on it as if it were an exorcism that could purify her.

The happy chance that took Kircher to Provence, the distinguished figures he met there & how he achieved his first successes

HARDLY HAD WE reached the security of the Jesuit college in Mainz than the superiors of our Order decided to send Athanasius Kircher far away from the war and the German states. This favor was due solely to his renown, which was already considerable both within our Order & in learned societies the world over. He was given letters of recommendation to the College of Avignon & I was granted permission to accompany him in the capacity of private secretary.

In Paris, where we arrived without mishap, we were received with open arms by the Jesuits of the Collège de la Place Royale . There Kircher was to meet some of the learned scholars with whom he had been in correspondence for several years: Henry Oldenburg, first secretary of the Royal Society in London, who was visiting Paris, La Mothe Le Vayer & the Franciscan Marin Mersenne. With the latter he had long disputations on all kinds of questions that at the time were beyond my understanding. He also saw Monsieur Pascal, who seemed to him a peerless mathematician but a sad specimen of humanity & one whose faith smacked of heresy. The same was true of Monsieur Descartes, the apostle of the New Philosophy, who made a mixed impression on him.