Orphans of Eldorado - Milton Hatoum [16]
I lunched with no appetite, and as it was too early to go to the square, I lay down in the hammock in the parlour and thought about Estrela; I was thinking about her so as not to suffer more disappointment at the hands of Dinaura. The wind from the river increased the heat in the room. Was it obstinacy on my part that I wasn’t on board the Anselm? Passion and desire were more likely reasons. The whistle, the roar of the engines, the sound, like a waterfall, of the wheels at the sides, everything was gradually blotted out. The smoke from the chimney covered the open window, and I felt my body dulled as a heavy sleepiness took me to a strange place. I could clearly see Estrela’s hair waving in the water like flames. As I looked at the face, I recognised Dinaura, and heard her voice saying calmly that we could only live in peace in a city at the bottom of the river. Afterwards, in the swirling, muddy waters, I saw the stern face of a man with a threatening look. I uttered something out loud, gasped for air, and the image disappeared. I was alone in an unknown town. I woke up with my mouth open, breathing like an asthmatic. I felt my wet shirt and saw Florita’s face.
I heard the shouts of someone drowning and came to help you.
Speaking that way, she seemed to divine my dreams. I was frightened by Florita’s words—the fear of someone who knows us too well. To put her off the scent, I asked her to perfume the bathwater with cinnamon essence. When she saw me all dapper and perfumed, she said I shouldn’t leave the house.
Why?
She didn’t answer. And I trusted to my intuition. Before five o’clock, I went to the Ribanceira and leant against the trunk of the cuiarana tree, in the spot where I’d seen Amando die. On the ground were flowers torn down by the wind. A sky just like this afternoon: big, thick clouds. Matadouro Street was deserted. I was so anxious that I shook when I heard the stroke of five. Then she appeared alone, in a white dress, her arms bare. We sat down under the tree; its trunk was covered in flowers. I caressed Dinaura’s arms and shoulders, and wondered at her face. The desire in her eyes grew. I asked nothing, said nothing. Any word was inadequate to my urgent love. There was a strong wind blowing. She wasn’t frightened by the thunder, nor did she avoid my embrace. I kept the words in my thoughts. One day we would travel together, we’d get to know other cities. She was looking at the other side of the Amazon, as if in a dream. We were going to get married and then live in Manaus or Belém, or in Rio, who knows? The rain approached, making a noise like a waterfall. It seemed we were alone in the town and the world. She lay down on the wet earth, the cloth of her dress clinging to her dark skin; she took her clothes off unhurriedly, her petticoat, corset and bra, and stood up, naked, and took off my clothes and licked and sucked me with intense desire; then we rolled on the ground to the low wall of the Ribanceira, and then back to the tree, making love as if we were starved for it. I don’t know how long we were there, entwined, feeling the warmth of the inner flesh. I hardly noticed the beauty of her body, so stunned was I by the way she made love. A dancer. Jealousy burned me up. I wanted to forget all that and looked at the sky, the tree, the church tower. The wet flowers fell down and covered my eyes. I awoke with the cracking sound of the rain on my face, and unwisely kissed Dinaura with an almost violent desire. I wanted to touch her skin, kiss her body. I wanted more. Her eyes said no. I put my ear close