Simone de Oliveira. 'I'm not buyable in any way. Maybe only for a pack of cigarettes'

Life is a box of surprises. Not always good ones. Simone de Oliveira, 87, welcomes us to the Casa do Artista, where she now resides, and speaks without regret of the worst and the best that have befallen her: her successes as a singer, her life in theater, and journalism, a stage she has also trod, without becoming emotional. Only passions make her words vibrate. To discover her is to traverse the words of poet and friend Ary dos Santos: "Where is that very large woman, with a very large voice, who is all very large?" She's still here. With the same strength.

Domestic violence is the crime that kills the most women in Portugal. Some problems persist over time: the celebration of the Portuguese 'good man'—spread on social media by a niche group of young men who consider girls their property and, therefore, in the love economy, must submit to anything, even beatings—or the old adage that, 'between husband and wife, no one should interfere.' Simone experienced this at a very young age, at 19, and left her husband at a time when women were expected, for the sake of country, family, and church, not to disrupt family harmony. Based on your experience, what advice do you have for women going through the same thing?

Go away, ask for help, call the police, report them because these men should go to prison.

She ran away from her husband three months after getting married. How do you ruin a relationship in such a short time?

I don't think he ever loved me; he married me because he was a man of his word (laughs). At the time, I was dating a cousin of mine, and he bet a classmate I went to school with that he could break up with me. And so it was. At a party at her house—don't ask me how or why—we started dating. On the wedding day, I was walking up to the altar thinking, "I'll get up there and say I'm not getting married." But I ended up saying yes. It was already hard to go back. But I didn't even want his last name.

So, it wasn't passion?

No, it was a fit of stupidity. Women back then didn't think about a career: they got married, had kids, stayed home, and that was it. I dropped out of high school at 15, started dating, got an engagement ring, everything serious, and got married. Nonsense.

He revealed himself quickly. Was it jealousy?

No. He beat me for absolutely idiotic reasons. He was a stingy stingy man. He had to save on everything: the electricity bill, the water bill, etc. For example: I liked listening to music, but I would turn off the radio when he was about to arrive. It was pointless because the first thing he did when he came home was run his hand over the radio. If it was hot, he would greet me with slaps. I also couldn't wash the dishes with hot water... Petty things.

Have you ever thought that if you stayed, you might die?

It was easier for me to kill him than the other way around.

Isn't this statement the result of your a posteriori analysis?

No, no. Because one time, the man was coming towards me to hit me and I was at the stove with a frying pan of boiling oil, I turned towards him with that deadly weapon (laughs) and he stopped in his tracks, because he realized that I was actually throwing it at him.

When did you decide to leave?

The day he checked the grocery bill and realized he was missing a penny. He slapped me so hard I fell to the ground. I told him I was leaving, and he closed the door. I went to the balcony and yelled, "Either you open the door or I'm jumping off the balcony!"

Did you really jump?

I jumped. Our apartment was on the first floor, but it was still high up. He realized I was carrying out my threat and opened the door. I'll never forget that, that day, I was wearing a green skirt with a ruffle that my mother had made and a white blouse. I hid 25 tostões in one hand; it was all the money I had. I knew that with that money I could buy a ticket from Amadora, where we lived, to Rossio. My parents lived in Alvalade, but the money wasn't enough for anything else. I bought the ticket and then I don't remember anything else. It's a black hole. I only remember arriving at my parents' house in Alvalade. I must have walked from Rossio to there. I told my mother everything, and she had a heart attack. She was suffering from mitral valve obstruction.

With your sense of humor, I dare say that your life seems more like a cordel novel, like 'Maria! Don't kill me because I am your mother', by Camilo Castelo Branco.

And you haven't seen anything yet, just think about that. (laughs) Now, look at the caliber of this man! My mother was on the floor and the phone was ringing nonstop. I answered, and it was him saying he had movie tickets at Éden! I just replied, "If my mother dies here, I'll kill you." Luckily, I had amazing parents. Of course, I felt really bad afterward. Psychologically, I broke down; I couldn't get out of bed for a long time.

How did it turn around?

I liked listening to the radio, as I've already told you. At the time, there was the National Broadcaster's Artist Training Center. My sister found out and told my father he should sign me up to see if I'd get out of bed and have some fun.

What was the Artist Preparation Center?

It was a kind of little school. Half the world passed through there: António Calvário, Artur Garcia, Madalena Iglésias…

Was that where you discovered your calling?

Until then, it had never occurred to me that I would sing, do theater, or anything like that. In fact, when my father submitted my application, he spoke with Vítor Mota Pereira, who ran the Center, told him my story, and said I wasn't there to be a singer.

You were wrong!

I usually say blessed are the beatings I took or I wouldn't be who I am today (laughs).

Is that where your artistic career begins?

Without me expecting it. My father took me to the National Broadcaster because I was afraid to go alone. To be selected, I had to audition with Mota Pereira. I practiced singing Fado da Carta a lot. At the end, he said to me: "But where have you been?"

Was it launched?

But nothing is easy in my life! Meanwhile, a small news item with my name appeared in Século Ilustrado , announcing that a star had been born. My husband was a subscriber to the newspaper and discovered me.

Did you make him wait?

That's when I got my last big beating. Someone told me there was a man who wanted to talk to me, and as soon as I turned around, I took him right away.

Did anyone defend her?

No. Everyone present was very shocked, firstly because they didn't know I was married, and secondly because it all happened so quickly: it took him enough time to beat me and I fell to the ground again. But that's how I resolved the issue, because I filed for legal separation of persons and assets, and I had my colleagues as witnesses. The divorce, of course, only happened after April 25th.

Sometimes, our life is more a matter of chance than of our own will…

I always say this. The bad things that happened to me were always followed by good things. I'll give you an example: I met my children's father a year later. He was a civil engineer, graduated from the University of Porto. In 1959, he was organizing the "queen of the ribbons" festival, I went to sing there, and he was the one who came to pay me the fee . He looked at me and said, "For eyes like yours, I'd do almost anything." And he did. My two children are examples of that. (laughs)

He did them for fun!

Of course! It was a very beautiful passion.

But she couldn't remarry. Divorce wasn't allowed under the Estado Novo. For all intents and purposes, she was still married. How did she register her children?

This is what I have a lot of difficulty forgiving the Catholic Church for!

The Catholic Church has always worked hand in hand with the regime; that's the law. So, how did it get around the situation?

My children, since I couldn't bear the idea of being named after the other man who beat me, were for years the children of unknown parents. Even their mother, who was me, was unknown, imagine!

There were many children of unknown fathers at that time, but I'd never heard of any mothers. How did you enroll them in school, for example?

In elementary school, it was with the help of a teacher I knew. But when my daughter took her fourth-grade exam, to register her, I had to present the birth certificate, which only listed Maria Eduarda, with no parents or grandparents. My parents even tried to adopt them, making them my siblings—it was crazy. (laughs) And then I took a risk (I could have been arrested…): I went to a registry office, everyone knew me, and said I'd lost the children's birth certificates. I think the woman understood, but closed her eyes. She asked me, "So, you want to register?" I said yes, they wrote down all the names, and that was the end of it. When I got home, my father opened a bottle of champagne! It took my children years to understand. Because my mother never told them about my marriage, only about their father, who was also separated. It was only when my daughter went to college that I had to tell them.

He took a huge risk. In 1969, in a highly conservative country, he won the Song Festival with lyrics by José Carlos Ary dos Santos, "A Desfolhada," which everyone has heard: "Corn threshing floor/August moonlight/Whoever has a child/Does it for pleasure." This was a challenge to a moralistic and highly conservative country.

Look, I was in the dressing room and Lurdes Norberto, who was the festival's announcer, came in and asked me: "You're going to say that, aren't you afraid?" Only later did I find out that Ary had invited four singers who read the text and refused to sing.

How did the assignment come into your hands?

I was at a nightclub on Avenida da Liberdade, where many artists were singing, and José Mensurado, a journalist and presenter, came up to me and said, "I have some lyrics here by the communist poet who wrote for Amália Rodrigues. He's looking for you and wants you to sing it. He asked me where that very large woman was, with a very large voice, who is very large all over?" (laughs) So, when Ary contacted me, I had already read the lyrics and said yes right away.

Weren't you afraid at all?

Let me see what I'm afraid of... Look, dying. That scares me so much. And everything I don't understand scares me. The other day I saw a program about astronauts and there were images of Earth, that huge ball. It makes me very uneasy. I just wonder: who made it, how, at what time, and for what purpose, and why doesn't that thing fall down! (laughs) I also don't understand why they say that to make peace you must first make war! Why? That's why I only watch soap operas and Fox Crime .

But there must have been negative reactions to Desfolhada.

Once, at a show, I was singing Desfolhada, and between songs I liked to talk to the audience, and a man suddenly shouted: "How can a woman like you sing something like that?" Since I've never been weak, I replied: "If you don't do it, it's because you don't know how or you've already forgotten."

You've had a long career, performing on numerous international stages. Have you ever been the target of harassment?

Men were terrified of me! What I'm about to tell you isn't exactly harassment, but it reveals the behavior of a time. When I decided to become a businesswoman and had a restaurant (which only served to pay off debts...), one day, the bartender came to tell me there was a customer outside who wanted to talk to me. What did he want? To set me up. To avoid any illusions, he immediately added that he was married, but every two weeks, he came to Lisbon, where he had a house on Avenida de Roma. Then he opened the package of offers: he was willing to give me 15 thousand for the children, a car, and a fur coat. I replied, "Stupidly, you're offering me everything I already have. The fur coat is over there in the coat closet, and I bought it; the car is the same, and it's right behind yours; as for my children, I'll never have that kind of money to give them, but that doesn't bother me at all!" He added, "You're so stupid! Any other colleague of yours, in your position, would accept!" And my bartender, who had been listening to this chatter in astonishment, when the other man left, said to me, "Ms. Simone, if one day, for your birthday, I wanted to do you a favor and give you a box of chocolates, would you accept?" I even cried! The bartender, who had sideburns and all the Bairro Alto swagger, had a sensitivity the other beast didn't know. I'm not buyable in any way. Maybe only for a pack of cigarettes. And I could be a millionaire. I've had one or two very rich men interested in me, and even a minister from the old regime.

What is your opinion on the Me Too movement?

So it's only 20 or 30 years after they were victims that they complain? Why didn't they do it back then? I don't understand.

It wasn't until after the 25th of April that contraception was legalized in Portugal. And abortion only ceased to be a crime more than two decades later. Have you ever had an abortion?

Fortunately, no. There were already doctors prescribing the pill for certain female problems, and I always took precautions. I used to say I could get pregnant just by looking at the picture! (laughs) But many women I knew who had no chance of caring for a child did.

Was she a woman of great passions?

I was the woman who went against everything. There were probably others, but they weren't as visible. I loved who I had to love, I didn't love who I didn't want to, and I separated from people when the relationship was exhausted. The father of my two children came home one day and said, "I've been posted to Mozambique; we're going to Tete to live in a tent in the bush." He was an engineer and had received a good job offer, but I was only 22 and the boy was still a baby, so I replied, "You go!" And that was it, it was over.

Did singers at that time travel to the former colonies to sing for the Portuguese troops?

I've never been to Mozambique, but I was forced to sing in Angola in 1962. I tried not to go because my children were too young, but the Minister of War told me that if I didn't go, I wouldn't work anymore. They paid me 10 contos. Half went to my parents, and I bought a suitcase to go on the propeller plane, which was all they had at the time. I know that, with all the expenses I incurred, I was left with 500 escudos. Divide that by 99 shows and see if it was worth the risk! I didn't even understand the need for that war.

At that time, the climate in Angola was complicated. A year earlier, there had been the UPA uprising, with indiscriminate massacres of the population, and the Portuguese troops repaid them in kind…

And we were a group of 12, and we were immediately thrown into northern Angola, where things got really bad. I went from Negage to Carmona, now Uíge, at night, in an open-top jeep, helmet on, with a military driver who kept saying, "Yesterday, on that curve, 20 people died." I had lunch next to a lieutenant who had five grenades in one hand. And I said, "Oh, lieutenant, now, if you don't mind, I could let those grenades rest." And he said, "No, no, because if I'd had those grenades yesterday, my comrades wouldn't have died..." And what do you say? Ten days of eating pacaça steaks and raw cod, without water. Just whiskey on the rocks. That's when I started to like him... (laughs) I returned to the so-called Metropolis, before the letters I sent to my mother, which were already opened.

Returning to passions…

I didn't have many passions. I didn't have time. It was sing, sing, sing. I even sang the night my mother died. The show must go on . I had two children, and I was the only one winning! I had two more serious loves. Henrique Mendes, who was another scandal. He was also separated, had a daughter, and had returned to live with his mother. We spent two years in hiding. It even led to a Council of Ministers meeting.

Why?

He was well-known, a newscaster. One day, Flama , a Catholic magazine, wrote on the cover: "Announcer lost for green eyes." In short, we were a bad example. That was before Desfolhada, in 1965, when I won the first song contest with Sol de Inverno. Henrique wanted to go with me to Naples, where I was going to represent Portugal in the Eurovision Song Contest, but the government, in a Council of Ministers meeting, decided against it. Henrique then tried to force a cousin of his to accompany me; he was also rejected, and I ended up going with a government official. Just think what those times were like!

A completely policed life?

Yes, but it didn't stop me from doing what I wanted. Later, things ended badly; he was a womanizer, but I always noticed when he was cheating on me. He'd come home late and at the wrong time. And I'd say to him, "So, the news ended much later today!" (laughs) But it was with the closing of this chapter that I met Varela [Alberto Varela Silva, actor and director], the man I loved most. In my life, there's tragedy, but also comedy. I met him in a play I was in with Laura Alves. He immediately started to get on my nerves. I had a tic in my foot: when I sang and there was a high note, I'd lift my right heel as if that would help me. Then he said to me, "I don't want any starlet feet here!" He was annoying, but I've gotten over the tic. One day, I got in my car to go to Costa da Caparica, where I had rented a house so my kids could go to the beach, and I discovered a letter that read: "Go to the beach, fuck off, buy a Marie Claire, break a chair!" And I said: "What's this? You're stupid!"

A strange way of loving…

(laughs) There could have been a nicer way to declare himself, but this was his.

Looking back on your life, it seems like you've been thrown a number of hurdles along the way to test yourself. What moments, besides those already mentioned, have left the biggest impression on you?

I would say three. The first, shortly after singing Desfolhada, when I lost my voice.

How did this happen?

I was at a show at the Póvoa de Varzim casino: I sang the first song, the second, and by the third, my mouth dropped open. Half the world was staring at me. I walked off the stage, frightened, not understanding what was happening. Artur Garcia came to me in the dressing room and said, "Speak!" I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote, "I'm mute." Then I went to a doctor who told me I wouldn't sing again. It was terrible! All I could think about was how I would raise my children from then on.

What were you diagnosed with?

I only know it was caused by singing with a poorly placed voice and overwork. It took me a long time to forgive my artistic agent because he made me sing with pharyngitis, laryngitis, the flu... Even when I presented him with medical certificates, he would tell me: "You have to sing, don't forget you're a headliner!"

What did you do until you got your voice back?

I sold dolls in a store, worked in an office, until I was invited to be a continuity announcer at the Figueira da Foz casino. One day, Carlos do Carmo was going to sing there. I introduced him, and a few seconds later, he called me up on stage. I'd arranged everything with the guitarist, and he just told me, "Sing three keys lower than your own." I was distressed, but I realized I could sing again, but in a different way.

You said you had two very bad moments in your life. What was the second one?

Life spoiled me rotten. Then, in 1988, breast cancer struck. I was also at a show in Porto when I felt a big sting in my chest. I knew right away what it was. I went for tests, and it was confirmed. I just cried in the car on the way back to Lisbon. I had to undergo 55 radiation therapy sessions, I was doing a soap opera, and I never missed a taping.

I imagine the third moment was when Varela Silva died…

Yes, I never got used to his loss. He died of mesothelioma, a cancer caused by the asbestos in the National Theater. The doctor asked me if I wanted to seek compensation. I didn't, out of respect for Varela and the love he had for that theater. Three more people died, and they removed everything.

Simone has done everything: singing, theater, film, journalism. What did you enjoy most?

I just didn't like the movies. It's a corset. They cut scenes, they change scenes, the lighting isn't good... Other than that, I liked everything. I sang 430 songs; it's a masterpiece!

As a journalist, who did you enjoy interviewing the most?

Bonga [José Adelino Barceló de Carvalho, Angolan singer and composer], who told me his homeland was Portugal. I had a very difficult interview with a young man who was gay and shared that the first people he spoke to about his sexuality were his parents. I also really enjoyed the interview with Jorge Sampaio, who later honored me. At one point, he switched roles with me and asked, "Look, why aren't you doing soap operas?" (laughs) The most difficult interview was with Almeida Santos. They had told me there were two topics I couldn't touch on: drugs (because his daughter, a drug addict, had committed suicide because of them) and regionalization. I spoke about both topics, and he responded.

Who didn't get an interview?

Álvaro Cunhal. I was never a communist, but I had great admiration for him. I called the PCP (Communist Party), gave him my name, and he answered. "Hello, sir, how are you?" And he said, "Call me comrade!" I immediately replied, "Not comrade, that's in the military." He ended up refusing the interview, telling me that at that point in his life he only talked to his family. When we said goodbye, he added, "Continue to be the woman you've been up until now." I hung up and burst into tears.

You've always sung left-wing poets. Politically, where do you stand?

I've never been a member of any party, but I've always voted for the Socialist Party (PS). I really liked Ary, and despite my admiration for Cunhal, I don't like the PCP at all. One day, Ary asked me to stop by his house. He wanted me to sing at the Avante! festival and had a check for 300 contos to pay me. I told him no way!

It received significant media exposure. Today, we have social media and fake news . Just a few days ago, I saw a news story suggesting Simone was in a serious condition. I opened it and ended up on a pornographic website. How do you deal with that?

It's rubbish that ends up affecting people. The director of the Artist's House also saw this news and immediately warned my children that it was false and that I was fine. Even so, my son stopped by at the end of the day. He was clearly distressed.

In her time, there were rumors. I remember, even in the church corridors, talk that she had had an affair with the Patriarch of Lisbon, D. António Ribeiro...

And I was even summoned to see João Soares Louro, then president of RTP . At the time, Dom António was the station's priest. He was a very handsome man with very wavy hair, and he used to spray water on his hair to straighten it. Women were head over heels for him. One day, there was a boat trip organized by RTP. At dinner, Henrique Mendes, João Batista Rosa (who was a reporter), and I were at the same table, and Dom António, who had his own table with other invited priests, came over and sat across from me. The next day, I was summoned to Soares Louro. I had received a telegram saying I was involved with the priest (laughs).

When people talk about Simone, they think of her as a singer, but what does she do on a daily basis? What do you enjoy doing?

I used to make a lot of lace, but now I can't. I used to relax. I like watching television and opera. I still like the same singers: Jacques Brel, Edith Piaf, Barbra Streisand.

What about the new artists? Are you following them?

Carminho, Zambujo, Diogo Piçarra. I don't like 'nha-nha-nha' voices...

Why did you come to Casa do Artista?

Because I lived on the fourth floor, my children were afraid I'd fall one day and have no one to help me. I like being here; my room is furnished with my things, and I have friends. Sometimes it's sad to see former classmates who are also here, and they no longer recognize anyone.

At 87 years old, what has life taught you?

He taught me that you have to learn, even when you're not on the main street, to find a shortcut to the side that has flowers and a tree to catch a little sun.