José Saramago - The Stone Raft

The President of the Republic accepted the government's resignation and, complying with the constitution and the established norms governing the democratic functioning of institutions, he invited the resigning Prime Minister, as the leader of the party most often elected, a party that so far had governed alone, without alliances, he invited him, as we were saying, to form the proposed government of national salvation. Because there can be no doubt that governments of national salvation are also perfectly valid, and one could even go so far as to say they are the best governments of all, the sad thing is that countries need them only very rarely, therefore we do not normally have governments that know how to govern nationally. On this most delicate issue there have been interminable debates among constitutionalists, political analysts, and other experts, and in all this time precious little has been added to the obvious meaning of these words, namely that a government of national salvation, because it is national and concerned with salvation, is one of national salvation. That is how any simpleton would put it, and he could not do better. The most interesting thing about all of this is that the moment the formation of the aforesaid government was announced, the masses suddenly felt they had been saved, or soon would be, although certain manifestations of innate skepticism are inevitable when the list of ministerial appointments is announced and their photographs appear in the newspapers and on television. At the end of the day they are the same old faces, and why should we have expected otherwise, since we are so unwilling to put ourselves forward.

We have already mentioned the danger Portugal is facing should she collide with the Azores, and also the secondary consequences, unless they turn out to be direct, threatening Galicia, but the situation of the population of the islands is obviously much more serious. What is an island, after all. An island, in this instance an entire archipelago, is the emergence of a submarine cordillera, and very often just the sharp peaks of rocky needles that miraculously remain upright through thousands of feet of water, an island, in short, is the most fortuitous of events. And now here is something that, although no more than an island, is so enormous and fast-moving that we are in great danger of witnessing, let us hope from a distance, the decapitation of São Miguel followed by that of the islands of Terceira, São Jorge, and Faial, and other islands of the Azores, with widespread loss of life, unless the government of national salvation, which is due to take office tomorrow, comes up very quickly with a way to evacuate thousands and millions of people to regions of reasonable safety, if such places exist. The President of the Republic, even before the new government started to function, has already appealed for international solidarity, thanks to which, as we are reminded, and this is only one of the many examples we could give, famine was once avoided in Africa. The countries of Europe, where, fortunately, a certain lowering of the tone in official references to Portugal and Spain has been evident ever since the serious identity crisis that arose when millions of Europeans resolved to declare themselves Iberian, received the appeal sympathetically and have already inquired how we would like to be helped, although, as usual, everything depends on their ability to meet our needs from whatever surplus they may have at their disposal. As for the United States of America, which should always be named in full, despite having sent word that the plan for a government of national salvation is not to its liking, it has declared that given the circumstances, it is nevertheless willing to evacuate the entire population of the Azores, which is just under two hundred and fifty thousand people, although there is still the problem of where to settle all those people, certainly not in the philanthropic United States, because of the strict immigration laws. The ideal solution, if you want to know, and this is the secret dream cherished by the State Department and the Pentagon, would be for the islands to stop the peninsula in its path, at whatever cost in death and destruction, for it would then be stuck in the middle of the Atlantic, with obvious strategic benefits for world peace and Western Civilization. The people will be told that the American squadrons are under orders to head for the Azores and upon arrival to pick up many thousands of the islanders, the rest will have to wait for the air lift that is currently being organized, Portugal and Spain will have to deal with any local problems, the Spanish less so than we Portuguese, for history and fortune have always treated the former with all too obvious partiality.

Leaving aside the case of Galicia, a case and a region that are purely peripheral, or, to adopt other criteria, appendicular, Spain is protected from the more fatal consequences of the collision, since Portugal essentially acts as a screen or buffer. Problems of some logistic complexity have yet to be resolved, such as that posed by the important cities of Vigo, Pontevedra, Santiago de Compostela, and La Coruña, but, as for the rest, the people who live in villages are so accustomed to a precarious existence that, almost without waiting for orders, advice, or information, they have started retreating farther inland, peaceful and resigned, using the means of transport already described, and others as well, starting with the most primitive means of all, their own feet.

Portugal's situation, however, is quite different. Note that the entire coast, excepting the southern part of the Algarve, now finds itself in danger of being stoned by the islands of the Azores, the word stoned is used here because the outcome is much the same whether a stone hits us or we hit our head against a stone, it is all a question of speed and inertia, not forgetting that in this case, the head, even though wounded and cracked, will reduce all the stones to splinters. Under the circumstances, with a coastline like this, nearly all of it flat, and with the proximity of the larger cities to the sea, and taking into account the unpreparedness of the Portuguese for the slightest catastrophe, earthquake, flood, forest fire, or drought, it is doubtful whether the government of salvation will know how to do its duty. The best solution, actually, would be deliberately to stir up panic, to rush people into abandoning their homes and force them to seek refuge farther inland. The worst thing of all will be if people start to run out of food, either during the journey or wherever they decide to settle, then there will be so much indignation and frustration that all hell will break loose. We are worried, naturally, but frankly we would be much more worried if we happened to be in Galicia watching the travel preparations of Maria Guavaira and Joaquim Sassa, Joana Carda and José Anaiço, Pedro Orce and the Dog, the relative importance of topics is variable, it depends on the point of view, the humor of the moment, one's personal sympathies, the objectivity of the narrator is a modern invention, we need only reflect that our Lord God didn't want it in His Book.

Two days have passed, the horse, after being near starvation, has been given extra rations of food, as much oats and beans as it likes, Joaquim Sassa even suggested giving it soup laced with wine, and the wagon, now that the holes have been patched with the canvas removed from Deux Chevaux, not only is more comfortable inside but will protect them from the weather as the light showers give way to constant rain, for September is here and we're in a region that is invariably wet. Meanwhile, one can reckon that the peninsula has sailed about a hundred and fifty kilometers since José Anaiço made his precise calculations, So there are still seven hundred and fifty kilometers to go, or fifteen days, for those who prefer more empirical measurements, at the end of which, give or take a minute, the first collision will take place, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, those poor wretches in Alentejo, it's just as well they are used to disasters, they are like the Galicians, their skin is so tough that we would be fully justified in using another word, let us say leather instead of skin and dispense with any further explanation. Here in these northern territories, in the Elysian valleys of Galicia, there is plenty of time for our travelers to get out of harm's way. The wagon is already equipped with mattresses, sheets, and blankets, all the luggage is on board, along with basic cooking utensils, food already prepared for the first few days, omelettes to be precise, and various foodstuffs, such as white and red beans, rice and potatoes, a barrel of water, a cask of wine, two laying hens, one of them mottled, its neck bald, salt cod, a pitcher of olive oil, a bottle of vinegar, and some salt, for we cannot live without it unless we refuse baptism, pepper and saffron, all the bread they had in the house, a bag of flour, hay, bran and bean pods for the horse, the dog presents no problem, it knows how to look sifter its own needs, when it accepts any help, it is only to please others. Maria Guavaira, without explanation, but then perhaps she could not have explained even if asked, wove bracelets of the blue thread for them all, and collars for the horse and dog. There is such a quantity of wool there that no one noticed any difference. Besides, one must admit that, even if they'd wanted to take it with them, there's no room for the wool in the wagon, nor was it ever foreseen that there would be, otherwise where would he sleep, that young farmhand who is about to arrive.