THE DRAGONS
Murilo Rubiao

[07 feb 2002—scanned, proofed and released for #bookz]

Murilo Rubiao is a Brazilian writer whose approach to fantasy is through the school of magic realism. This story from his collection The Ex-magician and Other Stories, which contains several fantastic tales, is about our inability to appreciate the truly wonderful in the world when we find it, our inability to truly see. Dragons, in the past, were often not distinguished from devils, especially by medieval Christians. Thus, in this story, the vicar has problems with them. At times the dragons seem to be noble savages fallen upon hard times: at others, simply alien beings with their own agenda. But whatever they are. we can try to civilize them only at the risk of losing their essence.

I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls.
Job, XXX:29

The first dragons to appear in our city suffered a great deal due to the backwardness of our customs. They received precarious training at best, and their moral instruction was compromised dreadfully by absurd discussions which their arrival had somehow prompted.
Very few of us were able to understand them, and the general confusion was such that, until we saw to their education, we were hopelessly lost in contradictory speculation as to their race and country of origin.
The initial dispute was the fault of the vicar. Convinced that—in spite of their docile, almost pleasant exterior—they were still messengers of the Devil, he refused to allow me to begin to instruct them. Instead, he gave orders to have them confined to an old house, which was to be first exorcised and to which no one was permitted access. By the time he repented of his mistake, the controversy had already widened, with one elderly grammarian denying them the quality of dragons: "an Asiatic thing, of European importation." Another reader of newspapers, a highschool dropout with vaguely scientific ideas, spoke of "antediluvian monsters." Still others, making the sign of the cross, suggested headless mules and werewolves.
Only the children, who secretly played with our guests, understood that their new companions were simple dragons. To them, however, no one bothered to listen.
Exhaustion and time overcame the obstinacy of many. Even those who still maintained their convictions at least avoided the subject.
Nevertheless, the polemic resurfaced after a brief respite. The pretext was a suggestion for utilizing dragons as a means of transportation. Everyone agreed that the idea was excellent, but quarreling broke out as to the specific distribution of the animals, whose number was far less than those who hoped to make use of them.
To put an end to the discussion, which threatened to drag on indefinitely and to no practical purpose, the vicar subscribed to the following proposal: the dragons should be baptized, given proper names, and taught to read and write.
Until that moment I had acted with discretion, so as to avoid contributing to the general aggravation of tempers. And if, for an instant, I seemed to lack my usual composure, or proper respect for the good father, I must blame the prevailing foolishness. I was utterly irritated and gave vent to my disapproval:
"They are dragons! They have no need of baptism or any proper names!"
Shocked at my attitude, which normally conformed to that of the community at large, His Reverence gave ample display of his humility by withdrawing the idea of baptism. I returned the gesture, by acceding to his demand for proper names.
I comprehended the extent of my responsibility when, rescued from the neglect they had fallen into, they were finally brought to me for instruction. The majority had contracted various unknown maladies, as a result of which they slowly died. Only two had still survived, unfortunately the most corrupt of the lot. Endowed with even greater cunning than their brothers, they would sneak away from the old mansion at night, to go drinking at a local tavern. Since the bartender enjoyed watching them get tipsy, he didn't charge for the liquor he served. Eventually the identical scene, month after month, ceased to amuse him, and he refused to give them any more drinks. In order to sustain their vice, they decided to resort to petty thefts.
In the meantime, I still clung to the possibility of reeducating them and thereby vindicating the success of my undertaking in the eyes of the incredulous. I took advantage of my friendship with the police commissioner in order to have them released from jail, where they were constantly remanded on the same charges: petty larceny, drunken disorder.
Since I had never taught dragons before, I spent a great deal of time inquiring about their past, their families and pedagogical methods in their own homeland. The successive interrogations to which they were subjected provided me with little information. Particularly since, having come to our city while fairly young, they remembered everything rather confusedly, including the death of their mother, who had fallen off a precipice just after the ascent of the first mountain. And to further complicate my task, the already weak memory of my pupils was beclouded with constant ill-humor, occasioned by poor sleep and continual hangovers.
The ingrained habits of teaching, coupled with a lack of my own offspring, contributed to my eventually bestowing a certain paternal regard upon them. Moreover, a gentle candor that sometimes radiated from their eyes induced me to pardon faults in them which I should never have forgiven in my other students.
Odorico, the oldest of the dragons, caused me the greatest problems. At once disastrously mischievous and completely engaging, he was transported at the mere sight of a skirt. Because of that habit and, even more, out of some inborn tendency toward degeneracy, he was constantly truant from classes. Women somehow found him attractive, and there was one who became so impassioned, she left her husband to go live with him.
I did everything to terminate the sinful alliance, but never managed to separate them. They refused my appeals with a voiceless, impenetrable defiance. My words never reached them: Odorico would smile at Raquel, and, reassured, she would once again bend over the laundry she was washing.
Sometime later they found her crying next to her lover's body. His death was attributed to an accidental shot, probably by some hunter with a poor aim. Her husband, however, told another story.
With the death of Odorico, my wife and I transferred our affections to the last of the dragons. We took upon ourselves his complete rehabilitation and finally managed, after considerable effort, to wean him from alcoholism. Perhaps having a son of our own would not have approached what we accomplished with such loving persistence. Gentle in his behavior, Joao applied himself to his studies, helped Joana with the housework, carried groceries home from the market. After dinner, we would sit on the porch and watch him play happily with the neighborhood children, giving them rides, and practicing somersaults.
Upon my return home one evening from the monthly meeting with parents, I found my wife quite disturbed: Joao had just vomited fire. I felt apprehensive also, realizing he had reached his majority.
The event itself, far from making him fearful, increased his popularity with the local girls and boys. He spent most of his time surrounded by lively crowds begging him to spit fire. The adulation of some, coupled with invitations and presents from others, slowly kindled his vanity. No party was successful without his attendance. Even the vicar considered his presence indispensable for animating the booths at the fair on our patron saint's day.
Three months before the great flood devastated the whole county, a traveling circus livened up our city, thrilling us with daring acrobats, merry clowns, trained lions, and a man who could swallow live coals. Toward the end of the juggler's act, several youths interrupted the show with rhythmic shouts and hand-clapping:
"We've got something better! We've got something better!"
Judging it to be some boyish prank, the ringmaster immediately accepted the challenge:
"Let's see something better, then!"
To the dismay of the circus personnel and the applause of the spectators, Joao made his way to the ring and performed his customary feat of vomiting fire.
By the following afternoon he had received several invitations to join the circus, but refused: it would have been difficult to surpass the prestige he already enjoyed in our own community. He even cherished the ambition of one day becoming mayor.
This, however, was not to happen. Instead, Joao's disappearance was confirmed, just days after the departure of the circus troop.
Fanciful accounts were given of his flight: that he fell passionately in love with one of the trapezists, who had been hired to seduce him; that he took up gambling and lapsed back into heavy drinking.
Whatever the reason, so many dragons have traveled along our highways since then ... Yet, no matter how vigorously I and my students—posted at the city gates—press them to stay with us, they refuse to answer. Huddled together in long lines, on their way to distant places, they seem indifferent to our cries.