Chapter 16
Where the Grass is Greener
On the last Sunday in June, Portugal went to the polls to elect a President, the first time its people were able to do so freely. Over three quarters of the electorate cast a vote, and a clear winner emerged: the Army chief, General Ramalho Eanes, who stood as an independent. Eanes had organised the previous November’s coup or counter-coup, depending on your political standpoint, and the fact that it had not led to civil war stood him in good stead at the polls. His military and now political rival, Otelo, came a distant second, ahead of Prime Minister Pinheiro de Azevedo and the Communist Party’s candidate, Octávio Pato. There were celebrations in Lisbon, but they were not wild. Ed knew that Ção and her Maoist friends would be pleased at the defeat of their leftist rivals, even by an Army man, but he did not think she would be overjoyed to the point of coming to the capital to celebrate in the street, so he stayed at home. He, too, was pleased, though more at the event than its outcome. He saw both event and outcome as helping Portugal become a normal democracy open for business, open to people like the person he had been when he first arrived.
Ed and most of his fellow language teachers at the University were concerned about what the normalisation might entail for higher education. Would working students be excluded? Would the old hierarchies be re-imposed? Would public funds be slashed to boost private education? With the academic year over, they were not in a position to organise resistance or put forward alternatives.
The University’s bureaucrats did not enjoy the same lengthy holidays as its teachers, and they again called Ed to receive his first salary. This time, he went with low expectations, but Jaime greeted him with a smile as bright as the morning sun.
“Professor! Here is every last escudo that the University owes you! Please sign for it and take the cheque straight to the bank. If they query the amount, or if someone steals it, ring me here and I will sort them out.”
Ed signed for the cheque, took it from Jaime’s hand, folded it and slipped it into his shirt pocket.
“Well, seeing is believing. Thank you, Jaime, for this.”
The warmth in Jaime’s smile intensified. He shook Ed’s hand with vigour.
“Many people promise, Jaime delivers!” he said, adapting one of the new President’s election slogans.
Ed was still not in the mood for festivities, but he wanted to show his gratitude to Mark and Simone, so he invited them out for a meal, together with Len and Seamus, now gladly relegated to being his secondary source of a reliable, legal income. They sat on the terrace of a seafront beer house in Cascais, overlooking the bay in the long, post-equinox evening, dining, at Ed’s expense, on fresh fish and the house lager. Mark soon removed his tie, which was a different shade of green from his shirt, which was lighter in tone than his suit. He noticed the others staring at his clothes.
“I haven’t been able to match them yet. I’ve only been wearing the green for a few days.”
Seamus looked at him quizzically. “What, becoming Irish, are you? Nobody will believe it as soon as you open your mouth.”
“Oh, no, it’s not that at all, not that I’ve got anything against the Irish – lovely people, I’m sure. No, it’s a physical manifestation of my adherence to Pangaia.”
“Pan who?”
“Pangaia. It’s this marvellous movement that’s lighting up the world. It’s based here in Portugal, and I’m a member.”
“OK, I see, but why all the greenery?”
“It symbolises our dedication to the Earth.”
“The earth is dirty brown in my part of Liverpool, what little there is of it, I’ll tell you that for nowt.”
“Didn’t Ziggy Stardust say it was blue? The Earth, that is.”
“Thanks, Len. Maybe one of the real astronauts, or cosmonauts perhaps. No, come on, chaps, green for our environment, the life force of Nature!”
There was a silence, in which Ed looked at Simone. She was wearing a green blouse, but her skirt, choker and handbag were all black. Seamus coughed.
“Well, Mark, er, tell us more, would you?”
Mark did not waste a second. He repeated what he had already told Ed, and explained how the followers were divided among those who lived together in the community in the countryside, some way outside Lisbon, and those like himself who followed from a distance. All of them, however, were required to till the land, and his most urgent project was now to buy some land where he could do just that.
“What about the casino project?”
“You know, Ed old chap, I’m going to have to reconsider that. Maybe you were right about the ethics of it being a bit dubious.”
Ed noticed that Simone was looking uneasy.
Good thing I didn’t take up his job offer.
Mark was in full flow. He moved on to praising his leader, the guru Omomnos. Seamus looked as though he could not believe he was hearing such things from worldly-wise Mark. Len wiped a cynical smirk from his own face. Simone looked embarrassed. Ed tried to get a word in, but Mark stopped for no-one. Ed pulled out the Pangaia leaflet that Mark had given him. He placed it on the table in front of everybody, with the image of Omomnos uppermost.
“Now, who does Omomnos remind you of? Shave off the beard and a couple of years and you have our old friend ...”
“My God! So that’s what he’s been up to!”
“Bugger me! It’s disappearing Jorge!”
“Who?” Simone did not recognise the face.
“Jorge. Used to hang around your School. Boyfriend of Anne the English teacher. The secret police carted him off from my birthday party in ’73. Hadn’t been seen since. Missing presumed dead or imprisoned. I think we should tell Anne.”
“Oh, Anne left. But we can get a message to her, I expect, and set her mind at rest.”
Mark was unfazed.
“Well, whatever he’s done in the past, he’s more than made up for since. His message is lighting up our troubled and threatened word, and I wish all of you would listen to it very clearly.”
For once, Len butted in. “He certainly had the gift of the gab, old Jorge, but he was a lousy lay.”
Seamus looked interested. “Is that what Anne said, or are you talking from your own experience?”
“Both.”
Simone’s hand tightened on her glass. Slowly, she raised it.
“Here’s to revolutions and transformations. In Portugal they tend to be for the better.”
They all drank to that.
When Ed next went to Cascais, it was to collect the rent from Seamus and Len. He brought them over a couple of sacks of top-quality charcoal that he had got from a former business connection. He knew that the two English Council teachers were busier than him and would have little time to go hunting for it.
“Just remember to invite me to your next back-garden barbecue.” In truth, it was a concrete patio, not a garden, but Ed had installed a barbecue pit for them.
Len handed over something more than the rent: a slip of paper with the name Maria João and an address.
“If she’s who you’re looking for, that’s the place to go. It’s near Coimbra.”
“Man, how – ?”
“I asked around. In clubs and stuff.”
“Len, you’re great! You don’t know how much this means to me.”
He enfolded Len in a bear hug.
“Hey, don’t crush my bones. I might need them.”
“Thanks, Len. Now I can get my wife back.”
The following morning, Ed hired a car and set out for Coimbra. The road surface was not in great condition for a major trunk road, but the traffic was light and he made good enough time to allow himself to stop twice to slake his thirst in roadside cafés. He intended to arrive at lunchtime, when he reckoned João and Ção were most likely to be at home. Because their place was near the Roman ruins of Conimbriga, south of Coimbra, the road signs were quite helpful, and Ed pulled in to his destination not long after one o’clock. The address was that of an old farmhouse set back from the road. Ed parked the car in the shade of trees and walked up to the building. Two dogs tied on leashes greeted his arrival vociferously, and a woman emerged from the front door to see what was going on. It was not Ção.
The woman shushed the dogs as Ed approached. She shielded her eyes against the sun to see him better. She herself was tall and slim, her light brown hair thick and curly. Ed thought her over-dressed for the season in a work shirt and denim overalls. Was this Ção’s lover or her gardener?
“Good afternoon. Are you Maria João?”
“I’m João, yes, Ed. I guess you’ve come looking for your ex-wife.”
“My wife.”
“Your ex-wife isn’t here.”
“What about my wife?”
“Ção isn’t here. She lives here, with me, but she isn’t here at the moment.”
“Will you kindly ask her to come to the door and speak to me?”
“I told you, she isn’t here at the moment.”
“I don’t mind waiting. She’ll come out of her own accord in the end.”
“Look, how many times do I have to tell you?” The woman sighed and continued. “Do you want to go in and have a good snoop around? Look under the bed, perhaps. Go ahead, but you won’t find her.”
Ed moved to enter the house. The woman blocked his way. Ed thought of knocking her aside, but controlled the impulse.
“No, on second thoughts, you’re not coming into our house. She wouldn’t want that.” João’s expression softened. “She’ll be back tonight or tomorrow. You can lie in wait for her, but she won’t want to speak to you, I know. If you leave me – leave us in peace, I’ll ask her to contact you. Soon.”
Ed weighed up his options, and decided that violence, however enticing, was a bad one.
“I’ll thank you to do that.” He turned and left João staring after him. The dogs protested his leaving. He got into the car and drove to Conimbriga. When he had been in the area in the past, he had lacked either the time or the transport needed to visit the Roman ruins. Despite the neglect, they were heavy in atmosphere. He spent the afternoon there dwelling on the past, then the evening driving back to Lisbon, dwelling on the future.
A week later, a letter arrived, addressed in Ção’s hand and postmarked the day after his visit. Ed opened it carefully. It was indeed from his wife. It was short.
Ed, don’t be angry with me. I know I’ve been a naughty girl and a bad wife, but please try and understand why. There is only one reason I left you, and that is love, my love for João and her love for me. It’s overwhelming. The rest is just the icing on the cake, the feeling of freedom, finding out who I really am, and just being myself instead of a figment of other people’s imaginations. I did love you, Ed, once, in my way, but this love with João is the strongest emotion I’ve ever felt in my whole life. If anything, it’s getting stronger by the day. I hope we can be friends, you and I, after the divorce. Until then, try not to hate João, she’s a good person and she means the whole world to me. Kisses from your little Miss Conception xxxxx
The three letters of her signature below the kisses sliced through Ed’s heart strings.
I know you loved me, and I know you still do.
He sat down and read her words again.
“If anything” – so you’re not even sure.
“Divorce”? Over my dead body!
No, I don’t hate John the Traitor – she’s a nobody who means nothing to me. Once you realise the difference between infatuation and real love, I’ll have you back with me in no time.
Ed did not scrawl an immediate reply. The lines of communication were open once again, and he could await wiser counsel from his brain once it cooled. What he did instead was to phone Ção’s father, paint an unflattering portrait of Maria João and give him his daughter’s address. Over the next few days, he did the same with as many of his and Ção’s mutual friends as had not left the city for the summer. He also put the information into a letter that he posted to Ção’s mother at her Lisbon address, with a request to “please forward”. Some among those people, surely, would talk some sense into his wife.
Len and Seamus held their barbecue on a sweltering evening in July. It was the first large social gathering unconnected with business that Ed had attended on his own for over a year. He showed up early and helped his tenants get things ready. They had plenty of helpers as it was. Ed felt like part of the furniture, and that suited him. The house and the garden soon filled: Len and Seamus knew a lot of people. Ed recognised and greeted several of their colleagues from the English Council, and he supposed that many of the younger guests were students of theirs. He put himself in charge of the barbecue, easing his throat with cold white wine as the heat of the embers fought with that of the falling night and the smell of grilled sardines and chicken snuffed out the scent of the neighbours’ citrus trees. Strategically placed, he spoke to everyone who came over for grilled food, and as his tongue loosened, his spirits rose. When he heard the sound of Genesis coming from inside, he could not resist the urge to go in and dance.
An hour later, Ed staggered into the kitchen and took a bottle of chilled wine from the fridge. He looked out into the garden, where Len was competing with the music from inside by strumming through Simon and Garfunkel’s back catalogue on his acoustic guitar, to an appreciative audience. His colleague Xavier came in from the garden.
“Ed! Long time no see. Give us a drop of that wine, will you?”
“Xavier, old friend, for you, anything.” Ed found a clean plastic cup, filled it and handed it to Xavier. They started chatting about the University, and their colleagues. Something came to Ed’s mind.
“Here, Xavier, you know our Carolina. What’s her husband’s first name?”
“Firouz, I think. Why don’t you ask her? She’s out in the garden.”
Ed looked out and saw her immediately. She was alone. The thought of sitting under the stars talking to a charming, lightly dressed redhead appealed to him enormously.
“Yes, I think I will. See you later, Xav.” He took out the bottle and another clean cup, worked his way around the audience and sat on the ground next to Carolina.
“I’ve brought some balm for that lovely tongue of yours.”
She looked down at him without surprise.
“I’ve been waiting for you. No more wine thanks, I’m driving.”
“What brings you here all on your own?”
“I’ve come to give you a lift back to Lisbon.”
“Actually, I’m staying here tonight. I still have a room here.”
“Well, my husband’s away, and I have a couple of hours before I need to relieve the babysitter.”
“Let’s waste no more time.”
“The car’s around the corner in Avenida Navarro. You know it? It’s a little way down on the left. Wait five minutes after I’ve left, then join me.” She went inside to say goodbye to Seamus, waving to Len as she passed.
She would not let Ed touch her in the car, in case they were seen by other people leaving the party, or even arriving for it. But when they parked in Largo do Andaluz, she was all over him. As they climbed the stairs, Ed, for the first time, hoped not to find Ção waiting outside the door for him.
The passion with which Carolina made love to him surprised Ed. Ção, too, was passionate, but she moved to her own rhythm, whereas Carolina threw herself into his. The warm breeze that blew in from the open window cooled neither their perspiration nor their ardour. Ed was licking Carolina’s neck in post-coital languor when a doorbell rang. The sound came from below. Ção still had the key to the street door. Ed stayed focused on Carolina. The bell rang again.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?”
“No. Can you stay a while longer?”
“Yes. As long as you don’t bite me or leave any visible marks anywhere else on my body. I get enough of those from Firouz.”
Ed made love to her as gently as he knew how.
After Carolina had left, the phone rang. That could be Ção. Ed answered immediately.
“Hello, Ed? This is Sônia. We met at Len’s party, remember? You gave me your number.”
Sônia? Sônia? Sônia! “Yes.” A lithe brunette, with a lovely voice. Ed had been transfixed by her shapely legs as they danced.
“Ed, are you busy? Can I come over?”
“Yeah, I’m kind of busy right now.” Not to mention exhausted. “But if you’re free tomorrow evening, give me a call. Maybe we could –”
He heard the receiver slam into its cradle.
“Lovely talking to you, Sônia.”
On the Sunday evening, Ed was polishing off an Open University assignment when the phone rang. He hoped for Ção, suspected Sônia, yet answered to the voice of Simone babbling in colloquial French.
“Calm down, Simone. Take it easy. What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“No! It’s Mark! I can’t bear it!”
“Simone, calm down. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s happened.”
“Mark ... he’s gone!”
“Gone where?”
“It’s too horrible! Mark, my Mark, he’s gone to live in the Pangaia community.”
“What!? He must be crazy! Why on earth would he do a stupid thing like that?”
“He says it’s a spiritual thing, getting closer to the heart of the matter. Oh, it’s too horrible!”
“Sounds like mumbo-jumbo to me, frankly, that Pangaia stuff.”
“It is, Ed, it is, but he believes it. It was all he talked about. Didn’t you notice? And now that ‘Omomnos’ has got to him.”
“Jorge? He always had a way with people, damn him.”
“And now he’s taken over my husband’s brain. He makes them believe some awful things.”
“Love the Earth doesn’t sound so bad.”
“No? Well, what about this: they’re not supposed to love each other, because human beings are bad, so Omomnos tells them. But they are supposed to screw each other, to show their disdain for human flesh or something.”
“And I expect the guru takes the lead in that. It’s standard practice.”
“But it’s my husband! He can’t have my husband!”
“You’re right, Simone, he can’t. Look, everyone knows that Mark is a one-woman guy, just like I am – like I was when I was married, I mean when Ção was living with me.”
There was only sobbing at the other end.
“Simone, look, first thing, try not to worry too much. We have to think straight. You must have lawyers from your Azenhas business, right? Get on to them. They’ll have ideas about what to do. Stay positive. You’re not going to lose Mark.”
One more person for me to rescue from themselves.