Free The Discovery of America by the Turks by Jorge Amado

have wounded her more deeply.
    She was coming along the middle of the street, head down and unhappy, when she heard the shouting and the braying and saw before her the shapes of the maddened beasts, under whose hooves she was going to die, crushed. In spite of everything, Adma had no wish to die. She didn’t have the strength to flee, so she let out a wail, closed her eyes, and waited for the blow, the fall, the shoes on the hooves, the end. In a faint, she felt herself being snatched up into the air.
    When she opened her eyes she could see that eternal life had begun and she had deserved paradise: Before her was an archangel, bending over her and smiling, celestial, dazzling. It wasn’t paradise; it was the inside of a dry-goods store. Someone was holding a glass to her mouth as the water ran down from the corners of her lips. The echoes of the tumult and the shouts of the donkey drivers could still be heard. The archangel wasn’t wearing wings, but he kept on staringat her. A fat man, all covered with sweat and fright, all flustered, was explaining things.
    “A narrow escape. You had a narrow escape. You were born again. This young fellow here risked his life; he’s a hero.” He was pointing to the archangel, with the admiration of the people crowding at the door to get a better look.
    Adma looked up at the hero. He’d lost his celestial origins, but he was still young and strong, and he kept on smiling. She still found him dazzling. He politely gave her his hand to help her up from the chair where they’d seated her and said, “Let’s go, Adma! I’m going to take you home.”
    Adma felt weak and confused, not understanding immediately what was going on. She was still under the shock of it all. Where did the prince know her from? How had he learned her name? Confused, she accepted the hand he was holding out to her, but she was unsteady on her feet as she stood up, so he held her, taking her arm.
    “Lean on my arm. Let’s go, sweetie.”
    Sweetie, a most loving name, a most courteous one.

16
    For the first time in her life Adma found herself walking down the street arm in arm with a man. The man in question had called her sweetie and was smiling at her with a smile full of implications.
    “Don’t you remember me?”
    She would have liked to answer yes, that she did remember, how could she have forgotten. Unhappily, alas, she couldn’t remember when she’d seen him. Never in her life, fatter or skinnier, it was amazing, never. Perplexed, she smiled as he refreshed her memory.
    “I used to work at the Style Shop, which belongs to my brother Aziz. Don’t you remember? I’d be there spying on you, wanting you.…”
    He’d been spying, wanting? She had never been aware of it.
    A warmth came into her skinny breast. She hadn’t realized it, but there were men who spied on her, young men, fascinating princes, angels from heaven who wanted her. The most marvelous thing happened when they got near the house.
    “I used to pass by here every day just to see you in the window, but you never noticed me.”
    Adma stopped walking, wanting to hear him repeat that he’d passed by there. Just to see her? Alas, she couldn’t believe it! She would have given anything for Samira to be there now, seeing and listening, dying with envy. With difficulty she explained, “We have to go in by the street in back. I went out through the gate in the yard.”
    They turned away, the key trembling in Adma’s hand. The prince, still smiling, took it and opened the ancient lovers’ portal. The old maid entered, eyes down. She didn’t have the courage to look at the one who had saved her from death, who had taken her arm and told her what she had never heard before. It could be only a vision, on the point of vanishing.
    “I don’t know how to thank you; you saved my life!”
    She was speaking in the yard, in a low voice. It was the end of the enchantment. There he was, going off forever. The road to happiness had been short.