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Authors: Jan Jacob Slauerhoff
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was either totally spotless or too smart for them: there was nothing that formed an obstacle to his becoming a senator. This evening would be the ultimate test of whether Velho’s superstition would actually be fatal. If this too failed, he would have suffered a heavy second defeat.
Campos stared out of a window in the back wall: the dark shape of Macao was stacked against the hills. Why hadn’t they drawn on the oil resources of the Ilha Verde? Then they would at least have light. In this darkness a nocturnal attack by pirates or Spaniards could be disastrous . Again Campos remembered the pleas of Farria in the Senate to occupy the Ilha Verde strongly and colonize it. But Campos had always regarded Farria’s pleas as the stubborn thoughts of a patriarch in his dotage , who thought that one could still create colonies as described in the Bible.
Now, in the dark, Campos saw that he had been right in this too. The island was deserted and unsafe. The town was still short of food; by the gate at the neck of the peninsula they had to trade at a market with Chinese from distant Pak Lang, who stayed away when they felt like it or the governor of Canton ordered them to. Because of the constantly late arrival of the fleet from Malacca, Macao had periodic blackouts, and every evening there were fewer lights burning; Guia, whose light was designed to show the fleet the way, held out longest, and if it was no longer possible to light this lamp, great bonfires were burnt at the entrance to the bay. Things had yet not reached that point, but already everyone was going to bed earlier; nightlife was impossible, one could not read, and talking to each other in the darkwas too frightening. People went to bed early; in a few months’ time the birth rate in Macao would have risen again, which was the only advantage. It was ten o’clock. A herald went through the street, proceeded by a drum and a wobbly light.
“The Senate of Macao informs residents that lights may be lit only for the sick and dying, that anyone who still has oil must surrender it to the light patrol. Anyone found in possession of oil will be punished with a fine and the stocks.”
Dark windows leered at this announcement that no one heard. Then it became quiet and dark again. Only Guia shone from on high, and the waves hurled themselves languidly at the sea wall of Praia square. The wind blew into a standard on the Senate building, and the material flapped at intervals. The square remained empty until midnight. Figures in long cloaks hurried across it, entered by a side door, descended a staircase and found themselves in the cellar where a few lamps were lit. The flickering light moved the features of the dead man, who lay in the centre on a bier, eyes not yet closed, body under a flag, and a staff in the right arm crossed over the chest. At the head and the foot of the bier stood a man in the same garb. One after another joined the circle, which was completed with twenty-four. Then the man at the head spoke; helooked much older than the man whose funeral was the apparent purpose of the nocturnal gathering. He stretched out his hand over the body, and from his beard too a shadow fell across it and moved along with his address.
“Now you are dead, Pereira, the last of the pioneers, without whose arrival this city on the edge of the known world would not exist, the one that you planted on the ruins of another and the graves of your family. We feel as if the strongest pillar on which our existence rests has broken, as if it is subsiding on one side, as we can feel it wobbling on its foundations. Let each of us try his utmost. Let each of us beg you to let a portion of your strength pass into him.”
He stepped aside. One by one the senators passed by the corpse, placed their hand on Pereira’s heart and said a brief prayer. Then the eldest, Guimares, closed his friend’s eyes and continued:
“We all know that the one who is to take the place of the departed has none
Campos stared out of a window in the back wall: the dark shape of Macao was stacked against the hills. Why hadn’t they drawn on the oil resources of the Ilha Verde? Then they would at least have light. In this darkness a nocturnal attack by pirates or Spaniards could be disastrous . Again Campos remembered the pleas of Farria in the Senate to occupy the Ilha Verde strongly and colonize it. But Campos had always regarded Farria’s pleas as the stubborn thoughts of a patriarch in his dotage , who thought that one could still create colonies as described in the Bible.
Now, in the dark, Campos saw that he had been right in this too. The island was deserted and unsafe. The town was still short of food; by the gate at the neck of the peninsula they had to trade at a market with Chinese from distant Pak Lang, who stayed away when they felt like it or the governor of Canton ordered them to. Because of the constantly late arrival of the fleet from Malacca, Macao had periodic blackouts, and every evening there were fewer lights burning; Guia, whose light was designed to show the fleet the way, held out longest, and if it was no longer possible to light this lamp, great bonfires were burnt at the entrance to the bay. Things had yet not reached that point, but already everyone was going to bed earlier; nightlife was impossible, one could not read, and talking to each other in the darkwas too frightening. People went to bed early; in a few months’ time the birth rate in Macao would have risen again, which was the only advantage. It was ten o’clock. A herald went through the street, proceeded by a drum and a wobbly light.
“The Senate of Macao informs residents that lights may be lit only for the sick and dying, that anyone who still has oil must surrender it to the light patrol. Anyone found in possession of oil will be punished with a fine and the stocks.”
Dark windows leered at this announcement that no one heard. Then it became quiet and dark again. Only Guia shone from on high, and the waves hurled themselves languidly at the sea wall of Praia square. The wind blew into a standard on the Senate building, and the material flapped at intervals. The square remained empty until midnight. Figures in long cloaks hurried across it, entered by a side door, descended a staircase and found themselves in the cellar where a few lamps were lit. The flickering light moved the features of the dead man, who lay in the centre on a bier, eyes not yet closed, body under a flag, and a staff in the right arm crossed over the chest. At the head and the foot of the bier stood a man in the same garb. One after another joined the circle, which was completed with twenty-four. Then the man at the head spoke; helooked much older than the man whose funeral was the apparent purpose of the nocturnal gathering. He stretched out his hand over the body, and from his beard too a shadow fell across it and moved along with his address.
“Now you are dead, Pereira, the last of the pioneers, without whose arrival this city on the edge of the known world would not exist, the one that you planted on the ruins of another and the graves of your family. We feel as if the strongest pillar on which our existence rests has broken, as if it is subsiding on one side, as we can feel it wobbling on its foundations. Let each of us try his utmost. Let each of us beg you to let a portion of your strength pass into him.”
He stepped aside. One by one the senators passed by the corpse, placed their hand on Pereira’s heart and said a brief prayer. Then the eldest, Guimares, closed his friend’s eyes and continued:
“We all know that the one who is to take the place of the departed has none
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