In life, everything happens suddenly. The rest, that which emerges peacefully, is what has already occurred without our being aware. Some people let things happen without fear. These are the living. Others put things off. These latter are lucky if they come back to life in time before they die.
Girlie was the daughter of a Portuguese couple who ran a store, and was always a level-headed girl. In the dim light of the shop, she would serve Blacks as if they were the shadows of other, real live people. The young girl’s body was developing—the fruit was growing ripe and its pulp was sweet. Thirst was invented for imagining water. But in the vicinity of the shop, there were no resident white men, the only kind she would share her syrupy sweetness with.
The Pacheco family had been pioneers in the arid region of Shiperapera, where even the original Blacks were scarce. Why had they chosen such remote lands?
—Here, beyond those high mountains, not even God can keep an eye on me …
These were the words of the Portuguese designed to discourage questions. No one understood why Pacheco had penetrated so far into the desert dunes of Sofala, condemning his family to a life removed from folk of their own race. Dona Esmeralda, his wife, grew anxious as she watched her daughter grow. What man would she end up with, so far from human beings similar to herself? They gave her the name of Girlie in order to anchor her in time. But their daughter was following the path of the inevitable. In the immutable shadow of the shop counter, she would leaf through her well-thumbed photo comic. She dreamed of what lay in the comic strips …
—Don’t expect any comfort, girl: round here, all we’ve got is a bunch of Blacks.
The young girl sought solace shut away in her room, between the sheets along with her magazine. Her hands shed their inhibitions in another’s caresses. But this dousing of the flame brought her another, more acute torment. When, after sighs and perspiration, she lay back in her bed, a deep sadness descended upon her. It was as if a dead soul were being born within her. Similar sadness only befalls those mothers delivered of a stillbirth. Is it fair that we are able to visit such paradises and then be expelled from them? She found such farewells so hard to take that she started to avoid her own body. It was worthy of an exchange of fondles, receiving the saliva from someone else’s belly. But around there, there wasn’t anyone else for Miss Girlie.
—Do you think that daughter of ours is going to get mixed up with a Black man?
Her father snorted with laughter. There was a reason for his laugh: the Pacheco household was a nest of prejudice. They spoke of “the Black” in the singular. The others, those of another colour, were reduced to a word, uttered between the maxilla of fear and the mandible of scorn. Girlie fulfilled the teachings of her race. She would greet the customers without even looking up:
—What d’you want?
Massoco, their only employee, found the little boss lady’s disdainful ways funny. He was young like her and carried sacks and crates, and drove their cart from the shop to beyond the horizon.
Girlie’s fits of melancholia got worse. The pages of the magazine were falling apart from so much defoliation. On the day Girlie turned eighteen, she set herself on fire. She committed an act of self-immolation. But it wasn’t one of those normal fires of conspicuous combustion. She burned in invisible flames, and only she suffered such fervours. She burned long and slow. Her fever opened the door to her delirium.
Her mother came and fanned her to provide a little fresh air. Her father came and administered some advice followed straightaway by threats. Nothing worked. The only way to douse her fire was with a male body, bathed in a double portion of sweat and caresses. Her mother tried to dampen any illusion of expectation:
—My daughter, don’t allow your body to be born before your heart.
In her sickness, the girl stopped working behind the counter. She was replaced by the boy, Massoco, and the shop became a friendlier place. Girlie took to her room, emigrated from life, exiled from others. At the end of the day, Massoco presented himself, in solemn sadness. He even asked:
—May I go and see the little boss lady?
One day, a vet from the Ministry arrived at Shiperapera. She had come to inspect the cattle belonging to the natives. When the Pachecos heard the news, they decided to conceal their daughter’s condition. She was in such a changed state! Pacheco went out onto the road to wait for his compatriot. He took with him his best manners and some dried fish cakes. He accompanied the vet to the guest house built by the administration in times gone by. When they had gone to bed, the Pachecos exchanged snide remarks.
—Goddammit! That dame looks like a man!
And they laughed. Dona Esmeralda was happy that their visitor had so little womanliness about her. In case her husband got sidetracked. One night, Girlie suffered a particularly severe attack. In despair, the Pachecos decided to summon the vet. Pacheco himself rushed to the guest house and begged the vet to come. On the way, he explained his daughter’s condition.
Upon arriving at the store, they made for the troubled girl’s quarters, maintaining a professional silence. In her fever, the girl took the vet for a man. She threw her arms around her, kissing her ardently on the lips. In their embarrassment, her parents rushed to separate them. The vet regained her composure, brushing imaginary hairs away from her cheek. Girlie, with a dreamy smile, now seemed to have fallen asleep.
Pacheco accompanied the visitor back to her lodgings once more. They walked the whole way without exchanging a word. As they said good night, the vet broke her silence and put forward her plan:
—I’ll play the man’s role. I’ll disguise myself.
Pacheco didn’t know what to say. The vet explained: the shopkeeper would lend her some old clothes and she would appear, in disguise, like a boyfriend fallen from the heavens. The Portuguese nodded vacantly and hurried home to tell his wife about the strange plan. Dona Esmeralda pursed her lips doubtfully. But so be it! It was for the good of their little girl. Then she crossed herself.
On the following nights, the vet would appear in her disguise. She would go up to Girlie’s room and linger there. Downstairs, Dona Esmeralda would sit weeping silently. Pacheco would drink listlessly. After a few hours, the vet would come down, tidying a non-existent lock of hair from her face.
For whatever reason, the truth is that Girlie began to perk up. Some days later, the vet withdrew, a cloud on the road where even the dust was sparse. The following morning, Girlie came down to the shop, carrying her old magazine. She took her seat behind the counter and asked the shadow on the other side:
—What d’you want?
Massoco laughed, shaking his head. And life resumed, like a ball of wool looking for its end. Until one day, Dona Esmeralda shook her husband awake.
—Our daughter’s pregnant, Manuel!
Insults, improprieties rained down. Windowpanes shattered, such was Pacheco’s fury:
—I’ll kill that bastard of a doctor!
His wife implored him: surely now this was reason enough for a visit to town. Her husband should break his promise and cross the mountains back into the world. At night, the couple set off on their journey, leaving their daughter a whole list of instructions on how to look after herself and other precautionary measures. Then they disappeared into the darkness.
From the window, Girlie peeped out at the moonlit cloud of dust on the road. Then she went up to her room, and opened her old magazine. Overcome by sleepiness, she settled down under the bunched sheets on her mattress. Before falling asleep, she squeezed the black hand that stood out against the white of the bed linen.