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

When the sun set, the rain finally stopped, leaving a frayed veil of mist. Nelson and Zé went inside to escape the evening humidity and opened a bottle of cachaça while old Firmina put the fish they’d brought back a few hours earlier on to stew.

They were in the middle of the meal and — remembering it later, Firmina saw it as a coincidence pregnant with meaning — laughing much too loud, when the sound of jet engines made the glasses on the table tremble, getting louder and louder until they had to draw their heads down into their shoulders, and finishing in an explosion that blew out all the windows in the house: the VASP Boeing 727, coming from Congonhas, had crashed spectacularly in the Serra de Aratanha.

The only one to react, Zé rushed outside. A little farther up the mountain, in the light of trees transformed into torches, a huge plume of black smoke was rising from a new gap in the forest.

“ Meu Deus! ” he said, realizing what had happened, “it almost fell on us.” Then, turning to Nelson and his sister, who had followed him out onto the veranda, “You wait here, I’ll go and see if I can do anything.”

With that, he started to run toward the place where the disaster had happened.

Despite Firmina’s loud cries and without really thinking about what he was doing, Nelson followed, hauling himself along the ground.

When, exhausted and covered from head to toe in red mud from sliding along the path, he reached the place where the plane had crashed, Nelson was petrified at what is generally called an “apocalyptic scene” but of which the horror for him was contained in the simple sight of a woman’s torso still attached by her belt but now apparently sitting on her abundant entrails. All around, scattered over a very large area and highlighted by the fluorescent yellow of the life jackets, the smoking debris of the plane, disembowelled suitcases, an unrecognizable jumble could be seen. And then things that held a grisly fascination: horribly mangled bodies, scraps of flesh hanging from the trees like Tibetan prayers, limbs or organs scattered haphazardly over the soaked ground, obscene in their unaccustomed solitude … a feast of human flesh suddenly delivered to the hungry beasts of the forest. It was as if it had been raining blood, steak and offal, Nelson thought.

Woken by the sudden blaze, the vultures were already fluttering over this manna, nibbling at bared stomachs with their beaks, pecking at the eyes, fighting over the most appetizing carcasses with shrill cries. Nelson was hardly surprised at the number of silhouettes — some armed with torches — who were already busying themselves about the site of the tragedy: with little room for pity for those whom death had released from all need, these poor mountain folk were searching through the remains meticulously, picking out anything of value, with no sense of disgust: money, rings and jewelry but also clothes red with blood, odd shoes and even some pieces of the machine, of which it was impossible to say what use they intended to make.

For a brief moment he had been taken with the prospect of finding a well-filled wallet, but Nelson refused to join those robbing the corpses. Looking around for Uncle Zé, he made his way through the debris, The ground was nauseating, saturated with secretions and dubious matter. Crawling around a thicket, he came across what was left of a policeman, a decapitated cop who, absurdly, was still wearing his belt and holster with its pistol.

“You don’t look too clever like that,” Nelson muttered. “Fuck you, son of a bitch.”

Like a divine response to this blasphemy, he felt two hands grasp his shoulders and rolled over, screaming.

“What the hell are you doing here, for God’s sake? What the hell are you doing here?” Uncle Zé bellowed at the shock. “My God, have you seen yourself? You … you … I thought you were a survivor.”

“I followed you …” Nelson stammered, he too trembling.

“I can see you followed me. I told you to stay in the house.”

“Are there any injured?”

Uncle Zé shook his head sadly. “They’re all dead. It’s not possible after a crash like that. I’ll keep looking until the rescue party arrives. And you’re going straight back to the house, understood? I’ll come as soon as I can.”

Nelson stayed by the corpse for a few more minutes, surprised at the perfection of the plan that had formed in his mind. That was the way it would be, that and no other way. There was no other way it could be …

Back at the house, while Firmina, horrified at the state he was in, was heating some water to wash him, Nelson took the loaded gun out of his T-shirt and quickly stowed it in the bottom of his bag.

A little later, in the washtub where Dona Firmina was scrubbing his back while mumbling prayers for the victims, he had an amazing erection, the first hard-on he’d had since his father died.

1 Phallus.

2 (…) started to caress her chest voluptuously. Her nipples became erect and I felt my member swell under my cassock.

3 (…) spread her legs and hitched up her dress until I could see the moist flesh of her thighs.

Containing the conclusion, ad majorem Dei gloriam, to the story of the Villa Palagonia

“DO THAT & YOU will be lost,” this new Potiphar’s wife said calmly. “I will say you tried to violate me & I can assure you that you will feel the whole weight of my husband’s fury.”

I was stunned, realizing the truth of what she said. For a moment I almost rang despite everything, preferring scandal, disgrace & even death to this shameful temptation; recalling in extremis my promise to Kircher, I knelt down, face to the wall, & begged God to grant me His aid.

I felt the Princess come over and wrap her arms around me tenderly. “Now don’t be silly. You haven’t taken your final vows yet & there’s no sin in yielding under duress …”

Having said that, she pulled me down onto the carpet. My sight became blurred & my heart was pounding, obliterating any attempt at resistance, & I pressed my body against hers while repeating the name of Jesus like a man possessed.

Even today I blush at the memory of our unbridled lasciviousness; but I will drain this bitter cup to the last drop & confess the full extent of a sin that I am not sure I have expiated by my subsequent conduct. For, not content with abandoning myself to debauchery with the Princess, I did not refuse the perverted embellishments she taught me that night … Lingua mea in nobilissimae os adacta, spiculum usque ad cor illi penetravit. Membra nostra humoribus rorabant, atque concinebant quasi sugentia. Modo intus macerabam, modo cito retrahebam lubricum caulem. Scrotum meum ultro citroque iactabatur. Nobilis mulier cum crura trementia attolleret, suavissime olebat. Novenis ictibus alte penetrantibus singulos breves inserui . 1The Princess’s chignon had become undone, long locks half concealed her imploring looks … Pectoribus anhelantibus ambo gemebamus . 2I was doing everything I could with my hands and my legs & semen meum ad imam vaginam penetravit . 3But the Princess was insatiable, I soon had to start again. Tum pedes eius sublevandi ac sustinendi fuerunt humeris meis. Pene ad posticum admoto, in reconditas ac fervidas latebras intimas impetum feci. Deinde cuniculum illius diu linxi, dum irrumo. Mingere autem volui: “O Caspar mi, voluptas mea, inquit, quantumcumque meies, tantum ore accipiam!” 4Which it did, as liquore meo faciem eius perfundi … 5

She taught me other depraved acts that were equally abominable; by now I was indulging in them with pleasure without thinking for a moment that we were wallowing in mortal sin. However, the Princess, even while enjoying licentiousness such as had never appeared even in my worst nightmares, kept insisting I should take care not to brush against her navel or her stomach for fear of breaking the glass harpsichord she imagined was in there. It was a request I had some difficulty complying with, given my frenzied state.