This Translation Tuesday, we are honored to share with you an excerpt from the latest novel by the first woman to win Mozambique’s Prémio Literário 10 de Novembro literary prize. Here to tell you about this riveting tale of parallel love stories that traverse centuries is translator Beth Hickling-Moore herself: “Aruanda fluctuates between two stories, the first set in the 19th Century and the other in the 21st. In each story, prejudice, conflict and environmental destruction are destined to repeat themselves. In 1890, black servant Carina de Sousa is accused of witchcraft by the plantation overlord, along with her mother, Lina. What nobody knows is that Carina is in a secret and forbidden relationship with Pedro Lucas, the son of Carina’s boss, the captain. A scuffle ensues and Pedro Lucas is killed, leaving Carina pregnant with his mestizo child. The story then jumps back and forth between Carina’s story and the present day, in which professor Daniel de Barros —along with student Maria Cristina—embarks on a restoration project in the Aruanda region. As both stories develop in tandem, we discover that Daniel and Maria Cristina are in fact reincarnations of Pedro Lucas and Carina. As the professor and his students fight to save the Aruanda region from property developers who are destroying the landscapes just as the plantations did centuries before, we realise that Daniel and Maria’s love is similarly ill-fated. While Aruanda reflects on the country’s issues of prejudice, conflict and environmental destruction past and present, the novel does not feature the word ‘Mozambique’ at all: much like Isabel Allende’s Casa de los Espiritus is an allegory of national history without ever naming names, Aruanda takes place in fictional Aruanda, named after the Afro-Brazilian spiritual citadel of the same name, and considers whether postcolonial, post civil-war Mozambique is indeed a version of this utopia, or whether it is controlled by the same forces as it always has been. Aruanda will be of interest to a contemporary readership because it falls within the spheres of climate fiction, science fiction and race writing. Recent big-budget film and TV adaptations of novels such as The End We Start From and Leave the World Behind demonstrate the popularity of such genres, but very little climate fiction is published from the African continent, one of the regions most affected by the climate crisis. The book is also reminiscent of Octavia Butler’s classic, Kindred, in its historical episodes and supernatural elements.”
Aruanda is silent. Its solitude has risen, its melancholy dripping into the sea. I’ve never been to the Indian Ocean, but this is how I picture it: deep and still like the tombs of my ancestors who traversed its waters. Its quietude stretches right up to the large house belonging to the Prazo overlords: Captain Major Bento Noronha and his wife, Dona Luísa.
The dinner table is laid just so, just how Dona Luísa likes it. Tonight we are hosting young Doctor Fernando, the family physician. After coming to see Sargeant Pedro Lucas, he has been invited to stay for dinner.
Captain Bento and Doctor Fernando’s conversation lingers on banalities as the sweet scent of lilies tickles my nostrils. I inhale deeply and see Dona Luísa descending the granite steps, carrying a glass vase holding the flowers.
“It’s a pleasure to have you here, Doctor Fernando.”
“An absolute honour, Madam,” he responds politely, nodding in reverence to his hostess.
Dona Luísa is wearing an elegant blue dress beaded with pearls, having taken off her boots and corduroys. The lady of Prazo Aruanda is one of the most beautiful women in the region. With both Goan and Portuguese ancestry, her eyes shine like a cat at night and her skin is a caramel colour akin to the plush cotton grown in Aruanda. Along with her husband, Dona Luísa rules the roost and no one dares disobey her strict orders. Dinner is served by Josias, one of the other black servants. Afterwards, the three of us stand by the door, stock-still, ready. Captain Bento and Dona Luísa exchange very few words. My lady has seemed a little irritated in the last couple of days. More so than normal. Yesterday, when giving me an order, she called me ‘bandazia’. She’s never called me that. She always calls me by my name. Even if that name is new to me. Jesuit priests christened me Carina by order of my owners. After all, I couldn’t keep using my Bantu name. They found it an aberration, among other things.
I must accept being called ‘bandazia’, too: I am a servant, after all. I work in the kitchen. I haven’t always done so. In all honesty, it’s the irony of my life. I was born heir apparent to the throne. The kingdom now known as Aruanda was my father’s at the time, and he was a revered tribal chief.
My father was unable to fight the Portuguese Prazo advances, and was killed in combat trying. That was when Aruanda gained a new owner. Dona Luísa took us in – me and my mother – because of the loyalty my family showed towards her.
“Why is there no bread?” Dona Luísa probes after a quick inspection of the table.
Without thinking, I lay my hands on the white apron covering my skirt for just a moment, before hurrying off to the kitchen in search of what’s missing. There are more than twenty of us in charge of keeping the large house and its kitchen spotless, but even so, there are sometimes oversights.
I come back to the dining room, carrying a delicate basket containing perfectly uniform slices of white bread. As I place the basket on the table I notice João, one of the new sepoys, has arrived. He comes in gingerly, under my lord’s stupefied gaze.
“You are under orders to never interrupt meals, João.”
“Captain, if I may,” the sepoy responds in an almost whisper, “Lord Sean is outside. He says he must talk to you urgently.”
So that’s what that noise was, I think, my mind racing. I thought I’d heard hooves and glimpsed human shadows outside, but I would never have imagined it would be the governor of the new company. I look over at my mother discreetly. She shoots me a similar glance, brief and subtle but intense nonetheless, revealing that she feels equally uneasy about this sudden visit.
The captain dabs his napkin over his lips and, after some moments of reflection, orders João to bring the visitor in. In Aruanda circles, it is no secret that Lord Sean, governor of the new plantation company, is not welcome, nor well-perceived. His arrival in the region – and that of the company – leaves no room for doubt: although the liberation of my people has been proclaimed, we are not free. We never were. Perhaps we are worse off than before, reduced to labouring, either in prospecting or in the endless plantations surrounding and sneaking up on us, just like a snake slithering up behind its prey.
I for one can’t complain. I grew up in the Prazo, sticking to jobs of a domestic nature, especially ones for Dona Luísa. I’ve never been to the plantation and I’ve even been allowed to study. I do worry, though, for my brothers. An uncertain destiny awaits them after this fleeting, false freedom.
I hold back a gasp when I hear his voice, that of the man whose skin is whiter than white. The sound of footsteps echoes around the room, his huge black boots matching his elegant hat. He’s flanked by four men, all of them in uniform.
Captain Bento and Doctor Fernando stand up and hold their hands out to the visitor.
“I owe you an apology, Captain, both for intruding on you at home and for doing so at such a late hour. But I had to come right away.” The governor looks all of us up and down, bowing his head ever so slightly. I see Mama Lina, my mother, avert her gaze instinctively.
“Of course, Governor. Please, make yourself at home,” the captain responds. “But to what do I owe the honour?”
Now I’m trembling. This man won’t stop looking at me, violence raging in his eyes.
“I’ve come to liberate my men, Captain. The thing is – ” he saunters in Mama Lina’s direction, all the while conversing with the captain, “ – there’s a sickness preying on my men, and it’s far from natural. It’s local witchcraft. And its root is in this very house. I’ve come to liberate my men from its evil.”
The hand of the grand clock on the wall, accompanied by resounding chiming, announces eight o’clock, although the sound is muffled by a sudden crash. The vase of lilies lies shattered on the floor. Everyone turns their attention to Mama Lina, the one who dropped it. Doctor Fernando gets up to help her. This is normal behaviour for him, although there are not many white men in Aruanda like this: men who like helping others, who would happily help a black person.
I get down to clean the floor too, under the governor’s watchful eyes, but then I stop short: I’m all over the place, my soul a rowing boat at high sea.
I hold my mother’s hand.
“With all due respect, Governor,” the captain intejects, garbling his words, “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
Lord Sean takes a small step back, exchanging a glance with his four men before continuing.
“I’m here to take Lina and her daughter, Carina. I believe these black women are witches. They have links with achicunda rebel warriors and want to resist our presence using black folk trickery. I must take them.”
The captain raises an eyebrow, just as a galloping panic seizes my heart. Our lives are about to be crushed under the boot-clad soles of Lord Sean, the governor of the new company.
“You must be mistaken,” the captain-general interjects. “My servants could never be guilty of such a crime. Lord Sean, the inquisition is long over. Surely you can’t believe in such superstitions!”
I squeeze my mother’s hand tightly, trying to give her hope, a glimmer of which can be heard in the captain’s words.
“I’m not bearing false witness, Captain! You know very well that operating outside of God’s Law is strictly prohibited. My men have been dying and these women have been seen in our camp in the dead of night, carrying strange plants and practising devil worship! My men’s suffering is their doing!”
My mother wrings her hands and shakes her head, whispering in our mother tongue, “It’s not true, my Lord, it’s not true!”
But her whispers only incite Lord Sean’s conviction.
“Witch! You two are harbouring the devil within this house! And whether you like it or not, Captain, I’m taking them with me!”
“Forgive me, but I cannot allow you to do such a thing. These are my best servants, and I can see no truth in these accusations. As such, I cannot permit this.”
Trying to mask the hint of satisfaction playing at the corners of his lips, Lord Sean turns to the captain and glances towards the lady of the house. “I already have authorisation from your wife, Dona Luísa. She’s signed the document, and the servants are now mine to take.” He retrieves a folded piece of paper from his pocket and throws it down on the table. “In lieu of all the taxes you owe me.”
The captain-general shoots a questioning look at his wife, who simply shrugs her shoulders.
“They board a boat to the French islands tomorrow,” Lord Sean continues. “I know these blacks are against the new system, as are you all. Isn’t that right, Captain? But there are limits to everything. I’m taking them and would hope that nobody tries to stop me. We’re working towards the same goal, are we not?”
He beckons his henchmen forwards and Doctor Fernando is forced to distance himself from me. I feel two forceful hands grab me, pulling me towards the front door. I try to inhale a gulp of air, but it catches in my throat because it’s dense and intoxicated by the injustice of it all. They grab my mother, too. So I pray. Dear God, help me. Mother Teresa and Grandfather Bimba, please help me, help my mother. Dear late father, watch over us!
“Governor! What’s going on here?”
My heart explodes in my chest. It’s Pedro Lucas. He’s coming down the steps, wearing a knitted singlet. He must have been woken by the sound of voices. He adjusts something behind his back. Even though he’s sick, he seems strong. His aquamarine eyes take in the scene before landing on me being detained by Lord Sean’s men.
“Sergeant Pedro Lucas,” Lord Sean extends a hand towards him, blocking his path. I notice a bead of sweat runnel down Pedro Lucas’ face, but his voice is self-assured as he questions the governor.
“To what do we owe the honour?”
“Oh, don’t worry, this has nothing to do with my Isabel, dear Pedro Lucas. I’ve come for these two,” he says, pointing at us as if to dispel any doubt.
Pedro Lucas stares at his parents silently, his brow furrowed, awaiting an explanation. In the absence of any response, he looks back towards Lord Sean.
“Come for them? Why?”
“At the request of the company governor, they have been sold and will leave for the French islands tomorrow, darling,” Dona Luísa responds.
Lord Sean’s henchmen stay close, and my arms are held tighter and tighter, shooting stabs of pain through the rest of my body. My eyes implore Dona Luísa, but she only shows me disinterest. The lady of the house has stricter-than-strict rules for managing her employees. In fact, she has rules for everything. She’s impossible to side-step.
“Sold?” Pedro Lucas repeats, “You’re making illegal business deals with men of questionable conduct, Mother?”
The governor stops close to him and tilts his head, a ferocious gaze in his eyes. It creates a silence long enough to make Pedro Lucas uncomfortable.
“Would you be referring to me, by any chance? Do you find my conduct questionable, Sergeant Pedro Lucas?”
Pedro Lucas’ face contorts slightly at the governor’s intimidating tone, but I know he’s only thinking about how to react. He can’t stand up to the man who, soon enough, will command all of Aruanda and its surrounding valley.
“Of course I’m not referring to you, Governor. I’m referring to these men who insist on trading black people when it’s now against the law. I hope you understand, Governor, Sir, that this is illegal. What’s more, we’re talking about Mama Lina and Carina. Father?” He now turns to Captain Bento, but it’s his mother who responds again.
“I understand, Son. But if they won’t convert, if they still practise witchcraft –” she pauses, looking me dead in the eye, “ – then they have to go. They are no longer welcome here.”
“Witchcraft?” Pedro Lucas’ almost guttural voice catches in his throat in confusion. “Mother, you can’t believe in these stupidities. You know Mama Lina, Mother! For the love of God, Carina’s just a girl!”
His mother’s cutting silence forces him to turn back to his father. “Aren’t you going to do anything to stop this madness?”
The captain looks at his son. He takes his time, contemplative, the veins in his face pulsating as if every silent plea were scratching at his skin. Remorsefully, he mumbles, sighing out the words,
“Take them, Governor.”
Translated from the Mozambican Portuguese by Beth Hickling-Moore
Virgília Ferrão is a novelist from Maputo, Mozambique. Her novels include O Romeu é Xingondo e a Julieta é Machangane [Romeo is Xingondo and Juliet is Machangane] (2005), O inspector de Xindzimila [The Inspector of Xindzimila] (2016) and S’ina de Aruanda [Aruanda] (2021). She was the first woman to win the Prémio Literário 10 de Novembro literary prize, in 2019.
Beth Hickling-Moore is a teacher and translator of Portuguese, Spanish, and Italian into English. Her work has been published in or is forthcoming from Modern Poetry in Translation, Circumference, Latin American Literature Today, and The Hooghly Review. Her first full-length novel in translation (from Italian) will be published in September 2024.
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