José Saramago: The Stone Raft

On both sides of the frontier, along a narrow strip extending about a hundred kilometers, the population abandoned their homes and withdrew to the relative security of the interior, but matters were complicated in the case of Andorra, which we were inexcusably forgetting, that's what tends to happen to little countries, which could just as easily have turned out to be bigger. At the beginning, as there was great uncertainty about the final outcome of the cracks, they existed on both sides, on the two frontiers, and also because some of the inhabitants were Spanish, others French, and yet others Andorran, each one gravitated to his native soil, so to speak, or was influenced by what seemed right or in his best interests at that moment, even if it meant breaking up families and other relationships. Finally, the continuous line of the fracture settled once and for all on the French border, several thousand French nationals were evacuated by air, in a brilliant rescue operation that was given the code name Mitre d'Evêque, a name that incurred the grave displeasure of the Bishop of Urgel, who unintentionally provided the inspiration, but this did not detract from his satisfaction when he realized that in future he would become the sole overlord of the principality, provided that the latter, barely encircled by the Spanish side, did not end up in the sea. All that was left in the desert created by the general evacuation were some military detachments who went around with a prayer on their lips, under the constant surveillance of the helicopters hovering overhead, ready to gather up personnel at the slightest sign of any geological instability, and, as one might expect, the inevitable looters, generally alone, for catastrophes always bring snakes out of their lairs, or their eggs, and who, in this case, just like the soldiers who shot them without pity or remorse, also went around with a prayer on their lips, just which prayer depended on the faith they professed, every living being has the right to the love and protection of his god, bearing in mind, in allowance and defense of the robbers, that one could argue that those who have abandoned their homes do not deserve to live there and enjoy them, besides, as the proverb rightly says, All birds eat corn, only the sparrow pays, let each of you decide whether there is any connection to be found between the general principle and this particular case.

This might be the moment to express our regret that this true story is not the libretto of an opera, for if it were we would stage an ensemble the like of which has never been heard before, with twenty voices comprising lyric and dramatic sopranos of every timbre, one by one, or in chorus, in succession or simultaneously, trilling their parts, namely the joint sessions of the Spanish and Portuguese governments, the total disruption of the electric transport system, the resolution adopted by the European Community, the stand taken by the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, the flight of tourists in panic, the attacks on airplanes, the congestion of traffic on the roads, the meeting between Joaquim Sassa and José Anaiço, their encounter with Pedro Orce, the agitation of the bulls in Spain, the nervousness of the horses in Portugal, the disquiet on the coasts of the Mediterranean, the disturbance of tides, the flight of the rich and their fortunes, shortly there will be no singers left onstage. Those who are curious, not to say skeptical, will want to know what is causing all these serious developments, as if the simple breaking up of the Pyrenees were not enough for them, with rivers turning into waterfalls and tides advancing sev eral kilometers inland, after a recession that has lasted millions of years. At this point the hand falters, how can it plausibly write the words that are about to follow, words that will inevitably throw everything into jeopardy, all the more so since it is becoming extremely difficult, should such a thing ever be possible in life, to separate truth from fantasy. But now we must finish off what has remained in suspense, by striving to transform with words what can probably only be transformed with words, the moment has arrived, it has finally come, to reveal that the Iberian peninsula has suddenly broken away, all in one uniform piece, leaving a gap of ten whole meters, who would believe it, the Pyrenees have opened up from top to bottom as if some invisible ax had descended from on high, penetrating the deep cracks, clawing stone and earth down into the sea. Now we can certainly see the Irati dropping a thousand meters, falling headlong into infinity, the Irati opens to the wind and sun, a crystal fan or the tail of a bird of paradise, the first rainbow poised over the abyss, the first vertigo of the hawk hovering with drenched wings, tinged with seven colors. And we should also be able to see the Visaurin, Monte Perdido, the peaks of the Perdiguere and of Estats, two thousand meters, three thousand meters of steep slopes unbearable to behold, you cannot even trace their descent, because of the misty atmosphere in the distance, and then fresh clouds will appear as the gap widens, as certain as the existence of destiny itself.

Time passes, memories fade, we can scarcely perceive any longer the truth and the truths, once so clear and defined, and then, wishing to confirm what we ambitiously call the accuracy of the official version, we consult the evidence relating to the period, the various documents, newspapers, films, video recordings, chronicles, private diaries, parchments, especially the palimpsests, we question survivors, with much good will on either side, we even succeed in believing what some old man claims to have seen and heard as a child, and from all of this we shall have to draw some conclusion, in the absence of any convincing certainties one has to pretend, but what appears to be beyond question is that until the electric cables burst apart there was no real fear in the peninsula, although it has been stated to the con trary, of course there was some panic, but not fear, which is emotion of another order. Obviously, there are many people who retain a clear picture of the dramatic scenes at Coll de Pertus when the concrete disappeared from the sight of those who were shouting, We are winning, we are winning, but the episode only made an impression on those who were actually there, the others looked on from a distance, sitting at home before their own little stage, their television set, in that small rectangle of glass, that courtyard of miracles where an image sweeps away the previous one without trace, everything is on a reduced scale, even emotions. And those sensitive viewers, for they still exist, those viewers who start shedding tears at the slightest pretext and to disguise the lump in their throat, did what they usually do when they cannot bear it any longer, confronted by famine in Africa and other such calamities, they turned their eyes away. Besides, we must not forget that in vast areas of the peninsula, in the heart of the countryside where newspapers do not arrive and the television reception is poor, there were millions, yes, millions of people who did not see what was happening, or had only a vague idea, formed from words whose meaning they had only half digested, perhaps not even that, an idea that was so unreliable that there really was not much difference between what some people thought they knew and what others did not.

But when all the lights in the peninsula went out at the same time, a blackout they later referred to as apagón in Spain, negrum in a Portuguese village that still invents words, when five hundred and eighty-one square kilometers of land became invisible on the surface of the earth, then there was no longer any doubt, everything was coming to an end. It was just as well that the entire power cut lasted no more than fifteen minutes, then emergency connections were rigged that put domestic energy resources into action, scant at this time of the year, the height of summer, mid-August, dry, low reservoirs, a shortage of power stations, and these cursed nuclear installations, but the pandemonium was truly peninsular, demons on the loose, cold fear, bedlam, even an earthquake could not have had a worse effect on morale. It was night, the beginning of night, when most people have retired indoors, they are sitting watching television, in their kitchens the women are preparing dinner, one particularly patient father is helping, somewhat tentatively, with the solution of an arithmetic problem, there does not appear to be much happiness, but it soon became clear just how much this terror meant, this pitch-darkness, this ink stain that had fallen on Iberia. Do not take away the light, O Lord, let it return, and I promise you that until my dying day, I shall ask for nothing else, this was what penitent sinners were saying, but then they always exaggerate. Anyone living in a valley would have imagined himself to be inside a covered well, anyone living higher up would have climbed to the top and, for many leagues around, failed to see a single light, it was as if the earth had changed its orbit and was now traveling in a space without any sun. Trembling hands lit candles in the houses, flashlights, paraffin lamps kept for an emergency, but not like this one, brought out candlesticks in wrought silver, those in bronze that were used only as ornaments, brass candlesticks, long-forgotten oil lamps, dim lights that filled the darkness with shadows and allowed one to catch a glimpse of startled faces, as distorted as reflections on the water. There were many women shouting, many men were shaking, as for the children, all one can say is that they were all crying their hearts out. After fifteen minutes, which, as the saying goes, seemed like fifteen centuries, although there was no one who had lived the latter and was thus able to compare them with the former, the electricity came back, little by little, intermittent, the lamps were like sleepy eyes casting surly looks everywhere, ready to fall asleep again, until they could finally stand the light and hold it there.