Seven bishops, who look like seven planets in gold and silver as they officiate on the steps of the high altar, baptise the Infanta Maria Xavier Francisca Leonor Bárbara, already referred to as Dona, even though she is only a tiny babe in arms and is given to drooling and who can tell what she will be doing when she grows up. The Infanta wears a cross set with precious gems, valued at five thousand cruzados, a gift from her godfather and uncle, the Infante Dom Francisco, and the same Dom Francisco presented her mother, the Queen, with a decorative aigrette, no doubt out of gallantry, and a pair of exquisite diamond earrings valued at twenty-five thousand cruzados, truly magnificent but made in France.
For this special occasion, the King has momentarily laid aside his royal prerogatives and attends the ceremony in public instead of from behind a screen and in order to show his respect for the mother of his child, he joins the Queen on her dais, so the happy mother is seated beside the happy father, although on a lower chair, and in the evening there are fireworks. Sete-Sóis has come down with Blimunda from the castle above the city to see the lights and decorations, the palace festooned with banners, and the festive arches specially erected by the guilds. Sete-Sóis is feeling more weary than usual, probably as a result of having carried so much meat for the banquets being held to celebrate the birth and baptism of the Infanta. His left arm is hurting after so much pulling, dragging, and heaving. His hook rests inside the knapsack that he carries over one shoulder. Blimunda is holding his right hand.
Some months previously, Friar Antony of St Joseph died a holy death. Unless he should appear to the King in his dreams, he will no longer be able to remind him of his promise, but there is no cause for alarm, Neither lend to the poor, nor borrow from the rich, and make no promises to a friar, but Dom João V is a king who keeps his word. We shall have our convent.
...
BALTASAR HAS SLEPT on the right-hand side of the pallet ever since they spent their first night together, because his right arm and hand are intact and when he turns towards Blimunda he can hold her against him, run his fingers from the nape of her neck down to her waist, and even lower still if their sexual appetites have been roused in the heat of sleep, in the fantasy of some dream, or because they were already craving sex when they went to bed. Their union is illicit out of choice, and their marriage is unsanctified by Holy Mother Church, for they disregard the social conventions and proprieties, and if he feels like having sex, she will oblige, and if she craves it, he will gratify her. Perhaps some deeper and more mysterious sacrament sustains this union, the sign of the cross imprinted with the blood of breached virginity when, by the yellow light of the oil lamp, they lie on their backs resting, and their first breach of custom is to lie there as naked as the day they were born, Blimunda has wiped from between her legs a discharge of deep-red blood, and this was their communion, if it is not heresy to say so and even greater heresy to have done so. Many months have passed since that first night together, and we have already entered into a new year, the rain can be heard pattering down on the roof, there are strong currents of wind blowing across the river and the straits, and although dawn is approaching the sky is still in darkness. Anyone else might be deceived, but not Baltasar, who always awakens at the same hour, long before the sun rises, a habit he acquired during his restless days and nights as a soldier, and he remains alert as he lies watching the shadows recede to uncover objects and humans, his chest heaving with that enormous sense of relief as day breaks and the first, indistinct rays of greyish light filter through the chinks in the wall until Blimunda is awakened by a faint sound, and this provokes another, more persistent sound, which is unmistakable, the sound of Blimunda eating bread, and once she has finished she opens her eyes, turns toward Baltasar, and rests her head on his shoulder while placing her left hand where his is missing, arm touches arm, wrist touches wrist, life is amending death as best it can. But today things will be different. On several occasions Baltasar has asked Blimunda why she eats bread every morning before opening her eyes and has begged of Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço to explain all this secrecy she once told him that she had fallen into this habit as a child, the priest, however, confided that it was a great mystery, so great that flying was a mere trifle by comparison. Today we shall know.
When Blimunda awakens, she stretches out her hand to retrieve the little sack in which she keeps her bread, only to find that it is not in its usual place by her pillow. She runs her hand over the floor and the pallet and fumbles under the pillow and then she hears Baltasar say, Don't bother searching, for you will not find it and Blimunda, covering her eyes with clenched fists, implores him, Give me my bread, Baltasar, for pity's sake, give me my bread, First you must tell me what all this means, I cannot, she cried out, as she made a sudden effort to get up, but Sete-Sóis restrained her with his right hand and gripped her firmly by the waist, she put up a fierce struggle but he held her down with his right leg, and with his free hand he tried to pull her fists from her eyes, terrified, she started to cry out once more, Let me go, she screamed, making such a din that Baltasar released her, startled by her vehemence, he felt almost ashamed of having treated her so roughly, I didn't mean to hurt you, I only wanted to clear up this mystery, Give me my bread and I shall tell you everything, On your oath, What use are oaths if a simple yes or no is not enough, There's your bread, eat, said Baltasar removing the small bag from the knapsack he was using as a pillow.
Shielding her face with her forearm, Blimunda finally ate the bread. She munched it slowly. When she had finished she gave a deep sigh and opened her eyes. The grey light pervading the room was tinged with blue on the far side, a thought that might have occurred to Baltasar had he learned to think in such poetic terms, but, rather than indulge in refinements better suited to the antechambers at court or the convent parlour, he was absorbed by the heat of his own blood as Blimunda turned to face him, her eyes growing dark with sudden flashes of green light, what did secrets matter now, much better to go back to learning what he already knew, Blimunda's body, her secret could be solved some other time, because once this woman has made a promise, she is certain to keep it, Do you remember the first time we slept together, she asks him, when you said I had looked inside you, I remember, You did not know what you were saying, nor did you know what you were hearing when I told you that I would never look inside you. Baltasar had no time to reply and he was still trying to comprehend the meaning of those words and of other incredible words heard in that room when she told him, I can look inside people.
Sete-Sóis raised himself on the pallet, feeling suspicious and uneasy, You're making fun of me, no one can look inside people, I can, I don't believe you, First you insisted on knowing and said you would not rest until you knew, now you know, and you say you don't believe me, perhaps it's just as well, but in future don't take away my bread, I will only believe you if you can tell me what I am feeling this very minute, I can't see anything unless I'm fasting, besides, I promised that I would never look inside you, I'm sure you're trying to make fun of me, And I'm telling you it's the truth, How can I trust you, Tomorrow I shan't eat anything when I awake, we'll go out together and then I will tell you what I can see, but I won't look at you, and you will avoid my eyes, Is that agreed, Agreed, Baltasar replied, but explain this mystery, how did you come by these powers, if you're not deceiving me, Tomorrow you will see that I am telling the truth, But aren't you afraid of the Inquisition, others have paid dearly for much less, My powers have nothing to do with heresy or witchcraft, my eyes are quite normal, Yet your mother was flogged and sentenced to exile for having spoken of visions and revelations, did you learn these things from her, It's not the same thing, I only see what is in the world, I cannot see what lies beyond it, whether it be heaven or hell, I practise neither enchantments nor hypnosis, I simply see things, Yet you signed yourself with your own blood, then made the sign of the cross on my chest with the same blood, surely that is witchcraft, The blood of virginity is the water of baptism, that much I discovered when you possessed me and as I felt you ejaculate inside me, I divined your gestures, What powers are these you possess, I see what exists inside bodies, and sometimes what lurks beneath the earth, I can see what lies below the skin, and sometimes even what is underneath people's clothing, but I only see these things when I am fasting, I lose my gift when the quarter of the moon changes, but it is soon restored, and I only wish that I did not possess it, Why, Because what the skin conceals ought never to be seen, The soul as well, have you seen into someone's soul, No, never, Perhaps the soul does not reside in the body after all, I cannot tell you, for I have never seen a soul, Perhaps because the soul cannot be seen, Perhaps, but now let me go, take your leg away, I want to get up.