The War Of The End Of The World - Mario Vargas Llosa [167]
He raised the fork to his lips again and swallowed a mouthful of food that seemed to him to taste of soot. “Moreira César said that one must be mistrustful of intellectuals,” he added. “Even more than of idealists, Mr. Gall.”
The latter’s voice reached his ears as though it were coming from very far away. “Let me leave for Canudos.” A rapt expression had come over his face, his eyes were gleaming, and he appeared to be deeply moved. “I want to die for what is best in me, for what I believe in, for what I’ve fought for. I don’t want to end my days a stupid idiot. Those poor devils represent the most worthy thing there is on this earth, suffering that rises up in rebellion. Despite the abyss that separates us, you can understand me.”
The baroness gestured to the servant to clear the table and leave the room.
“I’m of no use to you at all,” Gall added. “I’m naïve perhaps, but I’m not a braggart. What I’m saying isn’t blackmail but a fact. It won’t get you anywhere to hand me over to the authorities, to the army. I won’t say one word. And I’ll lie if I have to; I’ll swear that I’ve been paid by you to accuse Epaminondas Gonçalves of something he didn’t do. Because, even though he’s a rat and you’re a gentleman, I’ll always prefer a Jacobin to a monarchist. We’re enemies, Baron, and you’d best not forget it.”
The baroness made a move to leave the table.
“You needn’t go.” The baron stopped her. He was listening to Gall, but all he could think about was the fire that would burn down Calumbi. How was he going to tell Estela?
“Let me leave for Canudos,” Gall repeated.
“But whatever for?” the baroness exclaimed. “The jagunços will take you for an enemy and kill you. Haven’t you said that you’re an atheist, an anarchist? What does all that have to do with Canudos?”
“The jagunços and I have many things in common, Baroness, even though they don’t know it,” Gall answered. He fell silent for a moment and then asked: “May I leave?”
Without realizing it, the baron switched to Portuguese as he addressed his wife. “We must leave here, Estela. They’re going to burn Calumbi down. There’s nothing else we can do. I don’t have the men to put up a fight and it’s not worth committing suicide over losing it.” He saw his wife sitting there stock-still, becoming paler and paler, biting her lips. He thought that she was about to faint. He turned to Gall. “As you can see, Estela and I have a very serious matter that we must discuss. I’ll come up to your room later.”
Gall went upstairs immediately. The master and mistress of Calumbi remained in the dining room, in silence. The baroness waited, not opening her mouth. The baron told her of his conversation with Pajeú. He noted that she was trying her best to appear calm, but was not succeeding very well: she was deathly pale, and trembling. He had always loved her very deeply, and what was more, in moments of crisis he had admired her. He had never seen her lose her courage; behind that delicate appearance of a porcelain doll was a strong woman. The thought came to him that this time, too, she would be his best defense against adversity. He explained to her that they could take almost nothing with them, that they must put all their most precious things in trunks and bury them, that it was best to divide everything else among the house servants and the peons.
“Is there nothing that can be done, then?” the baroness said very softly, as though some enemy might overhear.
The baron shook his head: nothing. “In reality they’re not out to do us harm but to kill the Devil and give the land a rest. There’s no reasoning with them.” He shrugged, and as he felt that he was about to be overcome with emotion, he put an end to the conversation. “We’ll leave tomorrow, at noon. That’s the time limit they’ve given me.”
The baroness nodded. Her face was drawn now, her forehead furrowed in a worried frown, her teeth chattering.