Pimenta looked down at the blood-soaked handkerchief, then caught sight of Hanna standing under her parasol. He seemed tired, lacking the usual energy and friendliness he normally displayed when he had visitors. Instead of inviting her up to the veranda, he went down the steps to her. The wound in his forehead was a deep scratch just above his left eye and running up to his greying hair.
‘Did you see where they went to?’ he asked.
‘If you mean the woman and the girl, they headed for the crocodile pools.’
He pulled a worried face, then shook his head.
‘I must find them,’ he said. ‘Go and sit down on the veranda and wait until I get back. Everything can be explained.’
‘Where’s your wife? Who’s the boy?’
Pimenta didn’t answer. He threw the handkerchief on to the ground and hurried off down the slope towards the pools.
Hanna sat down on the veranda. The boy was still in the doorway. She nodded at him, but he didn’t react. It was still silent on all sides. She stood up and went into the house. There were glass splinters all over the floor, which was covered by lion hides and zebra skins. Hanging on one of the walls was the mounted head of a kudu, with its long spiral-shaped horns. Hanna tried to imagine what had happened. Not knowing who the woman and the boy were, she couldn’t imagine the sequence of events. The glass shards glittered like pearls scattered over the animal skins.
She found all the domestic staff collected in the kitchen. They were scared, crowded together, protecting one another. Hanna was going to ask them what had happened, but changed her mind. Pimenta’s wife and the children must be somewhere in the house. She searched the ground floor, then went up the stairs. In the biggest bedroom, where Pimenta slept with Isabel, Hanna found her and the two children. They were sitting on the bed, huddled up next to each other.
‘I don’t want to disturb you,’ said Hanna, ‘but I was worried when I heard the sound of breaking glass and saw Pedro with a bleeding forehead.’
Isabel looked at her without answering. Unlike the servants, she was not afraid, Hanna could see that straight away.
Isabel was furious, full of simmering anger of a kind that Hanna had never seen in this woman before.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘It’s best if you leave,’ said Isabel. ‘I don’t want you to be here when what has to happen actually happens.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That I kill him.’
The children didn’t seem at all surprised. Hanna thought that could only mean one thing: that they’d heard her say it before.
Hanna sat down gingerly beside Isabel and took hold of her hand.
‘I don’t understand what’s going on. How can you say to me, in the presence of your children, that you’re going to kill your husband?’
‘Because I am.’
‘But why?’
Isabel turned to look at her. Hanna could see that Isabel found it impossible to grasp that Hanna didn’t get it. What is it that I can’t see? she asked herself. I’m caught up in a drama that I don’t understand.
Isabel suddenly stood up and smoothed down her skirt, as if running her hands over her body in that way would give her strength. The two children looked at her. Isabel bent down in front of them.
‘Stay here,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back shortly. Nothing will happen to you.’
Then she took Hanna by the arm and escorted her out of the room.
‘What’s going to happen now?’ Hanna asked.
‘You’ve already asked me that question. I don’t know what’s going to happen. You can leave if you want to. Or you can stay. Do whichever you like.’
They had come down the stairs by now. The boy was still standing in the doorway. Isabel swept past him without even looking at him. She doesn’t like him, Hanna thought. A grown woman distancing herself from a young boy. A suspicion, vague as yet but perhaps the beginnings of an explanation, began to grow in her mind.
Isabel flopped down on the sofa on the veranda. Hanna moved a basket chair closer to the wall and sat down carefully. Still the boy didn’t move. It seemed to Hanna that she was now entering the oil painting she had imagined earlier. She was no longer just an observer.
Pedro Pimenta appeared on the slope. Walking just behind him was the white woman, who was no longer crying. She was holding the girl’s hand tightly. The girl was silent. Hanna couldn’t hear what the woman was saying to Pimenta. He suddenly stopped, and started gesticulating with his hands. It looked as if he wanted the woman to take the girl with her and go away. He continued towards the veranda, started running, with the woman after him. When they came up on to the veranda, she exploded: ‘I believed you,’ she screamed. ‘I’ve kept all the letters you wrote, all the protestations of the enormous love you had for me. I kept asking to come and visit you with the children. I simply couldn’t bear to keep on waiting in Coimbra any longer. But all the time you kept on telling me that Lourenço Marques was too dangerous. The same thing in letter after letter.’
She took a crumpled sheet of letter paper out of her pocket and started reading in a shrill voice.
‘“In Lourenço Marques the streets are full of cunning leopards and prides of lion prowling around at night. Every morning the remains are found of some white person or other, often a woman or a child, that has been eaten. Poisonous snakes find their way into the houses. It’s still too dangerous for you to come here.” Did you write that, or didn’t you?’
‘I wrote the truth.’
‘But there are no wild animals in the streets here. You lied.’
‘They were here in the streets some years ago.’
‘Nobody I’ve spoken to has seen a single lion in this town for the last thirty years. You lied to me in your letters because you didn’t want us to come here. The love that you described doesn’t exist.’
The furious woman had forced Pimenta up against the wall of the veranda. The girl had joined her brother in the doorway. Isabel was sitting tensely on the sofa, watching what was happening. Hanna thought that perhaps she ought to leave: but something that wasn’t merely curiosity held her back.
The woman suddenly turned to look at the far side of the long veranda. Joanna and Rogerio were standing there. They had appeared without a sound, like their mother.
‘Who are they?’ yelled the woman from Coimbra.
‘Can’t we sit down and try to talk our way through this calmly and peacefully?’ said Pimenta.
But the woman continued to force him up against the wall.
‘They are my children,’ said Isabel, standing up. ‘They are the children I have with Pedro. And now I’d like to know who you are, and why you are behaving like this towards my husband.’
‘My husband? My husband? But I’m the one who’s married to him! Am I not married to you, Pedro? For nearly twenty years? Who’s she? A black whore you’ve picked up?’
Isabel thumped the woman, and promptly received a thump in return. Pimenta separated them and urged both women to calm down. Isabel sat down, but the other woman started hitting Pedro instead.
‘Can’t you tell me the truth for a change? What’s she doing here? Who are those children?’
‘Teresa! Let’s calm down a bit to start with. Then we can talk. Everything can be explained.’
‘I am calm. I’m just fed up of all the letters in which you’ve lied to me and urged me to stay in Coimbra.’
‘All the time I was scared stiff that something might happen to you.’
‘And who’s she?’
Pimenta tried to lead her away to one side, perhaps so that he could talk to her without Isabel understanding what was said. But Isabel stood up again. She fetched her children and pushed them forward to Teresa and Pedro.