In the morning of 23 September, Maria João, a 53-year-old employee of the Joanina Library in Coimbra, woke up at 6, an hour earlier than usual. Like every day, she ate a simple breakfast, a slice of toast spread with quince home-made marmalade, coffee with double milk and one pastel de Tentugal pastry bought the previous day from the Briosa patisserie. She wanted another piece of toast, but then remembered that yesterday her skirt had felt even tighter on her. She glanced at the jar of marmalade with longing and regret, took a solitary, teeny teaspoon and ate it quickly, before the remorse could reach her. After washing the plate and coffee mug thoroughly, she put on her favourite sweater, the colour of old gold (though she had once heard the deputy director’s wife very maliciously call it mustard colour) and slipped into some comfortable shoes (her legs were really refusing to obey and her ankles seemed to be swelled more and more). With a last quick look in the mirror to correct her short grey hair (she had stopped colouring it two years earlier when she realised that it wouldn’t really change anything, and that her chances of seducing the vice-principal were zero), she grabbed her purse and at 6:30 left the house. She wanted to be there two hours before the library opened.
Maria João lived half an hour from the library by foot and even though she moved to Coimbra straight after her studies almost thirty years ago, she found great joy in her morning walk to work. While ascending the narrow stairs on the right side of the Sao Tiago church, leading to Praça do Comércio, she would almost always stop for a moment to look out over the river. That day, however, she did not have time to even snatch a glance and admire the beauty of the view in front of her. She quickly strode through streets that were deserted at this hour. As a shortcut, she walked through the courtyard of the Faculty of Medicine where she was unsurprised to find that the doorman was late again. She had a particular antipathy towards the man and thought about mentioning his tardiness at the monthly staff meeting. He was probably intoxicated just like last time, she thought. Everyone knew that during the last Queima das Fitas – the annual student celebration at the end of the academic year – he was up drinking with the students all night and what was even worse, he danced with them at the Torre dos Clerigos. It was pathetic, simply pathetic. And in any case she felt like he didn’t treat her with respect. She had a quick look at her watch. Well, he should have been at work at least ten minutes before. And what if someone had wanted to come in earlier? You never know. Sheer lack of respect, she thought again.
She left the courtyard and made her way to the main library gate.
Maria had worked in the library for 30 years. She started out modestly, cleaning up bat guano for the first three years. The Baroque library of Joanina, founded in 1777 at the historical centre of the University of Coimbra right next to the university tower, was known for its unusual guardians of the collection. Every evening the windows were opened and a flock of bats flew into the building to eat moths and other insects. In the morning, the windows were opened again to let the bats out to spend the day in the nearby park. This ritual took place every day, at dawn and dusk. In the evening, the oak tables and floors had to be protected with leather covers and the next morning, before the library threw open its doors and welcomed visitors, the ritual was repeated in reverse. The leather covers were removed from the oak tables and the floors were carefully cleaned of any sign of bat guano. Maria Joao hated that job, hated the bats and felt deeply humiliated that she had to clean up after them – she, a history graduate of Nova University in Lisbon. When she eventually took over as the caretaker of the early map collection – the first maps showing the island of Tanegashima in Japan no less– she told anyone who would listen that her leg would no longer stand it in the library, at least until late in the morning when all sign of the bats had been cleared away.
She considered her position as caretaker of the early map collection as a sure sign of her certain success. She had achieved it, as she stressed, looking significantly at Mrs. Augustina Andrade, the deputy director’s wife, with whom she shared the office through sheer hard work and without any private connections. Mrs. Augustina Andrade, an attractive thirty-five-year-old with dark hair, a narrow waist and a slightly rough voice, would merely shrug her shoulders and, looking at Maria João with an indifferent eye as if she was looking at the wall, reach for another praline from which, as Maria João bitterly complained, she never gained any weight. It certainly did not help to like the deputy director’s wife.
For many years, Maria João had hoped that the deputy director, energetic and handsome, and always flawlessly dressed (by the way, where does he get the money for such shoes and suits?), would appreciate her work and entrust her with the position of caretaker of the first printings department. She imagined him expressing his appreciation of her home-made quince marmalade, her devotion and kindness and entrusting her with the role of personal lover and, who knows, maybe in the future, wife. It turned out, however, that clumsy and forgetful Enrique Nogueras became the caretaker of the first printings, including the first print of the Lusiads, and Augustina Andrade became the lover, and soon afterwards the second wife. As is the way of things, not only could she not cook, but she also had no devotion or goodness in her. At first, Maria João could not for the life of her understand why, when he could have had her devotion, her perfect quince jams, her warmth and fidelity, the deputy director chose Augustina Andrade. What does she have that I don’t have? She had once asked her mother in a moment of weakness. Her mother had answered dryly, hiding her compassion so that it would not be taken as pity – she has twenty years less. And that ended the whole discussion.
I’m going to fulfil myself through work, Mario-Joao decided. I will take care of the maps, she thought bitterly. Men come and men leave, but maps are eternal. Though, honestly speaking, there were not that many men who would have an opportunity to leave Maria João as not many showed up in her life in the first place.
However, Maria João didn’t think of herself as just the caretaker of the early map collection. Yes, it was her job, necessary to survive, necessary to find recognition in the eyes of her mother and, as she had hoped until recently, a way to find a husband. She fully appreciated that not everyone can work in a beautiful Baroque library, in a splendid setting, with a beautiful red carpet on the floor, and all these amazing and breath-taking stucco works, paintings and intricately carved stairs leading to more treasures above. Sometimes she would leave her office during the day and see groups of tourists standing in awe, not knowing how to behave. The library undoubtedly intimidated those who entered it for the first time. She saw them looking at her through the corner of her eye, saw them realise that she is not just anyone. She is an employee of the Joanina. She also knew that she was lucky to be able to take care of such a unique collection of early Japanese maps, first prints no less, the unique description of Japan written by Manuel da Costa and dating back to 1571, and all the weight of history that is behind them. However, all this did not give her a real sense of pride, and she did not derive real joy from it. It was not really the job that brought her the greatest satisfaction. The true Maria João was an angel of mercy. She was good at listening, able to offer advice and find consolation. She was always willing to lend a patient ear to the problems of others. Oh yes, she could listen and offer comfort. In a small town like Coimbra, it is difficult to keep a secret and a comforter like Maria was a godsend. She always seemed to be there when misfortune happened; she could sense human problems and, strangely enough, she had a canny knack of being in the right place at the right time, able to bring comfort. She knew who had lost a close family member, gambled away money in cards, had been diagnosed with cancer or at least come down with haemorrhoids. Maria always found a moment and desire to comfort others even at the expense of her own time. She would come in, nice, modest and shy, asking in her small voice:
“I’m here for you, so don’t hesitate to say if there is anything I can do for you or if I can help you.”
And then she sat quietly, listening to the driver’s wife complaining about her husband’s infidelity, comforting the museum guide crying because the beautiful Hamid, whom she had met on a trip to Morocco and whom she had sent money for a ticket to Portugal, had not obtained a visa and could not come, and what is more, he spent all the money on his sick mother, and sympathising with the owner of a souvenir shop who suspected that someone is stealing her money from the cash register.
Maria Joãonever used this knowledge against anyone. In the evenings, she called her mother, who lived 100 kilometres away in Viseu, sharing with her the tales of human miseries.
“So much sadness in this world”– they kept repeating to themselves and sighing into the handset with compassion and, it must also be admitted, a thrill. Emotions that cannot be replaced by reading romances or watching television.
When Maria João was promoted and moved to the office on the second floor of the library, her duties as the bat guano cleaning lady were taken over by subsequent female students from various strange countries, coming over on the Erasmus programme and wanting to earn some extra money to their modest stipend, or young history graduates, apprentices and trainees hoping for promotion.
The duties of cleaning up after the bats were currently being performed by the young and extremely attractive Aurora Cordeiro, a young married woman and mother of charming two-year-old Amelia. Just the previous evening, Maria João had found out that the husband of the young and attractive Aurora Cordeiro had left her without a word, leaving her with Amelia, an unpaid loan on the apartment and his old, bitter mother. Apparently, he ran away with a German tourist whom he met while working as a waiter at the restaurant Zé Manuel dos Ossos, which attracted tourists. German! At least that’s what Aurora’s neighbour said.
“He just upped and left her with everything,” she said in horror, all flushed on her cheeks.
Maria Joao hurried to the library to comfort Ms. Aurora before anybody else would do it. For such an occasion, she was even ready to tolerate the bats.
She pushed open the heavy oak doors and slipped into the library. The alarm was already off, she noted, which meant that Aurora Cordeiro was already there; the bats too, as Maria João noted with disgust. Aurora heard the sound of the door opening, she turned around, looked at Maria João, then slowly, without saying a word, she turned back to the window and wielded a long hook to open the first one on her right.
“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry, I’m so terribly sorry,” Maria João uttered.
“Oh yeah?”Aurora Cordeiro asked sharply and – it seemed – quite coldly.
“I heard about your husband”, said Maria João with compassion. “Tell me if there is anything I can do for you”.
Aurora looked at her, walked to the other window and in the same cool voice said:
“Yes, please, give me that hook. This one does not work properly.”
“That’s not what I meant. How do you feel, my dear?”
Maria João asked passing over the hook.
“And how come you made it here so early today?” Aurora asked, with a tone of voice that Maria João was not very particular to. It still had icy undertones and seemed almost…ironic? Perhaps even laced with sarcasm?
“I’m early today. I have some things to do. I have to do some paperwork on the first floor,” Maria João answered a little bit insecurely. “But maybe you would like to talk? If there’s anything I can do, just let me know, I’d love to help.”
Aurora turned violently towards Maria. She spoke in a hard and clear voice.
“You come here uninvited and meddle in other people’s affairs. You’re like those bats that smell moths and other vermin.” She thought for a moment, looked at Maria João with disgust and added slowly:
“No, not like them, that’s unfair to the bats, at least they’re doing some good. You’re like a fly that is attracted to the biggest dirt. You smell every piece of dirt, every misfortune with your little nose.”
“I wanted to help, I wanted to comfort you,” squeaked Maria João, clenching her hands tightly round the hook she was still holding.
“No, you didn’t. You didn’t want that at all. You wanted to be attacked by misfortune, to feed off it, to soak it in. You’re clinging to human stories. Everybody knows that,” she added vindictively. “You steal other people’s emotions so that you can feel something happening in your own life.”
Maria Joao stood without saying a word, her knuckles drained white around the hook, and moving her mouth silently. Aurora, peering down from her lofty 173 cm at the small, corpulent figure in a tight, mustard sweater and old shoes, added:
“Find yourself another victim. Of course, if anyone else is willing to let you in on their secrets. Just leave me alone”.
Maria stood motionless for a while, gripping the hook. She clenched her teeth, thoughts running through her mind at speed. Everybody knows that? Who is everybody, and what do they know? She feeds off someone else’s emotions? She? The comforter and the angel of mercy! She stood there for a while, her head spinning. She glanced with disgust at the bats overhead, which began to fly out the window in a stream of squeaks. There was a rapid blur in the library and suddenly, it was unknown how and from where, Aurora Cordeiro was lying on the floor with a hook stuck in her head, and a rapidly spreading blood stain next to her head.
Maria João stood and thought frantically. Fortunately, the doorman was not on time. Maybe she won’t even mention it at the meeting. After all, who cares and who even notices that he is sometimes late.
Burglary. Yeah, it’ll look like a burglary. She approached the map showcase, swung her purse with all her might, broke the glass, then carefully removed the map of Tanegashima. Once it was safely hidden in her purse and the hook had been wiped thoroughly, she looked around the library. She strode with purpose through the entire library, walked up to the showcase with the most valuable first printings, swung her purse again to shatter the glass and vindictively pulled out the first copy of the Lusiads, which Enrique Nogueras was so hot under the collar about. She slipped it into her purse and headed for her office.
She had so much to do. All that paperwork to be done, and, not to be forgotten, Mrs. da Silva’s fifteen-year-old daughter was pregnant. And with whom? With a tourist! At least that’s what they were saying. A tourist who’s now gone no-one knows where. Maria must surely go to her and offer her help and sympathetic ear. And Enrique Nogueras! Poor Enrique Nogueras. How unhappy he’ll be when he sees that his beloved Lusiads’s been stolen! He’ll have to be comforted too. Refreshed and invigorated, she leaned over her desk.
