Findesferas Part 3
Juan
The brothers had maintained a decent sprint for a few miles after bolting out of the forest, and started to relax when they reached the main road. There were high trees still, but this was certainly not the domain of Kurupi. The sky was uncharacteristically steely, thick sepia clouds letting streaming sunbeams through that drew arbitrary spotlights on the ground. The air was thick with the smell of dust.
Juan ventured for a resolution to the slap that stung his face.
'How much closer are we?'
'Not very. We walked a few miles, we have all this road ahead of us.'
The men’s footsteps cut tiredly through the silence, long dragging pads.
'You…you stopped telling me about Octavia.'
'It's not fair on you.'
'It's okay.'
'I think we need a new deal. Tell me about Lalia.'
Juan stopped, hunched over, pretended he had to catch his breath. His brother knew better.
'It helps, seriously. Tell me about her. Look where we're going, there's nothing else to talk about anyway. Tell me about her.'
Matías was right. Neither of the brothers had gotten used to their surroundings.
Paraguay was lost, wasted. Still, some beauty resided in the broken landscape of fractured buildings, marmoreal skies of grey, empty space below the highways, no cars on the streets, no calls from their friends, an old war taking place on new ground, no place for guns or horses in their lives. There was nothing for it but to spend their time recounting old memories of when the world still made sense to them.
'Fine… she was a difficult woman.'
'What do you mean?'
’It’s the truest thing I can say about her. Difficult to know. Difficult not to love.”
'Okay…'
The sky was heavy with rain and stopped bearing the weight of it. Big droplets splashed straight through the men’s uniforms and spread warmly on their heads and shoulders.
'I loved those crooked teeth she had, her thick red lips. When we first met, she used to cover her mouth when she smiled, I couldn't believe someone like her could be the slightest bit self-conscious. She stopped when we got married.
'She was so serious, intense, I couldn't understand it, but she always thought I was so directionless. And yet we both knew we had to be together. If she were alive she would tell you that she made me marry her, but I let her think that.'
'Can I ask you something?”
'Sure.'
‘Did you know what she was going to do?’
Juan stopped to think, then sat down in the middle of the road. Matías crossed his arms, looking down at his daydreaming brother, then decided to join him, repositioning the πSniper on his back so he could sit. Juan looked up at the rain, shutting his eyes hard when the droplets landed on his face. A minute passed, his breathing harder, droplets mixed with tears.
'I think that… I think that I can't say that I didn't…. That I didn't… That I wasn't completely in the dark… about what she was going to do.'
Matías shuffled over to his brother and placed an arm around his shoulder, and they both found the time to look up at the rain.
Octavia
A light summer rain fell all around. Ana was very lucky indeed to continue living in her house in Asunción with Octavia. Most of the other civilians had to be relocated, but the two women carried on regardless, away from all the fighting and the nastiness beyond the city limits. It made the most sense when the war began to cordon off the city with a large wall that was to be guarded day and night. Paraguay had seen more than enough bloodshed, paid its price, cut down to size, knew the effects of war much more than most other countries. This time, like times before, was to be no different- Paraguay would remain a country, and fight to provide a good quality of life for its citizens.
Besides, thought Ana, there was something so natural about waking up with the sun and sleeping with the night. It gave her pleasure to think of her ancestors doing the same in small villages bordered by the forests. What was so different after all? Octavia was grateful, too, and although she had the little boy by her side, she insisted on helping out around the house. The garden was her domain, she told Ana, who would watch with loving disapproval, cup of tereré in hand, as Octavia guarded her floating sleeves while lugging the rusty hand-powered lawnmower out of the shed and around the grass. They kept a home and a pretence together, the two women, and spent their evenings reading books and chatting about what they would do when Juan and Matías returned again, and when that would be. The truth was that this doubly saddened Octavia, who both dreaded and longed for the day when the two men would come back, and stayed awake at night thinking about the kind of life she would end up leading. It was heartbreaking to her to think how five years ago, the family had marvelled at her pregnancy, fine well knowing how improbable it was for Matías to have impregnated her. Was he really the father? Was it someone else? The virgin forbid, was it Kurupi up to his mythical deflowering deviances again? And that dear little boy, thought Octavia, as painted fingernails moved to mouth and an age-old habit came back to life, little flecks of purple paint sticking to her bottom teeth, by my side with that milk-tooth smile of his, when I cannot bear to look at him.
Ana would also spend evenings staring at the ceiling, running her conversations with Octavia through her head and thinking herself so silly for indulging in naïve notions of her sons returning. Like this the two women could live for years, keeping a house together, keeping a home for the brothers when they were able to return, visiting the neighbours, greeting Paulo when they went to collect the daily rations. Ana would still wait until late at night when she was sure Octavia was asleep to sneak out to the porch with the caña paraguaya and cigars, praying for her sons to be safe.
The garden was lit up in all the blinding colours of the flowers by the sun. Ana was marvelling at the beauty of her garden, and trying to ignore the ratchety sound of the lawnmower that Octavia was shoving back and forth across the lawn. She had forgotten to do it yesterday, so she was doing it angrily in the morning after breakfast. The fence rose high round the garden, keeping the rest of the world out, and on sunny days it was the perfect place to play house.
'Why don't you slow down? You'll hurt your back.'
'Almost done' said Octavia sweatily, which was neither a worthy excuse nor an answer.
'You silly girl, sit and have tereré with me, would you just?’
'Fine.' She sounded offended at the kind offer as an affront to her hard work, but she still sat down at the small garden table, frantically brushing wet locks of hair out of her face, her son prancing round 'Mum, mum!'
'How do you like your garden?' asked Octavia, not showing pride in her work, but in herself, for keeping up with the housework. She didn't realise that she would be a better companion to Ana if she just looked after herself and kept off her feet. The mother in Ana was spilling over.
Ana looked fondly at her little garden, the red roses, peonies, tulips, delicate little passionflowers of Paraguay, draping lapagerias, a symphony of colours in the midday sun.
'No, it's not my garden anymore, it's Lalia's.'
'I forgot this is where she was spread. Ah well, even in death, still keeping those roses going', said Octavia, looking away, embarrassed that she hadn't managed to match the tone to make her quip work.
'She could tell me the name of all the flowers in the garden.'
'She did many things, that woman.'
'What do you mean?'
'Oh what am I saying, I didn't really know that much about her.'
'Mum look!'
The boy was at full tilt with his weight against the lawnmower, desperate to show his mum how alike they were, but the handle swung and he fell, an instinctive little hand catching on the blades. He cried out.
Octavia went to him in the grass, and tentatively asked for the injured hand, but she knew what was about to happen. There was blood. A little red ball on a fingertip, a lucky miss, a bloody sphere. It was enough, enough to make her gag, and she ran to the bathroom past the disapproving eyes of Ana, who was left with the boy.
'Hey, not to worry, you, it's just a little cut.'
She wiped away the blood with a napkin, and gave the ruby finger a kiss.
Still the boy cried for a while, but the wails decayed and he just sat frowning in the grass.
Octavia came back out with a look of sympathy for herself, hand still at her mouth and wrinkled brow to milk the worry.
'What was that all about?'
'How can you say that to me? You know I don't do blood.'
'Do I?'
'Well I can't, so…'
'So what? I love my grandson, but you're looking after him.'
'I'm grateful for your help but please don't question my parenting.'
Ana got up, and walked into the house. ‘Sort this behaviour out, Octavia, you’re both in my house.’
What took Octavia back was not that she thought Ana was being irrational, only that she actually brought up the argument. The thought of motherhood was too much for her: it was a concept she liked to muse over upon observing watery paintings, sculptures with soft outlines, but… to do it, not just the cuts and scrapes, the inescapable constant responsibility… all she could think was… would she have been able to do it, be a mother on the inside, all the time, if it was Matías’ son?
Marshal
Steamboats stuttered up the rippling river of mirrored silk, slicing a meandering path through the water, as the marshal and his men made their way from Mato Grosso in Brazil back to their beloved Paraguay.So it had continued for miles and hours, tired legs stuck upright and packed on the boats, transporting the many victorious and bloodthirsty men back home with a fearless energy, convinced that this energy alone would win them the war. The marshal himself stood on the prow of the very first steamboat, lest any of his lesser soldiers see his country before him, but there was nothing to see, and only the languid sounds of lazy gulls and brushing grasses of the banks on the side of the ships, but the men remained primed, ready to fight, anxious for their next encounter. So they were glad when little steel triangles spiked up where the horizon met the river’s meandering taper, and grew with the passage of time to awkward cobbled boats of bastard metals that looked like sinking claws- the Brazilians were invading, making their way up the river in the same direction as the Paraguayans.
There was shuffling of feet and jerking breaths from which angry syllables arose as the men grew anxious as salivating dogs too disciplined to move. They knew what would happen if they started to fire before the marshal gave his command. From behind, the marshal had not shifted, and the soldiers started to worry. Had he not seen the boats? Were they going mad, had they collectively birthed these odd, floating constructs to ease their firing minds? The chuntering of coal smoke accompanied the brushing grass and cawing gulls. No, this was happening. But why didn’t the marshal give any orders? But what officer would dare tap him on the back, call out, request instruction of the hefty patriot with his dripping necklace of ears?
The boats grew nearer still. The soldiers pendulated eerily, trying to gauge their progress toward the enemy as the marshal slowly began to eclipse their field of vision. Creeping, lapping, brushing. There was silence. With no order, the men grew more and more frustrated, some scratched at the back of their necks, some caressed their rifle stocks, some murmured, so quietly. So it was to be a stealth approach.
Dunk. What? The marshal stamped forwards, over the prow and had one tattered boot on the enemy’s boat, which they had just crashed into.
'Get the rope, lads! Tie the boats together!'
Shit! Then it was close quarters combat! They could have been firing all this time, and now so many of them would die. Still, no instruction had been given, other than the rope, and the Brazilians did not make a sound.
The boats were tied together, and the enemy soldiers were facing them, all stuck in the same position with their hands at their side, forgotten limbs. Why had they not yet attacked? Perhaps they were about to agree on the rules of combat, but… it had been so long since anyone had done things properly. The marshal strode onto the enemy ship, pivoted his head around, looking for whoever was in charge. He spotted the head officer by his regal epaulettes, the gold rope now frayed and torn, three boats across. It was almost comical to see how deftly the marshal hopped between the boats and over to his target, the frozen officer, breathing deeply.
'My dear sir, why isn't this pleasant?' said the marshal, smoothing his matted black hair, 'Like the good old gams of our forefathers, a nice little meeting of our ships indeed.'
The officer nodded like a baby discovering its neck and performing the act for the first time. Before he could reply, he had to control his breathing.
'And a lovely day for it too.'
The officer’s face bunched together in a worried frown. What was the meaning of this? The marshal paced about, head rolling around on his shoulders as he took in the majestic panoramic blue of the sky.
'Yes, I imagine it was just like this all that time ago, the last time our countries were at war, don't you think?'
The officer was beyond reaction.
'You do know about the wars of our past, right? Don't you remember what you did to my country?' The marshal paced forward and broke the seal of the officer's personal space.
'You do know of the pain your ancestors caused mine? The murder, the humiliating defeat? That Paraguay was never the same again? They did tell you monkeys in school at least, of all the deaths? All the Paraguayans that died at your dirty hands?'
His mouth was forming a larger and larger ‘O’ like his enlarging eyes, hands pressed to his sides in… no, it didn’t look like fear, like… catatonia. The marshal lifted his necklace of ears and placed it around the neck of the frozen man, patting it down and smoothing it into place.
'Do they not haunt you as they haunt me, all those dead men? My God! How they cloud my head!' the marshal clapped his sweaty paws to the sides of his head 'How they twist in pain and bones break, they scream in fire and clots of flesh burst forth from exit wounds, uniforms tearing apart, do you not see them as I do? Don't you see them?'
But there was a peace in the marshal’s eyes as he pushed his head against the frozen officer, the cartilage of their noses almost pressed together, an exchange of bitter breath.
'Well, see them now. Look at my eyes. They live in me. See them now.'
A horrific scream erupted from the officer, his crimson face contorted, feet rooted to the floor, that scream thought the soldiers, won’t stop hearing that scream that went on for what felt like… the marshal cupped the man’s head delicately like a glass bowl, gripped his fingers around his jaw but the man did not draw back, started to turn the man’s head as if he was examining it, this curious screaming ball, but he kept turning in little increments, turning, the rest of the man was rigid all the way up to the neck as his chin was pushed beyond his shoulder, the screaming head kept turning, all the Brazilians looked on with prurient fascination to the sight and the new sound of fractured twigs as the ligaments in the screaming man’s neck began to tear, the marshal tilting his own head like a craftsman he switched the position of his hands to opposite sides of the head to keep the twist going as the man’s trachea began to occlude itself and the screaming was flecked with tones of saliva and blood, but fading like a radio running out of battery.
The body went loose. The marshal held it upright by the head, which he slowly lowered to the deck, before gently kicking at the dead officer’s legs until he slipped into the water, gone.
He looked around at the rest of the Brazilians.
'Are you my men now?'
They were silent.
'Untie the ships!'
Some soldiers sheepishly switched to the new ships with the Brazilians, who all turned to face forward, and there were no more words. The Paraguayan soldiers were thankful to have more space, but beneath their uniforms they were in permanent flinch to stand alongside their new allies.
The itching need for a fight was gone, and it was a relief. But… though they were loath to admit it, they would all rather have seen some of their own men dead, some of these men dead too, a lethal exchange of ammunition, than have witnessed what just happened, because the itch was replaced with something much weightier and more insidious. Staring down the barrel of that act of transcendental hypnosis, they had a newfound heavy dread.
Findesferas
The rotating cafeteria was one of the more pleasant areas on the ship. The huge circular strip of glass that ran round the barrel of it let you see the stars beneath your feet, and above your head. Octavia was too scared to enter that first day, and gripped tightly on to Juan’s arm. There was no denying that you were in outer space when you entered the rotating cafeteria. Nowhere on earth, after all, could you ever have looked directly up above you and seen someone dining on the ceiling. Now Octavia was used to it, and it was no longer the reason she was gripping onto Juan.
There was a meek, thin girl who caught Juan’s attention. Her glittering gold earrings entranced him like a magpie. She held her tray in trembling hands, lank black hair draped over her face, she shook her head and her gaze jittered toward the thick strip of glass. Juan smiled curiously as she looked at the galaxies outside and gripped desperately to the food counter for support, dropping her tray and gasping for air.
He walked up to her, and wordlessly collected the tray and the foil packets of rations that slid across the floor.
'I'm new here', she said.
'We all are', said Juan, 'Would you like to eat with me and my friend?'
She scanned the room to see if anyone had noticed, but they all looked preoccupied. Her strained shoulders dropped, then recovered into a decent posture. She looked to Juan and he saw her clearly. All the features of his face began to slant downwards in a curious look of lament. She frowned, and brushed her long hair behind her ear, turning to Octavia who smiled kindly and waved with a perfect efficiency at the girl, who came over to join her.
'Hello my dear, what's your name?'
'Juliana.'
'Nice to meet you Juliana, how are you adjusting?'
'Not well, really. I've had this feeling for days that something bad is going to happen to me.'
Octavia had hoped for lighter lunchtime chat.
'I wouldn't worry about it, we all have feelings like that. It's a huge difference for everyone.'
'I didn't mean everyone, I meant me. Something bad is going to happen to me.'
Octavia sighed, and the girl looked at the table. She was in one of those moods that, despite her best efforts, was going to suck all the cheer out of everyone around like a walking event horizon. Octavia knew it, but she was armed.
’That’s a cute little necklace, where did that come from?’
Juliana twisted the little orange rocket in her fingers.
'My… my dad, the captain gave it to me. I'm his daughter.'
The polite faces of Octavia and Juan dropped, and they leaned in over the table.
'I know a lot about this ship, too much. It's my dad's own design, although he says it was created by something else, that “he was a vessel through which it could be constructed”. And by the way, stick to where you know: this place is a labyrinth, and because the ship isn't done, there isn't always lighting. You could get lost in a cold dark tunnel of this ship and people might not find you for days. I mean, what the hell are we doing in space? How could this be any safer than back on earth? Everyone thinks they're so brave, makes me sick. We'll just keep slashing and burning our way through the universe, it's all we can do, poor thing can't wait to see the back of us, and we're too bloody noble to just while out the last of our love then die.'
Juan and Octavia’s faces twitched, but they didn’t give in to their impulse to look at her with disdain. She held a steely disposition, then folded, slumping, saying ‘Please, don’t pay me any attention, you’re both very kind, I’m just not doing too well here.’
To Octavia’s shock, Juan took her small hand in his, eyes shining with dripping crystal, said ‘This is why we all need each other more than ever. Don’t be embarrassed for saying how you feel.’
'Thank you, Juan.'
Octavia clapped her hands together, and their heads turned to her.
'So! Your father's on the ship too. Any other family here?'
'Just me, my dad and my boyfriend.'
Octavia drummed her fingers excitedly on the table.
'There's a boyfriend!'
'Yeah.'
'Well that's… lovely.' She smiled kindly at the girl. Her eyes flitted around as she thought of what next to say. 'It's been great to meet you, but I think Juan and I are going to head back. I'm sure we'll see you here in future.'
She coiled an arm around Juan’s waist and lifted him up briskly, and his face flushed. Juliana smiled a bleak smile, looking toward Octavia, shame in her eyes.
As they walked away, they heard a radio crackle, and turned to see Juliana flipping one of her earrings into her ear, and nodding seriously.
'Guys, that was my dad. He said he'd like to meet you two at some point. He says to go by his office.'
They nodded gently, and with a look of flattered surprise, before turning and heading off again.
Juan and Octavia had a gentle amble back to their respective rooms, in silence, looking around, but sometimes one caught the other then and looked away, before Octavia snorted and began to laugh, and Juan joined in.
'Is she serious? Where does that all come from?' Octavia poked Juan playfully with a long red nail.
'Behave, you, she's young, don't you remember being that age? This is tough for all of us.'
'See you, you're too romantic. By the way, didn't she remind you of-'
'Yes', said Juan, and with that frustrated syllable Octavia exclaimed a gentle 'Oh', and looked away, touching her cheeks with the pads of her fingers to see if she had gone red.
'I didn't mean to… it's that, her age, too, it's the age when I first met her, as if it's happening again', he offered.
'I can imagine', said Octavia breezily, but for the rest of the journey she was silent.
Paraguayans enjoy mate (mah-tay) which is also popular in Uruguay and Argentina. More specific to Paraguay is tereré which is also prepared with yerba mate but served cold with ice and remedio jujo, a special herb. Tereré is also served in a larger mug. Those who haven’t grown up with mate or tereré tend to find the strong herbal taste difficult to stomach.
The Paraguayan War, or The War of The Triple Alliance, lasted from 1864-1870, and grew quickly to catastrophic proportions. It is known as one of the bloodiest wars of relatively recent times, and while figures vary, it is thought that upwards of 70% of Paraguayan males between the ages of 15 and 65 died through disease, starvation or in battle. Paraguay now is much smaller than it was pre-war. Reasons for the war are much disputed, and include but are not limited to:
The ruling of Paraguay by the mad dictator Mariscal Francisco Solano López, who sent his much weaker country into a war with Brazil, initiating The Triple Alliance between Argentina, Brazil and Uruguay against Paraguay
The moving of civil wars in Argentina to Uruguay in an attempt to destabilise the country and strengthen governance over the Mar del Plata region
The effect of British imperialism in Paraguay and British desire to take advantage of the country
The lack of acceptance of Paraguay by Argentina as an independent nation, despite its independence from Spain in 1811
Large ideological differences
Going into some of these reasonings in depth, it can be shown that a clear explanation for the war is not so simple. For example, Mariscal López has been portrayed as a villainous dictator, and he most certainly showed signs of barbarism (including an incident when he had his mother flogged when she was 70 years of age upon her revealing to him that he was born out of wedlock) but his madness has also said to be an easy cover-up explanation for the war. During the conference of Yataity Corá in 1866, López appeared to concede that there was enough bloodshed and desire an end to the war, which does not constitute the behaviour of a pure tyrant. Also, it is easy to describe the ordering of Paraguay’s attack on Brazil (a country which quite heavily outnumbered and outgunned Paraguay) as lunacy, when it was actually in the best interests of Paraguay to maintain equilibrium in the region surrounding the Rio del Plata, as this would have ensured peace for all parties with interest in this area. Since Brazil invaded Uruguay in an attempt to collapse their government, this constituted a breach of the Rio del Plata equilibrium. The rash generalising of personality traits in order to “gloss over” detailed critical analysis of the historical events surrounding this or any war is to be discouraged.
The British imperialistic influence in Paraguay is also an easy blame. As a result of the civil war in the US, cotton supplies in Britain were limited, and so it could be argued quite reasonably that Britain would want to incite war so they could make investments in the country. Britain had a history of using this strategy. López desired to find new markets for a number of Paraguayan exports, especially cotton, sending many batches to Europe with this goal, nor was there any significant red tape when it came to international trading between such nations. Clearly, it is not easy to say any of the factors outlined above alone was responsible for The War of The Triple Alliance, nor the subtle combination of them either, as applying sound and careful reasoning will reveal that the answer is not quite so simple.
The curious reader is referred to the work of D. Abente at Miami University, who explains three possible models (The Balance of Power Theory, The Power Transitional Model and The Imperialist Theory) which show potential in analysing the core reasons for the war.
Paraguay was defeated long before the war ended. It is not completely understood why the war did not end in 1866 (particularly around the time of the Yataity Corá conference as mentioned above). What followed this time was what is often considered a wholly unnecessary lengthening of the war, which caused a huge number of both military and civilian deaths. Perhaps it could be the dogged desire of Brazil to take out López, since he was killed on March 1, 1870, and true to their word, the war was ended. López, whether seen as a dictator, peacekeeper or tyrant, is to this day in Paraguay seen as a hero. He appears on the 1000 guarani note, and the day of his death is celebrated as “Hero’s day.” The election of President Fernando Lugo in 2008 is the most recent example of an historical event in Paraguay when people have chosen to congregate outside The National Pantheon of the Heroes, López’s final resting place.
Could it be, that the inability to establish a coherent reasoning for The War of The Triple Alliance and the mystery of López’s actions had caused the war to begin again?
