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

Without waiting for a reply, he got out of the car and went up the white stone steps leading to the main entrance.

Ediwaldo, the butler, was there to greet him as he entered the vestibule. “Good evening, sir. Have you had a good day?”

“Exhausting, Ediwaldo, exhausting. If you knew the number of problems I’m supposed to sort out in this state and the number of imbeciles who get together to complicate matters every time they’re in danger of getting a bit too simple …”

“I can imagine, sir.”

“Where is Senhora Moreira?”

“In the chapel, sir. She wanted to collect her thoughts before dinner.”

The Governor’s lips pursed in annoyance. That fucking chapel! Another way of avoiding me … She who never used to set foot in it … Fucking God, dammit! Fucking shit of a woman!

“Has she been drinking?”

“A little too much, sir, if you’ll forgive me saying so.”

Ediwaldo saw the Governor’s jaw set. He hurried to strike a match under the cigarillo that had suddenly appeared between his lips.

“Thank you. Go and tell her that I want to see her at once in the drawing room. And have a whiskey sent up while you’re at it.”

“Cutty Sark, as usual?”

“As usual, Ediwaldo, as usual.”

The Colonel slowly climbed the marble staircase leading to the second floor. On the landing he avoided looking at his own reflection in the large baroque mirror with the deep vista of golds and crimson velvet of the reception rooms; purring, with a noise like a crackling fire, a jaguar came crawling toward him.

“Jurupari, my beauty! Juruparinha …” he said lovingly, abandoning his hand to the animal, which licked it eagerly. “Come, querida , come, my lovely.”

Moreira sank back into an ornate sofa — jacaranda wood, arms carved with passion fruit and star fruit, all bought at an exorbitant price from an antiques dealer in Recife. The jaguar had put its front paws on his knees to let him stroke its neck, eyes closed, quivering with pleasure. “Yes, carinha , yes … you’re the loveliest … the most powerful …” Nothing moved him like the taut muscles under its tawny coat, hypnotic, speckled with eyes fixed on him alone. In its universe there are no names, there’s no past, no future, nothing but the indubitable present moment . To think that it needed an Argentine to write that, to tell the truth about wild animals … His fingers could feel the warm gold of the collar in the animal’s fur and, thinking of Anita’s receptive thighs, her secret bush, he put one hand to his nostrils to try and bring back a memory.

Its spine suddenly twisting in a spasm, its ears flattened, the jaguar raised its head, turning its yellow eyes toward one of the drawing-room doors.

“Now, now, Jurupari. Calm down, calm down,” Moreira said, keeping a firm grip on its collar. “It’s only my aperitif.”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir, will that be all, sir?” came his wife’s slurred voice.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Moreira, turning toward her. “But what …”

Wearing a faded dressing gown — the one she preferred, as if out of revenge because he couldn’t stand it — a cheap, pastel pink, padded nylon dressing gown that parted at every step to reveal her fat thighs, his wife came toward him, a glass of whiskey in each hand. “I ran into Imelda on the stairs and I thought I might as well serve the drinks myself.”

“And took the opportunity to get one for yourself … You drink too much, Carlotta, it’s bad for you, the doctor told you. You ought to make an effort, at least for your health.”

Putting her husband’s glass on a little low table, Carlotta flopped down on the other end of the sofa, spilling some of her drink on her chest. Without seeming at all concerned, she took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and wiped herself nonchalantly, revealing a flaccid breast, pitifully neglected.

“I’ve already told you not to walk around dressed like that,” Moreira said irritably. “It’s … it’s indecent, for God’s sake! If you won’t do it for me, at least do it for the servants. What are they going to think of you? Not to mention the chapel. Since it seems you’ve become pious … I don’t think it’s really appropriate to pray half naked.”

“You can go to hell,” she said calmly. “Countess Carlotta de Souza’s telling you to go to hell, Governor.”

A look of dismay on his face, her husband shrugged his shoulders. “Just look at yourself, darling, the state you’re in. You don’t know what you’re saying anymore.”

“You wanted to speak to me,” she said in an aggressive tone, “so get on with it, I’m listening. Come on, out with it.”

“I don’t think it’s the right moment, you’re in no state to listen to anything.”

“Get on with it, I said … or I’ll start screaming.”

Startled by the raised voice, the jaguar started to growl, trying to escape from its master’s grip.

“Quiet! Calm down, my beauty!” Then, in a lower voice, to Carlotta: “You’re mad! I don’t believe it! Do you want to get eaten up or what?”

“I warned you,” she said, apparently unconcerned at the jaguar’s growing agitation.

“I’m having a reception here, in a fortnight,” the governor said. “Fifty people. It all has to be perfect, it’s important for business. I’m counting on you to organize it. I’ll give Ediwaldo the guest list … and we’ll talk about it tomorrow, when you’re sober. And now, with your permission, I’m going to take a shower. I advise you to do the same and to make yourself presentable for dinner, you look like … like an old whore, querida , an old whore!” He came so close to her he was breathing over her face. “You understand? You understand that I’m starting to get fed up with your whims? I’ve had it up to here, caralho! ”

Carlotta watched him leave the room, followed by his lousy jaguar. She was going to finish her drink but irrepressible sobs, all the more convulsive for being silent, made her double up with grief on the sofa.

Continuation of the journey through Italy: in which Kircher examines the central fire & vies with Archimedes

WE MADE RAPID progress toward the frightful fireworks in front of us. After we had been walking for half an hour the vegetation, already sparse, disappeared completely & we were faced with a desert landscape of black and ochre rocks, porous like pumice stone. It had become extremely hot, we were sweating under our clothes, while from time to time brief gusts of wind enveloped us in stinking fumes. The continuous rumbling of the volcano made it impossible to utter a word without having to shout oneself hoarse; the polluted air was full of ash and sulphur …

All the time I was praying to God that Athanasius would decide to turn back, but he kept going on, imperturbable, using his hands to climb the warm slopes & jumping from rock to rock like a kid goat, untroubled by the weight of baggage he was carrying. At the time when dawn should have been breaking, it was still night, with that kind of darkness that properly comes with a total eclipse.

At a turn in the path we suddenly found ourselves before one of the most monstrous spectacles it has been my lot to observe: three hundred paces to the right, below the spot where we were standing, a broad torrent of incandescent matter was pouring down, ravaging the ground as it swept by & appearing to dissolve everything it met in its bubbling stream. As for the source of this dazzling river, it was surmounted by gigantic flames, as if coming from hell itself, & produced an immense plume of smoke rising up into the sky until it was lost to sight. I was begging Kircher to go back down when a more violent explosion made the whole mountain shake; we saw a large number of molten rocks thrown up into the air, very high in the sky, before raining down around us. Since we were still far enough away from the diabolical furnace only the tiniest of these particles hit us & we were peppered with glowing embers. Believing my moment of death had come, I fell to my knees to beseech the Lord to have mercy on me but Kircher pulled me up, slapping me vigorously all over to put out my cassock. Then he dragged me to up a higher place, under a sort of rocky overhang where we were finally sheltered from the projectiles. Once there, he saw to his own cassock, which was burning in places, without, however, taking his eye off the marvelous scene before us. Then he took out his chronometer to measure the intervals between eruptions, calmly dictating figures and comments to me. The heat was almost unbearable and we were finding it difficult to breathe when dozens of crawling things suddenly started to pour through our refuge: all sorts of snakes, salamanders, scorpions and spiders scuttled between our legs for a few moments that seemed close to an eternity to me. Flabbergasted by this phenomenon, we did not think of using our equipment to collect some specimens. Kircher, who had observed the process with his usual concentration, immediately drew the most unusual of these creatures in his notebook.