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Authors: Jorge Amado
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soften the rough spots of Adma’s character. Jamil couldn’t forget the malignant presence of the shrew at dinner, even less Ibrahim’s martyrdom. He could see himself coming home from the cabaret in the middle of the night or from Afonsina’s house early in the morning. A husband shouldn’t have any set time for arriving home or have to give an accounting. He’d find Adma up in the window waiting for him, in a foul mood, waking up the neighbors as she repeated her scoldings, a wild uproar. If she tried to get on his back the way she did with Ibrahim, would a dick and a whip be enough? He doubted it.
Abandoned by Allah to the seductions of Shaitan, left to his own devices, he spent two months in that battle with nothing decided. But at every moment the Evil One would strengthen his hold over Jamil’s soul. Before heading out to Mutuns, where he got the train to Itabuna, Jamil considered Ibrahim’s proposal impossible to refuse: a well-established business, a fortune in sight, and a woman with excellent qualities. He was thinking of Samira, not Adma.
For Adma, not much dick and lots of whip. Unless the hag was in possession (she had her mysteries, too) of an incomparable twat, one made for sucking. “It’s quite possible; it’s almost certain,” the Devil was whispering behind him.
15
Could Allah and his prophet Mohammed be so little concerned with the destiny of their son Jamil Bichara that they would forget the pact of faith and assistance that existed between them and not even draw his attention to the dangers of the enterprise he was insisting on getting involved in? More likely they had attempted to do so, and the obstinate fellow had refused to lend them an ear. “I was blind and deaf,” Jamil himself confessed to Raduan Murad. “I surrendered to the temptation of gold and of the flesh. Shaitan was living in my heart.”
According to the adage, God writes clearly with crooked lines, and in order to bring his designs to completion, he makes use of strange methods, moves unexpected characters about. While Shaitan, encamped in Itaguassu, was dedicating all his time to the seduction of Jamil, Allah the great was maneuvering in Itabuna to save his soul and to defend the future of his anointed one.
As things turned out, as he reviewed with Jamil the developments in the skirmish, Raduan, who’d followed it detail by detail, eagerly when he became aware of Shaitan’s involvement—lewd dreams, foul enticements, exaggerated and dubious promises—found Allah’s strategy and tactics to be superior in all ways. Not only from having put the enemy face-to-face with a consummated fact, but also from the way in which he’d done it: Instead of any subjective study or thundering actions worthy of the best traditions of the Old Testament, he’d brought it forth in full form. He began a most beautiful performance with the romantic and heroicepisode of the stampeding herd, the first in a series of magnificent and spectacular ploys.
The string of donkeys stampeded for no apparent reason just before reaching the warehouses of Kuntz & Co., a Swiss cacao exporting firm. The animals shot off in a headlong run, befouling, befarting, and knocking down pedestrians during a time of intense activity. Sacks fell from the wooden frames of the packsaddles, cacao beans scattered into the gutters, people were fleeing madly; it was the end of the world.
At that exact moment the maiden Adma had just stepped out onto the tumultuous thoroughfare, returning from Samira’s house on the Largo da Estação, where she’d been making her sister’s life hell. She’d even talked about Jamil Bichara, calling him names, while Samira came to his defense and that of their father: One a bachelor, the other a widower, they had every right to visit whorehouses. The mood grew sour and Adma was close to having a fainting spell when the desirable one accused her of being intolerant because she hadn’t found anyone who wanted her. Nothing could
Abandoned by Allah to the seductions of Shaitan, left to his own devices, he spent two months in that battle with nothing decided. But at every moment the Evil One would strengthen his hold over Jamil’s soul. Before heading out to Mutuns, where he got the train to Itabuna, Jamil considered Ibrahim’s proposal impossible to refuse: a well-established business, a fortune in sight, and a woman with excellent qualities. He was thinking of Samira, not Adma.
For Adma, not much dick and lots of whip. Unless the hag was in possession (she had her mysteries, too) of an incomparable twat, one made for sucking. “It’s quite possible; it’s almost certain,” the Devil was whispering behind him.
15
Could Allah and his prophet Mohammed be so little concerned with the destiny of their son Jamil Bichara that they would forget the pact of faith and assistance that existed between them and not even draw his attention to the dangers of the enterprise he was insisting on getting involved in? More likely they had attempted to do so, and the obstinate fellow had refused to lend them an ear. “I was blind and deaf,” Jamil himself confessed to Raduan Murad. “I surrendered to the temptation of gold and of the flesh. Shaitan was living in my heart.”
According to the adage, God writes clearly with crooked lines, and in order to bring his designs to completion, he makes use of strange methods, moves unexpected characters about. While Shaitan, encamped in Itaguassu, was dedicating all his time to the seduction of Jamil, Allah the great was maneuvering in Itabuna to save his soul and to defend the future of his anointed one.
As things turned out, as he reviewed with Jamil the developments in the skirmish, Raduan, who’d followed it detail by detail, eagerly when he became aware of Shaitan’s involvement—lewd dreams, foul enticements, exaggerated and dubious promises—found Allah’s strategy and tactics to be superior in all ways. Not only from having put the enemy face-to-face with a consummated fact, but also from the way in which he’d done it: Instead of any subjective study or thundering actions worthy of the best traditions of the Old Testament, he’d brought it forth in full form. He began a most beautiful performance with the romantic and heroicepisode of the stampeding herd, the first in a series of magnificent and spectacular ploys.
The string of donkeys stampeded for no apparent reason just before reaching the warehouses of Kuntz & Co., a Swiss cacao exporting firm. The animals shot off in a headlong run, befouling, befarting, and knocking down pedestrians during a time of intense activity. Sacks fell from the wooden frames of the packsaddles, cacao beans scattered into the gutters, people were fleeing madly; it was the end of the world.
At that exact moment the maiden Adma had just stepped out onto the tumultuous thoroughfare, returning from Samira’s house on the Largo da Estação, where she’d been making her sister’s life hell. She’d even talked about Jamil Bichara, calling him names, while Samira came to his defense and that of their father: One a bachelor, the other a widower, they had every right to visit whorehouses. The mood grew sour and Adma was close to having a fainting spell when the desirable one accused her of being intolerant because she hadn’t found anyone who wanted her. Nothing could
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