WILD BOAR EYE
A novel in twelve episodes
By Luís Carmelo
(transl. Bernardo Palmeirim)

SIXTH EPISODE
(The greatest venture of mortals: the imagination)

Half past seven and the sun is setting in the highest summits. On the ancient stone pavement the car drives on, rambling down roads, maneuvering within narrow slits. It glides mile after mile along the tilt of the hill, sloping upwards, succeeding curves replete with milestones and cypresses which rise above a thick slop of clouds that obstructs the view of the bottom of the valley and the pastures. Here up high, close to the darkening blue sky - a vestibule for the repose of gods -, life tastes of thin air and hard molten rock curves. Above all, life acquires the taste and wisdom that come with the greatest venture of mortals: the imagination. Perhaps on account of that, Maya has not yet forgotten the beginning of the conversation:

“Let’s go back to Professor Romeo. When did you meet him, after all?”
Rui shook off a chill, loosely forgot his elbow on the seat and began thinking outside of time:
“He sold me the car. It was only then I met him.”
“But how?”
“He was a friend of a colleague of mine from the office. My colleague told me he knew someone who wanted to trade cars. It was precisely what I wanted: a nice car, low mileage, practically new, and the price was very reasonable. So in fact I only met that gentleman and his long coat when we met to take care of the paperwork.”
“And when was that?”
“The day before last.”
“At what time?”
“Well, let me see, it must have been about two pm. I remember I had to have an early lunch.”
“I just can’t make out why the hell he gave me the car keys for the very same car!”
It was a place of mountain peaks speckled with fir-trees. Towards the bottom lay the forest and the first set of long, endless escalades. An ancient memory of ice caps, glaciers, and peaks of death. And here, in this nothingness near the top of the vast canyon, the only thing left is the big evening star that seems to want to come down and touch the globe’s lonely ceiling with a thread of silk. A place of mountain climbers and cold gales, small patches of grass and lost-in-time escapades.

(Next episode of Wild Boar Eye: “We’ll stop at eight and then see. We’re almost there anyway. I’ll try to reach the top of the out-of-bounds belvedere.”)

Continues