It is raining hard, water beating on the roof with ferocity, no one can hear anything, silently oh so silently, we feel Walter climbing the stairs, at the landing he removes his shoes, like a shadow flat on the wall, prepares to enter the room, the young girl inside looks forward to seeing him and we scream, No, No, it is dark, it is silent, why are you entering that room so furtively, Walter replies, to meet my daughter and you scream louder, no, no you cannot enter a young girl’s room at night, even if she is your daughter. Walter replies, I am not allowed to meet her, everyone guards me, I need to meet her just once, you see I disowned her a long time ago…..we realise that much like the Irmãos Dias we too have terrible thoughts of Walter.
All that Walter’s daughter knows about Walter is from gossip of others, gossip of the grandfather, Francisco Dias; gossip of the uncles, gossip of the aunt, gossip of the servants, the pact of silence, deep silence insisted by Maria Ema, no she admonishes Walter’s daughter, you are not to talk, not to call him father, you are his ‘niece’, do you understand says Maria Ema the mother of the girl.
Do you remember, asks Francisco Dias of his cronies, how Walter repaired that old carriage and roamed the countryside painting birds? Sketching birds, can you believe that? Selling them like a roadside vagabond, can you believe that a son of Francisco Dias would make money selling sketches? Francisco Dias would shout.
Do you know shrieks Alexandrina, all the while stabbing the potatoes brutally, that Walter got the nineteen year old Maria Ema Baptista pregnant, oh, oh screams Alexandrina all the while stabbing at the potatoes, do you know that one evening, the Baptistas, mother, father and Maria Ema came to the house and said, our daughter is pregnant, when Francisco Dias asked the age old question, how do you know it is my son, the Baptistas took out a folder with dozens of sketches of Maria Ema, the Baptistas turned around, without a word mounted their carriage pushing Maria Ema aside, no, no they did not allow her in, she ran, ran behind the carriage, crying, pleading for them to stop, hair in disarray, losing her hat, her punishment and humiliation started on that day.
Do you know, narrated Adelina the aunt hysterically, Francisco Dias, Paizinho, a man of principles wrote to Walter, you have to marry Maria Ema, no reply, dozens of letters, no reply, Francisco Dias then visited the Commandant, leave the Army to marry? Asked the incredulous Commandant, he is our best soldier. So Francisco Dias, hat in hand returned to Valmares, what to do? What to do? Marry her off to Custodio, his oldest son, his lame son who would never manage to marry otherwise, how brilliant, what a move to save the family honour….
And Custodio did marry Maria Ema, but Custodio loved Walter, loved his rebellious nature, loved that he did everything that he Custodio would never be able to do with his lame leg. Custodio was there to protect when Walter defied his father and refused to cart manure for their vast fields, Custodio was there to unyoke the mule whenever Walter returned from his long trips, sketching birds? Who knows? Custodio just loved Walter.
And Walter’s daughter collected her material of Walter, thread by thread, skein by skein, should she keep this thread, maybe, should she snip that one, yes. Yes Walter’s daughter wove her own fabric of Walter in her mind. But in the huge deep cupboard in her room, where she had always slept alone even when tiny, Walter’s daughter had his uniform, rough and scratchy but so comforting when things got lonely. When scared of the dark, as she often was, hidden between the mattresses Walter’s daughter had his Smith revolver, it protected her, she had figured out long ago how to arm and disarm it, the revolver kept the monsters of the dark at bay.
Actually on one of his visits home, when his brothers were trying to pay off Walter, so that he would never return to Valmares, Walter had flung a huge wad of money and the revolver on the table. Oh how everyone in the family wanted him to leave, leave they said, go said the father, die please die hoped Francisco Dias silently.
And then strangely, like thieves in the night, os Irmãos Dias started leaving Valmares, spreading all over the world, much like Walter, doing strange back breaking jobs in odd places, Caracas, Vancouver, where are these places? Why is it so cold there? Why is it so hot and dusty there? And most of all why have they squandered their inheritance for such menial tasks? A son of Francisco Dias herding and milking cows? A son of Francisco Dias a miner deep in the bowels of a mine covered in black dust wearing a miner’s hat? A son of Francisco Dias dismantling wooden houses? A son of Francisco Dias running after wagons? What sort of jobs were these? Come back, come back he wrote endless letters, please come back, please please come back he pleaded, but the only one who showed signs of returning was Walter, Walter is returning, no, no, let him die, everything is in a mess here in Valmares, don’t come back Walter, once lush fields lie fallow, olive trees not pruned for ages, cattle dying, your mule long dead. No Walter do not come this is not a place for you, come back, come back please come back he wrote to the Irmãos Dias, all pieces, all threads, all skeins for Walter’s daughter fabric of Walter.
And Walter returns, why? Everyone in a tizzy, Maria Ema dressing and pursing her skilfully painted mouth in a cupids bow, don’t speak, please don’t speak; Walter’s daughter has to collaborate with her mother, the pact of silence. Days of wonder, days of laughter, Custodio’s sons in wonder at the speed at which tio Walter sketches his birds, do one more tio Walter, just one more please, go to bed says Maria Ema their mother…and the rain, rain beating ferociously on the roof, no one can hear a thing……… Maria Ema can take it no longer; the strain is much too much, Walter, Walter, Walter.
And then Walter leaves knowing he will never return, come with me he says to Walter’s daughter, no, no she replies silently.
Come back, come back, writes Francisco Dias to the Irmãos Dias, endless letters, please come back, please please come back he pleads, how can we? write the Irmãos Dias, we have businesses to attend to, they write, dairies, sawmills, real estate, travel agencies, os Irmãos Dias have now moved on, they are respected members of society in those far away countries……but something is bringing them down, dragging them down in squelchy mud, ruining their reputation for which they had worked so hard, so very hard…Walter deep in debt, Walter defrauding his business partners, Walter closing his office, opening another one elsewhere, Walter impregnating a Polish girl, Walter fleeing to Brazil, running to Caracas, letters pouring from os Irmãos Dias, most importantly the terrible way the Soldier’s Blanket has been put to use, women tumbling all over it, the Soldier’s Blanket filthy, smeared, stained, deeply ingrained with Walter’s sins, is it any way to treat a Soldier’s Blanket , a Soldier’s Blanket is the Symbol of a Nation, a deluge of letters driving Francisco Dias to a nervous breakdown. And then terrible, terrible accusations, oh Custodio you are such a fool, so innocent, an affair was going on right under your nose, Maria Ema and Walter of course, you just stayed looking on, sad. Do you know that Walter even threw his own daughter on the Soldier’s Blanket, visited her one night when it was raining so very heavily, oh the scandal, oh the horror, tell us the truth Custodio, the truth, we have a right to know. And Walter's daughter is filled with anger, how could he, how could have told them about his one and only visit to her room. But then maybe, he could have just said, you know I just wanted to be near her, my daughter, and I was guarded, prevented from talking to her, my daughter who I had seen as a toddler. Filled with anger Walter’s daughter decides to confront him, collects, collects and collects information about Walter, writes terrible stories about Walter, goes to meet Walter, surprises him, confronts him only to realise that she loves him deeply, it was always him, always her only comfort when everything was lonely and bleak, his army coat, his revolver were her security against a hostile world.
Walter’s daughter, why don’t you have a name like everyone else does, a name is the most common thing and one’s most sacred possession, even the poorest of the poor have a name Walter’s daughter; yes, you do not have a name, because nobody respects you, you once said to yourself, if had I pointed the Smith at and killed Maria Ema, everyone would have pounced on me, if I had shot Maria Ema’s sons, they would have killed me, but if I point the revolver at Walter’s daughter and kill her no one will even know, they will let my body rot. Who would have allowed a little girl to keep a loaded revolver hidden below the mattress? Yes Walter’s daughter you were an accident, and like accidents unwanted, Maria Ema or her mother should have gotten rid of you in time and then you would have saved the house of Francisco Dias a great deal of embarrassment.
Strangely but, Walter’s daughter, you are the only one who knows how to look after the land that os Irmãos Dias abandoned, you are the only one who can recognise agricultural implements even in the deep of the night just by touching them as you did when you found the right spade to dig a deep hole for Walter’s blanket, the Soldier’s Blanket which was his legacy to you when he died, a clean, sweet smelling blanket that came to you passing through a hundred countries, you buried the Soldier’s Blanket much as one buries her own father with love and respect.
All that Walter’s daughter knows about Walter is from gossip of others, gossip of the grandfather, Francisco Dias; gossip of the uncles, gossip of the aunt, gossip of the servants, the pact of silence, deep silence insisted by Maria Ema, no she admonishes Walter’s daughter, you are not to talk, not to call him father, you are his ‘niece’, do you understand says Maria Ema the mother of the girl.
Do you remember, asks Francisco Dias of his cronies, how Walter repaired that old carriage and roamed the countryside painting birds? Sketching birds, can you believe that? Selling them like a roadside vagabond, can you believe that a son of Francisco Dias would make money selling sketches? Francisco Dias would shout.
Do you know shrieks Alexandrina, all the while stabbing the potatoes brutally, that Walter got the nineteen year old Maria Ema Baptista pregnant, oh, oh screams Alexandrina all the while stabbing at the potatoes, do you know that one evening, the Baptistas, mother, father and Maria Ema came to the house and said, our daughter is pregnant, when Francisco Dias asked the age old question, how do you know it is my son, the Baptistas took out a folder with dozens of sketches of Maria Ema, the Baptistas turned around, without a word mounted their carriage pushing Maria Ema aside, no, no they did not allow her in, she ran, ran behind the carriage, crying, pleading for them to stop, hair in disarray, losing her hat, her punishment and humiliation started on that day.
Do you know, narrated Adelina the aunt hysterically, Francisco Dias, Paizinho, a man of principles wrote to Walter, you have to marry Maria Ema, no reply, dozens of letters, no reply, Francisco Dias then visited the Commandant, leave the Army to marry? Asked the incredulous Commandant, he is our best soldier. So Francisco Dias, hat in hand returned to Valmares, what to do? What to do? Marry her off to Custodio, his oldest son, his lame son who would never manage to marry otherwise, how brilliant, what a move to save the family honour….
And Custodio did marry Maria Ema, but Custodio loved Walter, loved his rebellious nature, loved that he did everything that he Custodio would never be able to do with his lame leg. Custodio was there to protect when Walter defied his father and refused to cart manure for their vast fields, Custodio was there to unyoke the mule whenever Walter returned from his long trips, sketching birds? Who knows? Custodio just loved Walter.
And Walter’s daughter collected her material of Walter, thread by thread, skein by skein, should she keep this thread, maybe, should she snip that one, yes. Yes Walter’s daughter wove her own fabric of Walter in her mind. But in the huge deep cupboard in her room, where she had always slept alone even when tiny, Walter’s daughter had his uniform, rough and scratchy but so comforting when things got lonely. When scared of the dark, as she often was, hidden between the mattresses Walter’s daughter had his Smith revolver, it protected her, she had figured out long ago how to arm and disarm it, the revolver kept the monsters of the dark at bay.
Actually on one of his visits home, when his brothers were trying to pay off Walter, so that he would never return to Valmares, Walter had flung a huge wad of money and the revolver on the table. Oh how everyone in the family wanted him to leave, leave they said, go said the father, die please die hoped Francisco Dias silently.
And then strangely, like thieves in the night, os Irmãos Dias started leaving Valmares, spreading all over the world, much like Walter, doing strange back breaking jobs in odd places, Caracas, Vancouver, where are these places? Why is it so cold there? Why is it so hot and dusty there? And most of all why have they squandered their inheritance for such menial tasks? A son of Francisco Dias herding and milking cows? A son of Francisco Dias a miner deep in the bowels of a mine covered in black dust wearing a miner’s hat? A son of Francisco Dias dismantling wooden houses? A son of Francisco Dias running after wagons? What sort of jobs were these? Come back, come back he wrote endless letters, please come back, please please come back he pleaded, but the only one who showed signs of returning was Walter, Walter is returning, no, no, let him die, everything is in a mess here in Valmares, don’t come back Walter, once lush fields lie fallow, olive trees not pruned for ages, cattle dying, your mule long dead. No Walter do not come this is not a place for you, come back, come back please come back he wrote to the Irmãos Dias, all pieces, all threads, all skeins for Walter’s daughter fabric of Walter.
And Walter returns, why? Everyone in a tizzy, Maria Ema dressing and pursing her skilfully painted mouth in a cupids bow, don’t speak, please don’t speak; Walter’s daughter has to collaborate with her mother, the pact of silence. Days of wonder, days of laughter, Custodio’s sons in wonder at the speed at which tio Walter sketches his birds, do one more tio Walter, just one more please, go to bed says Maria Ema their mother…and the rain, rain beating ferociously on the roof, no one can hear a thing……… Maria Ema can take it no longer; the strain is much too much, Walter, Walter, Walter.
And then Walter leaves knowing he will never return, come with me he says to Walter’s daughter, no, no she replies silently.
Come back, come back, writes Francisco Dias to the Irmãos Dias, endless letters, please come back, please please come back he pleads, how can we? write the Irmãos Dias, we have businesses to attend to, they write, dairies, sawmills, real estate, travel agencies, os Irmãos Dias have now moved on, they are respected members of society in those far away countries……but something is bringing them down, dragging them down in squelchy mud, ruining their reputation for which they had worked so hard, so very hard…Walter deep in debt, Walter defrauding his business partners, Walter closing his office, opening another one elsewhere, Walter impregnating a Polish girl, Walter fleeing to Brazil, running to Caracas, letters pouring from os Irmãos Dias, most importantly the terrible way the Soldier’s Blanket has been put to use, women tumbling all over it, the Soldier’s Blanket filthy, smeared, stained, deeply ingrained with Walter’s sins, is it any way to treat a Soldier’s Blanket , a Soldier’s Blanket is the Symbol of a Nation, a deluge of letters driving Francisco Dias to a nervous breakdown. And then terrible, terrible accusations, oh Custodio you are such a fool, so innocent, an affair was going on right under your nose, Maria Ema and Walter of course, you just stayed looking on, sad. Do you know that Walter even threw his own daughter on the Soldier’s Blanket, visited her one night when it was raining so very heavily, oh the scandal, oh the horror, tell us the truth Custodio, the truth, we have a right to know. And Walter's daughter is filled with anger, how could he, how could have told them about his one and only visit to her room. But then maybe, he could have just said, you know I just wanted to be near her, my daughter, and I was guarded, prevented from talking to her, my daughter who I had seen as a toddler. Filled with anger Walter’s daughter decides to confront him, collects, collects and collects information about Walter, writes terrible stories about Walter, goes to meet Walter, surprises him, confronts him only to realise that she loves him deeply, it was always him, always her only comfort when everything was lonely and bleak, his army coat, his revolver were her security against a hostile world.
Walter’s daughter, why don’t you have a name like everyone else does, a name is the most common thing and one’s most sacred possession, even the poorest of the poor have a name Walter’s daughter; yes, you do not have a name, because nobody respects you, you once said to yourself, if had I pointed the Smith at and killed Maria Ema, everyone would have pounced on me, if I had shot Maria Ema’s sons, they would have killed me, but if I point the revolver at Walter’s daughter and kill her no one will even know, they will let my body rot. Who would have allowed a little girl to keep a loaded revolver hidden below the mattress? Yes Walter’s daughter you were an accident, and like accidents unwanted, Maria Ema or her mother should have gotten rid of you in time and then you would have saved the house of Francisco Dias a great deal of embarrassment.
Strangely but, Walter’s daughter, you are the only one who knows how to look after the land that os Irmãos Dias abandoned, you are the only one who can recognise agricultural implements even in the deep of the night just by touching them as you did when you found the right spade to dig a deep hole for Walter’s blanket, the Soldier’s Blanket which was his legacy to you when he died, a clean, sweet smelling blanket that came to you passing through a hundred countries, you buried the Soldier’s Blanket much as one buries her own father with love and respect.
