The returned who could not open the box

From the baptismal register, Sé de Luanda — 1938

In the year and parish above was solemnly baptized Alda, legitimate daughter of Manuel Quaresma, clerk of commerce, native of Gouveia, bishopric of Guarda, and of his wife, of the families of this city. Godparents as noted; the entry follows the formulae of the book.

The register gives the address: Rua de Salvador Correia, above the fabric house — the street whose mornings she would come to know by heart.

Thirty-seven years later, a form on another continent would file the woman on this line under returned. The book of the Sé is older and plainer: born here, daughter of this street.

— from the book of the Sé

Family registration — support services for the returned, Lisbon

Family of four. Head of household: shopkeeper, fabrics, thirty years' standing. Returned from: Angola. Goods in provenance: one crate, in transit, contents household. Lodging assigned: room 314. Meals by chit, schedule posted at the desk.

Children enrolled at the school of the parish; in the field for address, the clerk has written only Hotel —, and a number where a house should be. Occupation of the mother: to be determined. Previous occupation: see head of household, partner.

The state documented the return of a woman to a country she had never seen with three forms in triplicate. Loss survives best as bureaucracy: of everything that could not be carried, the paperwork of arriving with nothing is the event most completely preserved.

Received and filed, the duty clerk

Father,

They lodge us in a hotel with a number for a name, and feed us with paper chits, and at the school they call the children returnees. Returned to where, father? I was born on our street. I know its mornings by heart and I have never once seen this country before.

Custódio walks the city for work and reads the newspaper twice. The crate has not come. I dream it arrives and I dream it doesn't, and I could not tell you which dream is worse.

Take the four-o'clock coffee for me. Argue politics with someone. Lose on purpose.

Alda

My daughter Alda,

I have yours of January and am glad of the children's schooling. Here the rains came heavy and the roof of the shop held, which is more than the street deserved. Coffee is dearer this month, but I take it at four as ordered, and I have found a man to argue with. He is bad at politics. I lose on purpose all the same.

Do not send money; there is nothing here to buy with it that I need. If the crate has not come, be patient with the sea. A house travels slower than people, and it is right that it should.

Kiss the children. Tell Custódio the counter he built for me in fifty-nine is still level; you may tell him I checked it with the spirit level, so it is not sentiment. God keep you all in that cold country.

Your father, Evaristo

Waybill — general cargo, Alcântara depot

One wooden crate, stenciled Bandeira — Lisboa. Origin: Luanda. Contents declared: household effects. Weight as per manifest. Arrival stamped May 1977; damage annotated at inspection: corner staved — canto arrombado — contents not surveyed.

Received in apparent good order save as noted; signed for by the consignee; released to a hired van. Storage instructions, if any: none given to this office. The office does not record destinations after the gate.

Eighteen months at sea and in sheds, for a house packed in October 1975. The paper records the crossing complete. What it cannot record: the crate was carried to a garage, and the door was shut, and every year of its waiting looks, on paper, exactly like the first.

For the depot master

Contents of one crate, Luanda, October 1975

The dinner service for twelve. The christening gowns, both. The wall clock from the shop, stopped. The first ledger, 1952. Mother's sewing box. The albums, four. The good linen. The children's school folders that would not fit the cases.

Whoever opens this: nothing here is worth money. It is a house. Handle it the way you would handle a house.

And if it is you who opens it, Custódio — I was never going to open it. Forgive me. While it was shut, we still lived there.

A.