Free The History of the Siege of Lisbon by José Saramago Page A

and kaleidoscopic awareness of this historical and topographical coincidence, no doubt thanks to his formal decision to have the crusaders refusing to help the Portuguese, thus leaving the latter to get along as best they could with their own meagre national forces, if they could already be described as national, since it is certain that seven years earlier, despite the assistance of other crusaders, they came face to face with the ramparts and did not even attempt to get any closer, simply carrying out forays, destroying orchards and kitchen-gardens, and doing other damage to private property. Well now, the only purpose of these minute considerations is to make it clear, however much it may cost to admit it in the light of crude reality, that for Raimundo Silva, until there is proof to the contrary or God Our Lord disposes otherwise, Lisbon continues to belong to the Moors, because, if you'll bear with the repetition, twenty-four hours have not elapsed since that fatal moment when the crusaders uttered that damaging refusal, and in such a short time it would have been impossible for the Portuguese to plan on their own the complicated tactics and strategies of siege, blockade, battle and assault, let us hope in diminishing order of duration when the time comes.
    Obviously, the Café Graciosa, where the proof-reader is heading for at this moment, did not exist here in the year one thousand one hundredand forty-seven in which we find ourselves, under this June sky, magnificent and warm notwithstanding the fresh breeze coming in from the sea through the mouth of the straits. A café has always been the ideal place to catch up on the news, the customers sit there at their leisure, and this being a working-class district, where everybody knows each other and daily contact has reduced any formalities to the minimum, apart from a few simple pleasantries, Good morning, How are you, All well at home, said without paying much attention to the real meaning of these questions and answers, and soon moving on to the concerns of the day, which are wide-ranging and all of them serious. The city has become one great chorus of lamentations with the arrival of so many fugitives, ousted by the troops of Ibn Arrinque, the Galician, may Allah punish him and condemn him to darkest hell, and the wretched fugitives arrive in a pitiful state, the blood gushing from their wounds, crying out and weeping, many of them with stumps instead of hands, their ears or noses cut off with the most wanton cruelty, an advance warning from the Portuguese king. And it would appear, says the café-owner, that the crusaders are on their way by sea, damn them, rumour has it that two hundred ships are about to arrive, this time the situation is really serious, mark my words, Oh, the poor creatures, says a fat woman, wiping away a tear, for I've just come this minute from the Porta de Ferro, a wilderness of misery and misfortune, the doctors don't know where to turn, I saw people with their faces battered into blood and pulp, one poor fellow had his eyes gouged out, horrible, horrible, may the Prophet's sword fall on the assassins, It will, interrupted a youth who was leaning against the counter with a glass of milk in one hand, if left to us, We shall never surrender, said the café-owner, the Portuguese and the crusaders were here seven years ago and were sent packing with their tails between their legs, Too true, the youth continued, after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, but then Allah is not in the habit of helping those who do not help themselves, and as for those five ships carrying crusaders anchored in the river for the last six days, I ask myself what we're waiting for before we attack and sink them, That would be just punishment, said the fat woman, in payment for all the misery they have caused our people, Scarcely in payment, rejoined the café-owner, since for every outrage committed against us, we have paid back in kind at least a hundredfold, But