Marido a short story by Lídia Jorge

She crouches behind the pigeon’s coop, the wire netting pressing hard against her face, makes herself as small as possible, as invisible as possible, oblivious to the stench, dares not breathe, listens for the step, his step ... there.

The metallic elevator door is pushed open, it shuts rapidly with a huge clang, actually it needs to be held in place whilst you get in, he curses heavily, he never manages to get in before the door clangs shut, it is an old elevator, at last he gets in, and closes it with a metallic bang. Heavy footsteps on the landing, fumbles at the lock, key falls at his feet as it always does.

                                Hail Mary Full of Grace, save me, protect me,

cover me with your grace, Mother Mary protect me,

protect him, please save me,

Oh! Mother, please, please save me.

The door opens...

Lucia! O Lucia,

The sound reverberates, bursts up and down the ten floors, bounces off every wall, ruthlessly penetrating every home, distorting the quiet and the blessed peace of the dewy morning. Unsteadily he moves to the terrace, past the pigeon coops, palpates the air hazily, searches, searches, she stifles a scream, his unsteady hand brushes past her face placed so close against the wire netting, then he staggers into the living room, falls at the foot of the sofa fast asleep. He sleeps snoring loudly; the room reeks of cheap wine, she tiptoes to their room.

Mother Mary, Thank you, You in your Blessed Goodness have saved me

She is Lucia the caretaker of a small apartment complex, ten apartments; her work is to clean the apartments, check for payments, verify if any repairs need to be done. Every day, very early in the day she starts at the very bottom of the apartment complex, works her way through to the top, cleaning, vacuuming, all the while humming a cheerful hymn. The Owner likes her work, she gets a salary but the owner also allows her the use of a small apartment at the top of the building with a little terrace where she breeds pigeons.

Actually, her vigil and her tremendous fear begin at a quarter to five when she knows that he at his garage would be packing his lunch box, his serviette in a bag he always carries. She knows he will then leave the garage where he works; actually he should reach home, it is but a short distance …

It is six…

It is seven…

He should have been home, reading a magazine, feeding the pigeons, maybe just relaxing on the sofa tired after a long day at the garage, talking to her about his colleagues, narrating stories about Mario who really is very fond of women.

They should be eating a thick broth with fresh vegetables that she has bought at the market, dipping chunks of bread in the delicious hot broth. Or eating a pigeon casserole with a dainty salad but….

Of course there are days when he does return home at six, those are the happiest days of her life. The house is filled with laughter; a delicious aroma of hot broth permeates the house. Yes, sometimes…

It is nine…

If he does not return till ten, then she knows he will not come home till dawn…

Lucia! O Lucia…

Mother Mary help him,

Mother Mary intercede for me,

Oh! Sweet Jesus through the intercession of Mother Mary come to my aid.

Mother Mary help him, let him not fall under the wheels of a car,

let him not knock his head on the corner of the pavement.

Lucia is a cheerful person; most of the times she is filled with a deep serenity and sweetness that helps her go on with life, at other times she is filled with dread.

How she would have loved to have lit her Jesus and Mary candle sung her hymns out loud just like Father Romão does in his baritone voice. Sadly, the moment she starts singing in her sweet, humble voice there are complaints, she is singing too loudly.

She thinks, the apartment complex surrounded by traffic, how would one little hymn matter so much? But look at it from the tenant’s point of view she thinks,

There is the pilot, who flies at all odd hours,

There is the surgeon, who operates sometimes through the night,

There is the old man who needs his rest, the colicky baby; yes they all need their sleep. 

And who is she, but a lowly caretaker.

Oh yes, she does sing her hymns in a quiet composed manner, not the full throated voice that she would have loved to, much advocated by Father Romão.

But one day her calm and sweetness changed to bitterness and anger. It all began when the solicitor from the fifth floor approached her on the pretext of a lost receipt and said;

‘Dona Lucia, how are you?’

‘Fine, Senhor Doutor, how may I help you Sir?’

 ‘Oh it’s nothing, just a receipt I have misplaced; I need it for audit purposes’

And while she is looking for it, in the tiny office at the bottom of the apartment complex, he just blurts it out.

‘Dona Lucia, if ever you want a divorce I will do whatever I can for you’. ‘After all, it is just a matter of paperwork.’

Before she can even recover her composure, the solicitor continues without any hesitation.

‘Do let me know Dona Lucia, when you need any certificates for your divorce or any

witnesses to testify on your behalf, believe me there are two witnesses on each floor willing to testify in your favour.’

 But what really got her incensed was the Social Worker on the second floor.

‘Hello Dona Lucia, how are you? Ummm I know you have a terrible time at home.’

Before she could even take a deep breath, the Social worker continued.

‘O Lucia, these are modern days, women Do Not have to be subjugated, we women

have Rights you know, there is something called Individual Rights of a Woman.’ ‘Think about it’

It was then that it struck her; the realization came as a shock. They all had got together and discussed her!

How could they have done that?

How had they dared do that? 

Did they not realise that she was an individual in her own right?

How could they tear her self-respect in shreds just because she was a poor caretaker?

Just because they were financially well-off?

And what about her alliance before God? Was she not a part of an alliance made on

 Earth but blessed in Heaven?

What fate awaited her if she got divorced, what respect did she have in Society?

How would she go to church alone on Sundays? 

Who would push those heavy cupboards when the need arose?

Who would blast those random shots in the air when there were sounds and threats

from burglars trying to rob cars?’

 There was so much she could not do on her own. Say what you may, her husband was after all a quiet man when sober, did he interfere with Them? Had he ever said anything to Them?

Tell me which husband handed over his entire pay packet to his wife, although sadly

after the binges there was not much left , but Men will be Men, whatever was there she had it safely hidden.

There were so many husbands who did not allow their wives the liberty of going to

Church practically every day, but did he ever stop her? Did he even care if she spoke to Father Romão constantly about the Blessed Virgin Mary and the Blessed Sweet Jesus? No he did not. He did not bother her.

So how dare they plan for her, collude, talk about her small problems, which wife did not have problems tell me?’ ‘Most of all how dare They, what audacity to plan and decide a life full of loneliness for her.

They knew nothing about her, nothing at all…. and yet they had decided for her, had it all figured out for her without even asking her. She was so consumed with rage. She could spit on their faces; imagine trying to get her to divorce her husband, trying to give her a life of endless loneliness. …..

And then a strange calm descended upon her, the Blessed Virgin Mary was helping her to be strong. The Blessed Virgin Mary would cover her with Her own mantle. The Blessed Virgin Mary would intercede with the Blessed Sweet Jesus on her behalf.

A strange peaceful smile shone on her face. No more hiding behind the pigeon’s coop, no more would those tenants hear the deafening yells

Lucia! O Lucia

because as soon as he opens the door he would see her, she would be sitting there waiting for him…….

                And that is what happens, the metallic elevator door opens, then rapidly shuts with a huge bang, he curses heavily, he never manages to get in before the door closes, he gets in at last, and closes it with a metallic clang, heavy footsteps on the landing, fumbles at the lock, key falls at his feet as it always does.

As she expects, he is stupefied, blearily he blinks at her, even through the alcoholic haze he just stares at her, he just cannot believe himself …

She runs to him, gently pulls him to the bedroom, he follows her meekly, hypnotised by her presence, she removes his grease stained clothes gently, as if undressing a baby.

She smiles, no ear splitting, deafening bellows,

Lucia! O Lucia.

Feverishly, with glazed eyes he stoops down to pick up his brown coat. He searches his coat pockets hurriedly. Triumphantly he removes his lighter from his front pocket. His eyes glaze over as he glances at the lighter. He licks his lips in anticipation. He smiles. This is something he has looked forward to for such a long time, and then he whirs and lights it….

He breathes in sharply when he sees the flame, inhales the sharp pungent odour, savours it...

Then he reaches across to her...

She decides, even if he brings the flame close to me I will gently move away...

No, he reaches over and picks up the Jesus Mary candle. Her precious candle, given to her by Father Romão. Lights it. Savours the sight, licking his lips gently.

Then he grabs her nylon nightdress and gently touches it to the blazing Jesus Mary candle.

The nylon burns for a moment, then it dies down...

She rubs herself against the wall, the fire dies, dies a little more...

And then flares up suddenly, bright orange like the dying Sun...

She rolls on the living room carpet...

She runs down the service staircase, fire engulfing her in a bright orange...

At the fifth floor the flames crackle loudly as she falls in front of the solicitor’s apartment...

Salve Regina mãe de misericordia, vida doçura,esperança nossa,  

Mother Mary be the mantle that covers her in the purple haze of the dawn.

Open your wings sweet Mary, oh Advocate of Justice

Fly, take the gentle caretaker with You oh sweet Blessed Virgin Mary

Take her to the waiting stretcher, Sweet Jesus; raise Your eyes to the tenants, silently weeping for this precious life, lilac shadows at their windows on her last beautiful dawn.

Carry her Oh Sweet Jesus and Blessed Virgin Mary from this Valley of Tears.

Take her gently silently, with tender care Oh Sweet Jesus, Oh Blessed Virgin Mary with no screech of the siren, with no sounds, with no nylon nightdress, with no hair, with no skin

And let her live with You, Oh Sweet Jesus, Oh Blessed Virgin Mary, in Heaven forever and ever Amen.

O Vale da Paixão…………..Lídia Jorge

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.

A costa dos murmúrios ……Lídia Jorge

With a flick of a pen, Lidia Jorge, transports you to the battlefield of the colonial war in Mozambique, where she and her husband, a Portuguese soldier lived for six years.
‘A Costa dos Murmúrios’ seems to be an echo of those terrible years of sadness, frustration and most of all of disillusionment. Narrated in a dead pan voice of Evita, we are taken back to Mozambique, to a war which did not help anyone, a war that destroyed a country and turned ‘normal’ men into inhuman beings.
But let’s get back to the hauntingly beautiful book, ‘A Costa dos Murmúrios’, let Evita narrate her strange tale of life as the wife of a soldier fighting a war so far away from home, in surroundings totally alien to him, a war that had nothing romantic about it, as had those battles fought in the arena of the Second World war.
Evita, full of love and hope as any young bride should be, travels to Mozambique to marry her college sweetheart Luis, now a soldier posted in Mozambique fighting the Colonial War.
The wedding held at the Stella Maris hotel, where the Officers are billeted, is very good, all the guests have a lovely time, food and champagne flow; the highlight of the evening is when the Commandant graces the occasion and as a mark of respect to Luis dances with the bride. As on any honeymoon, things are good, lots of laughter, lots of sex. But although Evita does not want to admit it even to herself, she does notice subtle changes in her Luis, why does he worship the Commandant, who struts around in fine muslin shirts, a scar on his chest to be seen and envied? Or why does Luis get so angry when reminded of his days at the University which she, Evita, had shared with him with so much joy? Why does he act so strange in their bedroom recreating ambushes, jumping out of the cupboard, playing cat and mouse games? So amusing really. But the worst thing, something that leaves her utterly bewildered and to some extent sad, is his utter disdain for his beloved Mathematics, small things no doubt, Evita the new bride ignores all this but…..come on now, no cause for alarm, it is their honeymoon and most importantly it is her beloved Luis that we are talking about.
There are other strange happenings too, in the place where they are billeted, some days ago huge numbers of Blacks had died of Methyl Alcohol poisoning, but everyone had said, ‘You know how these Blacks are, crazy, plain crazy for Alcohol, they will do anything for a drink’ ‘Did you see any Whites dying? Did you see any Whites dying of Methyl Alcohol poisoning’ ‘No chance, after all we are not like those Blacks, we have superior intelligence, animals they are, plain animals’. And truly so many Blacks had died, that they were carried away in dumpers and dumped in mass graves. The Officer’s wives at the Stella Maris crowded the railings watching the movement of the dumpers carrying the dead bodies of those stupid, animalesque, Blacks who will do anything for a drop of alcohol. Chattering, laughing, preening swinging their well ironed hair from shoulder to shoulder, the ladies truly a gay bunch of lovely women shared in the unusual excitement of dead people being carried away in dumpers, even if strictly speaking Blacks cannot be termed as people.
And then one fine day….. the brave Portuguese soldiers, prepare to vanquish those Blacks, rout them forever from their territory, from their Mozambique, a total decimation of Blacks, it would be an All-White Victory…..
The battalion moves to the front, after all since times immemorial men have fought battles to protect their territory, the women as always stay at home, are left alone at the Hotel Stella Maris. The women do what women are best equipped to do; they wait for their brave men to come home from War, of victory they have no doubt. Meanwhile there is always something to do, hair to be ironed and straightened, clothes to be given to the washerwoman, children if any, to be looked after. Gossip about distorted fragments of War, reaching very infrequently to strike the walls of the Hotel Stella Maris, but never fear, one thing they are very, very, sure about is that it will be an All-White Victory with total annihilation of the Blacks. They know it, they have heard it so often, there are no doubts about it at all, an All-White Victory it will be with total decimation of the Blacks.
And what does Evita do amongst this gaggle of ladies, Evita too waits, leads a serene life, walks on the seashore, swimming in the beautiful warm waters, conversation with the other ladies.
Waiting can be pleasant when you wait for your loved one…..
And then one fine day, whilst swimming lazily, she finds a bottle, a bottle in the ocean; could it have a message for her? Strangely it did, the bottle of wine encased in straw, tasted of Methyl Alcohol. It strikes Evita, sadly realization dawns, Evita now is sure, the blacks had not been drinking Methyl Alcohol, the wine they had been drinking had been poisoned.
A dash to the local newspaper yields no results, the reporters are tired, they have no time for controversial stories, or so it seems to Evita. It is then that Evita befriends the Commandant's wife, Helena, a lady she never really had time for, a lady who lives alone in a bungalow.
Their friendship progresses, and then Helena, shows Evita things which make her flesh crawl, her heart stop, her mind reel with disgust and disbelief, her beloved Luis, her mathematician husband whose only preoccupation had been Mathematics, is a man who kills Blacks for pleasure with no remorse, just sheer unadulterated pleasure. Pictures of Luis atop a straw hut, machamba, the head of a Black skewered on to a lance, Luis setting fire to straw huts with women and children inside, Luis shooting off the cloaca of hens with extreme accuracy. Isn’t he now called Luis Galex?
The photographs are proof of their loyalty to the White Regime; an All White Supremacy that would rule Mozambique after the Blacks had been decimated.
And then the battalion returns, their men return………..no, no, not victorious, not covered with laurels as imagined, but well and truly beaten.
Luis, the destroyer of the Blacks is a totally dejected, crushed, hollow figure who has nothing to live for, dreams of an All-White-Supremacy well and truly shattered.
Now for some cleaning up, mopping up of all the evidence, the Commandant and Luis, obliterate all evidence, burn their dreams and those incriminating photographs of their efforts to exterminate the Blacks, out with that desire and dream of an all White Supremacy.
Destroy those huge barrels of Methyl Alcohol, who will understand that the black scum were not people but vermin to be eliminated at any cost. Did anyone force those Blacks to drink that wine? Vermin that they were, they lapped it, brain dead illiterates, who could call such vermin humans, pity we could not wipe the entire population of scum, make it a white country
And then, Luis comes to know that Evita has taken up a lover, much like his beloved Commandant had behaved, when Helena had taken up a lover, Luis goes in search of the lover, he wants to crush this lover, salvage some pride, be a Man once again, retrieve some part of his lost soul, but the lover forewarned, escapes and the sad and empty thing that Luis has turned, commits suicide.
Eva or Evita, who had come to Mozambique in search of her beloved Luis, ready to live a life with him, finds nothing but disillusionment, terrible loneliness and wonderment at how things could have gone so wrong.
And Luis, when did he change from that intense Mathematician into a killing machine, when did he change into Luis Galex?
Yes, the Officers wives lead pathetic and lonely lives, with nothing to do, nowhere to go. In their little capsule, Stella Maris, they exist for the time that their husbands will return, and they will be a part of the White Supremacy. Of course, they deserve to be rewarded for their sacrifices; they deserve to benefit from the spoils of war.