Campos and Ronquilho did not know which of them had stopped the other from charging in and pulling Dona Pilar from the clutches of the monks and into the house. A jealousy more overpowering than sexual envy made them clutch at their throats and then at the window bars, to support their bodies. Rage at the divine rapture in which they had no part and which had shone so powerfully from Veronica’s eyes paralysed them. Only when the procession had passed did they come to themselves. The father identified with the suffering of the suitor he wanted as his son.
“Tonight there’s a meeting of the senate. Go to her, make her yours, abduct her, do what you will. Those monks…” He could not go on.
Ronquilho shook his hand in silence, for the first time apprehensive at the thought of a night-time assault in which he would have no need to combat any dangers of the kind he was used to. The voice of their old, unexpected host startled them. He was one of the first free-thinkers in Macao, one of the few Galicians to come out. The Procurador thanked him politely for his support when temporal power was forced to yield to ecclesiastical and expressed his regret that he could not stay longer. The litter and the horse pulled up outside. They continued on their way, both weighed down by the same concern and Campos by many others besides, envious of Ronquilho. Their tasks were very different. While Ronquilho was going to carry off a woman he loved, who might still hate him but would one day be his, he had to invest an enemy for whom he felt a deadly hatred with an office that would give him yet more power to realize his plans.
III
THE POPULATION OF MACAO was thronging the streets this lunchtime. There were Portuguese, Malays, Japanese women, black slaves, Chinese servants, soldiers and many monks. All gave way respectfully to the litter, taking off their hats, bowing or squatting by the side of the road, depending on their national custom. The Procurador scarcely saw them, and Ronquilho turned into a side street, while the other man went on brooding about Velho who wanted to do everything with money and persuasion, wanted to bribe the viceroy of Canton, bribe the pirates, unconcerned about their prestige, provided trade could continue uninterrupted. As if that trade could sustain itself unsupported! As if a strong, impregnable Macao would not have the highest trading value! He was alone at lunch and so sent for his daughter. She chose not to leave her room. She did not open up in response to his knocking, and the door remained bolted. He went into the garden, and her figure retreated from the window to the back of the room, so that he could just see her red dress and black faldetta. This reminded him of the procession, to which he, the Procurador, had to give way, while his daughter, before his very eyes, wiped the sweat from the face of one of the Dominicans dressed as Christ. That sweat was the only real thing about that hypocrite! He charged back upstairs and pounded on the door.
“Pilar! Will you take off that fancy-dress costume and let your father in?”
There was not a sound from inside.
“Pilar! Are you my daughter or a bigot who consorts with priests?”
Now there came faint silvery lute music, mocking his brash words.
“If you don’t do as I say, I’ll have my soldiers break the door down!”
The sound of the lute died away.
“Wait a moment then, Father, until I’ve changed the dress that annoys you so much for another.”
“I’ll wait.”
A moment later the door opened, Campos forced his way in, went straight to the wash-basin and gasping for breath poured himself a glass of water. His daughter was sitting at the window in a simple house dress.
“Who gave you permission to take part in processions? I’ve known for a long time that you don’t love your father, but I forbid you to consort in public with his enemies.”
“I had a vision, Father. The Malacca fleet has been lost.”
She did not mention that she had seen more: a man who swam away from a wreck and struggled to reach a black coast. She kept seeing one hand sticking out of the water, even during the intervals when his head disappeared in the waves, and in that hand he held a rod or a roll, she couldn’t tell which.
“I don’t give any credence to your visions. I know only too well which greenhouse they were grown in. In a month’s time you’ll marry Ronquilho, and then they’ll dry up. You’ll hate me at first. Well, you hate me anyway, so that won’t change anything. But once you have children, you’ll be grateful to me.”
For a moment Pilar felt as if she saw the coarse Ronquilho and the man she had glimpsed half in a dream fighting over her; then she looked at her father.
“I’d like to have children. But I shall never allow my body to be used to continue the inferior Ronquilho dynasty.”
“So from what exalted dynasty was your yellow mother descended?”
“From one that existed when Portugal was still a Moorish province and its inhabitants slaves of the Muslims.”
Campos had to restrain himself. He supported himself with his hands on the table, and the thin rosewood top creaked. He didn’t fit into this room; it was as if a bull had charged into a lily garden. But soon his colour returned to normal, a smile that exuded a sense of power curled his lips, and he went slowly over to her.
“Don’t touch me. You accuse me of consorting with the Dominicans. You’re the one who forces me to seek protection, and I may yet end up doing what I don’t want to do: entering a convent.”
“In that case from now on you are the prisoner of your father and of the highest authority in Macao, that of the Procurador.”
He left the room and screamed an order. Pilar heard the shuffling step of two servants.
“You’re under guard!” shouted the Procurador as he went downstairs. She moved to the window: there was already a soldier on guard by the olive tree. Dispirited, she sank down onto the hard window sill.
After a few hours she crept to the door, but it was immediately pushed shut again. Standing out against the dark wood she again saw, more clearly this time, the face of this night: in one part of the sea, closed off by a layer of cloud lashed by driving rain as in a clash between an army of dwarves and an army of giants, a large ship reeled and sank, stern last. Then the man leapt off and swam through the raging waters, hand still in the air, toward the steep black coast. And now she saw further: a rolling yellow beach in the foreground suddenly slid beneath the swimmer, who lay there motionless; then the clouds obscured everything, the door suddenly opened and struck her on the forehead. She leapt back and went back towards the window, while a servant brought in a dish. She did not look round and the servant, imagining himself unobserved, calmly picked up a silver clasp lying by a table leg.
Campos could not rest after his meal that afternoon. He went on debating whether he had behaved too harshly or too indulgently with his daughter.
“Don’t startle the bird too much, or it will fly away,” he muttered. “Is there no chance of her escaping?” He determined to post sentries at the gate too, but still feared the power of the priests. He got into his litter earlier than usual. Close to the Senate building the clatter of hooves startled him out of his reflections, he was dropped abruptly to the ground and among the bewildered bearers he saw a horse and on it Ronquilho.
“What has got into you, running me down in the middle of the street?” Campos climbed with difficulty out of the lopsided litter, blinking at the sun and at Ronquilho, trembling with annoyance. Ronquilho dismounted, had his horse led away and pulled the Procurador along; after his opening words Campos listed in rapt attention.