The Stone Raft (Harvest Book) by José Saramago

and clung to their skin, got caught in their hair, it was not the first time this phenomenon had occurred, but suddenly all the murmurings of the night fell silent, above the trees the first light of the moon appeared, now the stars must go out. Then Joaquim Sassa said, On a night like this, I might even sleep under the fig tree, if you can lend me a blanket, I'll keep you company. They gathered and then spread enough straw for their beds, as one does for cattle, each one spread out his blanket, lying down on one half and covering himself with the other. The starlings watched their shadowy forms from the branches, Who can that be, beneath the tree, among the branches everything is wide awake, and with a moon like this, getting to sleep is going to be very difficult. The moon is rising swiftly, the squat, rotund crown of the fig tree transforms itself into a black and white labyrinth, and José Anaiço remarks, These shadows are not what they were, The peninsula has moved so little, a few meters, it can't have had much effect, Joaquim Sassa observed, pleased at having understood the remark, It has moved, and that was enough for all the shadows to change, there are branches there that the moonlight is touching for the first time at this hour. Some minutes passed, the starlings began to settle down, and José Anaiço murmured, in a voice that sleep finally interrupted, each word waiting or searching for the next one, Once upon a time, our King, Dom Joào II, known as the Perfect King and in my opinion the perfect wit, made a certain nobleman a gift of an imaginary island, now tell me, do you know of any other nation where such a thing could happen, and the nobleman, what did the nobleman do, he set out to look for it, now, what I'd like to know is how you can find an imaginary island, That's something I can't tell you, but this other island, the Iberian one, which was once a peninsula but is no longer, I find just as amusing, as if it had set out to sea in search of imaginary men. Nicely phrased, couldn't be more poetic. Well, let me assure you that I've never written a line of verse in my life, Don't worry, if all men were to become poets, none would write verses. That phrase also has a certain charm, We've had too much to drink, I agree. Silence, calm, infinite harmony, and Joaquim Sassa murmured, as if he were dreaming, What will the starlings do tomorrow, will they stay or will they accompany us, When we leave we'll find out, it's always the same, José Anaiço said, the moon is lost among the branches of the fig tree and will spend all night searching for a way out.
    It was still dark when Joaquim Sassa rose from his bed of straw to go and look for Deux Chevaux, which had been parked under the plane trees in the square, right beside the fountain. To avoid being seen together by some early riser, of whom there are many in farming communities, they had agreed to meet on the outskirts of the village, at some distance from the last houses. José Anaiço would turn off the
main road, take side roads and short cuts, keeping well out of sight, Joaquim Sassa, however, would discreetly take the main road used by everyone, he was one of those travelers who go neither in debt nor in fear, he set out early to enjoy the fresh morning air and to make the most of the day, tourists who are out and about early are like this, at heart troubled and restless, unable to accept life's inescapable brevity, late to bed and early to rise does not make one healthy, but it does prolong life. Deux Chevaux has a quiet engine, the ignition is as smooth as silk, only the few inhabitants who could not sleep heard anything, and these thought they had finally fallen asleep and were dreaming, in the stillness of dawn even the steady noise of a water pump can scarcely be heard. Joaquim Sassa left the village, passed the first bend, then the second, then brought Deux Chevaux to a halt and waited.
    In the silvery depths of the olive grove the trunks started to