Ondjaki - Granma Nineteen and the Soviet's Secret

Still holding our breath, we entered the living room. I cleaned my hands in my pockets to avoid showing any sign or smell of salt.

“Take your hands out of your pockets. What kind of bad manners is that?”

“Sorry, Granma.”

“Say good afternoon to Dona Libânia, who came to visit Granma.”

“Good afternoon, Dona Libânia,” I started.

“Who came to visit Granma,” 3.14 concluded, and the elders laughed. I don’t know why.

But it helped. Dona Libânia herself said, “Go play, you little rascals.” Granma Nhé made a sign with her eyes that we could go outside.

“May we be excused, Granma?”

“You can go.”

When we got to the wall of Senhor Tuarles’s house, his daughters weren’t there to come and play with us. At the big gate made out of metal grillwork that barely existed any more, on a tiny, pretty little bench, Granma Maria was sitting selling kitaba .

“Good afternoon, Granma Maria.” We greeted her and left at a run, hitting the sand hard with our feet to raise the dust and imitate the cars when they skidded from driving too fast, and with our mouths we made the noises of acceleration and locked wheels, changes of speed and skidding as well.

“Stop! Good morning, Comrades! Complete vehicle documentation, please, and personal documentation for the respective comrades!” crazy Sea Foam said, very close to us.

“Comrade Agent, these vehicles belong to our bosses, we’re just the drivers.” I joined in his joke; 3.14 was afraid of Sea Foam.

“These vehicles are clapped out, with loud exhaust-pipes?”

“Yes.”

“Accelerate for a moment so that I can test the level.”

“Vrummm! Vrummm!”

“It’s within the limit. Who are your bosses?”

“They’re comrade bigshots, minister types.”

“Then you can go ahead. And careful with the maximum speed and sliding on slippery curves. ¡Buena suerte! ”

“Yes, Comrade. Thank you and until tomorrow.”

“ Hasta mañana .”

We continued saying “Vrummm” with our mouths; we accelerated like hell and lifted a lot of dust until we stopped, tired out, on the other side of the square to rest our bodies, in search of shade that wasn’t there. The Comrade Gas Jockey looked at us and laughed.

“Run out of gas?”

“Yes.”

“You can come and stock up.”

We walked over really slowly, with the sweat dripping from our soaking chins and armpits. I stopped suddenly.

“Come on,” 3.14 called to me.

“You’ve got to push, buddy. I ran right out of gas. We’re going to have to bleed the gas-line.”

“I caught you in a big fat lie. Bleeding is for gas-oil cars.”

“Hey, that’s right!”

We leaned against the gas pump. The Comrade Gas Jockey had a bottle of water. First he dampened our hands so that we could wash our faces and then he gave each of us a mouthful to drink.

“Some day,” he gripped the lever for putting gas into the cars, “you could even drink right from here.”

“Why, Comrade?”

“Because the bottom of this gas pump collects water. All it’s missing is little fish. The pump must have a puncture. Some day I’ll bring a fishing rod to work.”

“That would be really cool.”

“Shush! It’s a secret, the boss can’t know, or the Soviets. The blue ants are real tattletales.”

“That’s right.”

We saw a white Lada coming down the long street of Bishop’s Beach. It was coming from the Blue District.

“You know that car? Somebody’s ill.”

“Who does it belong to?”

“It belongs to the Comrade Cuban Doctor, Rafael KnockKnock.”

“Rafael what?”

“You guys’ll understand.” The Comrade Gas Jockey stood there laughing to himself.

The Lada made a circuit of the square and stopped right in front of us.

“ Buenas , Comrades!”

“ Buenas tardes. ” Maybe the Comrade Gas Jockey spoke Cuban, too.

“Hello, children. ¿ Cómo están ?”

“Frigging tupariov!” 3.14 didn’t like to be called a child.

“Take it easy, 3.14. Are you being rude to a doctor you don’t even know?”

He calmed down. “ Buenas , Comrade Doctor.”

“¿ Dónde está Comrade Agnette’s house?”

“She’s my Granma.”

“ Muy bien . Can the compañero fill it up, por favor ? I’m going to make una visita .”

“ No puedo, no .” The Gas Jockey started to laugh. “Because that car of yours runs on gasoline.”

“ Sí , of course, hombre .”

“Yes, but of course, I only sell salty water with a few gas fumes.”

“Really?” The doctor was aghast.

“I’m only telling you true truths. Go make your house call, I’ll watch your car.”

“ Gracias .” Then he spoke to me. “Will you come with me?”

“ Sí. What’s your name?” I tried to improvise in Cuban. 3.14 laughed.

“ Me llamo Rafael . But they call me KnockKnock.”

“Comrade Rafael, here in Luanda we don’t like ugly names, and the comrade might become a victim of somebody violently taking the piss out of you. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Even though I don’t understand you well, te lo agradezco .”

“Let’s go. My Granma’s foot is hurting.”

“The left foot?”

“Of course, Comrade. Of course.”

After climbing the three steps where I liked to sit, we reached the door. The Comrade Cuban Doctor looked at me with eyes that gleamed as though he were a child younger than I. He gestured like someone who was about to perform some sort of magic. He bent down a little, switched the case he was carrying to his left hand and with his right hand knocked very slowly on the door, so gently that he seemed to be caressing the old wood of Granma Agnette’s house. He spoke in a low voice.

“Knock-knock. Ha-ha-ha!”

That chuckle ruined the mood and, to tell the truth, I didn’t even understand what it was all about.

“ Un ritual, little hombre , only un ritual ,” he said, before knocking loudly on the door.

Madalena opened the door, her smile full of teeth.

“ Buenas. La señora Agnette, por favor ?”

“Come in, Comrade.”

Granma was about to get up, but the doctor said it wasn’t necessary. I looked at the floor to see if there was something blocking her path or if the surface was wet. Nothing.

Before taking another step, the Comrade Cuban Doctor looked with a smile at Granma Agnette, looked around the whole living room, saw the black-and-white television with the blue plastic over the screen, looked at the display cabinet and the chairs in the dining room, saw the photograph of Granpa Mbinha on the wall and in that moment the old clock hanging close to the stairs gave the muted sound of its bells striking the hour. All he didn’t see was Granma Catarina, who was in a corner, dressed in black and regarding us in silence.

“Don’t let poverty bother you, doctor. This is a simple home,” Granma Agnette said.

“May I?”

“Yes, of course. Make yourself at home. Please be seated.”

Granma Catarina went slowly up the stairs but did not utter her usual phrase, “I’m going upstairs to close the windows,” and no one seemed to be looking at her. Madalena went to the kitchen and returned with a tray on which there was a glass of water.

“Would you like some cold water?”

“ Sí. Gracias .”

They talked about sore legs and other doctor stuff. Granma explained that the pain was getting worse and that she could barely feel the tip of her left foot.

“Problems of circulación . Age, señora . Age does not forgive.”