Yann Martel - The High Mountains of Portugal

Dona Amélia becomes Odo’s closest female disciple. Soon there is no longer any need for them to leave the house when she comes to clean. In fact, it is the opposite: Her weekly visit is a time when Odo happily stays in and Peter can go out and run errands. From the moment she arrives, the ape remains at her side as she moves about the house doing her light duties, which lengthen in time while costing him no more in escudos. He has the most immaculate, nearly barren house in Tuizelo, though peculiarly ordered, since Dona Amélia respects the ape’s odd sense of tidiness. All the while she’s working, she chatters away to Odo in mellifluous Portuguese.

She tells Peter that Odo is “um verdadeiro presente para a aldeia”—a true gift to the village.

He makes his own observations about the village. The richest villager is Senhor Álvaro; as a shopkeeper, he has the most disposable income. Then come the villagers who own and cultivate land. Next come the shepherds, who own their flocks. Last come the workers, who own nothing except perhaps their own houses and who work for those who have work to give them. They are the poorest in the village and have the most freedom. Peopling every level of this hierarchy are family members young and old, all of whom work to some degree, according to their capacity. The priest, an amiable man named Father Eloi, stands apart, since he owns nothing but has business with everyone. He moves across all levels. Overall, the villagers of Tuizelo are monetarily poor, though this is not immediately apparent. In many ways they are autarkic, growing their own food, both animal and vegetable, and making and mending their own clothes and furniture. Barter — of goods and services — is still a common practice.

He observes an odd local tradition he has seen nowhere else. He first notices it at a funeral, as the procession makes its way through the village to the church: A number of the mourners are walking in reverse. It appears to be an expression of grief. Along the street, across the square, up the stairs, backwards they move, their grave faces tilted down as they dwell on their sorrow. Regularly they turn their heads to look over their shoulders to direct themselves, but others also assist them by reaching out with a hand. He is intrigued by the custom and inquires about it. Neither Dona Amélia nor anyone else seems to know where it comes from or why exactly it is done.

The ape’s preferred spot in the village is the café. The villagers become used to seeing them sitting at an outdoor table, enjoying cafés com muito leite .

One wet day he and Odo are standing in front of the café. They have just come back from a long walk. They’re both cold. The outdoor tables and chairs are puddled with rain. He hesitates. Senhor Álvaro is at the counter. He sees them and raises his hand and gestures that they should come in.

They settle in a corner of the room. The establishment is typical of its sort. There is a counter with the saucers piled up, each with its small spoon and package of sugar, ready to receive a cup of coffee. Behind the counter, the shelves are lined with bottles of wine and liqueur. In front of the counter are the round tables with their complement of metal chairs. Lording over the room is a television, which is always on but thankfully with the volume turned quite low.

To Peter’s surprise, Odo is not engrossed by the television. He watches the small men chasing after the tiny white ball or, preferably, the couples looking at each other with great intensity — the ape prefers soaps to sports — but only for a short time. Of greater interest is the warm room and the real live people in it. The television is dethroned while the patrons look at Odo and Odo looks at them. Meanwhile, Peter and Senhor Álvaro catch each other’s eyes. They smile. Peter lifts two fingers to place their usual order. Senhor Álvaro nods. After that, they become habitués at the café, even down to where they sit.

He and Odo often go on long hikes. Odo never again asks to be carried, as he did once in Oklahoma. Now the ape’s energy is unflagging. But he still regularly takes refuge in trees, perching himself high up on a branch. Peter can only wait patiently below. For being so quiet in the forest — except when they find clearings of spongy moss, perfect for merry tussles — they see badgers, otters, weasels, hedgehogs, genets, wild boar, hares and rabbits, partridges, owls, crows, ibis, jays, swallows, doves and pigeons, other birds, once a shy lynx, and another time a rare Iberian wolf. Each time Peter thinks that Odo will go after them, a crashing chase through the undergrowth, but instead he stands stock-still and stares. Despite the evident wealth of the forest, they both prefer to explore the open plateau.

One afternoon, returning from a walk, they come upon two dogs by a stream, just outside the village. The village is full of shy mutts. The two dogs are drinking. Odo observes them with keen interest, unafraid. The dogs do not look unhealthy, but they are lean. When they notice the man and the chimpanzee, they tense. Odo hoots quietly and approaches them. The dogs crouch and the hair goes up on their backs. Peter feels uneasy, but the dogs are not particularly big and he knows the ape’s strength. Still, a violent confrontation would be ugly. Before anything can happen, the dogs turn and bolt.

A few days later he is sitting on a chair on the landing at the top of the stairs when he sees two snouts poke through the gate. It is the same two dogs. Odo is next to him, propped on top of the landing wall. He sees the dogs too. Immediately Odo descends to the courtyard to open the gate. The dogs move away. He hoots quietly and crouches low. They eventually advance into the courtyard. Odo is delighted. By fits and starts, with hoo s and whines, the space between a chimpanzee and two dogs begins to lessen until Odo dips a hand onto the back of the larger of the two dogs, a black mongrel. The ape starts to groom it. Peter suspects there is much to groom on these dogs that spend their entire lives outdoors. The black dog is fully crouched, nervous but submissive, and Odo works its fur gingerly, starting at the base of the tail.

Peter goes inside. A few minutes later, when he looks out again from the kitchen window, the dog has rolled over, exposing its belly. Odo stands half-risen over it, his hair standing on end, his teeth bared, his hand hovering claw-like over the dog’s belly. The dog is whimpering and its eyes are fixed on the hairy hand. Peter is alarmed. Odo looks terrifying. What’s happening? Just a moment ago the nervous canine was being reassured by Odo in a friendly and assiduous manner. Now it has rolled over, exposing its soft underside, in effect saying to the ape that it is so abjectly afraid that it will not defend its life. He moves to the living room window. What should I do? What should I do? He has visions of Odo gutting the howling dog. Aside from what the poor dog might feel, what about the villagers? It’s one thing shrieking on occasion and breaking the odd cup and vagabonding about roofs — but disembowelling a dog is another. The village dogs are not coddled the way North American pets are, but they nonetheless have owners who feed them scraps and casually care for them. As he crosses the second living room window, he sees that the dog’s raised rear legs are twitching and that the animal is convulsing on the ground. He reaches the door and leaps onto the landing, a cry in his throat. Something makes him look a moment longer. The picture changes. He lets his outstretched hand drop. Odo is tickling the dog. It is shaking with canine mirth while the ape laughs along.

After that, more dogs begin to show up. Finally, in all, a pack of about twelve. Peter never feeds them; still, every morning they creep into the courtyard and wait quietly, not a whine or a whimper coming from them. When Odo appears at a window or on the landing, they become both excited and settled, odd to say. Odo perhaps joins them, but he might also ignore them. Attention makes the dogs stay, lack of it eventually makes them go away, only to show up the next morning, with hopeful expressions on their faces.