Every evening after every chore is complete,
after I have locked the hen coop for the night, after the rabbits are shut away
from the marauding fox I sit on the step of the rear door, which leads to our
backyard, I usually say my prayers all the while distracted by the last rays of
the sun playing with the leaves of the peach tree, here a shadow, there a
darkened patch, the variations never cease to amaze me.
It was the last week of April, the sun had
been hot throughout the day, the evenings however were quite pleasant and I
realise with a jerk of my heart, that my birthday is just a week away, what a
pleasant feeling. Now all these years, my birthday has never been celebrated, no
one has baked me an oozy, full of cream cake, no one has sung Parabens for me,
it is after all just another day. But nevertheless it is a pleasant feeling,
besides my birthday is on the date of the Feira de Maio, which makes it even
more special. A party for free. I will be seventy two years old.
In a rush my husband comes out the
backdoor, rushes into the hen coop agitating them tremendously, into the
enclosure for the rabbits, pulls out one by its ears, makes a fist, measures a
wee distance and swings it, I hear the contact with flesh, a tiny sound from
the rabbit, the sound of killing the sound of dying. We had twenty four rabbits
and he swung his fist twenty four times. After that he sits on a step below me
whilst I bustle getting a sac for the dead rabbits, one after another I load the
already cooling bodies, all the while I think of my birthday, I will be seventy
two, the pregnant rabbits look so tired, but it was the pregnant rabbits who
had brought the runny eyes illness from other ill rabbits.
The day of the Feira de Maio dawns and of
course my birthday, I awake with the dawn, my heart singing, I am seventy two
years old, I warm water for my bath and warm a bucket for my husband too. I wear
the skirt with flowers and the white blouse that I had bought at the Feira de
Maio, ten years ago. I carefully pour out the ensopado I have prepared the
previous day into a container I use just for these very occasions, all the
while my heart sings, I am seventy two years old. I hear the sound of the motor
bike and imagine my husband young and handsome as he was when he first came to
me on his bicycle. I hug him tightly, savouring the morning freshness. I am seventy
two years old.
When we reach the gypsies are just setting
out their wares.
‘Come’ they say, in the familiar way they
have, but I feel a bit shy, my husband walks some steps ahead of me.
We go to the row of tents selling shoes, my
husband asks, ‘how much are these?’ and moves, he buys without thinking. I smile. I ask ‘how much are these?’ But I do not buy;
I want to savour the moment, I am seventy two years old. I move back and forth,
try out a pair. My husband says ‘surely you are not going to work the orchard
in those’. But I buy a pair with beautiful buckles. After all I am seventy two
years old. We move to the cattle fair,
‘how much? how much’ asks my husband and we both know we cannot afford to buy cattle.
Time for lunch, it is unbearably hot, we
move to the garden, sit in the shade of a huge tree enjoying the ensopado I had
prepared, with the two spoons I had packed the previous day. We smile at each other
often. Eat an orange and decide to have a nap, it is after all so very hot. I
dream such sweetness.
It is time for the sale, a swarthy gypsy
walks to the mike, takes a handkerchief waves it around and shouts, ‘my
beautiful ladies, how much do you think this beautiful set of towels costs?’
‘Five hundred, no no, …… four hundred, no
not at all, ……. three hundred, of course not, ….. two hundred, no no…… Just one hundred escudos!! Just imagine just one hundred escudos!! Come
my dear beautiful ladies, this is once in a lifetime offer, run, run’
And I run, how I run, pushing and shoving to the head of the
crowd, waving a hundred escudos note, triumphantly I return with a pack of
towels, a beautiful rose, two hand towels, three face towels and a huge bath
towel. These are a gift for my daughter when she comes visiting. Just as the
evening gets cooler, I buy a doughnut, with cinnamon and sugar liberally
sprinkled all over it, I eat it oh so slowly….when two men approach my husband,
they all shake hands. The three move off. I quickly follow, with my handbag,
the shoe box, the package of towels as well as the basket in which I had brought
the food. I follow quickly all the while savouring the doughnut.
Without even glancing at me they enter a shop
full of men. The door closes, I finish my doughnut ever so slowly, I lower my
bundles to the ground. I wait, sometimes the door swings open and I can see my
husband leaning on the counter a half filled glass of tinto in his hand,
laughing. Night descends on the makeshift shops. The gypsies start packing up,
the tiny lights at fair blink beautifully; the fair now a skeleton of iron rods
and planks. Suddenly with a clang the gypsies shut their wagons, roars of
exhaust, all that remains are empty shoe boxes and mounds of paper. How
suddenly it has turned dark, so dark. Every time the door swings open, I can see
my husband leaning on the counter a half filled glass of tinto in his hand, is it
the same glass or a fresh one? I look at the blackness of the night. I have turned
seventy two.
Everybody has gone to their homes, maybe
eating their dinner, surely talking about the fair. Laughing, sharing the food
bought at the fair, trying out their new clothes, shoes.
Then I pick my handbag, the shoe box, the
package of towels as well as the basket in which I had brought the food and
start walking home. Pitch darkness. On the road, cars whizz past me their
lights shining brightly. Night. I had turned seventy two.
José Luis Peixoto was born in a
small village in the Portuguese region of Alentejo. He has a degree in Modern
English and German Literature from the Universidade Nova de Lisboa.
He has published poetry and fiction and
received the Prize, Jovens Criadores in 1997, 1998 and 2000.
In 2001, his novel Nenhum
Olhar received the José Saramago Literary Award. José Luis Peixoto is
represented in a great number of Portuguese and international anthologies.
In 2003, in a totally
unprecedented project, Peixoto joined forces with the Gothic metal band Moonspell and
together they produced a book and record The Antidote.
As far as drama is concerned,
José Luís Peixoto wrote Anathema, which premiered in Théâtre de la Bastille in Paris), À
Manhã, and "Quando o
Inverno Chegar" both of which premiered in Teatro São Luiz, Lisbon.
In 2007, "The Piano
Cemetery" was awarded the Spanish Calamo Literary Award for the best novel
published in Spanish translation.
His works have been published all
over the world, translated in a total of 20 languages.
