Free What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel by António Lobo Antunes

don’t say it like that, not with words, I show them I’m worried by making them suffer the way I’m suffering
    I’m not suffering
    it’s fine that you’re not suffering but take it easy Paulo pushing Dona Helena away so
    —Son
    she’ll take an interest in me,
    pushing her away means
    —Take an interest in me
    it means a lot more
    —Take an interest in me
    so much more if she doesn’t complain
    complain do you hear me, make me stop this, complain, why don’t you stop me from living with you like my mother, my father, my father’s brother, all the rest of them, made excuses
    I haven’t got time
    avoided me
    Don’t bother me now
    said good-bye
    —I don’t want you here do you hear can’t you understand I don’t want you here
    and me going down the stairs
    —I’m sorry
    while Dona Helena didn’t make excuses, didn’t avoid me, didn’t say good-bye, let me go to sleep with the light on, tried to pick me up and put me to bed in her bedroom, I
    —Let me
    Mr. Couceiro
    —Your arthritis Helena
    she’d give me money on the sly, would lie for me at the bank
    —This order for payment came in, ma’am
    and she
    —The writing may look different but I was the one who signed the check
    so upset over me that the teller took pity on her, asked for a loan to cover the amount, the manager in a low voice in my direction
    —Swine
    take the manager home instead of me Dona Helena, give him my chicken soup, my steaks, my quinine extract, the manager in a low voice leading me away by the arm
    —If it wasn’t for the old lady you’d have been in jail a long time ago
    their daughter dead before I was born, bangs and skinny little legs, Mr. Couceiro steadying the bicycle and the bicycle with flat tires now, rusting away in the laundry room, push on the bell and there’d be a feeble little ring, the easy chair would be pushed back, Mr. Couceiro’s cane would come along in a happy rush
    —Noémia
    and nobody on the seat, his smile turning into something that made me sorry if there was anything that could make me sorry, Sunday outings, Easter at the circus, a hamster
    the hamster’s cage on top of the wardrobe
    Mr. Couceiro taking his handkerchief out of his jacket, examining the handkerchief, putting it away, trying to put it away, that is, without finding the pocket, the voice that was slow in picking up strength
    what good are the names of trees in Latin?
    —Don’t ring that again
    the defeated cane on its way back to the easy chair, pencil marks measuring height on the door frame, three feet seven inches, three feet eight, three feet nine and that was all, after three feet nine nothing remained but meningitis
    —It can’t be
    the promises, pounding on the coffin pillow, I rang the bell again and the easy chair was quiet, tell me about the Japanese if you’re up to it
    he went over to Noémia’s picture on the wall, an expensive frame, poor thing, Aurea Photo Shop, if I could only feel sorry
    I can’t
    when I’d hear them on the stairs on Saturdays back from their visit to the cemetery I’d get up on the seat and keep ringing the bell, Dona Helena changing from mourning clothes into her kitchen apron as though she hadn’t heard, Mr. Couceiro would go straight to the photograph on the crocheted mat with a handkerchief hanging out of his pocket and a hamster pedaling on its wheel inside his head, a gouache that showed a sun with long lashes
    This landscape is for the best father in the world your always loving daughter Noémia Couceiro Marques
    looking for the gouaches in a drawer, tubes squeezed by fingers, the brush with missing bristles, I tried it out on the gas bill, I began with the dedication
    This landscape is for the best foster father in the world your loving foster son Paulo Antunes Lima
    but the Lima was covering the Antunes, a cloud blotted out the best foster father in the world and the twisted oval sun, whose rays reached beyond the gas bill and continued onto the towel, erasing the clouds and