Raduan Nassar - Ancient Tillage

Lying slumped over helplessly at the chapel door, my face stuck to the dirt and my neck exposed beneath the darkened sky, for the first time I felt entirely alone in this world; oh! Pedro, my dear brother, it matters not which ancient building, way up on the top, at heights reached only by rare, soaring insects drawing crosses as they swarm the tower (the probing eye of a patient owl emerges from the cavernous night, awaiting me); inside this building erected on atmospheric columns drizzling with bizarre resins, the highest windows always maintain a suspended, mournful gesture; and from the uppermost window, opening out towards rarefied fogs and transparent spectres, I install my filaments and antennae, my radar and my pain, and capture space and time in all their calmness, tranquillity and wholeness; I never once doubted there existed, with the same rolling curvature, the same precarious structure, falling with the same weightlessness, a translucent blue breeze, the final bubble of air, found on each new morning leaf, each feather before flight, dense and dripping like dew; but instead of climbing those tower steps, I could simply abandon our home, leave the lands of our fazenda behind; the walls and gates of the town were also part of divine right, of all hallowed things.

‘… and the thicker they make the shell, the more they torture themselves with the weight of the shield, they believe they are safe, but are consumed with fear, they hide from everyone else, all the while unaware that their own eyes wither; they become prisoners of themselves, and never even suspect it, they hold the key, but forget that it opens, and they agonize obsessively over their personal problems, without ever finding a cure, since they refuse the medicine; wisdom is found precisely in not allowing yourself to be closed off in this smaller world: man should be humble, abandon his individuality to become part of a greater whole, whence he draws his grandeur; it is only through the family that each one in this house can enhance his existence, only by giving himself over to the family that each one can find relief from his own problems, and in preserving this union, each one in the family will reap the most sublime rewards; our law is not to withdraw, but to join, not to separate, but to unite, wherever you find yourself, let there also be a brother …’ (From the sermon table.)

Pedro had fulfilled his mission of bringing me back into the bosom of the family; it was a long journey, marked by a difficult retreat, each of us locked inside our own silence throughout the entire trip we took together, during which, like a child, I allowed him to lead me the whole way; it was already nightfall when we arrived, the fazenda was sleeping in reclusive stillness, the house was in mourning, all the lights were out, except for a pale clearing on the back patio from the light shining out of the kitchen, where the family was still gathered around the table; we went inside, crossing the front veranda, and as soon as my brother opened the door, the clank of a fork on a plate followed by intense, yet muffled, murmuring preceded the nerve-wracking sense of expectancy that befell the entire house; I took my leave of Pedro right there in the living room, and went into my old bedroom, while he, his footsteps shaking the china cupboard, disappeared down the hallway to the kitchen, where the family was waiting for him; as I sat on the edge of my old bed, my bags dropped at my feet, I was absorbed by nostalgic aromas awakening vile, mangled images and immersing me in confused thoughts; amidst the ideas running through my mind, I considered the effort Pedro would have been making to hide his pain from everyone, pain perhaps obscured by his fatigue from the journey; upon announcing my return, he couldn’t reveal he was bringing home a madman; he would have to put up a tremendous front so that he wouldn’t spoil the happiness and joy in my father’s eyes, my father, who would soon announce to everyone around him, ‘He who was lost has returned home, he for whom we have wept has been returned to us.’

Frightened by the feverish mood suddenly taking over the back of the house, which was rapidly diffused through the nerves of the walls, along with a mixture of voices, laughter and sobbing, I stood up, dazed, to shut the bedroom door just when it seemed the stern words of the head of the household had checked the emotional outburst; and I could still hear a reverberating, echoing silence when my door was opened, my bedroom light switched on and my father’s image appeared in all its rustic majesty, walking gravely toward me; I stood up right away, staring at the floor and suffering the heaviness of his presence before me; I soon felt his gentle hands on my head, running through my hair down the back of my neck and dropping slowly over my shoulders, then he held me to his chest with his strong arms and took my face between his hands to kiss my forehead; once again I was staring at the floor when he said, damp and solemn, ‘Blessed be this day of your return! Our home has been withering away, my son, but it is once again filled with joy.’

And looking at me, holding back his tenderness, studying my tattered features at length, forewarning me of the conversation we were to have a little later on, after everything had calmed down, and also reminding me that I should be restrained with my mother, sparing her, above all, the memory of the days of my absence, my father then told me to bathe, to cleanse myself of the dust from the journey before sitting down to the meal my mother had prepared for me. He had barely let go of me when my sisters burst noisily through the door, throwing themselves at me, hanging from my neck, ruffling up my hair, kissing my face over and over again, running their hands over my back and chest through my shirt, laughing and crying at the same time, all the while rambling on, even awkwardly at times, abruptly revealing that Ana, so pious since my departure, had run to the chapel to give thanks upon hearing the news of my arrival, and that the house had been lit up for the same reason, any passersby would delight in its brightness, and that preparations for tomorrow’s fête to celebrate my resurgence were already underway, everyone was to be invited that very night, our neighbours, along with friends and relatives from the village, and that it was the greatest blessing the family had ever received, my homecoming had brought back the lost joy twofold, and filled with warmth and enthusiasm, they pulled me from the room, grabbing me by my arms, and I, gloomy, barely able to conceal my disgusting eyes, let them lead me from the bedroom as they carried on, tenderly flooding me with their silly thoughts, and as soon as we got into the hall, they pushed me through the bathroom door, and sat me down on a crate, and as Rosa, standing behind me, bent over with her arms around my shoulders and started unbuttoning my shirt, Zuleika and Huda, kneeling at my feet, took care of removing my shoes and socks, and as I sat there, surrendering to my sisters’ care, I became gradually aware of the zeal surrounding me, the scalding water in the tub had already cooled, there was a cup within reach, a bath towel hanging up, a bar of fragrant soap, rare in our house, a worn-out pair of slippers, not to mention the pyjamas, clean and pressed, that I had forgotten under my pillow when I left; I was barefoot and they had already taken off my shirt when they left the bathroom fleetingly, and as Rosa, the eldest sister, closed the door behind her, she warned me I had only five minutes to reappear before the family’s eyes, and in the meantime, they were going to make sure our mother was ready to see me.