Antonio Tabucchi - Requiem - A Hallucination

I thanked him and said goodbye. I picked up my bottle of champagne and went out into the heat. I found the first row on the right and began walking slowly along it. I was feeling terribly anxious again and my heart was pounding hard. It was a modest grave, just a headstone placed on the ground. There he was with his Polish name and above his name was a photograph that I recognised. It was a full-length photograph, he was wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and was leaning against a boat, behind him you could see the sea. I had taken that photograph in 1965, it was in Caparica in September and we were so happy, he’d just got out of prison a week before, thanks to the pressure of public opinion abroad, a French newspaper had said: “The Salazar régime must free all writers,” and there he was, leaning against the boat with the French newspaper in his hands. I went closer to see if I could read the name of the paper, but I couldn’t, it was out of focus in the photograph, other times, I thought, time swallowed up everything, and then I said: Hello, Tadeus, it’s me, I’ve come to visit you. And then I said it again, more loudly this time: Hello Tadeus, it’s me, I’ve come to visit you.

III

COME ON IN THEN, said Tadeus’ voice, you know the way. I closed the door behind me and walked along the corridor. It was dark and I stumbled into a pile of things that toppled over. I paused to pick up the objects I’d stumbled into: books, a wooden toy, the sort you buy at fairs, a Barcelos cockerel, a small statue of a saint, the figure of a friar bought in Caldas* with a huge penis protruding from beneath his habit. Bumping into things always was your speciality, I heard Tadeus’ voice say from the next room. And yours was collecting junk, I replied, you’re stony broke and you go and buy a friar with his willy hanging out, when will you grow up, Tadeus? I heard a guffaw, then Tadeus appeared at the door, silhouetted against the light. Come in, he said, come in, don’t be shy, this is the house I’ve always lived in, the house where you ate, slept, fucked, don’t tell me you don’t recognise it? It isn’t that, I protested, it’s just that there are a few matters I need to clear up, you died without telling me anything, and I’ve spent years agonising over it, now it’s time that I knew, I’m free now, today I feel extraordinarily free, look, I’ve even lost my Super-Ego, it just reached its expiry date, like milk in a carton, I mean it, I feel free, liberated, that’s why I’m here. Have you had lunch? asked Tadeus. No, I said, I had breakfast in the garden where I was this morning, but I haven’t eaten anything since. Let’s go and get something to eat then, said Tadeus, down the road, in Casimiro’s place, just wait till you see what’s in store for you, yesterday I ordered a sarrabulho à moda do Douro , which was out of this world, Casimiro’s wife is actually from the Douro and she makes a divine sarrabulho , you could die a happy man once you’ve eaten it, do you know what I mean? I don’t know what a sarrabulho is, I said, doubtless something lethal, like all your favourite dishes, I bet it’s got pork in it, you always adored pork, you’re even prepared to eat it on a blazing hot day like today, but before we go to the restaurant I have to talk to you, I even brought a bottle of champagne, it’s probably warm by now, but we could put some ice cubes in the glasses, here it is, it’s a Laurent-Perrier, I bought it in the Café Brasileira in the Chiado. Tadeus took charge of the bottle and went off to look for some glasses. Let’s talk in the restaurant, if you don’t mind that is, he said from the kitchen, be patient, it would be best to talk about the things you want to talk about in the restaurant, here we can drink the champagne and talk about literature. He returned with the glasses and the ice. Let’s sit down, he said, let’s drink our champagne sitting down. He stretched out on the sofa and waved me into the armchair by his side. It’s just like old times, he said, but don’t lecture me about food and pork, I’m going to die in a few years’ time of a coronary and here you are giving me lectures, forget it, don’t go on at me. All right, I said, I didn’t mean to go on at you, but I think you owe me an explanation. All in good time, said Tadeus, with a dish of sarrabulbo in front of us, wouldn’t you rather talk about literature now, so much more refined? OK, I replied, let’s talk about literature, what are you writing at the moment? A short novel in verse, he said, a story about a love affair between a bishop and a nun, it takes place in seventeenth-century Portugal, it’s a rather sombre story, possibly obscene, a metaphor for debasement, what do you think of the idea? I don’t know, I said, do they eat sarrabulho in your story? From what you’ve said it sounds like the sort of story that needs sarrabulho . Anyway, here’s health, said Tadeus, raising his glass, you’re the one with the soul, my fearful friend, I only have a body, and I haven’t even got that for much longer. I haven’t got a soul any more, I replied, now I have an Unconscious, it’s a virus I caught, and that’s why I’m here in your house, that’s how come I found you. Well, here’s to your Unconscious then, said Tadeus, filling the glasses again, another couple of drinks and then off to Casimiro’s. We drank in silence. From the barracks on the other side of the road came the sound of a trumpet. Somewhere a clock chimed the hours. We’d better go, said Tadeus, if we don’t, Casimiro’s will be closed. I got up and walked back down the corridor on unsteady legs, feeling the effect of the champagne. We left his house and walked down the street. The small square was full of pigeons. A soldier was stretched out on a bench by the fountain. We walked along arm in arm, keeping step with each other. Tadeus seemed more serious now, less jokey, as if troubled by something. What’s wrong, Tadeus? I asked. I don’t know, he said, maybe it’s just an attack of melancholy, I miss the days when we used to stroll round the city like this, do you remember? everything was different then, everything seemed brighter, cleaner somehow. Youth, I said, our eyes saw things differently then. I’m really glad you came to see me though, he said, it’s the best present you could give me, we couldn’t just say goodbye the way we did, you’re right, we really do need to talk about that whole sad business. I stopped and made Tadeus stop too. Look, Tadeus, I said, the really mysterious thing, the thing that most intrigues me is the note you’ll give me the day you die, do you remember? You’re at death’s door, lying on your bed of pain in Santa Maria hospital, there’s a monstrous machine by your side to which you’re attached, you’ve got a tube up your nose and a drip in your right arm, you gesture to me to move closer, I do, you indicate with your left hand that you want to write something, I find a piece of paper and a pen and I give them to you, your eyes look dull and you have death written on your face, you make an enormous effort to write, using your left hand, and then you give me the note and on it is this really odd sentence, Tadeus, what did you mean by it? I don’t know, he said, I can’t remember, I was dying, how do you expect me to remember? Besides, he went on, I don’t even know what the sentence was, why don’t you tell me? All right, I said, the sentence went like this: Blame it all on herpes zoster , honestly, Tadeus, is that any kind of sentence to say goodbye with, to leave with a friend when you’re dying? Listen, my fearful friend, he said, there are two possibilities: either I was completely out of it and I was writing things that have no meaning, or I was just playing a trick on you, I spent my whole life playing tricks on people, you know that, I played them on you, on everyone, it was my last prank, and thus dies Tadeus, with a final pirouette, olé! I don’t know why, Tadeus, I said, but I always connected that idiotic phrase with Isabel, that’s really why I’m here, it’s her I want to talk about. Later, he said, walking on.