Free A General Theory of Oblivion by José Eduardo Agualusa Page B

Eustákio, woke up one morning and could no longer speak. He just barked. They took him to a traditional doctor, pretty well renowned, who took five days to remove the dog’s spirit, and its barking, from Eustákio’s head.”
    Little Chief found the building’s architecture peculiar. He was confused by that wall blocking off the corridor, an arrangement that didn’t happen on the other floors. There had to be another apartment on that floor – but where was it?
    Meanwhile, just a few meters away, on the other side of the wall, Ludo forced herself to move toward the kitchen. With each centimeter she felt farther away from her own self. The first light of morning found her still in the living room, about two meters from the door. She was burning with fever. Her thirst was troubling her more than the pain. Around two in the afternoon she reached the door. Fainted. She opened her eyes and saw, vaguely, a face before her. She brought her hands to her eyes, rubbed them. The face was still there. A boy, it looked to her like the face of a boy, with two big, astonished eyes:
    “Who are you?”
    “My name’s Sabalu.”
    “Did you get in from the scaffolding?”
    “Yes, I climbed the scaffolding. They put scaffolding on the building next door. They’re painting it. The scaffolding comes nearly all the way up to your terrace. Then I piled some crates on the top level and climbed up. It was easy. What about you, did you fall?”
    “How old are you?”
    “Seven. Are you dying?”
    “I don’t know. I did start thinking I was dead already. Water. Go get me water.”
    “Do you have money?”
    “Yes, I’ll give you all the money but go get me water.”
    The boy got up. He glanced around him:
    “There’s hardly anything here. Not even furniture. Looks like you’re poorer than me. Where’ve you got the money?”
    “Water!”
    “OK there, Grandma, take it easy, I’ll go fetch you a soda.”
    He brought the bottle of Coca-Cola from the kitchen. Ludo drank straight from the bottle, greedily. She was struck by how sweet it was. It had been years since she’d felt the taste of sugar. She told the boy to go to the study to find her purse, where she kept the money. Sabalu came back, laughing hard as he scattered wads of banknotes around him.
    “This isn’t money anymore, Grandma, it’s not worth anything.”
    “There’s silver cutlery. Take the silver cutlery.”
    The boy laughed again:
    “I’ve already taken them, didn’t you even notice?”
    “No. Was it you who brought the bread yesterday?”
    “The day before. You don’t want to call a doctor?”
    “No, no, I don’t!”
    “I can call a neighbor. You must have neighbors.”
    “No, no! Don’t call anyone.”
    “You don’t like people? I don’t like people either.”
    Ludo started to cry:
    “Go away. Go away.”
    Sabalu got up:
    “Where’s the door to get out?”
    “There isn’t one. Leave the way you came.”
    Sabalu put the rucksack on his back and disappeared. Ludo took a deep breath. She leaned on the wall. The pain was subsiding. Maybe she should have let the boy call a doctor. Then she thought that along with the doctor would come the police, then journalists, and she was keeping a skeleton on the terrace. She preferred to die there, a prisoner, and yet free, just as she had lived the past thirty years.
    Free?
    Often, as she looked out over the crowds that clashed violently against the sides of the building, that vast uproar of car horns and whistles, cries and entreaties and curses, she had experienced a profound terror, a feeling of siege and threat. Whenever she wanted to go out she would look for a book in the library. She felt, as she went on burning those books, after having burned all the furniture, the doors, the wooden floor tiles, that she was losing her freedom. It was as though she was incinerating the whole planet. When she burnedJorge Amado she stopped being able to visit Ilhéus and São Salvador. Burning
Ulysses
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