Mercè Rodoreda - War, So Much War

The following night I wasn’t able to take the dog any food. I heard footsteps going up and down the stairs. The wooden steps creaked; there were muffled, incensed voices, and the atmosphere was permeated by a strange disquiet that for a long time wouldn’t let me close my eyes. I woke from a restless sleep, and rather than the usual thread of light streaming through the crack in the door, I saw the door ajar and the farmer’s shadow in the middle, holding an ash rod. His eyes were fixed on the ham that was on my pillow. He dragged me from the bed, and once he had me out on the threshing floor he began to beat me with the same rage I had seen him use on the dog. With every lash he shouted in a hoarse voice, you little thief! You thief! At one point I raised my head and saw the twins leaning over the balcony with the pink carnations, poking each other with their elbows and snickering. Suddenly the thrashing stopped. The dog had pounced furiously on the farmer and sunk his teeth into the man’s neck.

The forest was thick with small-leaved trees and yellow, moss-covered rocks that were piled into mounds. I lay by the rocks, without the strength to think. A scorpion was crawling in my direction, its stinger raised: It moved slowly but was headed straight for me. In the time it takes to say “Amen,” a large black bird swooped down and carried it off.

I HID IN THE DAYTIME AND MADE MY WAY AT NIGHT. ONE EARLY morning, half-starved, I came upon a carrot patch. It was wonderful to tread on so many green leaves. They weren’t fully grown carrots, but tender as water, sweeter than honey. “If you play rabbit, I’ll fill you so full of lead you’ll never get up again.” A ruddy-faced man standing at the edge of the forest was aiming his shotgun at me. “Rabbit! Rabbit!” I bolted from the field as if I were being pursued and had the hunter’s dog on my tail, crossing fields, crossing vineyards, until I reached the foot of a hill at the top of which stood a castle. The sea lay before me, a festival of waves.

Not far from the beach, a whale-shaped rock was awash with crabs. I was too exhausted to go and collect some. I climbed the hill and sat with my back against a castle wall full of crevice-dwelling lizards. I heard voices singing a song about rifles and bullets. Through some lavender bushes I spotted the heads of two young men: One was bald, the other had a shock of black hair. Both were missing an arm: The one on the right had no left arm, the one on the left was missing his right arm. Without interrupting their song, they sat down with their backs to me, a good bit below the spot where I was. Their rucksacks appeared full. I couldn’t see what they were eating. They drank straight from the bottle. The black-haired guy wiped his mouth and asked: Did Isabel cry much? Shut up. She must have cried a lot. Shut up. I didn’t think you could possibly leave her. . I don’t want to marry without an arm. I returned the postcard with the pomegranate. The one with the black hair said, when the war’s over we’ll look for a lame fellow who can play the guitar and we’ll sing about her as we make the rounds of the villages. We’ll tell people we laughed at the bullets and the bombs. The other replied, I will mourn my arm for the rest of my life. I will be consumed by rage, the whole of me a bag of envy. Don’t think about your arm. We’ll sing, and our singing will quicken people’s hearts and rouse their minds. They finished eating and walked by without seeing me.

The stone wall was warm from the sun. I paused by the portal. The courtyard was large, with brambles in the corners. By a well lay a tattered flag, its pole broken, and a tangle of blood-smeared sheets. The stained glass in three high windows was ablaze with light. The wind picked up and the panting of waves reached me. The entrance to the castle was a dark mouth with a staircase at the end. Three doors gave onto the landing. I chose the middle one. The room seemed to have been built for giants, with a hearth for giants. Another room followed with a table in the middle in the shape of a counter; some thirty iron soldiers armed with lances were positioned between the huge windows and on either side of the doors. Another room, resembling a corridor, had twelve windows facing the sea; the opposite wall was covered with bits of broken mirror. As I was studying the wall that shattered me to pieces as though I were merely a composite of shards, I noticed the scent for the first time: the smell of the yellow roses from our rosebush at home that climbed all the way up to the railing on the rooftop terrace. A stairway with only a few steps led straight to a small door. I opened it. The room was dark, merely a box with neither window nor balcony. The door slammed shut behind me. With my back to the wall, I scarcely dared to breathe; I heard footsteps approaching, someone walking with the help of a cane. Clack, clack, clack. . The wall I was leaning against swung ajar and I spied a room in penumbra; there was only the light of a hearth. A man seated in an armchair was looking straight at me. Come in. He had sunken eyes, a long beard, and gnarled hands. A pistol lay on the table in front of him. After telling me to sit, he began to speak. The castle has had many visitors, some who wanted to kill me, others who wanted to save me. Between the two, everything I possessed has been taken from me. No more tapestries or valuable, centuries-old furniture. . but I wept most for the loss of the sun. . he pointed to a large nail in the middle of the hood above the hearth, it once hung there, solid gold, larger than my belly. It had a face with a mouth, eyes and nose. Are you listening? Just by reaching out your arm, you could kill me. The gun is loaded. I could also kill you. It must be a grand thing to stem a life that is just beginning, but I won’t because you have that stunned animal expression, and stunned animals have always evoked my respect because of the world’s great need for them. Look, there are some things I need to say: Wise men should not weep for the living or the dead. . Youth is always sad, and it always rests in other people’s hands. . He took my hand. Youth is for stroking wood, stone, the tender skin of one’s first love. Even before sunrise, the sun already knows that it is the sun, and that the dew has been waiting for it long before daybreak, waiting even before it was born. He let go of my hand. The wall at the back of the hearth glimmered, as did the eyes of the old man seated in his chair. In every man we find deep roots that bind him to the great symphony of the world. . I tiptoed out of the room. I crept along, staying close to the wall, finding only closed doors, lightless windows, stairs. All at once, the moonlight illuminated a corner where shadows lay across the floor. I heard groans. I did not know where I was. The bolts on the doors that I tried to open were all rusty. . until finally one yielded. . and a strong hand grabbed me by the ankle. I managed to smother the cry that was about to emerge from my throat.

I AM IMPRISONED HERE UNTIL THE END OF MY DAYS. I AM THE master of this castle. It was seized from me by a distant relative from a poor side of the family, whom my parents took in while still a child. Everything I had, he had as well. But he was envious of me, and the envy that festered within him could have filled seven wells. With smiles and gentle manners he earned my trust; he was my most beloved friend. But then, as soon as the war began, he robbed me of everything I had. First the gold sun, then the two chalices encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, and the candelabras adorned with moonstones. The castle chapel was emptied of valuables. Despoiled of saints, altars, retables, crown-bearing angels. People were paid to loot and rob, taking all the silver and gold, the tapestries with scenes of war, of hunting parties, of raging seas, of love. When armed men arrived at the castle, he turned me over to them to avoid being killed himself, telling them he was the poor one, I the rich. He had my knees broken. I lay for God knows how long in the open grave where the bodies of the executed were dumped. Dragging myself, my belly to the ground like a snake, I was able to make it back to the castle. The hatred in his eyes when he saw me was spine-chilling. His threatening figure towered over me as he looked at me and said that as punishment he would not allow me to die. I was brought to this dark room. Sometimes he brings me food. Other times he forgets. I never see him. He knows how to choose the moment of one’s sleeping death. Feel no pity for me. Do not try to save me. Perhaps I have the punishment I deserve for my lust, for having believed myself more powerful than God. He has made himself the master of my discernment; he has become my lord. I live for him and through him. I am him. I am his wickedness, his cruelty. My prison is not these walls, but my own flesh and bones. Never allow yourself to be defeated. He paused for a moment, then continued in a changed tone. Observe and admire the perfect order of the stars, the passing of time with its retinue of seasons: the gates of summer, the gates of winter. Observe the waves, attend to the grandeur of the winds that the angels blow from the four corners of the pulsating heavens. The lightning that streaks everything with fire, the crawling thunder. . I adored rosy cheeks, turgid buttocks, honey-sweet breasts, dawn-colored thighs, snow-white, nacreous feet. . Books that impart wisdom, blazing sunsets from my windows, the pearly light of the night star. My life had been a perfect jewel, a diamond. What are my broken bones but a way of binding me to the realm of memories, to everything I once had and still retain because it dwells in the darkest recesses of my heart? Tell me, where are the nymphs of old, surrounded by lilies and the water that flows through the deep umbrage of my woodlands, weaving garlands of nightshade, sleeping in dark grottos resonant with the cries of love lost? My flesh is tired, my skin as brittle as glass. I sleep on the floor surrounded by tranquil spiders and the dust that I ingest, the dust that I am and that I will become when, far from the blue cries of the sirens, a blinding light will welcome me to the land of the pure. Pray, pray always that man might behold the marvelous abundance granted him so that he might not destroy it or fling it into the abyss of terror where everything freezes over. .