Chapter 10
The Point of Sex
Ção’s next period came as regular as clockwork. Ed was disappointed, but there was plenty of time. He knew that her first pregnancy would happen sooner rather than later.
“Must try harder, Ed,” was Ção’s only comment.
Try they did. Ção’s passion for innovative positions and alternatives to vaginal sex gave way to a focus on positions deemed to offer the best statistical chance of conception. Reading her legal textbooks took second place to studying the publications of Masters and Johnson and other fertility experts. At night, she repeated that she could only be satisfied with Ed inside her, deep inside her. Ed remembered his father’s sermons about procreation being the purpose of the sacrament of matrimony, and attended to his wife’s wishes whole-heartedly. He buried the memory of his mother’s wry asides about copulation’s no longer necessarily leading to population, and the implications thereof. Love plus sex equalled the joy of children: he knew that.
Now that he had learned the ropes of the marijuana trade, Ed redoubled his efforts to make his equity useful to the business. He took a more proactive role with the returned settlers, offering them the contacts and the knowledge he had acquired while criss-crossing the country during his short career in the legal retail trade. He did it out of gratitude to Paulo, but he also calculated that some of those he helped would eventually regain both wealth and status, and could be in a position to help him in the future. Or help his children, for he would love to bring them up in Portugal. Paulo appreciated Ed’s growing contribution, and made a point of handing him wads of dollars and escudos at regular intervals.
Ed came home one afternoon with his jacket pockets full of them, to add to their “baby fund”. With the University in full swing, and its discontents in effervescence, Ed did not expect to find his wife at home; yet Ção was there, in the party room, slumped in the armchair next to the telephone, her head resting on her arm, the sleeve of her blouse wet.
“My love, what is it?”
Ed’s first fear was medical. Instead of answering, Ção began to sob. Ed moved quickly over to her, knelt beside her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her and rocking her gently until she felt able to speak. It was minutes before she did.
“Oh, my poor Daddy. Poor, poor Daddy. And Mummy. I can’t believe it.”
“What’s happened? Are they all right.” Ed felt a premonition of disaster.
“They –” Ção relapsed into sobs, which grew louder, then trailed off. She looked at Ed, pain breaking through the tears in her eyes.
“They’re getting a divorce. They’ve told me they’re getting a divorce. A divorce. My poor, poor Mummy and Daddy. But it can’t be true, can it, Ed?”
Ed tried to make Ção feel his love, to console her with it through words and caresses and holding her in silence. He had expected the news to be worse. He saw no reason to believe it was not true. Civil divorce had been possible in Portugal even for Roman Catholics since mid-February, and if his in-laws were prepared to put up with the enduring stigma of it, then, he imagined, they had good reasons to want separate lives, reasons that were unlikely to be new. But he said none of that to Ção.
Later the same evening, Ed phoned his own parents. He insisted on speaking to both of them, and drew comfort from finding them at home together. He did not mention the demise of his in-laws’ marriage. Nor did he mention his new wealth, let alone its source. When he put the phone back in its cradle, he wished he had less reason to hide things from them, or from anyone. He returned to the bedroom and slipped in between the sheets. He took Ção in his arms.
“Ready for some family therapy of our own?”
He read puzzlement in her face.
“Let’s get this family started!”
“Oh, Ed, not tonight, please. Not tonight.”
Ed fretted over the several following nights when they did not make love, wasting potentially fertile opportunities. Ção was distracted. She spent hours talking on the phone to her elder sister, Agonia, to whom her parents’ split came as less of a surprise, less of a trauma. Ção asked Ed for marijuana, to calm her down. He brought some home for her, but insisted that she close all doors and windows before smoking it with joss burning and something aromatic on the stove. The marijuana calmed her.
Ed decided that his wife was in mourning for her parents’ marriage and, even less consciously, for the end of her own childhood and her social innocence. The cocoon in which she was raised had split open, and she felt weak and vulnerable. It was a comforting explanation, because it meant that he could do something about it, namely show Ção that he could protect her better than her parents had, and help her grow and become stronger. Which also meant that her current weak and vulnerable state would not last.
For the time being, though, it got worse. Ed’s lovely, bubbly wife lost her thirst for knowledge as well as her hunger for motherhood, lost her exuberance at work and at the Law School as well as in bed. Not even politics could rouse her passion.
At the same time, the fizz went out of the Revolution. The Communists and the revolutionary left miscalculated badly. They thought that that their popular support and military backing meant that they could attack their political opponents literally as well as metaphorically. But physical attacks on right-wing party activists and meetings, and even on each other, were seen as harbingers of a return to the bad old days in which having a discordant political opinion could get you persecuted and tortured.
The leftist military leaders overplayed their hand disastrously. They forced the political parties to sign an agreement that enshrined them in a leading political role for the next three years. Instead of freedom’s heroes, they started to look like petty dictators.
On 25 April, exactly one year after the overthrow of the fascist régime, elections took place to elect not a Parliament but a Constituent Assembly entrusted with drawing up a new, democratic Constitution. Misreading the mood in the country, the military leaders called upon the people to boycott the election as a mark of support for their own continued leadership. Their hubris got its just desserts: people turned out in unprecedented numbers for their first-ever chance to express a meaningful vote. The results, too, disappointed the extremists: the centre-left Socialists came first; the centre-right “Popular Democrats” came second; the Communists and their allies came third; the far right came a distant fourth; and the extreme left came nowhere, perhaps because their people had heeded the call not to vote.
Ção brushed off the electoral demise of her Maoists as a foregone conclusion.
“Our struggle is in the streets, not in a pathetic scramble to stuff ballot boxes.”
Ed had read or heard no evidence of electoral irregularities.
“Our aim is to win people’s hearts and minds, not their here-today, gone-tomorrow votes.”
She did not sound convinced. Nor even perturbed by her party’s failure to achieve either aim. Ed wondered how he might inject some life back into her words.
He went to see her parents. He found her mother at home, alone. She invited him in, offered him something to eat. Remembering the effects her cooking had last had on him, he declined.
“Oh, that.” She understood. “I’m sorry about that. You see, I was desperate not to lose another daughter. I knew that when Ção left home, I’d be so alone, so terribly alone. I just wanted to punish you in advance for taking her away, or stop you if I could.”
“No chance. And it’s water under the bridge now. You look a lot better than when I last saw you. A million times more relaxed.”
“Thank you. Shall I tell you why that is? Because I’ve finally summoned the courage to break free of my husband’s domestic fascist régime, and now I’m building my own life. Not that it’s easy, mind you, not in any way at all.”
“Ção is the one who is desperate now. I can make her better, believe me, but it’ll take time. It’ll be quicker if you help her, too. Let her know that she’s still part of your future.”
“You know, you’re not a bad man. Actually, I never thought you were. I really liked the way you tucked into my food.”
With the cooperation of his reluctant mother-in-law pledged, Ed turned his attention to the father. Dona Maria das Dores did not know where her husband had gone to live, and he would not take Ed’s calls to his office. Ed knew where he worked, and collared him one afternoon as he emerged with a group of colleagues. Senhor Cunha saw the determination in Ed’s face and did not want to risk a scene.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. This here is my no-good foreign son-in-law. I’ll have to buy him a drink or else he’ll beat my daughter.” His colleagues snickered as he detached himself from the group and ushered Ed to a nearby café. Ed did not care about the insults. He came straight to the point.
“Do you know how much you mean to your daughter?”
“Next to nothing, since she married you, against my wishes, my better judgement and my express command.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong. Do you realise how upset she is over your divorce? Have you any idea what a gap there is going to be in her life if you disappear from it?”
“I hadn’t looked at things in that light, in truth – from my daughter’s point of view.”
“Well it’s about bloody time you did! The phones still work, and you know the number.”
Ed slammed a handful of small coins on the café table and pushed his way through the throng of customers. Along with anger, unfamiliar emotions passed across Afonso Cunha’s face as Ed stormed out.
Having done what he could to get his in-laws to think about their younger daughter as well as themselves, Ed looked at what he could do himself to help his wife emerge from her mourning. He could flash his new cash, but at the moment, he reckoned, Ção needed security more than frivolity. He went to see his landlady.
The widow Esteves was not a greedy person, though she was canny with her money. As the years advanced, she paid less attention to the swirl of events outside her windows and thought more about eternity. She had labelled Ed a man of the world, and was ready to listen when he pointed out that with rents frozen for the foreseeable future and other events unpredictable, it might be to her advantage to sell her properties now. Ed made her an offer for the flat in Largo do Andaluz.
“I shall certainly think about it. I will contact you again after I have spoken to my lawyers, and to my dear nephew who gives me such good advice.”
Two days later, Ed was poring over a map of Portugal, planning the further expansion of Paulo’s marijuana enterprise, when Senhora Esteves rang. After ritual, warm greetings, she came to the point.
“Dear Julião would certainly like the chance of a little more cash to play with, but my lawyers tell me that the housing market is in a dreadful state, which I presume is why you offered me so little, and that it can only go up.”
“Well, they are right that it’s in a bad way. That’s one reason why I didn’t offer you the earth for a small flat. But it’s not going to recover until the economy as a whole does. And if your lawyers have any evidence of that happening soon, I’d really like to see that evidence. I can’t see house prices doing anything but fall for the next year. At the very least. For my part, I have a personal reason for buying now.”
“I understand your point of view, Mr. Scripps, and I shall not enquire as to your personal circumstances. I shall give your words, and your offer, due consideration.”
Ção did not tell Ed directly that she was back in close touch with both her parents, but he could tell from the way her mood improved, the way she screened incoming calls, and the length of time she spent on calls that included the words “Mãe” and “Pai”. She began to smile again, from time to time. She was tender towards Ed: affectionate but bereft of lust. He felt she was treating him like an overgrown child. He wanted to make that change, to get their life together back on track.
Ed got back into the habit of getting up early. If he could not have sex, he could keep himself fit by jogging around the park. He would buy bread and pastries on the way home, and make coffee to complete their breakfast. He graded the kisses Ção gave him before she left for work. They were affectionate, but the temperature was low. Soon after her regular departure time, Paulo was likely to call him for a business conference, so Ed was caught off guard when his landlady beat Paulo to it.
“Look, Mr. Scripps, I have half a mind to accept your offer, in principle at least. But the amount you mentioned is simply too low.”
Ed reiterated the arguments he had used to convince her she was getting a good deal, then offered her a slightly larger sum. She procrastinated. Ed played his trump card.
“I’ll pay you in cash. US dollars.”
Ed had made a small fortune, by his standards, in the brief period he had been working with Paulo, but it was not enough to buy a flat. He made up the shortfall by touching his partner in crime for a loan. Paulo produced the money immediately, but with a warning.
“Remember, Ed, our little scheme is time-bound. It cannot last forever.”
Ed’s mind was focused on the present and on his immediate future with Ção. The first thing he did after he completed his purchase of the flat was to change the lock. He knew Ção would go straight from the travel agency to her evening classes, so he phoned her at the office and said he would collect her after class. He ended his own class early to allow himself time to cross the campus, without making her wait. Ed stood just inside the entrance of the Law School. When he caught sight of Ção, she was walking with her eyes lowered, her shoulders weighed down by two bags. She looked up as she heard the doors creak, caught his eye and smiled briefly. She kissed him on the cheek. Ed added her bags to his own, took her hand and led her down the long avenue towards the main road, telling her about the things his students had said during his classes. When a taxi approached, he hailed it.
Although he was weighed down with bags, Ed felt like running up the stairs to the fourth floor. He held himself back, and pretended the climb had tired him out.
“You open the door, could you, while I get my breath back?”
In silence, Ção extracted her key and put it in the lock. It would not turn.
“What’s wrong, my love?”
“It won’t turn. It doesn’t even seem to fit. Maybe I’m using the wrong one.” She took it out and scrutinised it.
“Here, let me have a look.”
She passed Ed the key. He glanced at it.
“No. This isn’t your key.” He took one of the new keys from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
“This is your key. Try it.”
Ção inserted the new key and opened the door. Ed dropped the bags, embraced her from behind and pushed her into the flat.
“That was your new key, and this is our new flat. I’ve just bought it. It really is ours.”
Ção’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Ed, that’s marvellous!” Pleasure warmed her voice.
Her old self is coming back!
Ed slipped his hands inside the front of her blouse, and under the waistband of her skirt. He imagined them making love there in the hall, against a wall or on the floor. Then Ção noticed the pots of paint stacked up along the corridor. She removed Ed’s hands from inside her clothing.
“What’s all this?”
“Well, now that it’s ours, we can paint and decorate it the way we want it.”
“That’s wonderful, Ed! Let’s talk about what we’re going to do, right away!”
They got to bed hours later than Ed intended.
“What a day!” said Ção. For a moment, they lay on their backs, side by side. Then Ção took Ed’s hand and placed it on her breast. She arranged it so that her nipple lay between two fingers. She pressed the fingers together, arched her back, moaned, turned her face toward Ed, reached for his erect penis with her free hand, closed her eyes and forced words out of her lips.
“Make me come, Ed! My darling husband, make me come!”