Cut From The Earth

Chapter 8

Church bells clanged, and on anchored ships sailors began to sing Vespers, their salty voices floating across the water on the early night breeze. Pêro waited alongside the potholed road, brow creased, overseeing the dark shadows of the comings and goings of Portuguese Naval ships on the Tagus River below. The anchored merchant vessels were heavy with freight from the colonies and Northern Europe. A few carriages and donkey carts clanked past him. He hailed a ride and stared out the open window as he traveled east into the city center towards home.

The cross of the Convent of Senhora of Jesus came into view and pierced the Barrio Alto neighborhood’s horizon. Gold speckling the indigo sky was like a copy of a Giotto painting he had studied in his youth. How is my mentor, Padre Danta, and my Franciscan Brotherhood? It was nearly time for him to report on his deacon duties and responsibilities to the sick and poor. Obligations he had yet to properly attend to with the Fabrica’s escalating workload and now the urgency of Bagamba’s cause.

How is my mentor, Padre Danta, and my Franciscan BrotherhoodDear Lord, I hope no one has fallen into irreversible neglect! He massaged his temples. Should I inquire to the Order about support for Bagamba?

Dear Lord, I hope no one has fallen into irreversible neglect!Should I inquire to the Order about support for Bagamba?One by one, lanterns of homes lit upon the slope below the Senhora of Jesus priory. If only he’d been able to negotiate more time with Senhor de Sousa.

.Along the route, turbaned musicians beat on drums and vigorously shook tambourines accompanied by the strumming of a viola and the sounds of an accordion.

Merriment pulsed in Lisbon, while blue devils hovered over his heart.

At Lisbon’s central plaza, Rossio Square, Pêro descended from his coach and headed for a westerly side-street. Off in the distance to the east, All Saints Royal Hospital was alight, the tower of the infirmary’s Dominican chapel soaring above its roofline. As he turned down the cobbled street leading to his home, he whispered a prayer for Bagamba.

Shrouded in shadow from the surrounding five-storied residences, Pêro worked the key into the iron lock. He entered the dark sala, where his wife, Paulinha kept a pewter plate and two sconces upon an ornate cabinet, the few precious pieces her deceased mother had left to her. But it was the items she kept within the escritoire that he considered of secret treasured value.

Laughter, punctuated by his youngest daughter Isabela’s shrill giggling, led him to the kitchen. Lantern light haloed Paulinha’s dark hair and slight figure dressed in her clay-chalked work skirt, as she and the girls cleared plates from the table. Their chatter subsided as he slumped onto a stool.

Paulinha dried her hands on a towel. “The tremors today nearly rattled the pots off their hooks.”

Pêro rubbed his face with his hands. “Senhor de Sousa has given us until All Saints Day to pay for Bagamba. He must have the funds by November 1st, no later, or he’ll go ahead with another sale. They came for Bagamba today, had him already caged and in chains for transport.” Pêro met Paulinha’s piercing blue eyes.

“But why would they take him? We’re paying the installments for his release.” Her arm fell to her side, the towel limp on her leg.

Pêro pinched the ridge of his nose. “I’ve gotten behind in our payments to Senhor de Sousa.”

“What? How much? How could you let this happen, again?” She tossed the rag onto the table. “We’ve so many commissions.”

“But you know how it is, meu amor.” He reached for her hand; she leaned back against the counter. “We are only behind two payments.”

meu amor“And that’s only five weeks from now. We won’t have enough time or resources to pay what is outstanding,” Paulinha said. “And what about all we’ve already given Senhor de Sousa? Now, that’s at risk? How could you, Pêro?”

“It will take every order we have and timely payment to make this happen. I promise I will not extend credit to anyone for anything else. Rafa’s family — his father’s well-being, Bagamba’s life — depends on us. I know. Lord help us. I thought we’d have more time.” He made the sign of the cross. “Bagamba’s worried they’ll come for him in the middle of the night. I should have brought him here, at least for tonight.”

“Rafa will be relieved he’s there with them and will see to his welfare. If something happens, he’ll send word. Come to the table and eat.” Paulinha retrieved the dishtowel, holding Pêro’s stare.

His young daughters exchanged a worried look and finished drying the dishes in an uneasy silence.