asakiyume | from The Crossing (Reply)

The turtle in search of immortality

On the beach my anxious mother lit the kerosene lamp and walked the whole length of the sands, lighting up the sea in search of the beiro that would take us to the island of Ataúro, visible hunched in the pitch-dark night like a giant turtle which, in search of immortality, had turned itself into land.

By days rather than hours

Our family solitude was soon broken by the arrival of an African cipaio, the descendant of former deportees from Mozambique, the famous Landins, now employed as dogs of war and pacifiers of native uprisings. I could only see his white teeth and hear his gruff, loud voice, as he laughed and gave embarkation orders to a prisoner, either a political prisoner or a common criminal--at the time it came to the same thing, for they all shared the same destination and fate . . .

He put his hands into the water to wash them, but also perhaps to assure himself that the sea provided as solid a barrier as any prison walls. He shook of the drops of water, wrapped himself in a sarong and asked, "When do we arrive?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow! Does your clock tell the time by days rather than hours?"

The voice like a ship's wake

Simão listened to the sound of that silence. The sound of people falling asleep. Magnificent and terrifying, as at the very beginning or at the very end of time. He took off his sandals and held them in his hand. He wanted to see the face of the big land as he said goodbye to it. To see if it was laughing at him, weeping for him or about to kill him . . .When he could no longer make out the details of the city, he looked at the lights approaching the boat, the gleaming eyes of the fish, the young tuna and the sharks that rubbed against the wooden hull. Then the steersman saw his face fill with fear . . .

"It's all right," said the old man.

Simão started at this interruption to his thoughts. The old man's voice fanned out beneath Simão's gaze like a ship's wake.

"They're less dangerous than men. They know everything. They're the ones who guide the boat. They follow the sea currents. We learn how to navigate from them."

---Luís Cardoso, The Crossing (London: Granta Books, 2000), 11-15.