Chapter 3
Language Lesson
Ed went rowing with Lourdes. She was supple, strong, and more experienced than Ed at this, too. They set out upriver from the Rowing Club’s base near the new monument to the medieval Portuguese “discoverers” of places where people had already lived for centuries or more. The damp air settled like a mantle over the broad estuary, muffling the traffic-heavy din of the bustling city, letting the rowers concentrate more fully on the feedback from their rising and dipping oars and enjoy their temporary isolation from the cares of landlubbers. As the broad estuary narrowed along their path, the chemical stench from the river’s southern bank assailed their nostrils. Its pungency gave them strength to row back against the tide.
“My Grandad is responsible for some of that. Just a whiff. He owns a small factory over there in Barreiro. It makes him a small fortune, actually.”
Ed filed Lourdes’ comment away for future reference. He tried to take people at face value, but it was interesting to discover their background, and how it could change the meaning of what they said.
“Do you want to get changed and grab a snack?” said Ed, as they stacked away Lourdes’ boat.
“Change is coming, Ed boy, to this part of the world, whether we like it or not. Do you think you are ready for it?”
“I’m ready for anything.”
“Me, too.” She smiled.
She was still drying her long, dark hair on a heavy-duty towel as they left the Rowing Club. She took his arm and shivered in the chill air. Ed put an arm around Lourdes’ shoulder.
“This is warm compared to England.” It was a revelation to Ed that the weather he had grown up with was not universal. He was starting to appreciate Lisbon’s more clement climate.
Lourdes slipped her arm around Ed’s waist and propelled him towards her car. She unlocked it; they dumped their kit-bags in the boot. Ed held the driver’s door open for her, then went round and got in himself.
“What do you fancy, one of our famous custard tarts or me?”
“I’m a sucker for Portuguese tarts.”
Ed cursed himself for his hasty retort, and tried to make amends.
“So my answer is both. But not at that touristy place next to the monastery.”
The thin, neglected columns of the nearby Jerônimos monastery reminded Ed of the fragility of life. He did not like that, but he liked the thought of its being eroded by commerce even less. Ed loved commerce; but in its rightful place, not everywhere.
“To hell with tarts and monks!”
Lourdes did a U-turn and stamped on the accelerator. She headed west along the cornice towards the river’s mouth and the sea. Lourdes concentrated on driving dangerously, while Ed sat back and enjoyed the way the setting sun changed the tones of the river and of the smooth, tanned skin that made up Lourdes’ fine, intense face.
Lourdes double parked on the seafront of a small town beyond the city, beyond the river mouth.
“The end of the line. Cascais. The railway goes no further.”
The sun had set, but the temperature seemed to have risen, on land. The sea air of Cascais was pleasant to breathe. Ed and Lourdes sat at a café terrace outside a hotel facing onto the bay. It was full, and the noise level rose and fell with the incoming waves.
“Tarts, lobsters or beer? Or any combination of their. Thereof.”
Ed laughed. “I’m a beer man myself. Dark, if they’ve got it.”
They started with beer, went on to lobster, and finished with flaky custard tarts. Lourdes asked to hear about Ed’s business plans in detail, and he was happy to oblige.
“I’m not a businesswoman, but it all sounds good to me. I just wonder why no-one here has thought of it. Do you see what I mean, Ed?”
“I’m sure they have. But, you know, inertia. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, have another beer.”
“Have another beer yourself.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Lourdes drove back into town more carefully than she had on the outward leg. Her car had a built-in cassette-player, and the voice of Rui Mingas provided a counterpoint to the horns of the more exasperated drivers.
“Angolan, right?”
Lourdes nodded.
Ed noticed that Lourdes’ eyes were moist.
“Mal d’Africa?”
She nodded again.
“You know, Ed, we’ve built a hell there in paradise.”
“The Africans I’ve met weren’t so keen on their so-called paradises.”
“And what did they think of the hells we’ve built for them instead?”
“Weren’t keen on them either. You’re right. But with you, Lourdes, it seems personal.”
“What is your marital status, Mr. Scripps?”
“Resolutely single, for the time being. You?”
“Widow.”
She speeded up as they entered the ill-named square in which Ed’s flat was located. Since there was nowhere to double-park, Lourdes hit the brakes right outside his building’s street door. She kept her foot on the brake, put on the hand-brake, but left the engine running. Ed felt desire sweep over him, a comforting, familiar emotion in an alien city. Lourdes grabbed his lapels, pulled him towards her, kissed him ferociously then pushed him away from her.
“You taste of beer and lobster.”
“So do you.”
“I wasn’t complaining. Normally, I’d follow you up, and follow up by fucking your brains out. But tonight I don’t feel like it. And neither do you, Ed. I can tell.”
Lady, you are so wrong.
“It’s that little fat chick, isn’t it? Ill-conceived Maria. Well, if you want to impress her, you’ll need a car. I can lend you one. Go on, get out.”
She kissed him again, with less hunger.
Ed pulled her to him but she pushed herself away. He opened the door and got out, almost losing his footing. He turned to insist that she come up, just for a coffee, but the door had slammed and the car was already moving off. He watched it turn out of the square and realised that the older generations really were different.
Lourdes was as good as her word. Two days later, Ed was indulging in a rudimentary breakfast of biscuits and milky coffee when the doorbell rang. He ambled down the corridor and lifted the intercom from its cradle.
“Special delivery. You have to come down and see if you like it.”
Ed slipped on a jacket, pocketed his keys and took the lift down to the ground floor. He opened the street door to a smartly dressed young man with an infectious smile.
“Good morning. I’m Paulo. Lourdes’ younger brother. I have something for you.”
He held out a key ring bearing a single key.
Ed took the key and shook the hand. Paulo gestured to a white Renault 4 in need of a wash double-parked behind him.
“Special delivery. I came in it, so you have to drive me back home. Let’s go.”
“Nice! Where’s home?”
“Near Sintra. I’m still in the family mansion. Up in the hills. They’ve given me a granny flat. It makes life even easier.”
Ed drove out of town through some unusually grim suburbs whose new high-rise blocks already looked weather-beaten as well as soulless. Then they were among lush vegetation in the hills that held the former royal palaces of Sintra.
Paulo insisted on showing Ed around the historic buildings. He proved to be a knowledgeable and entertaining guide. It was mid-afternoon before he would allow Ed to drop him off at his “family mansion”, a turn-of-the-century building that was functional rather than ornate.
“Next time, you must come and dine with us. Right now, though, unfortunately, I have business to attend to. I expect you have, too.”
“Yeah, always. Mostly planning. What line of business are you in?”
“Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. Import-export for the most part. Charcoal out, household appliances in. Plus some stuff with the colonies. While we still have them.” Concern only crept into his voice with his farewell:
“Be nice to my sister. She has suffered a lot.”
Ed headed down to the coast road, stopped at Cascais for a coffee at the café that Lourdes had introduced him to, then drove along the cornice back to Lisbon with extreme care.
The following afternoon, Ed was at the Sussex School for his Portuguese lesson. He noticed that he was not keeping pace with the other students. That would not do. He should be streets ahead if he was going to be able to persuade local business people to take up his ideas and invest in them. He resolved to go over the material by himself for the lessons he could not attend, and to study ahead for ones he could. He was not going to let language difficulties hold him back.
There was also Ção’s offer. Ed knew she would not be at the School till later, for her German class, and he did not have time to wait for her. As he was leaving, Célia called him over. A dark, svelte young woman was standing in front of her.
“Someone wants to meet you. Our new French teacher, Simone, friend and colleague of your landlady, Joséphine. Simone, Ed.”
Speaking in rapid French with a strong Paris accent, Simone apologised for missing his party. In decent French with only a slight Stevenage accent, Ed told her of Joséphine’s exploits, and they exchanged anecdotes about their friend’s eccentricities. The bell called Simone back to her classroom, and she bid Ed an effusive farewell. After the frustration of trying to speak a new foreign language, Ed had revelled in showing his ability to speak a more familiar one well.
“Lovely lady,” he said to Célia. “Quite different to Joséphine.”
“Yes, you’re not kidding. Everyone around here likes her. Well, almost everyone.”
“I like them both, myself. Vive la différence.”
Célia gave him a look that he could not decipher.
Ed collected his car and carefully drove the short distance home, thinking about the way Ção walked.
He phoned Ção that evening to set up a date, but she would not see him. He phoned her daily, but she always claimed to be busy. She was casual with him at the School when their paths crossed. Then, one evening, she called him.
“I’ve got some news for you, Ed.”
“What?”
“Are you going out? Tell me you’re not.”
“Not tonight.”
“Don’t. I’m coming round.”
When she arrived, Ção looked flustered. She pushed past Ed, and strode to the kitchen. Ed followed her slowly.
“I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea, if you can make some for me in your English way.”
Ed put some water on to boil in a saucepan.
“I asked Daddy to enquire about Jorge.”
“Did he? Is Jorge OK?”
“Daddy spoke to people who should know. They told him Jorge was a dangerous communist militant who specialised in recruiting new members for the Party.”
“Doesn’t sound like him at all. But is he all right?”
“They told Daddy Jorge had escaped from custody. They said they don’t know where he is now.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“We can’t be sure. In Chile, the new military régime makes people ‘disappear’. Sometimes their bodies are found, and sometimes they aren’t.”
“But this isn’t Chile. Is it?”
“No, my love, it isn’t. Our régime doesn’t feel the need to hide the people it tortures, nor to kill them, usually. Except in Africa. At least, it didn’t. Now, with the example of Chile, who can say?”
“I didn’t know all this.”
Ção looked at Ed sceptically.
“And what did you just call me, Maria da Conceição?”
“That’s where I’ve seen it before!”
“What are you on about?”
“The car! That dirty white French job! The one parked outside this flat. I’ve seen it outside the School. Don’t tell me it’s Joséphine’s! I saw Paulo drop Lourdes off in it for your party!”
“Calm down. There’s no mystery about it. Lourdes has lent me one of her family’s cars. They must have quite a fleet.”
“Where is she, that miserable rich-bitch whore?”
“I’m quite alone this evening.”
“That upper-class floozy! Where is she? Or he. Is that it?”
Ed smiled. He was enjoying this.
“Are you jealous?”
“Of course I’m jealous!”
Ção once again pushed past Ed. He thought how beautiful she was when anger coloured her cheeks. She looked in the bathroom; she looked briefly in Joséphine’s room. Ed turned off the cooker and followed her. She looked in every corner of the spare room, which was unrented just then; she burst into Ed’s room, looked under the bed, opened the wardrobe and rummaged among his shirts. Ed caught up with her, took her by the shoulders.
She turned to him.
“Oh, Ed, you don’t understand anything, do you?”
There was nothing for Ed to do but lower his head, drink in her aroma of cinnamon and crush her soft lips with his own. He began to manoeuvre her towards the bed, but she disengaged.
“Why do you think I’ve been avoiding you?”
“Maybe you’ve got bad taste. You don’t like me.”
“Ed, I’m crazy about you. Can’t you tell?”
Another long kiss. Another disengagement.
“Well, then, you’re frightened of me.”
“That’s more like it. Ed, I know you’ll turn my world upside down if I give myself to you, the way I want to. And what can you give me in return? Only chaos and confusion.”
“Right now, I can give you a life. A life that doesn’t depend on Mummy and Daddy. And with time ... with time I’ll be able to give you whatever you want. This boy is going places.”
“Oh, Ed, if only I could believe you. I’m still only a girl, but my ears have already heard so many fine words ... that were no more than just that.”
“You can believe me.”
The pleasure in Ção’s misted eyes turned Ed over and turned him on.
She pulled Ed’s shirt out of his trousers and dabbed at her eyes with its hem.
“Well, now that I’m here, I might as well teach you some Portuguese. I think it’s a good idea to start with parts of the body. I’ll show you what helping a stranger really means.” She unbuttoned Ed’s shirt and slipped her arms around his torso.
“Mamilo,” Ção said, and kissed his nipple.
Ed threw his head back and tried to repeat “mamilo” as he drew in his breath.
“Mamilo,” she said as she kissed the other one.
“Mamilo.”
“Mamilos,” Ed said as he placed his thumbs on her breasts.
“Hands off! I’m the teacher, today.”
Ção eased Ed’s shirt off and batted his hands away from the buttons of her blouse. She pushed him backwards until the bed-frame caught his calves and he sat on it. Ção moved around the bed and knelt on it, behind Ed. She put her hands on his cheeks and pulled his head back.
“Orelha,” she said, as she kissed an ear.
“Olha.”
“No, I won’t look. You look. And listen. Orelha.” She kissed the other ear.
“Orelha.”
She took her time, until she was convinced that Ed had learned the words for ear, forehead, eyes, nose, lips, tongue, teeth, chin and neck. He wished he was a slower learner, but he knew it would turn out to be a valuable lesson.
“No!”
Ção removed Ed’s hands from the backs of her thighs. She got off the bed and came round to face him.
“Now get naked.” Ção showed no sign of getting naked herself.
“This isn’t fair.”
“Nothing is fair in this world. Get naked. Now!”
Ed complied, then lay back on top of the bed. The cold in the room made no difference to him: his flesh was burning. Ção came and sat on its edge. She cupped his balls in her hands.
“Colhões.”
“Colly oish.”
“Colhões,” she repeated, emphasising the nasal vowel.
“Colhões.”
“Caralho.” She brushed the tip of his erect penis with her lips. Ed’s whole body tried to leap into the air.
“Cawalho.”
“Carrrrralho,” she said, rolling the ‘r’ in her throat as she took Ed’s penis into her mouth for an instant.
“Cawalho.”
“Carrrrralho.” This time, she tried to get Ed to feel the vibrations at the back of her palate around his penis.
“Caralho,” he gasped.
“Bravo. Carrrrralho.”
“Caralho,”
“Bravo! Carrrrralho.” Ed’s restraint came to an abrupt end, but the language exercise did not. Ção sucked all the semen from his penis as her lips finally moved up and off it. She looked at him triumphantly.
“Broche,” she spluttered.
“Broche.”
She swallowed.
“Broche,” she repeated, giggling.
“Broche. What’s that?”
“It’s what you say when ....” Ção was unable to contain her mirth. She got up and hurried to the bathroom, laughing and repeating “broche” with an English accent.
Ed got under the blankets and awaited her return. He did not wait long.
“That’s it. Get dressed, my English gentleman, because the lesson for today is over.”
“I don’t want a lesson. I want you.”
Ção came and sat on the bed.
“Just how much do you want me, Ed Scripps?”
“Very much. Very, very much!”
“You want my body?”
“I want all of you.”
“That includes my body. Ed, I’m a virgin.”
“What?!”
“Yes. Little Miss Conception doesn’t want to conceive. Not before she’s married. So she keeps her hymen intact until she has a ring on her finger.”
“But nobody cares about that any more!”
“In this country, they do. In my family, they do.”
“Even in Portugal you must know about contraception.”
“The surest way for me not to get pregnant is to keep my hymen intact. Until I’m married.”
“And that – ”
“ ... is precisely what I am going to do.”
“You’re joking!”
“No, I’m not. On the other hand ...”
“I don’t believe this!”
“On the other hand, you’ve just seen what I can do. By way of giving you pleasure. Not bad, eh, judging by the look on your face?”
“That was wonderful!”
“I can give you pleasure in a thousand and one ways. Using any part of the body that you like. In any way you like that leaves my little hymen intact.”
“I think I can handle that.”
“As long as you make me Mrs. Scripps. As long there is a nice diamond to tell everyone you are going to make me Mrs. Scripps.”
“I’m not sure I’m quite ready for that.”
“One small ring and a long engagement. Think about it, and think about me.” She moved to the door, wiggling her bottom. Ed threw off the blankets.
“No, don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”
She was gone. Ed heard her taking the stairs; he heard her chuckling; he heard the word “broche” a couple more times.
Ed climbed back into bed and thought about Ção and the terms of her offer all night.