Dante's Heart
Ondjaki
At the Crossroads (Na encruzilhada)
(translated from the Portuguese
by Stephen Henighan)
At midnight nature sets up various stages in the world so that strange
displays have the opportunity to take place. Musty noises, the crossing of
different species, open-air transgressions, glistening rainfalls, molasses
murmuring, more such events – all mistaken.
Once upon a time two blood brothers were walking. They explored the
pitch blackness with their eyes.
The Other had an overlong beard, its curly hair tangled. For years he had
been prey to a clinging boredom which neither football games nor beers
succeeded in dislodging. An apparent twin of the dark side of the moon.
His eyes, nearly yellowish, in overt drowsiness. His feet, noticeably
inturned, made him a mundane being who others referred to, in a
lighthearted way, as “the Other.”
“Blood brother,” the Other began. “Do you hang out at crossroads, sir?”
“Me? Hang out at crossroads?” A sigh. “God forbid!”
“But why not? Are you afraid?”
“Me? Afraid? Don’t make me laugh, brother!”
“So...” The Other was thoughtful. “If you don’t hang out at crossroads,
you’re afraid of them.”
“Me? Afraid of them? Don’t be foolish, brother.”
They continued their walk. The trees along the way rattled with the squeaks
of nervous leaves, vexed by the wind. The (almost) pregnant moon, lacking a
black fingernail to give birth. The small night owl pious and clear-eyed in its
gaze.
“That means, brother, that you’re not afraid to stand at midnight at a
crossroads...?” the Other began again.
“Me? At midnight? I’m not afraid at all....I have no reason not to do it,
brother.”
“So let’s make a bet....”
Page 2
At the Crossroads (Na encruzilhada)
(translated from the Portuguese
by Stephen Henighan)
At midnight nature sets up various stages in the world so that strange
displays have the opportunity to take place. Musty noises, the crossing of
different species, open-air transgressions, glistening rainfalls, molasses
murmuring, more such events – all mistaken.
Once upon a time two blood brothers were walking. They explored the
pitch blackness with their eyes.
The Other had an overlong beard, its curly hair tangled. For years he had
been prey to a clinging boredom which neither football games nor beers
succeeded in dislodging. An apparent twin of the dark side of the moon.
His eyes, nearly yellowish, in overt drowsiness. His feet, noticeably
inturned, made him a mundane being who others referred to, in a
lighthearted way, as “the Other.”
“Blood brother,” the Other began. “Do you hang out at crossroads, sir?”
“Me? Hang out at crossroads?” A sigh. “God forbid!”
“But why not? Are you afraid?”
“Me? Afraid? Don’t make me laugh, brother!”
“So...” The Other was thoughtful. “If you don’t hang out at crossroads,
you’re afraid of them.”
“Me? Afraid of them? Don’t be foolish, brother.”
They continued their walk. The trees along the way rattled with the squeaks
of nervous leaves, vexed by the wind. The (almost) pregnant moon, lacking a
black fingernail to give birth. The small night owl pious and clear-eyed in its
gaze.
“That means, brother, that you’re not afraid to stand at midnight at a
crossroads...?” the Other began again.
“Me? At midnight? I’m not afraid at all....I have no reason not to do it,
brother.”
“So let’s make a bet....”
Page 2
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