Macunaíma by Mario de Andrade

Author:Mario de Andrade
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780811227032
Publisher: New Directions
Published: 2016-01-01T00:00:01+00:00

Chapter 15. Oibê’s Innards

And so the three brothers returned to their native birthplace.

They were pleased as punch but the hero was happiest of all since he possessed those feelings that only a hero can: an immense satisfaction. They set off. While crossing Jaraguá Peak, Macunaíma turned round contemplating the mighty city of São Paulo. He ruminated mournfully a long while and in the end shook his head murmuring:

“Ants aplenty and nobody’s healthy, so go the ills of Brazil . . .”

He dried his tears, steadied his quivering bottom lip. Then he cast a caborje spell: waving his arms in the air he turned that gigantic taba into a sloth made entirely of stone. They set off.

After much deliberation, Macunaíma had spent every last penny on what thrilled him most from the Paulista civilization. He took with him a Smith & Wesson revolver a Patek Philippe watch and a pair of leghorn chickens. Macunaíma had made the revolver and watch into earrings and carried a cage with the hen and rooster. Not one red cent was left from all his lottery winnings but there swingalinging from his pierced bottom lip was the muiraquitã.

And on account of it the going was easy. There they went rolling down the Rio Araguaia and when Jiguê paddled Maanape would steer with his little oar. They were feeling real lucky-duck again. Meanwhile Macunaíma sat ready for action in the bow, taking note of all the bridges that needed to be built or repaired in order to better the lives of the people of Goiás. After night-fall, catching sight of the flickering lights of drowned folk dancing a mellow samba across the flooded marshlands, Macunaíma sat gazing gazing and fell sound asleep. He sprang wide awake the next day and standing tall in the bow of the igarité with his left arm looped through the birdcage handle, he strummed his little guitar singing his cares to the world belting out his longing for his native land, like this:

Antianti the tapejara guides us,

—Pirá-fish hey hey,

Ariramba the cook feeds us,

—Pirá-fish hey hey,

Taperá, where’s our long-lost tapera

Home on the banks of the Uraricoera?

—Pirá-fish hey hey . . .

And his gaze went skimming skimming along the surface of the river seeking his childhood homeland. Down the river they went and every whiff of fish every cluster of craguatá every single everything sent a jolt of excitement through him and the hero sang his cares to the world like a madman improvising dueling ballads and nonsense medleys:

Taperá tapejara,

—Caboré,

Arapaçu paçoca,

—Caboré,

C’mon brothers, let’s light out for

The banks of the Uraricoera!

—Caboré!

The Araguaia’s waters went murmuring along coaxing the igarité on course with its soft crooning and from a long ways off came the lyrical siren song of the uiaras. Vei, the Sun, lashed at the sweat-slicked backs of Maanape and Jiguê as they paddled and at the hero’s hairy body as he stood there. The sweltering heat fanned the flames of delirium in the trio. Macunaíma remembered that he was Emperor of the Virgin-Forest.

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