Naptime
Apparently pardoned, Larry stayed and ate with them. After lunch, Miss Jasmine, Whale, and Kenneth went to the back of the house to nap.
McArdle asked Larry, “What is this phenomenal story you got for me?”
Larry said, “You saw the book titles on the bookshelf, right?”
“That’s right.”
“And one of those books is called Vidas secas, if that’s how you pronounce it.”
“Close enough.”
“Do you know anything about that book?”
“Well, I think we read it in college, but I couldn’t remember any details. I found an e-copy of the English translation and I’ve been skimming it on my phone. It sounds like a Brazilian version of The Grapes of Wrath. Except Vidas secas was published in 1938, a year before The Grapes of Wrath. It was published a year after the lynching. Oh, and one of the characters in the book is a dog named Whale.”
“So far so good. Anything else?”
“Well, if she was a blank after 1937, and Vidas secas was published in 1938, where’d she get the book? It’s not like Tallahassee is overflowing with Portuguese language bookstores.”
“Very good! I can tell you where she got the book, but the part after that is even better.”
“What’s that?”
“See the drawer under the bookshelf? Open it.”
“I don’t want to make her mad. She didn’t say I could look through her stuff.”
“Don’t worry; tell her Jackass told you to look. Just go open it.”
McArdle walked to the drawer and opened it. There were several bound notebooks.
“Go ahead, pick one up and look at it—the paper is not rotting.”
McArdle picked up the first notebook. He went to the first page, and it said in English, Barren Lives, translated by Jasmine Barnes. “What the f—” McArdle started to say. Larry stopped him.
“Don’t say the F word in Miss Jasmine’s house. Even if she is not home, or in the back asleep. She does not want to profane her house with vile words. Unless she says them.”
McArdle continued to flip through the notebook. It was all handwritten. Then he started to compare the pages to the digital book on his phone. The chapters were the same, the narrative almost word for word as the digital book. The digital book had a chapter on the dog Whale, and then McArdle found that chapter in the notebook.
“She translated this book by hand? But the digital book is translated by Ralph somebody.” McArdle looked at the copyright page on his phone.
“Ralph Dimmick, in 1965. Are you sure she translated this?”
“Well, she told me she did. How would you make up something like that? She told me she and her husband worked on it together. She would read the Portuguese, think about how to say it in English, and dictate to him. He would make some suggestions about the English, write it down by hand; they made several drafts. The one you’re holding is the final one. He planned to have it typeset and then look for a publisher. But he died. And she never pursued it.”
“And he died in 1951? She did this translation fourteen years before the one on my phone? That’s mind-blowing!”
“Ha ha! So you are taking me and Kenneth to JHOP.”
“You’re damn straight I’m taking you to JHOP. I cannot believe this!”
McArdle flipped through some more pages and compared. The only places that seemed different were the ones with lots of names of plants. The chapter on Whale was almost word-for-word identical.
“Where did she get the Portuguese copy?”
“I think I have it figured out, but if you really want to know, you’ll have to ask Miss Jasmine.”
As Larry said this, the hallway door opened. Miss Jasmine emerged, and she saw McArdle holding the notebook.
“Rummaging through my personal things, I see. You think you can trust somebody, and then they start to take advantage of you. Taking advantage of a hundred-year-old lady. You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. McArdle!”
McArdle was gullible enough to think she was serious and stammered, “But Jackass—I mean Larry—he told me the notebooks were there and to have a look.”
“Well then, it’s not just you, it’s an entire conspiracy. I’ll have to kill both of you. And what are they going to do to me—a hundred-year-old lady—throw me in jail? Execute me? About time!”
Larry just started laughing and took a minute to get his composure.
“Miss Jasmine, stop it, you’re going to get the man to pee in his pants. You don’t want him peeing on your translation!”
Now McArdle was embarrassed that he was so gullible.
“Well, Larry,” said McArdle, “Miss Jasmine does give me an idea. If I need to kill anybody, I’ll hire a hundred-year-old hitwoman. What are they gonna do to her?”
Larry, McArdle, and Miss Jasmine were all splitting their sides laughing when Kenneth walked into the room.
“What is so d— What is so funny? The man comes to ask about a lynching, and now y’all are all just whooping it up like a bunch of hyenas.”
“Okay, okay, Kenneth, you’ve got a point,” said Miss Jasmine. “Sit on down, and I’ll tell you the next part.”
“Can I ask you a question first?” said McArdle.
“What’s that?”
“Where did you get the book Vidas secas.”
“All in due time, Sam, all in due time. It’s part of what I’m about to tell you.