A General Theory of Oblivion Read Free Page A

Grandma?”
    “What?”
    “Sing. Sing me a song, something soft like cotton wool.”
    Ludo thought of her father, humming popular old ditties from Rio de Janeiro to put her to sleep. She put the pistol down on the floorboards, knelt down, took the burglar’s tiny hands in hers, brought her mouth close to his ear, and sang.
    She sang for a long time.
    No sooner had the dawn light woken the house than Ludo summoned all her courage, gathered the dead man in her arms, without too much effort, and carried him out to the terrace. She went to fetch a shovel. She dug a narrow grave in one of the flowerbeds, amid the yellow roses.
    Months earlier, Orlando had started to build a small swimming pool on the terrace. The war had stopped the work. The workershad left bags of cement, sand, bricks, leaning against the walls. The woman dragged down some of the material. She unlocked the front door. She went out. She began to build a wall, in the hallway, cutting off the apartment from the rest of the building. She spent the whole morning doing it. It was not until the wall was ready, once she had smoothed down the cement, that she felt hungry and thirsty. She sat at the kitchen table, heated up some soup and ate slowly. She gave some leftover roast chicken to the dog:
    “Now it’s just you and me.”
    The animal came over and licked her fingers.
    The blood had dried by the front door, forming a dark stain. There were footprints leading from there to the kitchen. Phantom licked them. Ludo pushed him away. She went to fetch a bucket with water, soap, a brush, and she cleaned it all up. Then she took a hot shower. As she was stepping out of the tub the phone rang. She answered:
    “Things got complicated. We weren’t able to come by yesterday to collect the goods. We’ll be coming over soon.”
    Ludo put down the phone without answering. It rang again. Then it let up for a moment, but as soon as the woman had turned her back it resumed its shrieking, nervously insisting on her attention. Phantom came out of the kitchen. He began to run in circles, barking fiercely at each jingling noise. Suddenly he jumped onto the table, knocking over the handset. The fall was violent. Ludo shook the black box. Something inside had come loose. She smiled:
    “Thank you, Phantom. I don’t think this will be bothering us anymore.”
    Outside, in the turbulent night, rockets and mortars exploded. Cars were hooting their horns. Looking out the window, the Portuguese woman saw the crowd making its way along the roads, filling the squares with an urgent, desperate euphoria. She shut herself in her room. She stretched out on the bed. She buried her face in the pillow. She tried to imagine herself very far away, in the safety of her old house in Aveiro, watching old movies on television while sipping tea and crunching on pieces of toast. She couldn’t do it.

Soldiers Without Fortune
    The two men were struggling to hide their nerves. They had thin beards and long, disheveled hair. They wore brightly colored shirts, bell-bottom trousers, and jackboots. Benjamin, the younger one, was whistling loudly as he drove. Jeremias – Carrasco – was sitting beside him, chewing on a cigar. They passed flatbed trucks transporting soldiers. The young men waved to them, drowsily, making a V for victory sign. The two men responded the same way.
    “Cubans!” growled Jeremias. “Damn communists.”
    They parked the car outside the Prédio dos Invejados and got out. A beggar was blocking the entrance.
    “Morning, comrades.”
    “And what the hell do you want?” Jeremias scolded him. “You’ve come to the white men to ask for money? Those days are over. In an independent Angola, in the front line of socialism in Africa, there’s no place for beggars. Beggars get their heads cut off.”
    He shoved him aside and went into the building. Benjamin followed him. They called the elevator and rode it up to the eleventh floor. They found themselves, to their surprise, being