Mercè Rodoreda - War, So Much War

Half deranged by the words of that madman whose face I had not even glimpsed, I crawled backward, too filled with dread to turn my back to him. And with the sound of his strangely sweet voice still ringing in my ears I found myself rolling down a viscous slope. When I got to the bottom, I tried to stand. My arms could reach from one wall to the other. I crept along the sewer line until a breath of fresh air hit me and I lost consciousness.

LOOK, THERE’S A BOY AT THE MOUTH OF THE SEWER LINE FROM the castle. Is he dead? If he were dead his face would be paler. The voices reached me from afar, slowly waking me. They were the voices of girls. Of girls standing around me. Then a shadow leaned down and something soft, perhaps a blade of grass, perhaps a feather, grazed my cheek. I couldn’t stand the tickle. Don’t give him any love pats. I could see six feet, six legs, six knees. Three girls were observing me, amused. He has one eye open, he’s just pretending to sleep. See how it shines? I sat up, and the girls ran away, laughing and shrieking. A flight of seagulls circled above them. The shrieking girls with their feet in the water, and the seagulls on that bright morning transported me to a very different world. An orange soared through the air. The girls were playing, tossing it back and forth. Nice and round, it surged upward against the blue and then fell swiftly into the two hands at the end of two arms that awaited it. From behind a rock that prevented me from seeing her fully, another girl, who looked like a figurine in a Nativity scene, was approaching. All of her, I later noticed, was the color of a camellia flower; she had large, black eyes and thick hair that fell down her back. The other girls immediately surrounded her. One who was very blonde asked: Are you still crying over him? Forget him. If he wants to travel the world singing, let him, and wish him well. Her fiancé left her? asked the girl who was wearing a yellow blouse. Yes. Isabel was so afraid he would be killed in the war, but it only took one of his arms. And now he says he doesn’t want to marry with just one arm. The figurine girl started explaining to the girl in the yellow blouse what the others already knew. Her fiancé’s father was a blacksmith and he, the son, was strong and brave; he used to help his father forge iron. Hammer and anvil were all sparks. . I moved closer to them. The figurine girl glanced at me, and I don’t know what she saw in my eyes but as she looked at me hers moistened. The blonde girl said, Isabel loved him very much. We’ve known each other since we were little and used to play in front of the castle, making paper boats out of newspapers. Then we’d go down to the beach and float them on the water, lying facedown on the crab rock. The figurine girl looked at me again, and again it seemed that her eyes and mine had no wish to hold any other gaze. So now you know the whole story: He doesn’t want to marry with one arm, it doesn’t matter that I’ve waited for him for so long, dreamed of him for so long. My mother is happy: What would you do with a one-armed cripple for a husband? You’ll find another who’s better, richer and has the right number of arms and hands. . The figurine girl started running toward the waves screaming that she wanted to die. They took her farther down the beach, and the girl in the yellow blouse walked over to me and tossed me the orange.

A MAN CAME AND STRETCHED OUT BESIDE ME. HE WAS PORTLY and his skin glistened as if it had been smeared with lard. He folded his hands over his belly. I could only see one of his eyes, beneath an eyebrow with hairs thicker than esparto. The eye studied me, then quickly closed, only to open again slowly. To escape its scrutiny I pretended to gaze at the sky. There were still seagulls in flight; two had come to rest on the rock with the crabs. The man had placed between us a bundle made from a large striped kerchief. Would you untie the bundle and hand me the sandwich? he muttered. It was a huge sandwich with cured ham spilling out of the sides. I can’t say I’m hungry, but one gets an appetite by eating. I handed him the sandwich but straight away he gestured that he didn’t want it. No, no. . put it in my mouth. He opened his mouth: rotting teeth, a short, fleshy tongue covered with white fuzz, the uvula red as fire. I lowered the sandwich to his mouth and he closed it parsimoniously, taking his first bite. The smell of the tomato-rubbed bread and the ham was driving me mad. I let the sandwich drop to the ground, crouched with my nose to the sand, and dug my teeth into the crust. A good long piece of ham pulled out. What are you doing? I can’t see you. I didn’t dare chew, didn’t dare say a word with my mouth full. Dry my lips for me. There’s no more ham? Put what’s left of the bread in my mouth, tiny morsels. And stuff the kerchief in my pocket. He was silent and seemed to be half asleep, but then he started talking. His voice, my hunger, the ebb and flow of the sea were making me drowsy. He spoke about his life, at times looking up at the sky, at others closing his eyes. Sometimes his words came out broken. I’ve been ti. . red for as long as I can re. . mem. . ber, since I was born. I might as well tell you the whole story. My mother was unable to nurse me because I wouldn’t suckle, and if I did, I suckled so slowly that she was forced to spend hours holding me. She fell behind on the housework: clothes always dirty, beds unmade, dishes unwashed. Until, at her wits’ end, she decided to feed me straight from the bottle. Two neighbors were in charge. One of the women opened my mouth, the other stuck the neck of the bottle in and milk spewed out. I cried, I choked, I suffocated. My mother used to say, I still don’t know why he didn’t die. I didn’t walk till I was five years old, if you can call that walking. I had to sit down every couple of steps, I would fall asleep all over the place. Four steps and a nap. I was rejected for military service because I kept nodding off. They said my sleepiness was caused by a disease of the brain. My wife is called Narcisa, and we hadn’t been married three months when she got into bed with the assistant to Senyor Regomir, the lawyer. That’s how it is. I never take off my trousers. Why should I if the following day I have to put them on again? He was quiet for a moment. A soot-colored cloud hastened to hide the sun. The seagulls seemed whiter. The lethargic man slept. A bee circled the cavity of his mouth. I rose, glancing in the direction of the castle to see if there truly was a castle by the beach. When I had walked for a while, I turned around to take one last look at it, but it had receded from view. The wide sea was leaden.

I SAW SHIMMERING LIGHTS IN THE DISTANCE. THERE WOULD BE poorly guarded chicken coops, egg-laying hens, fruit-laden trees. To my left, a tiny, bright speck hovered above the water: a butterfly. A gentle hand took me by the arm. A girl’s voice asked: Why were you looking at me? The face was pale, partially covered by a cascade of hair. The butterfly drew nearer and nestled into it. Why were you looking at me? It was dark but I could see the wings of the butterfly, seemingly dead. I picked it up and it stayed in the palm of my hand. You silly thing, I wanted to tell her. I tossed the butterfly into the air. Why were you looking at me? I didn’t know what to respond, and the girl on the beach was waiting for me to say something. There was no sign of the butterfly. And you, why were you looking at me? I sat down and she sat beside me. She held her hand in front of her face and peeked at me through her fingers. And she said: You don’t look at someone the way you looked at me this morning unless what you are seeing pleases you more than all else. You have made me yours. I followed you here and from now on I will follow you always. . I have nothing to latch on to. I have only you. I felt revulsion. Revulsion at the idea of losing myself in that voice, of ending up being devoured by a girl’s voice in the midst of that expanse of sea and evening. The frothy waves surged higher. She said the sea frightened her, her whole life had been filled with fear: fear of night, of the moon that made her want to scream as soon as she saw it. Clouds terrified her, lightning sent her hiding under the bed. Later she grew scared of people: tall men, fat women, loud children, old people groping their way along because their eyes had died, barking dogs, birds launching themselves against the wind. Fear. Fear of everything. Fear of moving, dreaming, laughing. Fear that people might see what she was made of inside. Fear of a shout, a scolding, footsteps beneath her window, a piece of furniture that weeps in the quiet of the night. Fear of the dead who creep up on you and snatch the bedsheets. You see? Fear of these waves. But with you by my side I’m not afraid of anything. I listened to her without wanting to. I wished to walk the world alone. I should have stood up and run away. And I defended myself as best I could. I saw Eva riding a white horse where the sea met the distant sky. Eva who wanted nothing and asked for nothing. I will be whatever you want me to be; I will do whatever you want me to do. We will have a little house with a pot of parsley in the kitchen window. A vegetable garden full of turnips and carrots, cabbages and chicory. A cage with rabbits, a henhouse with six hens and six geese running about more vigilant than a watchdog. I will cook you lunch and dinner. You will have your fill of roast chicken, grilled rabbit, soup with monkfish and crabmeat and megrim and mussels. . marmalades made from purple and amber plums, apricots, strawberries, cherries. You will have apple-scented sheets, rain-scented towels, blankets like flakes of fog. What are you thinking? She ran a finger across my cheek. I looked away in anger. She stepped back and I turned and faced her. I love a girl who wants nothing, she wants nothing, she wants only to belong to herself, herself alone. She loves rivers that carry stars, she hangs them up and takes them down, she speaks to them, knows what they are made of. She loves rocks and fire. She is not afraid of anything. Not even of the dead she sends down the river by shoving them with her pitchfork. She needs no one. The girl without a fiancé ran a finger across my cheek. What are you thinking? Her name is Eva and she is the most beautiful girl in the world. Stop, stop! She rides her horse alone. Brave. And lowering my voice I added: So what if I looked at you? She rose and walked a few steps toward the sea, stood there for a moment and then came back. She leaned down, her hair spilling over me, and I heard her voice, almost a whisper in my ear. Remember. My name is Isabel. And she headed toward the waves and strode into the water, deeper and deeper. I never saw her again.