Antonio Tabucchi - Requiem - A Hallucination

My Guest opened the wine list and read it attentively. How are you supposed to choose a wine without first having chosen your meal? he said, this really is a bizarre restaurant. They serve almost exclusively fish dishes, I said, that’s why they mostly offer white wines, but if you prefer red, there’s a house red that might not be too bad. No, no, he said, tonight I’ll drink white wine too, but you’ll have to help me choose, I don’t know the names, they’re all new. Young or old? I asked. Old, he said, I don’t like fizzy wines. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s a Colares Chita, which is a wine from your day. My Guest approved and said: It’s a wine from Azenhas do Mar, in 1923 it won a gold medal in Rio de Janeiro, I was living in Campo de Ourique at the time.

Mariazinha came over to us again and I ordered a bottle of Colares. Would you like to order your food now? asked Mariazinha. Look, I said, if you don’t mind, we’d like to drink a glass of wine first before choosing, we’re thirsty and besides we want to drink a toast. That’s fine by me, said Mariazinha, the kitchen’s open until two and the restaurant closes at three, so feel free. He left us only to return soon after with a bottle and an ice bucket. Tonight we have a literary menu, he said as he was opening the bottle, Pedrinho chose the names, es el apocalipse, caballeros . Who’s Pedrinho? I asked. Pedrinho’s the young fellow who advises us in the kitchen, said Mariazinha, he’s terribly cultured, he did a literature course at Évora. Not someone else from the Alentejo, I said. Have you got anything against them? asked Mariazinha with a haughty look, I’m from there too, from Estremoz. No, I’ve got nothing against them, I replied, it’s just that my day has been full of people from the Alentejo, I’ve been bumping into them everywhere. We’re international, said Mariazinha, with a shake of his ponytail, and left us to ourselves.

My Guest raised his glass. Let’s drink a toast, he said. Right, I said, to what? To the next century, he said, you’re going to need all the luck you can get, this was my century and I felt at home in it, but you might have some problems in the next one. Who’s “you”? I asked. The people alive now, he replied, you fin-de-siècle people. We’ve already got masses of problems, I said, we really need a toast. I’d also like to drink to saudosismo , 2said my Guest, raising his glass again, I miss poor old saudosismo , there are no saudosistas left, Portugal’s become so very European. But you’re European, I said, you’re the most European writer of the twentieth century, I’m sorry, but you’re the last person who should say such things. But I never left Lisbon, he said, I never left Portugal, oh, I liked Europe, but only as an idea, I sent other people off to Europe: one friend to England, another to Paris, but not me, I stayed put in my aunt’s house. It was comfortable, I said, very comfortable. That’s right, he went on, perhaps I’ve always been a bit of a coward, do you know what I mean? but I’ll tell you something, cowardice produced some of the bravest writing of the century, for example, that Czech writer who wrote in German, I can’t remember his name just now, but don’t you think he wrote some extraordinarily brave things? Kafka, I said, his name was Kafka. That’s right, my Guest said, and yet he was a bit of a coward too. He took a sip of wine and went on: There’s something cowardly about his diary, but what courage he had to write that magnificent book of his, you know, the one about guilt. The Trial ? I asked, is that the one you mean? Of course, he said, the most courageous book of the century, he has the courage to say that we are all guilty. Guilty of what? I asked. I don’t know, he said, of being born, perhaps, and of what happens afterwards, we’re all guilty.

Mariazinha came over wearing a luminous smile, his powder was beginning to melt slightly in the heat, but his expression remained ingratiating. Right, caballeros, he said, I’m going to tell you what the menu of the day is, it’s a poetic menu, but then nouvelle cuisine demands poetry, as a starter we have soup Amor de Perdição and salad Fernão Mendes Pinto , what do you think? The names are certainly picturesque, I said, but you’ll have to explain what they mean. Right, said Mariazinha, the soup is a coriander soup made with lots of coriander and chicken giblets. The salad is an exotic mix of avocado, prawns and bean sprouts. Am I also to blame for “nouvelle cuisine”? asked my Guest, I’m not responsible for those horrible names. No, I said, you’re absolutely right, nouvelle cuisine is a quite separate horror. Does your friend only speak English? Mariazinha interrupted, what a bore! And what do you have as a main dish? I asked. Now let me see, said Mariazinha, we have sea bass trágico-marítimo 3sole interseccionista , Gafeira eels à moda do Delftm and cod escárnio e mal-dizer . My Guest raised one eyebrow and whispered: Ask him how the sole is cooked . I asked and Mariazinha looked slightly irritated. It’s stuffed with ham, he said, that’s why it’s called interseccionista , because it’s made from fish and meat. My Guest smiled ironically and nodded. And what about the eels à moda do Delfim , I asked, how are they served? They’re cooked in moira , said Mariazinha, it’s a speciality of the house. I don’t know what that is, I said, can you explain? Look, said Mariazinha, you know what caldeirada is, a sort of fish stew, right? well moira is the stock you get from the caldeirada , I’ll tell you how it’s made, you cut the fat off the eels and add coarse salt and vinegar to it. Then this mixture, which is very tasty, is added to the stewed eels themselves, it’s more or less the same as eels à moda da Murtosa , only more refined, that’s why we call it Gafeira eels à moda do Delfim . But Gafeira doesn’t exist, I said, it’s an imaginary place, a literary place. That doesn’t matter, said Mariazinha, Portugal’s full of lakes, you can always find a Gafeira. I’ll have that then, I said, but only a half-portion, just to get an idea.

Mariazinha left and my Guest filled our glasses again. This place is incredible, he said. Forgive me changing the subject, I said, but I’d like you to tell me about your childhood, it really intrigues me. My childhood? exclaimed my Guest, I’ve never talked to anyone about my childhood and we’re not going to talk about it now at supper. Go on, I said, tell me, it’s the most mysterious part of your life, this is the first and last time we’ll meet, I don’t want to miss the opportunity. Look, said my Guest, I had a happy childhood, really. It’s true my father died, but I hardly noticed it, I found another father, he was a good, silent man, he wasn’t a father exactly, more of a symbol, and it’s good to live with symbols. And what about your mother? I asked, you were very close to her, your critics, or some of them at least, even suggest you had some sort of Oedipus complex. What! said my Guest, I had a perfectly straightforward relationship with her, my mother was a simple person, she had no concept of pretence, look, I let people think I had a mysterious childhood by completely eliminating it from my writing, but it’s all nonsense, really, it was just to put the critics off the scent, they’re such busybodies, and so I set traps for them beforehand. You’re a liar, I said, an utter liar, you may have deceived your critics, but you’re not going to deceive me as well, you’re not being honest with me. Look, he said, I’m not honest in the sense you mean, the only emotions I experience are in the form of genuine pretence, I consider your kind of honesty a form of poverty, the supreme truth is to pretend, I’ve always believed that. You’re exaggerating, I said, now you’re a liar twice over, isn’t that right? Yes, that’s right, replied my Guest, the important thing is to feel. Exactly, I said, I was always convinced that you did in fact feel everything, indeed I always thought that you felt things normal people couldn’t feel, I always believed in your occult powers, you’re a sorcerer, and that’s why I’m here and why I’ve had the day I’ve had. And are you pleased with the day you’ve had? he asked. I don’t quite know how to put it, I said, but I feel quieter, lighter. That’s what you needed, he said. I’m very grateful to you, I replied.