The Collected Stories of Moacyr Scliar (Jewish Latin America Series, 7) - PDF Free Download (2024)

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JewishLatinAmerica IlanStavans,serieseditor MoacyrScliar:CollectedStoriesistheeighthvolumeofthe UniversityofNewMexicoPressseriesJewishLatinAmerica. Itwasmadepossiblethankstoagenerousgrant fromtheLuciusN.LittauerFoundation.

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TheCollectedStoriesofMoacyrScliar TranslatedbyEloahF.Giacomelli IntroductionbyIlanStavans UniversityofNewMexicoPress Albuquerque

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OthertitlesavailableintheUniversityofNewMexicoPress JewishLatinAmericaseries: TheJewishGauchosofthePampasbyAlbertoGerchunoff Cláper:ANovelbyAliciaFreilich TheBookofMemoriesbyAnaMaríaShua TheProphetandOtherStoriesbySamuelRawet TheFragmentedLifeofDonJacoboLernerbyIsaacGoldemberg Passion,Memory,andIdentity:Twentieth­CenturyLatinAmericanJewishWomenWriters,editedbyMarjorieAgosín KingDavid'sHarp:AutobiographicalEssaysbyJewishLatinAmericanWriters,editedbyStephenA.Sadow

©1999byMoacyrScliar.Translation©1999byEloahF.Giacomelli. Introduction©1999byIlanStavans. Allrightsreserved. Firstedition LibraryofCongressCataloging­in­PublicationData Scliar,Moacyr ThecollectedstoriesofMoacyrScliar/translatedbyEloahF.Giacomelli; introductionbyIlanStavans.—1sted. p.cm.—(JewishLatinAmerica;7) Contents:Thecarnivalofanimals—Theballadofthefalsemessiah— Thetremulousearth—Thedwarfinthetelevisionset—Theenigmatic eye—VanGogh'sEar. ISBN0­8263­1911­4(cloth:alk.paper).—ISBN0­8263­1912­2 (paper:alk.paper) 1.Scliar,Moacyr—TranslationsintoEnglish.I.Giacomelli,EloahF. II.Title.III.Series. PQ9698.29.C 54A2419999­32298 869.3—dc21CIP

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ForIlanStavans­ writer,friend

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CONTENTS Introduction byIlanStavans

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TheCarnivaloftheAnimals[1968]

TheLions

3

TheShe­Bears

4

Rabbits

7

TheCow

10

TheDog

13

Shazam

16

TheFishingTournament

20

WeGunmenMustn'tFeelPity

22

BlindManandAmigoGedeãoAlongsidetheHighway

24

ThePause

27

OfCannibals

30

TheAgingMarx

32

Leo

40

AHouse

42

ThePhantomTrain

46

TheDayWhenWeKilledJamesCagney

47

VegetableKingdom

50

NavigationChart

52

Ecology

56

BeforeMakingtheInvestment

58

Communication

62

Hello!Hello!

63

Dr.Shylock

64

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TheBalladoftheFalseMessiah[1976] TheBalladoftheFalseMessiah

69

Don'tReleasetheCataracts

76

NewYear,NewLife

79

TheScalp

82

TheSpider

86

AgendaofExecutiveJorgeT.FlacksforJudgmentDay

88

EatingPaper

90

TheEvidence

92

TheOfferingsofDalilaStore

100

TheShort­StoryWriters

104

TheTremulousEarth[1977]

Quick,Quick

151

ThePriceoftheLivingSteer

163

YouthIsanEternalTreasure

165

GrandPrize

167

Friends

171

It'sTimetoFall

173

TheThief

178

Requiem

180

Images

183

ThePicnic

185

RestinPeace

190

FestiveDawn

194

SkinnyEnoughtoBecomeaKite

196

ProfileoftheHenoftheGoldenEggsasSheLayDying

199

CapitalPunishment

206

TheLastOne

209

TheRiddle

210

TheDream

211

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TheShadow

212

StoriesoftheTremulousEarth

214

TheDwarfintheTelevisionSet[1979] TheProphetsofBenjaminBok

225

Ah,MommyDear

235

GoodNight,Love

239

TheApexofthePyramid

245

APortoAlegreStory

249

TheNoisesintheAttic

253

AttheFigtreeRetreat

257

TheSecretTourists

261

MiltonandHisCompetitor

263

TheSoothsayer

264

AVacancy

266

InaStateofComa

269

TheDwarfintheTelevisionSet

284

TheMemoirsofaResearcher

288

TheLovesofaVentriloquist

297

ThePealofBellsatChristmas

302

ThePhantomShip

306

TheEnigmaticEye[1986]

TheEnigmaticEye

311

InsideMyDirtyHead­TheHolocaust

314

FiveAnarchists

318

AmongtheWisem*n

321

TheConspiracy

322

TheProdigalUncle

325

RootCanalTreatment

328

TheInterpreter

338

Atlas

342

ABriefHistoryofCapitalism

346

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APublicAct

350

BurningAngels

352

FreeTopics

353

ThePassword

355

TheEmissary

361

TheCandidate

362

GeneralDelivery

365

IntheSubmarineRestaurant

367

PeaceandWar

369

TheBlank

372

ManyManyMetersAboveGoodandEvil

374

Prognoses

377

RealEstateTransactions

379

LifeandDeathofaTerrorist

381

Resurrection

383

Genesis

385

VanGogh'sEar[1989]

ThePlagues

389

Don'tThinkAboutIt,Jorge

404

VanGogh'sEar

405

TheFragment

408

TheDecisionTree

409

JigsawPuzzles

410

TheMarchoftheSunintheTemperateRegions

411

TheDiaryofaLentilEater

428

Misereor

432

TheCalligraphers'Union

437

FrenchCurrentEvents

444

AJobfortheAngelofDeath

447

TheRightTime

449

ThePublicEnemy

451

TheMessage

454

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UnpublishedWorks

454

AMinuteofSilence

458

ThePrince

459

TheProblem

460

IntheWorldofLetters

461

SensitiveSkin

462

TheSurprise

464

TheWinner:AnAlternativeView

465

MemoirsofanAnorexic

466

Epilogue IntheTribeoftheShort­StoryWriters:ADeposition

471

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INTRODUCTION IlanStavans Thepenisapttoleapacrossmiddlegroundandseeitselfasdesignerofauniverse. V.S.Pritchett

In1986ItookalongtriptoBrazil.Ihadjustfinishedagraduatedegreeandmyfirstnovelandwantedtocometotermswithmyliteraryroots.Whilemyobjective wastowanderaround,IspecificallyplannedtovisitMoacyrScliar,theBrazilian­Jewishmaster,inhisnativePortoAlegre.Ihadencounteredhisastonishingstoriesin magazinesandhadreadhisnovelTheCentaurintheGardeninEnglish.Amutualfriend,ThomasColchie,hadgivenmehisaddressamonthprior.IhadsentScliar aletterannouncingmyarrivalbuthadleftbeforehisreplyhadcomeback.SoIwasn'tsureourencounterwouldoccur,althoughIprayedthatitwould,forIknew, themomentIputthefinalwordtoTaliainHeaven,thatScliarwasmytrueforebear.Throughhiswork—andthroughthatofAlbertoGerchunoffandIsaac Goldemberg—IsensedafeelingofbelongingtoatraditionnotunlikethatofYiddishletters. InhisintroductiontoATreasuryofYiddishStories,apath­makinganthologyIhadfalleninlovewitharoundthattime,IrvingHowecalledattentiontoI.L.Peretz's markedambiguitytowardtraditionandmodernity,aneither/orattheheartofDiasporaJewishliterature.WhatattractedHowetothePolishwriterresponsiblefor ''Monish"andImpressionsofaJourneyThroughtheTomaszow*Region,among

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othermajorworks,wasthewayhestruggled,attimesintotaldespair,tobalancehisadmirationforHasidismontheonehandwithhisoutrightrefusaltoendorse orthodoxreligionontheother.Thisambivalence,ofcourse,isalsopresentinthebestofKafkaandIsaacBabel,butinHowe'seyes,Peretzhadbeenthefirstto articulateit.ToHowe,aSocialistin1950sAmerica,onewhohopedtofindinideologyandliteraturethepanaceatothehumancondition,itwasthekeytothe dividedJewishself."[Peretz]hadabandonedstrictfaith,"hewrote, yetitmustberemembered—thisisperhapsthesingleoverridingfactintheexperienceofYiddishwritersattheendofthenineteenth­century—thatfaithabandonedcouldstillbe afarmoreimperiouspresencethannewcreedsadopted.LikesuchWesternwritersasGeorgeEliotandThomasHardy,hefoundhimselfenabledtodrawupontraditionalfaithand feelingspreciselythroughtheactofdenyingthemintellectually;indeed,thegreatestinfluenceontheworkofsuchwritersistherichentanglementofimages,symbols,language, andceremoniesassociatedwithadiscardedbelief.

Bornin1937,morethantwentyyearsafterPeretz'sdeath,Scliar(inEnglish,hisnameispronouncedMwaseerSkleer)isadifferentsortofliteraryanimal—onthe surface,atleast.HebelongstoagenerationfurtherremovedfromorthodoxyandtheghettothanthatofPeretzorhisimmediatesuccessorsintheYiddishliterary tradition.Hisreadership,atleastathome,comprisesequallyJewandnon­Jews,andhisobjectiveistoexplain,inaraciallyhybridcountrymarkedbyitsamorphous Catholicism,whathisJewishancestryisabout.Hischallenge,then,isunique:ifPeretzsoughttoeasethetransitionofhispeoplefromisolationintomodernity,Scliar's audienceisalreadyalltoomodern,butmarginalnonetheless.He,too,strugglestoexplaintoday'sJewishangstinthelightofouraban­

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donmentoffaith:faithinideology,faithinreligion.Histaskistomakecompatibletheincompatible:toexplaintheclashbetweenJewishandBrazilianvaluesandto buildauniverseoutofthatclash.Afterobsessivelyembracingallsortsoforthodoxies(Communism,Socialism,Zionism,nationalism,religiousdoctrine),hischaracters areforcedtorealize,inevitably,thatourmodernconditionisoneofperpetualchaosandanxiety,andthatnocurecantrulyredeemusfromit. Butheisn'tapessimist;rather,heapproachesourconditionnotasanendbutasabeginning.That,morethananythingelse,makesmeseehimasmyprecursorand vanguard.Raisedinaself­enclosed,secularJewishneighborhood—BomFim—inPortoAlegre,Scliarcameofa*geinthelatefortiesandearlyfifties,inyouth organizationssuchasHabonimandHashomerHatzair.Twoforcescoloredhisupbringing:ideologyandculture—andthetwoemanatedfromasinglesource:his Jewishness."IhavelivedmylifeamongJews,"Scliartoldme,"andmyJewishworldviewcirc*mscribeseverythingIdo,forIamthechildofEasternEuropean immigrants.SocialismwastheirprincipleandYiddishtheirfirsttongue."Forhisgenerationatleast,Yiddishwouldbecomeaconduitfornostalgia.Headded:"My parentsspokePortuguesequitewell,butrevertedtoYiddishonlywhenthetopicwasjudgedtoodangerousforthekids.Thus,Ihearditonlysporadically,anditwas musictomyears.Itisalullaby,averyemotionaltongue.AmongthethingsIlamentthemosttodayisnottobefluentinYiddish....Icouldhavelearnedit,sincemy grandmotheralmostsolelyspokeYiddishtome.ButmyparentsthoughtthatthesoonerIbecameafull­fledgedBrazilian,thebetter,andso,regrettably,theynever insistedonmespeakingYiddish."Hebrew,instead,wasthelanguageofdogma,forinZionismheforesawtheroadtoSocialism:itledtoIsrael,toalandwhere Judaismandpoliticsareforevermarried. AdulthoodsurprisedScliarwithforkingpathswhereinhecould

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linktheforcesshapinghisidentity.Hebecameawriterandpublic­healthphysician.In1955heenrolledintheFacultadedeMedicinadaUniversidadeFederal,a startingpointinacareermarkedbyexpertiseandcompassion.Decadeslater,hewouldbenamedRioGrandedoSul'sheadoftheDepartmentofPublicHealth.His firstbook,HistóriasdeummédicoemFormação,releasedin1962,evenifScliarwouldlaterrejectitasunworthy,marksthepointwherebothpathsmeet.Italso announcesathemethatpermeateshisvastoeuvre:medicinenotasamereenhancerofWesterncivilizationandarepositoryofmodernity,butasawaytomendthe world.Histalenttoinventacastofpatheticcharacters,alwaysinsearchofsomecureforthemiseriesofsociety,isastounding.HiscreaturesareradicalsfromEurope seekingtoestablishanegalitarianPromisedLandintheBrazilianpampa,Jewsinvolvedinvoodoo,disorientedfalsemessiahs,mythicalfigures(VanGogh, Shakespeare'sShylock,Marx,JamesCagney,Freud,SabbethaiZevi),doctorswhoviewJudaismandactivismassynonyms.Noneofthemeverfindsredemptionin thesefaiths,andtheactsofembracingandthenrenouncingthemareequallyappealingtoScliar.Salvation,heknows,isonlyasubterfuge,aliewelikerepeatingto ourselves.TheirJewishnessisaconditiontheycannotescape,aconditionofalienation,butonethatcarrieswithinitselfthestrengthtocombatit. LinkingScliartoPeretzisrisky,forhistalentshavemoreincommonwithSholemAleichem.Infact,whenIsettledintoacheapdowntownhotelandcalledhim,Ifelt, curiously,asifIhadmadeadatetomeetaBrazilianreincarnationoftheauthorofTevyetheDairyman,whomScliar,bytheway,resemblesnotonlyinhisjoiede vivrebutphysicallytoo,eventhoughheisconsiderablytaller.TofriendsIwoulddescribehimas"aJewishMarkTwain,"amasterwhosespiritbecomesflesh throughanecdotesandwhosefloridimaginationbroughtKasrilevketolifeinRioGrandedoSul.Tome,hisself­proclaimedsuccessor,Scliarpersonifiedthefatherof Jewish­

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LatinAmericanliterarytradition,withGerchunoff,authorofTheJewishGauchosofthePampas,themagisterialgrandfatherlyfigure.Butassoonaswebeganto talk,IrealizedhowtrickytheactofcomparinghimtoSholemAleichemcouldbe.Ourconversationmadethedifferencesrevelatory.PortugueseisnotYiddish,of course;itisn'ta"Jewishtongue"perse.Actually,itisamostgentiletongue,andnotagenteeloneatthat,atleastasfarasJewsareconcerned.Ithasbeensince 1496,whenKingManueldecreedtheyconverttoChristianityorelsebeexpelledfromPortugal,muchastheyhadbeenfromtherestoftheIberianpeninsulasix yearsprior.Andthecomparisonmightbeineffectualforanotherreason:thesearchforliteraryfatherssuggestsagenealogicaltree;itsdifferentbranchesdenotea senseoftransmission,ofcontinuity,ofcommitmenttothepermanenceofknowledgeandbeliefsfromonegenerationtothenext.ButBrazil'sJews,asScliarmade cleartome,havenotreallybeenawareoftheircounterpartsinArgentinaandMexico—not,thatis,untilquiterecently.Idon'tmeantosaythatingeneral,theyare unacquaintedwiththefactthatJewshavebeenapermanentfixtureintheAmericassinceColumbusarrived,andthatYiddish­speakingEasternEuropeanimmigrants settlednotonlyinSãoPauloandRiodeJaneirobutinalmosteverymajorcitythissideoftheAtlantic.Theawareness,nevertheless,hasbeenminimal,andcertainly doesn'tamounttoafull­fledgedculturaltradition.Scliar,forinstance,isfarmorefamiliarwiththeworkofPhilipRoththanwiththatofGerchunoff. Hasthetimecometoreconsider?Well,notexactly—andthereinliestherealconnectionbetweenhimandSholemAleichem,oneIherebyrepeat,asIdidinmy introductiontoTropicalSynagogues.+TheparticulartraditionScliarbelongstomanifestsitselfnotinawriter'sinfluences,butintheoverallstimulithatnurturehim— his +HolmesandMeier,1994.

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milieu,inwhichJewsareandarenotfull,unequivocalpartners.In1888,intheprefacetohisfirstYiddishnovel,Stempenyu,whenSholomAleichemdescribedS.Y. Ambramovitchas"thegrandfatherofourliterature,"thefeelingofself­enclosurewithinYiddishletters,whichwouldlastuntiltheHolocaust,wasalreadyapparent.In spiteofthespreadofthePale,writersinVilniusandWarsaw,amongotherculturalcapitals,kneweachother.Theyateinthesamerestaurants,readthesame magazines,frequentedeachother'soffices,andevensleptwiththesamepartners.Yiddish,diemame­losh,servedastheglue.ThePortuguese­andSpanish­ speakingAmericasarealtogetherdifferent:tobeginwith,thegeographicalspreadisenormous;Brazilalone,thelargestnationinthehemisphere,iseighttimesthesize ofPolandbeforeWorldWarII.Languageisn'taunifier:inspiteofitssize,andasaresultofitsverbalotherness,Braziloftenfeelslikeanislandwithinacontinent,a ghettoof160millionpeople.Butwhilethesenseofcommunitymightbelost,theconditionsaJewishwriterinacountrylikeBrazilare,inessence,similar—though notidentical—tothoseofhiscounterpartsinBuenosAiresandCiudaddeMéxico,allhabitatscoloredbyapeculiarmix,tovariousdegrees,ofaboriginal,Catholic, andAfricanreligions,andallpoliticallyfragileandsociallyexplosivelandscapeswheremodernityarrivedhaphazardly,inmediasres.ThatexplainswhyGerchunoff's JewishGauchos,bucolicinstyle,naiveinitsendorsem*ntofArgentina'sdemocraticfuture,feelssoclosetoScliar'sphantasmagoricalcosmos.That,too,revealswhy Ifelt—andstillfeel—theurgetoseekhisguidancebytravelingtohishomeland:separatedbytimeandtongue,weareallresponsestothesameexistentialdilemma. ThisapproachtoJewish­LatinAmericanliteraturemustsuffice,forevenwithinBrazilasenseoftraditioninJewishlettersisdifficulttotrace.WhenScliarbeganhis writingcareer,thecountrydidn'talreadyhavewell­establishedJewishwriters.Notthatthestagewasempty.YiddishstorieswerewritteninBrazil.In1973,in

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Musteverke,publishedbyYIVOinBuenosAires,ShmuelRodzanskyincludedavolume,entitledAntpologieBrasilianish,withtalesbyMoysheLockietsh,Meir Kutshinsky,PinyePolotnik,andItzjakGuterman.ButScliarknewnothingaboutthem,fortheirreadershipwasaminusculegroupofoldimmigrants.Sure,Porto AlegrehadanexcellentlibraryofYiddishclassics,frequentedbyYiddish­speakingintellectuals,but,again,notbyhim.Onlywhen,decadeslater,JacóGuinzburg,the fatherofnonreligiousJewishcultureinBrazil,translatedtheseandcountlessotherJewishstoriesandbooksfromYiddishintoPortuguese(heisoneoftheeditorsof JóiasdoContoIdish),didScliarfeelasifthegroundunderhisfeetwaslessshaky. HisreadingaboutJewsinBrazilwasminimal.TheonlywriterhewasacquaintedwithwasMarcosLolovitch,alawyerwhosememoir,NumaClaraManhaDe Abril,isavaluable,ifundistinguishedchronicleofimmigration.AlsotheextraordinaryClariceLispector,ofJewishdescent,authorofFamilyTiesandotherfamous novels,knownas"Brazil'sVirginiaWoolf,"alreadyhadasolidfollowing.ButherJewishthemesaresoeclipsed,soburiedintheirallegoricalfantasiesthatittakes heavycriticaltoolstounearththem.Notfindingrolemodelsathome,ScliarreadJewishwritersfromEuropeandtheUnitedStates,amongthemPeretz'sparables(he acknowledgedtomethathehasreread"IfNotHigher..."atleastahundredtimes)andSholemAleichem,butalsoMichaelGold.Humor,hequicklylearned,isthe mostefficientJewishresponsetocatastrophe,and,likeSholemAleichem,hemakeshischaracterslaughconstantlyatthemselvesandtheircirc*mstance.Butheis darker,moredismalinhisapproachtolife,andso,histrueidolsareKafkaandBabel,whomhetruststobeindisputableliterarygeniuses."[Babel's]portraitof childhoodremainsunparalleled,"hetoldme."IcouldeasilyseemyselfreflectedinhisOdessa.Kafka,ofcourse,isanambivalentfigure,butsoisBabel.His ambivalencetowardtheJewsandhisidolatryoftheCossacks....HisJewsareugly,evenmonstrous,whereasthe

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Cossacksareimposingandmuscular.Onecouldevengosofarastosuggestacertaindoseofanti­SemitisminRedChivalry."Thisambivalence,withrootsinPeretz, iswhattypifiesScliar'swork:hisanimosityistowardtheghettoJew,butitistarnishedbynostalgia.Hischaractersarestereotypesawareoftheircartoonish predicament. Morethananyoneelse,Scliarhasre­JudaizedthePortuguesetongue,makingitmoreakintoJewishness.HeisresponsibleforbuildingasizableJewishreadershipin Brazil.Hisbooksinvariablybecomehugebest­sellersandarereprintednumeroustimes.Braziliansperceivehimnotonlyasanentertainer,butasaneducatortoo.A largesegmentofthenationiscuriousaboutthemysteriousJewishimmigrantandhisprogeny,andScliarknowshowtobothenlightenandenthrallthem.Toanextent, hisfameisduetotherealityheinventsinhisnovels,inparticulartothosenovelsinwhichalienation,onewayoranother,isatcenterstage.Hismostfamoustitlemight wellbeTheCentaurintheGarden,adelightfulmeditation"sopowerful,soenchanting,"claimsAlbertoManguel,"thatit*ucceedsinimposingitsownmagicon skepticalreaders,convincingusthat[the]centaur'sworldisours,unfathomableandoverwhelming."Scliar'scentaurforcesthereadertoreformulatehisunderstanding ofwhatalienationisabout.Heexaminesassimilationanddisfigurement...andugliness.Releasedin1980,thisbook—translatedintoGerman,French,Spanish,and Swedish—isprobablythesinglemostimportantnovelbyaJewinBrazil,andperhapsinallofLatinAmerica.Itsmaincharacteris,well,acentaur,onebornof Russianimmigrants:notonlyishehalfhuman,heisJewishtoo.Alienation,then,comestohimfromdifferentangles,butherisesabovehishandicapbyturninghis defectsintothesubstanceofhistriumph.EquallydistinguishedisAMajestadedoXingu,publishedin1996,inwhichhefollowsthepathofalegendarydoctorinRio GrandedoSulknownduringtheGetulioVargasdictatorshipforfleeinghispri­

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vatepracticeandmovingtotheAmazonjungletohelpitsIndianpopulation. Ashetookmebacktomyhotel,Iconfessedastrongerpassionforhisallegoricalstories,gemswhere,Idaredtosay,hisartisticgeniusshinesthebrightestand where,yetagain,heis,inmyeyes,closertoPeretz.(Seeespeciallyhisenchantingdeposition"IntheTribeoftheShort­StoryWriters,"theepiloguetothisvolume.) Scliar'sdelightwasspontaneous.He,too,enjoyedthisgenremorethananyother,andfeltitjustifiedhim. Scliarhasproducedoverahundredandtwentystories,mostofthemfallinginthecategorythatIrvingHowecalled"shortshorts."Threecollections,writtenin Portuguesebetween1968and1986,havebeenavailableinEnglish:TheCarnivaloftheAnimals,TheBalladoftheFalseMessiah,andTheEnigmaticEye. Theyformthebulkofthisvolume,alongwithTheTremulousEarth,TheDwarfintheTelevisionSet,andVanGogh'sEar,herebytranslatedforthefirsttime.In 1995,theSãoPaulopublishinghouseCompanhiadasLetrasbroughtoutmostofScliar'spublishedtales,plussomeuncollectedones,inContosreunidos.The presentbookfollowsadifferentformat:unlikeitsBraziliancounterpart,itdoesnotfollowathematicpattern;instead,itisstructuredchronologicallybythedateof publicationofeachcollection.Theeffect,toalargeextent,isthesame:Scliargivesustheimpossible:avariedbestiary,amasonryofobituarywriters,amidget trappedinaTV,ablindpainter,asuicidalclub,aslow­movingmailman,thememoirsofanaphasiacandanorexicpatients,aswellasanendlessgalleryof necrophiles.NotsinceKafka's"AReporttoanAcademy"andBorges'sBookofImaginaryBeingshasawritersobluntlycompetedwithGod'screations,inventing hisownparalleluniverse,filledwithacavalcadeofbizarretypes."Inventingasecret,"CynthiaOzickwroteonce,"thenrevealingitinthedramaofentanglement—that iswhatignitesthewillto

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writestories,"andthedefinitionsuitsScliartothefinger.Hisstoriesaren'tcerebralbutanecdotal;theyaregenerallyaboutthesecretsofinheritance,abouttheways ideologyandcultureshapeourlife. IlefttherestaurantandreturnedfrommyjourneytoBrazilwithaclearermind.Ihadarrivedinsearchoforiginsandintheprocessfoundmymission.Resipsa loquitur.

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THECARNIVALOFTHEANIMALS[1968]

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TheLions Notnowadays,butyearsago,lionsposedathreat.Thousands,nay,millionsofthemusedtoroamAfrica,makingthejunglequiverwiththeirroars.Itwasfearedthat theywouldinvadeEuropeandAmerica.Wright,Friedman,Mason,andotherswarnedagainstthispossibledanger.Consequently,itwasdecidedtowipeoutthe frightfulfelinebeasts.Theirdestructionwascarriedoutinthefollowingmanner: Agreatmassofthem,gatherednearLakeChad,wasdestroyedbyonesingleatomdeviceofmediumexplosiveforcedroppedfromabomberonesummerday. Afterthecharacteristicmushroomclouddisappeared,itwasascertainedbymeansofphotographsthatthenucleusoftheleoninemasshadbeencompletely disintegrated,andwasnowsurroundedbyatwokilometer­widebandthatwasstrewnwithchunksofbloodyflesh,fragmentsofbone,andbloodstainedmanes. Dyinglionslayonitsperiphery. Theauthoritiesinchargedescribedtheoperationas''satisfactory."However,asalwayshappensinundertakingsofthisscope,theresidualproblemsbecameinturna sourceofconcern.Therewas,forinstance,thematteroftheradioactivelionsthathadsurvivedtheblastandwerenowroamingtheforests.True,about20percentof themwerekilledbytheZulusduringthetwoweeksfollowingtheexplosion.However,theproportionofcasualtiesamongthenatives(twoforeachlion)discouraged eventhemostoptimisticamongtheexperts. Itbecamenecessarytoresorttomoreelaboratemethods.Forthispurpose,alaboratorywassetuptotraingazelles;thelab'sprimarygoalwastofreetheanimals fromtheirnormalinstincts.Itwouldbe

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tootiresometogointothedetailsofthisproject,whichwas,incidentally,quiterefined;sufficeittosaythatthemethodemployed—akindofbrainwashingtechnique adaptedtoanimals—wasonedevisedbyWalshandhisassistants.Afterobtainingaconsiderablenumberofthesepreparedgazelles,theyinjectedthemwitha powerfuldoseofatoxicwithdelayedaction.Thegazellesthensearchedoutthelions,andletthemselvesbekilledandeatenbythem;thebeastsofprey,aftereating thepoisonedflesh,diedpainlesslywithinafewdays. Thesolutionseemedideal;however,therewasoneraceoflions(fortunately,notmanyofthem)thatseemedtoberesistanttothisandotherpowerfulpoisons.The taskofkillingthemwasassignedtohuntersequippedwithsophisticatedandultrasecretweapons.Thistime,onlyonespecimensurvived,afemalethatwascaptured andquarterednearBrazzaville.Intheuterusofthislioness,theyfoundaviablefetus:Showingnosignsofradioactivity,thetinyanimalwasraisedinanincubator.It washopedthatinthiswaytheexoticfaunawouldbekeptfromextinction. LaterthecubwastakentotheLondonZoo,wheredespitethetightsecurity,itwaskilledbyafanatic.Thedeathofthesmallbeastwasgreetedenthusiasticallyby largesegmentsofthepopulation."Thelionsaredead!"adrunkensoldierkeptshouting."Fromnowoneverybodywillbehappy!" OnthefollowingdaytheKoreanWarbrokeout.

TheShe­Bears Prophetelishaisonhiswaytobethel.Itisahotday.Insectsarebuzzinginthethicket.Theprophetismarchingatfastpace.HehasanimportantmissioninBethel. Suddenly,alargenumberofchildrenbegintogivechase,shouting:"Let'sseeyoulevitate,baldy!Comeon,levitate!"

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ElishaturnsaroundandcursestheminthenameoftheLordamomentlater,twobigshe­bearscomeoutofthethicketanddevourforty­twokids:Thesmallerbear devourstwelve;thebiggerone,thirty. Thelittlebearhasactivedigestion;thechildrenthatfallintoitsstomachareattackedbypowerfulacids,madesoluble,andreducedtosmallparticles.Theyvanish. Theotherthirtychildrenmeetwithadifferentfate.Goingdownthegreatbear'sesophagus,theylandinitshugestomach.Theretheyremain.Atfirst,numbedbyfear, theyclingtooneanother,barelyabletobreathe;thentheyoungerkidsstarttocryandwail,andtheircriesechodismallyinthelargespace."Woetous!Woetous!" Finally,theoldestchildturnsonalightandtheyfindthemselvesinaplaceresemblingacavern,fromwhosesinuouswallsaviscousfluidoozes.Thegroundisstrewn withthehalf­rottenresidueofformerprey:babies'skulls,littlegirls'legs."Woetous!"theywail."We'lldie!" Timegoesby,andseeingthattheyhaven'tdied,theytakeheart.Theychat,laugh,play,rompabout,throwdebrisandremainsoffoodatoneanother. Whentiredout,theysitdownandtalkinearnest.Theyorganizethemselvesandoutlineaplanofaction. Timegoesby.Theygrowup,butnotmuch;theconfinedspacedoesn'tallowformuchgrowth.Theyareturnedintoastrangeraceofdwarfs,withshortlimbsand largeheadsonwhichglowbeacon­likeeyesthatendlesslyscrutinizethedarknessoftheentrails.Andtheretheybuildtheirminitown,withprettywhitewashed minihouses.Theminischool. Theminitownhall.Theminihospital.Andtheyarehappy. Theyhavenowforgottenthepast.Vaguememoriesstillremain,memoriesthatacquiremysticconfigurationsastimegoesby. Theypray:"GreatBearswhoartinheaven..."Theyappointa

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priest­theGreatProphet,amanwithashavedheadandfrightfuleyes;onceayearhescourgestheinhabitantswiththeSacredWhip.Hedemandsfaithandhard work.Thepeople,diligentworkers,don'tfailhim.Theministorehousesoverflowwithfoodstuffs;theminifactoriesmanufacturethousandsofbeautifulminithings. Timegoesby.Anewgenerationemerges.Afteryearsofhappiness,theinhabitantsarenowworried:Duetosomestrangeatavism,thechildrenarebornwithlong armsandlegs,well—proportionedheads,andgentlebrowneyes.Eachbirthbringsreneweduneasiness.Peoplebegintogrumble:"Iftheygrowmuchtaller,there won'tberoomforUS."Birthcontrolmeasuresareunderconsideration.TheminigovernmentconsidersconsultingtheGreatProphetaboutthedesirabilityofexecuting babiesassoonastheyareborn.Endlessdiscussionsfollow. Timegoesby.Thechildrenhavegrownupandtheylookpowerfulastheymoveaboutingroups.Muchbiggerthantheirparents,it'simpossibletorestrainthem.They takeovertheminimovietheaters,theminichurches,theminiclubs.Theyshownorespectforthepolice.Theyroamtheminihighways. OnedaytheGreatProphetisonhiswaytohisminimansionwhentheyoungsterscatchsightofhim.Immediatelytheygivechase,shouting:"Let'sseeyoulevitate, baldy!Comeon,levitate! TheprophetturnsaroundandcursestheminthenameoftheLord. Soonafterwardtwoshe­bearsappearanddevourthechildren—allforty­twoofthem. Twelveareswallowedbythelittlebearanddestroyed.Butthirtygodowntheesophagusofthegreatbearandlandinitsstomach—agreathollowwheretheblackest darknessprevails.Andtheretheyremain,cryingandwailing:"Woetous!" Finally,theyturnonalight.

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Rabbits Therabbitisananimalthatisquickatcopulating.Aliceopenedhereyes.Sherecalledastoryherhusbandusedtotell:aboutahe­rabbit,whoafterhavingrelations withashe­rabbit,saidtoher:"Itisverygood,mydarling—wasn'tit?" Sheyawnedandjumpedoutofbed."What'sthedaytoday?Wednesday?No,yesterdaywasWednesday....It'sthedaywhenweplaycards.Butdidweplay cardsyesterday?Yes,wedid. "IrememberGildasayingtome—you'relucky—andIwas.Waitnow,thatwasWednesdaylastweek.Orlastmonth?" Shesatdownatthedressingtableandbegantobrushherhair."I'mnowbrushingmyhair.JustasIdidyesterday."Shelookedcloselyatherself."Myface,alwaysthe same.I'mthirty­twoyearsold.Icouldbetwenty­two.Ortwelve?""Mylittlegirl.''Sheturnedaround.Therewasnobodyintheroom.However,shehadheardher husband'sdeepvoicequitedistinctly.Shelookedatthewatch:seven­thirty.Atthishourhewouldbeonthehighway.Hewasthemanagerofacannerylocatedthirty kilometersoutsidethecity.Heownedabigcar;anoldblackDodge.Shewouldteasehim:"Nobodyelsehassuchanoldcar!""Iknow,mydarling.Butthemanager ofacanneryhastobeconservative."Thelaughter,shortandcoarse.Shewincedandturnedaroundagain.Thewindwasstirringthecurtainsgently.Sherosetoher feetandwalkedtothewindow. Theylivedonthetopofableak,rockyhillontheoutskirtsofthecity.Itwasabeautiful,spacioushouse,builtofsolidwhitestoneanddarkwood.Thechurchtowers couldbeseenfromthere."Butit'ssoisolated,"shehadcomplainedtoherhusband."Iknow,mydarling."Astrongman,withthickblackeyebrowsandpowerful teeth. Alonelywolf.Hewouldholdhertightinhishairyarms.They

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spentthewintereveningssittingbeforethefireplace.Hewouldgazeatherinsilence.Suddenly,hewouldsay:"Therabbit,mydarling,isananimalthatisquickat copulating..."Hewouldlaugh,huggingher. Shewinced. Shedrewthecurtainsaside.Amist,likeawhitesea,coveredeverything.Noteventhechurchtowerswerevisible.Thehousefloated,halfsubmergedinthefog.A chillybreezegavehergoosebumps.Sheclosedthewindow."Howcolditis!I'llputonthewhitewoolendress." Shewenttotheclosetandopenedtheheavydoors,madeofdarkcedar.Shelookedatherselfinthemirror."I'mquitepretty,"shemurmured.Shewasthirty­two yearsold;shecouldbetwenty. Alwayswell­dressed:Inawhite... Shewasstartled:Shealreadyhadthedresson."Imustbeveryabsentminded.IgotdressedwithoutrealizingIwasdoingso."Herhusbandlikedthewhitedress. "Youlooktwelveyearsold."Theywouldsitfacetofacebeforethefireplace,whereafireburned.Spellbound,shewouldsitstaringathisteeth,whichglintedinthe lightofthefire.Hewouldbreakintohisshort,coarselaughter."Therabbit...''Shewouldblush."Why?"hewouldask."It'sthisloneliness.Idon'tlikethishouse,so secluded..."Sayingnothing,hewouldgazeather. Butoneeveningtheygotintothecar,thebigblackDodge."It'sasurprise,"hesaid,laughing.Andsoitwas:Theyweregoingtovisitherhusband'spartner."Letme introduceyoutomypartner,mydarling.Rabbit,meetmywife."Rabbit!Shelaughed.Everybodywaslaughing.TheyplayedcardsonWednesdays.Thetwoofthem, RabbitandGilda. Itfeltgoodtobetogether..."Therabbitisananimalthatisquickatcopulating..."Shewouldsayandtheylaughed.Itfelt

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goodthroughoutthosesweetwintermornings."Youareananimalthatisquickatcopulating."Rabbitwouldlaugh."Whitebecomesyou,itreallydoes." Fullydressed,shewalkeddownthegrandstairway.Shecalledthemaid:"Julia!"Therewasnoreply.Shefrowned.Thensheremembered:"Today'sThursday.She musthavegonetothemarket."Shewasstartled:"ButistodayThursday?Yes,itmustbe.Weplayedcardsyesterday,Iknow!IrememberGildatellingme...But wasityesterday...?Itwas:Iturnedthirty­twoonTuesday.Orwasittwenty­two?''Herhusbandhadpromisedherapresent. Thebigtablehadbeenset—foroneperson.Shealwayshadcoffeebyherselfinthehugediningroom.Itdispleasedhergreatly—thissolitude.Shesatdown. "I'mgoingtothehairdresser...ButisthisthedaywhenIalwayshaveanappointmentwiththehairdresser?"Shetookthecoffeepot,thencheckedherself:Hercup wasalreadyfilledwithcoffee."Whopouredit?DidI?Strange,isn'tit—wasn'tit?" Sheputthecoffeepotdown,andstoodmotionless,absolutelystill. Itwasonlyafewminuteslaterthatshesawthewhiterabbit. Herhandreachedoutabruptly,overturningthecup. Ablackcoffeestainspreadoverthewhitetablecloth.Behindthecoffeepot,awhiteplushbunny. "Formysecondbirthdaymyfathergavemeawhiteplushbunny."Aliceandherwhiterabbit,hesaidlaughing.Thewhiteteeth,thebushyeyebrows."WhenIwastwo yearsold.OrwhenIwastwelve?"Shewascrying.Sherosefromthetable."Buttoday'sThursday!We'regettingtogetherateighto'clock!"Sweetwintermornings. Sweetkisses.Shewaslaughing. Shedashedouttothegarageandtookoutthesmallwhitecar,apresentfromherhusband.Onthefrontseat—awhiteplushrabbit.

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Hereyeswereblurredwithtearsasshebegantogodownthenarrow,gravelyroad."It'slate!It'slate!"Thefogwasgettingdenseranddenser. "Waitforme,Rabbit!"Shewasrunning."Therabbitisananimal..."Herhusbandwaslaughing. ItwasthenthatshesawthebigblackDodgeloominglargebeforeher.Herhusband,hisfingersgrippingthesteeringwheel,waslaughing—baringhispowerfulteeth, whichwerewhite,verywhite.Shardsofglasspiercingherthroat,amassofmetalcrushingherchest. Everythingismuchtooquick—wasn'tit?shemurmuredandclosedhereyes.

TheCow DuringastormynighttherewasashipwreckofftheAfricancoast.Theshipsplitinhalfandsankinlessthanaminute.Passengersandcrewdiedinstantly.Therewas onesurvivor,asailorwhohadbeenhurledfarawaywhenthedisasteroccurred.Almostdrowning—forhewasn'tagoodswimmer—thesailorwasprayingandsaying farewelltolife,whenhesawCarola,thecow,swimmingquicklyandvigorouslynexttohim. Carola,thecow,hadbeenloadedinAmsterdam. Asuperbbreeder,herdestinationhadbeenafarminSouthAmerica. Holdingontothecow'shorn,thesailorletherleadhim;andso,atdaybreaktheyreachedasandyislet,wherethecowdepositedtheunfortunateyoungman,andshe keptlickinghisfaceuntilhewokeup. Realizingthathewasonadesertedisland,thesailorburstintotears."Woetome!Thisislandisn'tonanysearoute!I'llneverseeanotherhumanbeingagain." Throwinghimselfuponthesand,he

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criedforalongtime,whileCarola,thecow,stoodgazingathimwithherbigbrowneyes. Finally,theyoungmanwipedhistearsandrosetohisfeet. Helookedaroundhim:Therewasnothingontheislandexceptforsharprocksandafewrickety­lookingtrees.Hefelthungry;hecalledthecow:"Comehere, Carola!"Hemilkedheranddrankthegood,warm,foamymilk.Thenhefeltbetter;hesatdownandstoodstaringattheocean."Woetome!"hewouldwailattimes, butnowwithoutmuchconviction:Themilkhaddonehimgood. Thatnighthesleptsnuggledagainstthecow.Hehadagoodnight'ssleep,fullofrefreshingdreams,andwhenhewokeup,therewithinhisreachwastheudderwithits abundantmilk. Thedayswentbyandtheyoungmangrewmoreandmoreattachedtothecow."Comehere,Carola!"Shewouldobeyhim. Hewouldsliceoffapieceofhertendermeat—hewasquitepartialtotongue—andwouldeatitrawwhilestillwarm,theblooddribblingdownhischin.Thecow didn'tevenmoo.Shemerelylickedherwounds.Thesailorwascarefulnottoinjurehervitalorgans;ifheremovedalung,he'dleavetheotheroneinplace;heatethe spleenbutnottheheart,andsoon. Withscrapsofherskinthesailormadeclothesandshoesandatenttoshelterhimfromthesunandtherain.HecutoffCarola'stailandusedittodrivethefliesaway. Whenthemeatbegantogetscarce,hehitchedthecowtoaplowcrudelymadeoftreebranches,andthentilledtheplotoflandlyingbetweenthetrees,wherethesoil wasmorefertile. Heusedtheanimal'sexcrementformanure.Astherewasn'tmuchofit,hegroundafewofherbonestopowdersothathecouldusethemasfertilizer. ThenhesowedthefewgrainsofcornthathadremainedstuckinthecavitiesofCarola'steeth.Soon,seedlingsbegantosproutandtheyoungman'shopesrekindled.

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HecelebratedSt.John'sDaybyeatingcanjica,thetraditionalgratedcornpudding. Springarrived.Atnight,fromfar­offregions,agentlebreezebroughtsubtlearomas. Gazingatthestars,thesailorwouldsigh.OnenighthepluckedoutoneofCarola'seyes,mixeditwithseawaterandthenswallowedthislightconcoction.Hehad voluptuousvisions,neverbeforeexperiencedbyahumanbeing....Overcomebydesire,hewentuptothecow.Andinthismattertoo,Carolawasreadytooblige. Alongtimewentby,andonedaythesailorspottedashiponthehorizon.Wildwithjoy,hebegantoyellatthetopofhisvoice,buthegotnoreply:Thevesselwas muchtoofaraway.ThesailorpluckedoutoneofCarola'shornsanduseditasamakeshifttrumpet.Thepowerfulsoundroaredthroughtheair,butevensohefailed tomakehimselfheard. Theyoungmangrewdesperate:Nightwasfallingandtheshipwassailingfartherawayfromtheisland.Atlast,theyoungmansetCarolaonthegroundandthrewalit matchintoherulceratedwomb,whereascrapoffatstillremained. Thecowcaughtfirequickly.Fromamidtheblacksmoke,heroneremainingeyelookedsteadilyatthesailor.Theyoungmanstarted;hethoughthehaddetecteda tear.Butitwasjustanimpression. Thehugeflashoflightcalledtheattentionofthecaptainoftheship;amotorboatcametopickupthesailor.Theywereabouttoleave,takingadvantageofthetide, whentheyoungmanshouted:"Justaminute!"Hewentbacktotheisland,andfromthesmolderingpilehetookahandfulofashesandputitinhisleathervest. "Farewell,Carola,"hemurmured.Thecrewofthemotorboatexchangedglances."Sunstricken,"oneofthemsaid. Thesailorarrivedinhisnativecountry.Heresignedfromtheseaandbecameawealthyandrespectedfarmerwhoownedadairyfarmwithhundredsofcows.

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Butevensoheledalonely,unhappylife,andhehadfrighteningnightmareseverynightuntilhewasfortyyearsold.Whenheturnedforty,hetraveledtoEuropeby boat. Onenight,unabletosleep,helefthisluxuriousstateroomandwentuptothequarterdeck,whichwasbathedinmoonlight.Helitacigarette,leanedontheship'srail, andstoodgazingatthesea. Suddenlyhestretchedhisneckeagerly.Hehadspottedanisletonthehorizon. "Hi,there!"saidsomeonenexttohim. Heturned.Shewasabeautifulblondewithbrowneyesandaluxuriantbust. "MynameisCarola,"shesaid.

TheDog "LookwhatI'vebroughtbackfrommytrip,"SenhorArmandosaidtohisfriendHeitor,takingsomethingoutofhispocket.Theyweresittinginthepleasantfront gardenofSenhorHeitor'shouse. Itwasadog;atinydog,perhapsthesmallestdogintheworld.SenhorArmandoplaceditonthetable,wherethetinycreaturestoodthrobbing.Itwassmallerthana whiskeyglass. "Whatisit?"askedSenhorHeitor. "It'saJapanesedog.Asyouknow,theJapaneseareexpertsinminiatureart.Thisdogisatypicalexample.Forseveralgenerationsnowthey'vebeencrossbreeding eversmallerspecimensuntilthey'vecomeupwiththistinycreature.Andmindyou,theystartedwiththewilddog,whichisthewolf'snextofkin. "Ithasretainedtheferocityofthewolf,"SenhorArmandowenton,"nowalliedwiththeattributesofthewatchdog.Inaddition,ithasundergoneseveraltechnical improvements.Itsteethhavebeencappedwithplatinum;theyarehardandextremelysharp.Initsears,asyoucansee,anacousticdevicehasbeenimplantedto improveits

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hearing.Overitseyestherearecontactlensesthathavebeenspeciallytreatedtoenableittoseeinthedark.Andtheconditioning!Ah,theconditioning!Fortwelve years..." "Isthisanimaltwelveyearsold?" "Twelve,yes.Twelveyearsofcontinuousconditioning.It'sabletosmelloutderelictswhoarestillmilesaway.Ithatestheirguts.Letmetellyou,Ifeelmuchmore relaxednowthatIhavethistreasureathomewithme." Heleanedbackinthearmchairandtookasipofwhiskey.Justthensomebodyknockedatthegate.Itwasaman;abeggardressedinrags,leaningonacrutch. "Whatdoyouwant?"shoutedSenhorHeitor. "AlittlesomethingfortheloveofGod..." "Adolfo!"SenhorHeitorwascallinghismanservant."Comehere!" "Justamoment,Heitor,"saidSenhorArmando,hiseyessparkling."Howwouldyouliketoseemylittledoginaction?" Andwithoutwaitingforareply,hewhisperedintothedog'sear:"Go,Bilbo,go!Bringhimhere!"Andtohisfriend,"It'sthefirsttimehe'llbeworkinghereinBrazil." Inthemeantime,Bilbohadjumpedoffthetableandwasdartingacrossthelawn.Amomentlater,thebeggarwaswalkingthroughthegateasifhewerebeinghauled inbyatractor. "Didyouseethat?"SenhorArmandocriedoutexcitedly.Andthebeggaralreadystoodinfrontofthem,withBilbo'splatinumteethsunkintotheman'sonlyleg. "Whatdoyouwant?"demandedSenhorHeitorinahardtoneofvoice. "Alittlesomethingfortheloveof..."thebeggarbegan,hisfacecontortedwithpain. "Andwhyaren'tyouworking,mygoodman?" "Ican't...Ihaveonlyoneleg..."

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"Thereareplentyofjobswhichpeoplecandoevenwithoutaleg." "Icanmakemoremoneybybeggingthanbyhavingajob." "You'reabum!"shoutedSenhorHeitor,incensed."Aderelict!Thescumofsociety!GetoutofmysightbeforeIpunishyou." "Justamoment,Heitor,"saidSenhorArmando."Bilboispointingouttherightcourseofactiontous.Whyletthismangofree?Sothattomorrowhecanbreakinto myhouse,orintoyours?" "But..."SenhorHeitorbegantosay. Let'sleavethismatterforBilbotohandle.Go,Bilbo,go!" Withaskillfulmaneuverofitstinyhead,BilbothrewitspreyuponthegroundThen,startingwiththelegintowhichitsteethwerealreadysunk,Bilbobegantochew methodically.First,itatethelowerlimb;thenthestumpoftheleg;fromthereitproceededtotheabdomen,thethorax,andthehead.Everythinghappenedina twinkling;simultaneously,thedogsuckedupthebloodsoasnottoletit*tainthegreengrass.Finally,thebeggar'slastremainingpart—hisrighteye—disappeared, stillglowingwithterror,intothetinydog'smouth.Tofinisheverythingoff,Bilboateupthecrutchthathadbeenleftleaningagainstthetable. "Didyouseethat?"saidSenhorArmando,pleased."Eventhewood." "Veryingenious,"remarkedSenhorHeitor,takingasipofwhiskey.I'llacceptit." "Whatdoyoumean?"SenhorArmandowasastonished. "Inexchangeforthemoneyyouoweme." "Noway,Heitor!"shoutedSenhorArmandoindignantly.Herosetohisfeet,pickedupthetinydogandplaceditinhispocket."Adebtisadebt.You'llgetyour moneywhenitisdue.Youcan'tputamoneyvalueonthisdog.Yourattitudesurprisesme.Ineversuspectedagentlemancouldactinsuchaway.Good­bye!" Heheadedforthegate.

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"Youderelict!"shoutedSenhorHeitor."Youthief!" SenhorArmandoturnedaround.Hewasabouttosaysomethingbutinsteadletoutahowl.SenhorHeitor,whoseeyesightwaspoor,waslookingforhisglasses; meanwhile,hecouldindistinctlyseethefigureofSeniorArmandodisintegratingbythegate.Whenhefinallysucceededinlocatinghisglasses,hesawBilbobefore him,barkingjoyfully.TherewerenotracesofSenhorArmando "Great!"murmuredSenhorHeitor,drainingofftheglassofwhiskey. "Heitor!"Itwashiswife,whohadjustappearedatthedoor.SenhorHeitorquicklyputBilboinhispocket."What'sthatyou'vegotthere?" "It'sa...atinydog,"repliedSenhorHeitor. "Well,really,Heitor!"Hiswifewasfurious."HowmanytimeshaveItoldyouIdon'twantanyanimalsinthishouse?Wheredidyougetthisdog?" "FromArmando,itwashis.He...hegaveittome." "That'salie!ArmandowouldnevergiveanythingtoanyoneYoustoleitfromhim."Thewoman'seyeswereglowing."Youthief!Youderelict!" SenhorHeitorstoodsmiling.Suddenly,heletoutahowlandvanished.Asforthewoman,shecouldseenothingbutatinydog,itstonguehangingout.

Shazam Comicstripsarebeingreappraised;therehasbeenalotoftalkaboutthestrengthoftheheroes,yetwhatistheretobesaidabouttheirsorrows? TheInvisibleMansufferedfromadeepfeelingofdepersonalization."IkeeptouchingmyselfallthetimetomakesurethatI'mreallypresentintheworldrightnow,"he wroteinhisjournal.The

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RubberManwouldbuyasuitononedayonlytofindonthefollowingdaythatitnolongerfithim.He,notthesuit,hadeithershrunkorstretched.PrinceSub­Mariner grievedoverthepollutionofthesea.Andwhatatemptation,thosesavorybaits!Luckily,heknewfishermenandfishhooksquitewell.TheHumanTorchwas constantlybeingpersecutedbysad*stscarryingfireextinguishersaswellasconstantlyharassedbythefireinsurancecompanies(woetohimifhewascaughtanywhere nearafire!).TheShadow,whoknewallabouttheevilthatlurksintheheartsofmen,wasvexedbyhypochondriacsobsessedaboutheartdiseases.Zorrokept receivingindecentpropositionsfromafetishistwithafixationonobjectsbeginningwiththeletterZ. LotharwasaccusedofconspiringagainstthegovernmentofoneofthefledglingAfricanrepublics.ItwasimpossibleforanyonetogiveSupermanashotinthearm; theneedleswouldbreakagainsthissteelskin."OnedayI'lldiebecauseofthis,"hewouldcomplainbutnobodypaidanyattentiontowhathesaid;ithasbeenproved thatheroesareimpervioustotheravagesoftime. —A.Napp,TheHeroesRevisited Crimehavingbeeneliminatedfromtheworld,CaptainMarvelwasinvitedtoaspecialsessionoftheAmericanCongress.TherehewasgreetedbyLesterBrainerd,a Louisianasenator,andawardedtheMilitaryMeritMedalandalifepension.Deeplymoved,CaptainMarvelexpressedhisthanksandstatedhisdesiretolive peacefullyforever—writinghismemoirs,perhaps. Forhisretreat,CaptainMarvelselectedthecityofPôrtoAlegreinBrazil,whereherentedaroominapicturesqueresidentialhotelintheAltodaBronzearea. Atfirst,hislifewasfarfrompeaceful;wheneverhewasonthe

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street,crowdsofkidswouldrunafterhim:"Fly!Fly!"Theywouldthrowstonesandmakefacesathim.Annoyed,CaptainMarvelconsideredmovingtoNepal.As timewentby,however,peoplegraduallytooklessnoticeofhim.Hestartedbygivinguphiseye­catchingattireandnowworeordinaryclothes,agrayTergalsuit. Then,whentelevisionstartedtoshowanewmovieseries,theyoungpeopleweretakenupwiththenewheroesthathadreplacedhim.Therewasabriefmomentof glorywhenhismemoirswerelaunchedatanautographpartyattendedbydozensofpeople.Theeventreceivedagreatdealofattentionandcriticssawinhisbook unexpectedvalues("Anewoutlookontheworld,"somebodysaid),butafterwardCaptainMarvelwasoncemoreforgotten.Hespentthedaysinhisroom,leafing througholdcomicbooksandnostalgicallyrememberingtheevilSilvana,whohaddiedofcancermanyyearsbefore.SometimesCaptainMarvelworkedinhisgarden. Hehadsucceededinpersuadinghislandladytolethimusetheyardbeyondthekitchen,andtherehegrewroses.Hewantedtoproduceahybridvariety. IntheeveningsCaptainMarvelwatchedtelevisionorwenttothemovies.Withmelancholycontempthewatchedthemodernheroes,unabletofly,vulnerableto bullets,andevenso,incrediblyviolent.HeusedtospendSaturdaysatabarneartheresidentialhotel,drinkingrumwithpassionfruitjuiceandchattingwithex­boxers, whohadgottenusedtohisheavyaccent. OnoneofthoseeveningsCaptainMarvelwasfeelingparticularlydepressed.Hehadalreadyhadelevendrinksandwasthinkingofgoingtobed,whenawoman cametothebar,satdownatthecounter,andaskedforabeer. Silently,CaptainMarvellookedherover.Hehadneverpaidmuchattentiontowomen;thefightagainstcrimehadalwaysbeenanengrossingtask.Butnow,being retired,CaptainMarvelcouldaffordtothinkofhimself.Hispeelingmirrorrevealedthathestillcut

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asplendidlyvirilefigure,andhecouldn'thelpbeingawareofthefact. Asforthewoman,shewasn'tpretty.Fortyish,short,andfat,shesmackedherlipseverytimeshetookagulpofbeer.Butshewastheonlywomanatthebarthat Saturdaynight.Besides,shenotonlyreturnedthecaptain'sgaze,butalsogotup,walkedOver,andsatdownnexttohim. CaptainMarvelintroducedhimself,sayinghisnamewasJoseSilva,acarsalesman.Hedidsofeelingillatease:Unlikethemodernheroes,hewasn'tusedto dissembling,scheming,disguisinghimself. ''Shallwegotomyroom,honey?"thewomanwhisperedatthreeo'clockinthemorning. Theywent.ItwasonthefourthfloorofanoldbuildingonRuaDuquedeCaxias.Thewoodenstepscreakedundertheirweight.Thewomanwaspantingandhadto stopateachlanding."It'smybloodpressure."Uneasy,CaptainMarvelfeltliketakingherinhisarmsandflyingup;buthedidn'twanttorevealhisidentity.Finally, theygotthere. Thewomenopenedthedoor.Itwasafilthylittleroom,decoratedwithpaperflowersandreligiousstatues.Inthecorner,abedcoveredwitharedspread. Thewomandrewcloser.SheturnedtoCaptainMarvelandsmiled:"Kissme,darling."Theykissedforalongtime,tookofftheirclothes,andgotintobed."Howcold youare,honey,"thewomancomplained.Itwashissteelskin—theinvulnerableshellthathadsooftenprotectedCaptainMarvelandthatwasnowgettingsomewhat rustyunderthearmpits.CaptainMarvelthoughtofrubbinghischestwithhishands,buthewasafraidthatthiswouldcreatesparksandcauseafire.Soheconfined himselftosaying:"It'llbebettersoon." "It'sallright.Comenow,"thewomanmurmured,hereyesglowinginthedark.CaptainMarvelthrewhimselfuponher.

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Ahowlofpainshooktheroom. "You'vekilledme!You'vekilledme!Howithurts!" Scared,CaptainMarvelturnedonthelight.Thebedwassoakedwithblood. "You'vestuckaswordintome,youbastard,youdevil!" Hurriedly,CaptainMarvelputonhispants.Thewomanwasscreamingforhelp.Notknowingwhattodo,CaptainMarvelopenedthewindow.Lightsbegantogoon inthenearbyhouses.Hejumped. Foramomenthewasgoingdownlikeastone,buthequicklygainedcontrolandglidedgently.Heflewaimlesslyoverthecity,whichwasstilllyingasleep.Attimeshe sobbed;herememberedthedayswhenhewasjustBillyBatson,asimpleradioannouncer. Therewasonewordthatcouldhavetakenhimbacktothosedays;however,CaptainMarvelnolongerrememberedit.

TheFishingTournament AnextremelyunpleasantincidenttookplaceduringthelastfishingtournamentonJoyBeach. Outstandingindividualsparticipatedinthatpopularsport. Amongothers,thefollowingwerepresent:Miller,Saraiva,Zeca,JudgeoftheCourtofAppealOtavio,Brunneleschi,andSenhoraSantos. Theweatherwaswonderful.Thewateraboundedinfish. Allonehadtodowasthrowinafishhookinordertocatchabeautifulspecimen. Contentmentwaswidespread.Inanatmosphereofgoodwill,peoplecongratulatedtheluckiestamongthem. Onthethirddayofthetournamentastrangevehiclearrived.Itwasalarge,gaudilypaintedwagon,pulledbyridiculous­looking

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jades.Amidagreatrumpus,abigclanmadeupoffather,mother,andmanychildrenalighted. Asonemighthaveexpected,thepeoplealreadytherefeltveryillatease.Thenewcomerswerefilthy,rude,andundesirablecompanions. Themanwasespeciallyunpleasant:short,withbronze­coloredskin,evilblackeyes,athick­lippedmouthdisplayinggold­cappedteeth.Andavicioustongue:He wouldn'twalkpastawoman,whethermarriedorsingle,withoututteringacoarsejoke. Hadtheintrudersremainedintheemptylottheyhadchosenfortheirstoppingplace,theirinsolencewouldhavebeenbearable. However,onthefollowingmorningtheman—hisnamewasAntonio—showsuponthebeach,andwithoutaskingforpermission,becomesabsorbedinthefollowing activities:Herollshistrouserlegsuptohisknees.Heentersthewater,marchingrightinamongthesportsmen'sfishinglines.Hedipshisarmsintothewateruptohis elbows.Heutterssomewordsinalowvoice.Andwhenheremoveshisarms,theyarefilledwithfish! Suchviolationoftherulescausedgreatuneasiness.Thetournamentparticipantscomplainedtothepresidentofthefishingclub,who—togetherwithacommittee— headedfortheparkinglotwheretheweirdindividualswerecamped. Thefamilywaseatinglunch.Theypickedupthefish—somestillalive—andputthemintheirmouths,chewingravenously.Thepresidentallegedthatitwasagainstthe lawtoeatthelittlecreaturesbeforetheyhadbeenweighedandproperlyregistered. "Knowdoyouwhat?Wantyoudowhat?"Antonioyelledattheminhistwistedmannerofspeech,amorseloffishintestineshangingoutofhislecherous­looking mouth.Andwithgreatdisrespect,thewholetribeburstoutlaughing.Thepresidentandhiscommitteeleft,readytoreporttheaffairtotheproperauthority.However,

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whenthejudgeoftheCourtofAppealheardaboutthecase,hesaid:"Gentlemen,pleaseleavethematterinmyhands." Itwasobviousthathewasovercomebyrighteousindignation. JudgeoftheCourtofAppealOtaviotookactionthatverynight.Hewasatall,agile,vigorousman. Onthefollowingmorningheannouncedtohispeers:"Gentlemen,soonyou'llsectheresultsofapunitiveexpedition. Andtheyallheadedfortheriver. Aroundnineo'clockAntonioshowedup.Fromthedistanceitcouldbeseenthathisupperlimbsweretiedwithblood­drenchedrags. "Icuthisarmsoffattheelbows,"thejudgeoftheCourtofAppealexplained."Myreliablefishknifehasn'tfailedme." Thenthegrotesquecreaturedrewcloser.Hewasmoaningsoftly.Justashehaddoneonthepreviousday,heenteredtheriver.Hetriedtothrusthisamputated stumpsintothewaterButthecoldmadehimhowlwithpain. Widespreadlaughter. Next,thestrangerproceededtointoneamonotonoussingsong,hisfaceturneduptothesky.Thenhegotoutofthewaterandwalkedpastthesportsmenwithout lookingatthem. Lateron,peoplesawthewagondriveawayanddisappearnorth­ward. Thosewatershavesincenotyieldedasinglefish.TherehavebeennomorefishingtournamentsatJoyBeach.

WeGunmenMustn'tFeelPity We'reafearfulgunman.We'reinasalooninasmalltowninTexas.Theyearis1880.We'resippingwhiskey.There'sadolefulexpressioninoureyes.Thereare countlessdeathsinourpast.We'refilledwithremorse.That'swhywe'redrinking.

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Thedooropens.InwalksaChicanonamedAlonso.Headdressesusdisrespectfully.Hecallsusgringo,laughsloudly,makeshisspursclink.Weactasifheweren't there.Wekeeponsippingwhiskey.TheChicanowalksuptous.Heinsultsus.Hegivesusaslaponthecheek.Ourheartcontractsinanguish.Wedon'tfeellike killinganyoneanymore.Butwe'llhavetomakeanexceptionforAlonso,thisChicanodog. Wearrangeaduelforthefollowingmorningatsunrise.Alonsoslapsusonthecheekoncemoreandthenleaves.Westandlostinthought,sippingthewhiskey. Finally,wetossagoldcoinonthecounterandleave. Wewalkslowlytoourhotel.Thetownsfolkarewatchingus.Theyknowweareafearfulgunman.PoorChicano,poorAlonso.Weenterthehotel,climbthestairsto ourroom,andliedownfullydressedandwithourbootson.Weliestaringattheceilingaswesmoke.Weheaveasigh.Wearefilledwithremorse. Anditisalreadydawn.Wegetup.Wesetourwidebeltinplace.Wesubmittheguntotheusualinspection.Wewalkdownthestairs.Thestreetisdeserted,butwe sensethetownsfolkwatchingusfrombehindclosedcurtains.Thewindblows,raisingsmallswirlsofdust.Ah,thiswind!Thiswind!Howmanytimeshasitwatched uswalkingslowly,ourbackturnedtotherisingsun? AttheendofthestreetAlonsoisalreadywaitingforus.ThisChicanoreallywantstodie. Wepositionourselvesinfrontofhim.Heseesagunmanwithadolefulexpressioninhiseyes.Thegrinonhisfacefades.Inoureyesheseescountlessdeaths.That's whathesees. WeseeaChicano.Poordevil.Soonhewon'tbeeatinganymoretortillas.Hiswidowandhersixkidswillburyhimatthefootofthehill.They'lllockuptheirshack andheadforVeracruz.Theoldestdaughterwillbecomeaprostitute.Theyoungestson,athief. Oureyesbecomeblurry.PoorAlonso.Heshouldn'thaveslapped

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us.Nowhe'sterrified.Hisrottenteetharechattering.Whatapitifulsight. Ateardropstothedustyground.It'sours.Weplaceourhandontheholster.Butwedon'tdrawthegun.TheChicanodoes.Weseetheguninhishand,wehearthe shot,thebulletfliestowardourchest,itnestlesinourheart.Wefeelapiercingpainandweslumptotheground. WedieasAlonso,theChicano,laughs. We,thegunman,shouldn'thavefeltpity.

BlindManandAmigoGedeãoAlongsidetheHighway "Theonethatjustwentbywasa1962Volkswagen,wasn'tit,amigoGedeão?" "No,BlindMan.ItwasaSimcaTyphoon." "ASimcaTyphoon...?Ah,yes,that'sright.Powerful,theSimca.Andveryeconomical.IcantellaSimcaTyphoonfromagreatdistance.Icantellanycarbythe noiseofitsengine. "NowthisonethatjustwentbywasaFord,wasn'tit?" "No,BlindMan.ItwasaMercedestruck" "AMercedestruck?Youdon'tsay!Wehaven'thadaMercedesgobyinalongtime.IcantellaMercedesfromagreatdistance...Icantellonecarfromanother. DoyouhaveanyideahowlongI'vebeensittingherealongsidethishighway,listeningtoalltheseengines,amigoGedeão?Twelveyears,amigoGedeão.Fortwelve years. "That'sanawfullongtime,amigoGedeão,wouldn'tyousayso?Longenoughformetohavelearnedalot.Aboutcars,Imean.Wasn'tthisonethatjustwentbya GordiniWillfulness. "No,BlindMan.Thatwasamotorscooter." "Amotorscooter...well,well,theycanreallydeceiveaperson,

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thosemotorscooters.'Speciallywhentheexhaustdoesn'thaveamuffler. "ButasIwassaying,ifthere'sonethingIcando,it'stotellonecarfromanotherbythewaytheenginessound.Whichisnotsurprising,really,consideringallthese yearsI'vespentlisteningandlistening! "It'sanabilitythatservedmewelloncewhen...ThisonethatjustwentbywasanotherMercedeswasn'tit?" "No,BlindMan.Itwasabus." "That'swhatIfigured.You'dnevergettwoMercedesinarow.IsaidMercedesjustfortheheckofit.ButwherewasI?Ah,yes. "Thisabilityofminecameinquitehandyonetime.Wouldyoucaretohearaboutit,friendGedeão?Yes?InthatcaseI'lltellyouaboutit.It'llhelpwhilethehours away,right?Thusthedaywillendsooner.Ilikeeveningsmuchbetter:They'remuchcooleratthistimeoftheyear.ButasIwassaying,severalyearsagoamanwas killedabouttwokilometersfromhere.Averywealthyfarmer,hewas.Theyputfifteenbulletsintohim.Wasn'tthisonethatjustwentbyaGalaxy?" "No.Itwasa1964Volkswagen." "Ah,aVolkswagen...Greatcar.Veryeconomical.Thetransmissionsverygood.Well,sotheykilledthisfarmer.Haven'tyouheardaboutthecase?Itwasmuch talkedabout.Fifteengunshots.Andtheygotawaywithallthemoneythefarmerhadonhim.InthosedaysIwasalreadyinthehabitofsittingherebythehighwayand Iheardaboutthecrime.IthappenedonaSunday.OnFridayIhearditontheradiothatthepolicestilldidn'thavetheslightestclue.Wasn'tthisonethatjustwentbya Candango." "No,BlindMan,itwasn'taCandango." "lwasdeadsureitwasaCandango....ButasIwassaying,itwasFridayandtheystilldidn'thaveaclue. "Ihappenedtobesittingrighthere,onthisverychair,cudgelingmybrain...Mullingthingsover,youknow.UntilIreachedacon­

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clusion.IdecidedIshouldhelpthepolice.IaskedmyneighbortotellthedistrictchiefofpolicethatIhadsomeinformationforthem.Sure,thisonemusthavebeena Candango." "No,BlindMan.ItwasaGordiniWillfulness." "IcouldhaveswornitwasaCandango.Thedistrictchiefofpolicewasn'tinanybighurrytoseeme.Heprobablythought,'Ablindman?Whatcouldablindman haveseen?'Orsomethinglikethat,sheerbunk,ofcourse,youknowthethingstheysay,amigoGedeão.Anyway,heendedupcomingherebecausethepolicewere atalossandwillingtointerviewevenarock.So,thedistrictchiefofpolice,hecamehereandsatdownwhereyou'resittingnow,amigoGedeão.Wasthisonenow thebus?" "No,BlindMan.Thatwasapickup,aChevroletPeaco*ck." "Agoodpickup,too,oldbutgood.WherewasI?Ah,yes.Thedistrictchiefofpolicecametoseeme.Iaskedhim:'Whattimewasit,sir,whenthecrimewas committed?'" "Aboutthreeintheafternoon,BlindMan." "Inthatcase,'Isaid,"youshouldtrytolocatea1927Oldsmobile.Themufflerofthiscarhasgotaholeinit." "Andthereisadefectivesparkplug.Averyfatmanwassittinginthefrontofthecar.Intheback,I'msure,therewerepossiblytwoorthreepeople.Thedistrictchief ofpolicewasflabbergasted.'Howdoyouknow,friend?'wasallhekeptasking.Wasn'tthisonethatjustwentbyaDKW?" "No,BlindMan.ItwasaVolkswagen." "Yes.Thedistrictchiefofpolicewasflabbergasted.'Howcomeyouknowallthis?''Well,chief,'Ireplied,"itsohappensthatforyearsnowI'vebeensittingherenext tothishighway,listeningtothecarsgoby.Icantellonecarfromanother.Andthat'snotall:Icantelliftheengineisinpoorshape,ifthere'stoomuchweightinthe front,iftherearepeopleonthebackseat.Itwastwo­forty­five

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whenthiscardroveinthatdirection,anditwasthree­fifteenwhenitheadedbacktothecity.''Howcomeyouknewaboutthetime?'thedistrictchiefofpolicewanted toknow.'Well,Chief,'Ireplied,'ifthere'sonethingIcando—asidefrombeingabletotellcarsapartbylisteningtothesoundoftheirengines—itistotellthetimeof thedaybythepositionofthesuninthesky.'Althoughskeptical,thedistrictchiefofpolicewentto...ThatwasanWillysAero,wasn'tit?" "No,BlindMan.ItwasaChevrolet." "Thedistrictchiefofpolicesucceededinlocatingthe1927Oldsmobilewiththeentireganginside.Theyweresoflabbergastedthattheygavethemselvesupwithout puttingupanyresistance.Thedistrictchiefofpolicerecoveredallthemoneythey'dstolenfromthefarmer,andhisfamilygavemequiteabundleofareward.Wasn't theonethatwentbyaToyota?""No,BlindMan.Itwasa1956Ford."

ThePause Atseveno'clockthealarmclockwentoff.Samueljumpedoutofbed,dashedintothebathroom,shaved,washedup. Hegotdressedquicklyandnoiselessly.Hewasinthekitchenmakingsandwicheswhenhiswifeappeared,yawning. "Goingoutagain,Samuel?" Henoddedinreply.Althoughyoung,hishairhadalreadyrecededfromhisforehead,buthiseyebrowswerethick,andeventhoughhehadjustshaved,hisbeardhad leftabluishshadowonhisface.Theeffectwasthatofadarkmask. "YouleavesoearlyonSundays,"thewomanremarkedpeevishly. "There'sabacklogofworktogetthroughattheoffice." Shelookedatthesandwiches.

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"Whydon'tyoucomehomeforlunch?" "I'vealreadytoldyou:Wehaveabacklogofwork.There'snotime.I'mtakingsomethingforlunch." Thewomanstoodscratchingherleftarmpit.Beforeshehadachancetoresumehernagging,Samuelgrabbedhishat:"I'llbebackthisevening." Thestreetswerestilldampwithfog.Samuelgotthecaroutofthegarage.Hewasdrivingslowlypastthewaterfront,lookingattheidlederricks,atthelargebarges tiedupatthedocks. Heparkedonaquietsidestreet.Carryingthebagofsandwichesunderhisarm,hewalkedhurriedlyfortwoblocks.Hestoppedattheentranceofasmallgrubby hotel.Heglancedaround,thenwalkedinstealthily.Hetappedthecarkeysonthecounter,wakingupasmallmanwhosatasleepinanarmchairwithatomslipcover. Hewasthemanager.Rubbinghiseyes,herosetohisfeet:"Ah,it'syou,SenhorIsidoro!You'reearlierthanusualtoday.Nippyoutside,isn'tit?People—" "I'minahurry,SenhorRaul,"Samuelsaid,cuttinghimshort. "Okay,Iwon'tkeepyou."Heheldoutakey."It'stheusualone." Samuelclimbedfourflightsuparicketystairway. Whenhereachedthetopfloor,twofatwomenwearinghousecoatswithafloraldesignlookedathimcuriously:"Overhere,sweetie!"saidoneofthem.Theother laughed. Gaspingforbreath,Samuelwentintotheroomandlockedthedoorbehindhim.Itwasasmallroom:adoublebed,apinewardrobe;inacomer,abasinfilledwith waterrestedonatripod.Samueldrewthetatteredcurtains,tookatravelalarmclockoutofhispocket,woundit,andplaceditonthesmallbedsidetable. Hepulledasidethebedspreadandexaminedthesheets,frowning;sighing,hetookoffhisjacketandhisshoes,andloosenedhistie.Seatedonthebed,heatefour sandwichesravenously.Hewipedhisfingersonthewrappingpaper,laydown,andclosedhiseyes.

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Tosleep. Amomentlater,hewasasleep.Naked,hewasrunningacrossanimmenseplain,pursuedbyanIndianonhorseback.Thegallopingechoedinthestuffyroom.Over thehighlandsoftheforehead,downthehillsofthebelly,inthevalleybetweenthelegs,theykeptrunning,thepursuerandthequarry. Samueltossedabout,muttering.Attwo­thirtyintheafternoonhefeltapiercingpaininhisback.Hesatupinbed,hiseyesbulging:TheIndianhadjustpiercedhim withhisspear.Bleedingtodeath,soakedwithsweat,Samuelsankslowlytotheground;heheardthegloomywhistleofasteamboat.Thentherewassilence. Atseveno'clockthealarmclockwentoff.Samueljumpedoutofbed,dashedtothewashbasin,andwashedup.Hegotdressedquicklyandleft. Seatedinthearmchair,thehotelmanagerwasreadingamagazine. ''Checkingoutalready,Senhor?" "Yeah,"saidSamuel,handingoverthekey.Hepaidandcountedhischangeinsilence. "SeeyounextSunday,SenhorIsidoro,"saidthemanager. "Don'tknowifI'llbeback,"repliedSamuel,lookingoutthedoor;nightwasfalling. "That'swhatyoukeepsaying,sir,butyoualwayscomeback,"remarkedtheman,laughing. Samuelwentout. Hedroveslowlyalongthewaterfront.Hestoppedbrieflytolookatthederrickssilhouettedagainstareddishsky.Thenhedrovehome.

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OfCannibals In1950twoyoungwomenwereflyingoverthedesolatetablelandsofBolivia.Theplane,aPiper,wasbeingpilotedbyBarbara,abeautifulwoman,tallandblonde, marriedtoawealthyMatoGrossorancher.Hercompanion,Angelina,wasslender,dark­complexioned,andhadbigstartledeyes.Theywerefostersisters. Thesunwassinkingbelowthehorizonwhentheaircraftenginestalled.Aftersomedesperatemaneuvering,Barbaramanagedtocrash­landonaplateau.Theairplane wascompletelydemolished,andthetwowomenfoundthemselvesallalone,hundredsofkilometersfromthenearestvillage. Fortunately(andperhapshavinganticipatedsuchacontingency),Barbarahadbroughtabigcasecontainingassorteddelicacies:anchovies,Brazilnuts,caviarfromthe BlackSea,strawberries,broiledkidneys,pineapplecompote,softcheesefromMinas,andevenbottlesofvitaminpills.Thecasewasintact. ThefollowingmorningAngelinawashungry,andsheaskedBarbaraforsomethingtoeat.Barbara,however,madeitveryclearthatitwasimpossibleforherto complywithAngelina'srequest,forthefoodbelongedtoBarbara,nottoAngelina.Resigningherselftothissituation,Angelinawentoffinsearchoffruitsandroots. Shefoundnothing,fortheareawascompletelybarren.Soshehadnothingtoeatthatday. Nordidshehaveanythingtoeatonthenextthreedays.Barbaraontheotherhand,wasquitenoticeablyputtingonweight,maybeduetoheridleness:Shespentthe timelyingdown,eatingandwaitingforsomeonetocomeandrescuethem.Angelinakeptpacingtoandfro,weepingandbemoaningherfate—whichmerelyincreased herneedforcalories. Onthefourthday,whileBarbarawaseatinglunch,Angelinaapproachedher,holdingaknifeinherhand.Intrigued,Barbara

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stoppedmunching—itwasachickenthigh—andstoodwatchingtheotherwoman,whowasstandingabsolutelystill.Suddenly,Angelinaplacedherlefthandona rock,andwithasingleblow,cutoffherringfinger.Bloodspouted.Angelinathenbroughtherhandtohermouthandsuckedatherownblood. Sincethebleedingwouldn'tstop,Barbaramadeatourniquetaroundthestumpofhersister'sfinger.Inafewminutesthebleedingstopped.Angelinathentookthe finger,whichhadbeenlyingontheground,wipeditoff,andpickedthelittlebonesclean.Shediscardedonlythefingernail. Barbarawatchedinsilence.WhenAngelinafinishedeating,Barbaraaskedherforthebone;thenshebrokeitandusedaslivertopickherteeth.Thenthetwoofthem stoodtalking,reminiscingaboutchildhoodevents,andsoforthandsoon. OnthefollowingdayAngelinaatetheremainderofherfingers,andthenhertoes.Thelegsandthethighsfollowednext. Barbarahelpedherpreparethemeals,tightenedtourniquetswhenevernecessary,offeredadviceonhowtomakethebestofthebonemarrow,andsoforth. Onthefifteenthday,Angelinahadtoresorttoopeningupherstomach.Thefirstorganthatsheremovedwastheliver.Asshewasquitehungry,shedevoureditraw, althoughhersisterhadadvisedhertofryitfirst.ConsequentlyAngelinawasstillhungrywhenshefinishedhermeal.Sheaskedforapieceofbreadtosoakupthetiny amountofgravy. Barbararefusedhersister'srequestwiththewell­reasonedstatementshehadpreviouslymade. Afterthespleenandtheovaries,itwastheturnoftheuterus,whichgaveAngelinaanunpleasantsurprise,forshefoundalargetumorinthatorgan.Barbararemarked thatitmusthavebeenthereasonwhyshehadn'tbeenfeelingwellformonths.Angelinaagreedadding,"WhatapityIdidn'tfindoutaboutituntilnow."Thenshe

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askedBarbaraifitwouldbeharmfultoeatthecancer.Barbaraadvisedhertodiscardthatpart,whichwasalreadyshowingsignsofdecay. Onthetwentiethclay,Angelinapassedaway,andonthefollowingdayarescueteamreachedthecrashsite.Onseeingthemangledcorpse,theyaskedBarbarawhat hadhappened;andtheyoungwoman,bentonpreservinghersister'sreputation,liedforthefirsttimeinherlife."ItwastheIndians." ThenewspapersreportedtheexistenceofcannibalisticIndiansinBolivia—whichiscompletelygroundless.

TheAgingMarx BytheendofthelastcenturyKarlMarxwasfeelingrathertired.Thepoliticalbattlesweredraininghimofhisenergies.Hishealthwaspoorandhelackedfaithinhis ownfutureasleaderoftheinternationalworkingmen'smovement.Hehadalreadyaccomplishedeverythinghehadsetouttodo.DasKapitalhadbeenpublished andwasincirculation;hisarticleswerebeingstudiouslyread.AndyetMarxcontinuedtobeill,poor,andfrustrated. "That'senough,"saidMarx."Idon'thavetoomanyyearsoflifeleft.I'mgoingtospendtheseremainingyearsincognito,yetcomfortably." Itwasapainfuldecision,whichbringstomindthestoryaboutamanwhobelievedhimselftobesuperiortoeverybodyelsebecausehehappenedtohavesixtoeson hisleftfoot.Hekeptmentioningthisfactuntilonedayafriendwantedtohavealookatthosesixtoesofhis.Themanthentakesoffhisshoeandsock,andwhenhe looks,heseesthathehasfivetoes,justlikeeverybodyelse.Widespreadlaughter.Themangoeshome,andfeelingsomewhatdisappointed,hegoestobed.Hetakes offhisshoeagain:Therearefourtoesonhisleftfoot.

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Marxwastiredout."Iwanttoenjoytherestofmylife."Marxmadeanempiricalestimation:Hesubtractedhisagefromthelifeexpectancyforthosedaysandwas overcomewithanxiety;itlookedasifhedidn'thavemuchlongertolive.Whatshouldhedo?Abandonhimselftosomeplayfuladventure?Butwoulditberightto tradeausterityforfrivolity?Tosquanderinlaughter,astheRosicrucianswouldsay,yearsoflife? Marxhadseveraldaughters.Hehopedtheywouldhaveabetterfuture,amorecomfortablelife.Buthow? Farbetterthananyoneelse,Marxunderstoodthefoundationsuponwhichrisingcapitalismwasbased.Hehadaptlydiagnosedalltheerrorsmadebythenew industrialsociety."I'minthebestpossiblepositiontoprofitfromtheseveryerrors,"hethought.Wealthwaswithinhisreach. Andyethehesitated,unabletomakeadecision.Heletthedaysslipby,makingexcusestohiswife:"I'vebeenstudyingthebestway."..."I'llhavetomakesome calculations."..."Ihaven'tbeenuptoitlately."Irresponsible.Marxwasplainlyirresponsible. Hiswifeanddaughters,however,wouldn'tbeabletobeartheirpredicamentmuchlonger.Theyhadhardlyanyclothestowear.Theyweredowntoonemealaday, andthatconsistedmostlyofpotatoesandstalebread. So,Marxhadnootherchoicebuttomakeuphismind.Hedecidedtotesthistheoriesabouteasyprofitsinanewcountry.HechoseBrazil. OnewintermorningattheturnofthecenturyMarxarrivedinPôrtoAlegre.Theshiptiedupatthefog­shroudedwharf.Marxandhisdaughterslookedatthebarges loadedwithoranges.Thegirls,hungry,criedforfood.Anoldgauchogaveoneofthemapieceofsausage.Thegirldevoureditandlaughed,happy. "Nowlookatthat.Ahungrylittlegirl!"saidthegaucho,amazed. "I'llhavetodosomeresearchontheroleoftheproletariatinun­

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derdevelopedcountries,"Marxwasthinking,hutsoonrememberedthathewastheretomakemoney,nottoformulatetheories. "Let'sgo!"hesaidtohisfamily. Theysettledataboardinghouselocatedontheold­fashionedRuaPantaleãoTelles.Soonaftertheirarrivalthere,anothertragedystruckthefamily:Theyoungest child,Punzi,whohadeatenthesausage,becameillwithcrampsanddiarrhea.Marx,whocouldn'taffordtosendforadoctor,tookhertoapubliccharityhospital, whereshediedthatsamenight. "Ifyouhadbroughthersooner..."saidtheinternonduty. Inhergrief,Marx'swifeturnedagainstherhusband."It'syourfault,youdamnedrevolutionary!You'reincapableoflovinganyone.Youknownothingexcepthowto sowhatredeverywhere.Youenjoyclasswarfare,butyou'reunconcernedaboutwhathappenstoyourownfamily!" Feelingcontrite,Marxborewiththetorrentofabuse. Thefollowingdayhewentinsearchofwork. HefoundajobatafurniturefactoryonAvenidaCauduro.Itwasasmallplace,darkanddusty;thenetincomewasbarelyenoughtosupporttheowner,anold beardedJew.However,theownerwasphilosophicalaboutlife:"Thefoodthatfeedsonepersoncaneasilyfeedtwo,three,evenfourpeople.Especiallyifthisperson isaJew;evenifhehappenstobeGermantoo." BesidesMarx,twootherpeopleworkedinthefactory:Quirino,aNegro,andIossel,abespectacledyouthwithapimplyface.Quirinowasskillfulathandlingthedrill, theplane,thegouge,thechisel,thehammer.Healsoknewhowtousethesandingmachine,andwhenevernecessary,heworkedasthepolisher,too.Therewas nobodywhocouldhandlethebandsawaswellashe. Iosselwouldlendthemahandoccasionally.HespoketoMarxoneday:"Wouldyouliketojoinus?IbelongtoagroupofgoodJewishyouths.Wetaketums meetingatoneanother'shousesanddis­

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cussavarietyofsubjects.Weintendtomarrygoodgirlsandhavefamiliesofourown.Wewanttoimprovethequalityoflifeinourcommunity.Wouldyouliketo participateinourmeetings,KarlMarx?" Marxdeclinedtheinvitationfortworeasons:First,afterhavingwritten"OntheJewishQuestion,"hebelievedhehadnothingnewtosayabouttheJewishpeople; second,hisgoalwastomakemoney,nottofraternize. "Ican'tjoinyou,Iossel.Myobjectiveistosucceedinlife.Iadviseyoutoputillusionsaside.Turnyourenergiestosomethingseriousbeforeit'stoolate.Yourhealthis alreadysuffering.You'llendupdyingoftuberculosis." Indeed,althoughtuberculosisisrareamongtheJews,Iosselbegantocoughupbloodandhediedwithouthavingstartedafamilyofhisown.Theoldman,Marx,and theNegroQuirinoattendedtheburial.Someyoungmenwithfrightenedexpressionsontheirfacesshowedupatthecemetery.Marxsupposedthattheywere membersofthediscussiongroup.Hewasright:Marxwashardlyeverwrongnowadays. Beforegoingtobedonenight,Marxlookedathisleftfoot."Fivetoes!"hesaidaloud."Fourpreviously;sixsomeday!" "What?"askedhiswifesleepily. "Gobacktosleep,woman,"hereplied. Marxfollowedtheeconomicpredicamentcarefully.Hereadeverythinghecouldlayhishandson:newspapers,magazines,books.Helistenedtotheradio,towhat peopleweretalkingaboutonthestreetcomers.Hegathereddata.Heexaminedtrends. Thefactoryownerwasgettingoninyears.OnedayhecalledMarxintohisoffice:"I'manoldman.Ineedapartner.Howwouldyouliketobecomemypartner?" "ButIhavenothing." "That'sallright.ItrustyourJewishintegrity,eventhoughyou'reaGermantoo."

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Marxacceptedtheoffer.ThereweretwoofthemnowtobosstheNegroQuirinoabout.Quirinodidn'tmind,though:Hewouldrushfromthesandingmachinetothe bandsaw,fromthebandsawtothewoodpolisher,andinbetween,hewouldnaildownaslat,alwayscrooning"MyPreciousDarling." Slowlyatfirst,butlikeanenginegraduallypickingupspeed,Marxworked.Beforehisarrival,thefactoryoperatedonasimplesystem:Acustomerwouldcometo thefactory,order,say,awardrobe—givinghisownspecificationsforsizeandshape—andevenstipulatetheprice. Afterthecontractwassealedwithahandshake,everybody—bossandemployees—settowork.Marxputanendtothisdisorganizedwayofdoingthings.He announcedthatanassemblylinewouldbeinstituted.ButfirsthefiredtheNegroQuirino. "Butwhy?"protestedtheoldman."Suchagoodemployee!Hecandoeverything." "Preciselyforthatreason,"repliedMarx."Iwantpeoplewhoarecapableofdoingjustonething:specialists,doyoufollowme?Peoplewhoareabletohandlethe gouge,theplane,thebandsawequallywell,peoplewhoareskillfulateverything—well,Ihavenouseforthem!" "Butyoudon'tknowathingaboutfurniture!"Theoldmanwasdesolate. "ButIdoknowabouteconomics.Whydon'tyougotobed,partner?" WorldWarIIwasjustbeginning.Marx,whohadalreadyshavedoffhisbeard,raisedtheBrazilianflagatthefactory.HespokeperfectPortuguese;nobodywould haveguessedthathewasaEuropean.However,hewassmartenoughtotakeprecautions.Hehadjustenteredintoacontractwiththearmytomanufacturefurniture andhedidn'twanthisforeignstatustojeopardizehisbusiness. Theoldmanspenthisdaysatthesynagogue.

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TherewashorrifyingnewsfromEurope.Concentrationcamps.Gaschambers...Onedaywhiletheyweresittingdrinkingcoffee,Marx'swifesaid:"Youwereright aboutsayingthatthere'salineofbloodrunningacrossthehistoryofmankind,"andshehelpedherselftosomebutter. Churchillwasofferingblood,sweat,andtearstotheEnglishmen.Marxhadaloudspeakersysteminstalledatthefactoryinordertobroadcastpatrioticanthemsas wellasrequestsforincreasedproductivityonthepartoftheworkers."Londonhasbeensufferingbombings!Andwhataboutyou,whathaveyoubeendoing?"He wasoneoftheveryfirstentrepreneurstoinvestinanadvertisingcampaign.Thankstohisvisionandotherqualities,hemadealotofmoney. True,therewasnocontinuityorsmoothnessinhismethod.Thefloodsof1941wereamajorsetback.Thousandsofhardwoodplanksfloatedawayinthemuddy waters.Marxacceptedthisblowwithresignation."Manhasturnedhimselfintoagiantbycontrollingtheforcesofnature,"hethought. Ontheotherhand,atthetimeofthefloods,theoldmancamedownwithpneumoniaanddied.Marxwasrelieved:Hejustcouldn'tstandhispartner'sadmonitions anymore.However,Marxhadtheoldman'sportraithungintheofficeandhemadeatouchingspeechontheoccasion. Hewasstilltosufferthroughamajormoralcrisis.Ithappenedtowardtheendofthewar:TheRussiantroopsweremarchingacrossEurope,leavingtumultintheir wake.Redflagswerebeingraisedinvariouscapitals. "CouldIhavebeenrightafterall?"Marxwondered,alarmed."Willtheproletariatgainpowerafterall?Willthecapitalistshecrushed?Willthegutsofthelast landownerbeusedtohangthelastfinancier?" Hedecidedtoputhisoldtheoriestothetest.Iftheyprovedtobe

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wrong,hewouldacknowledgehismistakeandhelptheproletariatwintheclasswar. Inoneofhisfactories,therewasanapprenticenamedQuirininho.HewastheNegroQuirino'sson.Marxdecidedtousehimasaguineapig. Marxcalledhim. "Quirininho." "Yes,sir?" "Cleanmyshoes."Smiling,QuirininhocleanedMarx'sshoes. "Quirininho." "Yes,sir?" "You'reanidiot." "Yes,sir." "Don'tyourealizethateverythingherebelongstoyou?Thesemachinesareyours,thefurniturethatyou'vemadeisyours,themansionwhereIliveisyours.Youcould becometheloverofoneofmydaughtersifyouwantedto.Thefuturebelongstoyou." "Yes,sir." "Don'tyouwanttoownthisfactory?" "You'repullingmyleg,SenhorMarx!"theBrazilian­bornNegrosaid,grinningwidely. "I'mnotpullingyourleg,youidiot!"Marxwasshoutinghim."Takeoverthisfactory!Itbelongstoyou.Goonstrike!Setupbarricades!" Quirininhoremainedsilent,staringatthefloor. "Whatisitthatyouwantmostinlife?" "ToownasmallhouseinVilaJardim.TogotoasoccergameeverySunday.TodrinkrumwithmyfriendsonSaturdaynights.Togetmarried.Tobehappy." EverynightMarxcountedhistoes. "Aretheresixnow?"hiswifewouldask,mockinghim. She,too,died.Marxsetupaspecialfundinhermemory.

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Nowthathewasgettingoninyears,Marxbecameembittered.Oneofhisdaughtersgotmarriedtotheownerofanairlinecompany.Hedidn'tgotothewedding. Anotherdaughterelopedwiththecompany'saccountant.Hedidn'tcare. WhatwasMarx'ssecret?Hewasalwaysridingthecrestofthewave.Henoticedtrends.''There'sboundtobeahousingshortage,whatwithallthesepeople emigratingfromtheruralareasinsearchoftheattractionsofthebigcities."Andherushedheadlongintoinvestinginrealestate.Hemadeuseofpsychology:He offeredthingslikeSecurity,withacapitalS.Hemadefriendswitheveryoneinthefinancialworld;linesofcreditwerealwaysopentohim.Intimesofrecession,he offeredfinancingathighinterestrates. Nowthathewasgettingoninyears,Marxbecameembittered.Hedrankunsweetenedmaté,whichhehadalwaysabhorred.Gloomilysuckingupthebitterliquid throughastraw,hegrumbledaboutthemodernentrepreneurs.("Bums.Bumsandidiots.Don'tknowathingabouteconomics.Can'tfunctionatallwithouta computer.Theylackvision.I'vealwaysbeenabletopredictacrisiswiththeprecisionofastopwatchwithouteverhavingtoresorttoacomputer.")Hegrumbled aboutthecommunistcountries.("Theyquarrelamongthemselveslikeabunchofgossips.Andalltheycanthinkofisexpenditure.")Hecomplainedaboutthematé. ("It'scold,stonecold!") Quirininhowasmortallyinjuredinanaccidentatthefactory.Beforehediedhewantedtoseehisboss,whomheaskedhumblyforhisblessing. Marxwasdeeplyimpressed.ThreedayslaterMarxwashospitalizedandhisleftfoothadtobeamputated.Heinsistedonhavingitembalmedandburied,witha solemnfuneralceremony.Representativesfromtheupperechelonswerepresentattheburial;illatease,theyexchangedglances. Marxdiedmanyyearsago.

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Duringsomeantileftistdemonstrations,thefootwasexhumedbyaninfuriatedcrowd.Beforetheyburnedit,someoneobservedthatithadsixtoes.

Leo Leo,theJewishboy:Intheliquidbrowneyes,theremainsofsmallvillagesinPoland.Thesmile,rareandsorrowful. Leo'sfatherwasatall,strongcabinetmakerwhoworkedhardanddidn'tmakemuchmoney.Attimeshesufferedfromheadachesandwouldmoansoftly.Leo's mothercookedthemealsandintonedsadsongsinYiddish.OnFridaysshesacrificedafishfromthesea.Thefamilysataroundthetablecoveredwithawhite tablecloth.Bythelightofthecandles,theyapportionedthefood.Thefatherwasgiventhehead;heateitslowly.Thenhesuckedatthebonesoftheflattenedskull. Theylivedinaframehouselocatedonasidestreet.Atthefarendofthebigbackyardtherewasawoodenshed,keptpadlocked,andinsidewhichLeohadnever been. Itwaswinter....Everymorning,dark­complexionedboystooktheirfishingrodsandwentfishingintheriver. Leostoodatthewindow,watchingthestreet.Hecouldn'tgofishing.Helookedafterthehousewhilehisfatherworkedatthefurniturefactoryandhismother shoppedattheopen­airmarket.Leocouldn'tgoout. Onceitrainedfordaysonend.OnemorningLeowenttothekitchendoorandlookedout:Thebackyardwasflooded.Hegotdressed,saidgood­byetohismother, andstartedtorow.Hehoistedhisflagupthemastandsoundedthevastnessofthewaters. Theboatsailedthewatersdauntlessly.Thenightswentby,starstudded.Fromthecrow'snest,Leowatchedandthoughtofallthemagnificentadventurers:John,the Englishman,whohadclimbed

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theHimalayaswithoneofhishandstiedbehindhisback;Fred,whohadsetoffonajourneyinsideabarrellaunchedintheGulfofMexicoandhadbeenpickedup offPintadaIslandayearlater;Boris,thebloodbrotherofaComanchechief. Leolivedonfishandalgae;hewroteentriesinhislogbookandgazedattheislands.Thenativeswatchedhimsailby—amoroseman,keepinghimselfalooffromthe waters,alooffromtheskies.Oncetherewasastorm.Butitdidn'tdefeathim,itdidn't! Andwhataboutthemonsters?Whatistheretosayaboutthemsincenobodyhaseverseenthem? "Leo,comeinandhavelunch!"hismothershouted. Leowassailingafar;offthecoastofAfrica. Onedayhecameback.Fromthenon,hewasneveragainfree. Awinterafternoon.Thepalesunwasslidingacrossthesky.Atthefurniturefactory,hisfatherworkedwiththesandingmachine,hisheadwhitewithdust.Hestacked upcupboarddoorsamidheapsofsawdust.ThebosswouldcomeandyellathiminYiddish. Hismotherbakedafishfortheapproachingnight,theholySabbathnight.Shewaspregnantandmovedaboutwithdifficulty.Inthecold,rarefiedair,pigeonsfluttered aboutsluggishly,lookingfurtive.Atthefarendofthebackyard,therewasthepadlockedshed. Theyatedinnerinsilence.Hisparentswenttobed.Inthekitchensink,astackofdishes,stillwiththeremainsoffish.Thecupboarddoorsmadesnappingsounds. Leocouldn'tsleep;hewasrunningatemperature.Hewascryingsoftly,hisdamphandsholdinghistreasure:afishinglineandafishhook.Everythingwasenvelopedin darkness.InthisdarknessLeogotupandbegantowalk.Hewalkedacrossthenarrowhall,acrossthekitchen,towardthebackyard.Itwaspasteleveno'clock,it waspastmidnight. Leosteppedoutintothechillynight.Hewalked,atfirstleaningagainsttheslimywall,thenwithoutproppinghimselfup.

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Leftbehindwerethehouse,hisfatherandhismother. Hereachedtheshed.Hebentdown,insertedthefishinglineandthefishhookunderthebigdoor,andstoodwaiting.Motionlessbeneaththesky,confinedbythewall, Leostoodwaiting.Insidehim,somethingwasgrowingandthrobbing. Hestoodwaiting.Suddenly,hefeltthefishinglinequiver.Asignal?Hedidn'tdarepullit.Hewasafraid.Hewantedtoletgoandflee.Buthecontrolledhimself;he waited;andtherehestood,peacefulandveryquiet,readyforthelongvigil.Andwhenthefishinglinequiveredagain,hepulleditwithallhisstrength. Somethingjumpedupintotheairandfellintohisarms. Itwasafish,apitifulanimal,awretchedcreatureofthewater.Surelyitmusthavelivedinthedeepestdepths,foritwaseyeless.Leohadpluckeditfromthedepths andnowhewasholdingitinhislap.Heexaminedthefish,itsbruisedskin,itsgrotesquefins.Heexamineditstwistedmouth,whichattimesemittedafaintmoan.Leo strokeditsabsurdhead. Hewascryingsoftly;hewasrunningatemperature.InPoland,thevillageslayasleep.

AHouse Acertainmanstilldidn'thaveahouseofhisownwhenhesufferedaheartattack.Thepainwasquitesevereand,asusualundersuchcirc*mstances,hefeltcloseto death.Heaskedthedoctorwhoexaminedhimhowmuchlongerhewouldlive. "Whoknows?"repliedthedoctor."Maybeoneday,maybetenyears." Themanwasdeeplyimpressed,somethinghehadn'texperiencedinalongtime.Heledapeacefullife.Hewasretired.Everydayhegotup,readthenewspaper (limitinghimselftotheentertainmentandleisuresections),walkedasfarasAlfândegaSquare,talkedto

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hisfriendsthere,hadhisshoesshined.Thenhewouldhavelunch,takeanap,andlistentotheradiointheafternoons.Intheeveningshewatchedtelevision.Allthese thingslulledhissoulsoothingly,withoutmakinganygreatdemandsonhim.Sincehewassingleandhisparentsweredead,hewasfreefromcare;helivedinaroomin aboardinghouse,andhislandlady—akindlywoman—lookedaftereverything. Butthenthemanseeshislifedrainingaway.Whilewashingup,hewatchesthewaterinthewashbasinflowingdownthedrain."That'showitis."Hewipeshisface dry;hecombshishaircarefully."Atleastahome."Anykind:Acottage,atinyapartment,evenabasem*ntwoulddo.Buttodieinhisownhouse.Athome. Helooksforarealestateagency.Therealestateagentshowshimhousedesignsandphotographs.Themanlooksatthem,perplexed.He'sunabletochoose.He doesn'tknowifheneedstwobedroomsorthree.There'sonehousewithair­conditioning,butwillheliveuntilthesummer? Suddenly,hefindsit:"Thisone.I'llbuyit."Thephotographshowsanoldwoodenbungalow,withcolonial­styleeavesandfadedpaintwork."Thisoneisonthemarket justforthelot,"explainstherealestateagent."Thehouseitselfisfallingapart.""Itdoesn'tmatter."Therealestateagenttriestoreasonwithhim:''It'squitefaraway ..."Faraway!Themansmiles.Hesignsthepapers,getsthekeys,jotsdowntheaddress,andleaves. Thedayisdrawinginandthemanmovesamongpeopleinthestreets,feelingelated.Heisabouttomoveintohisownhouse!Inasquarenearhisboardinghouse somedraymenstandwaitingforacustomer.Themantalkstooneofthemandhireshisservices. Ittakesthedraymanjustafewminutestoplacethebaggageonhiscart,butit'sdarknightwhentheystartout.Themanissilentthroughoutthetrip.Hehasn'tsaid good­byetohislandlady.Aftergivingtheaddresstothedrayman,hehasn'tutteredasingleword.

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Thecartmovesslowlyalongthedesertedstreets.Lulledbythemovement,themandozesoff—andhehasdreams,visionsorrecollections:oldsongs;hismother callinghiminatcoffeetime;thesoundoftheschoolbell. "Hereweare,"saysthedrayman.Themanopenshiseyes:It'sthesamehousehesawinthephotograph.Impulsively,themangrabsthedrayman'shand,thankinghim andwishingallthebest.Themanfeelslikeinvitingtheotherin:"Comeinandhaveteawithme."Butthereisnotea.Thedraymantakeshismoneyandleaves, coughing. Themancarrieshisbelongingsindoors,shutsthedoor,anddouble­locksit.Helightsacandle.Helooksabout:atthefloorstrewnwithdeadinsectsandshredsof paper,atthedirtywall.Hefeelsverytired.Hespreadsablanketonthefloorandliesdown,wrappinghisovercoataroundhim. Thefloorboardscreakandhecanhearwhispers;thevoicessoundfamiliar:Father,Mother,AuntRafaela;theyareallhere—evenGrandfather,withhisironicfeigned laughter. No,themanisnotafraid.Hisheart—apieceofdried­outleather,asheimaginesittobe—keepsbeatingintheusualrhythm.Hefallsasleep,lifegoesout,anditis alreadymorning. It'smorning;butthesunhasn'trisen.Themangetsupandopensthewindow;acoldgraylightseepsintotheroom.It'sneithersunlightnormoonlight.Andbythislight heseesthestreetthatrunsalonginfrontofthehouse.Afragmentofstreet,emergingfromthefogandendinginit.Therearenootherhouses;or,ifthereare,hecan't seethem.Thebungalowlooksoutonanemptylotwhere,half­coveredbyvegetation,liestherustyskeletonofanoldPackard. Ananimaljumpsoutoftheemptylotintotheroad.It'sanoutlandishcreature:Itlookslikearatbutisalmostasbigasadonkey."Whatkindofanimalcoulditbe?" wonderstheman.Inhighschool

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heusedtolikezoologyquitealot;hehadstudiedtheornithorhynchusandthezebraindetail,andtherodentaswell.Hehadwantedtobecomeazoologist,but friendsshowinggoodjudgmenthaddissuadedhimfrompursuingacareerwhich,accordingtothem,didn'texist—unlessprovenotherwise.Nevertheless,seeingthis strangespecimenhasjoltedhim.Andthemanhasbarelyrecoveredfromthisjoltwhenhehearssomeonewhistling. Outofthemistsstepsaman.Asnort,dark­complexionedmanwholookslikeanIndian.Hewalksslowly,tappingonthestoneswithashepherd'sstaff,andhekeeps onwhistling. "Goodmorning!" Theaboriginedoesn'treply.Hestopswalking,thenstandssmilingandstaring. Somewhatperplexed,themanpersists:"Doyoulivearoundhere?" Stillsmiling,thewanderermurmursafewwordsinsomeexoticlanguageanddisappears. "It'sanexoticlanguage,"themanthinks.So,hemustbeinsomedistantcountry.Therealestateagenthadcertainlywarnedhim.Butthatwasalongtimeago. Disoriented,themandecidestogotothetopfloor,fromwherehehopestofindhisbearings.Herunstowardthestairway,climbsupthestepstwoatatime("and there'snosignofangina!"),reacheswhatlookslikeaturret,andopensitstinywindows.Thefoghasliftedandheisabletosee.Andwhatdoeshesee? Riversscintillatingalongprairies,that'swhathesees;lakesaboundinginfish,hugeforests,snow­coveredpeaks,volcanoes.Hespotstheseainthedistance,andin theharbors,caravelslieatanchor.Hecanevenseesailorsclimbingthemastandlettingdownthecanvas. "Yes,it'sanothercountry,"themanconcludes."AndI'llhavetostartfromscratch."

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Itcouldbeaboutteninthemorning—thatis,ifhoursstillcounted—andthetemperaturemightbesaidtobepleasant. Themanstartsoffbyremovinghisovercoat.

ThePhantomTrain Finally,itwasconfirmed:Matias'sdiseasewasindeedleukemia,andhismothersentforme.Intears,shetoldmethatMatias'sgreatestWishhadalwaysbeentotake arideonthePhantomTrain;shewouldliketogranthimthiswishnow,andshecountedonme.Matiaswasnineyearsold.Iwasten.Iscratchedmyhead. ItwouldbeimpossibletotakehimtotheparkwherethePhantomTrainwas.Wewouldhavetoimprovisesomethinginhishouse,anoldmansioninMoinhosVelhos, fullofdarkfurnitureandwinecoloredvelvetcurtains.Matias'smothergavemesomemoney;IwenttotheparkandtookarideonthePhantomTrain.Ididsoseveral times.Andwroteeverythingdownonasheetofpaper,justasI'mdoingnow.Ialsodrewadiagram.Havingthisdataonhand,wesetupourownPhantomTrain. Theeventtookplaceat9:00P.M.onJuly3,1956.Thecoldwinterwindfromthesouthwestwashissingthroughthetrees,butthehousewasquiet.Wewokeup Matias.Hewasshiveringwithcold;hismotherwrappedhiminblankets.Takingtheutmostcare,weplacedhiminababycarriage.Hewassowitherednowthathe fitinside.Itookhimtotheentrancehalloftheoldmansionandtherewestoodwaitingonthemarblefloor. Thelightswentout.Itwasthesignal.Pushingthebabycarriage,Idashedheadlong,runningatfullspeeddownthelonghall.Thedrawingroomdooropened;Iwent in.TherestoodMatias'smother,dresseduplikeawitch(herfaceplasteredwithredmakeup;herpaintedeyes,wideopen;blackapparel;onhershoulder,astuffed owl;shewasinvokingevilspirits).

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Iwentaroundthedrawingroomtwice,alwayspursuedbythewoman.Matiasshriekedwithfrightandpleasure.Ireturnedtothehall. Anotherdooropened—intothebathroom,anold­fashionedbathroomfullofpottedfernsandfaucetsofburnishedbronze.Danglingfromtheshowerheadwas Matias'sfather:ahangedman,histongueprotruding,hisfaceapurplishblue. Afterleavingthebathroom,IenteredabedroomwhereMatias'sbrotherwaslying—hewasaskeleton(onhisthinthorax,theribshadbeenpaintedwith phosphorescentpaint;inhishands,arustychain). InthedenwefoundMatias'stwosisters,who'dbeenstabbed(theknivesburiedintheirbreasts;theirfacessmearedwithchickenblood;fromoneofthem,thesound ofthedeathrattle). ThatwaswhatthePhantomTrainwaslikein1956. Matiaswasexhausted.Hisbrotherliftedhimoutofthebabycarriageand,withtheutmostcare,laidhimonhisbed. Hisparentswerecryingsoftly.Hismotherwantedtogivemesomemoney.Ididn'ttakeit.Iranhome. Matiasdiedafewweekslater.Tothebestofmyrecollection,IhavenevertakenarideonthePhantomTrainsincethen.

TheDayWhenWeKilledJamesCagney OnedaywewenttotheApollomovietheater. SinceitwasaSundaymatinee,weexpectedtoseeagoodmovie,withtheherobeingthewinner.Weatecoffeecandyandkepthittingeachotherontheheadwith ourcomicbooks.Whenthelightswereturnedoff,wecheeredandwhistled,butsoonaftertheopeningscenes,webegantohavesomemisgivings... Thehero,whosenamewasJamesCagney,wasquiteshortandhedidn'thitanybody.Quitetheopposite:Everytimeheranintothe

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badguy—atallfellowcalledSam—thisguy,whosportedalargemustache,wouldbeatthelivingdaylightsoutofhim.Therewerepunchesandblowsandamonkey wrench,andevenkicksaimedathisbelly.JamesCagneywasbeatentoapulp—hewasabloodymess,withaswolleneye—andhedidn'tfightback. Atfirstwejustgrumbled,butsoonwewerestompingourfeet.Itwasimpossibleforustorespectorholdinhighregardsuchadespicablemilksop. JamesCagneyhadledawretchedlife.Hehadtoearnalivingwhenhewasstillquiteyoung.Heusedtosellnewspapersonthestreetcorner.Streetkidswerealways tryingtostealmoneyfromhim,buthehadalwaysdefendedhimselfbravely.Andnowlookatwhathadbecomeofhispromisingcareer!Yes,webooedhimand calledhimallkindsofnames. JamesCagneybegantoshowsignsthathewasafraidofus.Hewouldslipaway,flatteninghimselfa*gainstwalls.Helookedatussideways.Dastardlydog,scoundrel, traitor! Threemonthslaterintothemovie,Samgiveshimanotherwhoppingthrashingandheisleftsprawledonthefloor,bleedinglikeapig.Wehadjustaboutgivenupon him.Quitefrankly,wefeltsodisgustedwithhimthat,asfaraswewereconcerned,hecouldjustdiethereonceandforall—suchwasthedegreeofourrevulsion. Butthenoneofusnoticedafainttwitchinginthefingersofhislefthandandadiscreettighteningofhislips. Inamanlyingbeatenupontheground,suchsignscouldbeconsideredencouraging. Wedecidedthatinspiteofeverything,itwouldbeworthwhiletorootforJamesCagney.Webegantocheer,moderatelybutresolutely. JamesCagneyrosetohisfeet.Weclappedourhandssomewhatmoreloudly—nottooclamorously,however,justenoughtokeephimonhisfeet.Wemadehim walkafewsteps.Whenhecomesto

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amirror,heshouldtakeagoodlookathimself,that'swhatwearehopingforatthatmoment. JamesCagneylookedathimselfinthemirror.Westoodinsilenceashewatchedhisshamesurfacingonhisbatteredface. "Getyourrevengeonhim!"somebodyshouted.Itwasquiteunnecessary,though:Tothewise,oursilencewassufficient,andJamesCagneyhadalreadylearned enoughfromusthatSundayafternoonthereintheApollomovietheater. Slowlyhebegantopullopenadrawerinthedresser,andthenhetookouthisfather'soldgun.Heexaminedit:Itwasa.45revolver.Wewerenowwhistlingand clappingourhandswildly.JamesCagneyputonhishatandmadeadashforhiscar.Hishandsgrippedthesteeringwheelfirmly;hisfaceshoweddetermination.We hadmadeanewmanofJamesCagney.Welethimknowthatweapprovedoftheself­confidentexpressioninhiseyes. HefoundSaminathird­ratehotel.Heclimbedthestairsslowly.Wepunctuatedhisfootstepsbyrhythmicallystampingourlace­upbootsonthefloor.Whenhe openedthebedroomdoor,webrokeintosomedeafeningscreaming. Samwassittingonthebed.Herosetohisfeet.Hewasagiantofaman.JamesCagneylookedatthebadguy,thenhelookedatus.Wehadtoadmitit:Hewas afraid.Allourhardwork,alloureffortsduringallthoseweeksprovedtobeinvain.JamesCagneycontinuedtobeJamesCagney.Thebadguygrabbedthe.45 awayfromhimandshothimrightinthemiddleofhisforehead:Hefelltothegroundwithoutamoan. "Itserveshimright,"mutteredPedro,whenthelightswereturnedon."Herichlydeservedit" Itwasourfirstcrime.Wehavecommittedmanyotherssincethen.

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VegetableKingdom Inthevegetablekingdom.That'swhatGloriasays:Weliveinthevegetablekingdom,amidgiantferns,maidenhair,rubbertrees,boaconstrictors,greentumidgrowing thingsunfoldingtheirleavesthroughoutthehouse.It'sMarinawholooksafterthem,aswellasaftereverythingelse.Marinacooks,Gloriasprucesherselfup.Marina sews,Gloriamakesbanteringremarks.Gloriasleeps,Marinakeepsvigil.Marinadoesneedleworkandcleansandpolishes.Shemakesbuttonholesandcoversforthe buttons;sheembroidersandsheknits.Proficientinthedomesticarts,peoplesayabouther.Shemakesandsellsartificialflowers.Theincomethatshegetsfromthis workmakesupasubstantialamountofherdomesticbudgetandevenprovidesherwithenoughreservefundsforarainyday.Hardworkingasanant,that'swhat Marinaislike.AsforGloria,shesingsbeforethemirror,makesupherface,examinestheskinonherfaceanxiously.Butafterall—wondertheneighbors—whichone isthemother,whichoneisthedaughter? Gloriaisthemother.Shewasbornearlier.Shegotmarried,conceivedMarinaandbecameawidow.Shemournedthedeathofherhusband,butnotoverlyso;then sheforgothim.She'sgotherdaughter,whobrightensherdays,butonlywithadimlight.However,thelightisbrightenoughtochaseawaytheshadowsthatrisefrom thedeadcornersofthehouseandfromamidtheferns. Marinalooksafterhermotherandtheirhouse,movingaboutsilentlyinthekitchen.Afterlunch,whileGlorialiessnoring,shesitsdownbythestove,lightsacigarette andwithascowl(shecultivateswrinkles,saysGloria)staresatthecracksinthewalls. Andit'sthreeintheafternoon.Soonasunbeam("thewitch'slittlehorse,"saysMarina)willseepintothebedroomthroughaslitinthevenetianblind.Marinawillsit downonthebed,placeGloria'sheadinherlap,andwakehergently."Mummy,mummy,"Gloria,

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stillhalf­asleep,willmurmur."CanIhavesomechocolate?""Yes,mylittledaughter,"Marinawillsay,kissingherrosycheeks.She'llhelpGloriagetdressed;she'lllet hergoforawalkinthemainsquare,butshe'llaskhertobehomebyfive,whenastrongbreezestartstoblowinthesquare. Aloneintheemptyhouse,Marinawillthinkalittleaboutherownchildhood,aboutthedollwiththeblondhair.She'llcompressherlips,pushingthesememoriesaside withasmallgesture,andshe'llwatertheboaconstrictor,whichgrowsluxuriantly,displayingamassofstrongsinews,beforeheradmiringeyes.Therewasatime whenMarinawasafraidthatthisplantmightbecarnivorous,thenatimewhenshelaughedatsuchfears,butnowsheneitherfearsnorlaughs:Shemerelytightensher lipsandproceedstogetdinnerready. Gloriareturns,herfaceaglow,andannouncesthatshehasasecrettotell. "Dotellme,"saysMarina,hereyesblank.ButnowGloriadoesn'twantto:"Afterdinner..."Marinaserveshersoup;sheplacesanapkinaroundGloria'sneckso thatshewon'tsoilhernewblouse."Tellmenow,"sheinsists.Glorialaughs,clapsherhands:She'sbeingnaughty;shewon'ttell.Andontopofthat,sheslurpsher soup,knowingthatMarinacan'tstandit.Marinadoesn'tlikenoises. Afterdinnerthey'llsitonthesofa.Marinawilllightacigarette,GloriawillrestherheadonMarina'sshoulderandwilltalkaboutthemanwhokeepsfollowingherin thesquare."He'stall,withadarkcomplexion.Hisfaceisgrave..."Shewouldliketobecomehisgirlfriend."Willyouletme?" Marinawillhesitate,andshewon'thavetoreplybecausebythenGloriawillalreadybedozingoff.Amoonbeam—thewitch'slittlemule—slidesoverthewooden floorofthelivingroom.Thevinebeginstounfurlitslong,thinstems.Athousandeyesglitterfromamidtheleavesoftheferns.Theyaredropsofwater,Marina believes.

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NavigationChart Thetime:7:30.Distancefromtheisland:about800meters.Distancefromthebankoftheriver:zero(note—boatrunaground).Depthofthewater:20centimetersat most.Facialexpression:normal(bigbrowneyes,wideopen;mouth,half­open).Normal. Theislandwasthere,eighthundredmetersfromthebank:Wedidn'tdarereachitbyswimming.Weweresmallboys;besides,ourparentshadwarnedusaboutthe dangersoftheGuaíba—atreacherousriver,fullofcurrents. Buttheislandwasthere,asmallstretchoflandcoveredwiththick,wildvegetation.Duringthefloodsonlythetopleafa*geofthetreesstoodvisible,andtherethe corpsesofanimalsfloatingdowntherivergotentangled.Caughtinthebranches,thecarcasseswouldslowlydecay,andthenwhenthewatersreceded,theskeletons wereleftbleachinginthebranches. Nowadaysweknowthis.However,inthosedays,whenwelookedthroughthebinoculars(whosebinocularswerethey?)andsawthebulls'skullsonthetreetops, wewantedtofindoutwhohadplacedthemthere.Indians? Thenwediscoveredtheboat.Anoldcanoerunagroundamidthesedge.Itwasfilledwithgreenishwater;aswecamecloser,asmallsnakeslitheredawayfromitand disappearedintothevegetation. Thatgreenishwater—itwoulddelightRogérionowadays;heisabiologist.Ah,thethingshewouldnoticetodayinthatwater.Paramecia,amoebas,tinyworms, variouslarvae—allofthemlivinginastagnantworld,butastagnantworldseethingwithcreaturesmovingaboutfranticallyinsearchofthings,offood—andintheir searchconstantlycollidingwithoneanother.TodayRogérioknows.Weturnedtheboatoveranddrainedouttheputridwater,whichthenvanishedintothehot, coarsesand,leavingtinycreaturesflitting

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aboutintheair;later,theygrewquiet.Eggshells.ApackofContinentalcigarettes.Assortedbitsandpieces. Theboatreturnedtoitsnormalpositionanditwasreadytosail. Thenweturnedtohimandsaid:Climbin. Thetime:8:05.Distancetotheisland:thesame.Distancefromthebank:thesame.Depthofthewater:thesame.Facialexpression:surprise;mildapprehension, noticeableonlyinaslightfrown. Yes,you,weinsisted. Hewastheyoungestandthelightestamongus. Butthoseweren'ttheonlyreasons.Therewereothers:Hecouldbesilentwhenitwastimetobesilent;whenhewassupposedtolook,helooked,andwhenhewas supposedtolisten,helistened,hismouthhalfopen,hisbigbrowneyeswideopen....Andwhenhewassupposedtospeak,hespoke;he'dtelluseverything,his dreams,otherpeople'sdreams,hisbrothers'... Butwhereintheworlddoeshehear—wewondered,intrigued—allthesethings?(Lies,alltheselies,wewereabouttosay,butdidn't,forafterallhowcouldwe knowforsurewhethertheywerelies?Whatiftheywereindeedthetruth?) Nowhewasrefusingtogo.I'mafraid,hesaid;andweproddedhimon.Comeon,don'tbesuchadrag;you'redyingtogo.Forhowcouldweknowwhetherhewas tellingusthetruth?Wasn'titpossiblethathewasjustwhining?(Thishappenedintheearlyfifties,whentherewereplentyofcoypeoplearound;Plentyofpeoplewho jawedaway;plentyofdrivelers.)Cutitoutandclimbin,wetoldhim. Andwebegantopushhim—butnotroughly,becausethenhewouldjustgotopieces.Wejostledhimgently,playfully,eventenderly;hekeptresisting,butwithout muchconviction,withouttheinflexibilityofsomeonerefusingtobudgeanotherinch,orofsome­

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onewhowouldratherdiethangivein.Maybehewassimplyunabletoofferanyresistance,forhewasratherfrail.Anyway,whenhefoundhimselfhemmedinbythe boatbehindhimandbyusclosinginonhim—withourlaughter,ourhands,ourfingernails,oureyes,ourfreckles,ourhair—itwaswithanalmostautomaticgesture thatheraisedalegoverthesideoftheboat.Thenherealizedthathewashalfwayinit,andhestillcouldhavetakenhislegoutagain—butdidhewantto,didhe? Anyway,hedidn'ttakehislegout;hehesitatedforawhile,thenmovedtheotherleginsidetheboat.Wasitanautomaticgesture?Wasitaninnervoicethat commandedhimtodoso?Wasitaconsciousdecision,aprudentactofsubmission? Thenwelooked,andhelooked,andallofusrealizedthathewasintheboat. Thetime:8:35.Distancetotheisland:thesame.Distancefromthebank:thesame.Depthofthewater:thesame.Facialexpression:changeableaccordingtoeach individualonlooker:artfulconnivance(Rui,nowadaysamerchant);calmdespair(Alberto,nowadaysapriest);sheerterror(Jorge,nowadaysajournalist). Fromthenonhedidwhateverwetoldhimtodo.Sitdownintheboat,wesaid,andhesatdown.Takethepaddleandhetookthepaddle,whichwasaboardtaken fromapackingcase.Whenyoureachtheisland,wetoldhim,beachtheboat,tieitsecurely,getofftheboat,walkaround,gointothebushesandlookaroundvery carefully;butifthereareanyIndians,hideyourself;stealaskull... Frozenstill,hesatlisteningtousinsilence. Hewasstaringatus;Westaredback.Wekeptconsultingamongourselves,exchangingglances:Whatifthere'sahousethere,shouldhegoin?Shouldhespeakto anyonehefindsthere? Andwebegantopushtheboatintothewater,intotheriver.

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Push!weshoutedateachother.Push*theboatwasheavy.Push!Wemanagedtomoveitafewcentimeters,thenafewmore— Thenwerealizedthatitwasfloatingaway. Startrowing!weshouted.Row! Buthedidn'trow.Hesatstaringatus. Thetime:8:40.Distancetotheisland:about750meters.Distancefromthebank:50meters(note—boatmoving).Depthofthewater:4to5meters.Facial expression:(nobodynoticed). Startrowing!Comeon,row!weshoutedanxiously. Thetime:8:55.Distancetotheisland:about600meters.Distancefromthebank200meters(note:boatmovingrapidly).Depthofthewater:20to30meters.Facial expression:impossibletodescribe;keptfacingtheisland. Thisfog,thefogthatenvelopedeverythingatthatmomentisn't—wasn't—unusual....No,itisn't.Foracoupleofhoursitwasimpossibletoseeathing.Weshouted, butgotnoreply. Whenthefoglifted,therewasnosignoftheboat.Theislandwasthere,andsowerethetreesandtheskulls,buttheboatwasn't. Andwedidn'tevenknowwherehelived.Wedidn'tevenknowhisfullname. Thetime:10:15.Distancetotheisland:about500meters.Distancefromthebank300meters.Depthofthewater:20to30meters.Facialexpressions(ours): peaceful,generallyspeaking. Wecomeheresometimes.Theentireoldgang,nowaboardRui'sboat(almostasbigasayacht). Wedon'ttalkabouttheisland,butweglanceatit.

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There'snowabridgeconnectingittothebank—totheotherbank,notours.Thetreesarestilltherebutthebulls'skullsaregone.Andthere'ssomeconstructionwork goingonthere—afactory,itseems.Theconcreteuprightsloomoff­whiteagainstthedarkgreenofthevegetation.Andtherearesmokestacks. Whoownsit?Iask,butgetnoreply.Thetimeis10:30,thedistancefromtheislandisfourhundredmeters,andthefacialexpressions—oftheonesIcansee—show calmindifference.

Ecology Therewasatimewhenthisentireareawasquitepastoral,youknow.Themeadow,thebirds,thebreeze,thebrook.Verypeaceful,itusedtobearoundhere. Notsoanymore.Now,thingshappen.Forexample,thetwodotsthathavejustappearedonthehorizon.Theyadvanceslowly;finally,theytakeform.It'sacouple. He,afat,elderlymanwearingawhitesuit,aredtie,andaPanamahat;hewipeshissweatyfacewithalargehandkerchief.(Irecognizethelineninthewhitesuit:the fibersfromtheplantsthatusedtogrowinameadowsimilartothisone.Poorfibers;poorplants.) Thewomanisalsofatanddumpy.Sheissweaty,too,butshedoesn'twipeherface;shekeepsmuttering.(Irecognizethesilkinthewoman'sdress:asubstance extractedfromalarva'scocoon,andthenmadeintothread,andthendyed,andthencutup,andthensewn.Poorlarvae;poorsubstance.) Theyareapproaching.Theycomenearer.Nowtheyarethreemetersaway,atmost.Theyraisetheireyes,thenhugeachotherandburstintotears.That'sright: They'recrying.Andtheycryandcry...Finally,themanwipeshistearswiththehandkerchief.(Irecognizethecottoninit.Poorcotton.)Hetakesastepforward, keepinghiseyesraisedallthetime,andsaysinatearfulvoice:''Comedown,

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daughter.Comedownandspeaktoyourparents."Hecutsasorryfigure,thistearfuloldman."Wehadahardtimefindingyou,mydaughter.Wetookaplane,thena bus....Andwehadtocoverthisfinalstretchofcountryonfootbecausetherearenoroadshere....Ah,mydaughter,we'redeadtired,daughter.Comedown andtalktous." Silence. Alie:There'sneverabsolutesilenceherebecauseofthebreeze,ofthebirds;buttheyarenature'ssounds.Whereasthesesobs,hispuffingandpanting....No.They arenotnature's.Theyaresomethingrevolting. "Comedown,mydaughter."Theoldmanhasresumedhislitany."Didyoueverseeanyonelivinginatreetoplikethat?Whatareyou,ananimal?No,ofcourseyou're notananimal,mydaughter.Comedownnow,comedownandembraceyourparents.Comedown,willyou?We'llforgiveyoueverything." There'snoreply. "Don'tyourealizeyou'rekillingyourmother?" Ah,thissoundslikeanoutrage.Theeffrontery! "Comedown,mydaughter.Comedown,forGod'ssake!" Nowitistheoldwoman'sturntoshoutinhershrillvoice.Takeagoodlookatyourface!Justlookatyourhair.Itlookslikechaff." Chaff.Yeah,Iknow.It'swhatremainsofthewheat,ofthehay,aftertheythreshthem,afterthey...ButI'drathernottalkaboutit.Thebrutes.Poorplants,poor chaff. "Daughter,listen!"(It'stheoldwomanagain.)"I'vebroughtyousomeapples,mydaughter.Comedown,andeatwithus,daughter.Apples,look!Youlikethemso much." Apples!Now,that'sthelimit.Sotheydaredpluckapplesfromatree.Andnowtheyhavethegalltoofferthemtome.Butwhatkindofpeoplearethey?Thetwoof themwouldbeperfectlycapableofroastingachildandthenofferhimtohismother.

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"Comedown,daughter!" Never. "Comedown!" Letthemshouttotheirhearts'content. Timegoesby.Weknowforafactthattimedoesgobyhere.Wehave,asweknow,thedaysandthenights,therainandthesunshine,theheat,thecold,theheat. Rightnow,forexample,nightisfalling.There'slogicandcertaintyinthisfact.Butthey,theoldcouple,don'tknowthatnightfallshere.Theyarestartled,lookaround them,andexchangewordsinalowvoice.Whataretheyafraidof?Animals?Pooranimals! Theymakeahastydeparture.Theoldmantumsaroundonce:"We'llbebacktomorrow,mydaughter." Letthemcomeback.It'snoconcernofmine.Youknow:Iamthetree.

BeforeMakingtheInvestment Wedidn'thavemoneyforabustickettothenextcity,thereforemyfriendsuggestedthatweboardafreighttrain—thetransportationsystemusedbyshrewdpeople. Assoonasnightbegantofall,wemadeadashforoneoftheemptyboxcars,wherehehidourselves.Panting,weslidtheheavydoorshutandthenlaydownonthe floor.Weweretiredandhungry. ThenIsmelledsomething. "Amigo,doyoudetectsomethingstrangeinhere?" Hedidn'treply.Iignoredthesmell.ThenInoticedthatwewerelyingonathinlayerofstraw.Muchtoothin,asamatteroffact—yetweseemedquitefarawayfrom therealflooroftheboxcar. "Notmuchstrawinhere,isthere?" Inthedark,Icouldhearhimpanting.Heheavedasighandsaid:

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"Amigo,youasktoomanyquestions.Whydon'tyoushutupandtrytogetsomesleep?Wehavealottodotomorrow." Myfrienddislikesunnecessaryquestions.I,however,haveaninborncuriosity.MyfatherusedtosaythatIwouldbeascientist.Godhasalreadyforgivenhimhis mistakeandherestsinpeace. Ikeptthinkingandaskingmyselfquestionswhilemyfingersexploredthestraw.However,Ididn'twantmyfriendtonoticethatIwascarryingonmyinvestigation;he couldtakeoffenseatwhatIwasdoing.Iaskedhimcasually:"Amigo,what'sthenameofthiscity?" "Youknowit,amigo,"hemuttered. "Yeah,"Iadmitted,andwenton,"doesn'tit*trikeyouasastrangecity,amigo?" Hewasdefinitelyannoyednow. "Strange?Nonsense,amigo.Toyoueverythingisstrange.You'llneversucceedinlifeifyoupersistinthinkinglikethis.You'vegottoknowpeopleandcitieslikethe backofyourhandsothatyoucanexploittheirweaknessesandtakeadvantageoftheopportunities.SeewhatImean?Now,whydon'tyoutrytogetsomesleep, amigo.Wehavealottodotomorrow.We'llstrikeoil,you'llsee,amigo. AtthatmomentIdiscoveredsomethinginthestraw. Itouchedhimontheshoulder. "Amigo." "What'sthematternow,oldbuddy?" "Whatdoyouthinkthiscouldbe?It'sthreeorfourcentimeterslong,roughlycylindricalinshapebutthickerattheends,andit'shard,smooth,anddry. "Hedidn'treply. Ipersisted:"Whatdoyouthinkitis,amigo?" "WhatIdothinkisthatIwon'tbeabletogetanysleep." Iignoredhisrudeness,"Couldn'titbeaterminalphalanx,amigo?"

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"What'saterminalphalanx?" "Afingerbone.Theboneisquitedry,andfleshless." Hewassilent.Buthewasn'tasleep;myguesswasthathehadbecomequiteconcerned. "Here,holdit,amigo." Hehesitated,butthentookthephalanx. "So?Whatdoyouthink?" Hedidn'treply.I'lltellafewthingsaboutmyfriend:He'sayoungman;cool,thoughtful,shrewd.Hebelieveshe'llmakeafortunebyenteringintosomeboldbusiness deals. Hehasn'tachievedhisgoalyet,butIthinkhe'sgettingprettyclose.Wemetbychance,forI'mamerevagabondwhoisovercomebycuriosity.We'vebeen wanderingfromcitytocity:Ilookforfood,oldclothes,awomanonceinawhile;hesniffsoutprofitabledeals.Hebelievesthattherightmomenthasfinallyarrived. "No.Lookslikeapieceofbambootome.That'swhatitis,asmallpieceofbamboo."We'vealreadyfoundoutaboutthebamboogrovesaroundthatcityandwe knowthattheconstructionofthehugebamboo­furniturefactoryisduetobeginprettysoon.Theconstructionofthisfactoryisstillasecret,butsomehowhehas managedtofindoutaboutit.Asharpie,that'smyfriend."Throwthispieceofrubbishaway." Itseemstomethatifbambooisindeedsovaluable,it'snotfairtorefertoitasrubbish.ButmyfriendknowsbestandIdiscardthebone. "What'sthematterwiththistrain,won'titeverpullout?"heasked. Myfriendisgettingimpatient.Hewouldliketosetoutonthistriprightaway:We'llbemakingourfortuneinthenextcity.Hisplanofactionisquitesimple:The municipalgovernmentofthecitywherethebamboogrowshasjustissuedpublicbonds.Sofarthesebondsareworthnothing.Butwiththeconstructionofthe bamboo­furniturefactorytheirvaluewillrisetremendously.

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Nobodyinthenextcityknowsaboutthisfactoryyet:We'llbuythebondsthereforpeanutsandlaterresellthemfortentimesasmuch. I'mstillexploringthestraw."Friend..." "Yeah,whatisitnow?" "Somethinglong,smooth,andhard,withwhatfeelslikeaheadattheend...whatcoulditbe?"Hehesitatesandthenbreaksintolaughter."I'veheardthatgag somewherebefore,butIcan'tthinkofasuitablerepartee..." "It'snotagag,friend.It'ssomethingI'mholdinginmyhand." "Ha,ha,ha!" Ifailtoseewhat'ssofunny."Couldn'titbeafemur,friend?Ahumanfemur." Nowhe'snolongerlaughing."Letmeseeit." Ihandhimthefemur.Heissilentforawhile. "No.Itlookslikebambootome.Noticethestrengthandthehardnessofthebamboothattheygrowinthiscity." Itisindeedquitesurprisingthatnobodyhadthoughtbeforeofusingthismaterialtomakefurniture. Istillthinkit'safemur,butIsaynothingtoavoidgettingintoanargument.Idecidetochangethesubject."Friend,wasn'tthistrainsupposedtohaveleftatnightfall?I finditstrangethatithasn't." Herisestohisfeet:"It'sreallyimpossibletogetanysleephere.Okay,sothetrainhasn'tleft.Sowhat?It'sbeendelayed,that'sit.Don'ttrainsoftenrunbehind schedule?Toyoueverythingisstrange.Thebambooisstrange,thiscityisstrange." "I'veheardstoriesaboutthiscity,amigo..." "Stories,indeed,comeonnow!" "I'veheardthatworkersfromalloverthecountryarebroughtheretowork.Theydon'tgetpaidformonths." "So?Don'ttheycomplain?" "No,theydisappear."

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"Disappear?Onlysomeonelikeyouwouldbelievesomethinglikethat.Howintheworldcouldaworkerdisappearjustlikethat?"Istoodthinkingaboutan explanation,butmyfriendpreventedmefromreplying:"Besides,we'reinvestors;we'renotinterestedinmoney,notinitssources.Tomorrowwe'llbuythosebonds ..." Iwasabouttoaskwherewewouldgetthecapitaltobuythem,butthoughtbetterofit:Myfriendisshrewdandmustknowwhathe'sdoing.Iwasnowamusing myselfwithsomethingvaguelyreminiscentofacontainerwithtwocavitiessimilartoeyesockets.Interesting:Ihavenevercomeacrossanybambooshapedlikethis "Ifthistrainleavesnow,we'llbethereatteno'clock." Thetraindidn'tleave.Suddenly,thedooroftheboxcarwasopened:Therestoodthepolice. Itlooksasifwe'lltakethistriplateron:Underneaththestraw.

Communication RobertogetsaphonecallfromhisbrotherMarcelo,whosoundsdistressed.Thetelephoneconnectionisbad,andtheonlythinghecanunderstandistheworddied. "Whodied?Whodidyousaydied?"Robertoshouts.Heisovercomewithanxiety.Stammering,herepeatsthesamewords. Thetelephoneconnection,however,remainsbad.Shouting,theytelleachothertohangupandtryagain.Robertoputsthereceiverdownandwaitsimpatientlyforthe phonetoring.Seconds,thenminutesgobyandthephoneremainssilent.Itoccurstohimthatmaybeheisexpectedtoringfirst. "ButwhatifIdo,"hesaysaloudtohimself,"andMarceloalsothinksthatheshouldringfirst,andthenifhedoesringfirst,he'llgetabusysignal.I'dbetterwait." Hekeepswaiting.Thetelephonedoesn'tring.Moretimegoesby.

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Thenonthespurofthemoment,hepicksupthereceiveranddialsMarcelo'snumber;andjustashefeared,hegetsabusysignal. Hehangsup.Hewaitsforawhile,smokingandpacingbackandforth.Althoughheisconvincedthatheshouldn'tdialagain,hecan'trefrainhimselffromdoingso.He hearsthebusysignal. Let'ssupposethatittakesapersononesecondtopickupthereceiver;eightsecondstodial;twosecondstorealizethatthelineattheotherendisbusy;fifteento fortysecondstowaitanxiouslybeforedialingagain.Let'sfigureouthowlongitwilltakeRobertotofindMarcelo'sphonefree.Andinadditionlet'strytoguesswho hasdied.

Hello!Hello! Irma,adeeplyreligiouswoman,fallsinlovewithherco­workerTeófilo,whoisanatheist.Knowingthatshewillneverbeabletomarryamanfromwhomsheiskept apartbythebarriersofherfaith,shedecidestomoveawayfromhim,withouteverlettinghiminonherfeelings.Sheresignsfromherjob,movestoadistant neighborhood,andbeginstoleadalifeofself­denial. Periodsoffastingandpenancetakeplace. Herlove,however,doesnotdie,andIrmaistormentedbyyearnings.EverynightshephonesTeófilo. "Hello!"hesays. Irmaremainssilent. "Yes!Hello!" Hearingthebelovedvoice,Irmaquiverswithpainandpleasure. "Hello!Who'sthat?Answerme,willyou?" Irmacupsherhandoverthemouthpieceandquietlykissesherknuckles. "Whydon'tyousaysomething,youanimal?Identifyyourself."

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Irmastiflesasobwhileabusivelanguagepoursoutofthetelephone.Finally,shehangsup. Thissameroutinegoesoneachnight.Teófiloisbesidehimselfwithanger.Heissoangrythathecan'teatorsleep;hefeelshelpless. Onhisfriends'advice,heasksthepoliceforhelp.AninvestigationrevealsthatthephonecallsoriginatefromIrma'stelephone.Teófiloisaskedtoinformthepoliceas soonashegetsthenextmysteriouscall. Hedoesasheistold. ThepolicemenbreakintoIrma'sapartmentandcatchherstillonthephone,assheiskissingthebackofherthinhand.Movedbydespair,shejumpsoutthewindow. Luckily,thebuildingisnothighandexceptforsomeabrasions,sheisnotinjured.Afterreceivingmedicalattention,sheistakentothepolicestation. Teófiloiscalledin. HeisshockedwhenheseesIrmasurroundedbypolicemen.Andtoeverybody'ssurprise,heshouts:"ButIlovedyou,Irma!Ilovedyou!" "Begone,Satan,"shereplies,weeping. Thenewsmenpresentatthesceneunderstandherpain.

Dr.Shylock Itissaidthatinformerdays,Dr.Shylockusedtobeanotorioususurer.Itissaidthathelentacertainsumofmoneytoayoungman,demandingapoundofthe debtor'sownfleshastheonlycollateral.Thedebtor,surethathewouldbeabletorepaythedebtontime,acquiesced.However,itturnedoutthathewasunableto doso,andShylock,insensitivetothepleasfrompeopleofgoodwill,demandedthattheagreementbetweenthembefulfilled. Fortunately,theyoungmangotaskillfullawyertodefendhim.

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Thelawyerpointedouttothecourtthattheagreementclearlyspecifiedthewordflesh,andnotblood.Theusurercouldcutoutapieceoffleshaslongashedidnot shedblood,notadropofit.Afterthiscleverreasoning,therewasnothingShylockcoulddobutbeataretreatamidwidespreadlaughter. Thiseventtookplacealongtimeago.TodayDr.Shylockisafamoussurgeon. True,hedoeshavesomeidiosyncrasies.Forinstance,hedemandsthateverysingleorganandtumorthathecutsoutbecarefullyweighed:Ifthescalesshowthatit weighsonepound,helaughsandclapshishands;ifitweighsmore,orless,hewalksawaydejectedly. Nobodypaysattentiontothiseccentricityofhis.However,whateverybody—professionalsandlaymen—doesremarkuponisDr.Shylock'sextraordinaryskills:He hastheabilitytoperformeventhemostcomplexoperationswithoutsheddingasingledropofblood.

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THEBALLADOFTHEFALSEMESSIAH[1976]

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TheBalladoftheFalseMessiah He'sabouttopourthewineintotheglass.Hishandsarenowwrinkledandunsteady.Andyet,thosebig,stronghandsofhisstilldeeplyaffectme.Icomparethem withmyownhandswiththeirstubbyfingersandIadmitthatI'veneverunderstoodhimandneverwill. IfirstmethimonboardtheZemlia.WewereJewsleavingRussiainthatoldship;wefearedthepogroms.EnticedbythepromisesofAmerica,wewerenow journeyingtowardourdestination,crammedintothethirdclass.Weweptandwereseasickinthatyearof1906. Theywerealreadyaboardtheshipwhenweembarked.ShabtaiZviandNatandeGaza.Weshunnedthem.WeknewthattheywereJews,butwefromRussiaare waryofstrangers.WedislikeanyonewholooksmoreOrientalthanwedo.AndShabtaiZviwasfromSmima,inAsiaMinor—onecouldtellbyhisswarthy complexionanddarkeyes.Thecaptaintoldusthathewasfromaverywealthyfamily.Asamatteroffact,heandNatandeGazaoccupiedtheonlydecentstateroom intheship.WhatmadethemleaveforAmerica?Whatweretheyescapingfrom?Questionswithnoanswers. NatandeGaza,inparticular—ashort,darkcomplexionedman—rousedourcuriosity.UntilthenwehadneverseenaJewfromPalestine,fromEretzIsrael—aland whichtomanyofusexistedonlyindreams.Natan,aneloquentpublicspeaker,wouldtellanattentiveaudienceabouttherollinghillsofGalilee,aboutbeautifulLake Kineret,aboutthehistoricalcityofGaza,wherehehadbeenborn,andwhosegatesSamsonhadwrenchedofftheirhinges.Whendrunk,however,hewouldcursehis nativeland:''Nothingbutrocks

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andsand,camels,larcenousArabs..."WhenwewereofftheCanaryIslands,ShabtaiZvicaughthimexecratingEretzIsrael.HebeatNatanup,untilhecollapsed onthefloor,wherehelaybleeding;whenNatandaredtoprotest,Shabtaiknockedhimoutwithonefinalkick. Afterthisincidenthespentdaysshutupinhisstateroom,speakingtonoone.Aswewalkedpasthisdoor,wecouldhearmoans...andsighs...andmelodious songs. Onedayatdawnwewereawakenedbytheshoutsoftheseamen.WerushedtothedeckandsawShabtaiZviswimmingintheicysea.Alifeboatwasloweredand withgreatdifficultyhewaspulledoutofthewater.Starknakedashewas,hewalkedpastus,withoutaglanceinourdirection,hisheadheldhigh—andhewent straighttohisstateroom,whereheshuthimselfup.NatandeGazasaidthatthebathingintheseahadbeenanactofpenance,butourownconclusionwasquite different:"He'scrazy,thisTurk." WearrivedatIlhadasFloresinRiodeJaneiro,andfromtherewetraveledtoErexim,fromwhereweproceededincoveredwagonstoournewhomesinthe settlementcalledBarãoFranck,namedfortheAustrianphilanthropistwhohadsponsoredourcoming.Wefeltverygratefultothisman,whom,incidentally,wenever met.Itwasrumoredthatlaterarailroadwouldbebuiltacrossthelandswherewewerebeingsettled,andthatthebaronwasinterestedinthevaluationoftheshares ofstockintherailroadcompany.Idon'tbelievethisrumorwastrue.Idothinkthathewasagenerousman,that'sall.Hegaveeachfamilyaplotofland,awooden house,agriculturaltools,livestock. ShabtaiZviandNatandeGazastayedwithus.Theyweregivenahouse,too,althoughthebaron'srepresentativewasn'tpleasedwiththeideaofhavingtwomen livingtogetherunderthesameroof. "Weneedfamilies,"hestatedincisively—"notfairies."ShabtaiZvistaredathim.Itwassuchapowerfulgazethatitfrozeus.

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Thebaron'sagentshuddered,bidusfarewell,andlefthastily.Wethrewourselveswholeheartedlyintoourwork. Howhardcountrylifewas!Fellingtrees.Plowingthefields.Sowing...Ourhandswerecoveredwithbleedingblisters. Wehadn'tseenShabtaiZviformonths.Hehadshuthimselfupinhishouse.ApparentlyhehadrunoutofmoneybecauseNatandeGazabegantowanderaboutthe village,askingforclothesandfood.HewouldtellusthatShabtaiZviwouldreappearinthenearfuturetobringgoodtidingstotheentirepopulation. "Butwhathashebeendoing?"wewouldask. Whathashebeendoing?Studying.HehasbeenstudyingtheCabalah,themasterpieceworkofJewishmysticism:TheBookofCreation,theBookofBrightness,the BookofSplendor.Theoccultsciences.Metempsychosis.Demonology.Thepowerofnames(namescanexorcisedemons;apersonwellversedinthepowerof namescanwalkonthewaterwithoutgettinghisfeetwet;andthereisalsothepowerofthesecret,ineffable,unpronounceablenameofGod).Themysteriousscience oflettersandnumbers(lettersarenumbersandnumbersareletters;numbershavemagicalpowers;asforletters,theyarethestepsleadingtowisdom). ItisaroundthattimethattheoutlawChicoDevilputsinanappearanceatBarãoFranckforthefirsttime.Afugitivefromthelaw,hecomesfromthefrontier,heand hisbandofdesperados.Whilefleeingfromthe"Stetsons,"hefindsahideoutnearoursettlement.Andheplundersandhedestroysandhesneers.Laughing,hekills ourbulls,wrenchesouttheirtesticl*s,theneatsthemslightlyroasted.Andhethreatenstokilleveryoneofusifwedenouncehimtotheauthorities.Asifthis misfortuneweren'tenough,wearestruckbyhail,whichdestroysourfieldsofwheat. WeareplungedintothedeepestdespairwhenShabtaiZvireappears. Heistransformed.Fastinghasravagedhisoncerobustbody,his

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shouldersstoop.Hisbeard,oddlyturnedgrey,nowreachesdowntohischest.Sainthoodenfoldshimlikeamantleanditglowsinhiseyes. Slowlyhewalkstowardtheendofthemainstreet...Wedropourtools,weleaveourhouses,wefollowhim.Then,standingonamoundofearth,ShabtaiZvi addressesus. "Divinepunishmentwillbefallyou!" HewasreferringtoChicoDevilandtothehail.WehadattractedGod'swrath.Andwhatcouldwedotoexpiateoursins? "Wewillabandoneverything:thehouses;thecultivatedfields;theschool;thesynagogue;withourownhandswewillbuildaboat—thetimberofourhouseswillbe madeupintothehull,andourtallithswillbemadeupintosails.Thenwewillcrosstheocean.WewillarriveinPalestine,inEretzIsrael;andthere,intheancient,holy cityofSfat,wewillbuildalargetemple." "AndwillweawaitthecomingoftheMessiahthere?"somebodyaskedinatremblingvoice. "TheMessiahhasalreadycome!"shoutedNatandeGaza."TheMessiahisrighthere!TheMessiahisourownShabtaiZvi!" ShabtaiZviopenedthemantlewhichenvelopedhim.Westeppedback,horrified.Whatwesawwasanakedbodycoveredwithscars;circlinghisbellywasawide beltstuddedwithspikesthatpenetratedhisflesh. Thatdaywestoppedworking.Letthehaildestroythecultivatedfields.LetChicoDevilstealourlivestock;wenolongercared,becausewewereleavingsoon. Jubilant,wetoredownourhouses.Thewomensewedpiecesofclothtogethertomakesailsfortheboat.Thechildrengatheredwildberriestomakejam.Natande Gazacollectedmoney,whichwasneeded,hesaid,tobuyofftheTurkishpotentatesthatruledovertheHolyLand. "What'sbeengoingonintheJewishsettlement?"wonderedthesettlersintheneighboringareas.Theyweresointriguedthatthey

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sentFatherBatistellaovertofindout.Thepriestcametoseeus;hewasawareofourplightandwillingtohelpus. "Wedon'tneedanything,Father,"werepliedwithgreatearnestness."OurMessiahhascome;he'sgoingtosetusfreeandmakeushappy." "TheMessiah?"Thepriestwasastonished."ButtheMessiahhasalreadybeenhereonearth.HewasourLordJesusChrist,whochangedwaterintowineandwho diedonthecrossbecauseofoursins." "Shutup,Father!"shoutedSarita."TheMessiahisShabtaiZvi!" Sarita,theadopteddaughteroffatLeibRubin,hadlostherparentsinapogrom.Eversince,shehadbeenmentallyunbalanced.ShewouldfollowShabtaiZvi everywhere,convincedthatshewasdestinedtobecomethewifeoftheAnointedoftheLord.Andtooursurprise,ShabtaiZviacceptedher:theyweremarriedon thedaywhenwefinishedthehulloftheboat.Asforthevesselitself,itwasquitegood;weplannedtotransportittotheseaonabigoxcart,thewayBentoGonçalves hadtransportedhisownboat. Thereweren'tmanyoxenleft.ChicoDevilwasnowshowinguponceaweek,eachtimestealingacoupleofthem.Someofusbegantalkingaboutconfrontingthe bandits.ShabtaiZvidisapprovedofthisidea."Ourkingdomliesoverseas.AndGodisprotectingus.Hewillprovideforus." Indeed:ChicoDevildisappeared.Fortwoweeksweworkedinpeace,puttingthefinishingtouchestothepreparationsforourdeparture.ThenonaSaturday morning,ahorsemangallopedintothevillage.ItwasGumercindo,ChicoDevil'slieutenant. "ChicoDevilisill!"heshoutedwithoutdismountingfromhishorse."He'sseriouslyill.Thedoctordoesn'tseemtobeabletocomeupwiththerighttreatment.Chico Devilhasaskedmetobringyoursaintoversothathecancurehim." Wesurroundedhiminsilence.

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"Andifherefusestocomewithme,"Gumercindowenton,"thenIhaveorderstosetthewholevillageonfire.Didyouhear?" "I'llgo,"thunderedastrongvoice. ItwasShabtaiZvi.Wemadewayforhim.Slowlyhedrewcloser,hiseyesfastenedontheoutlaw. "Getdownfromthehorse." Gumercindodismounted.ShabtaiZvimountedthehorse. "Yougoinfrontofme,running." Thethreeofthemsetoff:Gumercindo,runningahead;thenShabtaiZvi,onhorseback;andbringinguptherear,NatandeGaza,ridingonadonkey.Saritawantedto gowiththem,butLeibRubindidn'tlether. Wewereassembledintheschoolbuildingalldaylong.Wewerefartooanxioustospeak.Whennightfell,weheardahorse'strotting.Werantothedoor.Itwas NatandeGaza,gaspingforbreath. "Whenwegotthere,"hesaid,"wefoundChicoDevillyingonthefloor.Besidehim,awitchdoctorwasperforminghissorcery.ShabtaiZvisatdownbythebandit. Hedidn'tsayaword,hedidn'tdoathing,henevertouchedtheman—thejustsattherewatching.ThenChicoDevilraisedhishead,lookedatShabtaiZvi,letouta yell,anddied.Thewitchdoctor,hewaskilledrightthenandthere.Idon'tknowwhathappenedtoShabtaiZvi.Icameovertowarnyou:Cutandrun!" WegotintoourwagonsandfledfromErexim.Saritahadtobetakenforcibly. Onthefollowingday,LeibRubincalledustoameeting. "Idon'tknowabouttherestofyou,"hesaid,"butI'vehadenoughofthewholeshebang:BarãoFranck,Palestine,Sfat...I'vemadeupmymindtogotoPorto Alegre.Doyouwanttocomewithme?" "AndwhataboutShabtaiZvi?"askedNatandeGazainashakyvoice(washefeelingremorse?).

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"Thehellwithhim.He'snuts!"yelledLeibRubin."Hehascausedusnothingbutmisfortunes." "Don'tspeaklikethat,Father!"shoutedSarita."HeistheMessiah!" "TheMessiah,myfoot!Enoughofthisstory—it'sthekindofthingthatmightwellprovoketheJew­haters.Didn'tyouhearwhatthepriestsaid?TheMessiahhas alreadycome,didn'tyouhear?Hechangedwaterintowine,amongotherthings.Andwe'releaving.Thathusbandofyours,ifhe'sstillalive—andifhehasgottenhis headtogether—canjoinuslater.It'smydutytolookafteryou—whichI'mgoingtodo,husbandornohusband!" WetraveledtoPortoAlegre.KindlyJewstookusin.Andtooursurprise,ShabtaiZvishowedupafewdayslater.The"Stetsons,"whohadarrestedChicoDevil's gang,broughthimtous. OneofthesoldierstoldusthattheyhadfoundShabtaiZvisittingonastone,hiseyesfixedonthebodyofChicoDevil.Andthroughoutthefloor—thebandits,dead drunk,laysnoring.Therewerequarteredoxenscatteredeverywhere.Andwine."I'veneverseensomuchwine!Everysinglecontainerpreviouslyfilledwithwater wasnowfilledwithwine!Bottles,flasks,buckets,basins,barrels.Thewatersofanearbymarshwerered.Idon'tknowifitwasthebloodoftheoxenorifitwas wine.ButIthinkitwaswine." Withthehelpofawealthyrelative,LeibRubinsetupshop:firstheranastorethatsoldfabrics.Thenhemovedontofurniture,andeventuallyheestablisheda brokeragefirm,andendedupamassingagreatfortune.ShabtaiZviworkedinoneofhiscompanies,whereIwasalsoanemployee.NatandeGaza,aftergetting mixedupinsomesmugglingactivities,hadtofleethecountryandwasneverheardofa*gain. AfterSarita'sdeath,ShabtaiZviandIgotintothehabitofgettingtogetherinabartodrinkwine.That'swherewespendour

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evenings.Hedoesn'tsaymuch,andneitherdoI;hepoursthewineandwedrinkinsilence.Justbeforemidnighthecloseshiseyes,layshishandsovertheglassand murmurssomewordsinHebrew(orinAramaic,orinLadino).Thewineischangedintowater.Thebarownerthinksitisjustatrick.Asformyself,I'mnotsosure.

Don'tReleasetheCataracts IamaGodofJustice.EvenfromtheinsideIcanlookandsee:Abusrunsacrossthehollowofthenight.ThelakesreflectthepaleMoon.Menmurmur. Itisfair:ThelakeshavebeenplacedtheresothattheycanreflectthepaleMoonandsothatmen,touchedbythesight,canmurmur:"Thelakesreflectthepale Moon."Everythinghasbeenplannedfromthebeginninginthefairestpossibleway.Manyremainunawareofsucheternaldesigns:Theyopenhighways,andsetbuses torunonthem.Wherearetheygoinginsuchahurry?Iknow.Theydon't.Yettheykeeprunning. Thepassengersareasleep.Allexceptforone.Ashort,thinman;heisfortyyearsold,haswornamustachefortwentyyearsandbifocalsfortenyears. HeboardedthebusinPortoAlegre.Hesaidgood­byetohiswifeandchildren;hewasquittinghisdulljob;hewasflyingthecoop.Hethoughtthatnobodyknew aboutit.Iknow. "InFlorianopolisI'llhavedinneratAuroraRestaurant.InFlorianopolisI'llmakenewfriends.InFlorianopolisI'llhaveamistress."Hewaschucklingtohimself.They arefunny.Theycomeupwithphrases,thentheylaugh.Thelittlemanlaughedagreatdeal.Buttimewentby.Andnowhesitswriggling.It'sfunny.Hewriggleslikean earthworm.Andhescrewsuphisface.Heisnolongerlaughing. Threetimesalreadyhashereachedoutforthebuzzer.Buthe

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hasn'tpressedthebutton.Becauseheknowsthatpressingitwouldbeuseless. Therearemenwhocancutshortthecourseofeventsbymerelypressingabutton.Heisnotsuchaman:Thebusdriverhasalreadytoldhimthathecan'tstop.There isapregnantwomanonthebus,hehastoreachFlorianopoliswithoutdelaysothatthechildcanbebornonterrafirma.Clever,thisbusdriver.Heknowsthatthe babywillbealeaderandthatthelittleforty­year­oldmanisalreadyinthedeaththroes—alreadyrotten,maggoty.Hestinks.Hehassomekindofdisease,andhe stinksofammonia. Thepassenger,however,thinksotherwise."It'snotfairthewayI'mbeingtreated,"hewhimpers.Itisfair,yes:Iamagodofjustice."I'vepaidformybusticket,I haverights..."Therearenorights,mydearfellow;onlyconcessions.Theownerofthisbuslinehasaconcession:Hehasbeengrantedtherighttoputbuses withouttoiletsonthePortoAlegre­Florianopolisrun.Youhaveadifferentone:You'vebeengrantedtherighttowhimper.Untilthemomentoftheultimatesilence. Hesuffers,thisman,bloatedupthatheis,likeapregnantwoman.Sufferingtakesthejoyawayfromthistrip;heevenfeelshalf­dead...Whatdoesheexpectmeto do?Lethimfindsupportinrecollectinghisfriends,hismistress,AuroraRestaurant.(Ineffectivecrutches,aren'tthey,mycripple?) "Why?Butwhy?" Somuchanxiety.Well,I'llreplythen.Inthebeginning,ahollowseedwassowninhislowerbelly.Itwasnamedbladder.Centuriesandhourshavegoneby,andthe bladderfillsup:It'sapouch—elastic,true,butonlyuptoapoint.Itcontainslukewarmurine.InamomentthemanwillhavetheSuninhisbelly."Howitburns!" However,asitissaidinthepsalm,neithertheMoonatnightnortheSuninthedaytimeshouldburnhim—farlesssothisSunofthenight.

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Sweetmemoriescometotheman'smind:"Howgoodwefeltinthatpublicurinal!Allofus,citizensofPortoAlegre.Somewouldchat,otherswouldwhistle,many wouldcomparesizes.Wewouldwatchtheyellowrivuletsrunalongthelittlewhite­tiledcanals,headingtowardthebiggerriver." Andwheredoyouthinkthebiggerriverflowed,myfriend? Nothingescapesmycontrol.Nothing.Everyoneofthosem*nwhostoodchattingorwhistlingorcomparingsizeswillhavetoaccountforeverything.Foreverysingle dropletofurine. Themanisanguished,afraidhe'sgoingtodie.Helooksathiswatch:Iseethathistimehasn'tcomeyet.Therefore,Itakepityonhim.AndIdecidetocometohis rescue:Iallowhimtonoticeanemptybottleontheseatnexttohim. Helooksatthebottle.Listlessly,atfirst,stupefiedasheisbysuffering.Graduallyhebeginstoshowaninterestinthebottle.Thenhesetshisbrainstowork.Zoom ...thebusruns.Themanthinksandthinks.Inascientificway:hypotheses,calculations.Heimaginesthatheisplottinghisownfate.That'sallright.Hehasmy permissiontothinkinthisway. EvenfromtheinsideIcanlookandsee.Iseehimunziphisfly,Iseehimrelievehisbladder.Theurinepoursoutintothebottle.Aaaah...suchabeautifulsong. Thisorg*smicactlastsafewseconds,andthenisover.Andassoonasitisover,themanhasalreadyforgottenthepastsuffering,it'scompletelyoutofhismind!He stickshisheadoutofthewindow,seeslightsinthelandscapeofSantaCatarinastate,andfeelscheerful:"I'vebeenbornagain!"It'salie.Hewasbornonlyonce, fortyyearsago.Andhewilldieattheageofforty.Onlyonce.Iamagodofjustice.Eachpersongetsonechance. Hepressesthebottleofurine,stillwarm,againsthischest.Quiteunderstandableitis,thistendernesssurfacinginthemiddleofthenight:Afterall,itishisownurine. Nothingcouldbemorehisin

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thisworld.Amomentoftenderness...Butsofleeting.Heisalreadyrejectinghisownliquid:Filledwithdisgust,heopensthewindowandhurlsthebottleupintothe sky;thebottleturnsasomersaultintheair.Foramomentthedropssparkleinthemoonlight.Thentheyareswallowedbytheblackearth. Thebusrunson. Buttheseedshavebeensown.Inthatplace,inthatearth,poisonousmushroomswillsprout,thekindofmushroomsthatincurablypoisonthekidney.Mushrooms. Whichafarmerwillpick,thenselltothemanagerofAuroraRestaurant. Andwhowilleatthem?Hm,whowilleatthem? Iamtired.InFlorianopolisIwilltakealong,longrest.Itisonlyfair:Iamagodofjustice.MynameisKidney.

NewYear,NewLife Lifeispain,andIwakeupwithatoothache.It'sagorgeousday,asummersuninvadestheshack;asformyself,I'mcryingwithpain.I'mcryingforotherreasonsas well,butmostly,I'mcryingwithpain. Lifeisafight.It'snouselyingdown.Igetupandstartexercising.Whileflexingmytorso,InoticeFrancisca'snotelyingonthechair. WritingisoneofFrancisca'slatestachievements;withgreatsacrifice,sheattendsaliteracycourseintheevenings.Herhandwritinghasbeenimprovingbytheday,asI verifywhenIunfoldhermessage,whichunfortunatelydoesn'tgivemeanyfurtherreasontofeelpleased:Franciscahasjustleftmeforalongshoreman—asamatterof fact,herchoicematchesherlackofsensitivityperfectlywell,butitalsocreatesproblemsformyself:Who'sgoingtodothecooking?Who'sgoingtotidyupthe shack?Who'sgoingtogetmemoneyforthemovies?Alas,lifeisworries. Butlifeisalsojoy.TheSunshines,thephysicalexercisesdomegood,andifFranciscaditchedme,well,thereareplentyofother

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womenfortheasking.Actually,IbearFranciscanogrudge.Shehasnevermeasureduptome.Because,ifnowadaysIliveinashack,it'sbychoice:Iwasraisedby arichuncle,Ineverlackedthenecessitiesoflife,butIsufferedfromboredom.Itwasboredomthatturnedmeintoahippie.LaterIdecidedtoturnprofessionalandI becameagenuinedestituteman.That'swhatbroughtmetothisshack,whereIlivedbymyselfatfirst;laterFrancisca,atthetimeadomesticservantwhodidn'tknow howtoreadorwrite,movedinwithme.Andnowshehasditchedme.Ahwell,itdoesn'tmatter;onward,Isay,tomorrowwillbeanotherday. Thetoothache,momentarilyeased,isbackwithavengeance.I'llhavetoseeadentist,Iconclude.Whiterumwithtobaccowon'tdomeanygood,especially because—inthiscase—thereisn'tanywhiterumortobaccoaround.IntimesliketheseIratherregrethavingleftmyuncle'shouse.Atleast,Ishouldn'thavediscarded thecreditcardthathehadgivenme. Idecidetogotothedentistatthevillage'sbenevolentassociation—hetreatsthepoorfree.Thedentistturnsouttobeanicefellow,chubbyandlikable;afteraquick examination,hedecidesit'sacaseofextraction.Ihaveachoice,heinformsme:eitherextractionwithanesthesia(whichwillcostmeamodestsumofmoney),or without.Ioptforthelatter,andIhowlwhenthetoothispulledout.ThedentistthinksthatIscreamwithpain,buthe'swrong:it'sahowlofsatisfactionwithhaving savedmoney.Tospendmoneytomakemeinsensitive?Howabsurd.Lifeissuffering;tosufferistoswiglifedown,IexplaintothedentistwhenItakemyleave,my mouthfullofblood. Spittingoutglobulesofblooduponthedustyroadsofthevillage,Iheadforthecitycenterwiththeintentionofhavingsomecoffee,sinceIdidn'thaveanymorning coffee,mightaswellhavesomeafternooncoffee:it'salmostthreeo'clock. Iamsurprisedbythehustleandbustledowntown.Largecrowds

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ofpeopleinthestreets,inthestores.Suddenlyitdawnsonme:It'sDecember31.Thelastdayoftheyear! Lifeisemotion.IrecallhowmyuncleandIusedtocelebratetheendoftheyear:withcakesandchampagneaplenty.Uncle,Iforgottomention,wasanimporterof finewines,sothechampagnewasalwaysofthebestquality,butevensoitwasratherdifficultformetogetstonedwithhim.ThenightofDecember31wasanightof dreamsandhopes.Rememberingthis,Isitdownonthecurbofthesidewalkandcryandcry... Hungerstingsme.Istandup,readytobattlewithlife.Lifeisabattle. Ideviseaplan:Isetforthclearlydefined—andambitious—objectives:I'llmanagetogetholdofsomemoney,I'llbuychampagneandcakes,I'llcelebrateNewYear's fittingly.Myunclewouldhavenocausetofeelashamedofme. Butwhataboutmoney?WherecanIgetit?Notknowingverywellwhattodonext,IbegintostrollalongRuadaPraia,hopingthatsomethingwillturnup.Something doesturnup:AtthecornerofRuadaPraiaandRuaUruguaiIrunintothedentist.Iaccosthim,andaskthiscompassionatemanforaloan.Muchtomysurprise,he refuses;hepushesmeaside,hewantstobeonhisway.DesperateasIam,Igrabhim. ''Keepyourhandsoffme,youbum!Whydon'tyougetajob,yougood­for­nothing!" Heextricateshimselffreeandwalksaway,muttering.Ilethimgo:Hiswalletisalreadyinmyhand. Chortling,Istepintoadarkrecessandexaminethefruitofmylabor.Inadditiontoacreditcard,Ifindaone­hundred­cruzadobill.HappyNewYear! Ienteraconfectioner'sshoptobuycakes.AsI'mtakingthewalletoutofmypocket—ablowonmyhand!Apurse­snatcher!I'vebeenrobbed!

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Ileavethestoreinhotpursuitofhim:Thief!Thief!Duringthechasewerunpastthedentist,nowalsofollowinghotonourheels:Thief!Thief!Ikeeprunning,hoping thatthedentistiswithme,notagainstme. Finally,apolicemancutsshorttheraceofthepickpocket.Ithankthecopandaskforthewalletback.Unfortunately,thedentisthasnowcaughtupwithusandisalso demandingthereturnofthewallet.Thecreditcardsettlesthematter.IfonlyIhadn'tdiscardedmine... Mymouthstartsbleedingagain,whichisunpleasant,butitgivesmeanidea:Iheadforahospitalwiththeintentionofgivingblood.I'veheardthattheypaywell. Thedoorkeeperwon'tletmein. "I'vecomeheretogiveblood,"Iexplain. "You?"Helaughs."Youlookasifyoubadlyneedatransfusionyourself." NighthasalreadyfallenwhenIreturntomyshack:withnocakes,withnochampagne,withnothing.Lifeiswretchedness. Seatedonthebed,Iweep.AndthenIrecallthedentist'sadvice,andIstarttheNewYearwitharesolution:I'llwork. I'llplantagrapevine.AllIneedisonegrape,onesinglegrapefromwhichtotakeouttheseed.InafewyearsI'llhaveavineyardandthenI'llbeabletomakemyown champagne.Newyear,newlife:tomorrowI'llgetholdofonegrape.

TheScalp Afamily—father,mother,daughter—wastravelingbycarthroughthehinterland.Thefather,stillyoung,wasanengineer;hewasdrivinginabadmoodbecauseitwas hot;besides,thegeneratorwasmalfunctioning.Hiswife,whowaspregnant,wasfanningherselfwithapaperfan.Hisdaughter—afive­year­oldgirl—waslyingasleep

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onthebackseat.Throughouttheprecedingkilometersshehadbeenactingup,crying,andbitinghermother.Nowshewasasleep. Thecar,anoldFord,advancedwithdifficultyalongthemuddyroad,whichwasflankedwithsteepbanksofredearthrisingoneitherside.Theenginewasgroaning, thewaterintheradiatorwasboiling.Theengineerwasbesetwithanxiety.Nightwasbeginningtofallandhewasafraidthattheenginemightconkout.Cursingunder hisbreath,hekeptpressingdowntheaccelerator. Allofasuddenthewomanletoutacry:"Look,overthere!"Startled,hebrakedthecar."Whatisit?""Overthere,"shesaid,"rightinfrontofus."Ayoungwoman waswalkingalongtheroad.Tall,withabeautifulbody.Hernakedfeetwerekneadingthemudoftheroad.''Butwhat'sthematter?"askedthehusband,puzzled."Her hair,"murmuredthewife,"howbeautifulherhairis!" Slowlytheydrovepasttheyoungwoman,whoturnedaround;smiling,shestoodstaringatthemforalongtime. Thewifesighed,andfidgetedontheseat."Stopthecar,"shegroaned.Theengineersloweddown:"Aren'tyoufeelingwell?Doyouwanttothrowup?"Shelowered hereyes:"No,Idon'twanttothrowup;it'ssomethingelse,butI'mnottellingyoubecauseIknowyouwon'tdoit...""Whatisit?"askedtheengineer.She, tearfully:"It'snousetellingyou,youwon'tobligeme...""Butwhatisitthatyouwant?"Worried,thehusbandglancedathiswatch."Outwithit,forheaven'ssake!" Sheblewhernose:"Thatwoman...""Yes,"saidtheengineer,"thatwoman;whatabouther?""Haveyounoticedherhair?"Thewifewasnolongercrying;hereyes werenowglistening."Whataboutherhair?"groanedtheengineer."Comeon,tellme,whataboutherhair?""Black,"repliedthewife,"blacklikemine,butmuch longer,farmorebeautiful.""Yes,"saidthehusband,"sowhat?What'stheproblem?" "Nothing,"saidthewoman,loweringherhead.Alargeteardropgatheredonthetipofhernose.

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Theengineerstaredather,bewildered."So,shallwepresson?"heasked."Wait,"shemurmured,andnoisilyblewhernose."Butcan'tyousee,"heshouted,"thatit's gettinglate,thatwestillhaveanothersixtykilometersofthisdreadfulroadaheadofus?DoIdriveonornot?"Sheraisedherhead,tookadeepbreath,andsaid angrily:''Allright,driveon,let'sgo.Andlet'sdropthesubject,okay?" Hesteppedonthebrakepedal,turnedofftheengine."No,nowyou'vegotmeworried,Iwantyoutotellmewhat'sthematterwithyou."Thewife,silent.Theyoung womanwiththeblackhaircameintosight,overtookthem,smiledagain,andwalkedon. "Herhair,"saidthewoman."ButforGod'ssake,whataboutherhair?"shoutedtheengineer."Peoplebuyit,"thewifeshoutedback."Peoplebuyit—didn'tyou know?Peoplebuyit!Tomakewigs!Itcostsafortuneinthecity.Here,youcangetitcheap." Theengineerwasstaringattheyoungwoman,whothendisappearedaroundabendoftheroad."Igatherthatyouwanttobuyherhair,"hesaidinalowvoice."No," saidthewifewithasmile,"Iwantyoutobuyit.It'sgoingtobeagiftfromyou." "Noway,"mutteredthehusband,turningontheengine.Withabeseechingsmile,sherestedahandonhisarm:"Please,darling." "Okay,"hesighed.Hedroveoff. Theyovertooktheyoungwoman.Thecarcametoahaltandtheengineergotout. "Goodafternoon,younglady,"hesaidwithaforcedsmile."Goodafternoon,"shereplied;gorgeous,shewas;herteethwereinprettybadshape,buthereyeswere beautiful,andsuchhair!Long,black,fallingoverhernakedshoulders.Theyoungwomanlookedathim,waiting. Heexplained:Hewouldliketobuyherhairtogiveittohiswife,manygirlssoldtheirhair,didn'tsheknow?Yes,shedid,theyoungwomanknewaboutitbutshe couldn'tsellherhair.Shehadpromisedherdyingmother:Shewouldonlycutherhairwhenshe

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hadherownman."Whoevergetsmyhairgetsmeaswell,"shesaid,crossingherself.Theengineerstilltriedtopersuadehertochangehermind;seeingthatitwas pointlesstopersist,hethankedherandwentbacktothecar."Shewon'tsellit,"hesaidtohiswife. "That'salie,"shoutedthewife,hereyesglitteringwithanger,"she'llsellitallright,theyalldo,she'sjusttryingtoraiseherprice.""Maybe,"saidthehusband,turningon theengine,"butwe'redrivingon.""No!''shoutedthewoman,herfacedistortedbypain."Please!" Theengineer—ohGod,Isuregotoutofbedonthewrongsidetoday—turnedofftheengineandgotoutofthecar. Theyoungwomanhadlefttheroadandwasnowwalkingalonganuphilltrail.Hefollowedher. Shewalkedatabriskpace.Hewastryingtoovertakeher,hegotscratchedintheshrubs.Hewaspanting.Insectsbuzzed... Heovertookherinaglade,whereshehadstoppedtotakearest. "Younglady,"hemurmured. Sheturnedaround.Shedidn'tseemsurprised.Shewassmiling. "Younglady,see,it'slikethis:Mywifeispregnant,shemustn'tgetupset,youunderstand,don'tyou?Dosellmeyourhair,younglady,"hesaid. "It'simpossible,"shewassayingwithasmile,"I'vealreadytoldyouIcan'tsellmyhair."Shestoodupanddisappearedamidthetrees.Hehesitatedforamoment, thencursing,wentinpursuitofher.Hisbootssankintothedampearth,sweatrandownhisneck.Heovertookheroncemore."Younglady,"hegroaned.Shestared athim,sayingnothing. Hecutoffherhairwhilestilllyingontopofher.Inarage,hecutitoffwithhisknife,afistfulatatime.Shedidn'tmakeasinglegesture,didn'tsayasingleword.She keptstaringatthetreetops.

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Heranbacktothecar,stumblingoverroots.Heopenedthecardoor,flungthestrandsofmuddyhairathiswife:"Thereyouare,holdontothem.""Howdisgusting," protestedthewoman,"you'vedroppedthehair,haven'tyou?''"Yeah,"hesaid,anddroveoff."It'sallright,I'llhaveitwashed,"shesaidafterconsideringthematter. Shecarefullyplacedthehairintoaplasticbag. Kilometersfartherdowntheroad,theengineertouchedhisshirtpocketwithhishand:Hehadlosthisdocuments.ButI'mnotgoingbackthere,hesaidtohimself, nothingintheworldwillmakeme.Thechildwokeup:"What'sthat,Mother?""It'sawigforMummy,"themotherintoned."Giveittome,"whimperedthegirl."Shut up,"thefatheryelled.Bothmotheranddaughtershutup. Thewigwasmade,monthswentby,achildwasborn—aboy. OneSundayafternoontheengineerwasrelaxingathome,readingamagazine.Hewasalone.Hiswifeandchildrenhadgoneoutfortheday. Thebellrang.Hegotupwithagroanandwenttothedoor. Itwastheyoungwoman.Herhairhadn'tgrownbackyet;hersmilewasthesame. "Rememberme?"shesaid,andsteppedin.

TheSpider Motionlessonthewhitewall—thespider.Thelegs,eightofthem,arearticulatedtoherblackbody.Thespiderhasbeenthereforalongtime.Waiting:themalewill soonbethere. Atthemoment,heisawayonahuntingexpedition.Heisafterflies;pouncinguponthem,hekillsthem,thendrawsnourishmentfromtheirdeliciousjuices.Soonhe'll forgettheirdepletedcarcasses.

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He'llreturntothefemale.Thekillinghasrousedhim:Hewantstocopulate. Theirlegsentangled,theymakelove.Thentheydisengagethemselves.Whilehelies,lethargic,shemovesawayalittle.Thensuddenlysheisback,energized—witha quick,accuratemaneuvershepullsoutoneofhislegs.Andthendevoursitwithpleasure:ithasthetasteofadry,velvetycracker.Themale,grippedbyasudden dread,wantstofleebutcan't:deprivedofthesupportofhislimb,heheelsover,outofcontrol.Onthewhitewall,thefemalemakesperiodicraidsonthemaleand dexterouslyextractslegafterleg. Finally,allthatisleftofhimishistrunk,fromwhicheveryoutgrowthhasbeenexcised—andyet,fitsofspasmstillrufflehiscoat.Whatisleftofhimissosmallthatthe she­spider—withonlyaminoreffort—couldgulpitdowninitsentirety.Whichshedoes.Thensheremainsmotionlessonthewhitewallofthespaciousbedroom:she andAlice. Lyinginbed,Aliceonlynoticedthespideratthemomentwhenshestretchedherlong,brownleg.Alicehadbeengazingatherself;itwasn'tuntilhereyesroamed beyondherselfthatshecaughtsightofthespider.Herfirstimpulsewastosquash*ttodeath.Butshedidn'twanttosoilthewall.Shelaystaringatthespider. AlicewaswaitingforAntonio.Soonhewouldbethereafterleavingthegrocerystore;late,asusual,hewouldcomehuffingandpuffing:"I'mmuchtoofattobe climbingthesestairs!"Tomakeupforit:rings,earrings,coldcash.Andafurcoat,too:"Howdoyoulikethisbeast?"Hewouldnoticethespideronthewall:"An insect!"Ablowwiththeflatofhishugehand—andthere:Ablacksmudgeonthewall.Hewouldwipehishandsonhispants,andthenwouldliedownonthewide bed. Forthetimebeing,thespiderremainedalive.Andmotionless.Shedidn'tevenstirwhenthekeyturnedinthelock,orwhenthe

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voicethundered:"I'mmuchtoofattobeclimbingthesestairs!"Hewashuffingandpuffing,Antoniowas.Withasmile,heheldoutapackagewrappedinnewspaper. "Asurprise!Madethemmyself.Arecipefromtheoldcountry!"Aliceopenedthepackage:drycrackers.Madeinvariousshapes:snakes,lizards.Alicetooka crackeroutofthepackage."Aspider!"shoutedAntonio.Alicebitintoaleg:dry,velvety.Slowly,shecrunchedit.Darkcrumbsfelluponthewhitebedspread,but shewasn'tlookingatthem. ShewaslookingatAntonio.Naked,hewasslowlydrawingnearthewall,hisraisedhandsplayed. Alicesliddowntothefloor.Onallfoursonthecarpet,sheadvancednoiselesslyandmorequicklythantheman.Antoniocametoahalt,readytodelivertheblow.As forAlice,shesawahairyleginfrontofher.Shebitintoit.Caughtunawares,themanletoutayell.Alicebitagain.Thelegwasn'tdry:itwasfleshy,itbled. Withakick,Antonioshovedheraway.Hewasswearingatherloudlywhileheputonhisclothes.Finally,thedoorslammedshut.Silencefelluponthebedroom. Alicesmiled.Andshestoodstaringatthespider,motionlessonthewhitesurface.

AgendaofExecutiveJorgeT.FlacksforJudgmentDay SevenA.M. Getup(earlier,today).Don'tthink.Don'tliemotionlessinanattempttorecapturefleetingimages;letdreamstrickleaway,jumpoutofbed. Fromtheterrace:watchtheSunrise—withdryeyes,withoutthinkingofthemillions,billionsofyearsthroughoutwhichthispoignantlight,andsoonandsoforth. Nothingofthekind.Abath,soonafterward.

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Seven­ThirtyA.M. Breakfast:orangejuice,toast,eggs.Eatwithappetite,chewvigorouslyandswiftly;don'truminate,don'tmixfoodwithbitterthoughts.Don't!Coffee.Verystrong, withsugartoday,justtoday,neveragain(fromnowon,avoidexpressionssuchas"neveragain").Finishoffthemealwithaglassofice­coldwater,sippingitslowly. Payspecialattentiontotheicecubestinklingagainsttheglass.Joyfulsound. EightA.M. Wakeupthewife.Makelove.Andwhynot?She'sbeenthecompanionofsomanyyears.Wife,mother.Makelove,yes,aquickactoflove,butwiththeutmost tenderness.Lethergobacktosleepafterward.Letherroamthroughthecountryofdreamsasmuchasshewants;lethersayfarewelltohermonsters,toher demons,toherfairies,toherprincesses,tohergodparents. Eight­ThirtyA.M. Gymnastics.Brisk,fiercemovements.Afterward,feelthearmstingling,theheadthrobbing,splitting,almost:life. NineA.M. Takethecaroutofthegarage.Drivedowntown.Takeadvantageofthetimespentdrivingtodosomethinking.Trytoclarifycertaindoubtsonceandforall;maybe stopoffattherabbi'splace.Maybetalktoapriestaswell.Maybebringpriestandrabbitogether? TenA.M. Attheoffice.Renderdecisionsonthelatestdocuments.Tidyupthedesk.Cleanoutdrawers,throwawaygewgaws.Setpentopaper.Writealetter,apoem, anything.Write.

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Twelve­ThirtyP.M. Luncheon.Friends.Salad,coldcuts.Wine.Gabaway,talkdrivel.Laugh.Observethefaces.Memorizethedetailsofthefaces.Hugthefriends.Hugthemdeeply touched.Buttearless.Notearsatall. Three­ThirtyP.M. PhoneDr.Francisco.Askifthere'sanythingthatcanbedone(quiteunlikely);butsaynototranquilizers. SixP.M. Returnhome.Getthefamilytogether,includingthebabyofthefamily.Mentionthey'llbetakenforadrive,andgetthestationwagonoutofthegarage.Headforthe outskirtsofthecity.Findaspotonanelevationwithapanoramicview.Park.Haveeverybodygetoutofthecar.Inalow,quietvoice,explainwhatisaboutto happen:theearth,whichwillopenup(explain:asifitwereparched),thebones,whichwillappear—thebonesonly,white,clean—bonesthatwillthenbecovered withflesh,withhair,witheyes,withfingerandtoenails:men,women,laughing,crying. Concludewith:It'sabouttobegin,children.It'sabouttobegin.Uptonow,everythinghasbeenalark.

EatingPaper Iworkforaninsurancecompany.Onedaythemanagersendsforme. I'dlikeyoutomeetSenhorÁlvaro,"hesaysintroducingmetoathinyoungmanwithgloomyyes."He'sgoingtoworkforusandI'dlikeyoutoshowhimtheropes." Stealthilyhethrustsasmallpieceofpaperintomypocket.WhileescortingSenhorÁlvaro,Ilingerbehindhimforamomentandread

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thenote:"Watchout.He'stheDirector'sson."Iwadthepaperintoatinyballandswallowitnonchalantly.Ithasn'tbeenthefirsttime. IshowourfilestoSenhorÁlvaro. "Asyoucansee,"Isaytohim,"weinsuresomebigwigs." Heshowsinterest,writesdownnames. Itakehimtomyoffice,wherealittlefatmansitswaiting. "I'dliketointroduceyoutoaclientwhohascometoustobuylifeinsurance... "Leavehimtome."Headdressestheman: "Verywell.Soyouwouldliketotakeoutlifeinsurance.Andwhendoyouintendtodie?" "I..."mumblestheman,perplexed. "Youdidn'tunderstandmyquestion,"shoutsSenhorÁlvaro."Whendoyouintendtodie?" Startled,themanrecoilsinhischair.SenhorÁlvaroturnstome: "Hedoesn'tknow.They'reabunchofidiots,generallyspeaking.I'lltrycauseofdeathandseeifit'llgetmesomewhere.Sothen,myfriend,whatareyouplanningto dieof?" Theclientgetsupandmakesaboltforthedoor. "Maybethat'snotaverygoodtechnique,"Isuggestcautiously.Iexplainafewthingsaboutlifeinsurance.Acertaindegreeofoptimismisnecessary,Itellhim.He heavesasigh,seemstoagree. Withsatisfactionheinformsthenextclient: "There'snoneedtoworry,myfriend!Veryfewpeoplehavediedrecently." Theclientlooksatmeandsayshe'llbebacksomeotherday. IescortSenhorÁlvarobacktothemanager,andthrustanoteintohispocket:"Impossible!"Heswallowsthepaperwitheaseandleavestheroomtogetholdofthe Director,whowalksinwithhimshortlyafter.TheDirectorasksustoleavehimalonewithSenhorÁlvaro.

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Wepacebackandforthinthecorridoroutside.Fromwithincomemuffledoutcries.Finallythedooropens,SenhorÁlvaroappearsandlooksstraightatuswithan ironicexpression: "SoyouthinkI'mnotsuitable.Verywell.Butyou'llbehearingaboutmyperformanceoneofthesedays." Lately,theCompanyhasbeenonthebrinkofbankruptcy.Ourmostimportantclientshavebeendyingmysteriously,oneaftertheother.We'vebeenswallowingnotes fromtheDirectorwithoutanyletup.Themanagerisupset.Asformyself,IthinkIhaveanideaastothecauseofthesedeaths.

TheEvidence BeforetheaccidentIusedtosellvacuumcleanersandwritepoems.SometimesIcomposedversesduringworkhours.Once,asIwascrossingthestreet absentmindedly,IwasrunoverbySenhorAlexandre'sluxurycar. OnedaywhenIhaveenoughmoney I'llwinovertheloveofmysweet. ThenproudlyI'llwalkdownthestreet And—

Andwhat?Idon'tknow.I'veforgotten.Andwhoselovedid!wanttowinover?Idon'tknow.AllIknowisthatIwaswelltreated;mylegshadtobeamputated, true,butAlexandre(outofguilt?outoffearofbeingimplicated?)tookmein.Therewereonlythetwoofusandtheservantsinthebighouse.Wetalkedagreatdeal; theblithe,friendlykindofconversationabouttrivialities.Butinvisiblecurrentsofhatred,ofrepressedhostilitywouldflowinthemomentsofsilence.Forthisreasonwe kepttalking,andwetalkedonandon.UntilAlexandresufferedastrokethatstruckhimdumb.Andnow

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hereweare,thetwoofus,inAlexandre'sbedroom,facingeachotherinsilence. Thedoctorcomesin.He'sabespectacledman,melancholicbutveryefficient.Hecomeseveryday,andeventwiceaday. Medicineisdedication withnobreaksorvacation.

WhenAlexandrestillspoke,hewouldinsistthatthedoctorexamineme,too;andonsuchoccasionshewouldinquireaboutlegtransplants,artificiallimbs,andsoon. Alexandrewasconcerned.It'snothisfaultthatIamphysicallydisabled.Andthankstohim,thedoctorcontinuestofollowupmycase.However,Idogetshortshrift. "Howareyoudoing?Fine?That'sgreat,youngman.Seeyoulater." HisrealconcernisforAlexandre. "Feelinganybetter,SenhorAlexandre?" Alexandredoeshisbesttoanswer;hisfacebecomescongested;theveinsinhisneckdilate.Andfinally: "Ga­ga­ga­ga..." That'shisanswer.Thedoctorproducesasmile. "Verygood,SenhorAlexandre!Yourspeechisimproving!" Thedoctorexamineshimforalongtime,thenhesighs.Alexandre'seyesmeetmine.That'showwecarryonaconversationnowadays. "Didyouhear?HesaysI'mbetter,"hiseyessay. "Alie,"Ireply."Hesaidthatyourspeechhasimproved.Whichisnottrueeither." I'mangrybecausethephysiciandidn'texaminemeproperly,hedidn'teventakemybloodpressure.However,IcannowventmyangeronAlexandre,evenifit'sonly withmyeyes.Misfortunehasequalizedus.

Page94 We'vedoneawaywiththeoppressor, nownobodyfeelsoppressed, nownobodyfeelsabased, nownobodyfeelsinsulted.

IncomesblondEster,Alexandre'sniece. "Howishe,doctor?" "So­so." "Isheanybetter?" "Neitherbetternorworse." "Andhisheart?" "So­so...Hedoesn'ttoleratedigitalisverywell..." Digitalis.Alexandregetsashotofitforhisheart.Atfirsttheygavehimpills,buthechokedonthem.Thedoctorthenprescribedinjections."Whydon'ttheygrindthe pillsintopowder?Whydon'ttheygivehimthemedicineinliquidform?"Iwondered.Ijustwondered,withoutsayinganything.Afterall,thedoctorknowsbestabout Alexandre'sheart. BlondEsterdrawsthedoctoraside.Weprickourears,AlexandreandI. "Howmuchlonger,doctor?"asksthenieceinalowvoice,nottoolow,though;justlowenoughsothatshesoundssadtothedoctor,butnottoolow,sureassheis thatAlexanclrecan'thear,andwhetherIcan,well,shedoesn'tgiveadamn. "Howlong?..."Thedoctorsighs."Whoknows?Itcouldbeaweek.Amonth.Ayear..." BlondEster'sfacelooksafflicted. "SometimesIthink,doctor...Allthisstruggle,allthissuffering...Wouldn'titbebetterifwestoppedgivinghimmedicationsoastoputanendtothispoorman's suffering?" Oh,no!Isaytomyself.Andwhataboutme,what'sgoingtohappentomethen?Youcanbarelywaitfortheoldmantodiesothat

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youcankickmeout!You'reheartless!Lettheoldguylive!Itmightbeforjustoneweek,butitmightalsobeforanothermonthoryear.Letnaturerunitscourse. Natureiswise,itknowswhatitisdoing.That'swhatIthink.ButIdon'tvoicemythoughts. "Besides,"theniecegoeson,"whatkindoflifeisthis?Canwecallitlife?There'smorelifeinaheadoflettucethaninmyuncle,doctor!" "Myyounglady..."Thedoctorisillatease. Esterleanstowardthedoctor.Shehasbeautifulbreasts,Inotice—I'mhandicappedbutnotcomatose.Theexpressiononherfacechanges,andsodoeshervoice, whichisnowfulloftenderness. "Thinkofthelittlechildren,doctor.Thousandsofstarvinglittlechildreneverywhere.Haveyouthoughthowmanylittlechildrencouldbefedwiththemoneywe've beenspendingtokeepmyunclealive?Amanwithafootinthegrave,amanwhoseheartnolongertoleratesdigitalis?" IlookatAlexandre.Ifeelsorryforhim.ButIfeelsorryfortheyoungwoman,too.Shesoundssincere.Andapoetcan'thelpfeelingtouchedbeforesuchhelpless altruism. Thisbeautifulyoungwoman suchpainshe'sbeenthrough: beingunabletohelpthepoor makesherfeeloh­s o­blue. Andyetallthatisneeded forherdreamtocometrue isrichuncleinacoffin ifonlythisweretrue.

Thedoctortakeshisleave.Theyoungwomanlingersforawhilelongerandthenshetooleaves.

Page96 Theyoungwomandepartsatlast, nightisfallingfast, anotherdayinthepast.

ThefollowingafternoonthedoctorisexaminingAlexandre.IncomesGregório,Alexandre'sbrother­in­lawandthemanagerofoneofAlexandre'sfactories.''Howis he,doctor?" "So­so." "Isheanybetter?" "Neitherbetternorworse." "Andhisheart?" "So­so...Hedoesn'ttoleratedigitalisverywell..." Gregóriositsdown.Hishandsarewringinghisgloves.Hewantstoasksomething—thisstrong,tallmanwithananguishedface.Hehesitates;finally,hesetsupand drawsthedoctoraside. "Howmuchlongeristhisgoingtolast,doctor?" "Whoknows?Itcouldbeaweek.Amonth...year..." "Ayear!" Gregórioisnervouslystrikingtheglovesagainsthishand."Ayear!" Hewalksuptothewindowandstandsstaringatthecypressesinthegarden.Anditisfromthewindowthathesaysinalow,expressionlessvoice: "I'mgoingtotellyousomething,doctor.Ithinkthatveryfewpeoplewouldbesaddenedbyhisdeath." "Whatareyousaying?"Thedoctorisindignant."Whataboutthefamilymembers?Andtheservants,towhomhehasbeenaveritablefather?" "Afather!"Gregóriolaughswithbitterness."Youhavenoidea,sir!Acruelman,that'swhatheis.Hemadethemworkforpeanuts,hewasalwaysabusingeverybody insight,andpunishingpeopleleftandright!"

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Alexandredoesn'tevenblink.It'smyeyesthatbrimwithtears.Myheartisanguished.Ican'tbeartowatchthisscene. Thissceneisunbearable tearsrolldownmyface whenIseesuchadisgrace —thepowerfulmantreatedlikeadog!

Thedoctordoesn'tsayaword.Gregóriotakeshisleave. Gregóriodepartsatlast nightisfallingfast, anotherdayinthepast.

ThefollowingafternoonthedoctorisexaminingAlexandrewhenMaria,thepatient'ssister,comesin.Andhowishe,doctor,so­so,isheanybetter,neitherbetternor worse,andhisheart,andsoonandsoforth—shedrawsthedoctorasideandgoesstraighttothepoint. "Ifweweretogettheinheritancenow,doctor...Ihaveasonwho'sabouttoentertheuniversity..." Justthen,inwalksanattractiveyoungman;hegreetsthedoctor,isapprisedofthematterunderdiscussion,andcorroborateshismother'swords: "Mymotherisright,doctor.Mygreatestdreamistoattendtheschoolofmedicine.Butit'sgoingtobedifficult...Myfatherisdead...Ineedmoneytopayfor thecollegepreparatorycourse,tobuybooks.Doctor,helpme!You'rethemodelIwanttoemulate.Showyoursolidaritytoafuturecolleague!" Thedoctor,horrified: "Vultures!Getout!" Vultures,Getout, shoutedthedoctor,

Page98 it'stimenodoubt forsomecompassion.

Allthreehaveleft.AlexandreandIlookateachother. "Ican'tbelieveit,"hesayswithhiseyes. "Well,Alexandre.They'reupset.Butdeepintheirheartstheywantyourwelfare." "Dothey?" "Sure,you'llsee." Anursecomesin(therearetwoofthem,thedayandthenightnurse)andbeginstoprepareaninjectionofdigitalis.ThedooropensandincomesEster,hereyes brimmingwithtears. "Dearuncle,I'msosorry!IsthereanythingIcandoforyou?" "Excuseme,"saysthenurse,holdingthehypodermic. "Leaveittome,nurse,"shoutsEster."Leaveittome,I'llgivemyuncletheinjection." "Thisismyjob,"saysthewomandryly."Willyoupleasegetoutofmyway." Estersnatchesthehypodermicaway. "Youstupidwoman!Witch!Nowondermyuncleissoill,lookedafterbyviragoslikeyou.Getout,now!" Offended,thenursewalksaway.Estergivesheruncleashot,tuckshimin,andkisseshimgood­byeontheforehead. Soonafterward,Gregóriocomesin. "I'msosorry!" He'sbothsorryandoutraged.Hehasrunintothenurseatthegate."There'snowayI'llevergivethatoldmananotherinjection,Iwon'tliftafingeranymore,"the womanhadallegedlysaid.Gregóriowasindignant. "Theidiot!Shedidn'tlookafteryou!Butfromnowonthingswillbedifferent.I'llpersonallytakecareofeverything.Includingtheinjections!"

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Hetakesasterilizedhypodermicandpreparesaninjectionofdigitalis. "Ga­ga­ga­ga..."Alexandre,terrified,attemptstoextricatehisarm. "Hewouldratherhavetheshotinhisbuttocks,"saysGregório,commiseratingwithhim."Poorman!Hisarmsmustbequitesoreaftertheshotsgivenbythatvirago." "It'sthat..."Isaytimidly. "Shutup,parasite!"yellsGregório."I'llreckonwithyoulater." Ifhewantsmetoshutup,thenIshutup.InsilenceIwatchGregóriogiveAlexandreashotofdigitalis,afterwhichheleaves.Stillinsilence,IwatchMariacomein. Shelivesnearby. "FrommywindowIsawthenursebolting.Whatahussy!" Shegiveshimanotherinjectionandleaves.Soonafterincomesthefuturedoctor,whohasbeenmakingpassesatthenurse,anactivityrelatedtohisinterestin medicine. "DearUncle,I'veheardthatthenursedidn'tgiveyouaninjectionandthatshewon'tbeworkinghereanymore.Don'tworry.Shewasincompetent.Besides,shewas frigid,too.So,I'llbelookingafteryou.Asyou'llsee,I'malreadyexperienced." Heis.Ittakeshimoneminutetogivehisuncleaninjectionofdigitalisandleavetheroom.Thenightnursearrives,looksatthenoteswrittenbyhercolleague: "Thattartdidn'tgivehimaninjection!" Alexandrenolongerofferedanyresistance. Asformyself,I'vealwaysbeenamanoffewwords;I'dmuchratherwritepoems.Butoutofconsiderationfortheoldman,Isaidsomethingtothenurse.It'scold here,that'swhatImumbled,butshedidn'thearme,orifshedid,shechosetoignoreme.Toobad. It'scoldinhere. Alexandrewilldie.

Page100 Boththehillandtheriverweep astheywatchamandie. Therewasnoministration ofeitherliquidorpowdermedication. Andtheywouldn'tlistento anythingIsaid. Thus,Alexandredies fromtoomanyinjections. He'llliveoninmyrecollections andinourbigheart,too.

TheOfferingsoftheDalilaStore EverythingisfineinSãoPaulo,I'mhappywithmyjobmanagingastorechain—agoodhouse,twocars,atriptotheCaribbeanalreadybooked,everything—whenall ofasuddenIgetaphonecallfrommymotherinPortoAlegre.Myoldmanissick,shefindsherselfunabletocopewithlookingafterthehouseandrunningtheir business. I'manonlyson.Iflyoutonthefirstflightavailable. Ifindmyfathermuchbetter.However,sinceI'mhere,IdecideImightaswellstraightenouttheirbusinessaffairs;theyownasmallmen'sclothingstorein Mont'Serrat.Theycouldmakeendsmeetwhenitwastheonlysuchstoreinthearea,patronizedbyaloyalclienteleconsistingmostlyofcivilservantsandsmall businessmen.Thankstothestore,Iwasabletogotocollegeandgraduate.That'sthereasonwhynowadaysmydiplomainaccountinghangsbehindthecashregister, togetherwiththebusinesslicenseandthepictureofmygrandfather,thefounderofthiscommercialestablishment. Now,however,Iseethatthere'sanotherstoreonthisstreet,rightacrossfromours—theDalilaStore.Smallanduntidylikeours,and

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yetbusinessismuchlivelierthere.Why?Iwonder,lookingattheowner,anoldwomanwithbleachedhairandpaintedeyeswhostaresatmedefiantlyfromherdoor. Shehasnoideawhomsheisupagainst. Igettoworkonthisproblem.ApreliminaryinvestigationrevealsthefactthatasubstantialnumberofourcustomersnowpatronizetheDalilaStore.AndIsoonfind outwhy:thereceiptsissuedbythestoreentitlethecustomerstoattendcertainmoviesessionsheldinthebackoftheDalilaStoreonFridaynights.Igetholdofsome ofthesereceipts.AndIbookaseatonaplaneflyingoutonSaturday.Iintendtosolvethismatterinmyownway:quickly,efficiently,quietly. Wearingdarkglassesandafalsemustache,IringthedoorbellattheDalilaStoreat9P.M.onFriday.Thedooropens;thepaintedfaceoftheoldwomanappears.I producemyproofofpurchase,stepin,andamtakentoapoorlylitroominthebackofthestore.There,amidthesmilingmannequinsandboxesofmerchandise,I findtheothermembersoftheaudience.Asitturnsout,I'mnottheonlyonewearingdarkglasses.Isitdownonarusticwoodenbench,lightacigarette,andwait. DonaDalilaisnervous.Sherunsabouttheroom,straightensthetomscreen,looksatherwatch;finallysheannouncesinahoarsevoicethatthemovieisaboutto start.Sheswitchesoffthelightandturnsontheold,noisymovieprojector. Acaptionappearsonthescreen:THEADVENTURESOFDALILA.EvenbeforethemoviestartsIguesswhatitis:oneofthosewretchedp*rnographicmovies,old,dark, silent—thewomanwiththedog,thewomanwithtwomen,thewomanwithanotherwoman.Andindeed,thefirstscenealreadydepictsabed;andfromamidthefurs andthefeathersemergesthefaceofthedebauchee:eyespaintedblack,heart­shapedmouth—beautiful,thisslu*t,despiteeverything.

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Incomesthedog;thenthetwomen;thenanotherwoman.Theaudiencelaughsandapplauds;someevenmoanwithexcitement. Themovieisover.Thelightisturnedon.Mutterings;somebodywantsmore.No,saystheoldwoman,that'sallfortoday.There'smorenextFriday.Anddon'tforget tobringyourreceipts. Half­hiddenbehindamannequin,Iwaituntileverybodyisgone.Theoldwomanisrewindingthefilm.Ileavemyhidingplace;she'sstartledtoseeme. "Whatisit?"sheyells,enraged."It'sover!Scram!Outwithyou,it'slateandIstillhavelotstodo." Iremovethemustacheandtheglasses.Surprised,shestepsback:"Butit'sDonaCecilia'sson!" "That'sright,"Isay,adding:"thesonofyourcompetitors.Iamheretoputanendtothiscircus." Incredulous,shelaughs."Putanend,how?Why?" "Becauseit'sanunfaircompetition,"Isay."That'stheonlyreason." "Yourparentscandothesameintheirstore,"sheremarkswithsarcasm. "Shutup!"Iyell(butmineisacalculatedfury)."Myparentsarenottrashlikeyou,youbitch.They'rehonestpeople." Sheisfrightened."There'snoneedtoshout,I'mnotdeaf;besides,what'swrongwithshowingafewmovies? "It'sadirtytrick,"Ishout,"toattractcustomersbysuchmeans." Shesighs."Allright,"shesays."Iwon'tshowmoviesanymore."Shebeginstoremovethefilmreelfromtheprojector."Giveittome,''Itellher. "Whatfor?"Hervoiceistremulous,andthere'sgenuineterrorinhereyes.Ah! "Giveittome!"Isayagain. Shetriestoescapethroughthebackdoor.Igrabherandsnatchthereelaway.Shetriestofightback.Iplacateherwithagoodpunch.

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"I'mgoingtobumthisfilth,"Isay,stillpuffing."Righthereandrightnow." "Waitamoment!"Thetoneofvoiceisentreatingandhermouthisbleeding."Domejustonefavor,willyou?Letmewatchthismovieforonelasttime.' "Why?" "Letmeshowthemovie,willyou?ThenI'llexplain." Ilookatmywatch.Istillhavetime;besides,Ididn'tseethemovieright. "Okay." Sheputsthereelintheprojector,turnsoffthelight.Isitdownonthebenchandlightacigarette.Shesitsdownnexttome.Welookatthefaceonthescreen—atthe paintedeyes,attheheart­shapedmouth. "Doyouknowwhosheis?"shemurmursinmyear."That'sme." "You'relying." I'mnot,honest.That'sme,inEurope.Iwasveryfamous...ThebeautifulDalila." Ilookather.Indeed,Iseemtorecognizeinherfatfacethefeaturesofthewomanonthescreen. "Let'slookatthemovieagain." There'snodoubtaboutit:thesameeyes,thesamemouth. "That'smeallright,"shewhispers,andlaughs. Wesanktothefloor,amidthemannequins. OnSaturdaymorningI'minanairplaneheadingforSãoPaulo.I'vealreadypersuadedmyparentstoselltheirstoretoDalila;I'vealreadyarrangedforamonthly allowance,whichI'llsendthemfromSãoPaulo;andI'vealreadymadeupmymindthatIwon'tbereturningtotheMont'SerratdistrictinPortoAlegreinthe foreseeablefuture.

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TheShort­StoryWriters EverybodywenttoRamiro'safternoonofautographs.Everysingleoneofthefortyorfiftyshort­storywriters.Iwasoneofthefirsttoarrive:Ididn'twanttomissthe hotdogs.Iwasoutofluck.IwasonlythetenthpersontohavearrivedtherebutallIcouldseewashalfasausageandadulteratedwhiskey.Whichdidn'tpreventme fromhuggingRamiroeffusively.What'sthematter,man,heasked,andIsaid,Nothing,there'snothingthematter,Ramiro,nothing,really.AndIadded: Congratulationsonyourbook,Ramiro,Ihaven'tgottenaroundtoreadingityetbutIunderstandit'sverygood;asamatteroffact,I'vealwaysthoughtofyouasaguy whohasmadeit.Oneoftheveryfew.(Iwasgettingmaudlin,anafternoonofautographsaffectsmeinthisway.)Thankyou,saidRamiro,wetrytodowhatwecan. Whataboutyou,heasked,whathaveyoubeenupto?Nothing,Isaid,exceptworkingmyassoffatthenewspaper,that'sall. "Writinganything?" Yes,indeed,Iwas.Iwaswritingashortstorycalled"TheShort­StoryWriters." Ramirolaughedandexcusedhimself;hehadtoautographabookforanelderlyauntofhiswholivedinaresthomeandhadcomeespeciallyfortheoccasion. Therewasnosignofhotdogsbutmorepeoplewerecoming.Orlandoapproachedme;hewasabouttoaskmetolendhimmoney;bythelookonmyfacehesawit wouldbenouse.SoheaskedmewhatIwaswriting.Ashortstorycalled"TheShort­StoryWriters,"Ireplied.That'stheway,man,let'emhaveit,theshortstoryin thestateofSantaCatarinahasbeenwaitingforsomeonetorejuvenateit.I'mnotfromSantaCatarina,Isaid,buthehadalreadymovedon.PoorOrlando,alwaysin suchamuddle. I'veheardhehascancer,whisperedMarisa.Andwhat'sworse,

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shewenton,hedoesn'tseektreatment,hecan'taffordtogotothehospital,hedoesn'tcontributetowardthesocialsecurity.Besides,sheconcluded,he'sajerk.I agreed,watchingthebackdoor,throughwhich,forsomereason,Iexpectedamantocomeinwithhotdogs. Andwhataboutyou,askedMarisa,whatareyouwriting?Ashortstorycalled"TheShort­StoryWriters,"Isaid.You'reajerktoo,Marisawaslaughing.Shenever missedanafternoonofautographs,notMarisa,andshewasalwayslaughing.Iwaslaughing,too:That'sright,Marisa,I'majerk.Shelaughedandlaughed;shewas lookingatmeandIwaslookingather,thinkingwhataknockoutshewas.OneofthesedaysI'llhavetotalkwithher;notnow,though,nowI'mdyingforahotdog. Andadrink. Standingbesideme,short­storywriterNathanwassayingthatweshort­storywritersmoanandgrindourteethasweproduceourshortstories.Meanwhile,theshort­ storywriterwenton,weignoretheradioprograms,thetelevisionsoapoperas,thegossipcolumnsinthenewspapers,theTechnicolormovies,theweeklymagazines, thepoliticians,thecivilservants,thegossipcolumnwriters,thenewrich,thebourgeoisie,thedemagogues,thesociallycommittedwriters,theplatitudes,thesonnets, suchwordsasdespair,tenderness,fate,twilight,heart,soul...Andpainstakingly,Nathanwenton,weplodawayatourshortstories.Ourcharactersare nameless;theyarejusthe."Helitacigaretteandlaystaringattheceiling."Thesharpestamongourreaders,remarkedNathan,realizethatwearereferringto ourselves;thatweareengagingourselvesinadialoguewithourownpersonaldemons;thatfromthebottomofoursoulswearepouringoutaclear,lukewarmliquid thatturnscoldandturbidwhenexposedtotherawlightoftheworld,andwhat'smore:Thisliquidsolidifiesandisturnedintoahardgemstonewhosenatureis unknownbutwhosevaluecanonlybeappreciatedbyafewrareconnoisseurs,reallyadmirablecreatures.Agemstoneresemblingopal.Whilewewaitforrecognition, continuedNathan,whowaswaxing

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excited,welieonourdirtybeds,welightupcigarettesandstareattheceiling.Wesufferthepangsimposedbyadull,amorphousworld.Wethinkwecouldswallow thisworldasifitwereatinypill.Whydon'twe?Isitoutofpity—orisitoutoffearthatwemightfindoutthatthisparticleisindeedlargerthanourgullets?Idiots, shoutedNathan,we'resuchidiots!Let'sadmitit!Likeeverybodyelse,weeat,wef*ck,webreathebutwearehalfdead,we'rezombies.Weonlybegintoliveandat thispointNathanwasreallybellowing—whenwepainfullygivebirthtooursadsentences,whichlieforgottenonbookshelves,pagesandpages,letterafterletter—but theselettersdon'ttoucheachother,waitingastheyarefortheintellectualadventurer,fortheconsumer,anentityentirelydependentuponthelawsofthemarketplace. Supplyanddemand!concludedshort­storywriterNathan. Afterlisteningtothisrantofhis,Isneakedaway.Ijoinedagroup:Milton,Capaverde,andAfonso.Aphotographercameuptousandtookapicture.Thenhe wantedtochargeusforit.Igotravingmad;Ihadthoughthewassomeonefrommynewspaper.I'mnotpayingyouanything,Iyelled,Ishouldbechargingyou insteadforhavingposed.Thephotographersworeatusandleftthebookstore.Goodriddance,Ibellowedafterhim. Ramirowasbusyautographingbooksforthisonehere,forthatonethere.Poywaswatchingandsayingtome:Thisbookofhisisnotgoingtosell,it'smuchtoo entangled,muchtoohermetic.Peoplewantsimplestuff,breadandcheesekindofthing.ThisremindedmeofthehotdogsandIglancedaround:plentyofshort­story writersbutnofoodinsight. "Andwhataboutyou,"askedPoy,"whatareyouwriting?" Ashortstorycalled"TheShort­StoryWriters,"Ireplied.It'shopeless,Poyassuredme,weshouldbewritingforradio,fortelevision.Booksareexpensive,books aredifficult,there'snofutureinbooks,it'sevenworsewithfiction.I'vegivenuponbooks,Poywas

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saying;I'mtryingtogetintoadifferentlineofwork,Ihavethisbrother­in­lawwhoworksfortelevision,he'llseeifhecanlandmeajob.Myeyesweresearchingfor Marisa,orhotdogs,butallIcouldseewasshort­storywriters. "Someshort­storywriters,"itwasNathanspeakingagain,"refusetotakepartinanykindofactivity.Theydon'teat,theydon'tdrink,theywrite.They'rebogged downbyapathy,waitingforsomeonetotellthem:Wakeup,lucidprophets!" Icaughtsightofshort­storywriterLúcio,whowroteonlyaftergoingthroughameticulousritual:heclosedthewindows,litcandies,putonatuxedo,thensatdownat ajacarandatablemadeinBahia.Icaughtsightofshort­storywriterArmando,whoalwayswrotewithafountainpen.Icaughtsightofshort­storywriterCelomar, whowenttotheseasidetowrite;andofshort­storywriterGuerra,whowenttothemountains.Icaughtsightofshort­storywriterJerônimo,whowrotefirsttheend, thenthebeginning,thenthemiddle. Icaughtsightofshort­storywriterVolmir.Whenevershort­storywriterVolmirwantedtowrite,hewouldclosethimselfinhisstudyfortwoormoredays.Whenhe reappeared,hewaschangedbuthappy.Hewouldinvitehiswifeanddaughtersintohisstudy,wheretheywouldstandaroundthedeskuponwhichlaythetyped pagesheldtogetherwithabrand­newpaperclip.Fullofjubilantrespect,theywouldstareattheshortstoryforseveralminutes."What'sthetitle?"thewifewouldask, andwhentheshort­storywriterdisclosedit,theywouldhugoneanother,overcomebyjoy. Short­storywriterMurtinhoorganizedtheproductionofhisshortstoriesinaccordancewiththeassembly­lineprinciples:outlinesinthetopdrawer,half­finishedshort storiesintheseconddrawer,finishedshortstoriesinthethirddrawer. Short­storywriterManduca,quitesoused,hugsmewhimpering: "Icanonlywriteundertheinfluenceofbenniesandlatelythey

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haven'thadanyeffect...I'vebeentakingtheweirdestthings,I'veeventrieddeodorant..." "I'mwritingashortstorycalled'TheShort­StoryWriters.'I'llkeepinmindwhatyou'vetoldme." Idon'trememberexactlywhenIbegantowrite.Itmusthavebeensomethingthatsneakeduponme.WhenIbecameaware,Iwasalreadyworkingwithpaperand pencil.Iwouldwatchpeople,animals,andthings,andwouldimaginehowtheywouldlookundertheformofwords.AndsoIbegantoshapemysentences,atfirst withgreatdifficulty;afteraperiodoftime,allIhadtodowastoletmyhandslideacrossthesheetofpaperandobservehowthewordslookedonthepage;atthe dawnofmylifeIwouldappraisemyownworkbytakingintoaccountthelengthofthesentences,theslantofeachletter,thenumberofsmearsonthepage:whena shortstorywasgood,italsolookedneat.Iwouldholditatadistance,admireitforawhile—anditwastimeformetowriteanothershortstory.Rainorshine,sleet orfog—thereIwas,keepingatit! Short­storywriterKatzselectedtenfamousshort­storywriters.Fromeachonehepickedfiveshortstoriesatrandom.Hefoundouttheaveragenumberofwordsin eachsentence,thewordsmostfrequentlyused,andothersuchparameters.Withthedatacollected,hecomposedashortstory—whichheconsideredperfect.Not everybodysharedhisopinion. Short­storywriterAlmeirindoinsistedthathisbookbeprintedinlower­caselettersonlyandinveryfineprint.It'sgoingtoberatherhardtoread,warnedtheowner oftheprintshop.Itdoesn'tmatter,saidshort­storywriterAlmeirindo,I'mpaying,IcanhavethebookprintedanywayIwant.Insharpcontrastwithhim,short­story writerCabrãohadwrittenanentirechapterinwhicheachwordtookupafullpage. Short­storywriterAlmirmisplacedthelastpageofhisshortstory"TheGlory."Hespenttwodaysrummagingthehouseinsearchofit.

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Suddenlyrealizingthattheshortstorywasreallymuchbetterjustwayitwas,hegaveupthesearch. I'veoncewrittenashortstoryintwominutes,butonanotheroccasionittookmesixmonthstowriteone.InonesingledrawerIcountedtwenty­sevenshortstories; undermybedIfoundabriefcasewithsixteenshortstories,whoseexistenceIhadentirelyforgotten.AtthattimeIhadbeenwritingashortstorycalled"TheShort­ StoryWriters"andIhadbeenlookingforayoungwomancalledMarisa,orwasitadrink?Thewhiskeyturnedupfirst,broughtinbyasullen­lookingwaiter. Thedreamofshort­storywriterReinaldowasashortstorythatwouldwriteitself;giventhetheme,orthefirstwordatthemost—alltheotherwordswouldinevitably follow.Theshort­storywritervisualizedapensettopaper,wiresconnectedtoamachine,somefeedbackgadgettocorrectpossiblestylisticorotherdeviations. Short­storywriterDamascenohadinmindamultiple­choicekindofshortstory,writteninthesecond­personsingular:"Itwasasummerafternoon.Youwere:a) home;b)atthemovies;c)inabookstore.If(a)istrue..."Short­storywriterAurowasthinkingofimpregnatingthepagesofhisbookswithhallucinogenic substances.Bylickingthepaper,thereaderwouldhaveerraticvisions. IcaughtsightofMarisa.Shewassittinginhercarinfrontofthebookstore.Thecardoorwasopen,exposingherlegs.Hell,howcananyonebesuchaknockout,I groaned.Ireallyneededacar.IfIhadacar,Marisawouldnowbesittingnexttome,withmyhandconstantlyslidingdownthegear­shiftontoherthigh.ButIdidn't haveacar;onfootImovedamongtheshort­storywriters. Short­storywriters.Theiroriginislostinthedarknessoftime. "Waiter!"Icalledout,ratherloudly.Theshort­storywritersturnaroundtostare."Waiter!"Isayagain,loweringmyvoice."Whiskey,waiter!" Thereissomeinformationavailableonamysterioustribeofsto­

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rytellersinCentralAsia,whousedtoroamfromregiontoregiontotelltheirstories.Nobodyknowsanythingconcreteaboutthosemysteriousstorytellers,who allegedlyweredecimatedbyhostilepeoples...MasterpiecesoftheshortstorycanbefoundintheBible...ThePersianstorytellersbelievedthatcertainseeds sownonanightoffullmoonwouldbringforthtreesthatyieldedhollowfruit,insidewhichwereverybriefshortstorieswithone,oratthemost,twocharacterseach ...StorytellerScheherazadetoldthesultanmorethanathousandstories,therebyensuringhersurvival.Inhisfirstbook,shortstorywriterHebeldepictedNazi Germanyaccurately;andhediditagaininhissecondandthirdbook.Uneasy,peoplewouldwonder:WhenwillhestopdepictingNaziGermanysoaccurately? Short­storywritersareubiquitous.InthebookTheFamilyofManthereisaphotographtakenbyNatFarbman(Life)inwhatwasformerlyBechuanaland;itshows anAfricannarratingsomethingtohisfellowAfricans.Thereisnoexplanatorycaption,butonecanbesurethatthemanistellingastory;andhisaudience,albeitsmall, isattentive. IntheMiddleAgessomestorytellersaccusedofwitchcraftwereburnedalive.IncertainregionsofItaly,theirashesarekeptinsmallbottles;shortlybeforeexamtime, studentsgoonapilgrimagetosuchregionstoveneratetheremainsofthosestorytellers. Whatisashortstory?Peoplehavebeenarguingaboutit.Let'srephrasethequestionmoreappropriately:Whatcharacterizestheshortstory?Forshort­story­writer Poe—Poehm!—brevity,ademandofmodemlife.Iagree,saysshort­storywriterJones,adding:Let'snotforgettheroleofthesubway,whichdemandsstoriesshort enoughforcommuterstoreadatonesitting.AccordingtoJones,theconceptofteamwork—anoutcomeoftheIndustrialRevolution—fosteredtheappearanceof short­storyanthologies. Theshortstoryreacheditspeakduringthenineteenthcentury(withPoe,Chekhov,Maupassant).Nowadaysitdoesn'tenjoythe

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sameprestigeitoncehad,accordingtoshort­storywriterEulálio.Short­storywriterPoyblamestelevisionforthedeclineoftheshortstory,whereasshort­story writerTomásthinksthatthecauseofthedeclineliesinthedisappearanceofthewood­burningstove,aroundwhichthefamilyusedtogathertolistentoshortstories beingreadaloud. IthinkthatfromthebeginningIenjoyedlisteningtostories.Sittingonthecurbofthesidewalk,I'dlistentotheotherkidsthatlivedonmystreettellaboutthewoman whohaddecapitatedherhusband,abouttheairplanepilotwhohadshotdowntwelveenemyplanes,aboutthemoviethattheyhadwatchedonSunday.Asamatter offact,Itoohadgonetothemovietheater,whereamidthedeafeningscreamsoftheaudienceIhadlookedatthefiguresmovingonthescreen...Andyet,itwas onlyafterlisteningtomyfriendstellthestorylineofthemoviethateverythingbecamecleartome;theactionmadesense,theclimaxwasrevealedthroughthe appropriatetoneofvoiceofthenarrator;andonlythenwouldIfeeltheauthenticemotionthathadeludedmeinthemovietheateralthoughIhadpaidformy admissionticket. Myfriendshadaknackfortellingastory.Todaytheyarebusinessmenorprofessionalsinvariousfields...Notoneofthemisawriter.Ithinkthattheideaof writingsimplyneveroccurredtothem.Ifonlytheyhadtried,ifonlytheyhadscribbledjustafewwords.Intheend,Iwastheonewhodecidedtogetentangledwith wordsandlies. Youngshort­storywriterAfonsoisnowapproaching.Achubbyfellow,hemincesuptomeandgivesmeashortstorytoread.It'scalled"TheEyeWithintheEye." Interesting.AfonsoskillfullydepictsthelifeofHermes,alonerwhoworksforabigcompany.WefollowHermesfromthemomentwhenhewakesupinamodest houseinthesuburbs;weseehimmakingcoffeeaccordingtoaroutineestablishedyearsbefore(Hermesisinhisforties,Afonsoin­

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formsme);weseehimonthebusonhiswaytowork;laterweseehimsittingathisdesk,typingawaythecompanyletters.Heeatslunch—byhimself—inacafeteria andreturnstotheoffice,pickinghisteethwithatoothpick. Afonsowriteswellandhestartedjustashortwhileago. Butbacktothestory:Afterleavingtheofficeattheendoftheday,Hermesstrollsaboutthecitycenter,looksintothestorewindows,andoglesatthewomen. Sometimeshereturnshomewithsomeonehepickedup,saysAfonso;moreoften,however,heburieshimselfinamovietheater.Heratherenjoyscomedies. Sittinginthenearlyemptytheater,indifferenttothefleas,Hermesgetsallworkedupoverthemovie:helaughs,talkstohimself: ''LookatFatso!Suchanumbskull,thisroly­polyfool!Hey,Fatso!" AtthispointAfonsoturnsthelightson.WeseeHermesblushingashecastsglancesaroundhim.Weseehimleaveslowly,hisheadlowered.Whatishegoingtodo next?Somefoolishness? No:Afonsohashiminthemen'sroom.Therehestayswhiletheminutestrickleaway.Thenextmoviehasjustbegunand—look!Hermesisleavingthemen'sroom. Helooksaroundforagoodseat,sitsdownand: "Hey,lookatFatso!" Short­storywriterLevinoleavesthetheaterdeeplyimpressedbythemovieaboutashort­storywriter.Heisgoingtodoexactlywhattheleadingcharacterinthe moviedid.Hestridesbackandforthinhisbedroom,hislipscompressed,hiseyesfixeduponthefloor;suddenly,hesitsdownatthetypewriter,insertsasheetof paperand,justliketheshort­storywriterinthemovie,takesadeepbreath,thenstartstypingatafastpace,keepingatitforafullfiveminutes;helightsupacigarette, takesalongpullatit,holdsthesheetofpaperupbytheupperleft­handcorner,readswhathehas

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writtensofar;hetypesawayforanotherfiveminutes,readsagain.Justliketheshort­storywriterinthemovie,heripsthepaperoffthetypewriter,crumplesthepaper upandangrilytossesitintothewastebasket.Asinthemovie,itwasacrummyshortstory. Short­storywriterGuilherme,aformerseminarian,arrives. "AmIlate?" "I'mafraidso," Isay,alreadyslurringmywords. "Toobad.I'vealmostfinishedmybookofshortstories,Idon'thavetimeforanythingelse.Whathaveyoubeendoing?" "Writingashortstorycalled'TheShort­StoryWriters.'" "Areyougoingtoportrayus?" Iwrite.Thewriterwrites.Hehastocoverpageafterpagewithwriting. AtfirstIonlyaspiredtodowhatmyfriendsdidwithsuchlivelinessastheysatonthecurbofthesidewalk:totellastory.However,thetruthofthematteristhatI becamefascinatedbythepossibilityofreducingmyfriendLelo,todayanengineer,to"adiminutivefellow."PoorLelo:therehewas,allofasudden,motionless, frozen,reducedtoaminiature.Headhuntersmustexperiencesomesuchsimilarsensation.Stillnotsatisfied,Ithencomparedhisnosewithaparrot'sbeak.Actually, yearslaterhecamedownwithadiseasecalledpsittacosis,whichisapparentlytransmittedbyparrots.Thecurseoftheshort­storywriter? Itcouldbe.Hatredinspiredshort­storywriterJoséHomero;afterbeingevictedfromhisapartment,hewroteabittershortstoryabouttenancy.Thelandlord oppressesthetenant,takesawayhismoney,hisfurniture,hiswife.Theoppressedtenantendsupmachinegunningtheoppressor.Apoignantsentencedescribesthe leaseagreementlyingonthefloor,spatteredwithblood.Attheendofthestory,thetenantopensthewindowandseestherisingsunheraldinganewday.Tosatirize hisenemies,short­storywriterCata­

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rinodepictedthemasanimals.Whenheranoutofwell­knownanimals,heresortedtotheexoticfauna—theornithorhynchus,thekoala;toprehistoriccreatures—the brontosaur,thedinosaur;andtomythologicalanimals—theunicorn.Inanindexasthickasaphonebookhelistedthenamesofhisenemiesandtheircorresponding animals. BackinmyhometownIoncehadashortstoryofminecalled"AFamilyoftheInterior"publishedintheSundaysupplementofanewspaper.Verywell.OnMonday nightIwasaloneathome,peacefullyreadingashortstorywhentherewasaknockonthedoor.AssoonasIopeneditIwasgreetedwithaviolentshovethatsent merollingonthefloor.WhenIgottomyfeet,Iwasfacetofacewithmyneighbor,SenhorAntonio.Abigmustachioedman—well,nothingwrongwiththat—buthe washoldingagunanditwasloaded. "Verywell,yousonofabitch,"hesaid,"Iknowthatyourparentsaren'thome,sothetwoofuscanhaveanicequietchat.Beverycarefulaboutwhatyou'regoingto saybecauseyourlifewilldependonthisconversationofours." "WhathaveIdone,SenhorAntonio?"Istuttered. "Whathaveyoudone?"heshouted.Themansoundedreallymad."Whathaveyoudone?So,youdon'tknow?Whataboutthishere?" Hetookanewspaperclippingoutofhispocket.Itwasmyshortstory. "Whatdoyoutakemefor?Anidiot?DoyouthinkthatIdon'tknowwhoyouarereferringto?'Afatman,'yousayhere.Whoisthisfatman?Whoelseinthis neighborhoodweighsoveronehundredkilograms?'Thefatmanownedabar,'youwrote.ItsohappensthatI'mfatandthatIownagrocerystore.Bar,grocery store—prettysimilar,wouldn'tyousay?" Hepressedthegunagainstmychest.Eveninthisdirepredica­

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mentofmine,thewriterinmeshowedthrough!"Hisbeady,bloodshoteyeswerefilledwithrage,"Iobserved. "You'rerathersmart,kid.Butnotassmartasyoumaythink.Youwanttodescribemylifeasbeingadullroutine:'Everydayafterdinner,theywouldsitdownand listentotheradio..."Now,listeningtotheradiomightbedulltoyou.Butisitforeverybodyelse?Canyouimaginewhatajoyitiswhenwesucceedinturninginto aforeignradiostation?'OnSundaystheyatechicken.'Sowhat?Areallchickensalike?AreallSundaysalike? "Hestopped,tookadeepbreath. "Butworstofall,"hewentoninastrangledvoice,"isthewayyouendtheshortstory,sayingthatIkillmywife,thatIdissolveherbodyinacidsoastoleaveno traces...Whatdoyoumean?Aciddoesn'tleaveanytraces?" Atthatmomentweheardnoisesatthefrontdoor.SenhorAntonio,fatbutnimble,fledthroughthebackdoorandIrantomybedroom.QuicklyIjotteddownwhatI hadseenintheman'seyes:"Genuineinterest,anxiousexpectancy..." Antoniodiedbeforehiswife:Hesufferedaninfarctwhenhecaughthiswifeinbedwithaneighbor(itwasn'tme,someotherneighbor)."Iwasuptoherewiththat routine,"shesaidatthefuneral. Itwasn'talways,however,thatmyshortstorieshadthiskindofoutcome.Forinstance,IneversucceededinupsettingaldermanXimenes,avenalpoliticianwhomI particularlyabhorred.Isatirizedhimbydepictinghimastherottenapplethatclingstothebranchevenafterthedeathoftheappletree("AutumnIsOver");asthetick thatpoisonshisfellowtickswithDDTsothathecanhavethebullallforhimself("OneforAll");asthekingwhostealshisowncrownandthenaccuseshisenemies ("ToArms,Citizens!").Myfriendswouldpraisethesestories,althoughadmittingthattheycouldn'tmakeheadortailofthem.Asforthealderman,hewasmy

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greatestadmirer.Atacitycouncilmeetinghemadeamotionthataliteraryprizebeestablishedasanincentivetothecity'sshort­storywriters;hetoldmeconfidentially thathehadmeinmindwhenhewrotethedraftbill:"I'msureyou'llwintheprize.AndifIcanusemycloutwiththeselectioncommittee,you'vegottheprizeinthe bag.Noneedtothankme,Ilikepeoplewithaflairforwriting,withatalentforliterature."Hehimselfwasashort­storywriterofsorts,whowrotebutsporadically. InordertocastigatethelikesofhimIneededpower.Ihaditandwieldedit,Icanassureyou.Autumnwouldcomeandgo,Iwouldwriteandpresto!threemonths werethussubtractedfromthelifeofaprotagonist.Inmyshortstoriestheprotagonistwentfromthecradletothegravehoppinglikeagrasshopperonthesand, leavinghisfaintimprintsuponit. GraduallyIbecamelessandlessinterestedinthehoppingitselfandbegantofocusmyattentionontheimprints,whichIwoulddescribetothebestofmyabilities. FinallyIsettheimprintsaside,too,andwasleftonlywiththewords:Inolongerconcernedmyselfwiththecharactersandtheirstories.Ofcourse,myshortstories becameunintelligible.WhatdidIcare?Letthereadersbracethemselvesforthecrossingofthisregionofdensebushesandquicksands.Greatdiscoverieswouldliein storeforthosebraveenoughtosetoutonthisintellectualadventure.Thesmallnumberofmyreadersdidn'tsurpriseme:manyarecalled,fewarechosen,wasmy belief. SuddenlyIwasassailedbydoubts.Ibegantomistrustthedemonsinsideme,thedemonsthatkeptmanufacturingandsendingtothesurfacesentencesthatIwasto imprintonpaper.Didtheyreallyknowwhattheyweretalkingabout?Andiftheydidn't,whatwastobedonewiththegrowingstackofshortstories?Itookto drinking. Whichmerelyworsenedmattersbecauseduringmylucidmomentsmyfatebecamecrystalclear.Nobodywouldeverreadmywork.Thethousandsofkindredspirits whosupposedlywouldflock

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intomybedroomdemandingshortstorieswouldnevermaterialize.AndIwasmorelonelythanever.NoteventhepassionateglancesofSenhorAntonio'swidow wereenoughtocomfortme.Thatiswhatthecrisisinthelifeoftheshort­storywriterislike,aterribleepisode. Short­storywriterCésar,whilerereadinghisfirstshortstories,exclaimed: "ButIwasamuchbetterwriterthen!" Afterwardhewentyearswithoutwriting. "Whatwouldn'tIgivetobeabletoexperienceanti­gravity,"short­storywriterW.,whowrotesciencefiction,wouldsaywithlonging."Me?Idon'ttalktoanybody.If anybodywantstofindoutaboutme,theyshouldreadmyshortstories,"statedshort­storywriterOrdovaz,wholivedinacottageinthesuburbsandsubsistedon lettuceandcannedfood. Iwasborninasmalltownintheinterior.I'vebeenwritingeversinceIwasachild.Myfirstshortstorywascalled"TheNotaryPublic'sWife."Attheageofnineteen, Icametothebigcity,bringingwithmeasuit,twoshirts,andabluebriefcasewithmanyshortstories.NoneoftheseshortstoriesevergotpublishedbutIsucceeded ingettingajobworkingforanewspaper.AndImetmanyshortstorywriters:Imetthematsocialgatherings,atbirthdayparties,inmovietheaters,atuniversitystudent organizations."Wesproutlikemushrooms!"saidshort­storywriterMichel. "I'llkillmyselfifmybookisn'tsoldout!"saidshort­storywriterOsmar."Awarningtothepublic."Whenthebookdidn'tsellout,short­storywriterOsmarshothimself inthechest.Hewasseriouslybutnotfatallywounded;hewasleftwithanuglyscar.Onthebeach,short­storywriterOsmarhadtowearaT­shirt. Short­storywriterOdairwrotequietlyfortwelveyears.Nothinghewroteevergotpublished.Hekepthisworkinbigmanilaenvelopesandnevermentionedhis writingtoanyone.Onedayhe

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lookedatthestackofenvelopes—eightycentimetershigh—anddespairing,hecriedout: "What'stheuse?" Hethrewtheshortstoriesintothefire.Changinghismindbeforeitwastoolate,hetookthemoutoftheflames,burninghimselfalittle.However,someofhisbest shortstories—"Despair,"forinstance—werelostforever.Otherswereseverelydamaged. Afterreturninghomedrunkfromaneveningofautographs,Ithrewseventy­threeshortstoriesupintotheair;thepageswerescatteredthroughoutmybedroom.On thefollowingday,theowneroftheboardinghousewhereIlivedthrewawaythemassofpaper,whichwassoiledwithvomit.WhenIwokeup,Irantothegarbage can,butitwastoolate;thegarbagetruckhadalreadybeenthere.Ifoundthebeginningofashortstorylyinginthegutter.Itdescribedsomeverypersonalsuffering.I leftitrightthere,hopingthatacuriouspasserbywouldreadit. Short­storywriterOtavianowrotehisshortstoriesinpublictoilets,wheretheyappearedintheformofgraffitionthewalls.Wheneverhewasinthemiddleofashort story,someonewouldinvariablystartknockingonthedoor,askinghimtohurryup;short­storywriterOtavianowasthenforcedtofinishthestoryinanotherstall. Fragmentsofhisshortstoriesaretobefoundscatteredthroughoutthepublictoiletsofthecity. Short­storywriterPascoalthrewapartyathishouse;heinvitedhisfriends,secretlytapedtheirconversations,thenusedactualquotestowriteashortstory.He showedittohisfriends,whoweren'tamused. "What'stheworldcomingto,"wonderedPascoal,anguished,"whenpeopledon'tlikewhattheysay?" AfterawhileIwasovercomebytheurgetowriteagain.Myjobatthenewspaperwasexhausting,butevensoIstillhadtimeleftfor

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literature.WhatIlackedwerecertainconditions,suchastherightprops.Forinstance,Ididn'thaveagoodtypewriter.Withoutfurtherdelay,Iboughtanelectricone, whichwasperfect;however,itdidn'tworkwhentherewasapowerfailure—attheverymomentwhenIwash*tbyinspiration.Ialsoboughtadesk,aswivel armchair,apairoflinedslippers.Inaddition,withtheintentionofpromotingmyshortstories,Ibegantocoordinatemypublicrelationsactivities:Igotagoodsupply ofliquor,Imadeoffwiththeaddressbookofaliterarycritic,Icultivatedthefriendshipofa*gossipcolumnist,etc. Suchthingstookupalotofmytime,andwhat'sworse,theycostmeabundle.Thesalaryfromthenewspaperwasnolongerenough.Ihadtomoonlightasan instructorinatypingcourse(Ihadtolendthemmyowntypewriter);Iwasnowworkingdayandnight.That'sallright,Iwouldsaytomyself,it'sonlyuntilIcanlaythe groundworkformyliteraryproduction;afterward,I'llhaveplentyoftimeforwriting.ButIgottiredofwaiting.TheninonesinglenightIquitmyeveningjob,threw awaytheaddressbook,andquarreledwiththegossipcolumnist. Problems.Short­storywriterCaiocanproduceoneshortstoryeverytwohours.Knowingthat50percentoftheseshortstoriesarebad,25percentareso­so,and 25percentaregood,howmanyshortstoriescanshort­storywriterCaioproduceinoneday,andhowmanyofthemwillbegood,howmanyso­so,andhowmany bad?Answer:Short­storywriterCaiocanproducetwelveshortstoriesperday,sixofwhicharebad,threeso­so,andthree(hurray!)good. Butthingsdon'tworkoutinsuchamathematicalwaywithshortstorywriterCaio...Heneedseighthoursofsleepperday.Hehastriedtogetbywithlesssleep, buthecan't:hebecomesirritableandgetsaheadache.Therefore,heisleftwithsixteenhours,duringwhichtheshort­storywritercouldwriteeightshortstories,four ofwhichwouldbebad,twoso­so,andtwogood. However,short­storywriterCaiohastoeataswell.Hehasal­

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readytriedtoliveonnothingbutsandwichessothathewouldn'twastetimewithregularmeals,buthelostweight,becameundernourished,andevenlostinterestin writing.Nowadaysheismorecarefulandsetsasidetwohoursformeals,knowingthathestillhasanotherfourteenhours,duringwhichhecouldwritesevenshort stories,three­and­a­halfofwhichwouldbebad,one­and­three­quartersgood,andone­and­three­quartersso­so(luckily,short­storywriterCaioknowshisfractions well,commonorotherwise). But...short­storywriterCaiohastoearnaliving,too.Hehasalreadytriedtoliveoffliteraturebutfounditimpossible.Thebesthecoulddowastogetajob workingsixhoursaday,whichlefthimanadditionaleighthours,duringwhichhecouldwritefourshortstories:twobad,oneso­so,onegood. Furthermore,hehastoread:books,newspapers,magazines.Otherwisehewouldn'tbeup­to­date,wouldlosecontactwiththeworld,andwoulddeprivehimselfof theinfluenceofvariousotherwriters(somegood,someso­so,somebad—yet,oneshouldexperienceeverything).Andthenthereistelevision,too—notallprograms aregood,butatleastthemediumdeservesscrutiny;andtherearemovies,plays,concerts;andjazzrecords—afoibleoftheshort­storywriter,anindulgencewithout whichhewouldruntheriskofbecomingnarrow­minded.Suchactivitiestakeuptwohoursontheaverage;theremainingsixhourscouldbetheequivalentofthree badshortstories,one­and­a­halfso­soshortstories,andone­and­a­halfgoodshortstories. Short­storywriterCaiohasafamily.Wifeandtwokids,anormalfamily.Naturally,theshort­storywriterplayswithhischildren—andtellsthemstories(whichhe couldcountaspartofhisoutputbutdoesn'tbecausetheyarenotproperlyrecorded—unlessoneweretoconsiderthechildren'sunconsciousabook,assomepeople claimitis.Theshort­storywriterwouldrathernotcountonthispossibility). Asforhiswife,she'sbeautiful...Well­versedintheartofseduc­

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tivesmilestoluretheshort­storywriter.Hegivesinandisrewardedwithimmensepleasure.Sometimeshefeelsguiltyandthinksthatonlypriestshavetheideal conditionstobecomeshort­storywriters.Buthecan'tignoretheurgesofhisownbody;besides,howcouldhedescribelovescenesifhedidn'tmakelove? Consequently,theshort­storywriterdevoteshalfanhouradaytohiswife.There'sthis,that,andtheother,acaressandotherthingslikethat...Theshort­story writerisarefined,sensitiveman.Couldashort­storywriterbeotherwise? Wellthen.Suchactivitieswiththefamilytakeuptwohoursaday;therearefourhoursleft,whichmeanstwoshortstories,onebadandone­halfso­so,one­halfgood. Therearealsootherthingsthateatintowhatevertimeisleft.Theshort­storywritersuffersfromconstipationandspendshalfanhouradayinthebathroom.Hehas alreadytriedtowritethere,butwithoutsuccess;itseemsthatthetwoactivitiesaremutuallyexclusive.Incidentally,theshort­storywriteralsoenjoysagameofcards withhisfriends(friends:sourceofinspiration,potentialreaders,helpintimeofneed,andsoon.Quiteindispensable,friendsare.Andsoarerecreationalactivities;asa matteroffact,theshort­storywriterdoessomegardeningeverydaytopromotementalhealth.Ifitweren'tforthishobbyofhis,theemotionalstresswouldbe unbearable!). Asitturnsoutafterallthiscalculation,short­storywriterCaioisleftwithtwohoursperday.Hecould,therefore,produceoneshortstoryperday.Andhereinliesthe problem:Willhalfofthisshortstorybebad,one­quarterso­so,andone­quartergood?Orwillheproduce,perhaps,onegoodshortstoryeveryfourdays?Inthis case,couldthedaysofthebadshortstoriesbespentonsomethingelse—onmeditation,forinstance? So,that'stheproblem.Theshort­storywriterspendsatleasttwohoursadayturningthismatteroverinhismind.

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Short­storywriterValfredo,ataxidriver,installedataperecorderinhistaxi.Whiledriving,hewoulddictateshortstories.Someofthepassengerswerefrightened andwantedtogetoutofthecar;otherslistenedwithinterest,andsomeevenmadesuggestions:''Makethewomankilltheson!"Short­storywriterValfredohad problemsofhisown,too.Arivalshort­storywriter,atrafficcop,finedhimseveraltimesfordrivingrecklessly.Asamatteroffact,short­storywriterValfredohad beeninvolvedinaccidentsbutaccordingtohim,theywerecausedbythecaritself(brakesinpoorcondition)ratherthanbyliterature.Whateverthereason,the insuranceagentswouldn'thaveanythingtodowithhimanditwasonlythroughsheerperseverancethatshort­storywriterValfredokeptwriting. "You'reafrustratedshort­storywriter!"Guilhermewasyellingatme."Youlackform,youlackcontent,youlackeverything!" Me?Andwhataboutshort­storywriterSílvio,whowouldtearupashortstoryassoonashewashalfwaythroughandstartanewone?Rumorhaditthathedidn't evenknowhowtoendashortstory;I,however,beingfarlessspitefulthanGuilherme,wouldspreadamongtheshort­storywriterstheinformationthatSílviocertainly knewhowtoendashortstorybuthewasveryclever—byleavingitunfinished,hecouldalwaysexperiencethejoyofnewthings.Short­storywriterMatias,not knowingwhattowriteabout,producedashortstoryconsistingofincoherentsentences.Itwasrejectedbyallpublishers."It'sstreamofconsciousness,"Matiaswould say,indignant."WhyisJoyce'sstreamofconsciousnessconsideredgood,butmineisn't?What'sthedifference?IsitbecauseI'mBrazilian?"Theshort­storywriters wouldn'treplytohisquestions;embarrassed,theyavertedtheireyes. Attheageofeight,short­storywriterMiguelwroteaboutnymphomaniacs.Short­storywriterRosenberggavehissentencesaspecialcadence,reminiscentofwaltzes ortangos,asthecasemay

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be.Short­storywriterAugusto,veryinvolvedinpoliticalconcerns,wenttoastudents'convention,wherehewatchedtheyoungpeopleandtooknotes.Thestudents, suspectinghismotives,beathimup. Short­storywriterVascowouldtakewordsfromGuimarãesRosa'sworkandreshapethem.CriticValdouncoveredthefollowingaboutshort­storywriterMarco:all hischaractersalwayshadfive­letternames,thesecondletterwasalwaysA,thelastonealwaysO,withthestressfallingonthefirstsyllable:Marco,Tarso,Lauro. Short­storywriterPaulowroteonlyinthemorning,whenhemerelytranscribedthedreamsofthenightbefore. Short­storywriterNorbertoandshort­storywriterGeraldostoodchattingonthestreetwhentheywitnessedthefollowingscene:Aladywascrossingthestreetwitha childinherarms.Acardrivingathighspeedappears.Thedrivertriestobrakethecar,withoutsuccess.Theladymanagestothrowthechildonthesidewalk,butshe herselfisstruckdownandcrushedbythecar. "Writeashortstoryaboutit,"saidshort­storywriterNorberto. Short­storywriterGeraldowrotethefollowing: "Short­storywriterNorbertoandshort­storywriterGeraldostoodchattingonthestreetwhentheywitnessedthefollowingscene:Aladyiscrossingthestreetwitha childinherarms.Acardrivingathighspeedappears.Thedrivertriestobrakethecar,withoutsuccess.Theladymanagestothrowthechildonthesidewalk,butshe herselfisstruckdownandcrushedbythecar." "Areyoutryingtopullmyleg?"askedshort­storywriterNorbertowhenhefinishedreading. "Yeah,"saidshort­storywriterGeraldo. Theylaughedbutsoonfellsilentandpartedcompanywithoutsayingaword. Imaginarynewsitems."Thelifeofashort­storywritercanbefilledwithfun.Hereatthismomentsomeshort­storywritersareshowingusthepleasantintimacyofan afternoonofautographs..."

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Descriptions.Short­storywriterVasco,tallandthin.Short­storywriterSimão,shortandfat.Short­storywriterJan,tallandfat.Short­storywriterAurélio,thin(at theageofeighteen)andfat(attheageoftwenty­nine).Details:Lalo'shookednose.Mymustache.Myeyeglasses.Thegaitofsomepeople,theclothesofothers,the laughterofthisonehere,thehairofthatonethere. Short­storywriterAntoniohasnativeIndianblood.Hewrotetragicomicstoriesabouttheaborigines.Atribalchiefcametoseehim:"Whydoyouridiculeus?Haven't wehadenoughsufferingalready?Isn'titenoughthatourlandshavebeentakenawayfromus?Thatwearestrickenwithtuberculosis?Doyoustillfeeltheneedto makeeverybodylaughatus?"Thetribalchiefmisunderstoodmywork,saidshort­storywriterAntonio,chagrined.TheIndiansItalkaboutarenotreal,theyarethe Indianswehaveinsideus.InourheartsweallwearornamentalfeathersandG­strings. Short­storywriterRamónwroteaseriesofstoriesaboutanimaginarycountryinCentralAmerica,calledCuenca.Ithadadictator,largefeudallandowners,arising middleclass,anationalliberationfrontwhosememberswerearrestedandtortured.Short­storywriterRamón,wholivedintheUnitedStates,succeededinhavinghis bookpublished.Itsoldwell.AcraftyentrepreneurmadeabundlebyraisingmoneyforCuencanrefugees. Short­storywriterRômulosatirizedhishometowninhiswriting.Amayoroncekickedhimoutoftown,buthissuccessorrequestedthatthewriterreturnandthen awardedhimtheMedalofTouristMerit. Short­storywriterSidneyneverusedswearwordsinhisshortstories.Hewasafraidhemightoffendhisaunt,anoldnun. Short­storywriterHumberto,analgebrateacher,conceivedtheshortstoryasamathematicalmodel.Short­storywriterRamiãotranscribedhisownextrasensorial experiences. Short­storywriterJohnSullivanwroteaseriesofstoriespub­

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lishedunderthetitle1997,AftertheAtomicWar.Onehundredcopieswereplacedinaradiation­proofshelter. Short­storywriterRamséssaidthattherewasmoretoashortstorythanjustwords;itshouldalsoincludeevidenceofthecirc*mstancesunderwhichithadbeen generated.Tohisbookheaffixedbusticketsofthebusesinwhichhehadshapedhisshortstorieswhiletraveling;movietickets;bitsandpiecesofclothes;andeven scrapsoffood."I'mawretchedtailor,"saidshort­storywriterNewton,"butinmyshortstoriesIdestroyvillagesandtowns." "Ithasjustoccurredtomethatthattreeinmyshortstoryisactuallyme,"short­storywriterMecáriosaidtohisloverattwoo'clockinthemorning."Whattree?What shortstory?"shemuttered.She,too,wasashort­storywriter,butshesufferedfrominsomnia,haddifficultyfallingasleep,andhatedbeingwakened. "I'vebeenthinkingagreatdealaboutthemeaningofmyshortstories,"wroteelderlyshort­storywriterDouglasinhisjournal,anotebookboundinleather.Healways keptitunderhispillow;ifheweretodieinhissleep,itwouldn'tbehardforsomeonetofinditandhaveitpublished. Guilhermewasgrabbingatme,Iwasreadytopickafightwithhim.Ramirocameovertorestrainme.Heseizedtheopportunitytoinformmethatthirty­eightcopies ofhisbookhadalreadybeensold,andhiswife'srelativesweren'teventhereyet:"It'llgoashighaseighty,you'llsee!Eighty!" OnedayItookitintomyheadthatshort­storywritersaren'twritersatall:theyarecharacters.Istartedthinkingaboutashortstorycalled"TheShort­StoryWriters." Itwouldbemylastone,Ipromisedmyself.Butitwouldn'tremainunpublished,ohno,itwouldn't;I'dseetoitthatitgotpublished. Everyshortstoryisapleaforhelp,short­storywriterNicolau

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usedtosay.AresidentofGreenIsland,hewouldstuffthemostanguishedofhisshortstoriesintobottles,whichhewouldthenhurlintotheriver."Maybethe fishermenwillunderstandme,hewouldsaytohiswife. Short­storywriterWenceslausaidtohiswife,abeautifulbrunette:"I'msurethatifyouweretohaveatalkwiththeeditor,hewouldpublishmybook,Morena.I'm surehewould,Morena." Short­storywriterOlívio,whoworkedwithmeatthenewspaper,wasresponsibleforthetriviacolumn.Surreptitiouslyhebegantointroducehisshortstoriesintothe column:"Didyouknowthat...Adelaide,marriedtoaFrenchlanguageteacherandtheloverofshort­storywriterMilton,hasadreaminwhichsheseesthemoon, splitintotwoparts,falloffthesky?"Hewasalsoconsideringthepossibilityofwritingshortstoriesintheformofcrosswordpuzzles. Short­storywriterBenjamin,acivilservant,wouldreportonafileofpapersinacasebywritingashortstory:"JoãoM.Guimarãesurgentlyrequeststheoverdue paymentsfortheyear1965.IcanimagineJoãoM.Guimarãesinhissmallwoodenhouse..."Hewasseverelyadmonishedbyhisboss,alsoashort­storywriter, whohowever,neverfiddledawaythehourswhenatwork. Theinventiveshort­storywriterJanewascontemplatingthepossibilityoftransmittinghershortstoriesviathetelephone:"Hello!I'mshort­storywriterJane.I'mnow goingtoreadyouoneofmyshortstories." Short­storywriterMisaelintendedtowritebriefshortstoriesinsmokeupinthesky,usingasquadronofairplanesforthispurpose. Short­storywriterReginaldohadaninspiration:Hewouldwriteashortstoryintheformofanepitaph.Hestartedtoscrutinizehisfriends,tryingtodetectinthemsigns ofsomeseriousdisease. SeeingthatherbookEfflorescencewasn'tselling,short­storywriterBárbarahadaboystealitfromthebookstoresforasumof

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money.OverfortycopieswerestoleninamonthandEfflorescencebecamethirdontheBestSellersList. Short­storywriterPedrosointroducedthenotionofefficiencyintohisliteraryproduction.Hisshortstoriesweresystematicallyrejectedbynewspapersandmagazines; so,hehadLeviathanpublishedathisownexpenseandthenhiredtheservicesofaspecializedfirmtoconductapublicopinionpoll."HowmuchhasLeviathan changedyourlife?"wasoneofthequestionsposedtogroupsA,B,andC,tobothmenandwomen,tobothblacksandwhites.Heintendedtoprovethathisshort storieswereeffectiveandthateditorshadagrudgeagainsthim.Unfortunately,theresultsofthepollwereinconclusive. Short­storywriterLuísErnestowouldmimeographhisshortstories,whichhewouldthenhandoutatthegatesofsoccerstadiums;short­storywriterMúciopainted shortstoriesonChinesevases. Short­storywriterTeodorohadhisyoungestsonwritetotheprogram"TheLittleBoxofKnowledge"requestinginformationonshort­storywriterTeodoroandthe shortstorieshehadwritten.Theboydidn'tgetareplybecausehehadfailedtoencloseaMokolabelwithhisletter. Short­storywriterSezefredoliftedtheprescriptionpadofhisfriend,DoctorRaul;thenheforgedacertificatestatingthathesufferedfromanincurabledisease.With thispieceofpaperinhand,hewentfromeditortoeditor,tryingtogethisbookpublished:It'smylastwish,hewouldsay. Short­storywriterRafael(Rafa).Duringthedayheworkedasasalesrepresentativeforasmallappliancescompany;atnighthewrote.Unabletofindaneditorwilling topublishhisbook,heturnedtohisjobwithavengeance.Heendeduprich.Thenheboughtapublishinghouse,aprintingshop,andhadhisbookprinted.Healso boughtseveralbookstores,whosestorewindowsdisplayeddozensofcopiesofhisbook.Evenso,thebookdidn'tsell

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...Short­storywriterRafathenbegantogiveoutfreecopiesofhisbooktotheschools;andheawardedscholarshipstoanystudentwholearnedhisbookbyheart. Therewasquiteahullabaloointhebookstore.Asalesclerkwasaccusingshort­storywriterRodolfoofstealingabook. "Me?WhywouldIwanttostealabook?"Rodolfowasshouting."Andabookwrittenbyshort­storywriterAfranioatthat!EverybodyknowsthatAfranioandIare swornenemies.Ramiro!Hey,Ramiro!Comeoverhere,man!TellthisassofasalesclerkwhatIthinkofAfranio'sshortstories.Comeon,Ramiro!Youcantellhim thatI...Comeon,man,sayit!I'llbackyouup!Iwill,Ramiro!Youknowme!" Rodolfowasledaway.Whilebeingdraggedoutofthestore,heshouted: "Youbastards,you'vetommyleatherjacket!Youaccusemeoftheftandontopofityoutearmyjacket!" Itwastrue,hisjackethadbeentorn.AndRodolfowasproudofthatjacketofhis,whichmadehimfeel,itwassaid,aHemingway,aGarcíaMarquez. Thisincidentupsettheshort­storywriters.Groupsofthemclusteredtogetherinthecomersofthebookstore,wheretheystoodwhispering.Everysooften,ashort­ storywriterwoulddetachhimselffromagroupandwalkovertoanothergroup,smokingandgesticulating. Onthewhole,theshort­storywriterspresenttherewereyoung.Manyhadbigbrowneyes.Ontheirfacesonecouldsee:anguish,despair,aneedforgreater participation,concernforsocialtensions,acuteawarenessofexistentialproblems.Moneywasbeingdiscussed,andwhatismoney?wonderedoneofthem,while anothersmiled.IbeganlookingforMarisa,inrealearnestthistime,butallIcouldseewerebooks,short­storywriters,andproblems.

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Problems.Short­storywriterArnulfo,married,thefatheroffivechildren,founditimpossibletogetamomentofpeaceandquietathome.Itoccurredtohimthathe shouldbuildastudioofsortsatthefarendofhisbackyard.Ittookshort­storywriterArnulfo,workingSaturdaysandSundays,threeyearstofinishthejob.Thenhis oldestsonaskedhimpermissiontousetheplaceasarepairshopwherehecouldfixhomeappliances.Aftergivingmuchthoughttohisson'srequest,hefinallygave hisconsent.Mysonisyoung,andI'mold,hewouldexplaintohisfellowshort­storywriters.Besides,thefutureofelectronicsisbright...Asfortheshortstory, whoknows? Problems.Short­storywriterFischerwroteinatrancelikecondition,whenhescrawledawayinbigletters.Hissecretary(Fischerwasthedirectorofapublicity agency)typedouttheoriginals.Fischersuspectedthatsheaddedpassagesofherownbuthehadnoproofthatsheactuallydidso. Short­storywriterNepocumeno'sproblemwasquitedifferent.Notknowinghowtotype,hehiredanexcellenttypistonamonthlybasisatahighsalary.Shetypedhis workquickly.Theshort­storywriter'soutputwasn'tenoughtokeepherbusy;theyoungwomanwasidleforlongperiodsoftime.Seeinghismoneydrainingaway,he firedher.ShewenttotheMinistryofLabor,broughtanactionagainsthim,andthecourtruledinherfavor. Short­storywriterPlíniohadaninterestingproblem,too.Oncewhenhewasaloneathome,hewasstruckbyabrightideaforashortstory.Justthentherewasa powerfailure.Therewasnoflashlight,norcandles,normatches,nothing.Gropingabout,short­storywriterPlíniomanagedtofindapenandasheetofpaperandhe begantowriteashortstoryinthedark.Heneversucceeded(unlikeshort­storywriterFischer)indecipheringwhathehadwrittenbuthestillhasthissheetofpaper, whichhehassavedwithgreatcare.

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Whateverthispieceofwritingisallabout,onethingissure:itisnotashortstorycalled"TheShort­StoryWriters." Problems.Short­storywriterAmílcarwaskidnappedbyfiveindividualswhogotoutofablackcar.Hewastakentoanemptyhouseandforaweekhewasforcedto writetwoshortstoriesaday.Afterward,Amílcarsawthoseshortstoriespublished,underdifferentnames,inmagazinesandliterarysupplements. AspartofadevelopmentplanforthetownofIbirituiçá,itsmayor,Macario,invitedvariousshort­storywriterstotakeupresidencethere.Hethoughtitwouldbea goodwayofpromotingthetown.However,whenthefewtouristswhogottheresawtheshort­storywritersstrollinginthemainpublicsquareorsittinginthe verandahsofoldhouses,wheretheywerebusytypingorwritinginlonghand,theyweredisappointed.Themayor,too,wasdisappointedandaftertakinglegalaction tohavetheshort­storywritersevicted,herepossessedthehousesthathadbeengrantedtothem. Anotherproblem.Short­storywriterDavidwroteaseriesofhistoricalshortstoriesabouttheItaliansettlements.Formonthsheresearchedthesubjectinthelibraries ofthehinterland,wrotedowntestimonies,tookpictures."Inyourshortstories,"hewasasked,"whichpartsarereal,andwhichpartsarefictional?"Hedidn'tknow, ashehadlostthebriefcasecontainingalltheevidencehehadgathered.Short­storywriterOféliahadtohavesexwithherhusbandsoonafterfinishingashortstory. Whenhehappenedtobeawaytraveling,shefounditimpossibletowriteandconsideredbeingunfaithfultohim.Short­storywriterGervásiowroteobscureshort stories,whichheshowedtohisgirlfriends,promisingtomarrytheonewhounderstoodthem.Noneofthemdid.Shortstoriesandwomenkeptaccumulatinginthelife ofGervásio. Short­storywriterPereira...Now,that'sagoodone!Short­storywriterPereiraoncestoppedwritingwhenhewashalfwaythroughashortstory.Hecouldn't comeupwiththerightword.Hiswifesug­

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gestedthatheflipthroughthedictionary:I'msure,shesaid,thatwhenyouchanceuponthewordyou'vebeentryingtofind,it'llhityoulikeaseizure,you'llbethrilled, you'llbeoncloudnine.Theshort­storywriterrejectedhersuggestion.Hethoughtitwouldn'tbefair.Itwouldbelikeasurgeonwhohadtolookupthingsinabookin ordertoperformsurgery,heexplained. Shewentaheadandboughtadictionaryandstartedsomeresearchofherown.Shewouldwritedownthemoresuggestivewordsonpiecesofpaper,whichshe wouldputinthebathroom,oronthecoffeetable.Pereirawouldtearthemupwithoutreading.Whenshereachedtheendofthedictionary,shelefthim. Thewaiterwalksbywithatrayofemptyglasses. "Waiter,"Isay,"I'vegotplentyofproblems." Hesmilesatme,sympathetic.Ifeelencouraged. "Waiter,let'sseeifyou'resmartenoughtoknowtheanswertothis:Ifashort­storywriterconsumeseighthundredandtwentycubiccentimetersofwhiskey,how manycubiccentimeterswouldtwenty­eightshort­storywritersconsume?" Themaneyesmesuspiciouslyandwantstogetaway.Igrabhimbythearm: "Ifeightshort­storywritersweighfivehundredandseventykilograms,howmanykilogramsdoesoneshort­storywriterweigh?Andifyouaddtwohundredand seventy­oneshort­storywriterstofourhundredandtwenty­nineshort­storywriters,howmuchdoesitamountto?" I'veoffendedthewaiter.IcanseeIhave.I'llmakeituptohimbybefriendinghim. "Waiter..."Iwhisperinhisear."Thisgirl...thisMarisa...whatabodyshehas,outofthisworld..." Thenasuddenmisgiving: "Whatifshewritesshortstories,too?"

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Inoneofhisshortstories,short­storywriterLeandrocomparesthefaceofayoungwomantoacloud;inanother,hecomparesacloudtothefaceofayoungwoman. Short­storywriterFrederico,believingthathisshortstoriesshouldhavesomethingpracticalaboutthem,refusedtousemetaphors;instead,hiswritingwas interspersedwiththeproverbsofLaRochefoucauld.Heusedtosaythatanyidiotcouldwriteashortstoryusingthefirstpersonnarrator. ''I'llhavetoavoidthiskindofmistakein'TheShort­StoryWriters,'"Imumble. Allofasudden,I'mallfiredup."TheShortStory—Writers"!Whatashortstory!Itwillconsistofasuccessionofcameos,therewillbeamultitudeofcharacters revealedbyquickflashes—aWoodstockoftheshortstory!Ashortstoryofabook!Boundtohaverepercussions,nodoubtaboutit.Willit? Afterthepublicationofherbook,short­storywriterMalvinasentanonymousletterstoeverynewspaper."Malvinahasinvigoratedliterature,"shestatedinoneofthe letters."Sheisdynamic,"shewroteinanother,"gentle,"inyetanother. Short­storywriterVictorputtogetherananthologyofunknownshort­storywriters.Thecollectionwaswellreceivedbythecritics.Manyyearslater,short­story writerVictorrevealedthathewastheauthorofeverysingleshortstoryinit. Andnowforthetricks! Short­storywriterManoelwroteletters,suchasthefollowing,toAmericanwriters: DearMr.Roth, Belowisalistofmymostrecentlywrittenshortstories,andatthepricesquoted,theyareavailabletoyouforimmediatedelivery.

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"TheDiscovery"(US$15.00).GilbertoandPaulo,oldfriends,findoutthattheyarehom*osexual.Agreatshocktobothofthem.Threedramatic,yetexciting, situations,eachoneaparagraphlong. "Specks"(US$13.80).Albertoknowsthatpaintingishisvocation,buthehastolookafterhisfather'sfarm.Aviolentconflict:thefather,hemiplegicbutdomineering. Adetailedaccountoftheproblemoftheartsinanunderdevelopedcountry.Thesinisterfigureofamarchanddetableaux. Untitled(US$9.90).Alongstory,butwithanimpressiveunityoftime:onesinglenight.Agroupofintellectualsdiscussesnationalandworldissues.Intoxicantsare present.Deepintrospection. Inadditiontotheshortstorieslistedabove,therearealsofourothersinvariousstagesofcompletion.Yourstruly,etc.,etc. Short­storywriterZeferinowasveryafraidofbaringhissoulinhisshortstories.Andyethewasterriblyautobiographical.Hesolvedtheproblem,atleastinpart,by usingasimpletrick:Henarratedtheeventsinthelifeofhismotherasiftheyhadhappenedtohisfather;andthethingsthathadactuallyhappenedtothewriterhimself, hewouldascribetohissister. Thewaiterwalksby,thistimetheglassesarefull.Irunafterhim.Short­storywriterMateusaccostsme: "Haveyoumetmydaughter?" Abeautifulgirl,blond,withgreeneyes. "Areyougoingtobeashort­storywritertoo,mychild?"Iask. "She'sintowritingalready,"informshermotherproudly. "Writingmustruninthefamily,"Iremark. "Whataboutyou,whatareyouwriting?"asksMateus. "Ashortstorycalled'TheShort­StoryWriters.'"

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"Ah,"saysMateus.Hegathershisfamilyroundhimandhurriesaway. Meanwhile,thewaiterhasdisappeared.Iloiterabout,watchingtheothershort­storywriters.Theychat,tellstories,narratetheextraordinaryadventurestheyhave beenthrough. Short­storywriterRonnyripsthecoverfromeachbookofshortstoriesthathereads;heplastersthewallsofhisbedroomwiththem;however,thebookcoversare notproperlygluedandtheyflutterwithasoftrustlingsoundintheeveningbreezethatcomesinthroughthewindow.Short­storywriterRonnyclaimsthatinthisfaint noisehecanhearthevoicesoftheshort­storywritersmumblingtheirshortstoriesbutnobodybelieveshim,theylaughatthisnonsense. Whenevershort­storywriterAderbalgothome,hewouldphonehiseditortoaskhimhowmanycopiesofhisbookhadbeensoldthatday.Notone,theanswer invariablywas.Utteringaswearword,theshort­storywriterwouldhangup.Hewouldthenaskthehousemaidiftherewereanymessages.Yes,one—requestinghim togotoacertainaddresstodoaspecialjob.Withasigh,theshort­storywriterwouldpickupasmallblacksuitcase;takingataxi,hewouldgotothegivenaddress. Abeautifulhouse.Hewouldringthebellandaman,fatanddiffident,wouldopenthedoor. "YoucancallmeAlberto,"themanwouldsay."Followmethisway,please." Hewouldleadtheshort­storywritertoabedroom,whereablond,middle­agedwoman,notveryattractive,wouldbelyinginbed.Shewouldbewearingapink nightgownandwouldsmileshyly.Theshort­storywriterwouldlookathercarefully,thenwouldopenthesmallsuitcasefromwhichhewouldtakeoutatransmitter, earphones,andmicrophones. "WhereshouldIstay?"themanwouldask. "Asfarawayaspossible,Alberto.Inthelargehall,forinstance." Albertowouldfitasetofheadphonesoverhisears,clutchoneof

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themicrophones,anddisappear.Short­storywriterAderbalwouldwaitforawhileandthenbegintotestthesoundequipment: "Testing,testing.Hello,Alberto." "Hello,"wouldreplythevoiceattheotherendoftheline.Avoicethatalmostcracked. "Okay,Alberto." Then,lyingdownalongsidethewoman,hiseyesfixedonher,theshort­storywriterwouldbegintospeakintothemicrophone: "HereyesareasblueasthelakesintheAlps." Thewomanwoulddrawclosertohim. "Herhairislikesilk." "Andherarms?"Theman'svoicewouldechoanxiouslyintheheadphones. "Takeiteasy,Alberto.Herarms...Herarmsarenicelyshaped,perfect.Likealabaster." "Likewhat?" "Alabaster,Alberto.Alabaster.It'susedinchandeliers." "Ah." "Alabasterskin,withdelicateblueveins." "Oh,myGod,"Albertowouldmoan"Inever...Andherlegs?" "Liketwofishmovingaboutintepidwaters,twoelongatedfish." "Ah,youdon'tsay!Andtellmenow:hersmallboobs?" "Justamoment." Afterapause: "Liketwolittlefawns." "Butisn'tthisfromtheSongofSongs?"Albertowouldask,suspicious. "Sowhat?Justbecausesomethinghasbeensaidbeforedoesn'tmakeitinvalid." Anotherpause. "Andherbelly?"Albertowouldask. Therewouldbenoreply.

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Andherbelly?Hello.Hello!Andherbelly?" "Onemoment...Justamoment,oneshortmoment..." "Andherbelly?Whataboutherbelly?" "Ah..." "Hello?" "Yes.Herbelly.Nowyes.Herbellyislikeaseaofplacidwaters..." "Oh..." Anotherpause. "Waitforthreeminutes,thenyoucancomein,"Aderbalwouldannounceinaneutraltoneofvoice. Themanwouldcomein,lookfirstatthewoman,whowouldbefacingthewall,thenattheshort­storywriter,whowouldbeputtingtheequipmentbackintothesmall suitcase. "I'llbedarned...Gosh...Imagine...Inever...HowmuchdoIoweyou?" "Threehundred." "Moneywellspent,"themanwouldsay,writingoutacheck."Youknow,Ialsodabbleatwritingshortstories.Wouldyoucareto...?" "Sorry,"Aderbalwouldsay."Notmyspecialty.Getaliterarycritic.Good­bye." Onceoutinthestreet,hewouldruntowardthefirstphonebooththathesaw,thendialtheeditor'snumber:Hadanycopiesofhisbookbeensoldyet?Nope. Aderbalwouldreturnhome. Short­storywritersmightbeaggressive,buttheyareharmless.InWorldWarIabattalionofshort­storywriterswasdecimated;aninspectionoftheirriflesrevealed thatnotasinglebullethadbeenfired.Short­storywritersarehardtodigest.Atribeofcannibalsoncedevouredanentireexpeditionofshort­storywriters;the cannibalsbecamesickandsufferedfromhallucinationsduringwhichtheykepttellingendlessstories.

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FromStockholm,afriendofshort­storywriterEmiliooncesenthimthefollowingtelegramwritteninSwedish:"Weinformyouthatyou'vebeenselectedfortheNobel prizeforliterature.BeinStockholmonthetenth."Whensomebodytranslatedthetelegramforhim,short­storywriterEmiliolaughedhisheadoff,butlaterhewastom bynaggingdoubts.Andonthenightbetweentheninthandthetenth,hedidn'tgetawinkofsleep.Onthefollowingmorning,thewinneroftheNobelprizewas announced,anditwasn'tshort­storywriterEmilio.It'saliteraryclique,hesaid,piqued. Castawayonadesertedisland,short­storywriterCarmosinohadnothingbuthismanuscripts;however,itwasthankstothemthathemanagedtosurvive. Heattractedthefishtotheshorebythrowingscrapsofpaperintothewater;hecaughtthefishwithfishhooksmadefromthepaperclipsthathadheldtheshortstories together.Thebait?Paperpellets.Forsomereason,thefishwentforthem. Usingafewsheetsofpaper,theshort­storywriterwouldstartafirewiththehelpofthesunshiningthroughthelensesofhiseyeglasses.Heatebroiledfish. Healsobuiltapapershedandwiththeonlyblanksheetofpaperhemadeasmallflagthat,hoistedupatallpole,provedtobehissalvation:Hewasseenand rescued.Whileonboardtheship,heaskedforpaperandpenandimmediatelyhurledhimselfintothetaskofreconstructinghisshortstories. Short­storywriterMorton,amissionary,livedformanyyearsinAfrica,amongthePygmies.Hewroteagreatdeal,buttherewasnobodytowhomhecouldshowhis shortstories:thebarbariansdidn'tlikehim.AsMortonrelatedinhismemoirs:"IwouldaskGodtosendmeapersonwillingtoreadoneofmyshortstories.Justone singleshortstorywoulddo.Andhewouldn'thavetoexpressanopinion,justreadit.Onesinglereaderisenoughtosaveashort­storywriter."

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Short­storywriterEfraimbecameahippie,builtatreehouseontopofafigtree,andtherehespenthisdayswritingshortstories.Thetreehadtobecutdowntosave himfromstarvinghimselftodeath. Short­storywriterFranzregardedhimselfasamanwhohadn'thadmuchlifeexperience(hisshortstorieswerepurelyintrospective).Bentonseeingtheworld,he boardedaNorwegianfreighter.Eightyearslater,hewasoneofthebeststokersintheAtlantic.Hestillwrote,butonlyletterstohisfamily.Thecharacterscreatedby short­storywriterHelena,amanicurist,werefingernails:"IwriteaboutwhatIknow,"shewouldsay. Andwhataboutclosetshort­storywriters? Ayoungacquaintanceofmineisapprenticedtoaprinter. Althoughintelligentandhard­working,hehasn'tbeensuccessfulinhisefforttomasterthecraft.Throughoutthedayhehasarunofbadluck:hebumpsintothe machines,spillsink,overturnsthegalleys.Heisthelaughingstockofhisfellowworkers.Andtheowneroftheprintshop,agrouchyman,isalwaystakinghimtotask. Iknowthisprintshop,whichislocatedinadistantneighborhood.It'sinanoldhouse,dismal­lookingandisolated:Alltheneighboringhousesarebeingtomdownto makeroomforawidetree­linedstreet. Icanimaginethisareaatnight.Themoonshinesuponwhatisleftofthewalls.Thestreet,coveredwithpotholes,isdeserted. Itisthenthattheprinter'sdevilappears.Wrappedupinanoldcape,hewalksfast.Hearrivesattheprintshop;heglancesaroundhimtomakesureheisalone;he insertssomethingresemblingahookintothekeyhole.Thereissomemaneuvering,aclick,thedooropens,andzap!Heisinside,puffing.Helightsacandle—justone. Hedoesn'tdarehavemorelight,eventhoughheknowsheisalone. Takingoffhiscape,hegetsdowntowork:Hetumsonthemachines,hemeltsdownthelead.Andhetumshisfullattentiontothelinotype.

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Hoursofstrenuouswork. Whatdoestheapprenticewriteashepracticeshiscraft?Well,thingsthatpopintohishead,phrases,stories... Shortstories. Shortstories!Hewritesshortstories.Aretheseshortstoriesanygood?Whatiftheyareverygood?Whatiftheprinter'sdevilhappenstobethebestshort­story writerinthecountry? Iwouldliketoseehiswritingrevealedtotheworld.Unfortunatelythere'snothingIcandoaboutthis. WhileIstandponderingthematter,theprinter'sdeviltoilson.Beforehissupervisorheisslow,butthesolitudeofdawnenduesunsuspecteddeftness.Sentences sproutquicklyinhisbrain,buthisfingers,evenswifter,involuntarilydeviseprotagonists,situations. AndifIweretohaveawordwiththeowneroftheprintshop?I'mnotsure...Idon'tknowhim;besides,I'mafraidI'mnogoodatpersuadingapragmatic, inflexibleman. Maybewiththehelpoftheauthorities...Ananonymouslettertothepolice."SuspiciousactivitieshavebeenobservedinprintshopXinthesmallhours."The authoritieswouldgototheplace,catchtheapprenticered­handed,confiscatehisshortstories.Andiftheyouthisindeedasgoodashort­storywriterasIsuspecthe is,hisshortstorieswouldsurelymakeanimpressiononsomepoliceclerkornewspaperman,whowouldthentakeituponthemselvestoshowtheshortstoriestoan editorbraveenoughtotakeachanceonthem.Asforthelegalcomplicationsrisingfromtheactofbreakingintotheprintshop,fromtheworkdoneafterhours—well, whowouldbotherwithsuchthingsifthebookbecameasuccess? WhileIformulatehypotheses,theprinter'sdevilmakeshaste.Hedoesn'twanttobecaughttherebytherisingsun!Withbrazenness,henowworksatfulltilt. Finallythebookisfinished.Itisabeautifulvolumeoftwohundredandtwentypages,containingfivelongshortstoriesand

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twenty­twoshortshortstories.Itdoesn'thaveatitle;it'sanexperimentalpieceofwork. Theprinter'sdevilstandsup,stretches,rubshiscongestedeyes.Listlessly,heleafsthroughthebook.Yawning,heopensthefurnace—andhurlsitintotheflames! Thenexthalfhourisspenttidyingup.Hecleansandsweepsupuntileverythingisorderly.Whenheisfinished,theprintshoplooksexactlyashefoundit.Aftercasting onelastglancearoundhim,hesnuffsoutthecandleandleaves.Hegoeshome.Wheredoeshelive?Idon'tknow. WhatIdoknow,however,isthattomorrowhe'llwriteanotherbook.That'swhatshort­storywritersarelike. Short­storywriterHermancarriedouttwokindsofexperiments:Oneinvolvedasingerwhoemittedahighnotecapableofshatteringacrystalglass;theotherinvolved newlyformedwords.Aboutthesinger,hefoundoutthattheshatteringofthecrystalwascausedbytheparticularvowelshehadchosenratherthanbythehighness andintensityofthesound—andthisvowelhappenedtobeHerman'sfavorite.Asforthenewlyformedwords,Hermanfoundoutthatwhenthesewordswere combinedwiththatparticularvowel,thevibrationstheyemittedweresopowerfulthattheyrockedtheveryfoundationsofbuildingsandbridges. "MyGod!"murmuredHermaninhisstudy."Suchisthepowerofwords!" Despitehisfriends'insistence,herefusedtorevealthesewords.Hisfriendskeptbugginghimsomuchthathefinallypromisedtoutterthewordsafterheretired;but hediedbeforehisretirement. Sittingonthefloor,Inoticeasausageunderabookcase;I'mgoingtopickitup;however,Ithinkbetterofit."Theco*ckroachesneeditmorethanIdo,"Imumble disdainfully.Short­storywriterKafka,nowthere'saguywholikedco*ckroaches.

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Ifoundmyselfunabletogettomyfeet.Whatthedevil,Imuttered. Thedevil?Thedevil. Rumorhasitthatthedevilhadanappointmentwithmediocreshort­storywriterNeto;theyweretomeetatthecity'scemetery.There,atmidnight,theevilone presentedthefollowingoptiontotheshort­storywriter:anotherfortyyearsoflifeandbadliterature—oronesingleoutstandingshortstory,thebesteverwritten,tobe followedbydeathoneminuteafterthecompletionofthelastsentence.Withouttheslightesthesitation,short­storywriterNetooptedforthesecondalternative.The contractwassignedinblood,etc.,andthedeviltoldhimtogohomeandstartwriting;hishandwouldbeguidedthroughoutthecompositionofthepreciouslines. However,ashewasleavingthecemetery,theshort­storywriterwaskilledafterbeingrunoverbyahearse.Afterwardthedevildisclaimedresponsibilityforthe accident;thehearsebelongedtothelocalparishandwasthereforeintheserviceofGod. "Theshort­storywriters."Whatashortstory!Idispensedwithallkindsofrituals—short­storywriterLucio'sritualoranyoneelse's.Ididn'thavetofortifymyselfwith adrinkbeforeIstartedworking,neitherwasthereanyneedformetocreasemybrowasIsatdownatthetypewriter.Asamatteroffact,Iwrote"TheShortStory Writers"asIlaydown,motionless;myeyeswouldfollowthewordsthatappearedontheceilingofmybedroom(that'showtheshort­storywriterproducedavery abbreviatedshortstoryonthewallofNebuchadnezzar'spalaceforhisreaderDaniel).Atfirstthewordsemergedonebyone;soontheycameinsentencesand paragraphsflashingbysoswiftlythatIcouldfollowthemonlybyspeedreading.Iwasopen­mouthedwithastonishment.Theshortstorywasintheprocessofbeing written!

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Strugglingshort­storywriters.Short­storywriterLaurowenthungryandyethelentmoneytoshort­storywriterAntoniosothathecouldhaveabookofhispublished. Short­storywritersRudimar,Herácl*to,andCostawerethinkingofstartingupawriters'cooperative.Short­storywriterBrenodreamedofafarmwhereallshort­ storywriterswouldliveacommunallife,milkingcowsandplowingfieldsinthemorningandwritingintheafternoon.Heevenconsideredsettingupaprintshopwhere thewritersthemselveswoulddoallthework.Theprofitswouldgotoacommonfund.Short­storywriterPauloandhisbrother,aphotographer,workedinapark. Thephotographerblewupphotographstopostersizeandtheshort­storywriterwroteatwo­pageshortstoryaboutthepersoninthephotograph.Short­storywriters João,Lino,andAmílcarwroteasix­handedshortstory.Eachonewroteoneline.Beforestarting,theydecidedthatthetotalnumberoflineswouldbeamultipleof three. Fourshort­storywritersdecidedtobeatupliterarycriticArthur.OnenighttheywenttothisArthur'shouse.Fourstrong,tallyoungmenwalkedabreastinsilence, theirfootstepsechoingonthedesertedstreet.''JustlikeintheOldWest,"murmuredoneofthem.Fiveshort­storywritersabouttopartcompanytoreashortstory intofivepieces.Eachoneofthemleftwithonepiece.Thirtyshort­storywritersmadeapact:Theywouldreadeachother'sshortstoriestotheendoftheirlives. "Marisa!"Ishout,butthebook­filledshelvesmufflemyvoice. Daily,uponwakingup,short­storywriterFirmomurmured:"I'mashort­storywriter,I'mashort­storywriter."Andhefeltbetter. Thebookstoreemptiedgradually.Outside,pedestrianscarryingbriefcaseshurriedby,wrappedintheirgreyovercoats.Theylookedatusandwondered:Whoare they? "We'reshort­storywriters,"Ibellowed,andpummeledmyselfonthehead:"Areyounuts,short­storywriter?"

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ThemotherofAbsalão,thecrazyshort­storywriter,tookhimtoapsychologistwhopracticedintheneighborhood. "Listencarefully,"saidthepsychologist,"I'mgoingtosaysomethingabsurd.Amanwasfoundwithhisfeettiedup.Andwithhishandstiedupbehindhisback.Itis believedthathetiedhimselfup." Absalãoremainssilent. "Theman'sfeet,"wentonthepsychologist,carefullywatchingtheshort­storywriter,"weresohugethatinordertotakeoffhispantshehadtopullthemoverhishead. "Absalãostillsilent.Thepsychologist: "AskullwasfoundinanoldgraveinSpain.ItwasChristopherColumbus's,attheageoften." "Suchmarvelousstories,doctor!"shoutedAbsalão,amazed.Drawingoutpaperandpen,heproceededtowritethemdown. Short­storywriterGarciareadhisshortstoriestohispsychiatrist.Whenpayingforhistreatment,hedemandedthathebegivenadiscountforthetimehehadspent readingaloud;heeventhoughtheshouldreceiveatokenpayment,arguingthat,ifhisshortstorieswereavailableinbooks,thedoctorwouldhavetopayforthem. Short­storywriterJesualdo,amedicalstudent,liftedcasehistoriesfromtextbooksandthenhadthempublishedasshortstories.Short­storywriterBaltazar,a psychiatricnurse,readhisshortstoriestohispatients.Hebelievedthatbydoingso,heimprovedtheircondition."Themoredepressingtheshortstoriesare,thebetter thepatientsfeel." Ramiroeyesmerancorously.I'mspoilingthebestafternoonofhislife.I'madespicablebastard,Isaytomyself,hiccupping.What'sthematterwithme?

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Ashort­storywritercomplainedtohisdoctoraboutbeingunabletowrite.X­raysweretakenbutnothingabnormalwasfound.Short­storywriterNéliowrote incessantly.Hisshortstoriesdescribedsomethinginsignificantthatgrewandgrew,spillingoverintothehouse,thecity;amousewastransformedintoathirty­tonrat; excrementpiledupmountainhigh;aperson'sleftearwaschangedintoawingtwometersindiameter.Whilewriting,short­storywriterNéliodidn'tpayattentionto thesmalltumorthatkeptgrowingnearhisnose. Short­storywriterBárbaratellsaboutashort­storywriterwhoisalmostkilledwhenabookshelfcomescrashingdownuponhim.Thebookswerewrittenbythe short­storywriterhimself,whothengivesupwriting. Short­storywriterHildebrando,aflightattendant,wasonboardaplanethatcaughtfireduringacrashlanding.Passengerssaythatheactedbravely;heonlystopped lookingafterthemwhenthecaptainannouncedthattheywereabouttoland.Then,drawinganotebookoutofhispocket,hebegantowrite.Later,hiswifereadinthe scorchednotebook:"Ideaforashortstory:R.,arichbanker,isonboardanairplanethat..."Thesentencewasunfinished.That'sthewayitwasprintedin Hildebrando'sposthumousbook. Short­storywriterAméliowasthesubjectofaphotographicstudy.APraktisixcamerawitha180mmlenswasusedwithanapertureopeningoff/5.6,anexposure timeof1/125,andTri­XKodakfilm.Someremarkabledetailsofthesephotographs:thewhitesoftheeyes—thecreasedforehead—thefingerscrimpedoverthe keyboardofthetypewriter—therictusofthemouth.Theuntimelydeathofshort­storywriterAmélioincreasedthevalueofthesephotographs. Short­storywriterMiro,whosufferedfromcerebralarteriosclerosis,haddifficultycomingupwiththerightwordsforhisshortstories.Hewouldthenleaveblank spacesinhissentences,hopingto

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filltheminlaterwhenmemorycametohisaid.Hislastshortstorieshadmanyblankpages. Whilesufferingthepainsofarenalcolic,short­storywriterIbrahimwroteaninspiredshortstory...Short­storywriterPeterbrokealegandwroteashortstoryon thecast...Short­storywriterAlfredowascross­eyed;short­storywriterElizabethsufferedfromgeneralizedlupuserythematosus."Whatwouldyoudoifyouhad onlyonehourtolive?"areporteraskedshort­storywriterMatos."Iwoulddowhathastobedone:Iwouldwriteashortstory.""Woulditbeapessimisticshort story?"''Notnecessarily.""Andwouldonehourbeenoughtowriteit?""Maybeyes,maybeno." Inthelastdaysofhislife,short­storywriterSalomãowroteeffortlessly.Hedidn'tevenhavetothink:Thephraseskeptsproutingspontaneously."I'mpureliterature," hewouldsay.Helookedtranslucentbecauseoftheleukemia. Marisahasleft,there'snothingelseformetodo,exceptgymnastics.Itakeholdoftwothickbooksandstartdoingarmlifts.Theytakethebooksawayfromme. They,who?Theshort­storywriters.Butdeathwillcatchupwiththem. Short­storywriterMartimsaid:"Therearemorecarsforpeopletodrivethantherearepedestriansfordriverstorunover,morepeoplewhowritethanpeoplewho read—thisistheportraitofourtimes."Short­storywriterRaimundo:"Paperhasbecomesoexpensivethatwecannolongeraffordtowritelongshortstories." Somebodyphonedthissameshort­storywritertofindoutwhichstoressoldhisbook.Herefusedtogiveouttheinformation:"You'dbebetteroffnotbuyingit.There areatleasttwohundredotherbooksonthemarketfarbetterthanmine."Short­storywriterBarroso,arichheir,didnothingbutwrite,andhewouldn'tacceptany formofpaymentforhisshortstories:"It'smywayofpayingbackto

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mankindthemoneyI'veinequitablyreceived,"hewouldsay.ShortstorywriterLimeira,fromthestateofAcre,usedtosay:"Showmeananthologythatincludes someonefromAcre."Hewasaverydistrustfulpersonandfinallygaveupliterature. Anotherpersonwhogaveupliteraturewasshort­storywriterAlberto.Heopenedagrocerystoreandwouldsay:"Allofushavehadafatherandamother,allofus havebeenthroughchildhood,we'vebeentraumatized,we'vehadaffairs.Whyintheworldshouldwegetundereverybody'sskinbyfoistingourshortstoriesonthem? Isn'titenoughtohavetodealwithlife'sdailyworries,withtaxes,withexpenses?Isellsalami,whichsoothesthestomach."Short­storywriterMoraisgaveupwriting togrowrosesandshort­storywriterYmaitobecomeaterrorist.Short­storywriterMurilodidn'tgiveupliteratureentirely:Heopenedacorrespondenceschoolfor writers."InamonthyouwillbeabletowriteaswellasGuimarãesRosa,"thebrochuresguaranteed.Short­storywriterFeijósystematicallyreceivedrejectionslips frompublishers.Hesethisshortstoriesaside,establishedhimselfinthegrainbusiness,andbecamerich.HethenestablishedtheFeijóLiteraryPrize,whoserules stipulatedthatthewinningshortstorywouldbecomethepropertyoftheFeijóGroup. Whenhegotholdofthewinningshortstory,Feijówouldtearitup,saying:I'vejustsavedthisshort­storywriterfromapainfulcareer. Therewereonlyacoupleofusnow—evenRamirohadleft—andthewaiterhadlongsincemadehimselfscarce.Ifeltitwastimeformetogo.Ihadtofinishashort storycalled"TheShortStoryWriters." Short­storywriterGeorgarioulivedinanatticandwroteatdusk.Atthathourhugebatswouldflyinthroughtheopenwindowandattackhimviciously.Theshort­ storywriterdidhisbesttode­

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fendhimself;butattimeshebecameabsent­mindedandthebatssuckedhisblood.Despitebeinganemic,theshort­storywriterwroteincessantly. Short­storywriterRonny...No,I'vealreadymentionedhim. Short­storywriterAristarco:"Tolive?Who?Me?Iliveonlytogathermaterialformyshortstories." Ilaboredupthestairs.Likeshort­storywriterHawthorne,Icouldsay:"HereIam,inmyownroom.HereIhavefinishedmanyshortstories.It'sabewitchedplace, hauntedbythousandsandthousandsofvisions—someofwhichhavenowbeenmadevisibletotheworld.SometimesIfeltasifIwerelyinginatomb,cold, motionless,bloated;sometimesIfelthappy...NowIbegintounderstandwhyIhavebeenimprisonedinthissolitaryroomforsomanyyears,andwhyitwas impossibleformetoteardownitsinvisiblebars.HadIsucceededinescaping,Iwouldnowbeinsensitiveandharshandmyheartwouldbecoveredwiththedustof theearth...Truly,wearenothingbutshadows." "Shadows,"Imuttered.Ipushedthedooropenwithmyfoot,testingmyunsteadybalance. Marisawasthere,lyingonmybed,smoking. "Idroppedintoreadthisshortstoryofyours,"shesaid."'TheShort­StoryWriters,'isn'tit?" Itwas.

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THETREMULOUSEARTH[1977]

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Quick,Quick Isuffer—suffered—fromprogeria,ageneticdisorderthatmakesthebodyracemadlytowardoldageanddeath.Madlyisprobablynottherightword,butIcan't thinkofanotherone,andIhavenotimetosearchforabetteroneinthedictionary—we,thevictimsofprogeria,haveaninordinatesenseofurgency.Forus, establishingprioritiesisaprocessasvitalasbreathing.Forus,tenminutesequalsoneyear.Hereisaproblemforyoupeoplewithplentyoftime—orwhothinkyou've gotplentyoftime—toworkout.Meanwhile,I'llcontinuewithmywriting—andallIhopeistobeabletofinishmystory.EachletterthatItraceistheequivalentof entirepageswrittenbyyou—anotherproblemforyoutoworkout.Meanwhile,inanutshell: 08:15—I'mabouttobeborn.I'mafirstchild—suchrottenluck!—andit'salong,difficultchildbirth.Istartbreathingandrightaway,toeverybody'ssurprise,Ibegin touttermyfirstwords(simplethings,naturally:mummy,daddy).Thesurpriseisevengreaterwhentwentyminutesaftermyparentsplacedmeinmycrib,Iclimbout andlaughing,demandfood.Yes,laughing!Atthattime 08:45—Istillcouldlaugh. 09:20—I'vealreadybeenweaned,andI'malreadythroughwithmyoralstage.Myparents(he,theownerofasmallgrocerystore;she,ahousewife)havealready acceptedreality,atleastinpart,afterthepediatrician(aspecialistthatisofnousetomeanymore)explainedboththediagnosisandtheprognosistothem.Andmy teethhavealreadyemerged!Inthecourseofbutafewminutes(asmeasuredbymyfather'swatch,letmepointthisout)Icomedownwithmeasles,smallpox,and otherchildhooddiseases.

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Myparentsenrollmeinschool,notrealizingthatat10:40,whenthebellringstoannouncethemid­morningbreak,Iwillalreadybeoldenoughtograduatefrom elementaryschool.Iridetoschoolonmyscooter,butwhenIgettothestreetcomerIdiscardmytoy,forIfindittoochildish.Iturnaroundandseemyparentsin tears—poorfolks. 10:20—Ifinditimpossibletowaituntilrecesstime;excusingmyselftotheteacher,Ileavetheclassroomtogotothebathroom.Thesapoflifecirculatesimpatientlyin myveins.Imasturbat*.Mydesirehasaname—Mara,agirlingradeeight.Forthetimebeing,sheisstillseveralyearsmysenior.Butbyeleveno'clockorso,Iwill beoldenoughtodateherbutbythenIwillnolongerbeattendingthisschool.Ah,thesweetbirdofyoutheludesme! 11:15—Uponleavingschool,Idecidetogoforawalkinthecity,whichIdon'tknowandwillneverhavethechancetoknow—whatasavage,implacabledisease, theoneafflictingme.Iwalk(asmeasuredbymybiologicalclock)formonths.Iarriveatahousingproject.Iseewretchedshacks;Iseenaked,dirtychildren.Itisa shockingsight,andIcryforthosepoorpeople;I'mafraidthatallLatinAmericansliveinthiscondition,andIcryforthem.Icryformyself. 12:15—Lunchtime,butI'mnothungry.Besides,I'mloathtoeatthebreadthatIhavenotearned.Then,asIwalkpastaprintshop,Iseeasign:Helperneeded. Igoin.Theowneroftheprintshopisabouttoleaveforlunch.Iapplyforthejob;heasksmetocomebackbeforeclosingtime—atanhourwhenI'llbeoldenough toretire,orto...Iinsist:Iwanttostartrightnow.Hescratcheshishead,undecided.Hethenassignsmethetaskofcleaningthelinotypemachine. "Youcanstartonthat.I'llbebackinhalfanhour." Andheisinfactbackinhalfanhour,butbythenI'malreadyfedupwiththeyearsofexploitation,theyearsofworkingfornopay.Wehaveanargument,hetriesto attackme;heisfasterthanIam,it

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takesmeyearstocompletemymovements,butevensoImanagetohithimwithanironbar.Hecollapsestothefloor.Ishedead?(Death,inevitablesooneror later—soonerinmycase).No,heisnotdead,heisbreathing,buthelpinghimisoutofthequestion.Iflee.Ican'truntheriskofbeingarrested.Orofbeingbroughtto trial,notevenifitisasummarytrial. Iflee. 13:05—Icannolongerrunwithmyformeragility.Igettiredmoreeasily.Itisoldagecreepinguponme.Ifindmyselfonanarrow,dismalstreet,fullofoldhouses. WhenIseeonewiththedooropen,Iwalkin.Iclimbupanoldwoodenstairway,dimlylit,andIcomeuponsomekindofdrawingroom. Lyingonsofas,seatedinarmchairs,orsprawledacrossthefloorarehalf­nakedwomen.I'moldenoughtorealizewhatsortofbusinessgoesonhere,andsinceIhave notimetowaste— "You!"Ipointtoathinandratherprettybrunette.Shesmilesatme.Sheishottotrot.Great.Atleastforoncetimeisonmyside. Wegotoherroom.Smilingateachother,wetakeoffourclothes.Sheismyfirstone;Ifeelthatshewillbemylastone,too;andthenIyieldmyselftoher,forgetting allaboutthepolice,forgettingallaboutthenightthatwillbeherealltoosoon.Iforgeteverything,andIkissherandkissher. "What'sthisallabout,honey?"sheasks,surprisedatherclient'srapturousdemonstrationsofaffection,andyetobviouslymoved.Shepraisesme,regrettingonlythatit endedtooquickly.Quickly?Itlastedformonths. Shegetsupandgoestothebathroom.Iremainlyingforawhile.Foralongwhile:whenIgetup,I'mabaldman;myhairhasfallenoutandnowliesonthepillow.I pickitup,andnotwithoutsorrow,Ithrowitoutofthewindow.Thebreezecarriesitaway. "Ididn'trealizeyouwerewearingawig,honey,"shesaysuponreturningfromthebathroom.

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"Marryme,"Ibegher."Marryme,andlet'shaveababy." Ithrowmyselfatherfeet.ThinkingthatI'mputtingonanact,shesulks,andlatersaysthatpeopleshouldn'tmakefunofsuchthings.Alas,shedoesn'tbelieveme!But I'mindeadearnest. Anoisycommotionoutonthestreet.Ipeerthroughthewindow:It'stheowneroftheprintshop,withapoliceman.Hehasrecognizedthehairbornealongbythe breezeasbeingmine.Withimmensegrief,Isaygood­byetothebrunetteandfleethroughthebackdoor. 14:02—Iwalkdownthestreet,feelingagreatpaininmyleg:Ihurtmyselfwhileescapingthroughthebarbed­wirefenceatthebackofthebrunette'shouse.ButI mustkeepwalking. Ibumpintomymother,whotellsmethatmyfatherhasfallenill—heisgrief­stricken,shestates—andthatheneedsmetolookafterthegrocerystore.Inreply,Isay thatIhavetodomyownthing.Mymotherlooksatmeinanoddway,asifnotrecognizingme.Infact,I'vechangedalotinthelast...minutes?Months,Imean. Forthefirsttimeinmylife,Istartcomplaining.Icomplainaboutmywoundedleg.Ihitchupmypants(whichIhavenowoutgrown)totakealookatmyleg,andeven Iamstartledbythenatureofthewound.Itlooksterriblynasty.I'llhavetodosomethingaboutitrightaway. "Good­bye,Mother!"Igiveherahug."I'vegottoseeadoctor,Mother." Irushaway.Onthestreetcorner—light­yearsaway—Istopandturnaround.Mymother,lookingdisconsolate,wavestome.Agoodmother,sheis.WillIeversee heragain? 15:08—IburstintotheofficeofaDr.Schuler—GeneralPracticeandSurgery.Startled,thereceptionistrisestoherfeetandasksmetowaitinthewaitingroom. Waitingroom,indeed!Ilaugh.Ihavenouseforwaitingrooms,Ishoutandthenaddinathreateningway:Iwanttoseethedoctorimmediately.

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Thereceptionisttakesmebythearm,withtheintentionofshowingmeout.Ascuffleensues.Whilescufflingwithher,Icanfeelherbreastsagainstmychest.Marry me,Iwhisperinherear.Butno,sheisnotinthemoodtomarry.Shewantstofight. Thedooropensandthedoctorappears. "What'sgoingonhere?"bleatsoutatimidlittleman.Hedoessoundlikeasheep—aGermansheep.Iletgoofmyalmostbrideandrushpell­mellintotheconsulting room,carryingthedoctoralongwithme. "Sorry,doctor,"IstartsayingasIstripoff,"butIsufferfromprogeria,andapersonwiththisdisease—andyoumustknowthisbetterthanIdo—can'twastetimein waitingrooms." Astonished,helooksatme,hiseyesblinkingbehindthicklenses.Soon,however(undoubtedlyatthesoundofthewordprogeria)thesacredspiritofdiagnosistakes holdofhim;hedrawsnear,andwithgreatattention,herunshisfingersovermyface: "Yes...It'sreallyprogeria...Ihadneverseenacasebefore,it'sundoubtedlyprogeria...Interesting..." (Herollshisr'sandhemispronounceswords.ButI'mnotgoingtocorrecthim.Ihaveonlygradeoneeducation,whereasheisadoctor.) "Andwhatseemstobethetrouble,myfriend?"heasksafewminutes—months—later. NakedasIam,Ihavetoshowhimmyleg.Thewound,nowblack,emitsanawfullyfoulsmell.Itisgangrene,Icantell.AlthoughI'veneverheardthisword,Iknow perfectlywellthat'swhatitis. "Gangrene,"saysthedoctor,stoopingovermyleg."Interesting...Progeria,gangrene..." Interesting,saysthedoctor,andIamfurious.Interesting,isit,acombinationoftwodiseases?Andisthereanythingelsethattheson­of­a­bitchwouldlike?What aboutalittlecanceraswell?What

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aboutalittlebrainhemorrhage?ButIsoonregretentertainingsuchthoughts.Adoctoratmyfeet—andyethereIamthinkingillofhim. "Whatcanbedone,doctor?"Iask,anxious.(Butnotdistraught,mindyou.Notyetdistraught.Perhapslater.Forthetimebeing,justanxious.) "Itwillhavetobeamputated,"hesays,straighteninghimselfup. "Thendoso!"Isay,courteousbutfirm,desperatebutstoic,calmbutanxious—withasmileonmylipsandanxietyinmyeyes."Amputateit!" "Pardonme?"Thedoctorthinkshehasn'theardwell;heissomewhatdeaf(amisfortuneI'vebeensparedsofar)."Pardonme?" "Amputatetheleg!Soon!" "Well..."Heisobviouslyreluctant."Thenwe'llhavetomakearrangementsatthehospitalfortomorrow,orperhaps..." "No!"Icuthimshort."Amputation,now!" (Anellipticalphrase.Progeriasufferersvalueellipsis.) "Now?" Heforcesmetosayitagain.Thelittlemanisreallyslowontheuptake. "Nowandhere.Hereandnow." "ButIcan't...It'shumanlyimpossible." Ilookaroundme.Thereisasmallironstoolthatwillservemypurposeverywell.Iseizeholdofit: "Ifyoudon'tamputatenow,I'llkillyou,oldman!" "But..."Heisnowterrified."Whataboutthepain?" "Forgetthepain!I'lldealwiththepain!" Igoandsitonthesmalloperationtable.Muttering,heappliesiodinetomyleg,putsonhisrubbergloves,takesthesurgicalinstrumentsoutofa*glasscabinet,and proceedstoamputate. Atfirstitdoesn'thurtmuch—heiscuttingthroughdeadtissue,tissuethatdiedjustshortlybeforethedeathoftheorganismto

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whichitbelonged.Whilewatchingthedoctoratwork,Itelljokes,Iroarwithlaughter. Lateron,however,thingsstarttogetpainful,anduponfeelingthestimulatingpain,Ibellowwithgusto.''It'ssogoodtobealive,doctor,"Isaywhilehecauterizesthe bloodywound. Whenheisfinished,hegetsup,goestoanotherroom,fromwherehesoonreturnswithcrutches. "They'remywife's,"hesays."ButIthinkthatyouneedthemmorethanshedoes." "Thanks,doctor,"Isay,moved,andIaskforthebill—justforthesakeofasking,forIhavenomoney.Ihaven'thadenoughtimetosaveany.Hesaysthatheisnot goingtochargemeanything,butheadds: "Ifyoudon'tmind,I'dliketokeepyourleg.Iintendtodoresearchonthemetabolismofthesetissues...." Hethentakesmeintohisconfidence:Mydream,hesaysinatremulousvoice,wastobeascientist.IstillhopethatonedayI'llmakeanimportantdiscovery—like findingthecausesofa*ging,forexample.IfIcanfindthebasicgeneticflawthatcausesprogeria,hecontinues,withaglitterinhiseyes,humankindwillfinallybeableto controltheagingprocess—andbehold,theFountainofYouth! "Doyouthinkyou'llbeabletocomeupwithsomethingbysixo'clock?"Iask,heartenedbyafainthope. "I'mafraidnot,"hesays,sympatheticbuttruthful.Hecannotlietome.Hemustnotlietome."ButI'lltry.IpromiseIwill.Givemeacalllatertoday,willyou?And now,"helooksathiswatch,"whydon'tyougetdressed...Makeyourselfcomfortable." Theconsultationisover,that'swhathewantstotellme.I'vegototherthingstodo,youcreep,sowhydon'tyoubugoff? Ipickupmyclothes,andwiththehelpofthecrutchesIgototheadjoiningroom.Imoveaboutnimbly:I'malreadyusedtomynew

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wayofwalking.Amazing:whatotherstakemonthstolearn,Icanlearninamatterofminutes.Whichisonlyfair. Ifindmyselfinthelivingroomofthedoctor'shouse.Igouptoamirrorandexaminemyfaceattentively.Inoticethattheagingprocesshasn'tstopped;onthe contrary,itseemstohaveacceleratedinthelastfewminutes—months.Thewrinklesonmyfacearemoreaccentuated;whatlittlehairIhavelefthasturnedwhite;my eyebrowshavebecomebristly.Thelineoftheeyebrowscoincideswiththemeandersoftheriverthatflowsthroughmyhead.Andthere,caughtinthosemeanders, arebranchesoftrees,feathersofwildbirds,bitsandpiecesofwood.Thebackofaporcupine,thedirtybackofaporcupine.(Alas,notaverygoodcomparison.Ah, well.Anymanoflettersoverfortywouldbeabletocomeupwithabetterone.OnedayI'llsolvethisproblem.) "Despicable,whatyou'vedonetome,mister." Iturnaround.It'sthedoctor'swife,inawheelchair;andlikeme,shehasanamputatedleg.Shelooksatmewithhatred.Iknowwhy:I'vegothercrutches. "I'msorry,ma'am,"Isay,tryingtobefriendly—butwhatfor?Sheisold;we'renotgoingtobecomeentangledinascuffle;besides,sheisalreadymarried;sheisnot goingtomarryme.Ilookatherwrinkledfaceandshudder:It'smyownfacethatIsee.Mumblinganexcuse,Ileave. 16:45—Alreadysolateintheday! 16:47—Ienjoybeingalive.Istopatanewsstand.Beautifulwomenonthecolorfulcoversofthemagazines.Goodtolookat.Ipickupanewspaperandreadanews itemaboutsomesensationaldiscoveries.Americandoctors... WhatifIweretogototheUnitedStates...?Maybethedoctorstherecouldcureme...Thatwouldbegreat;but...howmuchmoretimehaveIgotleft?And whataboutthemoney?IfIboughtalotteryticket,andifthedrawweretotakeplacerightnow,andifI

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won,andifIreceivedthemoneywithoutdelay,andifIrushedtotheairport,andifIcharteredaprivatejetplane... Furtively,Itearthenewsitemoutofthepaper,andIwalkaway,headedforaplacethatsellslotterytickets. "Anydrawsbeingheldtoday?" "Oneatfiveo'clock,"themaninformsme,lookingathiswatch."AndI'vegotanumberendinginthirteen.Yourbigchancetowin,don'tmissit." "Listen..."Ileanmyheadtowardtheman,butIthenchangemymind.No,hewouldn'tgivemetheticketforfree,notevenifIweretotellhimthatI'maprogeria sufferer,notevenifIweretobringupthefactthatmyminutesarenumbered.No,hedoesn'tlooklikeapersonwhowouldgiveoutlotteryticketsasfreebies. Igooutintothestreet.It'sbecomingincreasinglymoredifficultformetowalk.It'snotjusttheamputatedleg;it'salsotheinsidiousrheumatismthatistakingholdof meonthisfoggywinter'safternoon. Iseeayoungwomanstandingbeforeanewsstand.Sheopensherpurseandtakesoutawadofpapermoney.Withoutthinking,Imakeapounce—bang!—snatch themoneyoutofherhand,thencutandrun.I'mrunningonmycrutches!Fartherdownthestreet,threeheavilybeardedyoungmenseizeme. "Youngmen..."Iplead. Theyoungwomancomesrunning. "Younglady!"Ishout."Helpme,younglady!I'masickman." Apolicemangrabsmebythearm,andasmallcrowdhasalreadygatheredaroundme.Acrippledoldgeezer,andathieftoboot,remarksanoldwoman.Shutup, youhag,Iretort,andthepolicemangivesmeagoodshove. Gaspingforbreath,theyoungwomandrawsnear.Sheisn'tpretty;shewearsglasses,hermouthistoobig,but...hadwemetunderdifferentcirc*mstances,I wouldaskhertomarryme...Toolatenow.AllIcandoistowaitforthenighttocome.

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Theyoungwomanlooksatme. "Imusthavemadeamistake,"shesays."Idon'tthinkhehasstolenanythingfromme." Sheopensherpurse. "That'sright.Noneofthemoneyismissing.Iwaswrong." Aftersomereluctance,thepolicemanfinallyletsmego,buthewarnsmethatnexttimeI'llbeclappedintojail,nomatterwhat.Nexttime...Poorfellow!Littledoes heknowaboutthepowerofprogeria. Thecrowddisperses.Theyoungwomanjuststandsthere,lookingatme.Iglanceatthewatch.It's 17:00—precisely.Thedrawforthelotteryhasbeenheld,andIdon'thavetobeasoothsayertoknowthatthewinningtickethadthatnumberendinginthirteen,and soIkissgoodbyetomyplans,tothepossibilityofbeingcuredofmydisease.Iswayindizziness...Shesupportsme. "I'msorry,"Imurmur."It'sthatIhaven'thadanythingtoeatsinceIwassixyearsold." Shelooksatme,incredulous,andchoosestolaugh.Webothlaugh;shethenofferstotreatmetoacupofcoffeewithbreadandbutter. "Butonlyifyoureturnmymoney,"sheadds.Welaughagain,andIreturnthemoneytoher. 17:18—Inherapartment,myclothesonachair,thecrutchesonthefloor,thestumpofmylegrestingontheedgeofthebed,andme—drenchedinsweat,and exertingmyself—ontopofher;moaning,Itryandtry,mywholebodyaches,it'snoteasyatmyage.Shelooksatme.Earlier,itwaswithlove.Now,it'sstillwith love—butmingledwithpity. Isitontheedgeofthebed. "Youcan't?" "No,"Isigh.

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"Perhapsif...?"tryingtobehelpful. Istandup,pickupthecrutches,andstartpacingbackandforth.Anideathenoccurstome: Where'sthephone?" "Overthere,"shesays,surprised."Butwhatisitthatyouhaveinmind?" Ipickupthephonebook.I'mshakingsobadlythatIcanbarelyturnthepages.Shehastohelpme.IfindDr.Schuler'snumberandstartdialing.Thelineisbusy.I dialagain.Stillbusy.OhGod,willInever,notevenonce,strikeitlucky?FinallyImanagetogetthrough. "Hello,doctor!"Isay,anguished."Ah,doctor,I'vebeentryingandtryingtoreachyou,butthelinewasalwaysbusy..." "Itwasmywifeonthephone,orderingnewcrutches,"saysthedoctor,calmasusual."ButwhatcanIdoforyou,myfriend?How'stheamputatedleg?" "Doctor!"Ishout."Doctor,there'snothingwrongwithmyleg,it'smewho'snotwell.Doctor,I'mgrowingoldbytheminute.Doctor,I'mdying.Doctor,haveyou madeanydiscoveriesyet?" "Notyet,butyouknow..." "Ah,doctor!"Isayinasloughofdespair. "Butyouknowwhat,"hecontinues,"myreceptionistwasdrinkingmilkhereintheoffice—yousee,shehasanulcer—andthenshespilledtheulcer,Imean,themilk, onyourleg,Imean,youroldleg—andIthink—yousee—itseemstomethattheleghaschangeditsappearance,theskinissmoother,silkier..." "Milk!" Iturntotheyoungwoman—what'shername,Idon'tevenknowhername—andIaskheranxiously: "Haveyougotanymilkhere,love?" "No,"shereplies."NormallyIdon'tdrinkcoffeeathome,andsoI..."

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I'mnolongerlisteningtoher.I'vealreadyputthephonedownandImakeadashforthebedroom. Trembling,Itrytoputonmypants.TwiceIfalldown.Finally,withherhelp,Isucceedingettingdressed. "Quick!"Ishout."Let'sgetsomemilk!" Ilookatthewatch;it's SEVENTEENHOURSANDFORTY­TWOMINUTES

andIbelieve—it'sadeepconviction,afaiththatcomesfromwithin,anage­oldbelief—thateighteenhoursisthefataldeadline.I'mafraidofthisnumber,eighteen. I'mafraidofthehandsoftheclockatvariancewitheachotheronthedial:onepointingupward,theotherdownward—onepointingheavenward,theotherhellward. I'mafraidoftheblacknessofthehandsoftheclockandtheblacknessofthenumbers;Iyearnforthewhitenessofthemilkand SEVENTEENHOURSANDFORTY­FIVEMINUTES

andtheelevatorwon'tcome! "Let'stakethestairway!"Ishout. "Butyoucan't,"shesays,hereyesbrimmingwithtears."We'reontheeighthfloor,andyouwithyouramputatedleg..." "Yes,Ican!" Holdingmeback,shepointstothesmallpanelovertheelevatordoor.Thenumberslightuponeaftertheother:one,two,three... "Look,it'scoming." Shesmiles.Averynicegirl,sheis.Sheworksinanoffice,shewritespoetry.Shelivesalonebecauseshewantstofindherownwayinlife,shewantstofindamanto love.AndI... Theelevatordooropens.Shecriesoutverycheerfully:"Father!Longtimenosee,Dad!" Theowneroftheprintshop. "Youbastard!"EventhoughI'mold,herecognizesme."Youoldbastard!Andwithmydaughter,too,yousleazeball!" Istarttowobble.Shesupportsme.It'stoolate.Thecoldofthe

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nightisalreadyencroachinguponmybones.Isitdownonthefloorandleanmyheadagainstthewall. "Writeeverythingdown,"Iaskher."Writeeverythingdown,asifyouwereme." Myeyesareblurred.ThelastthingthatIsee:She,openingherpurse,takingoutpaperandpencil,andbeginningtowrite:Isuffer—Isuffered.

ThePriceoftheLivingSteer Alexandrawasengagedtothesonofacattlerancher—ayoungmanwhowasattendinglawschoolinPortoAlegre.Theywereinlove. Onedaytheywenttohisfather'sranchtoeatachurrasco—aBrazilianstylebarbecue,withmeatroastedonthespit.Whenitwastimetoslaughterthecalf,the rancher'ssonmovedforward,hiseyesglittering: "I'lldoit." Hesnatchedthecleaverfromthehandsofthefarmhand,andthenkilledtheanimal. Findingthesightofbloodrepugnant,Alexandraburstintotears.Therancherwasannoyed;thesonwasfurious. "Youcow!Youdon'tfitinwithourfamily.Goaway!" Alexandrapickedupherhandbag. Smiling,therancher'ssonapproachedherwithapieceofrawmeatinhishand. "Butfirstyoumusteat." Alexandraturnedherfaceaway. "No..." "Eat!Eat!" Therancherevenmadeanattempttointervene,butAlexandra,withanabruptgesture,snatchedthechunkoftenderloinfromthe

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handofherex­fiancéandproceededtobiteintothewarmmeatoozingwithblood.TheyoungmanhadhiseyesonherAdam'sappletoseeifshewasreally swallowingthemeat. "Good.Leavenow." Sheleft.Shevowedtoherselfthatshewouldneveragaineatthefleshofaslaughteredanimal.Thatshewouldneveragaingonearaman. Herfatherpassedaway;hermotherpassedaway;hereyesstartedtogrowweakerbytheday,herperiodsbecamemorepainfulandmoreinfrequent.Shelivedalone inanoldhouseintheMeninoDeusdistrict. Thenonawinternightsheheardthemooingofthecalfforthefirsttime.Inherdrowsiness,itsoundedlikethedistantwhistleofatrain.Butthemooingwentonand on,soshefinallygotoutofbed.Sheopenedthewindowandtriedtolocatetheanimal.Therewasnocalfinsight—neitherinthepationoronthestreetoutside. Onthefollowingnightthemooingstartedanew.Whatimpressedherthemostwasitsmournfulness.Itevenmadehercry,whichshehadn'tdoneinalongtime. Thenonthethirdnight,itdawnedonher:themooscamefrominsideher—fromherchest,fromherbelly.Fromherlowerbelly.Andshewasunabletofallasleep:the supplicationofthebovinekeptherawake. Shebroughthomesomefreshhayandputitundertheblankets.Invain.Theinvisibleanimalwasnowbellowingmorethaneverbefore.Thrownintoafrenzybythe smellofhay? Sheateupthefodder.Littlebylittle,withplentyofwater.Hermouthbecameimpregnatedwiththescentsofthemeadows;evenso,shecontinuedtohearthe mooing. "It'snothungerthatmakeshimcry,"sheconcluded."It'shome­sickness." Sherememberedhavingseenthecalfonthebanksofalake,near

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agroveofpinetrees.Shethenbegantodrinkwaterfromthelakeandtoeatpineneedles—atfirstcooked,thenuncooked.Themooingpersisted. "Hemisseshismother,thepoorthing!" Thewindkepthissing. "IfonlyIcouldsethimfree!" Anxious,shebeganfeelingaboutherbody,tryingtofindahole,acrack,throughwhichtheimprisonedcalfcouldbesetfree.Invain.Allherorificeswereoccluded. Definitivelyclosed.Insideher,thelittleanimalkeptwrithinginagony. Shejumpedoutofbed,tookthecaroutofthegarage,andheadedforthecattleranch,ninetykilometersfromthecapitalcity. Leavingthecaratthegates,shethenranacrossthefield,hernakedfeettreadingonthedamppasture.Sheranpastthefarmhouse(apartywasgoingonthere—a churrasco?)butshedidn'tgoin.Itwasn'tthatscoundrelthatshewantedtosee. Shecametothebarnwherethecowwas.Shewaspanting,andhereyeswerebrimmingwithtears.Butshewashappywhenshemurmured: "I'mhere,Mother."

YouthIsanEternalTreasure AbanquetisheldinhonorofSenhorPedroRittner.Therearetworeasonsforthecelebration:tomarkSenhorRittner'sbirthday(hisseventy­fifth),andtoheraldthe openingofanotherstore(thetwentieth)oftheRittnersupermarketchain.Overthreehundredguestsarepresentatthefeast. SenhorRittnerhasthefloor.Hebeginsbysayingthathewillbroachatopicverymuchinvoguenowadays:thegenerationgap. "WhatI'mgoingtodo,"hesaysinafirmvoice(hislucidityisadmirable)"istodebunkthemythofyouth.ForthispurposeIwill

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useasanexampleayoungmanwhomyouknowverywell:PedroRittner." Theguestslaughandsetdowntheirforksandknives,showinginterest.Retrogressingoverfiftyyearsintime,SenhorRittnerproceedstorecallthedayswhenhewas theyoung,newlywedownerofa*grocerystore. "Iseebeforemeastrongyoungman.Besidehim,abeautifulgirl:hiswife." Moved,theguestsburstintoapplause. "Yes,youapplaud,"saysSenhorRittner,somewhatirritated."Youapplaud,andthat'sallveryniceanddandy.Butwhoareyouinfactapplauding?ThePedroRittner oftodayorthePedroRittnerofyesterday?" Theapplauseceases. "Thereisnoreasonwhytheyoungshouldbeapplauded,"theoldmangoeson."IntheyoungIfindnothingbuterrors,distortions,iniquities." Hetakesasipofwater,hishandsshake. "ConsiderthecaseoftheyoungPedroRittner.Recentlymarried,heandhiswifewenttoliveinaroominaboardinghouse.Abeautifulcouple—butinfact,theywere veryconservative,sheinparticular.Eventhoughtheroomwheretheylivedwasnothingbutafetidcubicle,shewouldn'thearofmovingout.Shewouldclaimthatthe placeevokedfondmemoriesoftheirhappyhoursthere,thatshereallyenjoyedlivingthere.Shewouldcomeupwithathousandsuchinaneexcusesnottomoveout justtocoverupthefactthatshehadbackward­lookingnotions. Andshewasunprogressiveaswell.Shepersistedinusingkerosenelampsevenaftereverybodyelsehadswitchedovertoelectricity.Shefoundthelightofa kerosenelampromantic.Romantic,indeed!Backward,that'swhatitwas.Reactionary,eccentric.Itwouldneverhaveoccurredtoherthatonedaythecommunity

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wouldneedachainofsupermarkets.Shewasthekindofpersonthatwouldgladlyspendtherestofherlifebehindthecounterofasecond­ratecomerstore.Shejust couldn'tenvisiontheadventoftheconsumersociety.'' Anewroundofapplause. "Itwasaprettybadsituation,"theguestofhonorwenton,"becausetheyoungPedroRittner,likeeveryoneelseinhisagegroup,hadaone­trackmind:allhethought ofwassex.Hewasincapableofsettinghismindfreeforotheractivities.Andhiswifewasevenworse.Inhercase,sexwasafixedidea.Shereallyhadathingabout it. Luckily,theyoungPedroRittnerreactedagainstthissituation.Hedecidedtoputanendtothatlifeofstagnation,eventhoughitmeantoverlookinghiswife'sneeds, eventhoughitmeantusingviolentmethods.Andonthedaywhenhemadethisdecision,ladiesandgentlemen,heceasedtobePedroRittner,theyouth,tobecome PedroRittner,theman!Fromthenon,hehasalwaysunfailinglysucceededinlife." Amidaburstofapplause,SenhorRittnersitsdown.Heishappy.Heturnsaroundtotellhiswifehowhappyheis.Butthereisnowife.Hiswifediedfiftyyearsago: eightmonthsafterthewedding.

GrandPrize Let'stalknowaboutthetwofriendswhowereinthehabitofbuyingalotteryticketinpartnership. Longtimefriends.Theyworkedforthesamerealestatecompany:theywerethesameage,theydressedinasimilarfashion,andtheyevenresembledeachother physically.EveryMondaymorningTúliowouldask: "DidwewinanythingSaturday,Marcos?" "No,nothingatall,Túlio." "Noteventhelasttwonumberscameup,Marcos?"

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"Noteventhat,Túlio." "sh*t!Let'strytheeighty­twoagainnextSaturday,Marcos." "Sure,Túlio.Givemethemoney,willyou?" Theyalwayssplitthecostequally.Longtimefriends.Marcos,married,withthreechildren.Túlio,single—aconfirmedbachelor.Theybothsportedamustache.Oneof them—Túlio—alwayshadasomewhatdisturbedlookonhisface. Eversincehisbirth,thingshadneverturnedoutrightforthisTúlio.Hehadbeendeprivedofbreastfeeding;hismotherhadrunawaywithaSpanishsailor,consigning himtothebabyformulaandthecareofanirasciblegrandmother.Asababy,hehadoftenhadnearlyfatalboutsofdiarrhea,whichwouldleavehimdehydrated,with ahollowedfontanelandlusterlesseyes.Thecompassionateneighborhooddoctorwouldalwayssavehim. NotsointhecaseofMarcos.Marcoshadalwayshadhisniceandhotbowlofsouprightontime. Thisworldisfullofthieves,Túliowouldsay.Idon'tstealfromanybody,Idon'tmisappropriateanymoney,Idon'tengageinsmuggling.(Buthewantedtoberichone day.Thus,hekeptbuyinglotterytickets.Orrather:hekeptgivingthemoneytoMarcos,whowouldbuythelotterytickets.Andhewouldsaytohimself:OnedayI'll getapotofmoney.Thencorrectinghimself:halfapot.) Hedidn'thavemuchofanappetite,Túliodidn't.Hewouldchewthefoodslowly,almostwithhatred.Andyet,thesteakthatheateinvariablyencounteredahostile environmentinhisstomach.Asourbelchandbadbreathweresouvenirsleftbehindbyeverymeal. NotsointhecaseofMarcos.Marcoswouldwakeupwhistlingandaskhiswife:Bela,whatadventuresdoeslifehaveinstoreformetoday?Hiswifewouldsmile andgivehimakissthattastedofhoney.Shewasbeautiful.Thechildren,beautiful. OnSaturdayshewouldgetdressedandgodowntown—mainlytobuythelotteryticket.Hewouldjokewiththebookie,makepredic­

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tionsaboutstrikingitrichoneday—butrealistthathewas,hewouldaddthathedidn'tentertainanyhopesofeverwinning.Hegambledjustforfun.Thesamewith thesoccergameonSaturdayafternoons:justforthesakeofthesport.Hewasn'tonetogetallworkedupoversuchthings.I'vegotthearteriesofasix­year­old,he wasinthehabitofsaying.Ofafive­year­old,Belawouldamend.Theirsonhadwonashort­storycontest.Fortunehasalreadygivenmewhatithadtogiveme, Marcoswouldsayinconclusion. Túliothoughtofnothingbutmoney.Investments:WhenIlaymyhandsonthatpotofmoney...Itwouldbejustamatterofgettingtheballrolling:Moneyattracts money. Marcoswouldplaytheguitar.Marcoswouldreadmagazines.Withthetenuousmistofhisaffection,Marcoswouldfillupthespacebetweenthetelevisionscreenand thefamilygatheredaroundhim. TúliowouldreadnothingbutabrochureentitledTheFinancialSupplement,distributedfreebyaninvestmentcompany.Heinvariablyfellasleepbeforehefinished readingit. Marcoswouldsometimestakeaslickchicktotheapartmentofafriendofhis,abachelor.Hewouldleavetheplacewhistling,bumpintoafriend,andslaphim heartilyontheback. Túliohadfrequentnightmares.FromthelapoftheSpanishsailor,hismotherwouldwaveathimandmurmurthingsthathecouldn'tunderstand.Sorrowfulmemories. Inthesummer,Marcoswouldgofishing.Hewouldcasthisbewitchingnetintoaplacewherenofishhadeverbeencaught—andthenetwouldcomeup overbrimmingwithfish.Speaklouder,Mother!Túliowouldcryout,tossingaboutinbed. OneMondayTúliocamerunningintotheoffice: "Wewon,Marcos!Wewon,I'vejustfoundout!Istoppedatatobaccoshoptocheckthroughthelistofthewinningnumbers.Wewon!"

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Marcos,whowasreadingthenewspaper,liftedhishead—andeverybodysawthathewassurprised. "Wewon?No,wedidn't,Túlio.Iwishwehad.Butwedrewablank.Noteventhelasttwonumberscameup. "Túlio,withasomewhatincreduloussmile: "Butdidn'tItellyoutogetthethirty­fivesixtyone?" "No,youdidn't,Túlio..."Marcoskeptsmiling. Túliowasgettingangry. "Yes,Idid!IeventoldyouthatI'dseenmymotherinadream,andthatshetoldmetobuyaticketwiththisverynumber." "No,youdidn't,Túlio." Theirco­workersbegantogatheraroundthem. "Youdidn'tsayanythingtome.Andthatwasn'tthenumberontheticketIbought." Túliorippedthenewspaperoutofhishands. "So,whichnumberdidyouget?Where'stheticket?Iwanttoseeit." Marcosstoodup. "Comeonnow,Túlio,stopthisnonsense.Wedrewablank.Ichecked,thenthrewtheticketaway. "Túlioturnedpale.Hewasshaking. "So,youthrewitaway,didyou?Didyoureally?Ordidyoustash*tawaysomewhereinyourhouse?Orperhapsyouhadsomeonepickupthepotofmoneyfor you?" Marcossteppedback. "Butwhatpotofmoney,man?Areyoucrazy,orwhat?" Túliodrewaknife.Asilverknife,thekindusedforcarvingchurrasco.HelashedoutandtheknifegrazedMarcos'sarm.Instantaneously,thefellowworkers pouncedonTúlioanddisarmedhim. Hewasbadlybeatenup.Hisco­workersdislikedhimwiththesameintensitythattheylikedMarcos.Theybrokehiscollarboneandtwoofhisribs,theybursthis mouthwithpunches,theytorehis

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newclothestopieces.Marcos,whohadreceivedtheknifewound,beggedthemtostop:invain.Ittookthepolicetorestrainthem. Túliowasimprisonedfortwoyears.Injail,helearnedthatMarcoshadindeedwoninthatlottery,buthedidn'tcare.Allhewantednowwastodream.Anditwasn't evenabouthismother.ButabouttheSpanishsailor:theveryimageofhiscellmate.

Friends Thetwoofthemcamerunningtothecornerofthestreet.Theystopped,panting.Soontheywerelaughing,huggingeachother,andslappingeachotheronthebackin afriendlyway.Oneofthem: "AndthatmomentwhenIpunchedhiminthebelly?Terrific,wasn'tit,friend?" "Youbetcha,"concurredtheother."AndwhenIbuffetedhimontheneckandkneedhiminthebackandshovedhimrealgoodandhelandedonallfoursandthenI gavehimthatfinalkick?Terrific,wasn'tit,friend?" "Surewas,friend.AndwhenIdeliveredthatpunchtohiskisser—look,Ievencutmyknuckles—andhewentreelingagainstthatlamppostandthencollapsedinthe middleofthestreet?Terrific,wasn'tit,friend?" "Andthatmoment,friend,whenIwastwistinghisarmandhestartedtobellowlikeacalf?" "Ah,friend...Andthatmoment,friend,whenjustforthehellofit,Ibithimontheear?" "AndwhenItrippedhimup,friend,andthengavehimthatkaratechop,friend?" "Andwhataboutthatneatmaneuverofmine,friend,whenIdroppedonmyhandsandswangmylegsagainsthisandknockedhimoffhisfeet?"

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"Andwhataboutthatcrushingblowofmine,friend?" "Andthatblowofmine,friend?Whataboutthatone?" Theystoodinsilenceforawhile. "Ithink..."Thefirstonebegan. "IthinkIfinishedhimoff,"saidthesecondone. "You?"Thefirstone,scowling."Youfinishedhimoff?" "That'sright,"saidthesecondone,speakingslowly."Thatbuffetonhisneckwasmeanttokill.Andthatotherblow..." "Iwastheonewhodeliveredthatblow!"shoutedthefirstone."Don'tgivemethissh*t.Thatwasmyblow!Theblowthatfinishedhimoff,thatwasmydoing!" "Theblowthatfinishedhimoff?Hey,f*ckoff,you!Nowaythatblowofyourscouldfinishanybodyoff.Iwaswatchingyou.Faceit.Youdidalousyjob." "Ididalousyjob?Me?Andwhataboutyou?BecauseIwaswatchingyou,too.Atonemomentyousaidsomethinginhisear,youthinkIdidn'tnotice?" Theystoodconfrontingeachother. "Andyou,haven'tyoubeentalkingtohimontheslyforthepastfewdays?YouthinkIknewnothingaboutit?Well,Ihappentoknowlotsofthings,man.Yourplay­ actingtodaydidn'tfoolmeabit.Andnowyouwanttotellmeitwasn'tmethatdemolishedhimwiththoseblows?" "Yourblows?"(Asnigg*r.)"Yourblowswouldn'tdemolishanything.I'vebeenmeaningtotellyouthisforsometimenow:Yourblowsarenothing,youhear?Nothing. Doyouknowwhatnothingis?It'snothing.Yourblowswouldn'tkillafly.Onethousandofyourblowsaren'tworthonesinglelittleslapofmine.Andyouknowwhat? There'ssomethingelseI'mgoingtotellyou:I'msurethetwoofyouwereincahoots.Ibetyouwere.You'rearealsh*theel." Withtheirfacesalmosttouching: "You'retheonewho'sash*theel,andyouknowwhat,youdon't

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knowhowtopackahardpunch,you'veneverfooledme,you'reanever­was,alimpdishrag—I'llshowyouanytimeyouwant.Anytime.Today?Tomorrow? Anytime." Sayingnothingelse,theypartedcompany.Theybothknewthattheywouldmeetagain.Andtherewasonlyonethingtheywantedtoknow:whichofthethemwould bebringingthefriend.

It'sTimetoFall Ifonlythedoormanweretodenymeentrance,IthoughtasIenteredthebuilding.Buthemerelynoddedhishead—whichwasonlytobeexpectedfromthe caretakerofahigh­classbuilding:ThispretextIwouldn'thave.Takingadeepbreath,Iwalkedtowardtheelevator,withareasonablysteadygait.Myfingerkept missingtheelevatorbutton,butthepalmofmyhanddidthejob.Ilookedatmyselfinthemirror.Ihadaneatappearance.Well­dressed,abitthin,perhaps—but nothingunusualinanewlydivorcedfellow.Mybreathsmelledofmintratherthanofbooze,andIfeltthatIwouldbeabletosupplyallthenecessaryinformation:Hi, mynameisRoberto,I'manarchitect,andyes,I,too,disliketheMediterraneanstyle.Butasamatteroffact,Iwasfeelingillateasestandingthere,inthatsevere entrancehallalldoneinmarbleandgranite,andsparselyfurnishedwithdark,heavyfurniture.IthankedGodwhentheelevatorcame,andwasevenmorerelieved whenIsawthatitwasempty. Ipressedthenumbertwelve,thelastone,andstartedontheslowascent.Slowtome;theresidentsofthebuildingmightperhapsregardhasteasbeingagrossdisplay ofanxiety.Notme,though.Iwaseagertogetthewholethingoveranddonewithassoonaspossible.Iwaseagertogohomeandsleep. Theelevatorstopped.Theinnerdoorslidopen,theouterdoorremainedclosed,waitingformetopush*topen—andIstandingthere,stillhesitating.Finally,Ihurled myselfforwardatthevery

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momentwhentheinnerdoorwasclosingagain.Icollidedviolentlywithitandalmostfelldowninthepassageway.Fortunately,therewasnobodythere. Iwasfacedwithtwolargecarveddoorsmadeofsolidwood,oneinfrontoftheother.Imadefortheoneontheleft—thatwaswherethemusicwascomingfrom— andrangthedoorbellwiththepalmofmyhand. Adriana,thewifeoftheapartmentowner,openedthedoor.Shegreetedme;nicepersonthatshewas,shemadeafewencouragingremarksaboutmyappearance. Thenshesaid:Youalreadyknoweverybodyhere,don'tyou?Makeyourselfathome.Ifoundmyselfalone—butnowwithadrinkinmyhand. Istartedtomoveabouttheapartment—huge,andcrowdedwithpeople—greetingsomeonehere,anotheronethere,catchingsnatchesoftheirconversation:a bearded,bespectacledyoungmanwasoutragedbytheabusetheIndianshadtosuffer;atall,grey­hairedmanwasdefendingthecost­of­livingallowance;anda youngwomanwithaveryloudandshrillvoicewastellingfunnystoriesabouthertriptothenorthernstateofBahia.Idecidedtohidemyselfinthestudy—butthere werealreadytwopeoplethere,neckingontheleathersofa.Anotherroomwascrowdedwithteenagers,whoeyedmewithsuspicion.Ifinallycametothebedroomof themarriedcouple. Itwasdark.Ittookmeawhiletofindthelightswitch;withsometrepidation—IthoughtIcouldhearwhispers—Iturnedonthelight,buttherewasnobodythere.Isat downonthebed,withmyfaceturnedtothedoor,andthereIremained,drinking. Itwasthenthatheappeared.Awell­dressedmaninasuitandatie—perhapstheonlyonewearingatieatthatparty.Ihadnomorethananoddingacquaintancewith him;IknewthathisnamewasSiqueira,andthathewasalawyer.Igreetedhim.HerepliedwithadryHowdoyoudo?andproceededtowalkabouttheroom, examin­

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ingthings,likeavisitortoamuseum.Theroomwasn'tverybig,andIbegantofeeluncomfortablewithhimprowlingabout.IthoughtperhapsI'dbetterleavebutto gowhere?Besides,Iwasgettingtiredofrunningaway.Itookalongswigofmydrink,andsatwatchinghim. Itwashewhofinallybrokethesilence.Somepeoplethinktheyhavegoodtastebuttheydon't—hemurmuredasifspeakingtohimselfbutinavoiceloudenough formetohear.Asourpuss,thisguy,Ithought. "Justtakealookatthispainting."Therewasnodoubtthathewasnowaddressingme.Hewaspointingtoalandscape:alakeinthemoonlight,withtwoorthreelittle boats.Somethingveryprimitive. "Itcouldbetheworkofaprimitive,"Iventured. "Primitive,myfoot!"Hewasalmostshoutingnow."It'sdownrightawful.Primitive!Garbage,that'swhatitis."Hethenpointedtosomebibelotsonthetopofachest ofdrawers."Garbage.Nothingbutgarbage." Hefellsilentandstoodthere,motionless. Allofasuddenhegrabbedoneofthebibelotsandthrewitoutofthedoorthatopenedontotheroofterrace.Justlikethat.Asifithadbeenacigarettebutt.Soon afterwardhethrewoutanotherbibelot.Andthenanotherone! Igotupandwenttotheroofterrace.Therewasnothingthere.Thebibelotshadpassedovertherailingandfallenallthewaydown,landingonabigvacantlot. "Luckily,therearestillsomevacantlotsleftinPortoAlegre,"Isaid.Anidioticremark,butwhatelsecouldIsay? Hemadenoreply.Withthesamelookofdisdainasbefore,hewasnowexaminingastatuette. "Moregarbage,"hemuttered,andhurledthestatuetteaway,almosthittingmeintheprocess.

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"Hey,watchit!"Iprotested,butheseemednottohaveheard.Avasehadnowcaughthisattention;helookedatitand—garbage,garbage—hurleditthroughthe door.Itwasfollowedbymorevases,morestatuettes,thenbyashtraysandpictureframes. Hethenabandonedthechestofdrawers—therewasnothinglefttheretobediscarded—andhemadeforoneofthebedsidetables.Heopenedthedrawer. "It'shis,"hesaid."Thehusband's." Heexaminedthebookslyingonthetable. "p*rnography!Sheerp*rnography!I'mveryfamiliarwiththisstuff.Thesamekindofbooksthatmywifereads.Sheerp*rnography." Hethrewoneofthebooksoutofthedoor. "p*rnography!" Hethenturnedtome: "Here,givemeahandwiththis,willyou?" Isetmyglassdownandtookthebooks—awholestackofthem—thathewasreachingme.Throwthemout,hesaid,andIobeyed:Irantotheterraceandstarted tothrowthebooksovertherailing.Andyouknowwhat?Iwasgettingakickoutofthewholething.Nokidding.Ireturnedtothebedroom:Anymorebooks?Yes: plentyofbooks,nottomentionmagazines,bothnationalandforeign.Imadetwomoretripsbetweenthenighttableandtheterrace.Loadeddownwithreadingstuff. "Anymore?"Iaskeduponreturning. Hemadenoreply.Hewasnowcarefullyexaminingthehugewardrobe:anancientpieceoffurniture,incolonialstyle. Studyingit,obviously. Hishandreachedoutfortheknobonthehugemiddledoorofthatpieceoffurniture,buthedidn'ttouchit.Istoodwaiting. "Lookatthiswardrobe,"hesaidfinally. "Whataboutit?"Iwassurprisedatthewaymyvoicesounded.Different.Strained.

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''Itclashessharplywiththerestofthefurniture.Adifferentstyle.Huge.Almostanotherroomwithinthisroom.Acavern.Ahidingplace." Hedrewnearerthewardrobe. "Givemeahandwiththis,willyou?" "But—thewardrobe?"Iaskedindisbelief. "Givemeahandwiththis!" Thetwoofusstartedtopushthewardrobeoutofthebedroom. Itwasn'tdifficult:Wemadeitslideoverthewaxedfloor.Gatheringmomentum,thewardrobereachedtheterraceandrushedheadlongovertherailing. Helookedwaydownbelow.Andthenhelaughedforthefirsttime.Helaughedsoftly,chokingandcoughing.Hethensignalledtome,turnedoffthelight,andweboth leftthebedroom. Mostoftheguestsweregone.Theapartmentwasalmostempty. Adrianacameuptome:Ah,Roberto,youwerehere!Shegrabbedmebythearm,reproachingme:Butyouhaven'thadanythingtoeat,comeoverhere,I'mgoingto helpyoutosomefood.Thelawyerwalkedpastus:hatinhand,hewashasteningtothedoor:Where'syourwife,Siqueira?askedthehostess.Withoutlookingat her,thelawyerreplied:Idon'tknow,shemusthaveleft,I'mgoingafterher. "Theydon'tgetalongwell,"Adrianaconfidedtome,heapingcoldcutsonmyplate. Shepaused,thebigforkintheair,herforeheadcreased: "Talkingofwhich,youknowwhat?Ihaven'tseenmyhusbandtonight.Really,Ihaven'tseenhim." Iwasabouttosuggestaplacewhereshecouldgoandlookforhim,butIremainedsilent:Itwasnowtimetofall.Really,itwastimetofall.

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TheThief Itwasmyyoungerbrotherwhodiscoveredthethiefinthegarage.Hecamerunningtotellusaboutit,butatfirstwewouldn'tbelievehimbecauseeventhoughour housewaslocatedinadistantneighborhood,andeventhoughitwassomewhatisolated,itwasafterallaThursdayafternoonandwefounditmostunlikelythatathief wouldcomeinbroaddaylighttostealfromus.Anyway,weallwenttothegarage. Wepeeredthroughachinkinthedoor,andindeedthethief—askinnyoldman—wasthere,buthewasn'tstealinganything,justlookingattheoldhouseholdarticles storedinthegarage(whichwasnowusedasastorageroom,forwehadn'thadacarforalongtime).Laughingsoftlyandcommunicatingamongourselvesthrough signs,welockedhimin. Mothercamehomefromworkintheevening.Tired,asusual—afterFatherdied,shestartedworkingasaseamstress—andgrumbling.Whathaveyoukidsbeenup to?sheasked,suspicious.What'sallthislaughingabout?Nothing,Mother,repliedthefourofus(theoldestwasonlytwelveyearsold).We'relaughingaboutnothing inparticular. ThatnighttherewasnothingwecoulddoaboutthethiefbecauseMotherwasalightsleeper.Butwekeptpeepingoutofourbedroomwindowtomakesurethatthe garagedoorwasstilllocked—andthewholethingmadeusseethewithexcitement.Wecouldhardlywaitforthedaytodawn—butfinallyitgrewlight,Motherleftfor work,andwehadthehousetoourselves. Wemadeabeelineforthegarage.Welookedthroughacrackinthedoor,andtherehewas,theoldthief,sittingonabrokenarmchairandlookingverydejected. Hey,youthief!weshouted.Startied,hestoodup.Openthedoor,heasked,almostintears,openit,letmeout,IpromiseI'llnevercomebackhere.

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Ofcourseweweren'tabouttoopenthedoor,andwetoldhimasmuch.Givemesomefood,hesaid.I'mveryhungry,Ihaven'thadanythingtoeatinthelastthree days.Whatareyougivingusinreturn?myolderbrotherwantedtoknow. Theoldmanremainedsilentforawhileandthenhesaid:I'llperformamagictrickforyoukids.Amagictrick!Weexchangedglancesamongourselves.Whatkindof magictrick?weaskedhim.He:I'llchangethingsintoanythingyouwant. Myolderbrother,whowasalwaysverysuspiciousofeverything,decidedtoputthecasetothetest.Insertingastickthroughthecrackinthedoor,hesaid:Change thisstickintoananimal.Waitamoment,saidtheoldmaninanearlyinaudiblevoice. Wewaited.Amomentlater,amouse,squeezingitselfthroughtheopening,madeitsappearance.It'smine,criedoutmyyoungestbrother,andhetookholdofthe mouse.Laughingatthekid,wewentandgotafewslicesofbreadfortheoldman. Onthefollowingdays,therewereothertransmutations—bottlecapsturnedintocoins,anailturnedintoawatch(anoldwatch,itdidn'twork),andsoon.Butthen camethedaywhenweknockedonthedoorandtherewasnoanswer.Wepeepedthroughthecrackinthedoorandsawnobody.Myolderbrother—youguyswait here—thenopenedthegaragedoorwiththeutmostcaution.Hewentinandbegantosearchforthethiefamidtheoldhouseholdarticles: "Thisoldtire,that'snothim...." Asitturnedout,mybrotherdidn'tfindtheoldman,andwesoonforgotthewholebusiness.ButI,forone,wasleftwiththislingeringdoubt:theoldtire,wasn'tithim?

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Requiem Ihadbeenfeelingdepressed,andhadbeencryingalot.It'sbecauseyou'vegotnothingtodo,saidmyhusband.Inpart,hewasright:thechildrenweregrownup,we werewell­off—whatcouldIdotokeepmyselfbusy?Whydon'tyoutakeacourseinsomething?suggestedmyhusband.Ithoughtitwasagoodidea.After graduatingfromuniversity(withadegreeinpsychology),Ineverwentbacktoschool;so,takingacourse—classes,assignments,andwhatnot—wasagoodidea. Iwenttotheuniversitytogetinformationaboutit*wintercourses.Thereweremany—arealfestivalofcourses:inlanguages,inbusinessadministration,incomputers ...Aheadinginthecataloguecaughtmyattention:Thanatology(100hours)."Nowadaysdeathhasbecomethesubjectofseriousresearch,"thecatalogue explained."Thereisnowwidespreadpreoccupationwithaneventsooftenkeptunderwraps." Itsoundedfascinating.IrushedtotheAdmissions'Officeandpaidmyregistrationfee.OnthatsamedayIgottoknowtheinstructor—apsychologistlikeme,but youngandhandsome. "Asyoucansee,"hewassayingtomelaterinbed(aftersomethirtyhoursintothecourse),"deathisafieldthathasbeenopeningout." Undoubtedly,Isaid,andIhuggedhim.Icouldfeelthemelancholyinhisvoice;hedidn'thavemanystudents—therewereonlyaboutadozenofus—andIwasafraid hemightcancelthecourseevenbeforewewerehalfwaythrough.Mycuddlyteddybearofateacher,Iwhispered,I'myourpetstudent,amInot?Yes,hesaid,and sighed. Hearrangedformyinternshipinahospital.Iwastoaccompanythedoctorsandinterviewthepatientsthattheyindicatedtome:a

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reportonthoseinterviewswouldbethefinalassignmentforthecourse.So,wearingawhitelabcoat,Ifollowedthedoctorsontheirrounds. Duringthefirstfewdaysnopatientwaswillingtotalktome.IwasalreadyonthevergeoftearsandbeginningtofeeldepressedwhenIwastoldaboutapatient—a doctor—whor*fusedanyformofmedicaltreatment.IfIwanted,Icouldtryandtalktohim.BythenIhadcompletedsixtyhoursofthecourse. Ididn'tgoandseehimrightaway.Ispentawholedayathome,readingmyclassnotes,preparingmyselffortaskahead...Onthedayoftheinterview,Iwasso excitedthatIwokeupveryearlyinthemorning.Itookthecaranddroveaboutthecity.Onthestreets,Isawmanyelderlypeople;inthepoorneighborhoods,Isaw manyundernourishedchildren.Deathlurkseverywhere,Ithoughttomyself;we'vegottounderstanddeath,wastheconclusionIreached.Butevenafterhaving completedalmosttwo­thirdsofthecourse,IstillfeltthatIhadn'tfullymasteredthesubjectofdeath.(Itsbiologicalaspects,yes;itssocialaspects,alittle;its psychologicalaspects,almostnothing.Ihadn'tdealtwithitsmysticalaspectsyet,butIdoubtedthatIwouldeverbeabletograspthem.) Ifinallyarrivedatthehospital.Afinehospital,luxuriouseven.Inthemiddleofapark... Anurseconductedmetothepatient'sroom.Sheknockedonthedoor.Comein,saidahoarsevoice.Wewentin.Anunpleasantsmellofammonia.Arenalcase, whisperedthenurse;Ididn'tgetit—butthepatient,asifguessing,muttered:"Renal.Shesaidrenal.WhatshemeansisthatIhaverenalinsufficiency—kidney malfunction.I'materminalpatient.Irefuseanytreatment.Iwon'tletanybodynurseme.Orevengivemeabath.Istink,don'tI?" Thepatientinquestion—Imadeamentalnoteofthesituation(scaredasIwas,Istilldidmybesttofollowtheinstructor'srecom­

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mendationsandIwasobservingeverythingattentively)—isamaninhismid­forties,withasicklyappearance,asallowcomplexion...Amanneitheruglynor handsome. Neitheruglynorhandsome—that'swhatIsaidtoHéli­ho,myinstructor.Helookedatme:Watchout!Jealousy?Seventyhoursofinstruction. Ivisitedthedoctorseveraltimes.Igainedhisfriendship.Hebaredhissoultome,hetoldmeallabouthimself—hisillness,hisunhappymarriage,everything.Finally, theinevitablehappened:whenIhadalmostcompletedthecourse(ninetyhoursofinstruction),theman,whosedayswerenumberedaccordingtothenurse,thisvery man,triedtograbme.Ihadnoproblemextricatingmyselffreehewassoweak—butatthesametimeIdidn'twanttohurthisfeelings,that'swhyIsaidtohimthatI wastheretohelphimbutwhathewantedwasn'thelpbutsex,puresex. Pantingfromtheexertion,hewasnowlyingonhisback,hiseyesfixedontheceiling;hethenturnedtome—poorfellow,hismouthallmacerated—andsaidsoftly: CanIatleastputmyhandonyourbreasts?HelookedsosickthatIdidn'thavethecouragetosayno.Iunbuttonedmyblouseandheinsertedhishandthroughthe opening.Atremuloushand.Acoldhand. Hebegantofeelmyleftbreast... Itwasthenthathefoundthelump.Ididn'tevencompletethecourse.

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Images I.(ThreeWaysofLookingatthePhotographofPrivateDetectiveModestoA.deOliveira THEFIRSTWAY Thedetectiveseatedatthetable. Eveninthisphotograph,inwhicheverythingthatcanbeseenofhisbodyisreducedtoanimagenolargerthanfourbytwocentimeters,evenhere,itisobviousthathe isabig,strongman.Abetterphotograph,perhapsathree­dimensionalone,wouldshowhowhislargeeyesstandout.Howtheyglitter. Hisrighthandwieldsabigknife;hisleft,athree­prongedfork.Hehasafondnessforthisstrange­lookingsetofknifeandfork.Heissaidtohaveoncekilledafoe withit. Thesleeves,rolledup,discloseawatchononewrist,andasilverbraceletontheother.Foppish,heis.Buthewearssuspendersoverhisstripedshirt. Thereareshadowsonhisface—buttheycouldbefromhisbeardwhich,asitiswellknown,growsatanincrediblyfastspeed.Besides,thisphoto—andthisisworth repeating—isofpoorquality. THESECONDWAY Totheleftandtotherightofthedetectivestandtwowomen,andtheyarenotsmiling.Theoneontheright,theolderofthetwo,isholdingatureen;theoneonthe left—thustheyoungerone—asaladbowl.Thereiseveryindicationthattheyareabouttoservehim. Thewomenareneatinappearance,withtheirhaircarefullycombed,buttheyaredressedinanold­fashionedway.Thewomanontheright,theonewiththesoup,is ratherhunch­backed;theone

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ontheleftispretty—andthat'saboutallthatcanbesaidaboutthemfromthisphotograph. THETHIRDWAY Butwhoisthatfigurenowmoreclearlydiscernibleamidtheshadowsinthebackground? Yes,indeed,it'shimalright:it'sZorro,withhisironicsmileandhisvengefulsword. II.ATrickofMirrors Twomirrorsplacedatacertainangledisclosetoyourselffourimagesofyourface.Inthefirstthreeimages,youcaneasilyrecognizeyourselfbytheexpressionof intenseearnestnessonyourface.Butwhataboutthatmockingsmilethatappearsonthefourthface? III.TheChevalierPerodeAbreuProjectsSlides That'sme,attheageofthree,inthearmsofthesenhoramymother,DonaAnadeAbreu.Noticethedeterminedlookonmyface,alreadydenotingfirmnessof character. That'sme,ontheoccasionofmyfirstcommunion.Surroundingme,countlessmembersoftheCourt. That'sme,upondisembarkingatthecolony.Iwasthirtyyearsold.Bymysideisthesenhoramywife.Beholdthenatives,ontheirknees! That'sme,travelingonhorsebackacrosstheplantations.Noticethenativesworking.Theywererebelliousatfirst,butIsubjugatedthem. That'sme,inmycastle.NoticethatIaminmysuitofarmor,dressedforbattle:itwasduringthefourthorfifthweekofthesiegeofthenatives. That'sme,lyingbeheaded.Myheadcanbeseenfartheraway;allaround,thenatives,dancing.

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That'smytombstone.NoticetheGothiccharactersinmyepitaph;verybeautiful.Theoneslookingonarethenatives.Andthatwasall.

ThePicnic Atthismoment,itislikeapicnic:allofusaregatheredhereonthehillwecallMorrodaViúva—men,women,children—eatingsandwichesanddrinkingthecold, limpidwaterfromthespring.Somehavebroughttheirrifleswiththem,althoughthereisabsolutelynoneedforsuchprecaution—wearecertainthatnothingwill happentous.Itisalreadyfiveo'clockintheafternoon,nightwillbefallingsoon,andwewillthenreturntoourhomes.Thechildrenhavefinishedplaying,thewomen havefinishedgatheringflowers,themenhavefinishedtalkingtoeachother,andonlyI—theabsent­mindedone—amstillheredoodlingawayonthispieceofpaper. Somelookatmewithanironicsmile,otherswithanairofdeference;Idon'tmind.Leaningagainstarock,abladeofgrassbetweenmyteeth,mygunthrownaside,I amusemyselfbythinkingofsomethingthateverybodyelseistryinghardnottothinkof:WhatcouldpossiblyhavehappenedinourtownonthisbeautifuldayofApril? Adaythatstartedinanormalway:thestoresopenedforbusinessateight,thedogswerebarkingonourmainstreetasusual,thechildrenwereontheirwayto school.Suddenly—itwasthennineo'clock—thechurchbellsstartedtopealinapersistentway:inoursmalltownthisisad*stresssignal,usuallytowarnusofafire. Withinafewminutes,wewereallassembledinfrontofthechurch,wherethesheriffwasalreadystanding—atall,strongman,rifleinhand. Hewasanewcomertoourtown;asamatteroffact,wehadneverhadasheriffbefore.Welivedharmoniously,plantingandharvestingoursoybeans;thechildren played,wehadpicnicsinthefields,andIhadmyusualepilepticseizures.Thenonedaywewokeuptofind

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himstandinginthemiddleofourmainstreet,rifleinhand;hewaiteduntilasmallcrowdhadgatheredaroundhimbeforeheannouncedthathehadbeenappointedas therepresentativeofthelawinourregion.Weacceptedhim;athisrequest,webuiltajail—asmallbutsolidconstruction.WebuiltitonaSunday;withallthecitizens pitchingin,ittookusjustoneSunday,andbysunsetwehadalreadyinstalledtheroof,andthenweatethesandwichesthatourwiveshadmadeanddrankourgood localbeer. Atsixo'clockintheafternoonIlookedatthesheriff,whowasstandinginfrontofthejail,hisfacereddenedbythesunset;atthatmomentIfeltsureIhadseenhim before,andIwasabouttotelleverybodyaboutit,butinstead,Iletoutascream,andevenbeforetheairpassedthroughmythroat,Ialreadyknewthatitwouldbea terrifyingscreamandthatIwouldfallflatonmyfaceonthedustystreetandliethere,thrashingabout;thatpeoplewouldwalkaway,afraidoftouchingmeandof contaminatingthemselveswithmyviscousdrool;andthatafterwardIwouldwakeupwithnorecollectionofanything.Aconfusedimpressionofhavingseenthetall mansomewherewouldpersist,andIwouldtellthedoctoraboutit,buthewouldsaythatno,itcouldn'thavebeen,thatitwasnothingbutasensationcommonto epileptics.AndIwouldbeleftwithasorenessinmybodyandanumbnessinmymind.AfterwhichIwouldheadforthefields,whereleaningagainstarock,ablade ofgrassbetweenmyteeth,Iwouldscribbleordoodle.They—thesuperstitiouspeople—saythatIhavethegiftofprophecyandthateverythingIwriteaftercoming outfrommyconvulsionsisprophetic;however,nobodyhaseverbeenabletoverifywhetherthisisinfactsobecauseI'malwayswritinganddoodling,thentearingup whateverIwroteanddoodled.Thebitsandpiecesofpaperarecarriedbythewind;eventually,theyfalluponthedampearthanddecompose. Rightnow,asIsithereonthisdayofApril,Ifixmyeyesonascrapofyellowedpaperthatgotcaughtamidthestones,anditsays

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there''...inthenewspaper."It'smyownhandwriting,Iknow,butwhendidIwritethat?AndwhatdidImean?Itwasalongtimeago,forsure,butwasitbefore thearrivalofthesheriff?Earliertoday,sometimeinthemorning,HEHADUSASSEMBLEINFRONTOFTHECHURCH.Fromthechurchyard,thetallman,rifleinhand,addressed us;herecalledthedayofhisarrival,notsolongago."I'vecomeheretoprotectyou...."Andeverybodystandingthere,motionless,silent.ButI,Iwasseated:ona chair,onthesidewalkoutsidethecafethatisdirectlyacrossthestreetfromthechurch.AndIwasindulginginmyusualpastime:paperandpencil.ButIwasn'twriting: Iwasdrawing,somethingI'malsoverygoodat.Frommypencilemergedtheimpassivefaceofthetallman.Ithasjustcometomyknowledgethatagangof banditsisheadingforourtown.Theyshouldarriveherewithinanhour.Theyknowthatthereisalotofmoneyinourbank...Whichwastrue:the soybeancropshadbeensold,thefarmershadmadelargedepositsthroughouttheweek. Itismydutytodefendyou.However,Icountonthehelpofeveryable­bodiedcitizen...."Naturally,Ijotteddownsomeofhiswords:inthem,Icouldfeelthe weightofahistoricalmoment.Alarmed,peoplewerewhisperingtoeachother. Returntoyourhomes,thetallmanwassayinginconclusion.Armyourselvesandcomebackherewithinhalfanhour.I'llbewaitinghere.Thecrowddispersed, andIsawapprehensivefaces,tearfulchildren,andwomenwhisperingintheirhusbands'ears. Themainsquarebecamedeserted.Inthesquare,onlythetallman,hisfacefront­litbythestrongsun—andme,hiddenintheshadecastbytheawningofthecafe. Fiveminuteslater,thefirstcitizenarrived—thebarber;whenheemergedinthesquareIalreadyknewwhathewasgoingtosay:thathehopedthesheriffwould excusehim,thathehadmanychildren,thathewasthebreadwinnerforalargefamily;andIalreadyknewthatthesheriffwouldaccepthisexcuseandadvisehimto takehisfamilytothehillthatwecall

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MorrodaViúva,wheretheywouldallbesafe.Hardlyhadthebarberleftwhenthepharmacistcame:overweight,eyesbulgingout,browdrenchedinsweat:hehoped thesheriffwouldunderstand...Thesheriffshowedgreatunderstandingtowardhim,aswellastowardthebarownerandthestorekeeper,whoappearednext. Thelastonetocomewasthebankmanager;hestilltriedtopersuadethelaw­enforcementofficertogowithhim,buthisgestureofconcernmetwithapoliterebuff. Beforehurryingaway,thebankmanagershouted:Sheriff,I'veleftthecofferopen;ifyoucan'tfrightentherobbersaway,forheavens'sake,handthemthe moneyandsaveyourlife!Thesheriffnoddedinagreement,andthemanwasgone. Itwasthenthathesawme.Ithinkthatasidefromthedogsthatweresniffingatthegutter,weweretheonlycreaturesleftintown. Forafewmomentsthetallmanstoodlookingatme.Thenhestartedtocrossthestreetataslowpace.Themanwiththerifleinhishandpositionedhimselfinfrontof me. "Youhaven'tgottenanassistant,sir,"Isaid,withoutinterruptingmydoodling. "True,"hesaid."I'veneverneededone." "Butnowyoudo." "That'strue,too." "Well,there'sme." Afaintsmile. "You'reasickperson,son." "That'spreciselywhy,"Isaidtohim."IwanttoprovethatIcanmakemyselfuseful." Anditisthenthatheseesthedrawinginmyhands;withafrownonhisface,headvancesuponme,andsnatchesthesheetofpaperfromme:Giveittome,young man,Idon'twanttoberememberedafterward,hesays,andI'mabouttoprotest,abouttotellhimheshouldn'tdothis,butatthispointhisfaceisrightinfrontof mine—

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where?where?—andcanIfeelthescreamrushingoutofmychest,andeverythinggoesblank. Uponwakingup,Ifindmyselftiedtoahorsethatisslowlyclimbingupthehill.There,onthetop,amidtherocks,theentirepopulationofthetown:astounded,they untiemeandhelpmedismount;somelookatmeinanironicway;othersaskmequestions.Finally,theyleavemeinpeace. Iremainseatedhere,listeningtothemtalk:Thetelegraphistisexplainingthathehastriedtosendatelegramtothegarrisonbutwithoutsuccess.Thewireshavebeen cut,I'msure. Itwasthenthatthefireshotsechoedthroughthehills.Weallrosetoourfeet,andstoodrigid,prickingupourears,andagreatsilencefellupontheregion. "Let'sgobackthere."Iheardthevoicewithgreatsurprise,foritwasmyown.Everybodyturnedtome.Iremainedseated,abladeofgrassbetweenmyteeth. Thebankmanagercameuptome. "Areyoucrazy?Wepromisednottogobackuntilthechurchbellsstartedtoring,ortowaithereuntilsixo'clock." Imakenoreply.Iremainsilent,doodlingaway.Thesunisbeginningtoset,andthechurchbellshaven'trungyet.Everybodyischeerful,forbecomingdestituteis preferabletobeingkilled.Soonwewillbeclimbingdownthehill,andeverybodyiseatenupwithanxiety:Whatawaitsusinourtown?Iamusemyselfbythinking aboutwhatwewillfindthere;Iknowthatuponarrivingthere,I'llhaveafeelingofdéjàvu(which,accordingtothedoctor,isnotunusualforpeoplewithmydisease toexperience):thestreetsdeserted,thedoorsofthebankwideopen,thecofferempty.Italsoseemstomethatfaroffalongtheroadgoesatallmanonhorseback, thesaddlebagsstuffedwithmoney.Therecouldbethreeorfourofthem,butitiscertainthatthetallmanrideslaughing.

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RestinPeace Ibecamerichsellingprovidencebonds.Beingnowthirty­fiveyearsold,amillionaire,inthepinkofhealth,andalwayssurroundedbywomen,IdecidedIwoulddo somethingformypoorfriendBruno,aphilosophyprofessorwholivedinthesqualiddistrictofBecodaBoiada. Iaskedhimtocometomyoffice.Hecameandasusual,hecutasorryfigure.Isighed.Bruno,Isaid,Bruno,I'mveryrich.Bruno,I'vebecomeamillionaireselling ProvidenceBonds... Istoppedtalking.Hewasn'tlistening.Hewaslookingoutofthewindow,absent­minded.Hewaslookingattheriver,atthetugboatthatwasslowlyadvancing.He wasn'tlookingatme.Bruno:asmall,uglymansunkintothearmchair;thinninghair,aredunkemptbeard.Afadedshirt.Bluejeans.Sandalswithuppersmadeofthick straps. "Bruno!" Heflinched,andlookedatme,startled. "Bruno!"Ishouted."Bruno,I'mrollinginit!Bruno,I'vemadeafortunesellingProvidenceBonds.Hey,Bruno,thishumbuggeryofminehasmademefilthyrich. Bruno,theonlyreasonI'mnotinjailisbecausethebuyersareswindlersjustlikeme.Hey,Bruno,listentome!" Hewaslistening;terrified,hewas. "Bruno,"Iwentoninamoresubduedway."Bruno,Ifeelguiltyabouthavingmadesomuchmoneywithouthavingreallyearnedit...Bruno,myfriend,I'vedecided todosomethingforyou.Bruno,I'mgoingtogiveyouaniceapartment,adecentapartment....You'llbeabletomoveoutofthatshackofyours.Besides,Bruno, I'mgoingtogiveyouanicemonthlyallowance...forawholeyear." That'swhatIsaid,myvoicealreadycrackingwithemotion.

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Brunowaslookingattheriveragain.Heseemedtohaveforgottenme...Hewaslookingattheriverandfiddlingwithakey—thekeytohishouse.Irosetomy feetandsnatchedthekeyfromhim. "Therenow!Youcan'tgotothatpadofyoursevenifyouwantto." Ireturnedtomydeskandpressedtheinterphonebutton: "TheapartmentformyfriendBruno,isitready?" "Yes,sir,"repliedmysecretary,anunpleasantbutefficientwoman. "Thentakehimthere,please." ThesecretarycameandledBrunooutoftheroom.Likeanautomaton,heallowedhimselftobeled. ThatnightIhadmychauffeurdrivemeaimlesslyalloverthecity.Theman—amerechauffeur,butIallowedhimtotakecertainliberties—wasconcerned: "Aren'tyougoingtoAdelaide's,sir?" Iwasfeelingweird.Restless.BecauseofBruno.Damnhim. Itstartedtorain.Sighing,ItoldthechauffeurtoheadforAdelaide'shouse. Igotoutofthecarandrangthedoorbell.Sheopenedthedoor.Agorgeouswoman.Verytall,almosttwometersinheight,shewaswearingasexyblacknegligee. Sheextendedherarmstome—butIwasfeelingrestlessandpushedheraway. "What'sthematter,sweetie?"Shewasupset."HaveIdonesomethingwrong,sweetie?" "Getdressed,"Isaid. "But..."Sheopenedhereyeswide,strikinglybeautifulgreeneyes."Weren'twegoingtodinein,sweetie?I'vesentoutforsomeJapanesefood..." "Chinese,"Isaid."Getdressed." "Chinesewhat?"Shewasreallyverystupid. "Thefood!"Ishouted."ThefoodyouorderedisChinese,notJapanese.Nowgetdressed.You'recomingwithme."

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Shegotdressedandweleft,shesobbing."Shutup,"Isaid.Shebecamesilent. Thecarcruisedintherain.Alas,Iwasn'tfeelingwellatall.Akindofanguish,ofnausea...Iwasperspiring. Thechauffeurturnedonthecassetteplayer.Softmusic. "Turnthef*ckingthingoff!" Adelaidestarted,thechauffeurturnedthetapeplayeroff.Bruno'svisithadunhingedme.Why? Inmytrouserpocket,ahardobjectwashurtingmythigh.Itookitout:itwasthekeytoBruno'shouse. "We'regoingtoBecodaBoiada,"Isaidtothechauffeurinachoked,strangevoice. Theplacewasquitesomedistanceaway.Itwasmidnightwhenwegotthere.Therainhadstopped,butthick,darkclouds...IgotoutofthecarandtoldAdelaide togetouttoo.Bruno'shouse:old,tumbledown,surroundedbybrushwood.Splashingthroughthemud,Imademywaytothedoor.Adelaidefollowedme, whimpering.Iinsertedthekeyinthelock;thedoorcreakedopen.Bruno'sdistinctivesmell—fustinessinvadedmynostrils. Igropedforthelightswitch.Therewasn'tone.Istruckamatchandsawatableandonit,thestubofacandle.Ilitit. "I'mscared,"moanedAdelaide. "Shutup." Ilookedaroundme.Bookseverywhere,piledontheshelves,onthefloor,onthetable.Onthewalls,reproductionsofpaintings.Anoldtypewriter. Iwentintothebedroom. Thereitwas—thecoffin. So,itwastrue.IhadheardthatBrunohadbeensleepinginacasketlately.Inevergavemuchcredencetothispieceofgossip.Butthereitwas,beforemyveryeyes, aplaincoffin,withnofrills,restingonastackofbricks.

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Iletmyselfcollapseintoachair. Brunosleptinacoffin.Ilivedinfearofcoffins,ofcemeteries;butBrunosleptinacoffin.Anyminorpainwouldsendmerunningtothedoctor.Brunosleptinacoffin. Adelaidecamein. "Acoffin!"Shelaughed."Isn'tthatfunny!Acoffin!" Igaveheraslapacrosstheface.Shecrumbled,andremainedonherknees,crying. Iwentnearthecoffin.Withgreatfear.God,wasIeverafraid!ButasIinchedforward,Imanagedtoovercomemyfear.WhatwouldIfindinthere?Whatifthere werebonesinthere?Orhair,orfingernails? Nothing.Nothingbesidesthebluishsatinlining,lustrousintheflickeringlightofthecandle. "Let'sgo,"beggedAdelaide,andIwantedtogo,too,butIcouldn't:Ihadtogetclosetothecoffin,Ihadtotouchit. Itouchedit.Myvisionbecameblurred.Iwasgoingtofaint... Ididn'tfaint.Icaughtsightoftherip. Theripintheliningofthecoffin.Iextendedmytremulousfingers,Itouchedthatrip,Ibegantoexplorethatrawwound. Therewasasheetofpaperinthere.Ipulleditout.Iunfoldeditinthelightofthecandle,Iexamineditinthelightofthecandle,anditwas—inthelightofthecandleor inanyotherlight—aProvidenceBond! Ibrokeintolaughter.AndhowIlaughed!Laughing,ItookAdelaideintomyarms;laughing,Istartedtowaltzwithher;laughing,Ipushedherintothecoffin.Herfeet wouldn'tfitin.Ikeptlaughing!Shekeptlaughing!ThenIjumpeduponherandbegankissingherfuriously.Thecandlewentout. I'vehadbutfewmomentsofinspirationinmylife.OnewaswhenIhatchedthisProvidenceBondsscheme.Another,wasthatone,inBruno'scoffin.

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FestiveDawn Atsixo'clockthealarmclockwentoff.Hegotoutofbedandwenttothewindow.Goodweather,withcloudiness,hethought;anduponseeingthenewsimprinted inlargeblocklettersonthelowclouds,hecompressedhislips:AnotherEarthquakeinChina.Insmallerletters,thedetails,whichhedidn'twanttoread.Ican't standbadnewsfirstthinginthemorning,hemurmured.What?saidhiswife,shiftinginbed.Shedidn'thearhisreply;shewassnoringagain.Sheworkeddowntown asatypist,butshedidn'tstartuntilnineo'clock.Nothing,hesaid,lookingatthepictureinthesky:amansmiling.Ahugeman:hiseyeswouldbebiggerthanthesun,if thesunwerevisible.Yes,biggerthanthesun,evenifitwasapallidsun,butlessbrilliantthanthesun—evenifitwasapallidsun.Probablythepresidentofsome countryorother,hemuttered.What?—hiswifeagain.Nothing,woman,hesaidandclosedthewindow.Howintheworlddidtheydoit?Thosenewsitemsprinted ontheclouds?Andthosehugepictures?Themouthofthepresidenttookupawholecloud—asmallcloud,ofcourse,butstillacloud,arealcloud.Weretheyslides projectedonthesky?IbetI'mtheonlyonewhoseessuchthings,hethought;andhethenconcluded:It'sbecauseI'mtheonlyonetowakeupatsixinthemorning. Hissonnevergotupbeforeeleveno'clock. Hewenttothebathroom,determinednottolethimselfbecomeannoyedagain—atleastnotuntilhegotridofhismorningflatus,whichwasalreadyputtingpressure onhisentrails,tryingtogetout.Hesatdownonthetoiletbowl,pickedupamagazinethatlaydiscardedonthefloor—inthishouseeverythingisleftlyingabout—and openeditatrandom.Andthereitwasagain,thepictureofthemanwhoamomentagohadbeensmilingathimfromtheclouds!Alarmed,hewasabouttorisetohis feet;buthethenheardamuffledrumblinginsidethetoiletbowl,arumblingcomingfromthe

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toiletbowlitself.Hetookapeakthroughthegapbetweenhishairythighs.Lightningwasflashingthere;andthewaterbelowwasthrashingaboutlikeachoppyseain miniature.Thenasuddendownpourbegantolashoutfromeverywhere—butitwasn'tthetoiletflushing. Repeatedknockingonthedoor. "Justamoment,love." Itwashiswife. "I'mleavingearlierforworktoday." (Alover?Anearlymorninglover?) "Yourcoffee'sready.Didyouhear?" Hemadenoreply. "I'mtakingtheumbrella.Itstartedtorain.Arealdownpour." "Iknow,"hesaid. "Buyyourselfanotherumbrella,willyou?"(shehadlosthers). "Allright,"hegroaned. "What?" "Allright.Noproblem.Byenow." Apause. "You'renotfeelingwell?"sheasked. "I'mfine,"hesaid. "Aren'tyougoingtoworktoday?"Shewasnowgettingworried. "Sure.OfcourseIam.Later." "Well,"shesaid,hesitant."Bye,then." "Bye." Uponhearingthefrontdoorslamshut,hegotup,determinedtotakeapillforhisconstipation.Heopenedthedoorofthemedicinecabinetonlytofindthebottleof pillsempty.Itshouldhavebeennearlyfull,butitwasempty.Heopenedit.(Whatfor?)Ahorriblestenchassailedhisnostrils. "Gosh!"Herecoiledinastonishment. Itwasaphysicalpresence,thatstench—aninvisiblemothflitting

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aboutinthebathroom.Andfromthetoiletbowlathinvaporbegantorise. "I'veswallowedacloud.Acloudofrain." Heleftthebathroomandwenttothekitchen.Thecoffeewas,ashiswifehadsaid,ready.Thenewspaperlayfoldedbesidehiscup.Themainnewsitemwasabout theearthquakeinChina;buttherewasnoheadline.Thespaceusuallytakenupbytheheadlinewasblank.Hequicklyleafedthroughthenewspaper.Frominbetween thepages,smallgreenpills—thelaxative—begantorollout.Hetookthreeofthemwithabitofwater.Hesighed. "Ithinkthatthingswillgetbetternow." Hehelpedhimselftosomecoffee.Hecarefullyexaminedtheblackliquidandsniffedatit;itwasindeedcoffee.Hedrankitinonegulp,withnosugar. "I'malreadyfeelingbetter." Helookedoutofthewindow.Itwasnolongerraining.Apallidsunappearedamidtheclouds.Hewenttothebedroomtogetdressed.Buthedidn'tlookback. Becausehadhedoneso,hewouldhaveseenthefaceofthemanwitheyesasbigasthesunemergefromthecup.

SkinnyEnoughtoBecomeaKite Iwasonthevergeof—Idon'tevenknowwhat,Ireallydon't,sofedupwasI:fedupwiththejob,fedupwiththeboss. ItwasthenthatIhituponthisideaofakite.Ohboy,whatagoodidea!Howintheworlddiditoccurtome?Idon'tknow.Bylookingatmyarms,Iguess.They wereasthinassticks,andsoweremylegs.BewareoftheSeptemberwind,myoldmotherusedtosay,oritwillcarryyouaway.Likeakite.There,then:akite! Iwenttoseetheboss.Akite?Helikedtheidea.Helaughed.It

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wasthefirsttimeIhadseenthatmanlaugh.Butit'sonlynowthatIknowwhyhewaslaughing.ItwasbecausewhatIsaidevokedmemoriesofhimselfasaboy, flyingakite.Alongtimeago.Longbeforehestartedbossingusaround. Seeingthathelikedtheidea,Ilaydownontheground,bellyup.Hewentandgotaballofstrongtwine.Ispreadmyarmswideopen,thenstretchedmylegsout. Thefirstknotwasonmyleftwrist.Adoubleknot,verysecure.Istillrememberhowtotieaknot,hesaid,alwayssmiling.Ilaughed,too.Foronce,weweregetting alongwitheachother.Hewasn'tcallingmealoafer,orathief.Wewereactuallyplayingtogether.Itfeltgood. Thesecondknotwasonmyleftankle;thethird,onmyrightankle—bothofthemsingleknots.Theknotonmyrightwristwasdouble,liketheoneonmyleftwrist. Theframewasnowfinished. I'vealwaysusedsturdypapertomakeakite;andthat'swhatItoldhim,thatforme,akitehadtobemadeofsturdypaper.Buthewinkedatme:Ihaveanother idea,andIwasafraidhewantedtousemyskin—thoseloosefoldsofskinleftonmyarmsandneckafterIlostweight. Butno,itwasn'tmyskin,buttheclothfromthistunic,thisbaggytunicthatInormallywear.Iwassogladthathewasnolongercriticalofmyclothes,thathewas,in fact,quitepleasedwiththem. Hestretchedouttheclothandstartedtosewitaroundthetwinethatranfrommywriststomyankles.Heworkeddiligently,alwayscheerfulandwhistlingaway. Reallyhappy,hewas. Hethenproceededtomakethebridleleg:threepiecesofstring.Onepiecetiedtomyneckwithaslipknot(hewascarefulnottotightenittoomuch);theothertwo tiedtoeachoneofmywrists.Neck,wrist,wrist:thethreemostsuitablepoints.Hesureknewhowtomakeakite.Hetiedonemoreknottojointhethreelooseends ofstring,andthebridlelegwasready.

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Tothisbridleleghethenattachedtheendofalargeballoftwine.That'sagoodtwohundredmetersofstringI'vegothere,hesaid,butIdidn'tbelievehim.Later Isawthatitwasreallytrue. Hethenliftedmetomyfeet,urgingmenottomove.Istoodthere,rigid,motionless,withthestrongSeptemberwindswellingoutmytunic.Wewerestandingonthe lawninfrontofthemetallurgicalcompany.Beautiful,thislawn.Stretchingforaboutonehundredmeters. Heranalongthelawn,unrollingthetwine.Allofasudden,Ifeltastrongjolt.Istartedtoascend!Iwasfunctioningasakite!Andbeforelong,thekitewasfloating overwoodsandhills. Fromwaydownbelowhekeptwavingatme.Itwasimpossibleformetowaveback,butIwashopinghecouldseetheradiantsmileonmyface.Itwasthefirsttime thatIhadseenhim—thatsadlittleman—lookingsocheerful. Hetuggedatthebridlelegtwice,almoststranglingmeintheprocess.Butevenso,Irespondedwithtwojerksofmyhead.Itwasourcode;atlast,weunderstood eachother. Hewasgivingmemorerope.Iwasnowflyinghigh,withthestrongwindtossingmeabout.ButIboreupwell.Iwastheframework. Nightbegantofall.Iknewthathehadtogohome.Whichhedid,aftertyingtheendofthetwinetothetrunkofatree.AndthereIremainedallnightlong,floatingin theblackspace,lookingatthelightswaydownbelow,andatthestarsabovemyhead. Beautiful,itwas. Inolongerwantedtodescend.NowthatIknewaboutthings,Inolongerwantedtodescend. AndIdidn't:tothisdayIhavebeenuphere. Thatdarklittledotinthesky?That'sme.

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ProfileoftheHenoftheGoldenEggsasSheLayDying Inadditiontoadistressinganomaly,thehenofthegoldeneggswasafflictedwithathwartedambitionandanunrequitedpassion. Thethwartedambition:Shehadalwayswantedtobeasinger.Shecamefromafamilythatwasinthehabitofgreetingtherisingsunwithvibranthymns.However, eventhoughthehenofthegoldeneggshadbeenborninanenvironmentofeuphoniouscreativity,shehadn'tbeenendowedwithapleasantvoice.Herraucoussinging wassounpleasant,whennotridiculous,thatitprovokedtheindignationoftheotherhens,whowouldpeckherintosilence. Butthishenwantedtobeasinger.Andshereallyexertedherself.Self­disciplined,shewouldpracticeindefatigably.Therewasnomusicalscalethatshewasnot familiarwith;therewerenosharpsthatshehadn'tattempted.Theresults,alwaysprecarious,didn'tdampenherspirits.Oneday—shekeptthinkingtoherself—a metamorphosiswouldtakeplace;itwasonlyamatterofperseverance,ofeffort.Andshewouldgobacktoherexercises. Thedistressinganomaly:Shelaidgoldeneggs.Joylessly;withdispleasure,withpaineven.Sheconceivedhard,coldobjects,whichwerethenexpelledamidst indescribablepains:atorturethatshehadtoundergodayafterdayatdawn.Halfanhourbefore,shecouldalreadyfeelthatdreadedmomentdrawingnear.The portentofwhatwastocomemanifesteditselfasanunpleasantsensationinherwomb—amixtureofanguishandpain.Something—aball—wouldgrowinsideherand expandinexorably,squeezingandcrushingeverything.Edgy,andnotknowingwhattodo,shewouldthenpacetoandfroinanattempttodistractherself.Andshe wouldpeckattheground,andflapherwings,andsingalittle(hervoicebeingthenmoreunpleasantthanever)—andnothing.Nothingbutthiseverlast­

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inganguish.Shewouldjumpintohernest,curlup,andtrytosleep;maybeifshefellasleep...Nothing.Unabletofallasleep,unabletocalmdown.Quitethe opposite:astheminuteswentby,heranguishwouldgrowmoreunbearable.Indespair,shewouldshoutforhelp,andrumtotheotherhensforcomfort.Irritated,they wouldrebuffher.Andthehen,withnobosomtoretreatto,withnoshouldertoleanon,wouldhuddleupinacorner,allatremble,andinanearfaint. Andthen,inhertenebrousinsides—ajolt.Thethingwouldmove.Itwouldstartonitsdescent,itwouldleaveherbody—tearingeverythingapartasitforceditsway out.Hallucinated,thehenwouldkneeldown:unbelievablethatonesinglecreatureshouldhavetoenduresomanytribulations!Shewasfainting!Shewasdying! Buttheactofgivingbirthwouldrunitscourse.Hersufferingwouldreachaclimax—thehenwouldseestars—andallofasudden,itwouldbeallover. Theeggwouldlieonthestraw:ayellowishobjectcoveredwithathinlayerofabloodstainedsecretion.Witharancorouseye,thehen,exhausted,wouldobservethe cold,hardfruitofherentrails. Ahairyhandwouldthenfinditswayintothenest.Ramão,theownerofthechickenfarm.Greedy,hecouldhardlywaitforthehentofinishlayingtheegg.(Asa matteroffact,hewouldoftengrabherwhileshewasstillinlabor;hewouldsqueezeherandcheerheronwithrudewords:Comeon,lazybones,poopthiseggout, yougunmoll.Whichonlycontributedtothesufferingofthepoorthing.) Withtheeggfinallyinhispossession,hewouldgazeatit,radiant,plantakissonit,andruntoAmâncio'shouse,wherethissharpiewouldbewaitingforhim,withthe deckofcardsallsetup.Ramãowouldinstallhimselfonachairandplacetheeggonthetable: ''Today'stheday,Amâncio!Todayyou'llbetrounced,Amâncio!" Theother,apro,wouldmerelysmileanddealthecards.Thetwoofthemwouldspendthewholedaygambling.

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Bylateafternoon,theeggwouldbeinAmâncio'spossession. Ramão,hisfacecongested,hishairdisheveled,hiscountenanceclouded,wouldgetupandgohome.Hewouldhaveafewdrinksandthenthrowhimselfuponhis bed;hecouldhardlywaitforthehourstopass,hardlywaitforthehentolayanotheregg.Amânciowouldsoonseewhohewasdealingwith. OnthefollowingdayRamãowouldagainbetheloser. AmânciohadalreadywonafortuneoffRamão.Buthewasstillnotsatisfied;itwasn'tgold,whathewantedfromRamãoWhathereallycoveted,andcovetedmost insanely,wasTorpedo,thegameco*ckownedbythechickenfarmer. Whatarooster!Notoncehadhesuffereddefeatintheco*ckpit.Amâncioownedmanyroosters,butnoneofthemmatcheduptoTorpedo.Hewaswillingtobet everythinghehadonTorpedo—hehad,infact,alreadymadeaproposalinthisregard,butRamãowouldn'thearofit.Ramãowasfondofthisrooster;besides,he wantedtoholdTorpedoasatrumpcard,shouldheonedaylosehishenofthegoldeneggs,hischickenfarm,hisclothes,everything,toAmâncio.Notuntilthen wouldheputabetonhisrooster.Andheexpectedtowinthen,atleastthatonce.Butevenifhelost,hewouldn'tletAmânciowaltzoffwithhisprizerooster.He wouldnevergivehispartnerthispleasure.IfAmâncioeverdaredlayhishandsonTorpedo,Ramãowouldkillhimrightaway. Torpedowasbeautifulandstrong.And...hehadasecretaffectionforthehenofthegoldeneggs.WhileRamãoandAmâncioweregamblingaway,Torpedowould caressandcomforther.Hewasawitnesstothesufferingofthepoorcreature;onseveraloccasionshehadalmostattackedRamão.Itwasthehenwhowouldhold himback,forshewouldrathersufferinsilencethanbecomethepivotofapassionaltragedy.Andshewouldthengiveventtoherfeelingsbysingingtotheskies—her songastrange,dissonantcackling. Theunrequitedpassion:Thehenofthegoldeneggswasinlove

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withthechickenfarmerRamão.Lovemingledwithhatred,butyes,itwaslove—deep,abysmallove.Withloathing—butwithjoyaswell—shewoulddeliverher goldeneggtothebastard,becauseshewouldthenhavehimbesideher,albeitonlyforafewbriefmoments.Shewouldhavelikedtohavehimlyingbesideheronthe straw.Ifonlyshecouldnestleupagainsthishairychestandpeckatthemattedhairforlarvaeandvarioustibits,ah,thenshewouldfinallyfindtheinspirationfor beautifulsongs. ButRamãoonlysleptwithwomen—withthetwoorthreethathehad.Thehenwaswellawareofthisfact,butshewoulddeludeherself:It'sjustapastime,shekept repeatingtoherself,hedoesn'tlovethem.Onedayshewouldbreakintosongandhewouldcometoher.Anditwouldn'tbejustforagoldenegg... AsforTorpedo,thehenconsentedtohiskeepinghercompany—butthatwasall.Hewasn'ttoexpectanythingmore.Theymightbetogetheronthestraw,butthat wasall.Twobirdsbefriendingeachother. Ramãokeptgamblingandlosing,gamblingandlosing.Amâncio'scupboardswerealreadychockfullofeggs;nowthatthepriceofthepreciousmetalwasbeing quotedatonehundreddollarsanounce,hecouldn'tfindanybuyersforallthatgold.Butevenso,theycontinuedwiththeircardgames—Ramãowantingtorecouphis losses;AmânciohopingtowintheroosterTorpedo. ThenightofDecember31.Onthestreetsofthesmalltown,peopleinacheerfulmoodwalkinahurry.TheylookforwardtospendingtheNewYearwiththeir families,whentheywilleatroastedchickenstuffedwithafarofaofmaniocflourtoastedinbutterandmixedwitholivesandchoppedeggs.Eventhepoorintendto haveacelebrationandeatchicken. RamãoandAmâncioareoblivioustoallthebustleoutside.Theyareplayingcards.Seatedatasmalltableunderastronglamplightthatmakestheirsweatybrows glisten,theyholdtheircardsfirmlyin

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theirhands.Andtheykeepwatchingandexaminingeachotherclosely,andtheywon'tdiscardaqueenorajackbeforeagreatdealofpondering. Ramãoisedgy.Hecompresseshislips;attimeshemuttersunintelligiblethings.Hedrumsonthetablewithhisthickfingers. Amânciotriestofeignunconcern;hehumsawaytohimself,anenigmaticsmileflickersonhisface.Andwhenhespreadshiscardsonthetable—againthewinner—he doesn'trushRamão;withstudiedmodesty,hewaitsfortheothertoadmitdefeat—whichthechickenfarmerfinallydoeswithbarelycontainedresentment. Amânciothenreachesoutforthegoldenegg;heweighsitwithhishandsandexaminesitclosely;pullingahandkerchiefoutofhispocket,hethenproceedstopolish theegg;withthetipofafingernailheremovesatinyspeckofdirt.Sighing,hegetsuptoputtheeggawayinthecupboard.Uponwhich,heextendshishandtohis partner: "Well...sothen,happynewyear,Ramão.Ihopethatnextyear..." "We'llgoonwithourcardgame,"saysRamão,somber. "How?"Amânciolaughs."You'vealreadylosttoday'segg." "We'llgoonwithourcardgame,"repeatsRamão. ThetoneofvoicemakesAmânciofeeluneasy.Butheisagambler:hedoesn'tshowfear. "Comeon,now:doesn'tyourhenonlylayoneeggperday,doesn'tshe?" "That'sright." "So?Howcomeyoustillwantustocontinue?" "We'renotstoppingnow,I'vealreadytoldyouso." Amânciocarefullyassessesthesituation.Hedecidestotakearisk: "Allright.ThengoandgetTorpedo." "No." Amâncio'spatienceiswearingthin.

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"So,what'sgoingtobethestake?Orareweplayingjustforfun?Idon'tplayjustforfun,youknowthat. "Ramãostandsups. "Waitforme.I'mgoingtogetanotheregg." "Fine,butlook,"Amânciowarnstheother,"I'llwaitonlyuntilmidnight.Ifyourhendecidestowaituntiltomorrowtolayanegg,forgetit." "She'sgoingtolayaneggnow,"saysRamão. "Isshe?"sneersAmâncio. "Youwaitandsee." Ramãogoesrunningtohischickenfarm.Heisupset,heisdistraught!Herushesintothehenyardandturnsallthelightson.Startled,thehensbegintocackle.Ramão comestothenestofthehenofthegoldeneggs,whoisreposingonthestraw,withTorpedobesideher.UponseeingRamão,sheneithermovesnoremitsasingle sound—shejuststaresathimfixedly. "So,youwretch,haveyoulaidyoureggyet?" Grabbingherbytheneck,hebrutallywrenchesherfromhernest.Thereisnoegg. "Stupidyou!Whydidn'tyoulayanegg?It'salreadyalmostmidnight.Areyouwaitingforthenewyear?YOUknownothingabouttime,doyou?" Onthevergeofsuffocating,thehenflailsabouthelplessly. Allofasudden,aflutteringofwings:It'sTorpedo,whomakesaleapforRamão'sfaceandproceedstostrikeatitfiercelywithhisbeak.Takenbysurprise,Ramão recoils,buthesoonrallies.Pullingtheroosterawayfromhim,hethrowshimontheground,thendigshisbootintohim,andcontinuestotrampleuponhimuntil Torpedoisreducedtoabloodymass. "There,youf*ckingbird,"Ramãomutters,panting."You'vegotyourjustdesserts.I'veturnedyouintochickenpaste."Helaughs: "Amâncio'snotgoingtolikeitatall."

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Hecleanshisdirtyandbadlylaceratedface,thenliftsupthehenuntilsheisonalevelwithhisface: "Now,you!Seethatyoulaythiseggofyours.Andbequickaboutit." Hesetsherdowninthenest,thencrosseshisarms. "I'mwaiting." Helooksathiswatch. "I'llgiveyoufiveminutes." Allofasudden,thehenofthegoldeneggsbeginstosing. ItissuchabeautifulsongthatevenRamãoistouched:hehasgooseflesh,hiseyesmistover. "Aw,comeonnow,youfloozy..." Theotherhenssitmotionlessintheircoops,theirheadsturnedtothem.Ramãowaitsintheexpectationofsomegrandioseevent. "It'sgoingtobesomething,thisegg.Outofthisworld!Whoknows,theremightevenbetwoofthem." Gingerly,heliftsupthehen.Nothing.Hesetsherdown,waitsawhilelonger,liftsherupagain.Nothing.Justthestraw,nothingbutthestraw.Hebecomesfurious: "Areyoumakingfunofme,yoush*t­ass?ButI'llshowyou!I'mgettingthiseggstraightfromthefactory." Hehurlsthehenupontheground,pullsoutthebigknifethathecarriesathiswaist,andatonestroke—withallthehenscacklinginhorror—slashesherwombopen. Hethenthrowsthebigknifeasideandproceedstoransackherentrailsimpatiently.Heplucksoutherintestines,herliver,hergizzard: "Itshouldbehere!Ineveryotherhen,that'swhereitis." Therearenogoldeneggs.Whathefindsisanordinaryovary,withsmall,yellowovules. Thechickenfarmerrisestohisfeet.Allofasudden,heburstsintolaughter.

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"Shewasjustlikealltheothers,thishen.Justlikealltheothers,Amâncio!" Hepicksuptheknife. "You'redownonyourluck,Amâncio.Toobad!" Hewalksawaylaughing. "Toobadforyou,Amâncio!" Onthebloodstainedearth,thehenliesdying.Herbeakstillopensininfrequentspasms,butnosoundcomesoutofit.Andhereyeshavebecomelusterless. Thehendies.Herevisceratedcarcassshakeswithonefinalconvulsion.Fromthecloacaemergestheroundedendofa*greatgoldenegg.

CapitalPunishment Thejailerwakesuprobert,acertainRobert,atfiveo'clockinthemorning.Thejailerisbrutal;hekeepsshakingtheprisoner—ayoungmanwithdisheveledhairand congestedeyes—whothenrisestohisfeet. "Aretheyherealready?" "Andwhyshouldn'tthey?"asksthejailerinanunpleasant,screechingvoice."Whyshouldn'ttheybehere?It'sfiveo'clockinthemorning,isn'tit?" Robertletshimselfcollapseuponthebed.Inahalffaint?Thejaileryankshimtohisfeet: "Isn'titfiveo'clocknow?Answerme.Isn'titfiveo'clocknow?Howcomeasmart­asslikeyoudoesn'tknow?It'sfiveo'clock,isn'tit?" "Yes,"mumblesRobert."It'sfiveo'clock." "So?It'sfiveo'clockandthey'rehere.They'reontime,"concludesthejailer,triumphant."Here,putthison." Hehandsagreytunictotheprisoner,whohasahardtimepullingitoverhishead.Thejailergoestohisassistance.

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"Therenow,"hesays."Allsprucedup.My,aren'twecute." Hethenpeepsthroughtheopendoor:nobodyoutsideinthecorridor.Hethenputshismouthclosetotheprisoner'sear: "Relax.Everything'sbeenarranged.Doyouhearme?Everythingarranged.Everythingfine." HethengivesRobertashove: "Getamoveon,youclod!" Winkingattheprisoner,hecontinuestoshout: "Getgoing,youdragass,youfraidycat." Theyleavethecellandproceedtowalkdownthelongcorridor,headedfortheplacewhereasmalldetachmentofsoldiers,standingatattention,awaitstheirarrival. Theofficerinchargetalkstotheprisonchaplain,whothenwalksuptoRobert. "Areyouthecondemnedman?"ThepriestlooksatRobertintheeye.Doeshegivehimawink?Hedoes. Unsure,Robertstandsstill.Thechaplaintakeshimbythearm. "Comeoverhere.Let'shavealittletalk." "Sorry,Father,"saysRobert,"butI'mnotabeliever." "It'llonlytakeamoment.Comeoverhere." PullingRobertaside,hemakeshimkneeldown,andthenhe,too,kneelsdown. ThepriestproceedstointonesomethinginLatin;allofasudden,hemurmurs: "Havefaith.Everythinghasbeenarranged." Theofficerinchargeapproachesthem. "It'stime,chaplain." Thetwoofthemrisetotheirfeet.ThechaplainshakesRobert'shandanddisappearsdownasidecorridor. Theprisonerispositionedamongthesoldiers.March!shoutstheofficer.Theystartmarching,Robertperfectlyinstepwiththesoldiers.Andwithhisheadheldhigh. Notashighasthesoldiers',buthighenough.

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"Psst!" Psst?Who?Wherehasitcomefrom,thispsst? "Psst!" Again!Buthehasnowlocateditssource:thesoldierbesidehim.Robertleanstowardhim. "Everything'sfine,"murmursthesoldier,allthewhilelookingstraightahead."KnowwhatImean?Everything'sfine."Hegiveshisrifleagentletap."Doyou understand?Everything'sfine.'' Theprisoners,astheypeepoutfromthetinywindowsoftheircells,candetectasmileonRobert'slips...Asmile.Lips. Lips. Theyreachthecourtyardoftheprison.Thesky—itissixteenminutestwentysecondspastfiveo'clockbeginstogrowlight.Thesky—itissixteenminutestwenty­one secondspastfiveo'clock—beginstogrowlight.Theofficerinchargeconsultshiswatch. TwosoldiersescortRoberttothemiddleofthecourtyard,wheretheyproceedtotiehishandstohisback.Oneofthesoldiersmurmurs: "Havefaith,"andtheother: "Sofar,everything'sfine." "Everything'sfine,"repeatstheprisoner.Quiteaudibly."Everything'sfine,"hesaystothetwosoldiers,whobearacloseresemblancetoeachother.Theylooklike brothers.Theyarebrothers. Athirdsoldierapproacheswithastripofblackclothinhishand."Idon'twant—"saysRobert. "Itwouldbebetter,"thesoldiercutshimshort. WhileblindfoldingRobert,thesoldierwhisperstohim: "Don'tbeafraid.Everything'sallright.Doyouhearme?Everything'sallright." Thefiringsquadassembles.Ajournaliststandingashortdistanceawaywritesdowninhisnotebook: Thesoldiersarestandingatattention.Thevoiceoftheofficerin

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chargemakesthegelidmorningairvibrate.Makeready!hecommands,andthesoldiersco*cktheirrifles;buteverythingisallright,everythingisfine.Takeyouraim! shoutstheofficer.Everything'sfine,ifonlytheprisonerknew...Thefaceoftheblindfoldedmanrevealsadeepanguish.Andyet—everything'sfine.Andnow,fire! Fire,now! Avolleyofriflefire. Robert,fallenontheground.Athreadofbloodtricklingoutofhismouthformsasmallpuddleonthecementfloor.Thebodystilltwitchesconvulsively.Theofficer approachesthedyingmaninordertohaveacloselook.Hedrawshisgun: Irisetomyfeet,pickupthecrutches,andstartwalkingbackandforth.Ithenhituponanidea: "Everything'sfine,"hesays,anddealingthecoupdegrâce,wesignournamesbelow. Cordially. Thejailer. Thechaplain. Thesoldierfromtheescort. Theprisoners. Thesoldierwiththeropes. Theothersoldierwiththeropes—hisbrother. Thejournalist. Theofficer. Astoryteller.Astoryteller.

TheLastOne "Okay,weasel.Droptheweaponandturnaroundslowly." Weaselturnedaround.ItwasFrog,witha.38inhisrighthand. "You'resmart,Frog,"saidWeasel."Realsmart.Butwe'reevensmarter,aren'twe,Cricket?"

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"That'ssuchanoldtrick,Weasel,"saidFrog. "Okay,Frog.Dropthatweapon,raiseyourarms,andturnaroundslowly." Frogturnedaround.ItwasCricket,witha7.65caliberpistol. "You'resmart,Cricket,"saidFrog."Butnotanysmarterthanweare,isn'tthatright,Rat?" "That'ssuchanoldtrick,Frog,"saidCricket. "Okay,Cricket.Dropthatpistol,raiseyourarms,andturnaroundthisway,veryslowly." Cricketturnedaround.ItwasRat,withaSpringfieldrifle. "You'resmart,Rat,"saidCricket,smiling."Realsmart.Butnotsmarterthanweare.Right,Angel?" "Wrong." Astounded,theyallturnedtoseeamanholdingaswordinhishand. "Andmyname,"hethensaidwithasmilethatfrozetheotherswithfear,"isnotAngel."

TheRiddle Aftertheburial,uponreturninghomefromtheburial,herealizes,muchtohisannoyance,thathisshoesaredirtyfromthemudofthecemetery.Ared,stickymud,itis. Hestepsoutintothepatio,andwiththehelpofasmallshovel,hecarefullycleanshisshoes.Hereentersthehouseonlytoseethathisshoesarestillmuddy—thistime itistheblackmudofthepatio. "Shucks!"hemutters."Howaggravating!" Withasigh,hereturnstothepatioandgetsdowntowork.Withtheremainderofthegravelandthecement,hesucceedsinpavingthepatio,whichissmall.Hethen goesinsidethehouse. Thefirstthinghenoticesisthathisshoesarestilldirty.Now,it

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isfromthecement.Hisshoesarestilldirty!Hetakesthemoff.Hegoestothekitchen,soakstheminasolvent,thenbumsthem.Hesighs,relieved. Butnotforlong.Inthebathroom,whilewashinghishandsinfrontofthemirror,henoticesthefineashesonhishair.Withablowofhisfist,hedestroysthemirror. Hecalmsdown.Hebreaksintoasmile.Anditisstillsmilingthathedrinksinonegulpthebottleofthatthingthatheputinhiswife'scoffee.Isitredmud?No,it'snot redmud.Isitblackmud?Isitcementdust?Isitashes?Isitratpoison?

TheDream Martimhasthefollowingdream: Heseeshimselfenteringabedroom.Heleansoverasmallbed,andinthesemidarknesshelooksatthechildlyingthere. ThechildisMartimhimself,attheageoften. Contemplatingthetranquilfacewithitsrosycheeks,heissuffusedwithadeepfeelingof— Allofasudden,thesleepingchildbreaksintolaughter.Intorollicking,jeeringlaughter. Martimisenraged.Whatishelaughingat,thelittlebrat?Whatdoesheseeinhisdreams?Ifit'sallthatfunny,whydoesn'theopenhiseyesandtellhimaboutit?He doesn'topenhiseyes,hedoesn'ttellanything;heislaughingagain.Enraged,Martimliftshishandtohitthechild. Hedoesn'thitthechild.Hestandsthere,gazingatthecalmface.Becauseithasjustoccurredtohimthat— Hewakesup.Hiswife,lookingathimwithsuspicion,isshakinghimawake. "Wereyouasleep,Martim?" "Ofcourse!"He—annoyed,drowsy.

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"Butyouwerelaughing!"saysthewoman. "Who?Me?"Martimfindsithardtobelieve. "Yes,you,Martim.You." Laughingatwhat,wondersMartim,thesorrowfulMartim.

TheShadow Asamoviebufflivinginasmalltownintheinterior,IalwaystookgreatpleasureinhelpingtheprojectionistoftheEsplendorMovieTheater—agentlemanof moderatemeansbutofacertainrefinement.Fromthecrampedprojectionroom,thetwoofuswouldwatchthemoviesfromaveryoriginalangle,andengagein interestingconversations. TheEsplendorMovieTheaterwashousedinanold,rundownbuildingbesetwithproblems:thelargeratsintheprojectionroomwasbutoneofthem.Squealing,the ratswouldscurrybackandforthanddevouranythingtheycould.Butnobodyevernoticedtheirpresence.Inthedark,coupleswentonkissing.Soundsofmoaning continuedtocomefromthewashrooms.Therainpersistedinpatteringontheoldtilesoftheroof. Itwas1962.Or'63.Aweekcamewhenwehadbutonemovietoshow—TheAdventuresoftheShadow.Asecond­rateproductionoftheAmericanmovie industry.DirectedbyaBarryDikes.Moviescriptby—?Inolongerremember.TheShadowwas,ofcourse,acrudecinematographictrick,adarkblobofindistinct contours,vaguelyreminiscentofthefigureofamanwearingahat.Healwaysappearedonthelefthandsideofthescreen.Fromtherehewouldraisehisvoiceagainst crime.Andimmorality.Inthefinalepisode,PamelaArcherwouldfallintohisarms.Inthatshadowyregionofthescreen,shewoulddissolveherselfinlove.Andthat wastheend. Embarrassed,wewouldprojectthemovieinsilence.Whatcould

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wedo?Therewasnootherfilmavailable.Butthatwasnottheendofourtrouble. Oneafternoonwearrivedatthemovietheateronlytodiscoverthattheratshadbeengnawingatthefilm.Uponprojectingitonthescreen,wesawthattheShadow nolongerappeared:theleftsideofthefilmhadbeendestroyed.Whatnowappearedwasjustthepatched­upfabricofthescreen.PamelaArcherwouldopenher arms,taketwostepsforward,andvanishintotheemptiness.Anabsurdity. Inordertosavetheprojectionistfrombeingdismissedfromhisjob,IdecidedthatIwouldplaytheroleoftheShadow.Positionedbehindthescreen,withalamp illuminatingmefrombehind,Iwas,thereonthescreen,nothingmorethanasilhouettewithblurrycontours.JustliketheShadow. NightafternightIwouldkissPamelaArcher.Inowsawherfromanewangle.Anenormousface,distortedandflawed.Theblackhead,thewrinkle—theyallhad theirterritorythere.Asfordepth,therewasnone,naturally.Herprofilewasnothingbutadarklinenothickerthanthefabricofthescreen.Whatpuzzledmewashow thatfacecouldelicitsomanyamoroussighsfromtheaudiencenightafternight. Iworkedreallyhard.NightafternightIwouldraisemyvoiceagainstcrime.Againstimmorality. Idon'tknow...Itwasbecauseofthismovie,Isuppose,thatIbecamealawyer.Imovedtothecapitalcity,whereI'vecontinuedtoraisemyvoiceagainstcrimeand immorality.ButPamelaArcherhasneveragainfallenintomyarms.

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StoriesoftheTremulousEarth Thenewmaid,theysay,hasbuttwoflaws:sheeatstoomuchand—thisisfunny—shekeepscomplainingaboutthebugsinherbed;shedoesn'tcomplainaboutthe bed,orthebedroom;sheonlycomplainsaboutthebugsthatkeepherfromsleeping. Butthenewmaid,theysay,hasdesirabletraits:sheisclean,sheishonest,andsheworkshard.Allthingsconsidered,theyarepleased. They:SenhorIsidoro,DonaDébora,andtheirtwosons—AlbertoandJúlio.Theconsensusofopinionisthatthenewmaidisverygood,indeed.Gertrudes.A countrywomanofGermandescent;agiantofawoman.Quiet,hard­working.Fromworktobed,frombedtowork.(Therewasnowaytheycouldimaginewhat wasinstoreforthem.) Onemorning—twomonthsafterGertrudes'arrival—thehusbandandthewifewokeupwithafeelingofasphyxiation.Thewindowswereshut(itwaswinter),but evenduringthecoldmonths,theyalwayslefttheirbedroomdooropen,incasethechildrencalledoutinthenight,andalsotoensurethattherewasenoughventilation intheirroom.DonaDéborasufferedfromasthmaticbronchitis. Thatmorning,however,theynoticedthatthedoorwasobstructedbyalargemassofindistinctcontours.Turningonthelight,DonaDéborajumpedoutofbedand wenttoinvestigate. Thedoorwasblockedbyafoot.Whatshesawwasthecalloussoleofabigfoot.Alarmed,shecalledherhusband:Isidoro!Isidoro!Comeandseewhatwe'vegot hereatthedoor.It'safoot,Isidoro!Ithinkit'sGertrudes'foot. Groggywithsleep,thehusbandsatupinbed.Idon'twantthiswomanhereinthebedroom,hemuttered,searchingforhiseyeglasses.Sendherrightbacktothe kitchen. "No,Isidoro."Thewifewasgaspingforbreath,alreadywitha

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wheezeinherchest."Idon'tthinkshe'llbeabletodothat.Shehasgrownhuge,Isidoro." Heputonhisglasses,gotoutofbed,andwenttothedoor.Hecarefullyexaminedthestrangeobject.It'sahugefoot,hesaid,thefootofawhiteperson.Yep,itcan onlybeGertrudes'. "Andnowwhat?"askedthewoman,panic­stricken. "Firstofall,"thehusbandsaid,"wehavetogetoutofhere." Hepeeredthroughagapbetweenthefootandthedoorframe. "Ican'tseeathing...Gertrudes!Moveyourfootaway,willyou?" Amuffledgroancamefromthedistance.SenhorIsidorolistenedattentively.Ithinkthatherheadisinthekitchen,hesaid.Movecloser,woman,andseeifyoucan understandwhatshe'ssaying. Cuppingherhandaroundherear,thewifewentneartothedoor. "She'ssayingthatshewon'ttakeherfootaway.Thatshe'llstayhere.Thatshewon'tgobacktoherroombecausethebugstherebotherhertoomuch." "That'soutrageous!"shoutedSenhorIsidoro,irritated."Getyourfootoutofhere,didyouhearme?Getitoutofhere!" Ashoutcamefromtheadjoiningbedroom. "Mom!" "It'sJúlio,"saidDonaDébora,panic­strickenagain."It'smylittleson,myJúlio." "Mom,"Júliowenton,"there'sahugefoothereatthedoor,mom.Wecan'tgetout." "Don'tbescared,sonny,"saidhisfather. "I'mnotscared,"saidJúlio.Andinfact,hewasn't;hewasonlytenyearsold,butveryalertandsharp­witted.Theotherboy,twelveyearsold,hadaquiet temperament. "It'sGertrudes'foot,"saidSenhorIsidoro."Butdon'tbescared,son,Dadwillfindasolution." Hethenturnedtohiswife: "Onefootinourdoor,onefootinthechildren'sdoor,theheadin

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thekitchen.She'soccupyingthewholehouse.Thelegsandthethighsmustbeblockingthecorridor." "Andnowwhat?"askedthewife,growingincreasinglymorefrightened. Compressinghislips,thehusbandthenlookedsteadilyathiswife."There'snootherway,"hesaid,"we'llhavetoamputate." "Atoe?"askedthewife,drawingbackinalarm. "Atleast." Shewashorrified. "Butjustlikethis,incoldblood?Andthepain?" "Whatelsecanwedo?It'seithershe—orwe." "Atleast,"shesighed,"letherknow." Hestoodclosetothegapinthedoor: "Gertrudes!"heshoutedinthedirectionofthekitchen."Gertrudes!We'regoingtotakesomeminorprecautions.We'regoingtomakeasmallcutinyourfoot,canyou hearme,sothatwecanpassthrough.Thenwe'llgooutandgethelp,andeverythingwillbeallright.Didyouhearme? "Therewasagroaninreply. "Iwonderifsheheardyou,"remarkedDonaDébora. SenhorIsidorolookedathiswatch. "Idon'tknow.ButIcan'twasteanymoretime.Let'sgetdowntowork." Hewentuptothewindow,brokeoneofthepanesandcamebackwithalargeshardofglass. Haveyougotanyalcoholhere?Justalittle,shesaid,andhe,sh*t,nowthatweneedit...Heaskedhertopouritoverhishands.Thenheclimbedonthechairhehad askedhertoplacebythedoor.Henowstoodlevelwiththebigtoe.It'slikethebarkofatree,hesaid,feelingthesoleofthefoot.There'sahugecalloushere,asbig asthecoverofamanhole,rightwhereIwasthinkingofmakinganincision.

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Fromthekitchencameamuffledgiggle."Poorthing,shemustbeticklish,"mumbledDonaDébora. "Therewegonow!"shoutedthehusband. Dartingforward,hethenplungedtheglassbladeintothebaseofthebigtoe.Ahowlshookthehouse.Bloodgushedoutandcascadeddowntheman.Thefootbegan toflailaboutlikeawoundedmonster. "Stopit,Isidoro,"DonaDébora,horrified,shouted. "Ican'tstopnow.NowthatI'vestartedIcan'tstop.I'llhavetogoontheveryend." ThescreamsofGertrudesturnedintoacontinuous,ghastlyululation.Intheadjoiningbedroom,Júliowasweepingloudly. "Stopthis,Isidoro!" "Shutup,woman!" Cuttingdeeperintotheflesh,Isidororeachedthebone.Inordertodisjointthephalanx,heusedthepostofthetablelampasacrowbar.Finally,thebigtoefelldown liketheseveredbranchofatree.Agustofwindsweptacrossthebedroom. SenhorIsidorothenpeeredthroughtheopening. "Whatcanyousee?"askedthewife. "It'sjustasIthought,"hesaid."It'sahugebody,thewholelivingroomisfilledupwithit.Thebellyislikeamountain.Thebreasts,twomountains.Thehouseisjam­ packedwiththiswoman." "Thepoorthing,"saidhiswife."Don'ttalklikethat,Isidoro." Hewasnowexaminingthewoundoftheamputation. "It'sstillbleeding.I'llhavetodosomethingaboutthis.Otherwise,it'llbeimpossibletoclimbupalongthisway,it'stooslippery." Hiseyesscannedthebedroom. "Isthatanelectriciron?" "Yes." "Plugitin.Letitgetreallyhot,thengiveittome."

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Whilewaitingfortheirontogethot,SenhorIsidororeassuredthechildren: ''Relax.Daddywillberightthere." Suddenlyherememberedthemaid. "Gertrudes!" Therewasnoreply.Shemusthavefainted,heconcluded.Hiswifehandedhimtheiron—whichwasextremelyhot—andheappliedittothebloodysurface.Asmell ofroastingmeatfilledtheroom.Areyoucookingsomething,Mom?Areyoucookingforus?Júliowantedtoknow.Poorchild,shesaid,no,notyet,sonny,ina moment,waitforalittlewhilelonger,littleJúlio,willyou? "Itworked,"shoutedSenhorIsidoro."Icauterizedthewound.Thebleedingstopped." Heclimbeddown. "Comeon,Débora.Climbhere,andgetoutthroughthatopening." "ButIwon'tbeableto,"sheprotested. "Comeon,getgoing." Butthewomanwasright.Afterseveralattempts,shestillcouldn'tpassthroughtheopening. "You'rearoly­polyofawoman,"mutteredSenhorIsidoro. "It'snotmyfault." SenhorIsidorobegantoassessthesituation. "Okay,here'swhatwe'lldo:I'llgothroughtheopeningfirstandgetthechildren—that'sourprioritynow.ThenI'llcomeandgetyou." DonaDéboraagreed.SenhorIsidorokissedher,thenhehoistedhimselfupthefoot,andwithsomeeffort,hesucceededincrossingoverthestumpofthebigtoe.The firstthinghesawwerehistoolsscatteredacrossthefloorofthelivingroom.Hehadbeenrepairingachairthenightbefore;feelingsleepy,hehadgonetobedwithout puttingthetoolsawaydespitehiswife'sgrumbles.Now,withthose

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tools,hefeltthathewaswellequippedtodealwiththesituation.Pickingupthehandsaw,hebrandisheditintheairandshouted: "See,Débora?Seehowsometimesitpaystobedisorganized?" ScalingoneofGertrudes'sthighs,SenhorIsidorolookedaroundhim.Ashehadsurmised,thebodyoftheservantwasvirtuallyoccupyingtheentirehouse.Hebegan towalkoverthemountainousbelly,whosefathunginfoldsdownthewoman'sflanks.Hefelttheurgetolifthernightgownandhaveapeekatherprivateparts,buthe resistedthetemptation—itwasnotthetimetobeindulginginraunchiness. ThedoorofJúlio'sbedroomwasblockedbytheotherfoot.Themanclimbeditwithrelativeease—hehadbecomeexperiencedinclimbing;besides,therewerethe goldenhairshecouldhangontoasheascended.Heexaminedthegroovebetweenthefirstandthesecondtoes:thefilthofmonthshadaccumulatedthere.(Clean, she?Well,somuchforthat.)Hewouldn'tbeabletogetthechildrenoutthroughthispassage.Thisfoot,however,seemedsmallerthantheother,anditdidn't completelysealupthedoor.Hefiguredthatifheclippedthenailofthebigtoe,hewouldbeabletocreateanopeninglargeenoughforthechildrentogetthrough.He usedthehandsawtodothisjob,andhewassuccessful.Beforelong,thechildrencameout;nolongerscared,Júliowashavinggreatfunslidingdowntheservant's thighs. ButSenhorIsidorowasworried.Therewasnowayoutofthelivingroom;alltheopeningswereblocked.I'llhavetodigatunnelthroughthisarm,hereasoned,so thatwecanreachthefrontdoor. Thechildrenhelpedhiminthiswork.Theyusedacarpenter'schisel,alathe,aplane—andofcourse,theelectricironforcauterization.Gertrudesdidn'treacttothe blowsinflictedonher,eventhoughshewasalive.SenhorIsidorosupposedthatshehadfainted(fromhunger—it'snotgoingtobeeasytofeedabodythissize,he thought),buthewasn'tworried.Hisonlyconcernwastogetoutof

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thereassoonaspossibleinordertoseekhelp.Allofasudden,Júlioburstintotears: "PoorGertrudes!She'ssokind,andwe'rehurtingher.WebroughtthepoorthingtoPortoAlegrejusttomistreather." SenhorIsidorostoppedwhathewasdoingandtookhissoninhisarms,whichwerecoveredwithblood. "No,sonny,that'snotso.Whatwe'redoingisnotjustforourowngood,butforGertrudes'goodtoo.We'llhavetoseekhelp,can'tyousee?Besides,wedidn't makeGertrudesleaveherhome.Itwasshewhowantedtocometothecitysothatshecouldbetterherlotinlife,makesomemoney,findaboyfriend...eatmore.If itweren'tforus,shewouldstillbeinthecountry,withnochanceofgettingaheadinlife.Now,ifshehasturnedintosuchavoraciouseater,alwaysgorgingherself, she'sonlygotherselftoblame,right?Whathappenedtoherisapunishment.ButI'mnotmadather,no,notall.We'llsoonbeoutofhereandthenwe'llgethera doctor." WhenJúliocalmeddown,theyresumedtheirwork,whichwasbecomingincreasinglyhardertodo.SenhorIsidorohadtobuildasupportingstructuresimilartothe oneusedinmines.Forthispurpose,heemployedwoodtakenfromthefurniture.Thetunnelwassolongthathealsohadtoinstallwiresforelectricity.Hediggedon andon,andtheboyswouldcarrytherubbleoffleshaway. Ittookthemabouttwelvehourstofinishthejob.Intheeveningtheyreachedtheforearm,theyboredaholethroughtheskin,andtheyjumpedoutontothepalmof thehand.Whentheyspreadthefingersapart,theyfoundthemselvesatthefrontdoor.Theexit! AfterwardtheyfreedDonaDébora,andthentheystartedtohugeachother,andtheylaughed,andtheykeptrecountingthestorytoeachotherzillionsoftimes. Thisisthestorythattheytell. Ihaveadifferentstorytotell.I'maservant,afarmgirlfromtheinterior,butIknowhowtoreadandwrite,andIknowhowtotell

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stories.ThestorythatI'mgoingtotellisaboutfourbugsthatkeptroamingovermybody—stingingme,bitingme,drawingbloodfromme.Fourbugsthatfeltvery muchathomeastheyinhabitedafriendlyearth.Butthey'llfindout,thesefourbugs,whentheearthbeginstotremble.They'llfindoutwhatkindofstoriesthis tremulousearthhastotellthem.

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THEDWARFINTHETELEVISIONSET[1979]

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TheProphetsofBenjaminBok Theprophetsdidn'tincarnatethemselvesinBenjaminBokallatonce.Atfirst,itwasn'tevenawholeprophetthattookcontrolofhim.Partsofaprophet,morelikely. Aneye,afinger.Paulina,Benjamin'swife,waslatertorecallthestrangedilationofapupil,theconvulsivetremorofthethumbofhislefthand.ButBenjaminBok,a small,thinmanwithabaldheadandahookednose,averyuglyman—andtomakemattersworse,goingthroughamid­lifecrisis—andafflictedwithagastriculcer— BenjaminBok,poorBenjaminBok,wasregarded—infact,hadalwaysbeenregarded,evenduringhischildhood—ashavinganervousdisposition.Hisparents,ina constantstateofalarm,hadbeenoverprotectivetowardhim,partlybecausehewasanonlychild,butmostlybecausehewassonervous,Theboydidn'teatwell,he sleptrestlessly,hehadnightmares.Hisparentskepttakinghimfromdoctortodoctor.Leavetheboyalone,thedoctorswouldtellthem,andhe'llgetbetter.But Benjamin'sparentsdidn'tleavehimaloneuntilhemarried.Andevenso,theyneverceasedtoremindPaulinathatBenjaminneededtobelookedafter. Thus,knowingaboutherhusband'snervousdisposition,Paulinadidn'tattachmuchimportancetowhat—asshelatercametorealize—couldbeinterpretedas premonitorysigns,andsheremainedunconcernedevenwhenBenjaminBokbegantointersperseHebrewwordsinconversation(whichhewoulddoinanodd, raucousvoice,avoicethatwasn'this).Paulinadidn'tquestionherhusbandaboutthismatter,buthadshedoneso,shewouldhavefoundoutthathehadnever learnedHebrew.Benjamin'sparents,assimilatedJews,had

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nevermadeanissueofitdespitethefactthattheboyhadalwaysenjoyedreadingtheBible. OnedayBenjaminflewintoatantrum.Hekickedasmallcoffeetabletopieces—rightinfrontofhischildren,twogirlsagedeightandten.Paulinabecamefurious.But shestilldidn'trealizewhatwashappeningtoherhusband. Finally,itwasBenjaminhimselfwhobecameawareofhissituationduringasocialgatheringofco­workersinachurrascaria. Benjaminwasanaccountant(inreality,somethinglikeamanager)inaninvestmentcompanyownedbyGregório,achildhoodfriend.Gregório,aburly,expansive man,likedtogiveparties;hewouldn'tlettheendoftheyearpasswithouttakingallhisemployeestoachurrascariaforaBrazilian­stylebarbecue. WhileGregóriowasgabbingaway,Benjamin,seatedbesidehim,hadhiseyesfixedontheremaindersofthebarbecuedmeatstrewnacrossthetable. "Drybones,"hecriedoutsuddenly. Gregóriostoppedtalking,andeverybodyturnedtoBenjamin.Drybones,herepeated,likeanautomaton.Whatthehell,Benjamin?saidGregório.Whyhaveyou interruptedmelikethis?Andwhat'sthebigidea,thisdrybonescrap? Benjaminmumbledanapology,andtheincidentwassoonforgotten.Butitwasn'thimwhohadsaidthat,ofthishewassure;thevoicewasn'this.Athome,alreadyin bed,itoccurredtohimthatDrybones,IheardthewordoftheLord...wasoneofEzekiel'sprophecies.TheprophethadspokenthroughBenjamin'smouth,right thereinthechurrascaria. Benjaminwasamalcontent.Hecouldn'tresignhimselftobeingamereemployee,buthehadnodesiretobecomeaboss.Hewasalwaysdisparagingthegovernment, buthedidn'tthinkmuchofprivateenterpriseeither.Hehadthereputationofbeinganoddball,sonobodyintheofficewassurprisedattheoddityofhisbehaviorin the

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churrascaria.Buteverybodycommentedonthatdrybonesincident.Itdidn'toccurtoanybodytoconnectthosewordswithEzekiel'sprophecy. Dayslater,BenjaminBokwentintoGregório'soffice.Withoutaword,hetookaMagicMarkeroutofhispocketandproceededtotraceHebrewlettersonthe newlypaintedwall.Flabbergasted,Gregóriolookedon. "Butwhatthehellareyoudoing?"hebellowedatlast. BenjaminthenturnedtoGregórioandstaredathim. "You'vebeenweighedinthebalancesandfoundwanting,"hethensaid. "Weighedinthebalances?Foundwanting?"Gregóriowaspuzzled.Hedidn'tknowthathehadjustheardtheprophetDanielspeaking,andthatBenjamin,ashesat ontheflooramidstthelargevasesthatdecoratedtheoffice,wasinfactinthelions'den. GregórioaskedPaulinatocometohisofficeforaprivatetalk.Benjaminisbonkers,hesaidwithoutbeatingaroundthebush,we'llhavetocommithimtoahospital, there'snootherway.Breakingintotears,Paulinasaidthatsherecognizedthatherhusbandwasn'twell,butahospitalwouldbetheendofhim.Besides,perhapsthe wholethingwasduetoexhaustion.Benjaminworkstoohard,shesaidinatoneofvoiceinwhichGregóriodetectedaclearaccusation.Subdued,andsomewhat remorseful,heconcededthatperhapsitwasn'tacaseforamentalinstitution. "But,"hewasquicktoadd,"somethinghastobedone.Icannolongerputupwiththissituation,Paulina.Thefirmisbuzzingwithgossip.Ibecomediscredited,you mustunderstand." Paulinawasagainintears:Ah,Gregório,ifyouknewwhatI'vebeengoingthrough,shesobbed.Icanwellimagine,hesaid,butsowhat,Paulina?Let'sgetdownto thenitty­gritty:what'stheproblem?what'sthesolution?Ihaven'tgottenallday.Wealreadyknowwhattheproblemis,solet'stacklethesolution.

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Afterconsideringvarioussolutions,theyoptedfortheonethatseemedthemostpractical,atleastforthetimebeing.GregóriowouldgiveBenjamintimeofffora vacation.PaulinawastotakeherhusbandtoaseasideresortinthestateofSantaCatarina. AtfirstBenjamindidn'twanttohearaboutavacation,muchlessaboutgoingtothebeach.Igetnervoushavingnothingtodo,hesaid.Besides,Idislikebeaches,I'm allergictosand. Gregóriothenintervenedandthreatenedtomakeanissueofit—hewouldevenfireBenjaminifitcametothat.Reluctantly,Benjaminacquiesced.Theyleftthe childrenwithPaulina'smotherandwenttotheseashore. Thehotelwheretheystayedwasnearlyempty,foritwastheoffseason. DuringthefirstfewdaysBenjaminseemedtobegettingbetter.Hewouldriseearlyinthemorning,docalisthenics,havebreakfast,thenreadforawhile—mostlythe Bible,inwhichhewasagainveryinterested.Atteno'clockinthemorningtheywouldgodowntothebeachandstrollamongtherarevacationists.Inarathertalkative mood,Benjaminwouldreminisceabouthischildhoodandrecallfunnyincidentsthathadoccurredduringtheirengagement.Theseaaircandowonders!Paulina whisperedintothemouthpiecewhenshephonedGregóriotokeephimposted. Onthedaysthatfollowed,however,Benjaminwasagaininastateofperturbation.Hehadbecomeveryquiet;hesleptrestlessly.Inhissleephemumbled incomprehensiblethings.Onenightheleapedoutofbedscreaming:Begone,youwretch!Leavemealone!Paulinahadtoshakehimawake.Hewasbesidehimself. Paulinadidn'tknowwhattodo.Shewasafraidofanunpleasantsceneatthehotel;sheconsideredreturningtoPortoAlegre,butshedidn'tdaretotakeanysteps withoutfirstconsultingGregório.Shephonedhim. "Idon'twantBenjaminhere,notintheconditionheisin!"

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shoutedGregório."Heistostaythereuntilhegetsbetter.Don'tbringthisnuthere,Ialreadyhaveplentyofotherworries." Paulinareturnedtothebedroom.Inthesemidarkness,withtheshuttersclosedtokeeptheheatout,Benjaminwaslyingmotionlessinbed.Paulinawentuptohim. "HewantsmetoreturntoPortoAlegre,"groanedBenjamin."Hewantsmetoannouncethatthedaysofthefirmarenumbered.BecauseofGregório's,andother people's,inequities." "He,who?"askedPaulina. "Youknowwho."Hepointedtotheceiling."Him.Hewon'tleavemealone." "Perhapswe'dbettergohome,"saidPaulina,tryinghardnottocry.Benjaminleapedtohisfeet: "No!"heshouted."Idon'twantto.Idon'twanttogoback!Idon'twanttoprophetize!Iwanttostayhere,sunbathing!" Hegrippedhiswife'shand:"Whycan'tIbelikeeverybodyelse,Paulina?Whycan'tIleadanormallife?" Weeping,theyhuggedeachother.Paulinathenhelpedhimbacktobed,andthenshe,too,laydown.Shefellasleep.Whenshewokeup,itwasalreadynight. Benjaminwasnotinbed. "Benjamin!" Shemadeadashforthebathroom:Hewasn'tthereeither.Seizedbyasuddenforeboding,sheopenedthedoortotheterrace. Afigurewasrunningdownthemoonlitbeach.ItwasBenjamin.Attimeshewouldstoptogazeatthesea;amomentlater,hewasrunningagain,attimesinone direction,attimesinanother,asifnotknowingwheretogo. Paulinaknewwhathewassearchingfor.Thefish.TheprophetJonahwassearchingforthegiganticfishthatwouldswallowhimandtakehimtohisdestination. Benjaminbegantotakeoffhisclothes.Naked,hethenproceededtoadvancetowardthesea.

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Tearingdownthestairs,Paulinarantothebeach,whichwasonlyashortdistanceawayfromthehotel. ''Benjamin!Don't,forGod'ssake,don't!" Hewasstandingstill,withthewaterwaisthigh.Sheenteredtheseaandtriedtoleadhimaway,buthekeptresisting,andfinallyhegaveherashove;shefell,anda wavedraggedherawayfromhim.Atthatmomentthehotelstaffarrivedonthescene.WithgreatefforttheymanagedtotakeBenjaminbacktohisroom. Adoctorcameandgavehimaninjection.Shortlyafterward,hewasasleep. NextmorningBenjamincouldn'trememberathing.Butheseemedfine,althoughtiredanddepressed. Theyspentafewmoredaysattheseashore,withBenjamingettingincreasinglybetter.Paulinawasconvincedthathewascured.Maybeitwasthedipinthesea,she thought.Ormaybeitwastheinjection. TheyreturnedtoPortoAlegre.Ifeelgreatnow,Benjaminwouldsayagainandagain.Hecouldhardlyknowthattheprophetswerereadyingthemselvesforanew attack. Gregóriohadapartner—Alberto,thesonofoldSamuel,thefirm'sfounder,nowdeceased.Alberto,ashy,absent­mindedman,hadadegreeineconomics,but gardeningwashispassion.Hisdreamwastodevelopanewvarietyofbegonia,whichhewouldnameafterhimself.Beforedying,oldSamuelhadaskedGregório, whomhehadpromotedfrommanagertopartner,tolookafterhisson.WhichGregóriodidforseveralyears,butwithgrowingimpatience.Proddedbyhiswife, ambitiouslikehim,Gregóriostartedtodeviseaplantoridhimselfofhispartner. Benjamin,whosuspectedthatsomethingwasafoot,hadhissuspicionsconfirmedwhenheoverheard,bychance,aconversationthatGregóriohadoverthetelephone. Itwasalong­distancecallfromSãoPaulo,whereGregóriohadamysteriousinformantwho

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wouldtiphimoffaboutsuchthingsasinvestmentopportunities,newregulationsstillindraftform,imminentbankruptcies.Thenafewdayslater,Benjaminsaw GregórioinconversationwithAlberto.HewastryingtopersuadehispartnertotradehisinterestinthecompanyforsharesinbusinessenterprisesinSãoPaulo: "Yourprofitswillbemuchhigher,Alberto.Youwon'thavetoworkanymore,you'llbeabletoliveonthereturnsofyourinvestments.You'llbeabletospendtherest ofyourlifeputteringaroundinyourvegetablegarden." "Flowergarden,"correctedAlberto. "Youbet,inyourflowergarden.So?Whatdoyouthink?Wouldn'titbegreat?" Benjaminwasoutraged.Gregórioknewverywellthatthesharpriseinvalueofthoseshareswasonlytemporary:themarketwasjittery,unstable.PoorAlbertowas beingluredintoatrap. Butitwasreallynoneofhisbusiness,Benjaminthoughttohimself.Besides,itwasallonetohimwhetherhehadoneboss,ortwobosses;itreallymadenodifference tohimwhetherhehadtoworkforGregórioorforAlberto. Hewentbacktohisofficeandclosedthedoor.Beforereachinghisdesk,hestopped:Hewasfeelingdizzy.Itwasstartingalloveragain—thatthingwiththe prophets.Withhiseyesclosed,histeethclenched,hisfacecongested,hestoodtheremotionlessforafewminutes.Hethenopenedhiseyesandmadeforthedoor, butbeforehehadtimetoopenit,hehadtostandstillagain.Thesameweirdsensationwasnowreturning,butwithgreaterintensity. Twoprophets.Twoprophetsweretryingtogaincontroloverhimatthesametime.TwofierceprophetsElijahandAmos—werefightingandjostlingeachotherina scrambleforwhatlittlespacetherewasinsidepoorBenjaminBok.Theywerescrimmaginginsidehischest,insidehisbelly,tramplinghisentrailswiththeirsandaled feet,theirshoutsresonatinginhisskull.Atlast,havingapparently

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reachedasettlement,theyliterallypushedBenjaminout.Hewentstaggeringdownthecarpetedcorridor,andheopenedthedoorofGregório'soffice: "Youaccursedman!"heshouted."Youwanttoseizeyourpartner'sshareofthebusinessjustlikeKingAhabseizedthevineyardofhissubjectNaboth!" (ItwasElijahspeaking.) "Woetothosewhotreadontheheadsofthepoor,"hewenton."Woetothosewhoareunfairtothemeek!Woetothosewhofalsifythebalancesbydeceit!Woeto thosewhosleepinbedsofivory!" (ItwasAmosspeaking.) Flabbergasted,Gregóriowatchedhim.Benjaminthenstartedtosputtersomegarbledwords.Insidehim,theywerefightingagain,thetwoprophets.Finally,Elijah shouted: "I'llsaynomore.I'mleavingnow.IwantmychariotoffiresothatIcanclimbuptoheaven!" Gregóriomadeadashforthephoneanddialedthenumberofapsychiatricclinic.Anambulancecame.Benjamindidn'twanttogo,andhestartedfightingwiththe orderlies.Thenallofasuddenhecalmeddown,andwithdocility,helethimselfbeledaway.Hadheconvincedhimselfthattheambulancewasthechariotoffire? Atthepsychiatricclinic,Benjamingottoknowthemanwhor*ceivedtheHolySpirit. "No,it'snotadoveatall.It'smorelikeabutterfly.Itentersmethroughmyrightnostrilandthenitkeepsflittingaboutinsidemyhead.It'sterrible." HealsogottoknowthewomaninwhomBuddhahadonceincarnatedhimself:"Justimaginemysuffering—me,skinnylikethis,withthatenormousroly­polyinside me." Andtherewasthemulattouponwhomsaintswereinthehabitofdescending;andtherewasthestudentwhor*ceivedZeus.Everybodysuffered.Everybody—except forabearded,long­hairedman,

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whoseemedtranquil.Hewasnotpossessed—hewasJesusChrist.Idoenvyhim,themanwhor*ceivedtheHolySpiritwouldsaywithasigh.I'mafraidI'vebeen allottedtheveryworstoftheHolyTrinity.Idon'tknowwhatGodtheFatherislike,buthecan'tpossiblybeasjitteryasthisbutterfly. Benjamin,too,enviedJesusChrist—thelimpidityofthatgaze,thesplendorofthatface.IfonlyIcouldbelikehim,hewouldsay.Hewoulddoanythingtobeableto ridhimselfoftheprophets.Asamatteroffact,theworstpartofthewholeexperiencewastheexpectancy,foroncetheprophetstookpossessionofhimandstarted speakingthroughhismouth,henolongersuffered;hebecamenothingbutanemptycarcass—akindofarmorthatthespiritsutilized. OnedayhetoldJesusChristthatheenviedhim. "Ifyourintentionistotakemyplace,"saidthementalpatient,smilingallthetime,"desistfromentertaininganysuchnotion.ThereisoneandonlySonofGod—me." "No,that'snotwhatImeant,youmisunderstoodme,"explainedBenjamin."AllIwantistoridmyselfoftheseprophets." "Thefirststep,"theothermanwenton,"isforyoutobecomeaChristian.Icouldevenmakeanapostleoutofyou,thereareopeningsforapostles.Selleverythingyou own,distributethemoneyamongthepoor,andfollowme.Together,we'llthentraversetheroadsoftheEarth,leadingmentotheirsalvation." Hetookascrapofpaperandapencilstuboutofhispocket. "Let'smakeaninventory.Whatdoyouown?Acar?Ahouse?Clothes?" No,noneofthathadanythingtodowithwhatBenjaminhadwantedtosay.Nobodyunderstoodhim,notevenhispsychiatrist,ayoungmannamedIsaiah.The coincidenceofthisnamedidn'tescapethenoticeofBenjamin.Norofthedoctor,forthatmatter.Deepdown,thedoctorwouldsaytoBenjamin,whatyoufearisthe

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prophetthatIrepresent.Whatyou'reafraidof,Benjamin,isthatI,theprophetIsaiah,willstartfightingwithyourprophets. Benjamindidn'tbelieveinanyofit,buthewasn'tonetoquestiontheopinionofadoctorwithpostgraduateworkintheUnitedStates.So,hewouldlistentothe psychiatristinsilence;whenitwastimeforoccupationaltherapy,hewouldcarvelittlewoodenhorses;andwhenitwastimeforrecreation,hewouldcompeteina ping­pongtournament.Andhewouldtakehismedicineconscientiously.Theworstofitwasthatthedrugsgavehimanallergy—askindiseasethatquicklyulcerated. HereIaminthesameconditionasJob's,hethought,alarmed,butuponrememberingthatJobwasnotaprophet,hesighed,relieved. Uponbeingdischargedfromthehospital,Benjaminfoundanotherjob.Formanyyearsheledatranquillife.Thatprophetthingseemeddefinitivelyover. Thenonedayhedisappeared. Fullofdespair,Paulinanotifiedthepolice.Shethenwenttoeverysinglehospitalintown—includingthementalhospitals—andsheranadsinthenewspapers,andput noticesontheradio.Sheevenwenttothemorgue.Withrevulsionandhorror,shelookedatthecorpsesthatasinister­lookingattendanthadtakenoutofthefreezer. Luckily,Benjaminwasnotamongthem.Buthewasnowheretobefound. Yearslater,themailmandeliveredayellowenvelopetoPaulina—mailedinRio,butobviouslyoriginatingfromaforeigncountry.Itcontainednothingbutapicture—a snapshot,badlyoutoffocus,showingasmilingandsomewhatfatterBenjaminBok,inasafarioutfitcompletewithacorkhatsimilartotheonetheexplorer Livingstoneusedtowear.Hewassittingonafoldingchair,inabarrenplain.Besidehim,lyingontheground,ahugelion.Standingsomewhatfartheraway,alittle blackboylookedoncuriously.And

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therewasnothingelse.Noletter,notevenadedicationonthebackofthepicture. However,itdidn'ttakelongforPaulinatodeducethemeaningofthemessage.AtfirstshethoughtofDanielinthelions'den,butDanielhadalreadyhadhisturn.No, whatwasrepresentedtherewasaversionofIsaiah'sprophecy:thelionwillliewiththesheep,andachildwillleadthem. BenjaminBokhadfinallyfoundhispeace.

Ah,MommyDear ForthefirsttimenowI'mwritingandtellingyouthetruth.Allmyotherletters,Mother,werewrittenatthewhimofillusionsbythispoorfoolwhohappenstobeyour daughter.Howsaditis!Howcouldthishavehappenedtome,that'swhatIhavebeenaskingmyself,andthat'swhatI'mnowaskingyouandDad.LatelyI'vebeen thinkingalotaboutbothofyou.Imissyousobadly.Howpainfulitis. Iseemyselfasalittlegirl,witharibbontiedtomyhair,andyouandDadaretakingmetoamatinee.Remember?Itwasawesternmovie.Everybodyinthemovie theaterwasrootingforthegoodguy,butIkeptcheeringtheIndianson.(Bytheway,wasn'tthisalreadyanearlysignofsomethingwrong?Shouldn'tyouandDad havetakensomeprecautions?Idon'tknow.Besides,knowingwon'tdoanygood.) Iseemyselfinhighschool,andthenincollege.NowIwishIhadneverstudiedSocialSciences.IwishIhadneverstudiedanything.Knowledgebroughtmenothing butmisfortune.IfIhadn'tgonetocollege,ifIhadn'tmajoredinAnthropology,Iwouldneverhavemetthishusbandofmine,thisPeter.Thisbastard. Icanimaginethelookonyourfacesasyoureadthis.IcanimagineyouandDadwondering,howcanshesaysuchathingabouther

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ownhusband?ButIdosayit,threetimes.Damnhim.Damnhim.Damnhim.FornowIknowwhoheis.DuringmycollegedaysIdidn'tknowthefirstthingabout him.I,astudentfascinatedbyAnthropology.He,avisitingprofessor—ofAnthropology.Itwasboundtohappen:Hekeptgazingatme,Ikeptgazingathim.We wentoutfordinnerandwithgreatpridehetoldmethathehadIndian—Cheyenne—blood(andheasblondastheycome,thedevil!).Ithentoldhimaboutthose westernmovies,andmypassionforIndians.Assuminganexpressionofsorrow(hewassogoodatpretending,thebastard)hesaidthattheAmericanIndianswere nolongerwhattheyoncewere,thatitwasonlytheBrazilianIndiansthatstillpreservedthepurityoftheprimitiveman. Theprimitiveman.Ishouldhavetakennoticeofthosewords,Mother.ButIdidn't:Iwasinlove,allIwantedwastomarryhim,andyouwellremembermyhappiness whenwebecameengaged.I,too,rememberyourpleasureatourengagement,andIdon'tblameyou.AyoungAmericanprofessor,intelligent,handsome, charming—howcouldyounothavelikedhim,Mother.YouandDadwereburstingwithpride,youhadtotelleverybodyaboutit,andyougaveusabeautiful weddingparty.It'sallperfectlyunderstandable.WhenPeterannouncedthatweweregoingtoliveinthejungle,nearasettlementofhalf­civilizedIndians,youandDad weredisappointed,butyousaidatthattime—andIunderstandyourreasonsforsayingso—thatawifewassupposedtofollowherhusband,astheBiblesays.So,I packedthesuitcasesandwentwithhim;andeversince,everythingyouknowaboutmehasbeenthroughletters,right?Ialwayswrotethateverythingwasfine;that Peter'sresearchwasprogressingwell;thatIwashappylookingafterourhouse—modestbutcomfortable,thebesthouseintheregion.That'swhatIwouldsayinmy letters,andit'spainfulformetoconfessnoweverythingItoldyouwasalie,Mother.WhatIwrotetoyouhad—has—nothingto

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dowithreality,andthat'swhyIneverwantedyouandDadtocomeandvisitus.Bywayofexcuse,IwouldsaythatPeterhadtoconcentrateonhiswork.Alie.I didn'twantyouandDadtoseethekindoflifewewerelivinghere. Atfirsteverythingwasfine.Wesettledinourhouse—anoldwoodenhousethathadbeenbuiltontheedgeofthejungle,notfarfromtheIndiansettlement.Peter alwayssaidthathefeltathomehere,thatitwasthekindoflifehehadalwayswantedforhimself:authentic,rough,primitive,andinthemidstofnature.Imissednot havingafewthings—electricity,mostly,andthemovies—butItriedtolookcheerful.EverymorningPeterleftfortheIndiansettlement.Istayedhome,cooking,and cleaning,andwashingourclothes.Butsofar,sogood. Thenamonthafterourarrival,Peter—whountilthenhadalwaysgoneaboutinasuitandatiestartedtowearsometatteredoldshortsandhenolongerworeashirt. Thisstruckmeasodd,butthenitwashot.AndhealsoinsistedthatIwearonlyaminimalamountofclothes.Ithoughtitindecorousforayoungwomanaloneinthe jungletobescantilydressed,butinordernottoannoyhim—andyetthat'swhenIshouldhavenippedthisideaofhisinthebud—Iwentalongwithhim. Thefollowingweekheshowsupwearingnothingbutatanga,youknow,theG­stringwornbytheBrazilianIndians. Yes,Mother.Atangafashionedfromthefurofsomeanimal(asmallocelot,Ithinkitwas),tiedtohiswaistwithaliana.I'mreturningtoaprimitivewayoflife,he announcedwithasmilethatmademybloodfreeze.Andfromthenon,ithasbeenonethingafteranother. Hewrenchedoutallthefloorboardsinthehouse,sayingthathewantedtofeeltheearthunderneathhisfeet.Hethenstartedtosleeponthedirtfloor.Beforelong,the housewasfullofwildgrowth;

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Icooked(whileIstillcould,asyou'llsoonsee)amidthecreepersandthebromeliads.Andthewholeplacewasjustcrawlingwithallkindsofcreatures—ants, beetles,geckos;onceIevenkilledasnake,Mother!I,whohadalwaysbeenscaredtodeathofthesecreatures,hadthegutstokillasnakethathadstartedtoclimb upmylegwhileIwasansweringacallofnature(inthebushes,mindyou,forwehadnotoiletanymore). Next,hetoldmetostopcooking.We'regoingtofeedourselves,heannounced,thewaytheprimitivedo:We'lleatonlywhatwecankillourselves. That'showitwent:Hewouldcomehomewith,say,apiglet.Hewouldletgooftheanimal,whichwouldthenrunallovertheplace,knockingdownthefewthingsthat Imanagedtokeeptidy.WithPeterinhotpursuit.Holdingaknifebetweenhisteeth,hewouldchaseit,hiseyesglittering.Suddenly,hewouldpounceontheanimal. Withafrightfulscream,hewoulddecapitatethepigandtearawaybloodychunksofmeat,whichhethenproceededtoeat—raw!Andhemademeeatittoo.Atfirst Iwouldn't,withtheexcusethatIhadanupsetstomach.Butitwasimpossibletoresisthunger.Andsoitwasrawpiglet,andrawfish,andrawkidgoat—andoncewe evenateamonkey,whichhehadkilledinthejungle.Wedrankwaterfromtheriver,andthat'swherewebathedtoo—orrather,Idid,becausehewouldrathergo dirty.Helookedghastly:aprofusionofmattedhairandbeard,andthoseeyesofhis—theywerelikeburningcoals.HestoppedgoingtothesettlementoftheIndians, whowereafraidofhim.Hewouldclimbupatree,wherehewouldremain,scratchinghimselfuntilitwastimetogohunting,ortimetoraidthegrangesinthevicinity. Asamatteroffact,thegrangeownerswereverykind;theydidn'ttakeactionagainsthim,theyalwaysofferedtohelpme,andtheymailedmyletterstoyou. Whyhaven'tItoldyouanyofthisbefore?Idon'tknow.PerhapsbecauseIdidn'twanttoalarmyou.Andalsobecause—Iadmit—I

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washopingthatPeterwouldchange,thathewouldbecomeacivilizedhumanbeingagain. Now,however,Inolongerentertainanysuchhope.AndIliveinfear. It'sthathestartedlookingatmeinthisweirdway,Mother.Hekeepslookingatme,andhekeepslaughing,andhekeepssayingthatinthetimesofthecannibals, that'swhentheyhaditgood.

GoodNight,Love Notmanypeopleknowwheremystoreislocated.Itsname—TheHamper—doesnotfigureinanynewspaperadvertisem*nt,noteveninamodestone.Nojingle singsitspraisesovertheradio.ItisnotlistedintheYellowPages. Besides,itisnotlocatedonastreetdowntown.IfyouwanttoshopatTheHamper,you'llhavetowalkalongthenarrowstreetsoftheLowerCity.Afteralongwalk, you'llcometoalittleoldhousepaintedindarkblue,withadoorandawindowatthefront,andasignshowingthearticlethatgavethestoreitsname:ahamper.After enteringthroughthenarrowfrontdoor,afterwalkingontheworn­outtiledfloor,afterscrutinizingthedimlylitinterior,youwillfinallysee—amidtheboxesof handkerchiefsandofbeadnecklaces,amidthelingeriearticlesandthestatuettesofshepherdesses,amidthetablelamps,thepictureframes,andtheclaypots—the shopkeeper.Atall,middle­agedman,greyinghairplasteredontheskull,close­shavenface,shirtbuttonedatthethroat,handsrestingonthecounter—that'sme.Dry­ eyed,thin­lipped—that'sme. Contrarytowhatallappearancesandderisivesmilesmightindicate,IsaythatIamhappyhere.Ilikethisstreet,Ilikethisstore,Iliketheseobjectsthatsurroundme. NosumofmoneycouldpayforthepleasureIfeellookingatthem.IfIhadachoice,notoneofthesearticleswouldbeforsale.ButIhavetoeat.Andsodoesmy

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wife.Andsodomythreechildren—thetwins,andthebabyofthefamily.Ifthisweren'tthecase,ah,Iwouldkeepallthearticlesinthestoreformyself.Particularly thelittlewoolanimals. TheyaremadebyadiminutiveblindwomanwholivesinthePassodasPedrasdistrict.OnceaweekItakeabustoherhouse.Theblindwoman(sheisveryold,she mustbeinhereighties)isalreadywaitingwiththearticlesIhadordered:halfadozenlioncubs,halfadozenteddybears(threewhite,andthreebrown),halfadozen kittens.Idon'tcaretoomuchforthekittens,butIwouldneversaysototheblindwoman:inmydealingswithherIusefewbutalwayscourteouswords.Ireceivethe littleanimals,stillwarm,fromherwrinkledhands,Ipayher,andItakemyleave.Uponreturningtothestore,Iplacethetoyanimalsonashelfsomewhatoutofsight, forthegeneralassumptionisthatthestorecarriesthem,andthenIgobacktomyusualpose—handsonthecounter,eyespinnedonthefrontdoor.Waiting—albeit withafeelingofambivalence—forthecustomerstocome.Actually,therearen'tmanyofthem.HardlyanyoneevershopsatTheHamper. She,however,came.Ah,shecouldn'thelpcoming:alwayspersistent,myex­wifeis.Shecameataboutteno'clockonaMondaymorning.Irememberthetimevery wellbecauseI'minthehabitofclosingthestoreinthemiddleofthemorningtogotothebathroom,whichisinthebackpartofthehouse.SothereIwas,peeing, whenIheardastrangenoise,araspingsounditwas.Cursing,Ibuttonedupmyflyandreturnedtothestorepropertofindheratthefrontdoor,scratchingthepane withhercarkey. Hadshearrivedlaterinthemorning,shewouldn'thavefoundme.Iwouldbeatthebararoundthecorner,havinglunch:acheeseandsalamisandwich,andabeer—a frugalmealasusual,butIliketolingerovermymeals.Andafterlunch,I'minthehabitofgoingforawalkintheneighborhood. Whatifshehadcomeatseveno'clockintheevening?She

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wouldn'thavefoundme,either.BythattimeI'malreadyhome,watchingtelevision. Butitwasteninthemorningwhenshecame,andsoshefoundmeinthestore. Thereshewas,watchingme.Withtheusualexpressioninhereyes:atouchofsadnessmingledwithagreatdealofimpudence.Deepdown,therehadalwaysbeen somethingimpudentabouther.Impudenceandgoodlooks—acombinationthatintheendmadeherwalkoutonme.Andeversince,it'sbeencheeseandsalami sandwiches,beer.Television.Littlewoolanimals. Iopenedthedoor.Shecameinsmiling.Verysmartlydressed:herhusbandisrich.Goodmorning,shesaid,andI:Goodmorning.Howareyou?sheasked.Fine,I replied,andhowareyou?Shesaidthatshewasfineandtheninquiredaftermyfamily—Isaidthattheywerefine,butmymotherhadn'tbeenfeelingwell.(Sheand mymotherwereveryfondofeachother.Ourdivorcewasagreatdisappointmenttotheoldlady.)Butit'snothingserious,Iadded,it'sjustsomekindofrheumatism. Ah,well,shemumbled. Westoodinsilenceforamoment.Inmymind,animagebegantoform:aroundsliceofsalami....Butno,Ishouldbelookingather.Shewasmywifeonce.For reasonsofherown,shewalkedoutonme.Nowthatshewaspayingmeavisit,itwasmydutytobepleasant.Youlookveryelegant,Isaid,andshe:Thankyou, Jorge,it'sniceofyoutosayso.Shelookedaround:Anicesetupyou'vegothere.Thenopeningherpurse,shetookoutacigarettecase: ''Doyousmoke?" "Thanks,butno,"Isaid."IhavebronchitisandI'drathernotsmoke.Sure,goahead,"Isaid. Shelitacigarette,lookedaroundher,andtookanashtrayofftheshelf. "No,notthatone!"Ishouted.Then,loweringmyvoice,Iexplainedthattheashtraywasforsale.Ithenwentintomyofficeto

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lookforanashtraybutIcouldn'tfindone.Icamebackwithaglass:"Usethisasanashtray,willyou?" Shestoodsmoking,andsheputtheashintotheglass.Wewerenotlookingateachother,butonceinawhilewecouldcastsurreptitious,sidelongglancesateach other.Allofasudden,shesaid:"Itwasgoodwithus,wasn'tit,Jorge?" Wewerebothstanding,Iwithmyhandsrestingonthecounter.Sheplacedherlefthandonmylefthand. ForamomentIstoodconsideringthathand.Ahandtreatedwithgreatcare,theskinsmootheventhoughshewasnolongeryoung—pushingforty,shewas.The fingerswerefullofrings(threeontheforefinger,twoonthemiddlefinger,andsoon),whichglitteredinthesemidarknessofTheHamper.Andthefingernailswere paintedinsomeexoticsanguinouscolor. Ididn'twithdrawmyhand.NordidIsayanything.Shekeptlookingatme,Ikeptlookingather,andthatwasall. Shesighedandstartedtowalkaboutthestore.Thenpointingtoavase: "Howmuchdoesthatthingcost?" Thatthing,Ifeltlikesaying,isavase.Notanexceptionallygoodvase,notamasterpiece,butstillagoodvase,boughtfromapotterthatwillbefamousoneday. Ninety,Isaid.Letmeseeit,sheasked. Itookthevasefromtheshelf,andmuchtomydispleasure,Isawthatitwascoveredwithafinelayerofdust—adisaster,mycleaninglady.Takingthevase,she examineditcarefully,andwithapretenseofknow­how,tappeditwithafingernail.It'snogreatshakes,shesaid,returningthevasetoitsplace.Shesighedagain.She thenexamined,butwithouttouching,aporcelainelephant.Andanenameledplate. Itwasgoodwithus,Jorge.True:inordinatelygood.Goodonheruncle'sfarm;goodonthebackseatofmyfather'scar;goodonthe

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beach;alwaysgood.Evenduringourmarriage,itwasgood.Butevenso,onedayshetookoff. "I'dliketoseethatnecklaceoverthere." Ihandedherthenecklace,whichsheproceededtoexamine,runningherfingersonthebeads.Sheaskedmeforamirror.Iwenttomyoffice,lookedforamirror,and foundone.Alreadywiththenecklaceon,shelookedatherselfinthemirror,movingherheadfromsidetoside.Shesighed: "No.Idon'tlikeit." Shethenstaredatmeintensely.Andallofasudden,shebegantosinginaweak,tremblingvoice: "Goodmorning,love, la­ri­la­li­la­la­la­la goodnight,love..."

Ithadbeenourfavoritesong. Embarrassed,Iavertedmyeyes.Whatifsomebodyweretowalkin?Shestoppedsingingandgrabbedmebythearm. "DoyouknowwhatI'mtalkingabout,Jorge?" Idid.ButIsaidnothing. "It'saboutlove,Jorge!Love!Haveyoueverexperiencedlove?" Shewaspracticallyshoutingnow.Oblivioustothefactthatshewasonthepremisesofacommercialestablishment. (Justadinkylittlestore,true.ButIhaveplans.Dreams.Achainofstoresisnotutterlyunthinkable.I'llhavetolearnaboutsalesmanship.That'sit:salesmanship. PerhapsitwouldhelpifIweretotakesomecourses.) Iremainedsilent.Sheletgoofmyarm,andlitacigarette. "Andthisleatherhandbag,howmuchisit?" "Fourhundred." "It'squiteugly." Nothingsuitedher.Ilookedsurreptitiouslyatthewatch:almosttimetoclose.

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"DoyouknowthatI'veleftRoberto?" "SoI'veheard." "Well,it'strue." Thenpointingwiththecigarette: "Andthathandbagoverthere?" "Fivehundred." "Outrageous." Shewantedtoknowthepriceofvariousotherarticles.Sincesheshowednointentionofacquiringanyofthem—whichinfactdidn'tdispleaseme—Isaidthatitwas timetocloseforlunch.Shelookedatme(withangerandhurt),thenstubbedouthercigaretteintheglass,andleft.Withoutaword.Andslammingthedoorbehind her. Onthatdaynoothercustomerappeared. ItwasnotuntillateintheafternoonthatInoticedthatoneofthewoolteddybearswasmissing:ofthesix,onlyfivewereleft.AtfirstIthoughtthattheblindwoman hadcheatedme:Shehadchargedmeforsixandgivenmeonlyfive,that'swhatIthought.Butshewasmuchtoohonesttodosuchathing. Andthecleaningwoman?Honest,too.Therefore,itcouldhavebeenonlyoneperson. ForawhileIsatthere,thinking.Itwasgood,Jorge.Ithad,indeed,beengood."Goodmorning,love...."True.Butthat'salldeadandgonenow.Besides,friendship isonething,businessanother. IpickedupthephoneandspoketoafriendIhadinthepolice.Isuppliedhimwithhernameandaddress,andwithabriefdescription.Everythingbythebook. Ithenlockedup,wenthome,haddinner,watchedtelevisionwithmykids,andwenttobedateleveno'clock.AsIturnedoffthelight,Ithoughtofher:Itwasgood, Jorge.Itwas,indeed.Goodnight,love,Imurmuredbeforefallingasleep.

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ApexofthePyramid Itwasperhapsthesmell—amixtureofodors.Ofearth,ofdampsawdust,ofsweat—thesweatofmenorofexoticanimals.Itwasperhapsthesmell.Thenperhaps not.Thefactisthatshewasfeelingsickthere,quitesick.OhGod,shethought,IwishIwerehome;atthismoment,there'snothingelseIwantasbadly. Themanbeforeher,Breno(BrenoorBruno),seemedunawareofherindisposition.Hewassmilingallthetime;ashysmile—shybutmocking;thesmileofsomeone withbadteeth.Thosecavitiesaredisgusting,shethought,andthenitoccurredtoher:Isithisteeththataremakingmesick?Shebecameannoyedatherself:I shouldn'tbeposingquestionstomyself,buttohim,afterallIamajournalist.Shecorrectedherself:anapprentice.Aforty­year­oldapprentice—stillnothingbutan apprentice.Shehadn'tcompletedhertraininginjournalismyet. Sheopenedherhandbag,fromwhichshetookapen—agoldfountainpenitwas(theeyesofthemanglittered,orsheimaginedthattheydid)—andanotepad.Let's see,shesaid,yourpositionisatthebase.Yes,saidBreno(orBruno),atthebase,that'sright,Istandinthemiddleofthebase.Youknow,theysayI'mthestrongest. Yes,Icanseethat,shesaid.Iwasthefirsttoberecruited,addedtheman,proud.Hewasthefirsttoberecruited—shewrotedownandthenasked:Andwhen wasthat?Ah,repliedtheman,alongtimeago,abouttenyearsago. Tenyearsago.Whatwasshedoingtenyearsago?ShewasthenlivinginthatbigmansionintheposhHigienópolisdistrict,andthedaysfledoneaftertheother. Mornings,herhusband,briefcaseinhand,wouldgouptoher:I'mofftoworknow,Selma,havefun.Hewouldthenkissher.Shewouldkisshimback,knowingvery wellthatshewouldn'thaveanyfun—notonthatday,noronanyotherdayforthatmatter.Butherhusbandwasinahurrytoleave,it

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wasn'tthemomentforcomplaints.Shewouldtakeanothersipofcoffee,sigh,andpickupamagazine. "ItwasRedheadwhor*cruitedme,"themanwenton. Shewinced.Who,shesaid,tryingtodisguiseherperturbation.Redhead,Breno(orBruno)repeated;Idon'tknowhisrealname,Idon'tthinkanybodydoes. EverybodyaroundherecallshimRedhead. Averyshortmanwalkedby—amanwholookedlikeadwarf:hewasadwarf.Withdifficulty,hewascarryingahugestool.Hesmiledatherandthendisappeared fromsight.ShebegantowritedownRedheadrecr—butcouldn'tfinishtherestofthesentence,forherpenranoutofink.Ishoulduseaballpointpenlikeeveryone else,shethoughtasshefranticallyshookthepen;butI'mnotlikeeveryoneelse,soIuseafountainpenandIkeepforgettingtofillitwithink.Shetriedagain:yes,it worked,andshefinishedthesentence—recruitedme. Fullofanimation,Breno(orBruno),wenton: "Redhead,yep.Wewerekidsthen,methirteenorso,heabitolder,sixteen,Iguess.Onedayhecameuptomeandsaid:Youknow,Bruno..." (Bruno!ThenamewasBruno.Shemustn'tforget.Justincase,onacomerofthepage,shejotteddown:Bruno.) "...thathousewiththehighwallaroundit?There'ssomethinggoingonthere."What?Iasked.ButRedheadwouldn'tsay,that'showhewas,mysterious.Hejust laughedandsaid,come,I'llshowyou.SoIfollowedhim.Whenwegottothewall,heaskedmetocrouchdown,andthenheclimbedonmyshoulders—andthat's howthewholething,ma'am,ourwholeenterprise,gotstarted.RedheadwasverynimblebutIwassomewhatclumsy,buthetaughtmewhatIhadtodosothathe wouldn'tfalldown.Ittookmealongtimetogetthehangofit,butIfinallylearnedwhatIhadtodo.But,yousee,ma'am,Iwasabeanpoleeventhen,butRedhead wasapee­

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wee,hestillis,sohestillcouldn'tlookoverthewall.Howmuchhigherdoyouhavetogo,Redhead?Iasked,abitfidgetybecausehisanklebootswerehurtingmy shoulders.Atleastameter,hesaid.Hethenjumpeddown,terriblydisappointed. Shewaswritinglikemad.Idon'twanttolookatthisman,shewasthinking,Idon'twanttolookatthesethingsaroundme.Jumpeddown,shewrote. Ascream.Sheheardascream.No,notascream,itwasmorelikeasqueal,ananguishedsqueal.OhGod,andagainshewasaddressingaquestiontoherself,how didIgetmyselfinthispickle? Shewasannoyedatherself:No,I'mnotgoingtogiveup.I'mnotgoingtoletanythingfrightenme,I'mthroughwiththisphaseinmylife!Sheforcedherselftostop takingnotes,sheforcedherselftoraiseherhead,sheforcedherselftosmileandspeak:" Itwasthenthattheothersjoinedin." "That'sright,ma'am,"saidBruno(Bruno?)."Redheadthensaidtome,Bruno(Bruno!),we'llhavetogetmorepeople,justyouisnotenough."Redhead,"Isaid,''I've gotseveralbrothers,Icouldtalktothem.""Bruno"(Bruno!),Redheadsaid,"we'llneedfiveguysaltogether:threetoformthebase,twotostandonthebase,and me..." (—ontheapex,shewroteinadvance) "...ontopofallyouguys.Iwaspleasedaspunch,ma'am"(helaughed,Brunodid),"becausewehappenedtobefivebrothers:thetwins,andtherestofus.The onlyproblemwas,Ididn'tknowhowtheywouldliketheidea....ButRedheadhadnoproblemwinningthemover,hetoldthemthateverybodywouldtaketums lookingoverthewallafterhedidso;afterhetookalook,hewouldgodowntothebase,thenanotherguywouldhaveachance." Ascream—thistimeitwas.Aman'sscream,followedbytheshriekofanenragedanimal.Shewincedagain.Thepenwasnowtracinginvisiblewordsonthepaper. Thistimetheinkhadreallyrunout.

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Redheadhadthegiftofgab,themanwasnowsayingwithadmirationinhisvoice.Acrackerjack,Redheadwas....Hetalkedmybrothersintoit.Butittookusa weekoftrainingbeforewesucceededinformingapyramid.Redheadblewhiscoolmorethanonce,hewouldyellatus,sayingwewouldneverlearnhowtodoit. Butwedidlearn.Andwewerefinallyabletoformabeautifulpyramid. Hewipedhiseyes.Holycow,hemumbled,hardtobelieveit'sbeentenyearsalready. Tenyearsago,anditwassummertime.Havefun,herhusbandwouldsay,leavingforwork.Themaidwouldcome,holdingtheboybythehand:We'releavingnow, DonaSelma,Serginhoisalreadylateforschool.Bye,son,andhavefun.Fun?theboywouldsay,peeved.HowcanIhavefuninschool?You'resostupid,Mother, youneverlearnanything! Hewouldleave,haughtylikehisfather.Withasigh,shewouldpickupamagazineandheadfortheswimmingpool. Onemorning,Bruno(orBreno)wassaying,weheadedforthathouse.Wehidourselvesinavacantlotnearthehousebecausetherewasabigblackcarparkedin frontofthegate.Whenthecardroveaway,Redheadgaveusasignal.Werantothewallandformedapyramid.Redheadclimbedonourbacksuptothetop.He lookedoverthewall.Sayingnothing,hejumpeddownandwasgone. Aroar.Butthismustbealionnow!shethought,alarmed.WhatI'vejustheardmustbealion,perhapsontheloose.Shebitthebackofherhandandshookher head—shedidn'tgiveadamnwhetherthemannoticedherperturbation.AndwhatdidRedheadseethere?sheasked. Nothing,saidtheman.Redheadsaidtherewasnothingthere. Redheadlied—waswhatsheshouldsayorwritedown,butshewasn'tgoingtodoeither.Shewasthinkingofthered­headedteenagerjumpingfromthetopofthe wallandlandingontheedge

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oftheswimmingpool;shewasthinkingofheralarm,andofhisderisivesmile,andthenoftheidea,thefascinatingideathathadoccurredtoher—andwhynot?;she wasthinkingofhistremblingfingersopeningherdressinggown... Nowadays,themanwasconcluding,weallworkhere,inRedhead'scircus.Westilldoourpyramidact.ExceptthatRedheadnolongerperformswithus.Nowthat heownsallofthis,he'sontopofeverything,saidtheman,withthatsmilefullofrottenteeth. Ontop.Redheadontop.Sheshrieked,sheroared,shescreamed,shemoaned—nobodycouldhearher:thehousewasempty,thewallswerehighandthick.Ten yearsago... "Hi,Selma,"saidavoicebehindher. Sheturnedaround:awell­dressedman,anelegantmandespitehisshortstature.Itwashim,yes,itwasthe "Hi,Redhead." apexofthepyramid.

APortoAlegreStory Don'tthinkthatI'mcomplaining,I'mnot.I'mjusttellingthetruth,andtellingthetruthcan'thurtanyone.AndthetruthisthatI'mtheonewhoisanativeofPorto Alegre;you'retheonewhofeelssoproudofthiscity,butI'mtheonewhowasbornhere.IwasalreadylivinginPortoAlegrewhenyou,thehaughtysonofawealthy farmerfromthesouthernregionsneartheUruguayanborder,arrivedhere.Alongtimeago,wasn'tit?WhatisnowthedistrictofPetrópolisdidn'tevenexistthen,and TrêsFigueiraswasnothingbutscrubland.Therewerehardlyanystreetcarsthen....Rememberthestreetcars?Ah,well.AndI—Iwasthehumblesalesgirlina notionsstore,remember?Andyou—youwerethedebonairstudentwhowouldhangoutinbohemiancafesuntildawn,declaimingyourpoetryatthetopofyour voice.Youweretherichyoungmanwho

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wouldcometothestorewhereIworked,bringingmehugebouquetsofroses. Whatascandalitwas,remember?TongueswaggedonRuadaPraia.Allbecauseyouinsistedonstrollingarminarmwithme,allthewayfromPraçadaAlfândegato theConceiçãoChurch.Ididn'tevenenjoythosewalks,butyouwouldsaunterdownthestreetfullofdefiance,yourheadheldhigh—whiletheladiesandthe gentlemenwatchedus,scandalized.Scandalized,werethey?I'llshowthem,you'dsay.Youthendidsomethingevenmoreoutrageous:Yourentedahouseformein theMeninoDeusdistrict.Andwhatahouseitwas!Theoldpalatialresidenceofabaron,situatedinthemiddleofaveritablepark,withtrees,andstatues,andapond fulloflittleredfish.YouinstalledmetherebecauseIwas,youusedtosay,yourqueen;andinfact,Ididleadthelifeofaqueenthere,withservants,andevenacarat mydisposal—oneoftheveryfirstautomobilesinPortoAlegre,anEdsel,remember?Yourfatherfootedthebillforeverything.Yourfather,awealthyfarmowner, thoughtthathissonwasentitledtoalltheprerogativesofamale,regardlessofwhatpeoplesaid.Orofhowmuchitcost.Healwaysfootedthebill. AndI?Well,Ilikedyou.Itrulydid.ItwasbecauseofyouthatImovedoutofmyparents'houseintheLowerCitytolivelikeacourtesaninthatmansionthatyou rented.Butthetruthis,Iwasfondofyou. Yourrelatives—wealthyfarmerslikeyourfather,butfarmersturnedcitydwellers,wholivedinthefashionableMoinhosdeVentodistrict—stoppedinvitingyouto theirparties.Whichonlyincreasedyourirritation.ButyougotevenwiththembyrentingahouseinMoinhosdeVento,intheverystrongholdoftheenemy.Andthere youinstalledus—meandalltheservants(exceptforthecook,whomyoufiredbecauseyouconsideredmycookingsuperior

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tohers).Youwoulddropbyveryoften.Youdidn'twanttoliveinthehousewithmebecauseyouwantedyourfreedom,butyoudidvisitmefrequently. MoinhosdeVento...abeautifulneighborhoodwithfinehouses.Yourrelativeswerefurious;theywouldn'tevengreetyou.Iftheyhappenedtorunintoyouonthe street,theywouldturntheirfaces. Allofthem,exceptforyourcousinRosaMaria.Shewouldlookatyousidewaysandwink,naughtygirlthatshewas....Youwouldsmile.Thetwoofyou exchangedbillets­doux.YouthinkIdidn'tknow?Iknew.Butthetruthwas,Ilikedyou.AndIlikedthehouseinMoinhosdeVento.Aparadise. Aparadisethatdidn'tlastlong...YoudecidedthatIwouldhavetomoveout.Youlikedthathouse,andyouwanteditforyourself,andsoIhadtogo.Imovedinto ahouseinPetrópolis.Togetherwiththemaidandthechauffeur,whowasalsoakindofguard.Thegardenerwasdismissed,forthehouse,relativelymodest,hadno garden;besides,whyhaveagarden?yourationalized.Gardeningissuchademandingjob.AlthoughIlikedgardens,Isaidnothing.BecauseIlikedyou. YoumarriedyourcousinRosaMariaandthenyoutookonamanagerialpositionwithherfather'sbusinessfirm.Fromthenon,yourvisitsbecameincreasinglyrarer; thelifeofabusinessmanisburdenedwithwork,youwouldsay.Iwouldagree,recallingmydaysatthenotionsstore. Thecitycontinuedtodevelop,andatonepointInolongerhadachauffeurbecausePetrópolis—youinformedmeenthusiastically—nowboastedpublictransportation worthyofamoderncity:therewereplentyofstreetcars,ofbuses. Petrópoliswasreallyaniceneighborhood,butastheyearswentby,somedifficultiesarose.Manyofyourfriends—doctors,lawyers,

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businessmen—hadmovedintothearea;besides,theballetschoolthatyourdaughters—twocharminglittlegirls—attended,wasalsolocatedinPetrópolis....Soyou decidedthatIwouldhavetomoveaway. YousentmetoTrêsFigueiras,anareathat,althoughnolongerscrubland,wasbutthinlypopulated.Youinstalledmeinanicelittlehouse.Awoodenhouse,butvery nice.TherainleakedinbutIwasn'tgoingtobotheryouwithsuchminorproblems.Itwouldn'tbefair,whenyouhardlyevershowedup.Andthehousewasn'tugly.I whiledawaymytimedoingthedomesticchores—Inolongerhadaservant.(Whyhaveaservantinsuchasmallhouse?youasked,andyouwereright.Truly,you wereright.) Afewyearslater—IcanrecallthetimeverywellbecausebythenIwasalreadytakinginsewingtomakeendsmeet—thefirsteleganthousesbegantoappearinTrês Figueiras.Beautifulhousestheywere,withornatemasonryonthefaçades....YouthenthoughtthatIshouldmovetoGardenCity.It'sabitfarfromhere,yousaid, andyouwereright;buttheplaceisarealgarden,yousaid,thegardenthatyou'vebeenmissingsomuch.It'struethatthehousehadnorunningwaterorelectricity; however,Ididn'twanttobotheryouaboutthismatter.Youweregoingthroughaphaseofexistentialanguish.Whatgoodismoney?youwouldaskme.Wewere bothsixtyyearsoldthen.What'sthemeaningoflife?—youreyesbrimmingwithtears.AndI,almosttoothless,onlythoughtofanewsetofteeth—butIneverdared askyouforanything. YouthentoldmetomoveawayfromGardenCity.Theneighborhoodwasbecomingquitewellknown,someonemightseeyouthere.Youmademeliveinsomesort ofhouseboat,whichwasmooredintheGuaibaRiver—quiteadesertedplaceitwas.Interesting,thathouseboat.Moreboatthanhouse—thehousewasnothingbuta simplewoodencabincoveredwithcanvas.

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Shakenbythewinterstorms,Iwouldwaitforyou.Therewasayearwhenyoucameonlyonce,onyourbirthday.Youwerefeelingverydepressed:RosaMariahad died,yourdaughtersdidn'twanttohaveanythingtodowithyou,theywereonlyinterestedintheirEuropeantrips.Atthattimeyouweresearchingfortheanswersto life'sbigquestionsinZenBuddhism.Yousaidthatweshouldplungeourselvesintonothingness.Watchingthewaterseepingintotheboat,Iagreedwithyou. OnedayIreceivedanotefromyou—deliveredbyyourchauffeur,orrather,ouroldchauffeur....Inaveryquaveringhandwriting,youstatedthatlifenolongerheld anymeaningforyou;thatIshouldcuttheboat'smooringsandletthecurrentsoftheGuaibaRivercarrymeatthewhimoffate. Forthefirsttimeever,Iconsidereddisobeyingyou.Yousee,thefactis,Ilikemyhometownanawfullot;IlikethisPortoAlegreofmine,whichIcanonlyseefrom thedistanceandwhichIcanhardlyrecognize.IrememberthatIshouted:No!Iwon'tforsakemycity!AndthenIdecidedthatIwouldrecallourstoryinaletterto you,andaskyoutounsaywhatyouorderedmetodo. Ihopeyou'llgetthisletter.Yousee,it'sthatI'mwritingalreadyinthemiddleoftheriver—andit'sthefirsttimeeverthatI'llbesendingaletterinabottletossedinto thewater.However,Idohopethatyou'llgetit,andthatitwillfindyouingoodhealth,togetherwithyournearestanddearest,inthisbeautifulcityofPortoAlegre.

TheNoisesintheAttic Itisalreadyeleveno'clockintheevening,buttheyareunabletofallasleep.Theyaretired—bothofthemworkveryhard,hedrivingataxi,shelookingafterthe house—buttheyareunabletofallasleep.Lyingsidebyside,theyhavetheireyesfixedonthesmall

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spotoflightthatthestreetlampbelowtheirwindowprojectsontheceiling. Itishot,theyareperspiring,andyetallthewindowsareclosed.Theydon'tdareopenthem;therehavebeentoomanyrobberiesintheneighborhood,toomany murders.Sotheyswelter,butbettersafethansorry.True,thewindowintheirbedroomdoesn'tcloseproperly;itisboardedupforgreatersecurity,butthereisa crackthroughwhichthelightfromthestreetsneaksin.Butonlythislight,fortheyareawake,andwhiletheyareawake,nothingelsewillenterthroughthewindow. Elevenfifteen,eleven­thirty—andtheycannotsleep.Theyfidget,restless,andtheirsweatybodiestouchlightly.Itisafamiliarsensation—theyhavebeenmarriedfora year,already—butattimesitstillfeelsstrangetobetogether.Strangestofall,however,arethedarknessandthenoisesthatpopulatethedarkness. Thewholehousecreaks.Itisasmall,crookedhouse,badlybuilt.Sincetheycouldn'taffordtherentelsewhere,theyhadnochoicebuttomovetothishousing project,wheretheydon'tknowanyone—andhavenodesiretodoso.Theydon'twanttogetinvolvedwiththecriminaltypesthatinfesttheneighborhood. Someofthenoisesinthehousearealreadyfamiliartothem:thecreakofthekitchendoor,thesnapofthewardrobe,thedripofthetap.Buttherearealwaysnewand unsuspectednoises;newinsects,newpestskeeparriving,despiteallthepoisonstodestroythem. Itispastmidnight.Shedozedoff,shehadabriefnightmare,shewokeupwithastart;shehasnowcalmedherself,andsheliesstaringattheceiling.Hehasn'thada winkofsleepyet.He,too,liesstaringattheceiling,atthesameluminousspot. Itisthenthatthenoisesintheatticstart. Takenbysurprise,sheshudderswithfear.Itisthefirsttimethatshehasheardnoisescomingfromtheattic,untilnowsilent.Thisis

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somethingnew.Newandunpleasant.Somethingthatdoesnotbodewell. Reachingoutatremblinghand,shetouchesherhusband'sarm;hismusclesfeeltense.Sohe,too,hasheardthenoises;he,too,isonthealert.Whichdoesn'treassure heratall;quitetheopposite.(Theyarebothfrightenedchildren:she,onthebrinkoftears;he,abouttotransformhisfearintofury—butinfact,theydon'tknowwhat todo;theyjustwait,theireyesrivetedontheceiling.) Itisnotacontinuousnoise.Itstopsandstartsanew.Itcouldbethenoisemadebyabodythatiscrawling.Ananimal?Abiganimal,then.Biggerthan,say,acat.A dog?Butadogintheatticofahouse?No,itcan'tbeadog.Someanimalsliveinattics;opossums,forinstance.She,whoisfromthecountry,isfamiliarwith opossums.But—andofthissheiscertain—itisnotanopossumthatismakingthisnoise. Aman? No.Itisnotaman,either.Theboardsaretoothintobeartheweightofaman—especiallyofaburlyman.Perhapstheycouldbeartheweightofaskinnyman.Orof aboy.Orofadwarf. Thenoisestops.Minutestrickleaway.Maybethistime,shethinkshopefully,itwon'tstartagain.Shewantstosleep.Sheistired.Shehastogetupearlyinthe morning,andsodoesherhusband.Itisahardlife,theirs.Don'ttheyalreadyhaveenoughworries?Theydon'tneedthisnoise. Outofthecomerofhereyes,shewatchesherhusband.Shecanbarelyseehiminthesemidarkness.Butsheknowsthathiseyes,likehers,arewideopen.Heisa nervousman,sheisafraidofwhathemightdoifheweresuddenlytoflyintoarage. Anideaoccurstoher.Sheyawnsnoisily,inthehopethatthesoundofarelaxed,easy­goingpersonwillscaretheintruderawayandcalmherhusband(andherselfas well).Aprolongedyawnthatsheendswithgurglesofpleasuretotranslatehercontentmentin

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lyingtherebesidehim,intheirownbed,intheirownhouse.Butherhusbanddoesnotrelaxhismuscles,andthesilencethatfollowsisominous.Amomentlater,the noisesintheatticstartanew. Thistimethenoisesareveryloud.Asiftherewerenoconcernaboutmufflingthem.Theboardscreak.Thelamphangingfromtheceilingswingsdistinctly. Hishandcomesoutfromunderthebedsheet.Itgropesaboutthenighttableforthe.22­calibergun,whichhealwayscarrieswithhiminhistaxiinthedaytime;at night,hekeepsitloadedandco*cked,andalwayswithinreach. Thenoiseisnowcontinuous.Itisnotdifficulttolocateitssource:Rightatthespotwheretherayoflightprojectsitself,theboardsriseandfallrhythmically.Heraises hisarm—thenickel­platedgunglittersforamoment—sheletsoutastifledscream;hefires. Thedetonationshakesthehouse.Thebedroomisfilledwithsmokeandtheacridsmellofgunpowder.Theysitupinbed,thetwoofthem,rigid,withtheireyes,wide open,fixedontheceiling.Outside,dogsbegintobark.(Butnowindowwillopen,thistheyknowforsure.Agunshotisaproblembetweengunmanandvictim.A problemforthepolicetohandle.) Graduallythebarkingstops.Theyremainseated,theireyesfixedontheceiling,thebulletholeclearlyvisibleinthecenterofthespotoflight.Thehouseisnowdead silent.Notasinglenoisecanbeheard. Shebeginstocrysoftly.Pullinghertohim,hethenkissesherhair,hereyes,herneck,herbreasts.Mydarling,hemurmurs,histremblinghandsrunningoverherfirm thighs,feelingtheslightlycoarsedownthatcoversthem.No,don't,shemurmurs,buthehasalreadymadeherliedown,andheisalreadyontopofher.No,don't,she murmurswithamoan,butsheisalreadykissinghim,andnibblinghisear.

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(Onthefollowingdaystheywillsmellthefaintbutpervasiveodorofdecomposingflesh.Buttheywon'ttalkaboutitoverdinner.Hewilltellherabouthisdayatwork, aboutthetrafficjams,andshewillcomplainaboutthetimeshewastedwaitingtoseeadoctorattheclinic.Buttheywillsaynothingaboutthesmell.Theyhopethatit willvanish—andinfact,withinaweekortwo,onlytheold,familiarsmellswillremaininthehouse—thesmellofthefoodthatshecooks,thesmelloftheplantsthat shegrowsinemptytincans,thesmellofthegarbagethataccumulatesinthevacantlotbesidetheirhouse. Asfortheattic—hewillneverclimbupthere.) Fiveo'clockinthemorning.Theyyawn.Oneofthesenightsnohumanbeingwillbeabletotakeit,hesays,andshelaughs. decidethatiftheyhaveason,theywillnamehimAlonso.

AttheFigtreeRetreat Ialwaysthoughtthatitwasmuchtoogood.Especiallytheplace.Theplacewas...waswonderful.Justastheprospectussaid:wonderful.Tranquil,fulloftrees,one oftheveryfewplaces—accordingtotheadvertisem*nt—whereyoucouldstillhearbirdssing.Andinfact,duringourfirstvisitthere,wedidhearthebirds.Andwe alsoascertainedthatthehouseswereindeedsolidandbeautiful,justastheprospectusstated:solidandbeautifulhousesinmodernstyle.Wesawthelawns,theparks, theponies,thesmalllake.Wesawtheairstrip.Wesawthemajesticfigtreeafterwhichthecondominiumcomplexwasnamed:theFigtreeRetreat. Butwhatmywifelikedmostwasthesecurity.Throughoutthefifty­minutedrivebacktothecity,sheenthusedovertheelectrifiedfences,theoutlooktowers,the searchlights,thealarmsystem—andmostofall,thesecurityguards.Eightofthem:strong,stalwartmen—butalsofriendlyandcourteous.Asamatteroffact,onour

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firstandsecondvisits,wewerereceivedbytheirleader—agentlemansointelligentandculturedthatitimmediatelyoccurredtome:Ah,heprobablyholdsa universitydegree.Andindeed:Inthecourseofourconversationhementioned—butjustinpassing—thathehadgraduatedfromlawschool.Whichincreasedmy wife'senthusiasmevenmore. Shehadbeenlivinginfearrecently.Ourneighborhoodhadbeenplaguedbyaseriesofviolentattacks;doorbarsandelectronicallycontrolledentrancesnolonger deterredcriminals.Adaywouldn'tgobywithoutthenewsofsomeonebeingrobbedormugged;andwhenawomanfriendofourswasrapedbytwomiscreants,my wifedecided—wewouldhavetomovetoanotherneighborhood.Wewouldhavetosearchforasafeplacetolive. Itwasthenthatsomeonethrustthecolorfulprospectusunderourdoor.SometimesIthink:hadwebeenlivinginabuildingwithtightersecurity,thatcircularwould neverhavebeendeliveredtoourdoor,andthenperhaps...Buttheseareidlesuppositions.Anyhow,mywifebecameenchantedwiththeFigtreeRetreat.My childrenwerecrazyabouttheponies.Besides,Ihadjustreceivedapromotioninmyfirm.Therewasachainofevents,andwhathadstartedwithaprospectusthrust underourdoorbecame—justastheadvertisem*ntsaid—anewlifestyle. Weweren'tthefirstpeopletobuyaresidenceintheFigtreeRetreat.Onthecontrary:Whenwereturnedoneweekafterourfirstvisit,mostofthethirtydwellingunits hadalreadybeensold.Thechiefguardintroducedmetosomeoftheotherbuyers.Ilikedthem:theywerepeoplelikeme—businessmanagers,lawyers,doctors,two ranchers.Allofthemcameattractedbytheinformationintheprospectus.Andalmostallofthemdecidedonthisplacebecauseofthesecurity.

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InthecourseofthatweekIdiscoveredthattheprospectushadbeensentouttoonlyalimitednumberofpeople.InthebusinessfirmwhereIwork,forinstance,I wastheonlypersonthathadreceivedone.Mywifeattributedthefacttoacarefulselectionofpotentialresidents—whichsheregardedasyetanotherreasonforbeing pleased.Asformyself,Ithoughtthewholethingwasverygood.Muchtoogood. Wemovedin.Lifeinthecondocomplexwasreallydelightful.Thebirdswerepunctual:atseveno'clockinthemorningtheywouldstarttheirharmoniousconcert.The poniesweregentle,thegraveledpathswereclean.Thebreezewouldstirthetreesinthepark—onehundredandtwelvetrees,justastheprospectushadsaid. Besides,thealarmsystemwasflawless.Theguards—alwayspolite,alwayssmiling—wouldcometoourhomeperiodicallytomakesurethateverythingwasallright. Thechiefguardwasaparticularlycaringperson:Heorganizedpartiesandcompetitions,andheconcernedhimselfwithourwell­being.Hecompiledalistofallthe relativesandfriendsoftheresidents—incaseofanemergency,heexplainedwithareassuringsmile.Ourfirstmonththere—justastheprospectushadpromised— wentlikeadream.Arealdream. ThenoneSunday,quiteearlyinthemorning—Irememberthatthebirdshadn'tstartedsingingyet—thealarmsirenwentoff.Sinceithadneversoundedbefore,we weresomewhat—justsomewhat,notvery—startled.Butweallknewwhatweweresupposedtodointhecirc*mstances,soinanorderlyfashion,weheadedforthe recreationcenterbythelake.Mostofusstillindressinggownsorpajamas. Thechiefguardwasalreadythere,flankedbyhismen,allofthemarmedwithrifles.Heinvitedustositdownandoffereduscoffee.Afterward,withprofuseapologies fortheinconvenience,heexplained

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thereasonforholdingthatmeeting:ThepolicehadwarnedhimaboutthepresenceofcriminalsinthewoodssurroundingtheRetreat,andsohehaddecidedtoaskus nottoleavethepremisesonthatSunday. ''Afterall,"hesaidinajoculartone,"it'sabeautifulSunday,andwe'vegotponies,tenniscourts,everything,righthere...." Hewasindeedaveryniceman.Nobodygotreallyupsetaboutthesituation. Butsomepeopledidgetupsetonthefollowingdaywhenthealarmwentoffa*gainatdawn.Oncemorewegottogetherintherecreationcenter,someofusmuttering thatitwasMonday,aworkday.Alwayssmiling,thechiefguardrenewedhisapologies,thensaidthatunfortunatelywewouldn'tbeabletoleavethecomplex;the criminalswerestillatlarge,hidinginthewoods.Dangerouspeople,theywere:amongthem,twoescapedmurderers.Inreplytothequestionofanirateowner,a surgeon,thechiefguardsaidthatno,wecouldn'tdriveouteither,forthebanditsmighthaveblockedthenarrowroadleadingtotheRetreat. "Inthiscase,whydon'tyoufellowsescortus?"askedthesurgeon. "Butthen,therewouldbenooneheretolookafteryourfamilies,"repliedthechiefguard,alwayssmiling. Weweredetainedinourcondocomplexonthatdayandonthefollowingdayaswell.Thatwaswhenthepolicesurroundedthearea:Thereweredozensofvehicles witharmedmen,someofthemwearinggasmasks.Wecouldseethemfromourwindows,andwehadtoadmitthatthechiefguardwasright. Wewhiledawaythetimeplayingcards,goingforawalk,orsimplydoingnothing.Somepeoplewereevenenjoyingthesituation.Butnotme.Itmightseem presumptuoustosaysonow,butIdidn'tlikewhatwasgoingonatall.

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Thenonthefourthdayanairplanelandedontheairstrip.Asmalljet,itwas.Weallranthere. Amanalightedandhandedavalisetothechiefguard.Themanlookedatus—hestruckmeasbeingfrightened—andheleftthroughthemaingate,practicallyata run. Thechiefguardsignaledustostaywherewewere.Hethenenteredtheairplane,leavingthedooropen,whichenabledustoseehimexaminingthecontentsofthe valise.Afterclosingit,hecametothedoorandsignaled.Theotherguardsthenmadeadashforthelightaircraft,andtheyallclimbedin.Thedoorclosed,theairplane tookoff,andwassoongone. Weneversawthechiefguardandhismenagain.ButI'msuretheymustbeenjoyingallthatransommoneytheyreceivedforourrelease—asumlargeenoughfor themtobuilttenothercondominiumcomplexeslikeourswhich,incidentally,Ialwaysthoughtwasmuchtoogood.

TheSecretTourists Therewasamarriedcouplewhoweregreenwithenvyoftheirtravelingfriends—especiallyofthosewhotooktripsabroad.He,aminorclerkinamajorcompany, andshe,aschoolteacher,hadneverbeenabletosaveenoughmoneytotravel.Whentherewasenoughfortheinstallmentsontheairplanetickets,therewasn'tenough forthepurchaseofAmericandollars,andvice­versa.Thus.yearafteryear,theyendedupstayinghome.Theywouldeconomize,theywouldspendlessonclothes, theywouldalwaysridethebus,theywouldeatless—buttheystillcouldn'taffordtotakeatripabroad.Occasionallytheywouldspendafewdaysattheseaside,but thatwasall. However,sogreatwastheirdesiretotelltheirfriendsaboutthewondersofEuropethattheyconcoctedaplan.Everyyear,attheendofJanuary,theyphonedtheir friendstosaygood­bye:Theywere

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leavingfortheOldWorld.Andindeed,afewdayslater,postcardsfromvariousEuropeancities—Rome,Venice,Florence—begantoarriveinthemail;andamonth later,thecouplewasbackintown,invitingtheirfriendstoseetheslidesoftheirtrip.Andtheyhadsuchinterestingthingstotell!Theyevendividedthetopicsbetween them:Hispartwastocommentonthehotels,theflights,themoneyexchangerates,aswellasonthepicturesqueaspectsofthetrip;hers,toelaborateonthecultural side:themuseums,thehistoricalplaces,theplaysthattheyhadseen.Theirten­year­oldsonhadnostoryofhisowntotell,buthewouldconfirmeverything,andsigh whenhisparentssaid: "WehadsuchagoodtimeinFlorence!" Whattheirfriendswereunabletofigureoutwaswherethemoneycamefromtofinancethetrip;oneoftheirmoreindiscreetfriendsevenhadthetemeritytoask. Smilingmysteriously,thehusbandandthewifementionedsomethingaboutaninheritanceandthenchangedthesubject. Eventually,thetruthcametolight. Asitturnedout,thiscoupleneverwentonatripatall.Theydidn'tevenleavetown.Throughouttheirone­monthvacation,theywouldlockthemselvesupintheir house.Shewouldstudytravelbrochuresabout,say,thecityofFlorence:itshistory,itsmuseums,itsmonuments;he,inhissmallphotolab,wouldsuperimpose picturesofthemselvesonthepicturesofFlorence,andthenmakeslidesofthisphotomontage.Hewouldalsowritethepostcards,affixusedpostagestampsonthem, thencancelthemwithaforgedrubberstamp.Asfortheboy,hewouldmemorizethestoriestoldbyhisparentssothathewouldbeabletoconfirmthemifnecessary. Theywouldonlyleavethehouselateatnight:theboy,togetsomeexercise;she,tobuygroceriesinadistantsupermarket;andhe,todropthepostcardsintothemail boxesoftheirfriends.

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Thisploycouldhavegoneonforyearsandyears.Itwasshewhoruinedeverything.Inthecourseoftimeshegotfedupwithhavingapoorhusband,whocouldonly takeheronmake­believetrips.Shefellinlovewithanairplanepilot,whopromisedtotakehertomanyhighlyexoticplaces.Sheendedupaskingherhusbandfora divorce. Uponleavingthelawyer'soffice,theykissedforthelasttime. "Thetruthis,"hesaid,"Ireallygotakickoutofthewholething." "Metoo,"shesaid. "WehadsuchagoodtimeinFlorence,"hesighed. "True,"shesaid,withtearsinhereyes.AndshepromisedherselfnevertogotoFlorenceagain.

MiltonandHisCompetitor Miltonhasn'topenedhisstoreyet,buthiscompetitorhasalreadyopenedhis;besides,heisalreadyadvertisinghiswares,heisalreadyhavingaclearancesalewith goodssoldatapricebelowcost.Miltonisstillinbedwithawoman,nothislegitimatewife,awomanwhoisnotevenbeautifulornice;hiscompetitorisalready standingalertbehindthecounter.Togetherwithhiswife—thefaithfulcompanionofsomanyyears,she,too,alert.Miltonhasn'thadbreakfastyet(breakfast?a cigarette,aglassofwine,isthisbreakfast?);hiscompetitorhasalreadyhadorangejuice,eggs,toast,cheese,andhehasalreadyfinisheddrinkingamugofcafeaulait. Anutritiousmeal. Miltonisstillnaked;hiscompetitorisalreadyelegantlydressed.Miltonhasbarelyopenedhiseyesyet;hiscompetitorhasalreadyreadthemorningpapers,andis alreadyup­to­dateaboutthestockexchangequotationsandthemarkettrends.Miltonhasn'tsaidawordyet;hiscompetitorhasalreadybeenintouchwithclients, with

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politicalbosses,withafriendintherevenuedepartment,withhissuppliers.Miltonisstillinthesuburbs;hiscompetitor,overcomingallthetrafficproblems,hasalready reachedthecenterofthecityandisalreadysolidlyinstalledinhisownofficebuilding.Miltondoesn'tevenknowyetwhetheritisgoingtobearainydayorasunny day;hiscompetitoralreadyknowsfromreliablesourcesthatthepricesofleathergoodsaregoingup.Miltonhasn'tseenhischildrenyet(nottomentionhiswife,from whomheisseparated);hiscompetitorhasalreadyraisedhisdaughters,hasalreadypaidfortheireducation—onegirlgraduatedinlaw,theotherinchemistry—has alreadymarriedthemoff,andisalreadyagrandfather. Miltonhasn'tstartedtoliveyet. Hiscompetitorisalreadyfeelingpainsinhischest,heisalreadycollapsingonthecounter,heisalreadybreathingstertorously,hiseyesbulging—inshort,heisalready dying.

TheSoothsayer JustasBernardohasbeendoingforaverylongtime,attheendofthisyearhewillagainpayavisittoMiro,thesoothsayer. Notmanypeopleknowabouttheexistenceofthissoothsayer.HelivesinanabsolutelyordinaryhouseinthedistrictofPartenon.Thereisnonameplateoranyother clueindicatingtheoccupationofthehouseholder.Thevisitor,however,mustringthebellinaparticularway:threelongrings,threeshort,threelong.Thesoothsayer Mirowillthenopenthedoorcautiouslyandlookatthevisitorwithdistrust.Ifthevisitorgivesthepassword(aquotefromHorace:quidsitfuturumcrasfuge quaerere—ceasetoinquirewhatthefuturehasinstore),hewillbeinvitedin.Throughanarrowcorridor,hewillthenbeconductedtoaroomatthebackofthe house,wherehewillbeaskedtositataroundtable;heandthesoothsayerwillbesittingoppositeeachother.

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Thesoothsayeristhinandveryold.Nothinginhisappearanceindicateshisoccupation:hedoesn'twearaturban,nordoeshewearatunicembroideredwithstars, andhisbeardisnottrimmedinthefancifulstylefavoredbysoothsayers.Andtherearenostuffedowlsinthehouse,nomapsoftheheavenshangingonthewalls,no crystalballortarotcardsonthetable. Thereis,however,abook.That'swhatcatchesthevisitor'sattention:thehugebookonthetable.Buteventhebookdoesn'thavetheexpectedblackbinding.The cover,madeofcloth,isayellowishcolor. Bernardo,then,infrontoftheoldman.Tense,barelycontaininghisnervousness.Thesoothsayerwillaskhimhisname.Atthismoment,andjustasinpreviousyears, Bernardowillflyintoarage,andhewillreplywithinsolence:Youshouldknow.Aren'tyouasoothsayer? "Behaveyourself,"theoldmanwillsaysternly,"andanswermyquestion." AfterBernardorevealshisname(therest—age:forty­five;occupation:salesclerk;maritalstatus:married,twochildren—isapparentlyofnointerest),thesoothsayer willopenthebookandcarefullyleafthroughitshandwrittenpages: "Bartolomeu...Batista...Bernardo.Yes,hereitis.Allright.Tellmeaboutanythingofimportancethathappenedtoyouduringthisyear." Stillreluctant,Bernardowilltellhim.Thesoothsayer,hiseyeshalfclosed,willlistentohim.Everysooftenhewillconsultthebook,andnodapprovingly.Infact,when Bernardoisfinished,hewillsaythateverythingthathappenedtohimiswrittendowninthebook. Abriefpause,duringwhichtheywillstareateachother,withBernardobarelyabletosustainthegazeoftheoldman.Isupposethatyou'vecomeheretofindout aboutthefuture,thesoothsayerwillfinallysay. "Inthiscase,there'safee.Twothousandcruzeiros,please."

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"Thatmuch?"Bernardowillsay,surprised."Lastyear—" "Lastyear,"theoldmanwillcuthimshort,"isover.Thisyearit'sadifferentprice." Bernardowilltakethecheckbookoutofhispocket.Coldcash,please,theoldmanwillsay.Bernardowilltakeasheafofpapermoneyoutofhiswallet;asin previousyears,itwillbetheexactamountdemandedbythesoothsayer. Theoldmanwillputthemoneyintoapouchthathangsfromhisneck.Onlythenwillhewearawansmile: "I'mreadynow.Yourfutureishere,inthisbook.Doyouwantmetoreadittoyou?" Bernardowillmakenoreply:Withanguished,wide­openeyes,hewillbestaringattheoldman,whowillthenrepeathisquestiontwoorthreetimes.Seeingthat Bernardoremainssilent,thesoothsayerwillthensay: "Good.I'llreaditthen." "No!"Bernardowilljumpoutofhischair."Don't!Please.Ican't.I'msorry,butIcan't.YouknowIcan't.I'llneverbeableto...Don'ttellmeanything.Keepthe money,butdon'ttellmeanything.Please." Insilence,thesoothsayerwillclosethebook.Bernardowillpickuphishat.Beforeleaving,hewillturntotheoldman: "Atleastwishme,"hewillsay,tryinghardtosmile,"ahappynewyear." "I'mpaidtomakepredictions,"theoldmanwillsaywithoutanyemotion,"nottooffermybestwishes."

AVacancy Straphangersdieinatrainaccident(fromanewsitemintheJornaldoBrasil).

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,saysthesignatthedooroftherailroadstation.Iamunemployed.Igoin.

POSITIONAVAILABLE

Thestationmaster,adiminutiveoldman,peersshortsightedlyatmeandsays:Ineedamuscleman.Ishowhimmybiceps.Andmyacrobaticskillsbyexecutinga flawlesssomersault.Aguywhodoesn'ttalktoomuch.Istickmytongueout—orrather,whatisleftofit:thedoctorshadtocutoffmostofitbecauseofthecancer. Good,mumblesthestationmasterapprovingly.Hehiresme.Ireceiveadenimjacketandabluecap. Myjobconsistsofpushingpeopleintothecommutertrainsbeforethedoorsclose.Toomanypeopletrytohitchthemselvestotheoutsideofthetrains.Theydon't pay,andwhat'sworse,theycauseaccidents.Wehavetodosomethingtostopthispractice.Butwithoutlettingthenewspapersgetwindofwhatwe'redoing.Doyou understand?Inodmyhead. Thetrainsarriveemptyandleavecrammedwithpeople.Idomyworkwithenthusiasm,shovingthepassengersintothetrains:thoseheadingthepackgoineasily,but thereisnoroomforthoseattherear;however,nothingisimpossibleforsomeonewho,likeme,wantstogoaheadinlife.Amangetsstuckinthedoor:withablowof myfistIsendhimflyingindoors.Awomanmanagestowedgeherselfin,butherlittleboyremainsoutside.Myson!Myson!sheshoutsindespair.Hoistingthekid overthemassofheads,Ithrowhimtoher. Afatwomancomes.Puttingonefootontheboardingstep,shethenflingsherselfforwardonlytoberepelledbyvariouselbows,butshekeepstryingagainandagain, alwaysunsuccessfully. There'saproblemhere.Nosweat,though,forasmartguylikeme.Here'swhatIdo:IgrabthearmofaburlyworkingmanwhoisalreadyinsidethetrainandIuseit asacrowbartoshovethefatwomaninside.Theworkingmanhowls,thefatwomanscreams—butatthelastminuteIsucceedinpushingherinside.Thetrainleaves.

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Imopthesweatfrommyforeheadandstandherewondering:Whydon'ttheyusethespacesabovethemassofheads?Lotsofpassengerswouldfitinthere.Lying down,ofcourse.It'sasuggestionthatI'llbemakingtothestationmasteratanopportunemoment.Andmaybetothedirectorateofthecompanyaswell. ForseveraldaysnowI'vebeenawareofayoungwomanwhohasbeenwatchingmeconstantly.Sheneverboardsatrain,shejuststandshere,lookingatme.She looksatmeandsmiles.Andshe'squitepretty.... It'spastmidnight.Thelasttrainhasalreadyleft.Wearealoneinthestation,theyoungwomanandI.ButIdon'tevenpayattentiontoher.Myarmsaresore,my throatisdry.Ineedadrink.Imakefortheexit. Shefollowsme.Icanhearherfootstepsresoundingonthecement.Istop.Shedrawsnear,andtakesholdofmyarm.Iwanttotalktoyou.Idon'tlookather,Ijust standwithmyheadlowered,Iamanunassumingman.Shepersists:Don'tyouwanttotalktome?Me,silent.Don'tyoulikeme?Ah,yes,Ido;withanodofmyhead Isayyes,Ilikeyouanawfullot.Smiling,shegoeson:I'mveryinterestedintheworkyoudo.Youpushpeopleintothetrains,don'tyou?Iknow,I'vebeenwatching you.Tellme:Whotoldyoutodoso? Anewspaperwoman!Thestationmasterknewwhathewastalkingabout.Don'tyouwanttotalktome?Sheisbeautiful.Herhand,wormingitswayundermyshirt, beginstostrokemychest.Wekiss.Ilookaroundandseeastoreroomwiththedooropen.Ipullhertowardtheplaceandthrowheruponapileofoldmattresses. Don'tyouwanttotalk,love?shemoansasItearoffherdress.Hertonguerollsaboutinsidemyemptymouth.Extricatingherselffromme,sheopensherpurseand takesoutaflashlight:Openyourmouth.Idoasshetellsme.Ah,shesays,that'swhy.Anoperation,wasit?Inodmyhead.Good,shesays,there'snoneedtospeak. Justanswerwithyour

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head.Whotoldyoutopushthepassengersintothetrains?Wasitthelocomotiveengineer?Ishakemyhead;thetearsbegintorundownmyface.Wasitthepolice? No.Wasitthestationmaster?Yes.Itwasthestationmaster.Sheguesseditright.Howsmartsheis!Ilaugh,happy.Shepicksupherclothesandleavesatarun. ThenextdayI'mbackatmypost,carryingoutmytaskasusual:poundinganoldwomanin,hammeringacrippleinwithhisowncrutch. Suddenly,somebodysnatchesmycapaway.Iturnaroundonlytobepunchedintheface.Stillgroggy,I'mthrownintothetrain. Intothistrainthatrunsonandon.Wherearewegoing?Iwouldliketoaskthesilentpassengers.ButIcan't:I'mamute.Thetrainbatterstherailswithaclashing noise.Andwekeepgoing.

InaStateofComa 1902.Allofasudden—andwithnopreviousillness,orfever,orheadinjury,orgrieftotriggerit—JorgeHenriqueKuntz,athirteen­year­oldboylivingintheFloresta districtofPortoAlegre,goesintoacoma.AtleastthisisthediagnosisreachedbyDr.Schultz,thefamilydoctor,perplexedbythestrangecaseofthisyoungboy who,withouteverhavingbeenseriouslyillbefore,onedaylaydownnevertowakeupagain,notwithstandingallthescreaming,allthepleading,allthecautious prickingwithneedles.Heisinacoma,saysthedoctor,butthefamilyrefusestobelievehim;theboy'srubicundface,thefaintsmile,thepeacefulbreathing—isthisa coma?Howcanitbeacoma,doctor?askstheboy'sfather,IgnácioJoséKuntz,fullofindignation.Heworksasacarpenterandajack­of­all­trades.Themother, AugustaJoaquinaKunzt,neitherasksnorsaysanything.Shecries,huggingtheirotherchildren:thetwins,SuzanaandMarlene,twoyearsolderthanJorgeHenrique; andErnestoCarlos,thebabyofthefamily.Bewildered,thedoctorpicksuphisvaliseandleaves.

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1903.UndertheguidanceofthekindlyandpatientDr.Schultz,theparentsbecomeskilledinfeedingtheirson;forthispurposetheyuseaflexiblerubbertubewhich, insertedthroughoneofthenostrils,reachesthestomach.Inthiswaytheycanfeedtheboybroth,gruel,juice—foodheusedtolikewhenhewasconscious.They learnhowtomovehimonthebed,howtoexercisehislimbs,howtokeephimclean.Asaresult,JorgeHenriquedevelopswell.Hismusclesarestrong,hisskinis smoothandsatiny.Hisfingernailsandtoenailsgrowandareclippedregularly;hishairalsogrowsbutitisnevercutbecauseofavowthatAugustaJoaquinahasmade toGod. Handsome,thisboywhoseemsmerelyasleep.Thefaintsmileneverleaveshisface. 1910.''Youthinkonlyofhim,youonlycareabouthim,"EmestoCarlos,nowastrappingteenagerwithapimply,pastyfaceandfierceblueeyes,burstsoutoneday duringlunch.Lividwithrage,IgnácioJosérisesfromthetableandordershissonoutofthehouse.Hismotherandsistersstartcrying.ErnestoCarlospackshisthings andleaves,bangingthedoorbehindhim. ThefamilyisinthehabitofgoingtogethertoJorgeHenrique'sroomtopayhimavisit.He'sagrownboy,murmursAugustaJoaquina,anditistrue:healreadyhasa beard.Whilebathinghimlovinglywithasponge,shecan'thelpnoticingthehaironhisbody,andthegoldenthicketthatgrowsluxuriantlyinhispubicarea,already makinginroadsuponhisbelly.AugustaJoaquinablushes,butshecontinueswithhertask.Sheappliesoiltotheentireskinwhich,thankstoallthistenderlovingcare, issmoothandflawless,withoutasinglescaborblemish.JorgeHenriquecansleephisunbrokensleepinpeace.

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1915.JorgeHenrique'shairgrowsandgrows.Hismothertriestokeepitcleanandtidy.Andbeautiful:attimesshewillstylehishairinbraids,attimesinringlets,at timesinachignon.Whenfluffedout,thefineblondhairfloatsintheairbeforeitflowsdownthesidesofthebedallthewaydowntothefloor—ascenethat enrapturesbothparentsandsisters.Thebeard,blondlikethehair,doesn'telicitasmuchadmiration. 1916.Suzana,oneofthetwins,hasastrangedream.Sheseesherbrotherinapalace,seatedonamonumentalthrone,hisblondmassofhairencirclinghis resplendentfacelikeanaureole.JorgeHenriquesmilesather,andthenspeakstoherinanunknownlanguage. Thedream,althoughofexceptionallyshortduration,isenoughtomakeSuzanafeelthatshehasbeenentrustedwithamission.Hertaskistoarouseherbrotherfrom hisstupor,andtoleadhimtothepositionofhonoranddistinctionthatfatehasinstoreforhim.Shedisclosesthisferventwishofherstoherparents.Theyvacillate, doubtfulabouttheadvisabilityofembarkinguponacourseofactionforwhichthereisnoapparentlogicalbasis,andwhichmightevenbeharmfultotheyoungman. However,theirdaughter'sfervorfinallypersuadesthem;theygiveherpermissiontoattempttoexecuteaseeminglyabsurdplan. Suzanaplungesintohertaskwholeheartedly. Thereisaseriesofmassagesessions,ofshoutsofencouragement,ofprayersutteredbythebedside.Infusionsofa*greatassortmentofherbsarepouredintothe feedingtube. Afterthefloggingwithwettowelscometheapplicationsofhotandcoldcompresses.Thebloodofayoungchickenispouredoverthechestandthegenitalsofthe youngman.

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Alltonoavail.Thesickyoungmanremainsaslethargicasbefore. Suzanaisdriventodespair.Asdawnbreaksonthethirtiethday,sheisfoundhangingfromtheavocadotreeinthebackyard. 1917.TheRussianRevolution. 1918.TheendofWorldWarI.TheSpanishinfluenzaspreadsacrosstheworld.ThediseasesparestheKuntzfamily.Butevenso,IgnácioJoséandAugusta Joaquinagothroughdaysofanxiety;theyareafraidthatgermsmightinfiltratethroughachinkinthewalls.Theyspraytheirsonsroomwithcarbolicacid,theywatch overhimconstantly,andtheytakehistemperaturethroughouttheday. Thedangerhaspassed.Unfortunately,nothinghappenedtoJorgeHenrique,saysMarlene,theflightyMarlene.Realizingherslipofthetongue,sheapologizes withasmile;butherparentsstareatherwithsuspicion. 1919.OnthenightofDecember23,ahot,stiflingnight,IgnácioJoséwakesupstartled.Seizedbysuddenforeboding,hejumpsoutofbedandrunstohissons bedroom.Adimnightlightilluminatestheyoungman,serenelyasleepunderthebedcovers.Apparentlyeverythingisallright;butIgnácioJoséstillfeelsuneasy.Hesits downbythebedsideandkeepsvigil. Theyoungman'sbreathingbecomesfaster.Somethingishappening!IgnácioJosérisestohisfeet,hiseyesbulging.Heapproachesthebedandwithtremblingfingers, hepullsthebedcoversaway. Hissonspenisisbeginningtorise.Itisanenormouspenis,emergingfromthetuftofgoldenpubichair;itstandserect,oscillatingrhythmically.MyGod,murmursthe poorman,devastated,andheletshimselffalluponthechair. Theyoungmanistossingaboutinbed;withhisforeheadpearled

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withsweatandhismouthpartlyopen,hisfaceisamaskofanguish.IgnácioJosécannotbeartoseehissonsuffer.Hegoesbacktohisbedroom,getsdressedwithout makinganynoise,andthenstealsoutofthehouse. HeheadsfortheLowerCity,andsooncomestoalanefrequentedbyhookers.Heavilypaintedwomeninslinkydresses,someinplumedhats,somewithweird hairdos,pacetheirturf—shoutingtermsofabuse,laughingderisively,makingobscenegestures.Hefindsthemrepulsive. Suddenlyherunsintoayoungwomanleaningagainstawall;withherdowncasteyesandmodestclothes,sheseemsmoredecorousthantheothers.IgnácioJoséstill hesitatesforamomentbeforeaccostingher.Inalowvoice,hetheninformsherofhisreasonforbeingthere,andhemakesheranoffer.Surprised,andrather distrustful,theyoungwomanlooksathim;sheaskshimquestions,shewantsdetails.IgnácioJosé'shonestfacefinallyconvincesher.Let'sgo,then,shesays. Theyhurryalongthesleepingstreets.TheyenterthehousethroughthebackdoorandgostraighttoJorgeHenrique'sbedroom.IgnácioJoséopensthedoor,buthe doesn'tlookathisson:Okay,younglady,hesaysinalowvoice,goin. Shegoesinandclosesthedoorbehindher. IgnácioJosé,nervous,withbeadsofsweatrunningdownhisface,waitsoutsideinthecorridor.Minuteslater,thedooropensandtheyoungwomancomesout, tidyingherselfup.Allset,shesays.Howdiditgo?askstheman,anxious.Fine,shesays,andthenshefallssilent.Howmuch?asksIgnácioJosé.Shementionsa modestsumofmoney.Hepaysherandshowshertothedoor.Shewalksdownthestreet,withoutturningaround. 1920.Dr.SchultzthinksthatJorgeHenrique'sconditionisstable:itdoesn'tgetbetter,butitdoesn'tgetworseeither.Heis,how­

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ever,alarmedbyIgnácioJosé'sappearance;heisnotatallpleasedwiththepurplishhueoftheman'slips,withhisshallow,laboredbreathing.Thedoctorwarnshim: Youmusttakecareofyourself,IgnácioJosé,whothensaysinreply:Ifyoutakecareofmyson,doctor,you'retakingcareofme.Thedoctorleaves,muttering:This isboundtocometoabadend;andwithwinteralmosthere... ButIgnácioJosésurvivesthewinter.Springarrives;thensummer.Onenightheissittingbyhissoftsbedside,readinganewspaper,whenthereisaknockatthefront door.Answerthedoor,willyou?I'mbusy,hiswifeshoutsfromthekitchen.Withasigh,heputsthenewspaperdownandgoestothefrontdoor. It'sayoungwoman.Theshawlthatcoversherheadpartiallyconcealsherface.Sheiscarryingababy. "Whatdoyouwant?"IgnácioJoséasks. "Don'tyourecognizeme?"shesaysinreply,andwithanabruptgesture,shepullstheshawlaway. IgnácioJosérecoilsinsurprise:It'stheyoungprostitutethathehadtakentohisson.Buthissurprisesoonchangestowrath.Whatdowantfromme?heblusters, closingthedoorbehindhim.I'mfinishedwithyou.Ipaidyou,Ioweyounothing.... "Oh,yeah?"shesaysinachallengingtone.Thenshowinghimthebaby,"Andwhataboutthis?" IgnáacioJosélooksatthechildinastonishment:it'sablond,blueeyedbaby. "Itcan'tbe,"hemumbles. "Yes,itcan,"sheshouts,triumphant."Yes,itcan!Countupthemonths,oldman." "Don'tshout,"pleadstheman."Mywifeisinthere..." Theyoungwomanlaughs. "Iknow.Andyou'reafraid,aren'tyou?Willshebelievethisstory?Orwillshethinkthatthechildisyours?" IgnácioJoséisupset:

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"Listen,wecan'ttalkhere.Let'sgoforawalk..." "No.We'regoingtosettlethismatterrighthere.Andrightnow."Sheisfirmandresoluteinherdemand:buthepersistsandevenpleadswithheruntilshefinally relents. Theystartwalking.IgnácioJoséleadsherthroughdark,desertedalleys.Hedoesn'tspeak.Hedoesn'tknowwhattosay.Orwhattodo.Insanethoughtsswirl aroundinhisbrain.Acrime:hecouldpickupagood­sizedpebblefromthegutterand... Asifguessingathisthought,shestopsdeadinhertracks: "Listen,oldman,"shesays,clutchingthebabytightlyinherarms,agleamofhatredinhereyes,"ifyou'rethinkingofdoingmein,forgetit.Iknowhowtodefend myself." Reachingdownhercleavage,shetakesoutarazor,alreadyunfolded,itsbladeglittering.Thebabybeginstobawl,themanstepsback.I'msorry,younglady,he murmurs.Idon'tevenknowwhatI'mdoing....Thisoldheadofmine... Leaningagainstatree,heburstsintotears,andhesobsconvulsively.Astonished,shelookson.Puttingtherazoraway,shegoesuptohimandplacesherhandonhis shoulder: "I'msorry,sir.Ididn'tmeanto..." "Ah,younglady,"hesays,hisvoicestrangledbysobs."Ah,younglady,ifyouonlyknewwhatI'vebeenthrough....Thissonofmine...Eversincehewasthirteen yearsold..." Hewipeshiseyes."I,too,know,"hesays,lookingatthebaby"whatit'sliketosufferbecauseofason." IgnácioJosétakesahandkerchiefoutofhispocket,blowshisnosenoisily,andsmiles:Andwhat'shisname?heasks.JorgeHenriqueJunior,shesays.Heis surprised:Buthowdidyouknow...?Youtoldme,shereplies.Thenlaughing:CanIcallyoufather­in­law?Somewhatembarrassed,henodshishead.Well,then, father­in­law,shesays. Theyremainsilentforamoment.Thebabystartstocryagain

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andshesootheshimwiththepacifier.ShethenasksafterJorgeHenrique:Isheanybetter? "Thesame,"sighsIgnácioJosé."Thesame." "Ishenotawareofanything?" "No." "Gosh.Whataterribledisease." Anotherpause. "Ilikedyouson,"shesays."Ididn'tmindhisbeingahalf­wit,Ilikedhim."Shefallssilentagain,andstandsstaringatherchild."Ican'traisethisbabyonmyown. Wouldyoutakemeintoyourhome,father­in­law?" "Ican't,"hesaysinamuffledvoice. "Iknewyouwouldn't,"shesays,withoutfeelinghurt."Butmyson—willyoutakehimin?" IgnácioJoséextendshisarmstoreceivethebaby.Heholdsthechildclumsily,andthebabystartstocryagain.I'moutofpractice,hemumbles.Sheshowshimhow tocradlethebabysothathewon'tcry.Thenwithasigh: "Well,father­in­law,IthinkI'dbettergonow." Onanimpulse,hekissesherontheforehead.Heoffershermoney.Refusingtoacceptit,shethenwalksaway. Withthebabyinhisarms,IgnácioJoséreturnshome.Hiswife,annoyed,goesuptohim: "Wherehaveyoubeen?I'vebeencallingyou..." Onseeingwhatherhusbandiscarrying,sheinterruptsherself,astounded. "LookwhatI'vefoundonourdoorstep,"hesays,smiling. 1922.JorgeHenrique'sconditionremainsthesame.Onecouldevensaythatheisunderaspell,exclaimsPastorJoseph. Asforthechild,hegrowsanddevelopswell;heisnaughtyandisalwaysscamperingalloverthehouse,buthenevergoesintothebed­

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roomofthecomatoseman,ofwhomheisafraid.TheboyisveryattachedtoMarlene,whodoesn'tgetalongwithherparents.Throughoutthecelebrationsofthe 100thanniversaryofthecountry'sindependence,shekeepsmakingsarcasticremarksaboutfamilylife. IgnácioJosédoesn'thavemuchtimeforthechild;asforAugustaJoaquina,sheostensiblyignorestheboy,leavingthetaskofraisinghimtoherdaughter.Comeon, Bebê,Marlenesays,let'sgotoyourroom,we'renotwantedhere.IgnácioJoséswallowshisanger.Thereisnothinghecando. 1923.ThenewsabouttheRevolutionupnorth,aboutsonsbeingdraggedawayfromtheirhomes,aboutbattlesandbloodshed,worryIgnácioJosé:Willthe RevolutionreachPortoAlegre?Heworriessomuchthathecan'tsleepatnight.Heendsupwithacutepulmonaryedema.I'vewarnedyou,haven'tI,saysDr. Schultz,whowasquicktocometothehouse.Herecommendshospitalization.AndIgnácioJosédiesinthehospitalafterrevealingthetruthabouttheboytohis distressedwife. Uponreturningfromthefuneral,hereyesredandswollen,AugustaJoaquinagoesstraighttoherson'sbedroom.Thereheis,lyinginbed,hiscountenancetranquilas usual—anordinarysleep,itwouldseem,weren'titfortherubbertubeinsertedinhisnostrils.Butwhydoesn'thedie,thiswretch?shoutsAugustaJoaquina(it'sthe bitternessaccumulatedforyearsnowflowingout).Whydoeshehavetoliehere,makingussuffer?(Shefeelslikepouringcausticsodadownthetube.Shefeels likedecapitatingthathead,whoseeyeswon'topen.) Carryingakitteninhisarms,hergrandsonappearsatthedoor.Look,Granny,hesayslaughing,lookwhatI'vefound.Getoutofhere,youlouse,shesaysinahoarse voice.Startled,theboyrunstohisroom:Marlene!Grannyyelledatme,Marlene. AugustaJoaquinalooksathersonagain.Theblondhair,spread

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acrossthepillow,shinesinthesun,whichisnowenteringthroughthewindow.Kneelingdownbyhisbedside,sheasksforhisforgivenessandcrieshereyesout. 1924.Afterherhusband'sdeath,AugustaJoaquinabeginstosleepinJorgeHenrique'sroom.Hercotstandsrightnexttohersonsbed;attimes,asshetossesabout inherrestlesssleep,shesinksherfaceintoherson'ssofttresses.Asoothingcaress. Marlene'sattachmenttotheboy(whosenicknameisBeb???),keepsgrowing.Sheshowershimwithhugsandkisses,butthenallofasudden,shepusheshimaway fromherandrunstothebathroom,whereshelocksherselfup.Fromtherecomesthesoundofconvulsiveweeping.Bebêalsocries,butnotforlong.Soonhebegins toamusehimselfbyplayingwithhiswoodenblocks.Marlenealwayscomesoutofthebathroomlookingdifferent.Heavilymade­upanddressedtokill,shesashays intothelivingroom,laughingandpullingfacesatAugustaJoaquina,whopretendsnottoseeher.Sheopensthefrontdoor. "Whereareyougoing?"whinesBebê. "It'snoneofyourbusiness,yourunt." Shegoesout.That'sthewayitis,nightafternight.Andsheneverhelpswiththehousework.AugustaJoaquinadoesallthewashingandthecooking;shelooksafter JorgeHenriqueand(reluctantly)afterBebê;besides,shetakesinsewinginordertomakeendsmeet.Whatshegetsfromherhusband'spensionisnotenough. Marlenereturnshomelateatnight.Whenhermotheradmonishesherforbeinglate,shemakesinsolentretorts:I'lldoasIwelldamnplease,youcan'tbossme around,don'tthinkthatI'mlikeSuzana,sogetoffmyback.I'mgoingtolivemylifemyway.Shereeksofrumandtobacco.Staggeringtoherroom,shethenslams thedoorshut.

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Exhausted,herbackaching,AugustaJoaquinaliesdownbesideherson. 1925.Marlenespendsweeksawayfromhome. Onedaysshereturns,accompaniedbyastranger.Aroguishtype.Adudeinaclose­fittingjacket,abowtie,two­toneshoes;ascoundrelwithaneathairlinemustache andhairslickeddownwithbrilliantine.Afellowwithaverydarkcomplexion. "Whoisthisman?asksAugustaJoaquina,scandalized. "Myhusband,"repliesMarlene."WegotmarriedinthecityofRioGrandeaweekago."Andshehastenstoadd:"I'mforewarningyou,Mother,he'sgoingtolive here." "Butyouhaven'tconsultedme,"saysAugustaJoaquinadrylyandwithafrownonherface. "AndI'mnotgoingto.I'mforewarningyou." "Idon'tlikehim!"Bebêshouts. "Shutup,youtoo!"bellowsMarlene.Thenturningtotheman:"Let'sgo,Songbird,Iwanttoshowyouourbedroom." "Ifyou'llexcuseme,ma'am."Thefop,whoneverstopssmiling,hasasoftvoice.Carryingthesuitcase,hefollowsMarlene. AugustaJoaquinaismostunhappywiththenewwayoflifeinherhouse. Marleneandherhusbandspendthewholedayathome—he,inpajamas,withhishairkeptinplacewithahairnet;she,inadressinggownthatpartlyexposesher amplebreasts,withacigarettedanglingfromthecornerofhermouth.Theylaughallthetime.Theyplaycardsanddrinkbeer.Bebê,inasullenmood,hidesin corners.Songbirddoesn'twanttohaveanythingtodowiththeboy. Thenoneday: "MyhusbandwantstotakealookatJorgeHenrique,"Marleneannounces.

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Theyareatthetable,eating. ''Absolutelynot,"saysAugustaJoaquina,withoutliftinghereyesfromherplate. "Butwhynot?"Marlenepersists."He'shisbrother­in­law,forChrist'ssake." "Isaidno,"AugustaJoaquinarepeats. Songbirdheavesasigh.Thenfoldinghisnapkincarefully,herisestohisfeet.AndsodoesAugustaJoaquina.SongbirdmakesforJorgeHenrique'sroom.Augusta Joaquinarunsaheadofhimtoblockhispath. "Moveback,youbastard." ButMarlene,advancinguponhermother,slapsherrepeatedly,andshovesheraway. "That'llteachyou,youwitch!" Marleneandherhusbandenterthebedroom,andclosethedoorbehindthem.AugustaJoaquinaliesonthefloor,weepingsoftly. "Whathappened,Granny?"asksBebê,frightened."Whathappened?" Thedooropens,andMarleneandSongbirdemerge. "Talktoher,"saystheman,andhethengoestotheverandatosmoke. Standingbeforehermotherwithherarmsakimboandwithafrownonherface,Marleneproceedstodiscloseherhusband'splan. "SongbirdthinkswecoulduseJorgeHenriquetomakealotofmoney.Hesaysit'sararecase,tohaveamanlivinglikethis,half­dead,half­alive,forsuchalongtime. Songbirdsaystherewasamanwholivedlikethisinhishometown,andhebecameasaint.Peoplewouldcomefromfarwayjusttolookathimandprayinhishouse. Andtheywerewillingtopayafortunetodoso.We,too,couldbenefitfromthiscase." "No,"saysAugustaJoaquina,stilllyingonthefloor.

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Marlenedecidestonegotiatewithhermother: "Comeon,Mother,there'snothingwrongwithit.Itwon'tharmJorgeHenriqueintheleast,hewon'tevenknow.Anditwillbenefitus,we'vebeengoingthroughhard times..." "No." "But,Mother..." "No." Marlene'spatiencebeginstowearthin: "Stopbeingsilly,Mother.Youwon'thaveanyextraworktodo,Songbirdsaidhe'lllookaftereverything." Withastrangledscream,AugustaJoaquinapouncesuponherdaughter,herhandssearchingforMarlene'sthroat.Ah,youbitch!criesoutMarlene,enraged.Without anydifficulty,sheextricatesherselfandthenknockshermotherdown.Fromtheveranda,Songbirdwatchesthescene,splittinghissideswithlaughter.Bebêstartsto cry.Marleneisfinallyincontrol: "Coolit,Mother!"sheyells."Standstill!Fromnowon,I'mtheonewho'scallingtheshotsaroundhere,doyouunderstand?Me—andSongbird." "I'llordertheposters,"saysSongbird."We'llbeinbusiness,startingnextweek." Butthat'snotwhathappens.ThepolicearrivesandarrestsSongbird,awell­knowncrook.AsforMarlene,shedisappears. 1929.ThecrashofthestockmarketinNewYork;thedepression.It'sGod'spunishment,murmursAugustaJoaquinawhilebathingherson.Ajustpunishment,she saysasshecombshisbeard(someofthehairsaremorethanameterlong).Fromthedoor,Baby,impassive,lookson. 1936.Bebê,nowafine,strappingyouth.Dark­skinned,blueeyed.ThegirlsintheFlorestadistrictsighforhim,notwithstand­

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ingtheirparents'admonitions:He'sbadnews,he'staintedwithillegitimacy. Bebêenlistsinthearmy.Whenhecomeshome,lookingelegantinhisuniform,hisgrandmothercan'thelpfeelingadmirationforhim:againstallodds,shethinks,the boyhassucceededinmasteringhisfate,indoingsomethingworthwhilewithhislife.Shefeelslikerevealingthesecretofhisbirthtohim,butsherefrainsherself:It's nottherightmomentyet. Bebênowtreatsherwithindifference.Hehasneverswallowedthehumiliationshehassuffered.Itishisturntoshowcontempt,andheisnowinapositiontodoso:in thebarracks,peoplelookuptohim;thecaptain'sdaughterwinksathim. 1938.Dr.Schultzdies.Amonghispapers,theyfindanotebookcontainingadetaileddescriptionofJorgeHenrique'scase.Themanyprobingquestionsregistered thereareevidenceoftheanxietyexperiencedbytheolddoctor:uptotheveryend,hetriedunsuccessfullytocomeupwithadiagnosis. 1939.WorldWarIIbreaksout.PeopleofGermandescentareundersuspicion.Worried,AugustaJoaquinatossesaboutinhercot:Willherhousebeattacked? Frightened,shegetsupandturnsonthelight.JorgeHenriquecontinuestobesubmergedinhiscalmsleep.Sheexamineshissereneface,stillboyishdespitethe wrinkles;shestrokeshislonghair,whichisalreadyturninggray. 1943.OntheeveofleavingforItalywiththeBrazilianExpeditionaryForcetofightagainsttheNazis,Bebê,accompaniedbyhiswife,visitshisgrandmother.Augusta Joaquinahaspreparedanicelunch:roulade,braisedcabbage,applestrudel.Bebê,however,doesnoteat.Heisinagloomy—andbelligerent—mood:It'sallbecause oftheGermans,hesaysgruffly.Shutup,Bebê,whispershis

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wife(atall,beautifulwoman).AugustaJoaquinahangsherheadandhideshertears;nowisthetimetotellBebê,shethinks.Butshedoesn'thavethecourage.Witha handshake,thesoldiertakesleaveofhisgrandmother.HemerelycastsanabstractedglanceatJorgeHenrique. 1944.AugustaJoaquinaturnsseventy­fiveyearsold.Herneighborswanttocelebratetheoccasionwithapartyforher,butshedeclines,sayingthatsheseesno reasonforacelebration.Shewouldratherstayalone,withherson.Thefactofthematteris,sheseesdeathapproaching. Sheseesdeathapproaching,andthereisnothingthatshecando.Butsheisn'tworried:formonthsnow,shehasseenafigurewithindistinctcontours,afigure envelopedinanauraofsoftsplendor,standingbyJorgeHenrique'sbedside.Itistothisbeing,tothisguardianangel,thatshewillentrusthersonwhenshefinally departs. Onedayatdawnshewakesupchokingandbreathingsterterously;itis,sherealizes,heroldheartfinallygivingout.Liftingherselfuponthecot,shetumstoherson, hereyeswideopen: "Son!" Sheisunabletogetup. Withtremblinghands,shetakesholdofhishair,andpressesitagainstherface.Son,shemurmurs,I'mgoingtoheaven,I'llbeprayingforyou....Shedies. Hadn'titbeenforthis—herdeath—shewouldhaveseenJorgeHenriqueopenhiseyes,smile,stretchhislimbs,andsayinababy'sfaintvoice:Gee,guys,thatwas quiteanapIhad.

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TheDwarfintheTelevisionSet ItisterribletobeaDwarfandhavetoliveinsideatelevisionset—evenifithappenstobeagiganticcolorTV;however,thereisatleastoneadvantage:WhentheTV isturnedoff,itisthenpossibletowatchsomeveryinterestingscenesfrombehindthescreen.Andwhat'smore,it'spossibletodosowithoutanybodynoticing—after all,whoisgoingtopayanyattentiontoatelevisionsetwhenitisturnedoff?Ifpeoplepaidattention,theywouldbeabletosee—deepdownwherethesmallluminous pointdisappearsatthemomentwhentheTVisturnedoff—myattentiveeyes.InthedaytimeIwatch,that'swhatIdo.Atnight...Well. ItwasGastãowhobroughtthisTVsettotheapartment.Itisahugeapartment—anextravagance,foramanwholivesalone(seeminglyalone)—andineachroom thereisaTVset.Gastãocanaffordtohaveasmanyashewants,forheisnowtheownerofthedepartmentstore.Thedeathofhisfatherforcedhimtowithdraw fromthecourseindramaticartsthathewastaking(incidentally,that'swhereIfirstmethim)inordertorunhisfather'sbusiness. Itisaverybigdepartmentstore. Gastãodescribesitlikethis:Inthebasem*nt,bicycles,motorcycles,tents,fishingandhuntinggear.Theentirefirstflooristheterritoryofthetelevisionsets;thereare abouteightyondisplay,arrangedinrows—abattalionofTVsets,bothcolorandblack­andwhite,inallshapesandsizes,allofthemtunedintothesamechannel. Onesmilingface—eightysmilingfaces—oneweaponbeingfired—eightyweaponsbeingfired.Whenthesecurityguardturnsoffthemainswitch,eightyimagesflee; eightyscreensturndark.Andinnotasingleoneofthem—andGastãoisconstantlyrepeatingthistome—innotasingleonearethereanypeeringeyes.Innotasingle one—hesays,withanoteofcensureinhisvoice.Innotasingleone!herepeats,withgreatannoyance.

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Gastãofindsitverystressfultorunthestore.Whenhereturnstotheapartmentafterwork,allhewantsistotakeabath,putonhissilkdressinggown,andsitsipping whiskey.AllofthisIwatchfromhere,fromamidthewiresandthetransistors—andI,too,amdyingforawhiskey,butImanagetocontrolmyself.Ican'tleavemy hidingplaceuntilalltheservantsaregone.SohereIremain,crampedforspace.There'snoroomtoswingacatinhere,farlessadwarf. (FunnythatIshouldthinkofthisremarknow.ItwasmyfirstlineinaplayinwhichGastãoandIwereactingtogether.Hewouldappearonstage,walkinginthat peculiarwayofhis,andhewouldopenasuitcasethatwasinacomer—andatthatpointI'dcomein,saying:sh*t,there'snoroomtoswingacatinhere,farlessa dwarf!Gastãowouldthenbreakintoasmileandtakemeinhisarms.Nightafternight.) Nowadays,nightafternight,anddayafterday,Ihavetoremainhere,hiddeninsidethisboobtube.ThankGod,atleasthebringsmefood—afewsandwiches preparedinaslapdashway,andcoldmilk.Coldmilk!Hehasagrudgeagainstme,Iknow. Theservantshavealreadyappearedatthedoortoaskifthebossneedsanythingelse,andhehasalreadyrepliedinthenegative,andthey'vealreadysaidtheirgood­ nightsandarenowgone—buthestillhasn'ttakenmeoutofhere.Icouldcomeoutonmyown,ifIwantedto.ButIdon'twantto.Heknowsthatheissupposedto comeandgetme.Butno,hechoosestoplaydumb.Thishasbeengoingonsincehebecameabusinessman.Witharrogance,heisnowholdingtheglassofwhiskey againstthelighttoexamineit.Handsome,thisdevil...Acarefullytrimmedbeard,manicuredfingernails—heishandsome,Iadmit,withaconstrictedheart. Handsome—buthewon'tcomeandgetmeoutofhere. Thedoorbellrings. Ofcourse—helingeredoverhisdrinkforsuchalongtimethatthedoorbellwasboundtoring.Deepdown,that'swhathewaswait­

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ingfor.Withasigh—butwhatafakeybuggerheis—herisestohisfeetandanswersthedoor. Icanhearsomemuffledexclamations,andamomentlaterheisbackintheroom,accompaniedbyacoupleIhaveneverseenbefore.Buttheyareobviouslycommon people.Themanisyounganddressedinamannerthathemustconsiderstylish:checkeredjacket,purplepants,platformshoes(andheisn'tadwarf!),redtie.The womanisdressedinamoresimpleway.Andsheispretty,asalesgirltype,butnice. Gastãoinvitesthemtositdown.Illatease,theysitontheedgeoftheirarmchairs.Conversationisdifficultandspasmodic.Fromwhattheysay,Igatherthattheyare Gastão'semployees.Newlyweds,whofirstmetattheirplaceofwork.Theyexchangedpassionateglancesamidthebicyclesandthemotorcycles(theyarebothfrom thebasem*nt)andfinallygotmarried.Andnowtheyareheretopayavisittotheboss. (Whatariot!IfIweren'timprisonedhere,Iwouldlaughuproariously.Topayavisittotheboss!Whatariot!) Theytalkabouttheirhoneymoon,whichtheyspentinaresorttown.Withouttoomanydetails,theydescribetheroastchickendinnertheyhadatthehouseofan uncle. Aprolongedsilence. Theyoungwomangetsup.Blushing,andtwistingahandkerchiefinherhands,sheaskswherethebathroomis.Gastão,courteous,getsuptoshowhertheway. Hereturnstothesofa,wherehesitscurleduplikeacat.Likeacunningcat.Hisemployee—uptonowsittingmotionlessandtongue­tied—startstalking.Senhor Gastão,hesays,I'vegotaproblem.I'mtellingyouaboutit,SenhorGastão,becauseyou'vebeenlikeafathertome,you'vegivenmeaTVsetasaweddinggift. SenhorGastão...

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Theproblem,hetellsGastão,isthathiswifeisfrigid.Whenheisthroughwithhisstory,heburieshisheadinhishands. Gastão,sympathetic,askshimtocomeandsitonthesofabesidehim. "Here,rightbesideme.Let'stalk,"hesaysinalow,slightlyhoarsevoice,agleamofsympathyinhiseyes—whatanartistheis!Helearnedalotinthatdramaticarts course.Hewasthetopstudent....Butwaitamoment—whatheissayingnow? Heissayingthatfrigidityisquitecommon,thatmanywomenhavethisproblem.Thatoftenyoungwomenarenotpreparedforsex. "Butit'snothingtoworryabout,"headds,takingtheyoungman'shand."You'reahandsomeman..." Butwhatasleazeballheis,thisGastão!Howdarehe,andrightundermynose!Andtheyoungwoman,what'stakinghersolong?Thenitdawnsonme:Sheis lingeringinthebathroomonpurpose,sothatherhusbandwillhaveplentyoftimetoaskhisbossforadviceontheirproblem.Aprearrangedthing.Suchidiotsthey are! I'llhavetodosomethingrightnow,andhere'swhatIdo:Istirmyselfinsidethetelevisionset,andIproducecracklingandsnappingnoises. "Whatwasthat?"Theyoungjumpstohisfeet. "Don'tbealarmed,"saysGastão."It'sjusttheTVset,there'ssomethingwrongwithit." Hethenlooksatthescreen—atme—andIseehatredinhiseyes."You'llpayforthis,youdwarf,"hiseyesthreatenme.Beautiful,hiseyes. "I'msendingitbacktothewarehousetomorrow.Come,sithere." Buttheemployeedoesn'tsitdown.Hehasbecomequitenervous,andheisunabletolookathisbossintheface. "I'veneverthoughtthatyou,SenhorGastão..." Theyoungwomanreturns.Theyoungmantakesherbythearm

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andsaysthattheyshouldbegoingnow,theywillhavetogetupearly.Theytaketheirleave,andaregone. Gastãoremainsseatedonthesofa,snortingwithrage.Allofasudden,hethrowshisglassaway,risestohisfeet,andcomesnearthetelevisionset.Helooksatthe screen—butnotatme. "ThisTVhashaditsday.Ithasoutliveditsusefulness.Idon'tthinkitworksanymore." "Don't,Gastão!" Hepressesthebutton.Athousandjoltssendmeintoascreamingfit.Sparksfly,andtheydazzleandbumme.Gastãoisdelighted.Hehasneverseensuchagood programontelevisionbefore.

TheMemoirsofaResearcher Itwasnotsomuchlifeaslethargy—butanyway,itwasbearableandevenpleasant.Itendedabruptly,however,whenIwastwenty­eightyearsold,atthemoment whenasmallcontainerofgasexplodedrightinfrontofme,intheelectronicslaboratorywhereIworkedasanassistant.Iwasrushedtothehospital,andthedoctors didn'tholdoutmuchhopethatIwouldmakeit.Ididmakeit,though,buttheaccidentleftmedisfigured.Ilostallthefingersonmylefthand,andthreeonmyright hand(onlythethumbandthelittlefingerremained).Besides,myfacewasseriouslyburned.Iwasn'thandsometostartwith,buttheendproduct,evenaftertwo plasticoperations,wasn'tapleasantsight.OhGod,notatallpleasant. Butevenso,duringthefirstfewmonthsfollowingtheaccident,Isawnoreasontofeeldepressed.Iretiredfromwork,andIdrewagooddisabilitypension.Myold aunt,withwhomIwasliving,wasfullofsolicitudeformywelfare.Shewouldmakemyfavoritemeatturnovers,cutthemintobite­sizepieces,andputthemintomy mouth—allthewhilesheddingheartbrokentears,forreasonsthat,

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frankly,Icouldn'tunderstand.Youshouldcryformyfather,Iwouldsay,formymother,formyolderbrother—they'retheoneswhoaredead,andyetyoucryfor me.Why?Iescapedalivefromanexplosionthatwouldhavekilledanyotherperson,andIdon'thavetoworkanymore,andyoupamperme—Ihavenocausefor complaint. ButIwassoontofindoutthatIdid.Uponvisitingacertaindressmaker. Thislady,aprimandproperbutpassionatewidow,hadalwaysreceivedmeonSaturdays,whenherchildrenwereaway.So,whenIfeltstrongenough,Iphonedher toexplainmyprolongedabsence,andwesetadate. Notsurprisingly,shewasshockedwhenshesawme.You'llgetusedtoit,Isaid,andIsuggestedthatwegotobed.Shelovedme,sosheagreed.Isoonraninto difficulties:thestump(that'showIcalledwhatremainedofmylefthand)andthepincers(mynameforthetworemainingfingersonmyrighthand)didn'tgivemethe necessarysupport.Thestump,inparticular,hadacertaintendencytoslideacrossthesweatybodyofthepoorwoman.Shelaythere,staringgoggle­eyed;themore frightenedshebecame,themoreshesweated,andthemorethestumpkeptsliding. I'mingeniousatfindingsolutions.I'velearnedalotbyworkingtogetherwithtechniciansandscientists,andsoitdidn'ttakemelongtosolvethisparticularproblem: withapairofscissors,Imadetwoincisionsonthemattress.AndthereIanchoredstumpandpincers.Inthisway,Icouldmakelovetoher,andIwasingreatform. "Iwasdyingforthis,"Iconfessedafterward."Sixmonthswithoutscoring!" Shemadenoreply.Shewascrying."I'msorry,Armando,"shesaid,"Ilikeyou,Iloveyou,butIcan'tbeartoseeyoulikethis.Iaskyou,love,nottocomeanymore." "Andwho'sgoingtosatisfymyneedsfromnowon?"Iasked,affronted.

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Shestartedtocryagain.Igotupandleft. However,thatwasnotwhenIbecamedepressed.Itwasn'tuntillater;exactlyoneweeklater. Iwaslyinginbed,thinkingofthedressmaker.Withfeelingsofhatred,butalsoofsexualarousal;infact,thefeelingsweremoreofarousalthanofhatred. Itriedtomasturbat*.Impossible.Thepincers(thestumpwasoutofthequestion)wereacompletelyinadequatetoolforthispurpose.Thetwofingers,separatedbya massofscarredtissue,weretoofarapart.Besides,thethumb,althoughstrong,lackedsensitivity.Agrossfinger.Asforthepinky,ithadneitherstrengthnor sensitivity.Anineptfinger.Ifinallygaveup. ItwasthenthatIsankintoarealdepression:Iwouldjustliemotionless,staringattheceiling;Iwouldn'teat,Iwouldn'ttalktomyaunt.Ibelievethatatthatpointin timeIdidn'twanttoliveanymore.IthinkallIdidwastoaskmyselfcontinuously:Whydidn'ttheexplosionfinishmeoff?Why? Onthethirddaymybellywasswollenandmymouthwasparcheddry.Alarmed,myauntsentforthedoctor.Hecame,hesatdownontheedgeofthebed,he watchedmeforawhile,heaskedmequestions—towhichIgavemonosyllabicreplies—andthenhemadethecorrectdiagnosis:depression.Heputonarubber glove,lubricateditwithVaseline,andaskedmetolieonmyside.Introducinghisfingersintomyrectum,hethenproceededtoextractlumpsoffeces—hardened, petrified,almostfossilizedturdstheywere.Ididn'tprotest.Ionlyenviedthequantityoffingersthathehad,thatwasall. Whenhewasfinished,heremovedtheglove,andafterthrowingitoutofthewindow,hesatdowntotalktome.Youshouldgooutforawalk,headvisedme,anddo thingsthatinterestyou.Whatareyouinterestedin? WhatwasIinterestedin...?Iturnedthematteroverinmy

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mindforawhilebutIcouldn'tcomeupwithasatisfactoryanswer.Afterthedressmaker,nothingseemedinterestinganymore.Thedoctortriedtobehelpful:Fishing, perhaps?Ilaughed:Fishing,doctor?HowcanIfish,withthisstump?HowamIgoingtoholdthefishingrod?(Isparedhimthedescriptionofasimilarbutfarmore anguishingrecentexperience).He,again:Whataboutsports?Soccer,perhaps?No,Iwasn'tinterestedinsoccer.Involleyball,yes,butvolleyball... Allright,hemumbled.Ifeltthathehadgivenup:Afterscrawlingaprescription,hegotupandleft. Therewas,however,somemeritinthedoctor'svisit.Ifeltthatmysituationwasachallengetomyinventiveness—aninventivenessthatusedtoelicittheadmirationof thetechniciansatthelaboratorywhereIhadworked.Imulledovermycase,andonthatverynightIthoughtofanactivitythatcouldbebothusefulandpleasant,an activitythatwouldenablemetokilltwo—ifnotthreeorfour—birdswithonestone. Sometimebeforetheaccident,Ihadreadalicentiouspoeminthewashroominthelaboratory,andIhadwrittenitdowninmynotebookasauniqueexampleofa typeofliteraturethatwasstilllittleknown.Inowhituponanidea:Iwouldgotoallthewashroomsinthecityandcopyoutwhateverhappenedtobewrittenontheir wallsanddoors.Thus,Iwouldgetplentyofexercise;thus,Iwouldovercomemyconstipation(andincaseofneed,therewouldalwaysbeatoiletcloseathand); thus,Iwoulddemonstrateinterestinsomething;thus,Iwouldbeabletocollectsomecuriousbitsofinformation,whichmightevenbeofculturalinterestandlaterI couldputthisinformationtogetherinabook,whichmightevenbecomeabest­seller. Abrightidea!InthemiddleofthenightIrushedtothephonetocallthedoctor. Eventhoughabruptlyawakenedinthemiddleofthenight,the

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doctor,stillgroggywithsleep,gavemehisfullsupport.HesuggestedthatIdescribemyexperiencesinajournal;hevolunteeredtoputinagoodwordformewithan editor—afriendofhis,andheevenwantedtotakemetoaTVtalkshow(whichIrefusedtodo,mostlybecauseIdidn'twanttoshocktheviewers).Hewasagood doctor;somewhatold,butveryhumane. Ifollowedhisadvice.So,hereitis:Everythingwrittenabovehasbeenincludedinthejournalasanintroduction.Atthispointthejournalproperbegins,withdatesand everything.Bytheway,Ihadquiteajobwritinginthisjournal;itwasn'teasytoholdthepenwithmypincers.Which,Ihope,willincreasethevalueofthisworkallthe more. 19.Istartmyresearchinthedowntownarea.InthePublicMarket,anexcellentwashroom;quitefilthy,butrichinsayings:poems,proverbs,denunciations.And lotsofdrawings(impossibleformetoreproducethem,however;perhapswithacamera,buthandlingacameraisanimpossibledreamforme).InabarnearPraça daAlfândega,anotherexcellentfind:fewersayings,butalsofewerfoulodors,whichenablesmetoconductamorethoroughexaminationandmakeamorecareful selection.Ibegintorealizethattheextremelyhackneyedandsalaciousdittiescannotbeincludedintheanthology,fortheywouldlowerthestandardofthepublication. Imustselectonlythekindofwritingthattrulyrepresentsthefinishedproductofthehabituésofwashrooms;thattrulyrepresentstheessenceoftheactofscribbling; thattrulyrepresentstheinterrelationbetweentheauthorandhispeculiarmilieu.Thus,sh*tisn'tpaint,afingerisn'tapaintbrush,willnotbeincludedinthe anthology.Butreflectionsonthehumancondition,yes. APRIL

25.Noteverybodyunderstandsmywork.Therearepeoplewhokeeppoundingonthedoor,sayingI'mtakingtoolong.There

APRIL

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arepeepingtomswhowatchmefromaboveorunderthedoor.Therearethosewholookatmewithsuspicion,andthosewhothreatentocallthepolice. TodayIwasbrusquelyinterruptedbythejanitorofawashroominPraçadaHarmonia.Withthehelpofahook,heliftedthedoorlatchandthenstormedin.Butwhat thehell,Iprotested,can'taguyevenanswerthecallofnatureinpeaceanymore?You'vebeeninhereforalmosthalfanhour,heshouted.Otherpeoplealsohavethe righttousethejohn. Thenhestaredatmeinamazement:Whatthehellareyoudoinghere?Youhaven'tevenpulledyourpantsdown!UnderneaththescarsinmyfaceIfeltmyself blushing.That'sbecauseIwasalreadyleaving,Imumbled.Look!andIpointedtoaturdfloatingonthewaterofthetoiletbowl—see,I'mfinished! Heflewintoarage: ''Youliar!That'snotyours!Itwasalreadytherebeforeyoucamein.Youliar!" "That'snowaytotreatacripple,"Ishoutedasalastresortbuthewasalreadypushingmeout. 30.There'sanotherproblemloomingwithmyaunt,ofallpeople.

APRIL

Shehasbeenhatchingoutaplan.Shereadinamagazinethatartificialhands—electronicdevicesanalogoustohumanhands—areavailableintheUnitedStates.She showedmethemagazinepicture:You'veworkedinelectronics,youcouldeasilymakeoneoftheseforyourself.Ishowedherthestumpandthepincers:Andhow wouldImanagetoworkwiththese,auntie? Shesaidnothingelsefortherestoftheevening.Inthemorning,however,shewokemeupandsuggestedthatweshouldbuythoseelectronichands.Theyareonly availableintheUnitedStates,Iremindedher,yawning.Inthiscasewe'llhavetosendforthem,she

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persisted,anxiously.Shehadeveryreasontofeelanxious,forshehadpromisedmydyingmotherthatshewouldlookafterme.Andeversince,shehaslavishedall herspinsterishaffectiononme. Isatupinbedandpatientlyexplainedtoherthatthehandswerefartooexpensiveandinaccesibletopoorpeoplelikeus,whatwiththerestrictionsonimports,among otherthings. Sheseemedconvincedbymyargument,butinfact,shewasn't.Onthefollowingdaysheshowedmealetter.Itwasaddressedtoaradioprogram,anditaskedthe hostandhislistenerstohelpusacquirethoseelectronichands. Itookoffense.Shehadgonetoofar.IsaidIwouldneveracceptcharityfromanyone.I'dratherlosethetwofingersI'veleft,Ishouted.Sheleftmyroomintears.On thefollowingdaysheannouncedthatshewasgoingbacktoherhometownintheinterior.Sheaskedmetounderstand:Shewassickandtiredoffeedingmepiecesof meatturnover.Go,auntie,go,andGodbewithyou,Isaid,alreadydismissingherfrommymind,forIwasengrossedinputtingmynotesinorder.Sheleft. 5.Thedepartureofmyauntcausedmesomeproblems.Itriedtodothehousecleaningonmyown,butitisimpossibletohandleafishingrodwithstumpand pincers,justasimpossibleitistohandleabroomoravacuumcleaner.Nottomentionthefloor­waxingmachine,whichwouldescapefrommyhands(?)andstart dancingalloverthehouse.Nottomentionthedishes,whichwouldslipfrommyfingers(?)andsmashtopiecesonthefloor.Nottomentiontheslipperytomatoes; nottomentiontheperfidiousstringbeans,thetreacherouseggs. MAY

Ifinallygaveup.Idon'tcleanthehouseanymore.Inowliveonbreadrolls,cheese,apples—thingsthatyoubuyandeatastheyare.

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10.Afeelingofdissatisfactionisbeginningtotakeholdofme.

MAY

Today,fromawashroominagovernmentofficelocatedonthetenthfloorofadowntownbuilding,Iwaswatchinganotherwashroom—thisoneinaluxuriousofficein thebuildingopposite,abuildingownedbyaninsurancecompany.Amanwassittingonthetoiletbowl.Abald,middle­agedman,andasfarasIcouldtell,verywell­ dressed.Throughthenarrowwindowofthewashroom,hewouldlookatthecitylyingathisfeetforamoment.Thenhewouldlookstraightahead,thenupward,then sighandstrainhimself.Heobviouslysufferedfromconstipation,forhesatthereforagoodfifteenminutes—eventhoughitwasaverybusytimeattheoffice.Suddenly henoticedme.Withagrimaceofdisgust,heclosedthewindow. Ibecameenviousofhim.Ican'tdenythatIfeltenvious.Thisman,Ithought,doesn'tneedanaunttoputfoodintohismouth.Thirteenliveriedwaiterswoulddothis forhim,ifhewanted.Thismandoesn'thavetodoanyhousecleaninghimself.Thismandoesn'tneedanyneuroticdressmaker.Heliesdownonhisbackandthreeor fourfoxyladiesgodownonhimandhegetshisrocksoffwithouthimhavingtoliftafinger,orapincer. Ileftthewashroomwithoutevencopyingoutthegraffiti—Ijustplainforgot.Forthefirsttime.NotthatImissedanythingofgreatsignificance—therewasnothing there,onlytheusualmaliciousremarksaboutthedepartmenthead—butevenso,theincidentscaredme,becauseIcouldalreadyfeelthespecterofdepression closinginonmeoncemore. 16.Occasionally,asIgothroughthewashroomsofthebuildings,Irunintoayoungwomanwhodoesthecleaning.Afarmworkertype—astrongwoman,not entirelyugly.Ilikeherfreckles,I MAY

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liketheshrewdexpressioninhereyes,Ilikethefactthatsheisalwayssmiling,evenwhensheiswashingthetoiletseats. Weusuallychatforawhile.HernameisMarta;sheisfromthesametownintheinteriorwheremyauntlives.This,ofcourse,hasgivenmesomeideas. 19.Iwentwithhertohertinyroomintheboardinghousewhereshelives.Therewasnoneedtomakeanypreparations:Theripsalreadypresentinhermattress wereperfectlysuitableforthestumpandpincers. MAY

Sheisfiery.Andshedoesn'tsweat.Shesmellsfunny—amixtureofsh*tanddetergent,butit'snotherownsmell.Andforacountrygirl,sheisquiteskillful.Herhands aresomewhatrough....Butit*houldn'treallymatter.She'snotgoingtohandleanyelectronicinstruments.Butevenso,Idon'tknow;I'mstillundecided. 31.Tomydelight,I'vediscoveredthatsheknowsmoreaboutgraffitithanIdo.Notjustthevulgarones;thewittyonestoo.Shedidn'tcopythemdown;she storedtheminhermemory,whichisprodigious,andsheiswillingtorecitethemtomesothatIcanwritethemdown. MAY

I'venowmadeupmymind. 10.Ibroughthertomyplace,tolivewithme.Ifthingsworkoutwell,Ipromisedher,we'llgetmarried—afterIfinishmybookabouttheinscriptionsinthe washrooms. JUNE

Firstthingshedidwastocleanthehouse,whichhadbecomearealgarbagedump.Shethenpreparedahotmeal(somethingIhadn'tsavoredinages).Sheputthe foodintomymouthfirstthesoup,thentherisotto,thenthepudding.Afterwardwewenttobed.SheenfoldedmeinsuchawaythatIdidn'thavetomakeuseofthe stumpandpincers.

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"Doesn'tmyfaceturnyouoff?"Iaskedher. "No,"shesaid.Thescars,shetoldme,remindedherofthewrinklesonthefaceofheroldfather,alreadydead.Whichmovedmetotears. 11.Itwasboundtohappen.Shewasinthekitchengettinglunchready(acarrotsoufflé),andIwassittinginfrontofthetelevision,whenallofasuddentherewas atremendousexplosion.Thegascontainer!Ithought,andrantothekitchen.ButevenbeforeIwenttoheraid,evenbeforeItookhertothehospital,evenbefore thedoctorannouncedtheresultoftheoperation,Ialreadyknewhowmanyfingerswereleft:twoonherrighthand,noneonherleft. JUNE

,whensheisdischargedfromthehospital,we'llstartvisitingallthewashroomsinthecity.AndasIponderfurtheruponthismatter:I'vealwaysneededafemale partner,whowouldhaveaccesstothewomen'swashrooms. INJULY

TheLovesofaVentriloquist Afatwomanlooksatmeandsmiles;athinmanlooksatmeandsmiles;afatherpointsmeouttohisson,thentheybothlookatmeandsmile.Peopleknowme.I'm thefamousAlbano,theventriloquist.I'mwellknownthroughoutthisstate.I'vebeeneverywhere,performingsolo(no,notsolo:withPeewee)intheatersandmovie housesintheinterior,incabaretsandinchurrascarias;itwasmewhowouldmakethesirloinsteaksaygoodnighttothesausage,itwasmewhowouldmakethe bottleofbeersinghappybirthdaytoyou.Andofcourse,Iwouldmakemydummy,Peewee,talk.Howisitgoing,Peewee,fine?Terrible,Albano.What'swrong, Peewee?Lackofwomen,Albano!Theaudiencewouldgowildwithdelight.Wewerehappy—PeeweeandI.Wedidn'thaveawoman—justone

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wouldhavebeenenoughforthetwoofus—butevensowewerehappy.Inthedingyroomsofthecheap,run­downhotelsintheinteriorwewouldtalkfarintothe night.Justthetwoofus.Nowoman.TimidasIwas,Icouldneversummonupenoughcouragetoasksomefloozytogotobedwithme.Totalktoawoman?Only throughPeewee'smouth. "Lookatthatgorgeousbrunetteoverthere,onthesecondrow!Isn'tshegorgeous,Albano?Comeoverhere,brunette!" Thebrunettewouldclimbontothestageandkissthedummy.Occasionally,Iwouldindulgeinanescapadeandvisitabrothel,whichwouldgivemesomerelief.Upon returningtomybedroom,Iwouldbeassailedbyremorse:Lyinghelplessonthebed,Peeweewouldlookatme,hurt.Butafterwardhewouldtakehisrevengeonme: WheneverIfellill,henevercametomyaid.Me:burningwithfever;he:sprawledoutinachair,hismouthagape,aninsolentexpressioninhiseyes:itwasasneer, pureandsimple.OneofthesedaysI'lldiebecauseofthisson­of­a­bitch,Iwouldthinktomyself.WhenRamãoinvitedmetoworkinhiscircus,Iacceptedtheoffer. Iwouldbelosingmyfreedom,IwouldnolongerbeabletodoasIpleased—butatleastIwouldn'thavetoliveinahotelroomandfeellonely.Inowsharedatrailer withthefierceAnteu,theweightlifter.Hehatedme,thisAnteu.Hehatedmefornoreasonatall(orperhapshehatedmebecausehehadtosharethetrailerwithme,I don'tknow).Thewayhelookedatmewouldsendshiversdownmyspine.Duringmyperformanceeverythingwasfine—Peeweewouldtalktotheaudience,tothe camel;thecamelwouldtalkbacktoPeewee,theaudiencewoulddoubleupwithlaughter—butassoonasIreturnedtothetrailer,myjoywouldfadeatthesightof thesinisterweightliftereyeingmedarkly.Andworsestill:evengreaterdisturbanceswereinstoreforme. Ifellinlove. IfellinlovewiththegorgeousMalvina,theanimaltrainer.Like

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me,shewasshy;andlikeme,she,too,wastransformedinthecourseofherperformance.Shewouldentertheanimalcage,fixhereyesonthewildbeasts,and soothethemwithafirmvoiceandacrackofthewhip.Asamatteroffact,itwasthewhipthatmadeitpossibleformetoletherknowaboutmyfeelings. Ihadbeenwatchingherforalongtime,andIthinkthatshe,too,hadbeenwatchingme;buteverytimethatweranintoeachother,webothblushedandloweredour heads.Oneday,however,Imusteredcourageand: "Ah,howdelicatearethehandsthatwieldme,"sighedthewhip. Shewassostartledthatshedroppedthewhip. Ithensteppedoutofmyhidingplace—Ihadbeenhidingbehindastoolinthedesertedridingarena,watchingherrehearseforthatevening'sshow.Sheturnedred, andsodidI,but: "Youreyeshavetamedmyheart,"saidtheBengaltiger. Shelookedatthewildbeast—whichwasphlegmaticallylickingitspaws—thenlookedatme,brokeintolaughter,andhurriedaway. Thatwasall.Mymouth,myownmouth,neverspoketoheroflove.Notonce. ItwasAnteuwhowonherlove.Wonisn'treallytherightwayofputtingit—whathedidwastooverpowerheranddraghertohistraileroneMondayafternoon.He camein,carryingherinhisarms(thepoorthinginahalffaint)andhekickedmeout:Getout,youidiot,heshouted,slammingthedoorinmyface.Throughawindow thathadbeenleftajar,IdidwhatIcould:dumbbells,boots,ashtrays—theyallvoicedtheirprotest.Allofthemthreatenedtocallthepolice.Allthem,exceptPeewee. Theson­of­a­bitchwastheonlyonethatremainedsilent. Allmyprotestswereinvain,andsoweretheprotestsofthebeardedwoman,ofthedwarfs,ofRamão.Anteuwasn'tonetopayheedtoanybody.Hethrewmy belongingsoutofthetrailer.Ihadtofindanotherplacetolive.Malvinathenmovedinwithhim.

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Shesufferedalot,thepoorthing.Herfacewasalwayscoveredinbruises,whichhermakeupcouldbarelyconceal.Shespoketonoone,andshespentalldaycrying. Butintheevening,whensheenteredtheanimalcage,shebecameheroldselfa*gain—shewasMalvina,thebeautifulanimaltrainer.Onlythenwasitpossibleformeto talktoher—throughtheanimals.Malvina,youcan'tgoonlikethis!Youmustrebel,thelionwouldsay.Shewouldmakenoreply,buthereyeswouldglitterandher fingerswouldtightentheirgriponthewhip.Putanendtoittoday!thetigerwouldplead.Today,Malvina!Gobacktoyourplace,animal,shewouldshout.AndI, hiddenbehindthestool,wouldfeelthetearswellinginmyeyes. Whenmyturncame,Iwouldentertheringrunning,andaftergreetingtheaudience,Iwouldsitdown,withPeeweeonmylap. "Youclown!"hewouldshout."Youcan'tmakeitwithwomen,canyou,clown?You'resuchawimp!" Everybodywouldlaugh.Whichwouldmakemybloodboil.Ithendecidedtotakeaction. OnenightImadeupmymind:Idownedawholeglassofcognacandrantotheweightlifter'strailer. "Anteu!That'senough,Anteu!" Ithrewmyselfa*gainstthedoorasifIweighedonehundredkilogramsinsteadofapaltryfifty­two;andasifundertheweightofonehundredkilograms,thedoor yielded,andtherehewas,ontopofMalvina,crushingherwithhismonstrousbody. "That'senough,Anteu!"Ishouted,andthentoMalvina:"Scram,Malvina!Now!" Anteu,naked,gotup—howhugehewas!andheadvanceduponme,growling:"You'renowgoingtopayforthis,yourat!" Malvinamanagedtoescapethroughawindow,andIreadiedmyselffortheshowdownwithAnteu.Overhere,youcoward!Here!shoutedthedumbbells,butAnteu wasfamiliarwithmytricks,andhedidn'tturnaround.Heseizedme,liftedmeintheair,thenthrew

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meaway—asifIhadweighedthree,notfifty­two,kilograms.Almostatthesametime,heraisedhishandstohishead,andlettingoutascream,hecollapsedtothe floor. Ineversawhimagain.Iknowthathewascommittedtoanursinghomeforthedestituteafterthestrokelefthimparalyzed.IneverheardfromMalvina,either.And Peewee,well,Iburnedhim;itwaswithgreatpleasurethatIwatchedhissneeringfacebeingconsumedbytheflames. Asformyself—I'vebeenbummingaround.I'vebeenunemployedsinceIlostmyvoice.That'sright:thatnight,afterAnteuthrewmeintotheair,Iwasn'tabletospeak anymore.Ibecameamute,adummy.Ispentallmymoneyondoctors;theywereunabletofindoutwhatwaswrongwithme.There'snothingwrongwithyourvocal cords,orwithyourtonsils,theywouldsay.Theyfinallygaveuptryingtocureme.OneofthedoctorssuggestedthatIshouldalwayshavepaperandpencilonme. That'swhatIdonow:Iwrite.I'mprettygoodatwriting,whatelsecanavoicelessventriloquistdo? Iwanderaboutthestreets,andIgointobarsandstores.Peoplerecognizemeandpointmeout.Andwheninamen'sclothingstoreamannequinsays— Goodafternoon,gentlemen,whatIlackiswomen—everybodylaughs.Theythinkit'saprankofmine.Theydon'tknow—andthisfrightensme—thatitisthe mannequinhimselfthatisspeaking,sayingthingsoffthetopofhishead.Themannequin,thestatueofSaintGeorge,thevase,theradio—theworldisfullofcrazy, crazyvoices.

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ThePealofBellsatChristmas Pursuedbythreepolicemen,amanrunsalongthestreetsofasmalltown. Heisexhausted,anddesperate;itisjustbeforedawnnowandhispursuershavebeenhardonhistrailsincenightfall.Theydon'tgiveupthechase.Themanis panting.Hetripsoversomething,fallsdown,pickshimselfup,andstartsrunningagain,inahobblingway. Onthevergeofsurrenderinghimself,heseesachurch.Herunstoit.Awindowhappenstobeopenandheslipsthroughit.Inthedarkness,hecomesuponthe handrailofastaircase;heclimbsupthenarrowstairs,withoutknowingforsurewhathewillfindatthetop.Suddenly,hefeelsthewindonhisface.Heisinthebelfry. Thereisahugebellthere,abellthatisoutofallproportiontothesizeofthechurchandthetower.Itisfamous,thisbell(butthemandoesnotknowthis),foritssize. Warily,themanpeersdown.Heseesluminousspots—theflashlightsofthepolicemen—shiftingfromplacetoplace.Thepolicemenareconfused:theyhavelosthis trail....Themansmiles.Heissafe.Justthenhefeelsdizzyandhestaggers;onthevergeoffalling,hehangsontotheropeofthebell.Theenormousclapper detachesitselfandcomescrashingdowntothenarrowplatformwherethemanisstanding—andfromthere,itrollsdownthroughanopeninginthewallofthechurch. Anditdisappears.Itmusthavefallenintotheattic. Forafewminutesthemanremainsmotionless,panting,hiseyesclosed.Herecoversfromhisfright.Hewaspursued,buthesavedhimself;healmostfelldown,and againhesavedhimself.Heopenshiseyesandsmiles.Heissafe. Safe,butwithaproblem. Hemustputtheclapperbackinsidethebell.Otherwise,whenthesextoncomestoringthebelltocallthefaithfultoMass,hewill

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noticethatsomethingisamiss.Andthenhewillclimbupthestairstothetower,forsure. Slowlyandwiththeutmostcare,themanbeginstohaulontherope.Theveryheavyclapperkeepscomingcloser.Themancanhearthedullsoundthatitproducesas ittrailsacrosstheboardsoftheattic. Suddenly,thereisresistance.Theclapperisstuck,maybecaughtinarafter.Themantugsattheropeadroitlybutsharply.Nothing.Theclapperisstuck.Goodand stuck.Itwon'tbudge.Takeiteasy,easydoesit,themankeepssayingtohimself. Hetakesstockofthesituation.Shouldheentertheatticandfreetheclapper?Impossible.Theopening—probablyaventilationhole—isnotwideenoughforaburly manlikethefugitivetopassthrough.Thrustinghisarmdowntheopening,hecanfeeltherope,butnottheclapper.Theatticiswaybelow.Apparently,thereisnothing elsethemancandoexcepttotugattherope,so,that'swhathedoes,feelingincreasinglymoreexasperated,untilfinallyahardtugsuddenlyovercomestheresistance andthemanfallsonhisbottomontheplatform.Withtheropeinhishand.Ithasdetacheditselffromtheclapper. Themanstaresindisbeliefatthefrayedendoftherope.Andthenhestartstoberatehimself:WhatanidiotIam,nowI'vereallybungledit.Iwasalreadysafeand sound,andIhadtobunglethewholething. Allofasudden,afitoflaughter:Butafterall,hehasnothingtodowiththeclapper.Orwiththebell,orwiththetowerforthatmatter.Heisworriedfornothing.Heis goingtoscram,that'swhatheisgoingtodonow.Assoonasherisestohisfeet,hehearsthebarkingofdogsandheseesthebeamsofflashlights:thepolicemanhave returned.Andwhat'sworse,thedayisnowdawning.Soonthesextonwillbehere,too. Panic­stricken,themancringes.I'mlost,hemumbles.Completelylost.

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Lost?No.Hewon'tgiveupsoeasily.Theyhaven'tfoundhimyet,andtheywon'tfindhim.Unlessthesexton,unabletostrikethebell,decidestoclimbupthestairsto thetower. Heexaminesthebell.Itisreallycolossal:agoodtwometersindiameter,atleastasmuchinheight.Therim,turnedinward,formsasortoflipwideenoughforhimto restafootthere.Themanentersthebellandclimbsonthelipasifitwerearunning­board.Balancinghimselfwithdifficulty,hegropesabout,tryingtofindtheplace fromwhichtheclapperwassuspended.Asheexpected,hefindsametalhook.Now,allhehastodoistofindanobjectthatcanreplacetheclapper,andthenattach ittothehook. But—whatobject?Themanlooksaroundhim.Whatishelookingfor?Aspareclapper?Thereisn'tone.Thereisnothing,thereinthetower.Themanclimbsdown thebell.Heemptieshispockets:ajackknife,anotebook,afewcoins.Nothingthatcouldbeusedasaclapper.Hetakesoffhisrightbootandweighsitbyhand: muchtoolight.Maybeabrick...?Usingthejackknife,hefuriouslystartsdiggingintothewallofthechurch. Halfanhourlater,hegivesup.Hehasbarelymadeadentinthehardroughcast.Andevenifhesucceededintakingabrickout,herealizes,hewouldn'tbeableto suspenditfromthehook.Andevenifhewereabletodoso,itwouldn'twork,forthebrickwouldcrumbleatthefirstclangsofthebell. Andyet,hehastofindasolution.Itisgrowinglight,andnowitisimpossibleforhimtoescape.Oneofthepolicemanismountingguardatthefrontofthechurch: Theysuspectthatthefugitiveissomewhereinthere.Andtheyarewaitingforthearrivalofthesextonsothattheycansearchthechurch.Theson­of­a­bitches,mutters theman,theydon'tevenrespectGod'shouse. Thesextonisonhisway. Heslowlywalksupthestreetwherethechurchislocated.Thepolicemanmeetshimhalfway.Theystandtalkingforawhilebefore

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themainentrance.Thesextongropesforthekeyinhispocket;themandoesn'tknowwhattodo—heopensthedoor—themanstilldoesn'tnotknowwhattodo— hewalksinwiththepoliceman—andnowthemanknowswhattodo:withtheropeheldfirmlybetweenhisteeth,heclimbsinsidethebellandstandsonthelipinside. Heistakingtheplaceoftheclapper. Thesextondoesn'tstartpullingontheroperightaway.Heisundoubtedlywaitingforthepolicemantofinishhissearchofthechurch.Motionlessinsidethebell,and holdingontothehook,themanwaitstensely—andwhat'sworse,withhisbladderabouttoburst:ohGod,don'tletmepissinmypants. Finally,thereisavigorousthugattherope;itisthesexton.Imitatingthemovementoftheclapper,themanbeginstomovehisheadtoandfro.Suddenlynow!—he throwshisheadagainstthebronze. Itisanexcruciatingpain,anexplosioninsidehishead—buthehasproducedabeautifulclang:clear,resounding,indistinguishablefromthesoundthatthebronze clapperwouldproduce.Butthemanhasnotimetorejoiceattheoutcome,oreventorestforamoment.Thesextoncontinuestopullontherope,andthemanagain strikesthebellwithhishead,thenagain,andagain,andagain.Twelvestrokesofthebellinall. Dizzy,hisheadburstingwithpain,themanclimbsdownthebellandhestretcheshimselfoutonthesmallplatformofthetower.Heliesthere,unabletomove,the strokesofthebellstillresonatinginhisskull. Finallyheopenshiseyes,andhetakesapeepatthestreetdownbelow.ThefaithfularebeginningtoarrivetohearMass.Asforthepoliceman,heisgone.Theman sighs.Hethenbecomesawareofthewetnessonhisleg:hehasjustpissedinhispants.

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Heneverleavedtheplaceagain.Hehasmadethetowerintohispermanenthome.Helivesonpigeons,mice,andbats;hedrinksrainwater. Andhestrikesthebell.Inthecourseoftime,hegetsusedtostrikingthebell.Hisskull,althoughdeformedfromtheblows,hasacquiredtherigidityofmetal.Theman doesn'tenvythelostclapper,amerearticleofbronze.And,onecouldsay,heisevenhappy. Thereisonlyoneperiodoftimeduringtheyearwhenthemanreallysuffers:onChristmasEve.Thesexton,habituallyindolent,isthensuddenlyseizedbyaburstof energyandhestartspullingontheropelikeamadman.Themanhastostrikethebelldesperately.Inthemidstofhisagony,heevenhasvisions:Heislyingina manger,liketheInfantJesus,andhelaughsandclapshishands.ExceptthatthethreemenkneelingbeforehimarenottheThreeWisem*n.Theyarethepolicemen whooncepursuedhimasfarasthechurch.

ThePhantomShip Here,onboardthePhantomship,thedaysandthenightsareidentical,forwealwayssailamidathickfog. Insilence,we—officersandcrew—goaboutourwork.Theofficersintheirvelvettailcoatsandtricornhats;we,inthesimplegarbofsailors.Ourjobconsistsin loweringorhoistingthesails,accordingtothetypeofwindthatsuddenlyblowsfromunforeseendirections.Duringourleisuretime,wereadorplaychess.Ifanything, feverorpain,ailsus,wearerequiredtoseethedoctoronboard.Strangedreamsalsowarrantavisittothedoctor—myreasonforseeinghim.Hereceivesmeina cabinthatserveshimasaconsultingroom—acrampedcubiclestuffedwithbooks,surgicalinstruments,andflaskscontainingmalodorousliquids.Suspendedfromthe lowceiling,askeletonoscillateswiththemovementsofthevessel.

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Heasksmetositdown.Forsometime(whichmaywellbealongtime—timedoesn'tcountonaphantomship),thetwoofus,theolddoctorandI,sitstaringateach other.Theold,white­beardeddoctorinhistricornhat,velvettailcoat,andgold­rimmedeyeglasses.What'sthematter,mylad?hefinallyasks. ''Ihadthisstrangedream." "Tellmeaboutit." Ihesitate;however,Ihavenochoicebuttotellhim: "Idreamedaboutapenis.Apenis.Apenisandavagin*." Hefurrowshisbrow. "That'swhatitwas,apenisandavagin*?" "Yes." "Interesting...Penisandvagin*.Interesting." Apause.Helooksatmekeenly. "Tellme,"hesays,leaningforward,"inthisdreamofyours,didthepenisenterthevagin*?" "Ah,yes,itdid.Itentered,yes,sir.Itwentinandout,inandout." Anotherpause. "Isthatall?"thedoctorasks. "That'sall.Yes,sir,that'sall." "Ah!"Hesmiles."Sothat'sall,isit?Nothingtoworryabout,son.It'squiteacommondreamamongthesailorsonboardourship.It'snotdifficulttodecipherit:the penissymbolizestheancestralship,theshipafterwhichallthephantomshipswerebuilt." "Interesting.Andthevagin*?"Iask. Hesmilesagain."Thevagin*,younaughtyboy....Thevagin*.Yes.Tellme:inyourdream,didyoubyanychanceseethepubes?" "Yes." "Thepubichair?" "Yes." "Wasthehairblond?Veryfairhaironasoft,rosyskin?"

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"Yes!Blondhair.Softskin.Yes!" Icontainmyself:Ican'tweepnow.Notnow. "Buttheneverythingisallright,"hesays."Don'tyousee?Thevagin*symbolizesthemistthroughwhichwesail.Deepdown,whatyouwantistoreturntothe ancestralship....Butdon'tletthisupsetyou.It'snotunusual,youknow,amongsailors.Notunusualatall." Hestandsup.Istandup. "Outyougonow!Backtoyourwork." Hewinksatme: "I'llauthorizeanadditionalglassofwineforyouatdinner.Inthiswayyou'llsleepwellandwon'thaveanymoredreams.Gonow." AtthedoorIturnaround. "Doctor,"butI'malmostshouting,"isittruethatislandsexist?Isittruethattheislandsarefulloffruittrees?Doctor,isittruethatwomenexist?" Hestaresatmefixedly. "No,son.It'salllegend.Youknowverywellit'salllegend.Islands?No,ofcoursenot.Thesamegoesforfruittrees.Andforwomen.It'snothingbutadream,a fantasy.Forgetaboutit.Andnowgobacktoyourwork,there'sawindalreadypickingup." Iopenthedoor.Heholdsmebythearm. "Andaboveall,"hesays(butthetoneofvoiceisnowharsh),"don'twriteanything.Don'tputamessageinsideabottle,doyouhearme?It'sforyourowngood." Imumbleathankyouandleave.Thedoorclosesbehindme.Trembling,Ileanagainstit,withmyeyesshut.Howdidheguess?HowdoesheknowthatIalready have,hiddenunderthepillow,apencilstub,ascrapofpaper—andabottle?

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THEENIGMATICEYE[1986]

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TheEnigmaticEye AManGoestoaMuseum. Heisawealthyman;infact,oneofthewealthiestmeninthecountry.Heisnotanartenthusiast,neitherdoeshehaveaspeciallikingformuseums;asamatteroffact, heisnotinthehabitoffrequentingpublicplaces.Andyet,thereheis,piquedbythesamecuriositythathasdrawnthousandsofpeopleeverydaytothissmall,andin allrespects,uninterestingmuseum.Heistheretoseethesmallpaintingthatacustodianfoundinthebasem*nt,buriedunderapileofloose­joinedframes—apainting which,afterbeingexaminedbybothnationalandforeignexperts,waspronouncedtobenothinglessthananoriginalbyRafaelSanzio.Howitendedupinthis museumisamystery.Anyway,thereitis,themasterpiece,exposedtotheadmiringeyesofthepublic.Itisaportraitofanoldmanofaristocraticbearing.What impressesvisitorsthemostishisgaze,whichistrulyenigmatic. Theportraitfascinatesthemanasnothingelseintheworld—whetheritbemagnificentlandscapes,orluxuriousbuildings,orpreciousjewelry—haseverfascinated him.Inthehalflightoftheair­conditionedroom(thepreservationofthispieceofartrequiresspecialconditions),hespendscountlesshours;theguardhastowarnhim thatthemuseumisabouttocloseandthathemustleavenow.Heleaves;butonthefollowingdaythereheisagain,motionless,magnetized.Finally,hemakesa decision:Thepaintingmustbehis.Inordertoreachthisobjective,heiswillingtosparenoexpenseandtorunallkindsofrisks. Thereisonepersonhecanturntoforthispurpose—Jorge:Inad­

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ditiontobeinganaide,heisalsoadevotedfriendandajack­of­all­trades.ThemansendsforJorgeandentrustshimwithhiswish.Leaveittome,saysJorge.And indeed,threedayslater,Jorgehandsacardboardboxovertotheman.Withtremblinghandsheopensthebox,andinsideistheportraitoftheoldmanwiththe enigmaticgaze.Thatthepaintingisauthenticthereisnodoubt,forthenewspapersreportinbannerheadlinesthatthemasterpieceatthemuseumhasbeenstolen. It'simportantthatthepaintingbewellhidden;themanhangsitintheatticinhismansion,andheistheonlyonetohaveakeytothatroom.Therehespendshours lookingatthepainting,litbyspotlightsthathehimselfhasinstalled.Itiswithtendernessthathegazesatthefaceoftheoldman;heevenstrokesthewrinkledsurface ofthecanvaswithhisfingers,moistwithperspiration.Merelylookingisnotenough,hehastotouchthepainting,too,inordertoexperiencetherealfeelingof ownership. Theservantswonderaboutwhattheirmaster(achildlesswidower,helivesalone)isupto.Butnobodydaresaskhimaquestion,andthus,withoutbeingdisturbed,he canremainintheatticforincreasinglylongerperiodsoftime.Hegoesdownstairsonlyforhismeals,whenhethenamuseshimselfbyreadingthenewsinthepapers: Therearestillnocluestothewhereaboutsofthepainting,thechiefofpolicebelievesithasbeentakentoNewYork.NewYork!Themanlaughssohardthathe chokes.Theservantsexchangeglances.Themanknowsthattheythinkhimcrazy,buthecouldn'tcareless.Nowthathehashispainting,nothingelsematterstohim. Allhewantsistositbeforetheoldmanwiththeenigmaticgaze.Withhisbrowcreasedandhislipscompressed,themanstudiesthefaceinfrontofhimjustlikean explorerstudiesthemapoftheunknownregionheistotraverse.Themanknowsthisfacethoroughly;atleasthethinkshedoes;however,assoonashecloseshis eyes,thefacedisappearsfromhismemory—completelyerased.Whichisfrus­

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trating,forthefaceisnotascompletelyhisasheimaginedittobe;hedoesnotpossessitinitsentirety.Oncemore,hemurmurs,anddrawingthechairupcloserto thepainting,hestartstheundertakinganew,tryingtomemorizetheoutlineoftheeyebrows,ofthelabialcommissure,ofthewrinkles. Butthen—duetotheheatofthelightsortomoisture,orsomeotherunknownreason—thepaintingbeginstofade,tovanish.Atfirstthemanthinksitishis imagination,anillusioncausedbyhisprolongedefforttoengraveinhismindthesmalldetailsoftheportrait.Butno,thefaceisindeedvanishing;dayafterdaythelines keepfading.Inexorably,thepaintingisvanishingandthereisnothingthemancandoaboutit.Hecannotconsulttheexperts,hecannotcallintherestorers;helpless, hestandsrootedbeforethepaintinguntilallthatremainsoftheoldmanis—forsomemysteriousreason—hisrighteye,whichglitters,enigmatic.Buteventhiseye vanishes,andonedaythemanfindshimselfstandingbeforeablank,emptycanvas.Andonthatdayhefallsdownonhisknees;andonthatdayheweepsashehas notweptsincehischildhood,andheevencallsouttohismother,deadformanyyears. Themanfallsill.Doctors,severalofthem,aresentfor;theyexaminehimthoroughly,takebloodfornumeroustests,x­rayhimfromtoptobottom,buttheyfind nothingwrong.Hisconditiondeteriorates,thedoctorsgivehimup,hisdeathisevenannouncedontelevision;but,assuddenlyashefellill,herecovers.Thefirstthing hedoesaftergettingridoftheservants,whourgehimtostayinbed,istogoupstairstotheattic.Cheeredbythehopethateverythingmighthavebeenjustdelirium, heclimbsthestepstwoatatime.Heunlocksthedoor,turnsonthelight—andthereitis,theblankcanvas,beforewhichhesitsdown,devastated. Suddenlyanideacrosseshismind:whatifJorgeweretoreturnthecanvastothemuseum?Itispossiblethatoncethere,underthespecificcirc*mstancesofthat environmenttowhichthepainting,

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afterall,belongs,thefigurewillreappear.Butwhyintheworldwouldthemuseum'scuratorwanttoreplaceaRafaelpaintingwithablankcanvas?Andsupposethe faceweretoreappear,whatwouldhedothen?Wouldhehavethepaintingstolenagain? No.No,thisisnottherightsolution.Openingthedoor—thereisnolongeranyreasontokeepitclosed—themancallsaservantanddispatcheshimtoastoretobuy paintingsupplies.Later,themanmixespaints,thenclumsilywieldingthepaintbrush,hegiveshimselfovertohiswork.Whathehasinmindisjustaneye,anenigmatic eye.Tobeginwith.Later,hewillsee.

InsideMyDirtyHead—TheHolocaust Insidemydirtyhead,theHolocaustislikethis: I'maneleven­year­oldboy.Small,skinny.Anddirty.Ohboy,amIeverdirty!AstainedT­shirt,filthypants,grimyfeet,hands,andface:dirty,dirty.Butthisexternal dirtisnothingcomparedtothefilthIhaveinsidemyhead.Iharbornothingbutevilthoughts.I'mmischievous,Iusefoullanguage.Adirtytongue,adirtyhead.Afilthy mind.Asewerinhabitedbytoadsandpoisonousscorpions. Myfatherisappalled.Agoodman,myfatheris.Heharborsnothingbutpurethoughts.Hespeaksnothingbutkindwords.Deeplyreligious;themostreligiousmanin ourneighborhood.Theneighborswonderhowsuchakind,piousmancouldhavesuchawickedsonwithsuchabadcharacter.I'madisgracetothefamily,a disgracetotheneighborhood,adisgracetotheworld.Meandmydirtyhead. MyfatherlostsomeofhisbrothersandsistersintheHolocaust.Whenhetalksaboutthis,hiseyeswellupwithtears.It'snow1949;thememoriesoftheWorldWar IIarestillmuchtoofresh.RefugeesfromEuropearriveinthecity;theycomeinsearchofrelativesandfriendsthatmighthelpthem.Myfatherdoeswhathecanto help

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theseunfortunatepeople.Heexhortsmetofollowhisexample,althoughheknowsthatlittlecanbeexpectedfromsomeonewithsuchadirtyhead.Hedoesn'tknow yetwhatisinstoreforhim.Mischahasn'tmaterializedyet. OnedayMischamaterializes.Adiminutive,slightlybuiltmanwithastoop;onhisarm,quitevisible,atattooednumber—thenumberassignedtohiminaconcentration camp.Hearousespity,poorfellow.Hisclothesareintatters.Hesleepsindoorways. Learningaboutthisdistressingsituation,myfatherisfilledwithindignation:Somethingmustbedoneaboutit,onecan'tleaveaJewinthissituation,especiallywhenhe isasurvivoroftheNazimassacre.Hecallstheneighborstoameeting.Iwantyoutoattendit,hesaystome(undoubtedlyhopingthatI'llbeimbuedwiththespiritof compassion.I?Thekidwiththedirtyhead?PoorDad). Theneighborsoffertohelp.Eachonewillcontributeamonthlysum;withthismoneyMischawillbeabletogetaccommodationinaroominghouse,buyclothes,and evengotoamovieonceinawhile. Theyannouncetheirdecisiontothediminutivemanwho,withtearsinhiseyes,gusheshisthanks.Monthsgoby.Mischaisnowoneofus.Peopletaketurnsinviting himtotheirhomes.AndtheyinvitehimbecauseofthestorieshetellstheminhisbrokenPortuguese.NobodycantellstorieslikeMischa.Nobodycandescribelike himthehorrorsoftheconcentrationcamp,thefilth,thepromiscuity,thediseases,theagonyofthedying,thebrutalityoftheguards.Listeningtohimbringstearsto everybody'seyes.... Well,nottoeverybody's.Nottomine.Idon'tcry.Becauseofmydirtyhead,ofcourse.Insteadofcrying,insteadofflingingmyselfuponthefloor,insteadof clamoringtoheavenasIlistentothehorrorshenarrates,Ikeepaskingmyselfquestions.Questionslike:Whydoesn'tMischaspeakYiddishlikemyparentsand everybodyelse?Whydoeshestandmotionlessandsilentinthesynagoguewhileeverybodyelseispraying?

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Suchquestions,however,Ikeeptomyself.Iwouldn'tdareaskanybodysuchquestions;neitherdoIvoiceanyofthethingsthatmydirtyheadkeepsimagining.My dirtyheadneverrests;dayandnight,alwaysbuzzing,alwaysscheming.... Istartimaginingthis:Onedayanotherrefugee,Avigdor,materializesintheneighborhood.He,too,comesfromaconcentrationcamp;unlikeMischa,however,he doesn'ttellstories.AndIkeepimaginingthatthisAvigdorisintroducedtoMischa;andIkeepimaginingthattheydetesteachotheratfirstsight,eventhoughatone timetheywerefellowsufferers.Iimaginethemonenightseatedatthetableinourhouse;we'rehavingaparty,therearelotsofpeople.Thensuddenly—ascenethat mydirtyheadhasnodifficultydevising—suggestthatthetwomenhaveanarm­wrestlingmatch. (Whyarmwrestling?Whyshouldtwopunylittlemen,whointhepastalmoststarvedtodeath,puttheirstrengthagainsteachother?Why?Why,indeed?Askmydirty headwhy.) So,theretheyare,thetwomen,armagainstarm;tattooedarmagainsttattooedarm;nobodyhasnoticedanything.ButIhave—thanks,ofcourse,tomydirtyhead. Thenumbersarethesame. "Look,"Ishout,"thenumbersarethesame!" Atfirst,everybodystaresatme,bewildered;thentheyrealizewhatI'mtalkingaboutandseeforthemselves:Bothmenhavethesamenumber. Mischahasturnedlivid.Avigdorrisestohisfeet.He,too,ispale;buthisragesoonmakeshisfaceandneckbreakoutinredblotches.Withunsuspectedstrengthhe grabsMischabythearm;hedragshimtoabedroom,forceshimgotoin,thenclosesthedoorbehindthem.Onlymydirtyheadknowswhatisgoingonthere,foritis myheadthathascreatedAvigdor,itismyheadthathasgivenAvigdorthisextraordinarystrength,itismyheadthathascausedhimtoopenandshutthedoor;andit isinmyheadthatthisdoorexists.

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AvigdorisinterrogatingMischa,andfindingoutthatMischahasneverbeenaprisoneranywhere,thatheisnotevenaJew;heismerelyacraftyUkrainianwhohad himselftattooedandwhomadeupthewholestoryinordertoexploitJews. So,oncetheruseisexposed,evenmydirtyheadhasnodifficultyinmakingAvigdor—andmyparentsandtheneighbors—expelMischainafitoffury.Andso Mischaisleftdestitute,andhehastosleeponaparkbench. Mydirtyhead,however,won'tleavehimalone,andsoIcontinuetoimaginethings.WiththemoneyMischagetsfrompanhandling,hebuysalotteryticket.The number—trustthisdirtyheadofminetocomeupwithsomethinglikethis—is,ofcourse,theonetattooedonhisarm.Andhewinsinthelottery!Thenhemovesto RiodeJaneiroandhebuysabeautifulcondoandheishappy!Happy.Hedoesn'tknowwhatmydirtyheadhasinstoreforhim. There'sonethingthatbothershimthough:thenumbertattooedonhisarm.Hedecidestohaveitremoved.Hegoestoafamousplasticsurgeon(thesearerefinements devisedbymydirtyhead)andundergoessurgery.Butthenhegoesintoshockanddiesaslow,agonizingdeath.... OnedayMischatellsmyfatheraboutthesoapbars.Hesayshesawpilesandpilesofsoapbarsinthedeathcamp.Doyouknowwhatthesoapwasmadeof?he asks.Humanfat.FattakenfromJews. AtnightIdreamabouthim.I'mlyingnakedinsomethingresemblingabathtub,whichisfilledwithputridwater;Mischarubsthatsoaponme;hekeepsrubbingit ruthlesslywhileshoutingthathemustwashthefilthoffmytongueandoffmyhead,thathemustwashthefilthofftheworld. Iwakeupsobbing,Iwakeupinthemidstofgreatsuffering.AnditisthissufferingthatI,forlackofabetterword,calltheHolocaust.

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FiveAnarchists ThesecretserviceofKingIgorXVhascapturedfiveanarchists. ''I'mgoingtoteachthosebastardsalesson,"themonarchdeclarestothepress. Thefivearelockedinthesameprisoncell:LouisHalm,thirtytwo,theringleader;RuizAgostin,thirty­eight,fatherofsixchildren;GeorgesPompeu,twenty­three,the onlysonofawidow;MiroLevin,twenty­four,theintellectualofthegroup,theauthorofAnarchyandIndependence;AmedeoBozzini,twenty­two,theyoungest andleastexperienced. RuizAgostin,onthefirstday: "Friends,let'snotworry.There'snoevidenceagainstus.Soonthekingwillhavetosetusfree.Cheerup!" Thejailercomesinwiththeday'sration:fiverollsandfivemugsofwater. "Isthatall?"AmedeoBozziniprotests. "It'sadietdevisedbytheprison'sphysician,"thejailerreplies."Arollandamugofwateradaywillguaranteeaperson'ssurvival.Enjoyyourmeal." Thefirstdaygoesby,thesecondgoesby,thetenthgoesby.Thejailerwasright:Theirhungerissatisfiedandtheyarenotundernourished. Tomaintainthemselvesinhighspirits,theyholddebates: "Thepresentpredicamentpropritiates..." "Wrong,wrong." "Butthefactsofreality..." "Wrong!" "It'sundeniablethat..." "Youidiot!" Unfortunately,theybegintolosetheirtempers.

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Onthetwenty­eighthdaytheguardcomesinwithfourrollsandfourmugsofwater. "There'sonerollmissing,"shoutsGeorgesPompeu. "Andamugofwater!"chimesinAmedeoBozzini. "I'mfollowingorders,"repliesthejailer,andheclosestheheavyirondoor. "Friends,"saysLouisHalm,"we'llsurvivethistryingordeal.Oursolidarityandourfaithwillhelpussucceed." Eachonegetsfour­fifthsofaroll,andfour­fifthsofamugofwater. Onthefollowingday,itisthesamething;andonthefollowing,andonthefollowing. Attheendoftheweektheirbonesbegintoshowthroughtheirskin.LouisHalmcallsameeting. "Friends,"hesaysinastrainedvoice,"aswecansee,thisiskillingallofus.Itwouldbebetterifwesacrificedoneofus.Thosewhor*mainwillwaitforfreedom, whichwillbeherebeforelong." "I'dliketovolunteer,"saysRuizAgostin. "No.You'vegotsixkids." "Me,then,"saysGeorgePompeu."Whynotme?" "Youroldmotherneedsyou." "Andwhoneedsme?"asksMiroLevin. "Thepeople,foryoudobrainworkforthem."Apause,afterwhichLouisHalmgoeson."Everybodyisindispensable,butsomebodywillhavetodie." Withthehelpofhiscompanions,AmedeoBozzinihangshimselffromthebarsofthejail. Onthefollowingmorningthejailercomesinwithfourrollsandfourmugsofwater;beforeleaving,heremarks:"ThenewspapersaresayingthatAmedeohaskilled himselfoutofguilt." "Alie!"shoutsLouisHalm. Thejailershrugshisshoulders,andleaveswhistling.

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Onthefortiethdaytherationisonceagainreduced:threerolls,threemugsofwater.Theprisonersprotest."I'mfollowingorders,"saysthejailer. "Anotheroneofuswillhavetobesacrificed,"saysLouisHalmwhenthejailerisgone. RuizAgostinvolunteersagain,andsodoesGeorgesPompeu;butthistimethechosenoneisMiroLevin."Well,Iwasreallybeginningtogettiredofbeingan intellectual,"hesaysbeforehanginghimself "ThenewspapershavereportedthatMiroLevinwasadrugaddict,"saysthejaileronthefollowingmorning. "Alie!"shoutsLouisHalminaweakvoice.Thejailerleaves. Onthefollowingmorning:tworolls,twomugsofwater. "TellmymotherIdiedforajustcause,"GeorgesPompeurequestsbeforehanginghimself. Onthefollowingmorningthejailerremarks:"Accordingtothenewspapers,GeorgesPompeu'smotherwillbespittingonhersonsgravedaily." LouisHalmandRuizAgostin,nowreducedtospectralfigures,don'tevenprotest. Onthefiftiethdaythejailercomesinwithonerollandonemugofwater. "Farewell,myfriend,"saysRuizAgostin."Ihopeyou'llsoonleavethisplacetoprovideleadershiptoourpeople.Lookaftermychildren!" LouisHalmhelpshimhanghimself.AfterascertaininghimselfthatRuizisindeeddead,hegoestothedoor. "Hi,there!Jailer!" Thejailerappears. "Thatwasthelastone,"saysLouisHalmwithdifficulty."GoandtellthekingthatI'vecarriedoutmytaskaccordingtoouragreement.Andnowletmeout."

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Butthejailerstandsmotionless,blockingthedoorwithhiscorpulentbody. "Haven'tyouheard?"saysLouisHalmgruffly."Letmeout!Andgoinformtheking.Hurry." "I'vealreadydoneso,"saysthejailer. "And?" "Hehassentyouthis." Thejailerproducesatray:onehalfofaroll.Andamugofwater,halffilled.

AmongtheWisem*n Theywentinsearchoftheboyandfoundhimamongthewisem*n,whoweredazzledbythiswhizkid. Onewiseman:"What'sanabyss?" "Anaturalcavitywhichopensitselfinthegroundinaroughlyverticalway,andwhosebottomispracticallyunexplorable.Next!" Anotherwiseman:"Andapyramid?Howshouldweperceiveapyramid?" "It'sasolidfigure,limitedbyaflatpolygonABCDandbythetriangles,VAB,VBC,andothers,havingasavertexapointvnotsituatedontheplaneofthepolygon,andas oppositesidesallthesidesofthepolygon.Anotherwiseman,please." Anotherwiseman:"AndwhataboutXerxestheFirst?" "AnAchaemenidkingofPersia.HesquelcheduprisingsinEgyptandChaldea.IntheyearA.D.480hebegananexpeditionintoGreece.HefoughtintheThermopylae andfinallyreachedAthens.Hewasdefeatedinseveralbattles.Anotherone.Hurry!" Anotherwisemanhurriedforward:"TheopeninglinesoftheOdyssey,please." "Singtome,OMuse,oftheindustriousmanwho,afterhesacked

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thesacredcityofTroy,wanderedaboutcountlesslands,visitingcitiesandlearningthemindsofsomanymen." Andheaddedpeevishly:"Asecond­ratequestion.Isthereanyonewhocancomeupwithabetterquestion?" Anoldmandrewnear.Respectfulbutchallenging,heasked:"AndwhatdoyouhavetosayaboutAristotelianphilosophy?" Theboysmiledapprovinglyyetcondescendingly."InPlatonism,theproblemofOnenessisdecisive.Aristotlebreaksawayfromthisunity,andforthisreasonheisto beapplauded.Hehasalsostated,inhisHistoryoftheAnimals,thatwomenhavefewerteeththanmen.Suchastatementisregardedasanaberration.However,I seeamazingtranscendenceinit." Theeldersstirred,uneasy;thenoneofthemraisedhisfinger."Whatdoyouhavetosayaboutfish?" "Providedtheyarecarefullychosen,fishcanturnintoyummydishes.Butonlyafishthathasbright,cleareyes,redgills,awellshapedbelly,firmflesh,apleasantalbeit peculiarsmell,well­attachedscales,andperfectfins.Takethisfish.Thenscrapethescalesoffcarefullysoasnottodamagetheskin.Gutthefishbyslittingthebelly open;it'snotadvisabletopullthegutsoutthroughthegills.Thenfryit,piecebypiece,insomegoodoliveoil.Serveitwithroundslicesoflemon." Pushinghiswaytothefrontofthegroup,anoldmanthenlookedstraightattheboy."What'sthemeaningoflife?" Atthatmomenttheboy'sparentstookhimaway.Itwaslunchtime.Fishwasthemaincourse.

TheConspiracy Wheneverateacherwasabsent,DonaMartawascalledinasasubstitute.Shetaughtsinging,asubjectregardedasbeingofsecondaryimportance;besides,her classesweredreadful—but,onthe

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otherhand,shewasalwaysoncall.Mornings,afternoons,evenings.Shepracticallylivedintheschool.Whenwearrivedinthemorningshewasalreadysittinginthe staffroom,alwayswiththatsmileofhers,asmilesomewhatresigned,somewhatsilly;andevenafterthelastofthenight­classstudentshadleft,shewouldstayon. Waitingforoneofherbrotherstopickherup,butsincenobodyhadeverseenthisbrother,rumorhaditthatshesleptintheatticoftheschoolbuilding.Thatshehad hermealsonthepremiseswascertain.Atnoonshewouldheadforabenchintheschoolyard,takeasandwichfromherbag,andsitmunchingonit,melancholy. OnedayourPortugueseteacherdidn'tcome.DonaMartawasbroughtin.Enteringtheclassroominherunsteadygait,shegreetedus,thenapologizedfortheabsence ofhercolleague.Wewouldn'tbesinging,sheannounced,forhervoicewashoarse(somethingdifficulttoverify,ashervoicesoundednormallyhoarse.Whicheven gaverisetojibes:RustyGullet,wehadnicknamedher.Whichsheignored,orpretendedtoignore). "We'regoingtodosomethingdifferent,"shesaid.Then,tryingtoassumeanairofmystery,ofcomplicity:"We'llpretendthisisyourusualPortugueseclass,okay?I'd likeyoutowriteacomposition.Onatopicofyourownchoice.ThenI'llpickfivestudentsatrandom;they'llreadtheircompositionsaloudandthebestonewillwina prize." Shepaused,thenadded:"Hereitis." Shetookachocolatebarfromherpurse.Asmall,ordinarychocolatebar.Andthatbarsheheldupintheairforatleastaminute,smiling,happy. Ourswasaschoolattendedbythechildrenofwealthypeople.Chocolates,bonbons,candies—wecouldhavethemeveryday,atanytime.Achocolatebar?Some ofussnickeredinderision.Butatthatmomenttheschoolprincipalappearedatthedoorandcastasternlookatus.Rightawaywesettowork.

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IwassureIwouldn'tbecalledupontoreadmycompositionaloud.Iwasnevercalledupontodoanything,whichsuitedmefine.Thisfact,aswellasthemany mysterybooksIhadbeenreadingatthattime,mightexplainthetitleofmycomposition:"TheConspiracyAgainsttheBlind."InitIdescribedadistantcountrywhich wasruledbyacasteofblindmen:ablindking,blindministers,blindgenerals—allofthemruthlesslyoppressingthepeople,whocouldn'trebelorevenconspire:The extremelysharpsenseofhearingoftheblinddetectedtheslightestmutteringofdiscontent.Butevenso,determinedleadersofthepeoplesucceededinhatchinga conspiracybasedexclusivelyonthewrittenword.Booksaswellasmagazinesandnewspapersdenouncingtheblindwerepublished.Allantiblindthoughtswere voicedinwritingonly.Finally,theoligarchywasoverthrownandanewkingmountedthethrone.Hisfirstactsweretodestroyalltheprintingpresses,closedownthe newspapers,anddeclareliteracyillegal. Ifinishedmycompositionandsatquietly,waiting.Theotherswerealsofinishingtheirs."Ready,everybody?"sheasked.Everybodysaidtheywere.Exceptme.Ikept quiet.But(asillluckwouldhaveit),itwasatmethatshepointedherhesitantfinger. "You...what'syourname?" "Oscar,"Ireplied(alie;mynameisFranciscoPedro;IcouldhearsomestifledsnickeringbutIstoodfirm). "That'sabeautifulname,"shesaid,smiling."Willyoureadyourcompositiontous,Oscar?" Therewasnowayout.Iglancedatthesheetofpaper,then,afterhesitatingforamoment,Iannounced:"Iwroteaboutawalkinthecountry." Shesmiledapprovingly.ThenIgaveanaccountofawalkinthecountry.Idescribedthelandscape:thetrees,thebrook,thecattlegrazingunderadeepbluesky.I concludedbysayingthatawalkinthecountrytaughtustolovenature.

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"Verynice,"shesaidwhenIfinished.Andsheaddedwithemo­tion:"I'dliketokeepyourcomposition." "It'snotworthkeeping,"Isaid."ButI'dliketo,"shepersisted."It'snotworthkeeping,"Irepeated.Shelaughed.''Comeonnow,Oscar,don'tbesomodest,letme haveyourcomposition." "Thiscompositionbelongstome,"Isaid,"andIcandowithitwhateverIwant.Thiswassupposedtobeasingingclass,notaPortugueselanguageclass.Youhave norighttodemandanythingfromme,ma'am." "I'maskingyouforthelasttime,"shesaid,andhervoicewastrembling."I'dliketohaveyourcomposition.Please." Takingthesheetofpaper,Itoreitupamidasepulchralsilence. Shesaidnothingbutallofuscouldseethetearsstreamingdownherface.Whichsurprisedme:Ididn'tknowthenthattheblindcancry.

TheProdigalUncle Awealthyentrepreneursitsinhismansionwatchingtelevisionwithhisfamilywhenaservantcomesintoannouncethatthereisayoungmanatthedoorwantingto speaktohim. "Hesayshe'syournephew." Themangetsupandgoestothedoor,wherehefindsaplainlydressedyouthinhislateteens,withananxiousexpressiononhisbeardedface.Howareyou,Uncle, hesays;themanhesitates.Whoareyou?heasks.I'myournephewMilton,saystheyouth. "Milton?You,thatlittlekid?" "That'smeallright,Uncle.Timegoesby." Themanopenshisarms. "Here,let'shaveahug,Milton!" Themanembraceshimforalongtime.Thenheshowstheyouthintotheroomwherethefamilyisgathered,andintroduceshim:

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Here'sthesonofmybrotherJoão;Ihadn'tseenhimsincehewasalittleboy.Everybodygetsuptogreetthenewcomer;Aline,theeldestdaughter(eighteenyears old),smilesshyly.Afterthegreetings,themanaskstheyouthtositdownbyhissideonthebigsofaandaskshimifhehashaddinneryet;whentheyouthrepliesthat heisn'thungry,themaninsiststhathehavesomething,awhiskey,abeverage;theyouthacceptssomefruitjuice,andwhiletheservantisseeingtoit,theman,hiseyes bright,turnstotheyouth. "Well,nowtellmeaboutyourparents.Ihaven'tseentheminyears." Whereuponsadnesscastsashadowovertheyouth'sface:withhisvoicecracking,hesaysthathisfatherisdeadandthathismotherisinamentalhospital.Ididn't know,saidtheman,dejected.Sayingthathewasquitefondofhisbrother,hethenreminiscesabouttheirchildhooddaysonasmallfarmfulloffruittrees.The conversationdragson;then,noticingthattheyouthappearstobetired,themanaskshimwhereheisstaying;nowhere,isthereply;hehasjustarrivedintownand hasn'tfoundaccommodationyet.Themaninsiststhattheyouthstayathishouse.Theyouth,apparentlysomewhatreluctant,acceptstheinvitation.Theservantis calledtoshowhimtotheguestroom. Daysgobyandtheyouthstayson.Infact,muchtothedelightofthefamily;theentrepreneur'swifeenjoystalkingtohim;theeightyear­oldsonhasfoundaplaymate inhim;andAline,well,Alineisclearlyinlove.Herparentshavenoticed,andatthetabletheyexchangeglances,smiling. Theentrepreneurofferstheyouthajobinhiscompany.Heaccepts.Fromthenontheyleavethehousetogethereverymorning;theyoungmannowdressesina befittingmanner.Asabusinessmanagerheproveshimselftobedynamic,enterprising,intelligent;theentrepreneur'saidesaredelightedwithhim.Itispredictedthat

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afterhisengagementtoAline,hewillofficiallytakeuphisdutiesasexecutivedirector. Onenightheaskshisprospectivefather­in­lawifhecanhaveawordwithhim.Thereisapersonalmatterhewouldliketodiscuss.Theygotothelibrary;assoonas theentrepreneurclosesthedoorbehindthem,theyoungman,onanimpulse,kneelsdownandkissestheentrepreneur'shands.Butwhat'sgoingon,saystheman,at oncesurprisedandmoved,buttheyoungman,intears,istoodistressedtoreply.Finallyhecalmsdown,andthenhesaysthatheisgrateful,verygrateful,butnotfor thereasonstheentreprenuerimagines;heisgratefulforother,entirelydifferentreasons.Theyoungmanthenproceedstotelltheentrepreneurthatafterdroppingout ofschool,hespentalongtimeloafingaroundthecountry,sleepinginshacksandabandonedhouses,untilhefellinwithagroupoflawbreakers.Together,they devisedaplantokidnaptheentrepreneuranddemandalargeransom.Entrustedwiththismission,theyoungmanwasatfirstfirmlydeterminedtocarryitout.Not justforthemoney;well,forthemoney,too;butmostlybecausehebelievedhewouldbemetingoutjustice.Hecarefullystudiedallthedetailsoftheoperation.... Butthewarmthwithwhichhewaswelcomed,theatmosphereofgenuinefamilylovethathefoundinthehouse,andalsothedynamism,theintelligence,thekindness oftheentrepreneur—allofthis(contrastingsosharplywiththeerroneousideasaboutbusinessmenthattheyouthusedtohave)causedachangeofheart.Renouncing violence,henowwantstoforgetthepastandturnoveranewleaf.Irealize,hesays,thatIwaslivingbeforeinaworldoffanaticalfantasies,inaworldofdangerous illusions;thankgoodness,Iwithdrewintime,beforeIturnedintoacriminal.AllIwantnowistobuildahomefullofloveandcomfortformywifeandchildren.Iowe mygoodintentionstoyou,sir.I'llneverforgetthelessoninlife

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thatI'velearnedhere,alessonforwhichI'llbegratefultoyouforever. Theentrepreneurlistensinsilence.Butyou'rereallymynephew,aren'tyou?hefinallyasks.Theyoungmanhesitates;hehesitatesforalongtimebeforesayingthathe madeupthewholestory.Heusedtoknowtheentrepreneur'srealnephew;fromthatyouth,laterkilledinanaccident,heobtainedalltheinformationheneededto poseastheentrepreneur'snephew. Thentheentrepreneurrisestohisfeet,sayshehassomemattertoattendto,andaskstheyoungmantowaitinthelibrary.Heleaves.Tenminuteslaterhereturns, accompaniedbytwoofhissecurityguards.Arrestthisman,hesaysdryly.Theyoungmanlooksathimwithdisbelief,horroreven;slowly,however,asmilebeginsto openhisface.Thankyou,Uncle,hesaysatlast.Afterkissingtheman'shandsoncemore,heleaves,escortedbytheguards.

RootCanalTreatment Stilldizzyfromthedroneofthedentist'sdrill,andwithpartofherfacefrozen,sheleftthedentist'sofficeandwalkedtowardtheelevator.Wantingaboveanythingelse atthatmomenttogethomeandliedown,shepressedthebutton. Amanstoodthere,waitingfortheelevator.Partlybecauseshewasn'tfeelingwell,andpartlybecausethecorridor—notwithstandingthefancybuilding—waspoorly lit,itwasn'tuntilseveralsecondslaterthatshenoticedhispresence.Themanwasstillyoungand—adetailthatdidn'tescapeher—relativelywelldressed.Hadhe beenraggedlydressedand,ontopofthat,evillooking,shewouldn'tofcoursehavestayedthereforanothermomentandwouldhavehastilysoughtrefugeinthe dentist'soffice.Butno,nothingintheman'sappearancerouseddistrust.So,shelookedatherwatch—sixo'clockintheevening—andpressedtheelevatorbutton again.

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Suddenlythemanletoutamoan,staggered,andleanedagainstthewall.Startled,shelookedathim.Startledandannoyed.That'sallsheneeded,tohavetohelpa strangerwhensheherselfcouldbarelystandonherowntwolegs.Shewantedtoignorehim;shewishedshecould.Butno,itwasn'tinhertoignoreotherpeople.For whichsheoftencensuredherself:I'malwaystakingcareofothers,I'mneglectfulofmyself,apatsy,that'swhatIam.Shelookedaround;herlasthopewasfor someonetoappearandtakechargeofthecase(ifitwasindeedacase;everythingseemedtoindicatethatitwas;themanseemedreallyill).Butno,nobody appeared.Onlythetwooftheminthelongcorridor.God'swillbedone,shethought.Sheaddressedtheman. "Aren'tyoufeelingwell?" Helookedather.Hewasn'tugly;hewasn'tgood­looking,either.Amanwithanordinaryface—likeherown,asamatteroffact(Ihaveanordinaryface,shewasin thehabitofwhisperingasshelookedatherselfinthemirroratnight;anordinaryface,anordinarylife). "What?"Thevoicewasweak,achild'svoice,almost. "Iaskedifyouweren'tfeelingwell." "IfI'mnotfeelingwell...?"Helookedatherasifhehadn'tunderstood."IfI'mnotfeelingwell...?Idon'tknow.IthinkI'mnotfeelingwell.Yes,I'msick.Ihave cancer." "Gosh,"shemurmured.Shedidn'tknowwhattosay.Toherownindispositionwasnowaddedthediscomfiturecreatedbythissituation;ahorriblesituation.Andto makemattersworse,theelevatorwouldn'tcome. Fortunately,themanseemedtoberallying.Takingadeepbreath,hepulledahandkerchiefoutofhispocketandmoppedhisforehead. "Cancer,"hesaid."Thedoctorsaidthere'snodoubtaboutit.He'squitefrank.Oneofthosethatwillholdnothingbackfromyou,you

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know.Youhavecancer,myfriend,you'renotgoingtolivemuchlonger,you'dbettersetyouraffairsinorder." Poorman,shethought.Poor,poorman.Suddenlyshewasstruckbyremorse—whatwasherrootcanalcomparedtothisman'scancer?—andatthesametimeby relief:rootcanalwaspreferabletocancer.Anythingwouldbepreferabletocancer.Notthatshewassafefromcancer,ofcourse;allittakesforapersontofallillisto bealive,butitwasn'therturnyet;no,itwasn't.Atthatmomentitfelltoherlottosufferfromatoothinfection;atthatmomentshewassafe;inthatcorridor,withthe twoofthem,Deathhaddrawnlotsandthelotfellupontheman.Notmyturnyet.Relieved,shefeltgenerous,readytoofferhelp. "IsthereanythingIcando?" Themanraisedhishead,andlookedatheragain,asifonlyatthatmomenthehadbecomeawareofthepresenceofanotherperson,ofawoman. "You..." Hehesitated.Ofcourse.Confrontedwithhisowndeath,howcouldamannothesitate?Thisconfrontationgavehimtherighttosaywhateverhewanted—whichhe wouldn'tdounderothercirc*mstances(perhapsbecauseofhisuprightcharacter).Thisconfrontationgavehimtherighttoask,todemand,anythingfromanyperson, fromanywoman.Forthetimebeing,hestillhesitated,butdespairwouldbreakdownbarriersandovercomescruples,andhewouldendupbymakinghera propositionwhich,heimagined,wasonhismind,asitwasonthemindofeveryotherman,goodorbad,healthyordying.Hewouldendupbyinvitinghertogotoa motelwithhim.Andshewouldn'tbeabletorecoil,offended,fromapropositionthatwas,afterall,merelynormal;apropositionthatanyman,evenifstrickenby cancer,orforthisveryreason,couldmaketoanywoman,nomatterhowstraitlacedshewas,fortheveryreasonthathewasneartheend,nearthestoppingpointof acount­

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downnowmeasuredinmonths,perhapsdays,hours.Andwhatwouldshesay,then,togetoutofthissituation?But,myfriend,Idon'tevenknowyou,wehaven't beenintroduced—wouldshesaythat?Wouldthatdoasanexcuse?Thisbanalline,thisstockphrasewithwhichshewardedoffbrashmales(who,infact,were growingscarcerasheryouthretreated)?Buthewasn'tabrashmale,norwasheanopportunist.Or,ifhewasanopportunist,hehadeveryrighttobeone.I'ma virgin—wouldshesaythat?Couldsheuseasanargumenttheverythingshenowregardedasastigma,asignofherinabilitytolive?No.Therewasnothingshecould say.Themanwouldinvitehertogotoamotelandshewouldhavetoaccompanyhim,thetwoofthemmarching,ontheirrespectivepaths,towardthegallows. Justthentheelevatorcame. Mumblingavaguegood­bye,sherushedheadlongintotheelevator,settledherselfamidtheotherpeople,thenstoodstillandshaky.Itwasn'tuntilthedoorsclosed thatsherealizedthatthemanhadn'tfollowedher.Theelevatorslowlywentdown:12,11,10....Themanhadremainedupthere.Inthegloomycorridor. Atthefrontdoorshestoppedandpeeredoutside.Astreetinthedowntownareaofabigcity,abusystreet—people,cars,motorbikes.Onthefacadeofthestore acrossthestreet,thelightsofaneonsignwentonandout.CORAFASHIONS,CORAFASHIONS.MyGod,shethought,whathaveIdone?I'verunawayfromasickman,a maninneedofhelp;itwasfearthathasmademerunaway—butfearofwhat,whenhedidn'tharmme? No,shecouldn'tacceptthis.Herself­dignitywouldn'tlether.Shehadbehavedlikeacoward,likeafrightenedrat;shehadbehavedlikeafool.Buttherewasstill timetorightherfault.Allshehadtodowastoreturntothefourteenthfloor,speaktotheman,justifyherself(shecouldsaysomethinglikeIthoughtyouweregoingto taketheelevator,too;anyexplanationwoulddo),askagain

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ifshecouldbeofanyhelp,andthen,yes,sayafriendlygood­bye.Shewentbacktotheelevator;whenthedoorsopened,shehesitatedagain;thenthedoorsbegan toclose—butattheverylastmomentshemanagedtoleapin.Thatwasabitofluck!shethought.Wasit,really?(Thatdoubt,again.Againandforever:doubt, indecision,fear.)ShouldIgoback?Won'tIgetinvolvedinamess?Shewasannoyedatherself:Amess?Whatmess?Amess,why?Therewon'tbeanymess.She wouldsimplyspeaktotheman,justifyherselfwithacarefullypreparedexcuse,thenpolitelysaytohim:Wouldthesenhor(senhor?Whynotvocêortu,theinformal wayofaddressingaperson?No.Nofamiliaritieseventakingintoaccounttheman'spredicament;eventakingintoaccountherpossibleearlierrudenesstohim.Você No.Nortu.Later,perhaps—butwhenwouldthislaterbe?Wouldtherebeanytimeleftfor"later"?Didshewantit?Questions,questions.)pleasefinishwhatyou weresayingbefore? Theelevatorstopped.Thedoorsopened.Shesteppedout,lookedtothisside,tothatside.Nobody.Thecorridorwasdeserted. Itoccurredtoherthatthemanmighthavereturnedtohisdoctor'soffice:Maybehewasreallyfeelingill,maybehewasfeelingevenworsenow.Anyhow,shethought, ifhehaddecidedtoseehisdoctoragain,thenthismatterisnolongerinmyhands.However,shehadtoadmittoherselfthatshewasdisappointed;frustrated; distressedeven;onthevergeoftears.Itwouldbeniceifeverythingcouldbesolvedonceandforall. Thedoortothedoctor'sofficewasopen;thisfactstruckherasasign,anencouragingsign,so,shedecidedtomakeanotherattempt.Shewouldgoin;ifshefound themaninthewaitingroom,shewouldaskhimifeverythingwasallright;then,regardlessoftheanswer,ortheconnotationsorveiledpropositionsoftheanswer,she wouldconsiderthecaseclosed,saygood­bye,andleave. Butshedidn'tseethemaninthewaitingroom.Thedoctorandthereceptionistwerethere,bothgettingreadytoleave.CanIhelp

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you?askedthereceptionistpolitely.No,shereplied,embarrassed,Imusthaveenteredthewrongroom,sorry.Shehurriedout. Shewasfeelingsicknow,sosickthatshehadtoleanagainstthewall:dizzy,nauseated,sick,sick.Whatintheworldmademecomeback?shekeptaskingherself. Whydidn'tIgostraighthome? Theelevatorcame.Itwasn'ttheoneshehadtakenbefore.Thenitoccurredtoher:WhileIwasgoingup,hewasgoingdown;suchthingsdohappen.Thingsthatare funnyinthemovies. Withafaint,absurdhope,shesteppedoutoftheelevator.Maybethemanwasstillsomewhereinthatarea:standingatthemainentrance,forinstance;hecouldwell bewatchingtheneonsignandbeponderingonthesignificanceofthelightsgoingonandoff;orhecouldbewatchingthestreet,thepassersby,thecars. No,themanwasn'tthere.Asshereachedthemainentrance,shelookedtothisside,thenlookedtothatside.Shedidn'tseehimamongthepeoplewalkingby.Orin thecarsparkedonthestreet.Oranywhere. Shehailedataxi.Shegotinandgavethedriverherdestination.Normally,shewouldhavetakenthebus;althoughsheearnedarelativelygoodsalary,shetriedto save.Atthemoment,however,shefeltshewasinnoconditiontostandonabusline. Theydroveinsilence.Afteraremarkortwoabouttheweather—it'sbeenveryhot,it'sgoingtorain—thetaxidriverfellsilent.Theyarrivedattheneighborhood whereshelived;threeblocksbeforeherstreet,sheaskedthetaxidrivertostopandshegotoutofthecar.Shewantedtowalkforawhile.Butwalkingdidn'tdispel theanxietyshehadbeenfeeling.Perhapssheshouldhavewalkedalongerdistance.Perhaps:toolatenow. Athome,hermotherwaswaitingforher;worried,ofcourse.Hermotherworriedabouteverything.Iwasdelayedatthedentist's,shesaid.Shecouldn'ttellher motherabouttheincidentwiththeman;shewishedshecould;shewishedshecouldtalktohermothermore

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openly;hermotherwastheonlypersonshehad,nowthathersisterswerelivingfaraway,oneinRio,theotherinRecife.Buthermothergotupseteasily;sometimes shewouldlosesleepoveramovieshehadwatchedontelevision,andwouldhavetotakesleepingpills.So,shemerelymadearemarkaboutsomethingorother—it's hot,isn'tit?—thenwenttothekitchentogetdinnerready.Thiswassomethinghermothercouldn'tdobecauseofherarthritis.Therewashardlyanythinghermother couldstilldo.So,shehadtodothecooking,runthehousehold,andlookaftereverything.Butshedidn'tcomplain.Shedidalltheworkanddidn'tcomplain. Theeffectoftheanestheticwaswearingoff,andshewasfeelingbetter;butshecouldn'tstopthinkingabouttheman.Shewasannoyedatherself.Thematteris closed,Ishouldhavespokentohimbutdidn't,nowthere'snothingthatcanbedone,andifthere'snosolutiontoaproblem,theproblemisthussolved. Shedidn'teatmuch.Hermothernoticed.Youdidn'teatmuch,shesaid.It'sthetooth,sheexplained.Doesithurt?askedthemother,alarmed—everythingwascause foralarm:theflu,aheadache.No,Mother,itdoesn'thurt,butthedentisttoldmenottochewonthisside.Shewaiteduntilhermotherfinishedeating,thenshecleared thetableanddidthedishes.Latertheysatdowntowatchsometelevision.Atteno'clockshebadehermothergoodnightandwenttobed. Naturally,shefoundherselfunabletosleep.Theimageofthemanhauntedher;inparticular,hisbeseechingeyes.Tossingaboutinbed,shecursedherself,shecould havepreventedallofthis,shecouldhavemadethedentalappointmentforsomeotherday,butno,shehadinsistedonthisdaybecausebusinessattheoffice happenedtobeslow;andnowshewaspayingforherinsistence,forhercompulsiontodotherightthing.Everythingright:everythingwrong.Asusual. Itwashot;shewasdrenchedinsweat.Ineedashower,shemur­

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mured.Sometimesshewouldgetupinthemiddleofthenighttotakeashower.Anadventure,inaway.Innocuous,butstillanadventure.Shejumpedoutofbed,and afterascertainingherselfthathermotherwasasleep,shewenttothebathroomShestoodalongtimeunderthetepidshower,whichnormallyhadawholesomeeffect onher,asifthewater,cleansinghermind,carriedhertormentsdownthedrain.Now,however,itwasimpossibleforhertorelax;becauseoftheman,ofcourse.She seemedtoseehimthere,inthebathroom,lookingatherdesperately.Sheclosedhereyestightly;andsuddenlyshewishedshewereill.Shewishedshehadcancer. Notsomethingannihilating,terminalcancer;amodesttumor,whichwouldbeabletosoakupheranxietylikeaspongesoaksupwater.Shewouldliketohavethe opportunitytobecutup;tosufferpain;tohaveabig,conspicuousscar.Shebegantopalpateherbelly,herneck,herbreasts(whichnootherhand,exceptthehand ofherfemalegynecologist,hadevertouched)—nothing.Justtheusualflesh,fat,tendons.Thesameoneswithwhichshehadbeenendowedatbirth,andwhichshe hadnourishedwithsandwichesandfruitjuices;andaskinthatwasnowbeginningtoturnflaccid.Grabbingthetowel,shedriedherselfvigorously,thenputonher nightgownandwentbacktobed.Shefellintoadoze,wokeup,thendozedoffa*gain,dreamingaboutentangled,anguishingthings.Withreliefshesawthedaydawn. Shegotupearly,washed,gotdressed,hadacupofblackcoffee.Flippingthroughthenewspaper,shelingeredovertheannouncementsofdeaths.MarioMendes, couldthatbehim?Francisco(Chico)Westdorfer?Dr.ArmandoFonseca?Howcouldsheknow?Shecouldn'tevenrecalltheman'sface,shediscovered,feeling uneasy.That'showflightyshewas.Grabbingherpurse,shewentout.Thebustookalongtimetocome,andshewaslateforwork.Berenice,theothersecretary, wasalreadyintheoffice.Beautiful,charming,andelegantasusual,Berenicewantedtoknowifeverythinghad

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beenallrightatthedentist's.Yes,shereplied,everythingwentwell.Shecouldn'ttelltheotherwomanaboutthemaninthecorridor.Shewouldn'tunderstand.Afree, emancipatedwoman,Berenicelivedalone;shehadseveralboyfriendsandtooktumsgoingtobedwitheachoneofthem;andshenevermissedthechancetorebuke herfellowworker:Youkeepblamingyourselfforthingsthataren'tyourfault. Shesatdownatthetypewriter—andcouldn'thelpthinkingagain:Eventhisshowshowdifferentoursituationsare.Inthisexportcompanywheretheybothworked, Berenice,abilingualsecretary,wasresponsiblefortypingthelettersinEnglish,andforthisreasonshehadabetterqualitytypewriter,anelectronicOlivetti.She, however,hadanordinarytypewriteronwhichshetypedthelettersinPortuguese.Butsherefusedtoaskforabetterone,despiteBerenice'sinsistencethatshedoso: Ireallylikethistypewriter,itwasonasimilaronethatIlearnedhowtotype. Theman.Whatwashedoingnow,thepoorman?Washeathishome?Atwork,tryingtokeephismindoffdeath,nownear(hownear?)?Alreadyinthehospital? Already? Atlunchinaluncheonette,shecouldn'teatathing.What'sthematter?askedBerenice.It'smytooth,shelied,ithurtsalittle.Whydon'tyougobacktothatlady dentistofyours,saidBerenice,she'llhavetodosomethingaboutit.Go,I'lllookaftertheoffice. That'showBerenicewas—bossy,determined.Whichratherannoyedher,forshethoughtthatBerenicemeddledtoomuchinherlife.Butnowanideastruckher: Yes,shewouldgoback—nottothedentist'soffice,buttothedoctor'soffice.Shewouldpouroutherhearttothedoctor;shewouldtalkaboutthemanshehadmet inthecorridor,speaktohimofherremorse,askhimtohelpherfindtheman.Undoubtedly,thedoctorwouldshowsympathyforher;doctorsaretrainedtobe sympathetictopeople. Uponreturningtotheoffice,sheconsultedthetelephonedirec­

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toryandfoundthedoctor'sphonenumber.Beforedialing,shehesitated:ShouldIorshouldn'tI?Shedialedthenumber.Thereceptionistanswered.Yes,thedoctor wasin,butonlyforashorttime;hehadcometotheofficejusttopickupsomepapersfortheincometaxpeople.Please,shewhispered,askhimifhecanseeme. Thereceptionistsaidshewouldspeaktothedoctor.Minuteswentby,longminutestheywere,beforefinallythereceptionistcamebackonthephone.Thedoctor saidhe'llseeyoubutyou'llhavetocomerightaway. Quicklygrabbingherpurseandhercoat,shesaidtoBerenice,I'mleavingnow,I'mgoingtothedentist. Andsuddenlysheish*tbyanurge,agreaturge,tohurryaway:sherunsoutofthebuilding,hailsataxi,getsintothecar,tellsthetaxidrivertoheadfordowntown. Thecabbie—young,handsome,andgarrulous—talksnonstopaboutpolitics,aboutsoccer,abouttheheat.ButwhatamIdoing,shewonders,whatintheworldamI doing?She'sonherwaytothedoctor,she'lltellhimanentangled,crazystory,whatwillthedoctorthinkofher?Andyetthetaxiisalreadyinthedowntownarea; she'sgettingcloserandclosertothefinalcatastrophe. Theyarrive.Shepays,getssomechangeback,butdoesn'talightfromthetaxi.Whatisshehopingfor?Isshehopingthatthetaxidriverwillguessatherdilemma? Thathewilloffertohelpher?Thathewilldeclarehimselfinlove,Iloveyou,ma'am,let'sgotoamotelrightaway?Ican'tstophere,saystheman,alreadyimpatientat thedelay,wouldyoumindgettingoutquickly,ma'am?Shegetsout,thetaxispeedsaway,thetiresscreechingontheasphalt. Foramomentshestandsstill.Shesighs,thenheadsfortheentranceofthebuilding,goesin,andwalksdownthelongcorridor.Theelevatoristhere,itsdoorsopen. Shestepsin,pressesabutton,thedoorsclose,andtheresheis,slowlyascendinginaclosedcom­

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partment,immersedinthebrightnessofthefluorescentlights.Shegetsoutoftheelevator,takesafewhesitantsteps,stops.Infrontofheristhedoortothedoctor's office.Sometimeagoshedevisedaplan,whichconsistedinhergoinginthereandtellingthisman,thisdoctor,aboutsomethingthathadhappenedtoher.Butshe can'tcarryoutthisplan.Shejustcan't.Theabsurdityparalyzesher. Suddenlyhertoothstartstohurt. Withgrowingelationsherealizesthisfact:Hertoothhurts.Apainthatgrowsbytheminute,anexcruciatingpain;apainthat,triumphant,imposesitself;apainthat immobilizesher,thatgalvanizesher.Withsimplebutgenuinejoyshereceivesthegoodnews—thepain;itistheanswertoallheranxieties;betteryet,itmakes answersunnecessary.Inthecanalofhertoothanothercreatureisinaperiodofgestation—herself,intheprocessofbeingreborn.Heroldcarcasswillburstopen, andhereinthiscorridor,resurrectionwilltakeplace.Sliversoflightdancebeforehereyes;shetumsaround,andlikeanautomaton,sheadvancestowardthedentist's office.Shedoesn'thaveanappointmentfortoday,butwhatdoesshecare?Whoeverisinpainhasrights.Sheopensthedoorandwalksin.Withherheadheldhigh.

TheInterpreter WhenIarrive,theyarealreadyseatedatthetable—thefather,themother,theson.Buttheyhaven'tstarteddinneryet;they'rewaitingforme.I'mlate.I'vewalkedall thewayhere. Onmyarrival,theirheadsrisebriskly.Thefather'sgray.Themother's,gray,too,despitethehairtint.Theyouth's,shaved(itis,Iknow,aformofprotest).The eyeglasses—allthreewearthem—glitterinthestrongelectriclights,hidingtheireyesandwhatevertheymightbeexpressing—anger,orfear,orsorrow,orevenhope.

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They—thefatherandthemother—riseandwalkuptome.Weexchangegreetingsandremarksabouttheweather.Thiswinterhasbeenawful,saysthemother,it makespeoplefeelundertheweather.Iagree;hereyesarecongested;itcouldbefromcrying,butitcouldalsobefromacold.Oneshouldn'tdramatize.Isaygood eveningtotheyouth,whomutterssomethinginreplyandremainsseated,motionless.Iputmyhandonhisshoulder:It'safriendlygesture.Abuzzersoundsinthe pantry,whichadjoinsthediningroom.Thebuttonisunderthetable;whilethemotherwassittingdownagain,shepresseditwithherfoot,thussummoningthemaid. Thefamilyenjoysallthecomfortsoflife;thefather,aprosperoussalesrepresentative,canaffordtoprovidehisfamilywithalltheamenities,ifnotluxuries,oflife.The maidthatappearsatthedoorwearsacapandastarchedapron;andthesouptureenthatshebringsinismadeofporcelain.Butwhenthefathereatsthefirst spoonful,theslurpingnoisebetrayshishumbleoriginswhich,incidentally,hedoesn'trepudiate:Istartedfromnothing,heoftensayswithpride.Theson,however, makesagrimaceofdisgust.Hisfather'stablemannersannoyhim.Hecan'tstandtheboorishnessofthebourgeois. Goodsoup,Iremarkwithjoviality.I'mforty­twoyearsold,andIlivealone(I'mconsideredaweird,albeitcharming,bachelor),butevensoImaintainmysenseof humorandIknowhowtolookstraightatlifewithoneeyeironic,theothertender;withoneeyemirthful,theotherserene.I'majudiciousman;thiscouple—my cousinandhiswife—knowthis.That'swhytheykeepinvitingmeoverfordinner.TheyknowIwon'tletsilencedescenduponthistable.Toletsilenceenvelopthem likedense,darkmagma?Unthinkable.I'mageologyprofessor(currentlyunemployed;thisdinner,bytheway,isverytimely,it'sthefirstdecentmealI'vehadinmany months);butIknowthatsuchthingsupsetpeople.BeforeI'mthroughwiththesoup,Ihavetimetocommentonthreedifferentthings:

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—amoviedepictingthefacetioussideoflife,recentlyshowninthemovietheatersofthecapitalcity; —theplayoffsinthesoccerchampionship; —amodularstereosystemconsistingofareceiver,arecordplayer,andatapedeck(whichI'mhopingthey'llgivemeasabirthdaygift). Tomyfirstcommenttheyouthreactsbymerelyraisinghishead,withoutdisplayinganyfurtherinterest;tothesecondditto;tothethirdhereactsbysmiling,forI'm nowtellingthemaboutmyoutrageousexperiencewithastereosystem—IwantedtotuneintoanFMstation,butinsteadIsomehowtriggeredthetonearmofthe turntable,whichthenkeptjogglingbackandforthlikeacrazyturkey.Likeacrazyturkey!Irepeat,hittingthetablewithmyfistandroaringwithlaughter.Theyouth smiles. Thesaladisbroughtinandforonefullminute—butnotexceedingone—wemunchinsilenceontheleavesoflettuceandontheroundslicesofcucumber.The dressingissuperb—atoncemildandpeppery—andIsay,Thedressingissuperb,Cousin.Grateful,shesmiles. Nextcomesthemaincourse:roastbeefgarnishedwithpeas,carrots,andfrenchfries,everythingtoppedwitharemouladesauce.BeforeIstarthelpingmyself,the fatherleanstowardme:Askhim,hemurmurs,howthingsare.Themomenthascome! Layingdownmyknifeandfork,Ipickupmynapkin.Afterwipingmymouthcarefully,Iturntotheyouth. ''So,youngman,howarethings?" Hedoesn'tlookatme.He'scuttingthemeat,and,stillcuttingit,hereplies,"Everything'sfine,everything'sthesame." Themotherliftshernapkintohereyes.It'snotthemostsuitablekindoffabric—thenapkinisstiffwithstarch—withwhichtowipetears,butshedoesn'thavea handkerchiefhandy;itseemsthattearshavetakenherbysurpriseinthecourseofthisdinner.Butit'sa

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fleetingemotion;beforelong,sheheavesasighandmumblessomething.Unintelligiblewordsaddressedtoeverybody,ortonobody,ortome,ortoGod,ortoher son,oreventothemaid,althoughsheisn'tintheroomatthemoment. Onceagainthefatherleanstowardme.Askhim,hesaysinatense,quiteaudiblevoice,ifhehaschangedhismind. I'dsayhehasn't,itdoesn'tseemtomethattheyouthhaschangedhismind;butitdoesn'tbehoovemetohaveanopinion.Mycousinwantsmetoaskthequestion,so Iask. "Well,mylad,haveyouchangedyourmind?" Althoughhedoesn'treply,it'sobviousthathismindismadeup.He'sleaving.Soon.Tomorrow.Ortonight.Maybeafterdinner.Maybehewon'tevenfinishdinner. Thefatheristerrified.Hedoesn'tknowwhathappened,orwhat'shappening,orwhatwillhappen.Heknowsnothing,hedoesn'tevenknowhowtotalk.Shaking,he leanstowardmeoncemore:Askhimwhathewants,hewhispers,inordertochangehismind. Itakeasipofwine,thenputtheglassdown.Iwon'tmakemycousin'swordsmine;Ifindthemunsuitable.Thepropositionmayevenbesound,butthewayithas beenpresentedistotallywrong.Ihaveabetterway. "Isn'titpossible,perhaps,"Isayinacasualtone,"thatonsecondthoughtyoumightchangeyourmind?" Iwaitforseveralsecondsbeforeadding:"Isn'tthereanythingthatcouldperhapsmakeyouchangeyourmind?" "sh*t!"hecriesout,throwinghisnapkinasideandrisingtohisfeet."sh*t!Can'tpeopleeveneatinpeace?" Thentheworsthappens:Thefatherandthemothergetupandstarttoscreamandtocry,andthemother,likeamadwoman,startstopullatherhair.Forafew secondsthesonlooksatthemfullofhatred,ofdespair,ofbitterness.Thenhewalksout. Devastated,thetwoofthemletthemselvescollapseontheir

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chairs.Withamingleofdespairandaccusation,thefatherlooksatme:Whydon'tyoudosomething?Butthere'snothingIcandonow.However,Iwanttoshow themthatlifegoeson;withthisintention,Icutapieceofmeat,stuffitintomymouth,andchewvigorously."Scrumptious,thisroastbeef!,"Isaywithmymouthfull. Eventhoughthere'ssomethingmissing,hmm?There'ssomethingmissing.There'sacertainemptinessinsideme,anemptinessthatcan'tbefilledwithmeatorpeasor wine—itwilltakethisonespecificthingtofillit,suchaplainanddeliciousthingwhosenameescapesmeatthemoment.Mymouthopensbutnosoundcomesout;I raisemyhand,makeagesture,pointtoit—butIcan'trememberthenameofthisthing,whichissogood,ofthisthingwhoseimageissocleartome:aslightlycrisp crust,withasoft,fragrant,warmcore.Thenamesuddenlypopsintomymindand,joyful,Icryoutasthey,stunned,stareatme,asifIwerespeakinginthatlanguage oftheyellowrace: "Bread!"

Atlas 1 ItfelltothegiantAtlas'slottosupporttheworlduponhisback,ataskthathadbeenassignedtohimby—whom?Henolongerremembered.Bywhom,andwhy, andwhen,henolongerremembered.Neitherdidheknowwhenhewouldberelievedofthisduty,orwhenhewouldbereplaced.Allheknewwasthathehadto supporttheworldandthereheremained,motionless,onhisknees,stoopingundertheweightoftheglobe.Withoutcomplaining,withoutseekinghelpfromanyone. Asamatteroffact,nobodywouldeverofferhimhelp.Youngerandstronger,theothergiantsdidn'tcommiseratewithhimonhisfateatall;what'smore,theywould evenreproachAtlasforhisallegedarrogance:Didhethensee

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himselfasbeingveryimportant?Didhethinkofhisjobasbeingexceptional? "TheEarth!It'snotevenoneofthebiggestplanets!" Theywerewrong.Atlaswasunpretentious.Andhedidn'tevenlookuponwhathedidaslabor.Labor?Certainlynot.Now,ifhewerecarryingtheEarthfromone universetothenext,ifhewereshiftingit,say,onemeter,evenonemillimeter,thenyes,onecouldconsiderthislabor.Butno,Atlaswasalwaysmotionless,frozenstill, andforthisreasonhekeptreproachinghimselfdayin,dayout,yearin,yearout:I'mabum,I'mabum.Heenviedthosewhoroamedacrosstheskies,tamingcomets orrekindlingtheflameofthestars—tasksthatdemandedgreatskill,ifnotvirtuosity.Buthedidnothing,andtherewasnocallforanyskills.Arockcouldreplacehim. Agianttortoise.Fourelephants. Andyethiswasahard,arduousresponsibility.Themountainrangesbruisedhisshoulders;thetropicalrainforestsirritatedhisneck,givinghimarash;andoncea peninsulahadpenetratedtheauricleofhisear,causingaseriousinfection.Justthinkhowmuchworseitwouldbeifyouhadtocarrythesun,hiswifewouldsay,trying tocomforthim.Atlashadtoadmitthatshewasright.AtleasttheEarthwascool,exceptfortheoccasionaleruptionofavolcano,whenhewouldreceivesecond­or third­degreebums. 2 Atlasrarelyslept.Sometimeshemanagedtohaveanap.Andinthosemomentshewoulddreamabouttheinhabitantsofhisplanet:tinycreatureswhomhehadnever seen,butheimaginedthat,smiling,theywavedathimfromtheirtinyhousesorfromtheirtinyships.Onwakingup,hewouldtrytoforgetthosedreams.Therewasno wayhecouldsubstantiatethem;thisimpossibilitydepressedhim,anditaccountedforthesadnessonhisfaceandthevacantgazeofhiseyes,lostintheinfinity.

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3 ThewifeofthegiantAtlaswasabitterwoman.Sheenviedherfriends,whosehusbandshadinterestingjobsandearneddecentwages.Myhusband,shewouldwrite inherdiary,hasaweirdoccupationforwhichhedoesn'tgetpaid.Shewouldturntoknittingforcomfort. Asforhischildren,theywerepranksters.SeeingAtlasstoopingundertheweightoftheworld,theywouldticklehiminthearmpits.Andtheywouldlaugh,theywould splittheirsideswithlaughter.Atlaswouldhavelovedtojoininthelaughter,too.However,werehetodoso,hewouldruntheriskofdroppingtheworld,a catastropheofunpredictableconsequences.ForAtlas,beingtickledwasareallyunbearabletorture.Allhismuscleswouldcontractinhisefforttoremainmotionless; beadsofsweatwouldgatheronhisforehead;tearswouldstreamdownhisface.Butevenso,hewouldwearafixedwoodensmile,asmilethatwasalmosta grimace—untilthechildren,boredbytheirownpranks,wouldgoaway. 4 OnacertainSaturday,CharlesAtlastookhischildrentothezoo.Whiletheywererunningthroughthegraveledalleys,hestoodadmiringalion.Thefelinewasdozing. Orperhaps,treacherously,itwasjustpretendingtobeasleep,becauseallofasuddenitopeneditseyes.Forafewsecondsthey—themanandthebeast—staredat eachother;thepunymanandthemagnificentbeast.Thenthelionstretcheditslimbs.MyGod,thoughtCharlesAtlas,itsmusclesrununderitsskinlikebunniesrunning underacarpet!Andthelionisn'tevendoingcalisthenicsorliftingweights,it'smerelyexercisingitswillpower.Ananimal'swillpower,infinitelyweakerthanthewillofa rationalhumanbeinglikeme! Hefelthewasonthevergeofmakingamajordiscovery—amethodusingself­controlbywhichitwouldbepossibleforhimto

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developpowerfulmuscularmassesinhisarms,inhislegs,inhisabdomen,eveninhisscalp.Hewouldbecomeasstrongas—alion!Atiger?Muchstrongerthana lionoratiger!Hewouldn'thavetoputupwithhisboss'sinsultsanymore.And,byteachinghismethodtoothers,hewouldbecomerich.Hewouldbeabletobedeck hiswifewithjewelsandtoaffordexpensivetoysforhischildren. Shoutsofdistressarousedhimfromhisthoughts.Heturnedaround,hischildrenwerenowhereinsight.Asmallcrowdhadgatheredinfrontofthetigers'cage. Runningtoit,heelbowedhiswaythroughthecrowd—andhecouldn'tcontainascreamofhorror.Hisyoungerdaughterhadmanagedtosqueezeherselfthroughthe barsofthecageandthereshestoodnow,amongthebeasts.CharlesAtlastookastepforwardandfelltotheground,unconscious. Whenhecameto,thelittlegirlstoodinfrontofhim,lookingathimcuriously.Shehadcomeoutofthecagewiththesameboldnessthathadpromptedherin. Weeping,CharlesAtlasthrewhimselfather. Heboughthischildrenpopcornandicecream;heloadedthemwithpopcornandicecream.Thenhetookthemtotheamusem*ntpark,andhespentallhismoney, downtothelastcent—whatdiditmatter?—onthechildren.Atnightfalltheyreturnedhome,CharlesAtlascarryingthetykeonhisshoulders.Hewasn'tloadeddown withherweight;shewasn'taburdenatall. Hiswife,worriedabouttheirdelay,greetedthem.You'llhavetobeupearlytomorrow,sheremindedhim.True:OnthefollowingdayAtlaswouldhavetoresumehis usualtaskofcarryingtheworldonhisback. Buthedidn'tgotobed.Hesatdownonachairinthelivingroom,andthereheremained,smokinginthedark.Hewasenvisioninganewmethodfordeveloping muscles.Amethodthatwouldmakehimstrong,rich,famous.Oneday,hewasthinking,I'llholdtheworldinthepalmofmyhand.

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ABriefHistoryofCapitalism Myfatherwasacommunistandacarmechanic.AgoodCommunist,accordingtohiscomrades,butalousymechanicaccordingtoconsensus.Asamatteroffact,so greatwashisinabilitytohandlecarsthatpeoplewonderedwhyhehadchosensuchanoccupation.Heusedtosayithadbeenaconsciouschoiceonhispart;he believedinmanualworkasaformofpersonaldevelopment,andhehadconfidenceinmachinesandintheircapabilitytoliberatemanandlaunchhimintothefuture,in thedirectionofafreer,moredesirablelife.Roughly,that'swhathemeant. Iusedtohelpmyfatherinhiscarrepairshop.SinceIwasanonlyson,hewantedmetofollowinhisfootsteps.Therewasn't,however,muchthatIcoulddo;atthat timeIwaselevenyearsold,andalmostasclumsyashewasatusingtools.Anyhow,forthemostpart,therewasnocallforustousethemsincetherewasn'tmuch workcomingourway.Wewouldsittalkingandthuswhileawaythetime.Myfatherwasagreatstoryteller;enthralled,Iwouldlistentohisaccountsoftheuprisingof theSpartacists,andoftherebellionledbythefugitiveslaveZambi.Inthosemomentshiseyeswouldglitter.Iwouldlisten,deeplyaffectedbyhisstories;often,my eyeswouldfillwithtears. Onceinawhileacustomerappeared.UsuallyaPartysympathizer(myfather'scomradesdidn'towncars),whocametoFathermoreoutofadesiretohelpthanout ofneed.Thesecustomersplayeditsafe,though:Itwasalwayssomeminorrepair,likefixingthelicenseplatesecurely,orchangingthebladesofthewindshieldwipers. ButevensuchsimpletasksturnedouttobeextraordinarilydifficultforFathertoperform;sometimesitwouldtakehimawholedaytochangeadistributorpoint.And thecarwoulddriveawaywiththeenginemisfiring(needlesstosay,itsownerwouldneversetfootinourrepairshopagain).Ifitweren'tforthefinancialproblems(my

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motherhadtosupportusbytakinginsewing),Iwouldn'thavemindedthelackofworktoomuch.Ireallyenjoyedthoserapsessionswithmyfather.InthemorningI wouldgotoschool;butassoonasIcamehome,Iwouldruntotherepairshop,whichwasnearourhouse.AndthereIwouldfindFatherreading.Uponmyarrival, hewouldsethisbookaside,lighthispipe,andstarttellingmehisstories.AndtherewewouldstayuntilMothercametocallusfordinner. OnedaywhenIarrivedatourrepairshop,therewasacarthere,ahuge,sparkling,luxurycar.NoneofthePartysympathizers,noteventhewealthiestamongthem, ownedacarlikethat.Fathertoldmethatthemonstercarhadstalledrightinfrontoftheshop.Theownerthenleftitthere,underhiscare,sayinghewouldbeback lateintheafternoon.Andwhat'swrongwithit?Iasked,somewhatalarmed,sensingafoul­upintheoffing. "IwishIknew."Fathersighed."Frankly,Idon'tknowwhat'swrongwithit.Ialreadytookalookbutcouldn'tfindthedefect.Itmustbesomethingminor,probably thecarburetoriscloggedup,but...Idon'tknow,Ijustdon'tknowwhatitis." Dejected,hesatdown,tookahandkerchiefoutofhispocket,andwipedhisforehead.Comeon,Isaid,annoyedathispassivity,it'snouseyoursittingthere. Hegotupandthetwoofustookalookattheenormousengine,soclean,itglittered.Isn'titabeauty?remarkedmyfatherwiththepleasureofanownerwhotook prideinhiscar. Yes,itwasabeauty—exceptthathecouldn'topenthecarburetor.Ihadtogivehimahand;threehourslater,whenthemanreturned,wewerestillatit. Hewasapudgy,well­dressedman.Hegotoutofataxi,hisfacealreadydisplayingannoyance.Iexpectedhimtobedisgruntled,butneverforamomentdidIimagine whatwastohappennext. Atfirstthemansaidnothing.Seeingthatweweren'tfinishedyet,

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hesatdownonastoolandwatchedus.Amomentlaterhestoodup;heexaminedthestoolonwhichhehadsat. "Dirty.Thisstoolisdirty.Can'tyoupeopleevenofferyourcustomersadecentchairtositon?" Wemadenoreply.Neitherdidweraiseourheads.Themanlookedaroundhim. "Arealdump,thisplace.Asty.Howcanyoupeopleworkamidsuchfilth?" We,silent. "Butthat'sthewayeverythingis,"themanwenton."Inthiscountrythat'sthewayitis.Nobodywantstodoanywork,nobodywantstogethisacttogether.All peopleeverthinkofisbooze,women,theCarnaval,soccer.Buttogetdowntowork?Never." Where'sthewrench?askedFatherinalow,restrainedvoice.Overthere,byyourside,Isaid.Thanks,hesaid,andresumedfiddlingwiththecarburetor. "Youpeoplewantnothingtodowitharegular,steadyjob."Themansoundedincreasinglymoreirritated."Youpeoplewillnevergetoutofthisfilth.Now,takeme, forinstance.Istartedatthebottom.ButnowadaysI'marichman.Veryrich.Anddoyouknowwhy?BecauseIwasclean,wellorganized,hardworking.Thiscar here,doyouthinkit'stheonlyoneIown?Doyou?" Tightenthescrew,saidFather,tightenitreallytight. "I'mtalkingtoyou!"yelledtheman,fuming."I'maskingyouaquestion!DoyouthinkthisistheonlycarIown?That'swhatyouthink,isn'tit?Well,letmetellyou something,Iowntwoothercars.Twoothercars!Theyareinmygarage.Idon'tusethem.BecauseIdon'twantto.IfIwanted,Icouldabandonthiscarhereinthe middleofthestreetandgetanotherone.Well,Iwouldn'tgetitmyself;Iwouldhavesomeonegetitforme.BecauseIhaveachauffeur,see?That'sright.Idrive becauseIenjoydriving,butIhaveachauffeur.I

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don'thavetodrive,Idon'tneedthiscar.IfIwantedto,Icouldjunkthisf*ckingcar,youhearme?" Handmethepipewrench,willyou?saidFather.Thesmallone. Themanwasnowstandingquiteclosetous.Ididn'tlookathim,butIcouldfeelhisbreathonmyarm. "Doyoudoubtmyword?DoyoudoubtthatIcansmashupthiscar?Doyou?" Ilookedattheman.Hewasupset.Whenhiseyesmetmine,heseemedtocometohissenses;onlyforamoment,though;heopenedhiseyeswide. "Doyoudoubtit?ThatIcansmashupthisf*ckingcar?Givemeahammer.Quick!Givemeahammer!" Hesearchedforahammerbutcouldn'tfindone(itwouldhavebeenamiraclehadhefoundone;evenwecouldneverfindthetoolsinourshop).Withoutknowing whathewasdoing,hegavethecardoorakick;soonfollowedbyanother,thenanother. "That'swhatI'vebeentellingyou,"hekeptscreaming."ThatI'llsmashupthisf*ckingcar!That'swhatI'vebeentellingyou." Ready,saidFather.Ilookedathim;hewaspale,beadsofsweatwererunningdownhisface.Ready?Iasked,notgettingit.Ready,hesaid.Youcannowstartthe engine. Theman,panting,waslookingatus.Openingthecardoor,Isatatthesteeringwheelandturnedontheignition.Incredible:Theenginestarted.Irevveditup.The shopwasfilledwiththeroaroftheengine. Myfatherstoodmoppinghisfacewithhisdirtyhandkerchief.Theman,silent,keptlookingatus.HowmuchdoIoweyou?finallyheasked.Nothing,saidmyfather. Whatdoyoumean,nothing?Suspicious,themanfrowned.Nothing,saidmyfather,itcostsyounothing,it'sonthehouse.Thentheman,openinghiswallet,pulledout abill.

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''Here,forashotofrum." "Idon'tdrink."saidmyfatherwithouttouchingthemoney Themanreplacedthebillinhiswallet,whichhethenputintohispocket.Withoutawordhegotintohiscar,and,revvingtheengine,droveaway. ForamomentFatherstoodmotionless,insilence.Thenheturnedtome. "This,"hesaidinahoarsevoice,avoicethatwasn'this,"iscapitalism." No,itwasn't.Thatwasn'tcapitalism.Iwisheditwerecapitalism—butitwasnot.Unfortunatelynot.Itwassomethingelse.SomethingIdidn'tevendaretothink about.

APublicAct Recently,inbrussels,apublicactwasstagedasaprotestagainstthearmsraceandthearmedconflictsthatkeeperuptinginvariouspointsoftheglobe.Theevent tookplaceinanauditorium,whichwasn'tverybig,butitwasfilledtocapacity.Speakerafterspeakertooktothepodium,andparticularlyvehementwasthelast speaker,ahighlyrespectedphysicsprofessorwhodescribedatlengththehorrorsofanatomicwar.Whiletheoldprofessorwasspeaking,amaninthesecondrow stoodup,walkeduptothepodium,then,infrontofthestunnedaudience,hedrewagunandfiredfiveshotsattheprofessor,whofelldown. Theincidentcreatedpanicandconfusion,witheverybodywantingtoleave;butsuddenlythemanshouted:"Wait!Waitamoment!" Theaudienceturnedtothepodium:Therehewas,andathisside,smiling,stoodtheprofessor.Themanthenexplainedthatthewholethinghadbeenjustanact— blankcartridgeshadbeenusedinordertogivetheaudienceadramatic,thereforedidactic,demonstrationofthesavageandtreacheroustacticsofthewarmongers. While

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hewasspeaking,amaninthethirdrowgotup;hewalkeduptothepodium,drewagun,andshotboththespeakerandtheprofessor. Again,panicandconfusion;again,theaudiencescramblingfortheexits;andagain: "Wait!Waitamoment!" Theaudienceturnedtothepodium,andtherestoodthetwomenwhohadfiredtheshots,aswellastheprofessor—allthreeofthemsmiling;thesecondgunmanthen explainedoncemorethattheincidenthadbeenjustanacttogivethepublicadramatic,andthereforedidactic,demonstrationofthesavageandtreacherousmethods ofthewarmongers.Whilehewasspeaking,amaninthesixthrowstoodup;hewalkeduptothepodium,drewagun,thenshotthespeaker,thefellowwhohad previouslystagedtheact,andtheprofessor.Thistimethepanicandconfusionweren'tasgreat;peoplewalkedtowardtheexitsbutinnogreathurry;andwhenthe manshoutedforthemtowait,theyreturnedcalmlytotheirseats.Thethirdgunmanthenexplainedthatthewholethinghadbeenjustanact,etc.Andatthatpointa maninthefifthrowstoodup. Therewasasuccessionofsuchacts,withtheshootingfollowedbyanexplanation.Exceptthatnowthepeopleheadingfortheexitswereinfactleaving;itwasgetting lateandthewholethinghadbecomeanutterbore.Finally,therewasonlyonepersonintheauditorium,althoughbythentherewasquiteacrowdonthestageitself— theprofessorandallthefakegunmen.Thelastofthesegunmenwasexplainingthatthewholethinghadbeennothingbutanact,etc.,whenthelonememberofthe audiencerosefromhisseatinthetwentiethrow;hewalkeduptothepodium,and,takingamachinegunfromunderhisraincoat,heopenedfireonthecurrent speakerandeveryoneelsearoundhim.Whenhewasfinished,heleft. Therewasnooneelseintheauditorium;therefore,nobodywentuptothestagetofindoutwhetherornotthemenweredying.Asitturnedout,theydiddie—which happenedinminutesoryears.

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BurningAngels Ithappensatanytimeofthedayornight,eveninthecourseofameal,orduringaparty.Suddenly,Munhozbecomespaleanddistressed.Thefilm,I'vecompletely forgottenaboutit,hemumbles,andrunstothesmallroomthatheusesasaphotographer'sstudio.Everybodyknows,however,thathe'snotgoingtheretodevelop films:itisanopensecret. Assoonasheentersthestudio,helightsacandle.Inthedimlylitenvironment,hisface,whichhasabsolutelyordinaryfeatures,acquiresaphantasmagoricexpression: apreludetowhatisabouttohappen. Motionless,hismouthpartlyopen,Munhozwaits.Ifafterfourorfiveminutesnothingofwhatissupposedtohappenhappens,hemakesasoundwithhislips,thekind ofsoundthatotherswouldmaketoattractdoves.Then,atthatmoment,fromthecracksinthewallandfromamidthepilesofcardboardboxesthatfilltheshelves, comessomethinglikeacracklingsound,soonfollowedbyafaintrustlingandbuzzing—andwhathasMunhozgotnow? Angelsbegintoflutteraroundthecandle.Diminutive,theyare:notmorethantwocentimeterstall.Itwouldbereallydifficulttofitthemintothesamecategoryofthe celestialcreatureswho,totherightandtotheleftofGod,intonehosannas.Itiswellknown,however,thatwhenitcomestoangels,there'sroomforagreatdiversity inappearance;besides,theirtinywhitecottonrobesandthelyrestheycarryaffixedtotheirbacksareunmistakable.Angels,yes.Miniatureangels,butangels nevertheless. Thelightattractstheminthesamewaythatbeautifulwomenattractcertainmen.Theydescribecircles,whichgrowincreasinglysmaller,aroundtheflameofthe candle.FromacomerMunhozwatchesthemsurreptitiously.Withapprehension:Heforeseeswhatisgoingtohappen.

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Theangelsdrawcloserandclosertotheflame;theyarenowjustmillimetersaway.Thensuddenlytherobeofoneoftheangelscatchesfire,and,floundering,hefalls tothefloor,ahorriblesighttobehold.Butit'sashort­livedagony:Asmallnoise,somethinglikeamuffledshriek,isheard,andpresto,it'salloverwiththatangel.The samehappenstoanotherangel,andsoontoanother,andthus,inashortwhile,eightornineangelsareexterminatedbyfire. Munhozdoesnothingtopreventthecarnage.Onthecontrary,hederivespleasurefromwhathesees.Hesmiles,rubshishands,anddoesn'tleaveuntilthelastlittle angelhasbeenreducedtoashes.Bythenthereisalackofoxygeninthesmallroom:Theflameflickers,alreadyonthepointofbecomingextinguished,andMunhoz himselffeelsasphyxiated. Heleaveshisroomtofacethereproachfuleyesofthemembersofhisfamily.Munhozisawareofwhattheysayabouthim:Thatheiswicked,thathetakesthetrouble ofdressingbeetleslikeangels,onlytoimmolatetheminthefire. Munhozdoesn'tacceptsuchaccusations.Thewingedbeingsgototheirdeathbecausetheywantto;hedoesn'tprevailuponthemtodoso.Besides,thesecreatures aren'tthecharminginsectsknownasbeetles.Theyareindeedangels.

FreeTopics Becauseofthetimelimit,I'llbebrief.Thepurposeofmypresentationistorelatetheresultsofasurveyconductedinoneofoursuburbs,VilaArmênia,tofindout aboutconsumerpracticesamongthelowerclasses.Sincetimeisshort,I'llabstainfromdealingwiththequestionofmethodologyandgostraighttotheconclusions. Thefirstslide,please.Thereyousee,ladiesandgentlemen,theuniversethatwe'veresearched:athousandandonehundredpeople,62percentofwhomare female....Andyoucanseetheotherde­

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tailsforyourselves,I'mnotgoingtoexaminethembecauseI'mpressedfortime....Thesecondslide,please.Thereyoucanseethedistributionbyage group....Mostofthepopulationconsistsofchildrenandyoungadults....Thenextone,please,quick,becausewehaven'tgotmuchtimeleft,thechairmanofthe boardisalreadysignalingtome....Here'sachartshowingfamilyincome....Theincomeofsomeofthesepeopleislessthantheminimumwage....Next.This slideshowsconsumerpractices....Itreferstothetobaccoquestion....Asyoucansee,aboutone­thirdofthecross­sectionsmokes.Youcanwellimaginewhich brandsofcigarettearefavored.Next.Thisoneherereferstothemassmedia.Noticethatthemajorityprefersradio,followedbytelevision....Next.Thereyouhave theireatinghabits....It'sacomplexchart,soIwon'tbeabletogointoit....HowmuchtimehaveIgotleftMr.Chairman...?Twominutes.Well,let'spresson. Next!Thisslideisn'tveryimportant,let'sgotothenextone....Thisonereferstoentertainment....Inthissuburbinparticular,thetownspeoplehaveabigbarn dancethat'sverypopular.Myownwifedidresearchonit.Next.Well,thisslideisonlytoshowyoutheteamthatconductedtheresearchonthisbarndanceoftheirs. Theonestandingovertherewithasmile,that'sme,ofcourse.That'smywifebymyside.TheyoungmanwiththemustacheisChico,oneofthelocalresidentswho helpedusalotinthecourseofourwork....Next.That'sashotofthebarndance:there'smywifedancingwithChico....Next.There'smywifearrivingatamotel togetherwithChico.Themotel,itwaslaterdiscovered,wasmywife'sownchoice.ThisChicohadneveruntilthensetfootinamotel.Next.Itookthispicture throughthewindow,see...thetwoofthemlyingthere....Observethelasciviousexpressiononherface,theglitterinhereyes....Observethatsalacious smile....She'sspreadingforhim....Andhe'sdroolingoverher....Justlookathim,seeifhe'snot....Lookcarefully,becausetimeisrunningout.Time'sup,isn't

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thatright,Mr.Chairman?Itis.That'sit,then;time'sup.That'sforsure.Lightson,please.Please,lightson.

ThePassword Anoldcorporalisreturningtohisarmycamplateatnight.Hisfigureisbarelydiscernibleinthefaintmoonlightthatbathesthestretchofprairieland;it'snotsurprising, therefore,thatthesentry,weaponinhand,shouldorderhimtohaltandnotmakeanothermove.Thecorporalstops,annoyed(hecanbarelystandonhisfeet,andis eagertoliedown),butheisnotalarmed.Thesoldierdrawsnear. "Thepassword." Password?What'sgoingon?Password?Hetriestoremember.Hismind—befoggedwithdrink,forhehadbeenimbibingallevening—isn'tofmuchhelp,buthe somehowmanagestoremember:Yes,there'ssomething.Somenewrule:Nobodycanenterthecampwithoutgivingthepassword.Asamatteroffact,hehimself relayedthisruletotherankandfile.Butthethingis,thepasswordnowescapeshim.It'saword...oraphrase....It'snogood,hecan'trememberit.Thesoldier persists:Thepassword,givemethepassword.Bepatient,willyou?muttersthecorporal,I'mtryingtoremember.Hehazardssomehumor. "I'mold,son.Oldpeopleforgetthings,especiallythingslikepasswords." Impassive,thesoldierlooksfixedlyathim.Obviously,hedoesn'tcareforhumor—orforexplanations.Hewantsthepassword.Thesoldier'sstubbornnessirritatesthe corporal.Damnit,don'tyourecognizeme?heasks.Ido,repliesthesoldier,Irecognizeyouperfectlywell,butIwantthepassword;withoutthepasswordnobody entersthecamp.ButIcan'trecallit,saysthecorporal,letmein,willyou?I'msleepy,who'sgoingtoknowIdidn'tgiveyouthepassword?Thesoldiermakesno reply.Motionless,weaponinhand,hewaits.

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Thecorporaltriestoremember.Isitaword,orisitaphrase?Inhisefforttoremember,hecloseshiseyes,hisfacescrewedupinapainfulgrimace.Phraseorword? Itmustbeaword.Buttherearesomanywords,soverymany.Evenahumble,almostilliteratemanlikehimmustknowmillionsofwords.Fromthedustycomersin thedarkcellarofhismemory,thewordsarenowwatchinghim.Thenhestartssearchingforone,gropingaboutinthedarkwithdifficulty,tryingtofitthesoundsof everywordthatoccurstohimintotheill­definedmoldhehasinhishead.Naturally,hestartswiththemostimposingwords.Isitpátria,fatherland?No,itcan'tbe pátria,pátriaisawordofthefemininegender,andhethinks(butperhapsthisisjustamachohangup)thatnowordofthefemininegenderwouldbeusedasa password.Isitduty?Isitheroism?Orisitacombinationoftwowords,likedutydischarged?Itoccurstohimthathemayhavejotteddownthepasswordonascrap ofpaper,whichhethenputintohispocket.Heoftendoesthis:Hewritesthingsdowninordernottoforgetthem.Sometimesheforgetswherehewrotethemdown. Butinthecaseofthepassword,it'spossiblethathehasitonhim.Thrustinghishandsintohispockets,heemptiesthemout:money,identificationpapers,medical prescriptions,aletterfromhisdaughter,apackofcigarettes.Eachpieceisexamined,forthepasswordmighthavebeenjotteddownonthepackofcigarettes,for instance,oronthebackofareceipt.Andindeed,thereissomethingwrittenonthebackofareceipt;somethinghecan'treadinthesemidarkness.Haveyougota lantern?heasksthesoldier.Theyouthsayshehasn't.You'reondutyassentryandyouhaven'tgotalantern?Thecorporalfindsitpeculiar.Ihaven'tgotone,repeats thesoldier.Thecorporalsearchesfortracesofirritationormockeryinthesoldier'stoneofvoice;therearen'tany.Thetoneisneutral;there'snoreasonforthe corporaltosuspectharassment.Thecorporalsquatsdown,laysthereceiptontheground,strikesamatch,andtriestoreadwhat'sonit.Acomplicatedoperation,for hecanbarely

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coordinatehisgestures;besides,thewindkeepsextinguishingtheflame.Butthereissomethingwrittendown,andfinallyhemanagestoread:horse. Horse.Couldthisbethepassword?It'simpossibleforhimtoremember.Ifthisisthepassword,wouldn'thebeovercomebysuddenjubilation,bythatkindofjoy thatstrikesscientistsuponmakinganewdiscovery,orgamblersuponhittingthejackpot?Perhaps.Perhapshisageandallhehasbeenthroughinlifehavecasta damperoversuchrapturesofjoy.Horse,evenifitdoesn'tkindleenthusiasm,couldwellbethepassword.Couldit,really?Isitpossiblethatthelieutenant—theman responsibleforpasswords—couldhavechosensuchaword?Awordnotentirelyridiculous,ofcourse,butsomewhatsilly.Whyhorse?Therearenohorsesinthe camp.Therearefarmsinthearea—butwouldthisfactbesufficientreasonforthelieutenanttohavechosenthewordhorseasapassword? Ontheotherhand,ifitisnotthepassword,whyintheworlddidhewriteitdown?Heusuallyjotsdownthingsthatheissupposedtobuytotakehome,thingsthathis wifewantshimtoget;butwasthereamomentwhenheconsideredbuyingahorse?(Andwherewouldhefindthemoneytobuyone?)Wasthereamomentwhenhis wifeaskedhimforahorse?Couldthewordstandforsomethingelse,say,atipontheillegalanimalnumbersgame?No,hehasnevergambledontheanimalnumbers games.Hewouldn'tevenknowhowtogoaboutit.He'snotagambleratall.He'sanhonestcorporalwhosometimesdrinkstoomuch—butthen,whodoesn't?Is thereanyonewhodoesn'tgetstewedtothegillseveryonceinawhile,especiallyifhehappenstohaveadaughterinpoorhealth,andamentallyretardedson?Horse. Amystery,thishorse. Helooksatthesoldierwho,impassive,continuestolookfixedlyathim.Thecorporalcouldtestouttheword.Hecouldsayhorseinthecasualtoneofsomeone speakingtohimself.Ifthisisthepassword,theneverythingwillbefine;thesentrywilllethimenterthe

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camp;ifitisnot,itcouldbeinterpretedasadrunkard'smuttering.Beforesayingtheword,however,thecorporaldecidestoseewhatelseisonthelist;thenextword isorange,yes,hepromisedtotakesomeorangeshome,hiswifewantedtousetheminadessert.Suchagood,talentedwoman....Therefore,orangeisnotthe password;orisit?Coulditbethatbesidesalludingtooneoftheingredientsinthedessert,itisalsothepassword?Ratherunlikely. Thethirdandfourthwordsareabsolutelyillegible.Hestrikesonematchaftertheother,tryingtoreadhisownscrawl,buthecan't;hishandwritinghasalwaysbeen atrocious.Duringhisfewyearsofschooling,histeacherskeptwarninghim:You'llhavetoimproveyourhandwriting,oronedayyou'llgetintohotwater.Andthat's preciselywherehefindshimselfnow—inhotwater.Becausequitepossibly,thepasswordisthere,lostinthisillegiblescrawlofhis. Thelightofthematchgoesout.It'shislastone,too.Withdifficultythecorporalstandsup,looksatthesoldier—andheisovercomebyasuddenfitofanger.No,he doesn'trememberthepassword.Andsowhat?He'snotobligedtoremembereverysinglethingheistold,there'senoughnonsenseinhisheadalready.Hehas forgottenit,that'sit.Hefeelslikesendingthesoldierpacking;buthecan't,he'snotinapositiontodosomethinglikethat.Instead,hetriesreasoning,andarguesthatin fact,heknowsthepassword,thathehasitstoredsomewhereinsidehim,thatit'sonlyamatterofpullingitoutofthebottomofthewellofmemory.Allheneedsis time.Andperhapsahint.Yes:Ahintwouldhelp. I'mnotgivingyouanyhint,saysthesoldierinthesameneutraltoneasbefore;everymanhastorememberthepasswordunaided.Oh,yeah?saysthecorporalwith indignation.Everymanforhimself,isthatso?Unaided,repeatsthesoldier. "Andwhatifyouwereonthebattlefield?Whatifyoulaywoundedonthebattlefield?Woulditstillbeeverymanforhimself?Orwouldyouatthatmomentaskfor help?"

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Thesoldiermakesnoreply.Thosearehistactics,concludesthecorporal—nottomakeareply,nottogetinvolved.Thepassword.That'sallhecaresabout.The password?He'llgetthepassword.Thecorporalwilluttereverysinglewordheremembers.Everyoneofthem.Beginningwiththemostimportantonesinthelifeofa warrior. "Cannon!Iscannonthepassword?Hmm?Isitcannon?Isitrifle?Isitbayonet?Isitmortar?Isitammunition?Isithowitzer?Isitshrapnel?Isittank?Isitflask?Isit haversack?Isitbinoculars?" Thesoldier,impassive.Butthecorporalcontinues,afterthewordsrelatedtothearmycamp,othersfromthecivilianlifecometohismind—house,wardrobe,bed, patriot,bathroom,store;then,wordsatrandom—moon,star,sea,brook;next,namesofplants,ofanimals(includinghorse);finally,swearwords:finally,onesingle swearword: "sh*t,sh*t,sh*t,sh*t,"herepeatsinamonotone."sh*t,sh*t." Panting,thecorporalfallssilent.Hestandsgloweringatthesoldier;he'sangry,reallyangry. Buthecontrolshimself.Takeiteasy,youoldcorporal,takeiteasy,youidiot.Don'tloseyourhead.Thinkitover,putonyourthinkingcap.Yep,itwilltake cleverness.Itwilltakesomebargaining,I'llhavetowinthisguyover,afterall,he'smerelycarryingouthisduty.Andwhat'smore(andatthisthoughtthecorporal evenbecomessofthearted),therewasatimewhenhe,too,wasayoungrecruitwhotookprideinbeingonguardatthegatesofthebarracks. No,hehasnoreasontoquarrelwiththesoldier;theyarebrothersinarms—thecorporaltheolderbrother,thesoldier,hiskidbrother.Itfallsontheolderbrotherto betolerantandunderstanding,togiveinwhenthere'sanimpasse. "Well?Whatdoyousay?" "IsaythatIwantthepassword,"repliesthesoldierinafirmvoice. "Yeah,sure,thepassword.ButbeforeI—"

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''Thepassword!" Thesoldierco*ckshisrifle.Thecorporaltakesadeepbreath.Themomenthascome,atlast.Itwouldhavetocomeoneday,andnowithascome.Itissomethingthat thecorporalhasalwaysfeared:HowamIgoingtobehave?Because,eventhoughheisamilitaryman,hehasalwaysbeenapeaceableperson,hehasnever quarreledwithanybody.Andwhatismore,hehasneverbeeninanarrow­escapesituation,hehasneverbeenseriouslyill,hehasneverundergonesurgery.Andnow themomenthascome.Suddenly,withoutforewarning.Triggeredbysomethingstupid:firstthedrinkingspree,thenthispasswordthing.Hewouldhaveexpected somethingmoresolemn,morespectacular.Sometimeshewouldthinkofawar,andinhisimaginationhewouldseehimselfcollapse,wounded,onthebattlefield.But we'reinBrazil:we'repeace­loving,notwarmongeringpeople.Sometimeswehavetomakethreats,takesecuritymeasures,butdeepdowneverybodyknowsthey aren'tforreal.Everybody?No.Thislittlesoldierheredoesn'tknow.Andthere'snotimetoteachhimnow,it'stoolate.There'snotimetosay,lookhere,buddy, forgetit,nothingofthisistobetakenseriously. Nevertheless,thewholethingisthestagingofanact.Anactinwhichthecorporalhastoplayhisrole.Reluctantly,forhe'stiredandsleepy,butthere'snootherway. Theyouthmustbetaughtalesson.So,withasigh,thecorporalsmiles—butthere'snothingironicinhissmile,he'ssurethereisn't;nothingchallenging,either—andhe stepsforward.Thesoldier,motionless,looksathim.Sixfootsteps,tenfootsteps,twentyfootsteps,andnowthecorporal'sbackisalreadyturnedtothesoldier—and atthismoment,sounbearableishisanxiety,andsoviolentthecontractionofthemusclesinhisneck,inhisback,eveninhisscalp,thathe—butthistakesbuta fractionofasecond—stopsshort.Themomenthestops,though,adeadcalminvadeshim;it'sasifhewerefloatingonahugelakeoftepidwaters.Andasina dream,heresumeswalking.He'snotgoing

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toshootmeintheback,thecorporalisthinkingwithdiffidentjoy.Hewon'tdosuchathing,nobodywould. Butthenhestopsagain:Andheturnsaround;heopenshisarmsandthere'sablast,andhefallstotheground,thesmilefrozenonhisfaceattheprecisemomentwhen hewasabouttoutter—andwhywasitthathejustcouldn'trecallitbefore?—thepassword,therealpassword,soobviousitwas,thispasswordwhichhehadonthe tipofhistongue,andwhichwas,yespreciselythat:adeadshot.

TheEmissary OnsaturdaysIwouldvisithiminthehospital.EverytimeIsawhim,Ithoughthelookedworse.ButtohimIwouldsayYou'relookinggood,Pedro.Towhichhe wouldreplywithanimpatient—andyetgrateful,undoubtedlygrateful—gesture. Iwouldsitdownandgivehimtheusualsmallbagofapples(hewouldthankme;hewouldn'teatthem,though;couldthisperhapsexplainwhyhewasgettingworse?). Thenhewouldchatforawhile—abouttheweather,aboutthenewsinthepapers—butIwaswellawarethathewasn'tinterestedinanyofit.Ialwayssensedthathe waseagertogostraighttothepoint.Butevenso,we—heorI,orbothofus—wouldprolongthesmalltalk.Anyhow,itfellonmetogivethecue. "IsawTeresayesterday."Thetoneofvoicewas,ofcourse,nonchalant. He:"Didyou?"trying,ofcourse,toshowlittleinterest.Iwouldwaitforawhilebeforecontinuingwithacarefullythought­outstatement. "Shestruckmeasbeingratherdownandout." "Whatmakesyouthinkso?"hewouldsay,barelycontaininghisanxiety."Shewasshabbilydressed,"Iwouldreply—andfromthenontheconversationwould proceedinacrescendo.I:Shestruckme

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asbeingratherill.He:Poorthing—aremarkmadewithsomepleasure.I:She'sbeenevictedfromherapartment.He:Poorthing—aremarkmadewithasmall smile—poorthing!I:She'sbeenhittingthebottle.He:Ah!I:Shenowwalkswithagimp.He:Thepoorbitch!I:Herwomenfriendshavebeenshunningher.He:You don'tsay!I:It'strue,Pedro.She'sreallygonetoseed.He:OhGod. Hewouldthrowhishandsupandlethimselfcollapseonthepillow,wherehewouldliepanting,eyesclosed,nostrilsquivering.Inastateofbliss,obviously.Inseventh heaven. Iwouldwaitinsilence.Soonhewouldopenoneeye:Tellmemore,hewouldask. Iwouldlookatmywatch:Ican'tPedro,Imustbegoingnow. Hewouldbeg:FortheloveofGod.ButIwouldremainadamantinmyrefusaltotellhimmore.Ihadafeelingthatitwashiscuriositythatkepthimalive.AndI wantedhimalive. BecauseTeresaalwaysgotakickoutofitwheneverIsaid:IwenttoseePedrointhehospital. Tellmeallaboutit,shewouldthensaywithasmallsmile,dotellmewhatyou'veseen. Ialwaystoldher.WhichgaveTeresagreatpleasure.AndIwasnotonetodenyTeresaapleasure.

TheCandidate Weareagroupofaboutthirtyentrepreneursworkinginalllinesofbusiness.Wedonot,however,constituteanassociation;whatbringsustogetherareourcommon interests—notalwaysbroughtupatourdinnerparties,aswellasthebondsoffriendshipamongsomeofus—thelatteralwaysextolledontheoccasionofdrinkinga toast.Menezesisourleader.Neithertheoldestnortherichestamongus,heis,however,amanofvision,andforthisreasonhisopinionsarealwaysrespected. Therefore,whenhesaidthatwe

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neededarepresentativeintheCityCouncil,weagreedrightaway.Sincetheelectionswouldbeheldfivemonthsfromthen,wewouldhavetosetthingsinmotion withoutdelay.Menezeshimselfvolunteeredtosearchforacandidate.Hisincredibleefficiencywasagaininevidence:Atthefollowingdinnerpartyhewasalready announcingthathehadfoundtheidealpersonforourpurposes. "Young,charming,elegant,articulate,smartasatack.Herosefromnothing.Doyoureallyknowwhatnothingis?"Hegaveusachallenginglook.""Manyofyouclaim thatyourosefromnothing,butthat'snotso.Yournothingandhisnothingarenotthesame.Allofyouhadsomething,someeducation,arelativewithclout,some moneyyouinherited,evenifitwasamerepittance.Whereashe—youcan'tevenimaginethekindoflifehehad.Thefather,adrunk.Themother,inpoorhealth.They livedinashack.Often,therewasnothingtoeat.Veryearlyinlifehewasforcedtoearnaliving.Heattendedschoolintheevenings.Hesoondistinguishedhimselfin studentpoliticsandinsoccer,bothofwhich,hetoldme,gavehimhisremarkablesenseoftiming.Hegraduatedinlaw.Hemarriedthedaughterofamerchant,a wealthymanwhounfortunatelylosteverythinginaseriesofunsuccessfulbusinessventures.Butthisfactisofnoconsequencetohimbecause,hetoldme,hewantsto makeitonhisown.Forthisreasonheiswillingtohaveagoatanything.Whatdoyousay,gentlemen?Isheeligible?" Wehadtoagree:Hewaseligible.Then,excusinghimself,Menezesleftthehallandsoonreturnedaccompaniedbyamanstillyoungand—justashehadtoldus— charmingandelegant.Thathewasarticulateandcleverbecameapparentassoonashestartedtospeak.Everybodywasthrilled;butI,andIdon'tknowexactlywhy, hesitated.Itwasaslighthesitation,buthesitationnonetheless.Causedperhaps,byacertainexpressionthatIsaw,orthoughtthatIsawatonemomentontheclosely shavedfaceofourcandidate.Atonemoment,onthatface,Idetected,orthoughtthatIdetected

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(perhapsbecauseofacertaininnatedistrustinmynature,atraitthatIhaveneversucceededinshakingoff,notwithstandingthegreatharmithasalreadycausedme), anexpressionofacertainmelancholy;atonemomenthislookbecamevacant,thecornersofhismouthdrooped,andallofasuddenhelookedmucholderthanhis twenty­sevenyears.Butthismelancholy,whetherrealorimagined,vanishedimmediately,andsoonhewaslaughingandgreetingoneandallwithhandshakesand hugs. Menezeswasright.Theelectioncampaignturnedouttobeexpensive,buttheyoungmangotanimpressivenumberofvotes.Quitepleased,wedecidedtohavea dinnerpartyinhishonor.Onthenightofthedinnerwewereallgatheredattheclub,stilljubilantoverourvictory—buthewaslate.Eighto'clock,eight­thirty,nine, nine­thirty—andstillnosignofhim.Someofuswerealreadyannoyed:ThefellowisalreadygettinguponhishighhorsewasacommentIheardinvariousgroups. Wewerethinkingofstartingdinnerwithouthim(thiswouldteachhimalesson,too),whenanemployeeoftheclubcametosaythattherewasaphonecallfor Menezes.Menezeswenttothephoneandreturnedsoon,lookingpale.Hedrewmeaside. "Itwashiswife.Sheaskedustohurrythere.He'sinhisstudy,withagunonhishead,threateningtokillhimself." We—MenezesandI—wentthereinataxi.Thewomanwaswaitingatthedoor.Tearful,shetoldusthatherhusbandsometimeshadtheseboutsofdepression,but theywererare,andnobodyknewaboutthembecausehenevermentionedthematter;thistime,however,thingshadgonetoofar,andfrightened,shehaddecidedto callonusforhelp.Sheshowedusintohisstudy.Andindeed,therewasouraldermanwiththegunbarrelagainsthishead.Whatstruckmerightawaywasthe expressionofdeepmelancholyonhisface:thevacantlook,thedroopingcornersofhismouth.

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Placinghimselfinfrontoftheyoungman,Menezesfixedhiseyesonhim. "Howmuch?"Menezesaskedinafirmvoice. OuraldermanlookedatMenezesasifhehadn'tunderstood."Comeon,"Menezesinsisted,"we'vegotnotimetowaste;tellmestraightout,howmuchdoyouwant nottokillyourself?" Slowly,asmilebegantoopentheyoungman'sface. "Alot,"hesaid. "We'lltalkaboutitlater,"Menezessaid.Then,takingthegunfromtheyoungman'shand,heputitintohispocket."Let'sgonow,we'realreadylatefordinner." Wegotintothetaxi;Isatonthefrontseatnexttothecabbie.Menezesandthealderman,togetheronthebackseat,wereengagedinalivelyconversation.Iwasnow convincedthatthisaldermanshipwasgoingtocostusalotofmoney;butIwasalsoconvincedthatitwasmoneywellinvested.

GeneralDelivery OnedayIgotoutofbed,washedmyface,combedmyhair,gotdressed,drankcoffee,andwenttothehouseofthewidowPaulina,aneighborofours. ThewidowPaulinawasanelderlylady,veryfriendly.Forthisreason,andalsobecauseshewasaninvalid(shemovedaboutinawheelchair),Iwasalwaysrendering herasmallservice,suchasmowingthelawninhergarden,walkingherdog,Pinoquio,andmailingherlettersatthepostoffice. Therewerealwaysheapsofletters.ThewidowPaulinasubscribedtoapublicationthatlistedpenpalsallovertheworld.Thus,shewouldwritetocountriesasdistant asSriLanka,Japan,Tunisia.Lettersandmoreletters;agoodpartofhermodestincomewasspent

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onpostage.Withalmostnegativeresults;onlyoccasionallydidshereceiveareply.Butthisfactdidn'tdiscourageher;onthecontrary,shesteppedupherletter­ writing.Bywritingletters,accordingtoher,sheremainedfaithfultothememoryofherhusband,ahumanitariandoctorwho,tohisdyingday,haddreamedofaunited world.Tohiswidowhehadbequeathedamessageoflove.Andlittleelse:afewoldbooks,anancientcar,whichshesold,andamodestnestegg.Hehadn'towned muchbecausehispatients,whowerepoor,couldn'taffordtopayhim—afactthatthewidowalwaysrecalledwithemotion.Myfatherhadbeenoneofhispatients. So,therewasalsoacomponentofgratitudeinmylendingassistancetotheoldlady. Well,IdroppedinonthewidowPaulina.Shewaswaitingformeinthegarden,smilingasusual.SheaskedhowIwasdoinginschool,andgavemeasliceofthe cakethatshehadbakedherself.Thenshehandedmealetter.Justone?Ifounditstrange.Yes,justone,shereplied,givingmealevellook.Takingtheletterandthe money,Isaidgood­byeandleft. Asusual,Iheadedforthepark.Ithrewawaythepieceofcake—ittastedawful—satdownonabench,and,asIalwaysdid,Iopenedtheletter.Byandlarge,Igota kickoutofreadingherletters. Onthatday,however,Iwasinforasurprise. Theletterwaswrittentome.TheenvelopeitselfwasaddressedtosomebodyintheUnitedStates,buttheletter,theletteritself,startedwithaDearChico.Chico, that'sme.It'smynickname.Andthewidowwroteon:Iwouldneverexpectthiskindofthingfromyou,Chico.You,ofwhomI'vebeensofond. Thefactisthatshehadfoundmeout.SheknewthatIdidn'tmailherletters,thatIpocketedthemoneyforthestamps.Thenewpostofficemaster,whohappenedto bearelativeofhers,toldherthatIneversetfootinthepostoffice.Andthewidowconcludedbysaying:TothinkthatItrustedyou.TothinkthatIhandedyouthe

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moneytakenfrommydwindlingsavingswheninsteadIcouldhaveinvestedit.Icouldhaveexchangeditintodollars,Chico. Crumblingtheletter,Ithrewitaway.Dollars!Iwouldkeepthisinminduntilitwastimeformetomakemyfirstinvestments.

IntheSubmarineRestaurant Jerônimoringsmeup.Ihavesomegreatnews,hesays,theexcitementinhisvoicesoundingstrangeinamanwhoisnormallyreserved.Greatnews,herepeats, addingthathecan'ttellmeaboutitoverthephone.Hesuggeststhatwemeetforlunch:thetwoofus,andalsoHélioandSadi.Where?Iaskratheruneasy.Atthe SubmarineRestaurant,hereplies.Iarguethatit'swayout;besides,it'snotthebesttimeoftheyeartogototheSubmarineRestaurant;notinthiscold,rainyweather. That'spreciselywhywe'regoingthere,saysJerônimo,Idon'twantanybodytoseeus.Asamatteroffact,I'vealreadyphonedandreservedtheentirerestaurantjust forus. Iendedupacceptingtheinvitation.Whatelse?Jerônimoiswellknownforhistenacity,forhisironwill.Heletsnothingstandinhisway,that'swhateverybodysays abouthim. IdrivetotheplacewheretheSubmarineRestaurantislocated.Onthehighway,I'movertakenbyHélio,wholooksatmewithaninquiringexpression.Itseemsthat he,too,doesn'tknowwhatisgoingon. Uponarrivingatthebeach,Ileavemycarintheparkinglot.Thecarsoftheothersarealreadyparkedthere.Asusual,I'mthelastonetoarrive. Iwalkalongtheancientwharf,attheendofwhichtherestaurantwasbuilt.Enteringthelobby,Igreetthecirc*mspectmanager,thenclimbdownthewinding staircase.Therestaurantproperisbelowsealevel.Throughitswindows,orratherscuttles,dinerscanwatchthemarinefaunaofthearea.

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Jerônimoandtheothersareseatedatatableinacorner.Greetingthem,Itakeaseat.Theyareengagedinsmalltalk.Butit'sobviousthatJerônimoisradiant. Aloudspeakerplacedrightaboveourheadssqueaks,thenemitsashrillsound."Hello!"saysaman'svoice."Hello,hello.Testing,testing.One,two,three.One,two, three.Testing,testing." Apause,thenthevoicegoeson. "Gentlemen,welcometotheSubmarineRestaurant,theonlyoneofitskindinBrazil.Themanagementwouldlikeyoutomakeyourselvesathome.Whileyousavor ourdelectabledishes,we'llgiveyousomeinformationaboutthemarinecreaturessurroundingus.We'llreturninafewmoments.Thankyoufornow." Hélio,whohadneverbeentotheplace,isamazed.Wonderfullywellappointed,isn'tit?hesays.Whataningeniousidea. "Attention,"it'stheloudspeakeragain."Gentlemen,yourattention,please.There'sanoctopusapproachingusfromthesouth.Theoctopus,gentlemen,isnotafish,it's amollusk.Irepeat:amollusk.Andherecomesourhero!" Itis,infact,asmalloctopus.Slowly,itpassesacrossourscuttleanddisappears.Fantastic,criesouttheenthusiasticHélio.Thisplacehereisfantastic,Jerônimo! Jerônimosaysnothing;hemerelysmiles. Theloudspeakeragain: "Attention!Whatweseenowisadogfish.It'sacloserelativeoftheshark,thekilleroftheseas." Swiftly,thedogfishswimsaway. Thewaitercomeswithahugeplatter.Itookthelibertyoforderingthisforallofus,Jerônimoexplains.You'regoingtolikeit.It'ssnook.Super.Reallysuper. Idon'tlikefish,saysSadi,I'dratherhaveshrimp.Hisvoiceistingedwithhuffiness;butJerônimoisalreadyaskingthewaitertogethisshrimp.Certainly,sir,saysthe waiter,whothengoesaway.

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Jerônimoraiseshisglass:Tous,hesays.Wedrinkandafterwardsilencefallsuponus,asilencethatstrikesme(butthen,Imratherparanoid)asoppressive.Ilean towardhim. "Well,let'shearwhatyouhavetosaytous." Jerônimotakesanothersipofwine.Good,thiswine,heremarks.Hewipeshislipswiththenapkin,looksatus—alwayssmiling—andannounces:"Theman'sfinished. He'llbekickedoutnextweek.AndI'llgetthepost,it'sinthebag!CanIcountonyou?' Butyou'reagenius,Héliocriesout.Arealgenius,Iagree.OnlySadisaysnothing.He'slookingthroughthescuttle:There'saschooloffishoutthere.Theloudspeaker doesn'ttellustheirname,butI'llbettheyarerobalo,alsoknownassnook.TheystareatSadiwiththeirinexpressiveeyes.

PeaceandWar Beinglateforthewar,Ihadtotakeataxi.Muchtomyannoyance:withtherecentincreaseinthetaxifares,thisexpense,unforeseenandilltimed,wasaholeinmy budget.However,Ididmakeit,andwasabletoclockinjustinthenickoftime,thusavertingfurtherhassles.Therewasalonglineofpeoplewaitingtogettothetime clock:Iwasn'ttheonlylatecomer.Walter,mypartnerinthetrench,wasthere,too,muttering:Likeme,hehadbeenforcedtotakeataxi.Wewereneighborsandwe hadjoinedthewarroughlyatthesametime.EverysecondThursdayofeachmonthwewouldtakeabusatanintersectionofourstreetinordertotakepartinthe waractivities. I'msickandtiredofthewholeshebang,saidWalter.Me,too,Ireplied.Sighing,weclockedinandheadedforthequartermaster'sdepot,wherethelockerroomwas temporarily(butthishadbeensoforoverfifteenyears)located.Aren'tyoulatetoday?askedtheyouthinchargeofthelockerroom.Wemadenoreply.Hehanded usthe

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keystoourlockers.Quickly,wechangeoutofourclothesandintoouroldfatigues;then,grabbingtheriflesandtheammunition(twentycartridges),weheadedfor thelineofbattle. Thesettingforthearmedconflictwasastretchofprairielandontheoutskirtsofthecity.ThebattlefieldwassurroundedbyabarbedwirefencewithsignssayingWAR, KEEPOUT.Anunnecessarywarning:hardlyanybodywentthere,tothatsiteofbucolicgrangesandsmallfarms. We,thesoldiers,occupiedatrenchroughlytwokilometerslong.Theenemy,whomwehadneverseen,wereaboutakilometerawayfromus,andthey,too,were entrenched.Theterrainbetweenthetwotrencheswaslitteredwithdebris:wreckedtanksandotherdestroyedarmoredvehicleslayjumbledtogetherwithskeletonsof horses—remindersofatimewhenthefightinghadbeenfierce.Butnowtheconflicthadreachedastablephase—ofupkeep,inthewordsofourcommander.Battles werenolongerfought.Butevenso,ourorderswerenottoleavethetrench.Whichposedaproblemtome:Myyoungestsonwantedmetogethimanemptyshell firedfromahowitzer,buttherewasnowayIcouldgetone.Mykidkeptpesteringmeaboutit,buttherewasnothingIcoulddo. We—WalterandI—climbeddowntothetrench.Theplacewasn'ttotallylackinginamenities.Itwasfurnishedwithtables,chairs,asmallstove,kitchenutensils,not tomentionasoundsystemandaportabletelevisionset.IsuggestedthatWalterandIplayagameofcards.Later,hesaid.Withawrinkledforeheadandanairof dissatisfaction,hewasexamininghisrifle:Thisf*ckingthingdoesn'tworkanymore,hestated.Butafterall,Isaid,itismorethanfifteenyearsold,ithasseenbetter days.ThenIofferedhimmyownweapon:Ihadnointentionofeverfiringashot.Justthenweheardadetonationandabulletcamehissingoverourheads.Thatwas anearmiss,Isaid.Theidiots,mutteredWalter,oneofthesedaysthey'llenduphurtingsomeone.Grabbingmyweapon,herosetohisfeetandfired

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twoshotsintheair.That'sawarningtoyou,heshouted,andsatdownagain.Amanservantappearedholdingacordlesstelephone:Yourwife,SenhorWalter.What thedevil,Waltercriedout,notevenherewillthiswomanleavemeinpeace.Hetookthephone. ''Hello!Yes,that'sme.I'mfine.OfcourseI'mfine.No,nothinghashappenedtome,I'vealreadytoldyou,I'mfine.Iknowyougetnervous,butthere'snoreason whyyoushould.Everything'sokay,I'mwellsheltered,itisn'training.Didyouhearme?Everything'sokay.There'snoneedtoapologize.Iunderstand.Akiss." Whatanutterbore,thiswoman,hesaid,handingthephonebacktothemanservant.Isaidnothing.I,too,hadaproblemwithmywife,butofadifferentnature.She didn'tbelievethatwewereatwar.HersuspicionwasthatIwasspendingthedayinamotelwithsomeoneelse.Iwouldliketoexplaintoherthenatureofthiswar, butinfact,Imyselfdidn'tknow.Nobodyknew.Itwasaveryconfusingthing;somuchsothatacommitteehadbeensetputtostudythesituationoftheconflict.The chairmanofthiscommitteewouldsometimesvisitus,andthenhewouldcomplainaboutthecarhehadbeengiventogoontheseinspectiontrips:ajalopy,according tohim.Itwas,infact,averyoldcar.Topracticeeconomy,hissuperiorswouldn'tchangeitforanewermodel. Themorningwentbyserenely;somebodyfromoursidefiredashot,somebodyfromtheothersidefiredback,andthatwasall.Atnoonwewereservedlunch.A greensalad,roastbeef,ricepreparedintheGreekstyle;fordessert,aninsipidpudding.Thisisreallygoingdownhill,Waltergrumbled.Thewaiteraskedhimifhe thoughtthisplacewasarestaurantorwhat.Waltermadenoreply. Welaydownforanapandsleptpeacefully.Whenwewokeup,nightwasfalling.IthinkI'llgohomenow,IsaidtoWalter.Hecouldn'tleavewithme:Hewason dutythatnight.Iwenttothelockerroomandchanged.Howwasthewar?thesmartaleckyyouthaskedme.Good,Ireplied,reallygood.Idroppedbytheadminis­

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trationoffice,gotmypaycheckfromasour­lookingemployee,andsignedallthreecopiesofthereceipt.AndIarrivedatthebusstopjustinthenickoftime. Athome,mywife,dressedinaleotard,waswaitingforme.I'mready,shesaiddryly.Iwenttothebedroomtogetmysweatshirt.Wewenttothefitnessgymand mountedtheexercisebicycles.Whereexactlywerewe?Iasked.Youneverseemtoknow,sheansweredinareproachfultone.Pickingupthemapshestudieditfor amoment,thensaid:"Bisceglie,ontheAdriaticcoast." Westartedpedalingvigorously;whenwestoppedtwohourslater,wewereapproachingMolfeta,stillontheAdriaticcoast.Wefigureitwilltakeusayearto completethecircuitofItaly.Then,we'llwaitandsee.Idislikemakinglong­termplansbecauseofthewar,ofcourse,butmostlybecausetheunknownelementofthe futureisformeasourceofconstantexcitement.

TheBlank AttheageoftenhedecidestokeepaDiary—andfromthenontherewon'tbeadaywhenhedoesn'trecordsomething—anevent,athought,adaydream.Theyears goby,thenotebookspileup.Attheageoffifty,theman,drivenbysomeobscuremotive,decidestoreview,nothislife,buthisdiaries.Itissomethingheneverdid before.So,hereadson,attimeswithasmile;attimeswithtearsinhiseyes;attimesenraptured;attimesbored.Suddenly,herealizesthatthereisnoentryatallfor oneparticularday;itistheonlydaywhenhewrotenothing,asheverifiesbyleafingthroughtherestofthisnotebookandofalltheothersthatfollowedit.Why,he wonders.Whyisthisparticulardaymissing?Atfirstthemostobviousreasonoccurstohim—aleaftornfromthenotebook.Butno:Thesamepageonwhichtheentry forthatparticulardayshouldhavebeenalsocontainstheentriesforboththeprecedingandthefol­

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lowingdays.Briefnotesasamatteroffact,likealltheothers.Heis,therefore,facinganinexplicablefact:anunrecordedday.Why?Becauseofatrip?No.Even whenhewentonatrip,healwaystookthediarywithhim.Anillness?Again,no.Evenwhenill(andhewasneverseriouslyill),heneverfailedtorecordsomething. Whatwasinitiallyintriguinghasnowbecomeatorment:Themandoesn'twantmerelytofindout,hehasto.Themysterytortureshim,hehaslosthisappetite,hecan't concentrateonhiswork.Hiswifeandfriendsaskhimwhatiswrong:They'veneverseenhimlikethis.Butthere'snoonehecantellanythingbecausehefeelsthat nobodywouldunderstandhim. Heisdeterminedtoclearupthismystery.Itwon'tbeeasy.Atthetimewhenthatparticularentryshouldhavebeenmade,hewaslivingalone.Newlygraduatedfrom collegehewasstilljobless.Anditwasn'tuntilmonthslaterthathefoundagirlfriend.So,therewerenoconnectingelements,nobodyhecouldask.Towhomshould heturnforhelp?Aftermullingoverthematter,hegoestoafortunetellerwho,rathersurprised,saysthere'snothinghecando.Hespecializesinpredictingthefuture, notindisclosingthepast.Hesuggeststhatthemangotoahypnotist.Themantrieshypnosis,butwithoutsuccess;wheneverheisabouttofallintoatrance,heis frightened,andisagainonhisguard.Noticingtheman'sgreatanxiety,thehypnotistadviseshimtoseeapsychologist.Themangoestoapsychologist,wholistensto himattentivelyforfortyminutes;attheendofthesession,thepsychologistshakeshisheadandlooksatthemansympathetically.Yes,hesays,thememoryofthatday mustbeinyoursubconscious,buriedsomewheredeepdown,butIdon'tseehowIcanretrieveit.Hegivesthemansomehope,though:It'spossiblethatitwill surfaceunexpectedly,likethecorpseofadrownedman. "Maybeduringadream.Payattentiontoyourdreams." Themanbeginstosleepwithpencilandnotebookathand.

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Shouldadreambringhimtherecollectionhehasbeenyearningtoremember,hewantstowriteitdownimmediately,beforeheforgetsitagain.Thenonenight,he doesinfactremember;herememberseverything;withatremblinghandhewritesdowninthenotebookwhathehasremembered,then,exhaustedbutpleased,he fallsasleep.Inthemorninghediscoversthatthepagesinthenotebookareblank.Theactofwritingsomethingdownwasalsoadream. Nowthemanisconvincedthatsomethingseriousmusthavehappened.Hegoestothemorgueofamajormorningnewspaperandasksthepersoninchargefora copyofthenewspaperpublishedonthatfatefulday.Theattendantbringshimtherequestednewspaperandthemanleafsthroughitimpatiently.Then,inthecrime section,hefindswhathehasbeensearchingfor.Alonerwasmurdered,andthepolicehadnoclues. Themandoesn'tfeelwell.Hegoestothemen'sroomandwasheshisface.Thenheraiseshishead,andinthemirrorheseesthesmilingfaceofhisvictim.

ManyManyMetersAboveGoodandEvil Attheendofthestreettherewasanemptylot,andatthebackofthislotstoodthehouseinruinswhereLúciaandIusedtoplay.Everybodysaidthatthehousewas haunted,thatghostswereoftenseenthere.ButLúciaandIweren'tafraid.Wefearednothing.Wewerebothtenyearsoldthen,anagewhenchildrenareusually afraidofghosts;we,however,wereafraidofnothing—untiloneafternoon,aswewereabouttoenterthehouse,weheardmuffledmoaningscomingfrominside.A momentlaterIwasalreadyfarawayfromthehouse,withmyhairstandingonendandmyheartpoundingfiercely.Lúciadidn'trunaway.Comebackhere,she shouted,thisisnoghost,it'saperson. Warily,Iapproachedthehouse.Thetwoofuswentin.We

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waiteduntiloureyesgotadjustedtothedarkness.Look,overthere,whisperedLúcia. Ilookedandsawanoldman—theoldestandmostshriveledoldmanIhadeverseen.Hewaslyingbehindaheapofbricks,allhuddledupinsidehistatteredclothes. Lúciasquatteddownbyhissideandremainedlookingathim.Iwouldratherhavefled,butsheseemedfascinatedbythatoldragamuffinwholookedill—andwho stanksomethingfierce."Areyoufeelingill?"sheasked,aquestionthatstruckmeasobviouslyunnecessary;theoldmanwasill,desperatelyill.Hedidn'tevenmakea reply;hemoanedandmoaned.Lúciaputherhandonhisforehead."Doeshehaveatemperature?"Iasked."Idon'tthinkso'"shesaid,"itfeelsicecold,poorlittle fellow." (Poorlittlefellow.That'showshewouldrefertotheoldmanfromthenon:poorlittlefellow.Thepoorlittlefellowishungry.Thepoorlittlefellowiscold.Wenever foundouthisname.) Lúciarosetoherfeet,hermindmadeup:We'regoingtobringhimfood.Food,clothes,andablanket. Iwasn'tincompleteagreementwithher.Yes,Ithoughtthattheoldmanwaspossiblystarvingandfreezing;itwaswinter,andwintersinRioGrandedoSulcanbe severe;however,totakestepstosupplytheoldmanwiththebasicnecessitiesandlookafterhimwasawholenewballgame.Wehadbetternotifysomeone,a neighbor,thepolice. "Lúcia,maybeweshould..." Butshewasn'tevenlistening.Alreadyactingonherdecision,sherantoherhouseandwasbackinajiffywithbread,achickenleg,apples;thenshebegantopress foodontheoldman.Awell­intentionedbutuselesstry.Whimpering,thecreaturekeptshakinghishead.Lúciastoodstaringathim,herforeheadcreased.Iknow,she finallysaid.Hecan'teatbecausehe'sgotnoteeth. Again,sheranhomeandreturnedwithherbabysister'sfeeding

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bottle,whichshehadfilledwithmilk.Sheinsertedthenippleintotheoldman'smouthandhebegantosuckitravenously.Theproblemissolved,shesaid,pleased. Wastheproblemsolved?Ididn'tthinkso.Howwerewegoingtolookaftertheoldman,there,inthathouseinruins?Andwithoutanybodyknowing?(ForLúciahad swornmetosecrecy:Don'ttellanyone,notevenyourbrothers.) Sheentrustedmewiththetaskofarrangingforclothesandblankets.Intheatticofmyhousetherewasachestcontainingthebelongingsofmydeadgrandfather,and that'swhereIgotholdofthoseitems.AndIeventookamattresstotheoldmaninthedeadofnight.Great,Lúciasaid.Wehavetotakegoodcareofthepoorlittle fellow. Theoldmanimprovedsomewhat.Themilkagreedwithhim,andsometimesheacceptedagratedapple,asmallbananamashedupwithsugarandcinnamon,some broth,somemashedpotatoes.Butheneverrosefromhismattress;hewasalwayslyingdown,apathetic.Andhenevertalked;wedidn'tknowwhohewas,wherehe camefrom. Lookingafterhimwasnopicnic.Hewasunabletofeedhimself;hebefouledthemattress.Wehadtochangehimtwiceaday;wewashedhisclothesathome,in secret,ofcourse,thentookthemtoanotheremptylot,agooddistanceaway,todry.Arealhassle.Frankly,Iwasfedupwiththewholething.Icouldn'twaittoget outofthissituation. Theoldmannoticedmyillwill.WheneverIwalkeduptohim,hestartedtocry;sometimeshetriedtoclawatme,ortobiteme.Lúciathoughtitfunny:Hedoesn'tlike you,shewouldsay. Helikedher.Itwasobvious.Assoonasweenteredtheroom,hewouldreachhisfleshless,punyarmstoher.Lúciawouldcuddlehim,kisshim,talktohimasifhe wereababy;sometimesshewouldlayhisheadonherlap,andtheoldmanwouldpurrcontentedly.Which

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wouldupsetandannoyme.Adirtyoldman,that'swhatIthoughthewas.Orhewouldn'tberubbinghimselfa*gainstthegirllikethat.Andthat'swhatIsaidtoLúcia: He'sadirtyoldman.Shetookoffense,andwouldn'ttalktome.Laterwemadeup,butonlyafterIapologizednotonlytoherbuttotheoldragamuffinaswell. Onedaywefoundhimdead;apparently,hehadsufferedaheartattack,orsomethinglikethat.Lúciawasinconsolable:Whynow,whenhewasgettingbetter?she keptsayingintears.Ididmybesttocomforther,thenIsawtoitthattheoldmanwasburied.Rightthere,intheemptylot.ThatnightIgotaspadefrommyhouse, thenIdugahole,intowhichIplacedthebody,wrappedinablanketthatusedtobelongtomygrandfather.Aftercoveringhimwithearth,Iputsomestonesand branchesontop,andpresto,thedeedwasdone. Manyyearslater,ahugeapartmentbuildingwaserectedonthatemptylot.Afterwegotmarried,LúciaandIwenttolivethere.Wehavetwochildren,aboyanda girl.We'reveryunhappy.SometimesLúciasaysthatourunhappinessstemsfromthefactthatweliveatoptheoldman'sbones.Idon'tthinkso.Afterall,thebuilding standstwelvestorieshigh,andweliveinthepenthouse.Manymanymetersabovegoodandevil.

Prognoses Themillionaireteobaldohashisownphysician.Thefunctionofthephysicianis,first,togiveTeobaldoamonthlycheckup;second,tofrightenhim.Tofrightenhimto death.Almosttodeath.Thetests,thephysiciansaysgloomilyafteronesuchcheckup,haverevealedcancer."Ohno,"says,Teobaldo,turningpale(agenuine,nota put­onpallor)."Andisitseriousdoctor?" "Deadly'"saysthedoctor,dryly. "HowmuchtimedoIhaveleft?Two,threeyears?"

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"Lessthanthat." "Five,sixmonths?" "Afraidnot." "Weeks,then?" "Shouldyoubesolucky." "Willtherebepain?" "Excruciating.Nothingwillallayit." Teobaldoburstsintotears.Heweepsconvulsivelyuntilsuddenly: "Itwasalie!"thedoctorcriesout. Teobaldoraiseshishead,hiseyestillbrimmingwithtears,buthe'salreadysmiling. "Alie,Doctor?Wasitallalie?" "Alie,yes.Alie." "Itwasn'tcancer?" "No." "Notevenabenigntumor?" "No.You'reinthepinkofhealth."Thephysicianextendshishands."Comeon,let'sshakeonit." Teobaldoclaspsthedoctor'shand,andthen,heleaves,lighthearted.Abouttwoweekslaterheisback,andthedoctorsays:"Yourbloodpressureiswayup,your kidneysarenotfunctioningwell.Iforeseeastrokeinthenearfuture." "Isitserious,Doctor?" "Terriblyserious.Seriousenoughtosendyoutotheintensivecareunit." "Andmychances?" "Slim.Butevenifyouweretosurvivethestroke,paralysiswillbeinevitable,you'llneverbeabletospeakagain....Reducedtoavegetable.Abedriddenvegetable." "But—" Nobuts:Ruthless,thedoctorcontinuestodescribethepicture:Spoon­fedlikeababy.Thecleansingoftheprivatepartsperformed

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reluctantlybyanorderly,abruteofanorderly,whoverylikelysayshumiliatingwordstohischarges,andevenhitsthem.Fitsofcryingfornoreason.Aburdentothe family.Whyishetakingsolongtodiewillbethequestionmostoftenaskedbyfriendsandcolleaguesattheclubbyfellowpartymembers.Thenewspaperswillhave theobituaryinreadiness. Themillionaireweepsuntil: "Itwasalie!"saysthedoctor,smiling. ThenTeobaldosmileshappily.Butamonthlaterthedoctoragain:"I'mconcerned.Thetestshaverevealedaseriousblooddisease...." Andsoitgoes.Teobaldosuffersandsuffers.Therewasatimewhenthesufferinggaveplacetoinstantaneouseuphoria,toanexceedinglyheightenedfaithinreality,to anirondispositiontosufferthereversesoflife,toanever­increasingbeliefinthevaluesofsociety.Lately,however,thishasn'tbeenthecase.Underlyingthecathartic reliefisaresidueofdisconsolation,ofdistrust,ofbitterness.WithblearyeyesTeobaldostudiesthedoctor'sfacialexpressionashediscoursesonthedegradation broughtaboutbyAlzheimer'sdisease:There'stoomuchenthusiasmonthedoctor'sface.Oneofthesedays,themillionaireisthinking,itwillbetrue.Oneofthese days,I'llbelyingonahospitalbed,weak,sick,worndowntoashadow.OneofthesedaysI'llhavetochangetoanewdoctor.

RealEstateTransactions Arealestateagentmustsellacondo.It'sasuperbapartment:afour­hundred­square­meterpenthouseinaneighteen­storybuilding,withfourbedrooms,alivingroom withwidefloorboards,aterracewithaswimmingpool,andasundeck.Buthecan'tfindabuyer:theaskingpriceistoohigh. Thentherealestateagentfindsapotentialbuyer:aman,young

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androllinginmoney.Thismanisinastateofconfusion.Heisgoingthroughamajorcrisis.Hehaswalkedoutonhiswife.Hewantstofindoutthemeaningofallthis. Thiswhat?askstherealestateagent.This,repliestheman,allthis—life,theworld,everything.Hehasalreadysearchedforananswerinbooks,hehasalreadyhad severallongconversationswithapriest,hehasconsultedapsychiatrist:invain.Inhisdespairhehasconsideredtakinghisownlifebyjumpingoutthewindowofhis twentieth­flooroffice.Notjusttodie;dyingwouldbeasideeffectofthisfall—aby­productinwhichheisnotparticularlyinterested;whathewouldlikeistofindthe meaningoflifeinthevertiginoustrajectoryleadingtotheasphalt. Therealestateagentisintriguedbywhathehasheard.Doyoubelieve,sir,heasks,thatyouwouldthenfindtheansweryou'vebeensearchingfor?Ofcourse,says theman.But,persiststherealestateagent,atwhatmomentwouldyoufindit?Atwhatdistancefromtheground?Ah,IwishIknew,repliestheman.Atone millimeterfromtheasphalt,perhaps?therealestateagentpersists.Themansmiles.Perhaps,exceptthatitwouldbeabittoolate,I'dratherhavemoretimeleft—it wouldbeniceifIcouldenjoytheanswerforatleastafewmeters.This,reasonstherealestateagent,woulddependgreatlyonthespeedofthefall;ifthefallwereto occurslowly,say,atthespeedofafallingfeather,you'dbeabletofindtheanswersooner,let'ssay,attenmetersfromtheground.Afterthinkingforawhile,theman agrees.Therealestateagentthengoeson:Butsupposethefallweretobevery,veryslow,wouldn'titbepossibleforyoutofindtheanswersoonafterjumping?I'd thinkso,saysthemanwho,beginningtograspwhattherealestateagentisgettingat,isnowallkeyedup. "Andsupposethatthefallweretobeextremelyslow,thatthefallweretoamounttopracticallymotionlessness"—therealestateagent,triumphant,isnowstandingon hisfeet"wouldn'titbepossibleforyoutofindthemeaningoflifeattheexactmomentthatsep­

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aratestheintentiontojumpofffromtheactofjumpingoff?'' "Yes!"criesouttheman,tearsstreamingdownhisface."Yes,yes!" Panting,therealestateagentsitsdownagain. "Then,"hesaysslowly,"Ihavethesolutionforyou." Openinghisbriefcase,hetakesoutaphotographofthebuildingandtheblueprints. "Fromtheterraceofthispenthousehere,you'llbeabletofindthemeaningoflife,shouldyouwishtodoso,sir." Themanwritesoutacheckforadeposit:Thedealisclosed. Dayslatertherealestateagentisabouttopayavisittohisclient,nowlivinginhisnewpenthouse.Hegetsoutofthecar—andastonished,hestopsshort.Infrontof thebuildingacrowdlookingup:Wayup,amanisstandingontheedgeoftheterrace,readytojumpoff."Jump,jump!"manyareshouting."No,don'tjump,don't!" shoutstherealestateagent,overcomebyanguish.Perhapsbecausethemoboutshoutshim,themanendsupbyjumpingoff. Therealestateagentopenshisbriefcase:Thereitis,thereceiptforthedownpaymentthathewastakingtohisclient.Withasighhetearsupthedocument.Thenhe getsintohiscarandspeedsaway,followingavirtuallyhorizontaltrajectory.

LifeandDeathofaTerrorist Fernandowokeupstartledwiththealarmclockringing.Hepressedthebuttondown,satupinbed,sighed.Sighingoncemore,hegotoutofbedanddrewthe curtainsopen.Abeautifulday,hefoundout,andheavedyetanothersigh:Beautifuldaysdidn'tagreewithhim.He'dratherhavegrayskies,whichweremore compatiblewiththeemotionalclimateheneededtocarryouthisdailyassignment.Anassignmentwhosestepshereviewedasheshaved:(1)Pickupthesmallparcel lyingonthekitchentable;(2)gotoany

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neighborhoodinthecity,pickastore,arestaurant,orsupermarket;(3)surreptitiouslyinserttheparcelintoanichesomewhere,ordropitintoagarbagecan;(4) affectinginsouciance,leavethepremisesandgointoacoffeeshopacrossthestreetfromthechosencommercialestablishment;atthemomentoftheblast,runtothe doorandwiththesameexpressionofincreduloushorrorasalltheotherbystanderswatchtheDantesquesceneofthebloodiedbodiesamidthesmolderingrubble;(5) findatelephone,thendialacertainnumber;totheusualcurthello,saynothingbutperfect.Missionaccomplished.Chalkupanotherwin. Hewassickandtiredofthewholebusiness.Buttherewasnowayhecouldgetoutofit.Ifonlyhehadchosensomeotheroccupation.Ifonlyhewere,say,abank tellerinaquietneighborhoodbank:apeaceful,pleasantjob.Butno,hehadoptedfordanger,forexcitement.So,nowhehadtobeartheconsequencesofhischoice; andoneofthetoughesttobearwasthetransformationofwhatshouldhavebeenathrillingadventureintoatediousroutine. Hegotdressed,drankcoffee,pickeduptheparcel.Beforeleaving,hecastonelastlookatthesmallapartmentwherehehadbeenlivingalonesinceheseparated fromhiswife.Withasighheleft.Hegotintohiscarinfrontofthebuildingandstartedtheengine.Beforedrivingaway,hehesitated:Where,today?Thebranchofa bank,itoccurredtohim,andhesmiledatthethought.Heheadedforadistantneighborhood,thendroveslowlyalongitstranquilstreetsuntilhearrivedatasmall bank.Heparkedandgotoutofthecar. ,greetedhisfellowworkers,andpostedhimselfatthewicket.Thesecurityguardunlockedthefrontentranceandthefirstcustomerswalkedin.Alady cameuptohim,smiling.Howareyou,DonaAmélia?heasked.Fine,SenhorFernando,you'realwayssonice.Hetookhercheckandhandedhersomemoney.And whensheputitinherpurse,hesaid:"Perfect." HEWENTIN

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Surprised,shelookedathim. "Perfect,what,SenhorFernando?" "Nothing'"hesaid,smiling."Everything.Thisday.Life.Everything,DonaAmélia.Everything'sperfect." "Youhavethesoulofapoet,"saidDonaAmélia,touched."You'relikemylatehusband.He,too,allofasuddenwouldsaybeautifulthings." Shesaidgood­byeandleft.Fernandoattendedtoafewmoreclients,thenchattedwiththemanager,andthusthemorningwentby.Atlunchtimehetooktheparcelhe hadleftunderthecounterandunwrappedit.Acheeseandhamsandwich,atwhichhestaredwithamixtureofdispleasureandsatisfaction.I'mgoingtotearthisthing topiecesinnothingflat,hemutteredandindeed,insixbiteshedevouredthewholesandwich.Perfect,hesaid,whenhefinished.

Resurrection Oneofthemwastwelveyearsold;theother,thirteen.Theyweresittingonthebeach—desertedatthathour,fiveo'clockintheafternoon.Allofasudden: "Look,there'samanoverthere'"saidthefirstboy. "Where?"Thesecondboy,whowastracinglinesonthesandwithhisfinger,raisedhisheadandlooked,butwithoutgreatinterest. "Overthere.Infrontofthesurf." "Idon'tseeanything." "There,see.Overthere.Can'tyouseehislittlehead?Nowit'sgone.Look!Nowit'sthereagain." "Idon'tseeanyhead." "Lookcarefully.Keeplooking.Itappears,thendisappears.Look,thereitisagain." "ButhowcomeIdon'tseeanything?" "Well,it'sbecause...Look,ithasappearedagain."

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"Idon'tseeanything." "Look,thereitis"persistedthefirstboy."Followthedirectionofmyarm." Theotherboywasalreadyannoyed. "Idon'tseeanything.Idon'tthinkthere'samanoutthere." Thefirstboysighed. "Butthereis.There'samanthere.NowIcanseehisarm.He'swavinghisarm." "I'llbethe'swavinggood­byetoyou." "Nowhe'sgoneagain." Theotherboyrosetohisfeet. "Oh,shucks.I'llhavetoseethisman.Evenifitmeansgoinghomeandgettingmybinoculars." Thefirstboywasgazingattheseasteadily. "Nowhe'sgone.Gone,forsure.Idon'tseeanything.Nohead,noarm,nothing." "Justnow,whenIwasgettingthebinoculars'"saystheotherboy,skeptical."Toomuchofacoincidence,isn'tit?Quiteacoincidence." Thefirstboywasn'tlistening. "He'sgone,yes.Completelygone.Notasignofhim." "Sure.AssoonasImentionedthebinoculars—" Thefirstboy,whowasyounger,madenoreply.Insilencehesatgazingatthesea. Thesecondboysatdownagain.He,too,waslookingatthesea.Insilence.Suddenly: "Lookoverthere'"hesaid,pointingtothehorizon."Look,there'samanoutthere."

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Genesis Thethreeofthem—father,mother,anddaughter—wereinarestaurant.Themothergotuptogotothewashroom.Thegirl,fouryearsold,satlookingatherfather, whowaschewingonhisfoodinsilence,adistantlookinhiseyes.Suddenly,sheasked:"Daddy,howwasIborn?" Perhapsbecausehewasabsentminded,hemadenoreply.Sheaskedagain:"Daddy,howwasIborn?" Helookedatherbutmadenoreply.Hehelpedhimselftosomemorerice.Shepersisted. "Daddy,howwasIborn?" Puttingdownhisforkandknife,hesatthinkingforafewmoments."You'dbettereatandstopaskingsomanyquestions'"hesaid. "Idon'twanttoeat.IwanttoknowhowIwasborn." "Well."Hetookasipofbeer."Doyoureallywanttoknow?" "Yes." "Itwaslikethis:FirstDaddymetMummy,helikedher,andtheygotmarried.Therewasabeautifulweddingparty." "WasIthere?" "No.Youweren'tbornyet.Andthat'swhatIwasabouttotellyou:DaddyandMummygotmarried.Thentheywantedalittledaughter.AfterawhileDaddybeganto feelastrangethingonhisback.Mummytookalookandsaid:Youhavealittlemolethere." "Awhat?" "Alittlemole.Alittlelump.Averytinylump.Daddyignoredit;butthetinylumpstartedtogrow,sohewenttothedoctor." "Mydoctor?" "No.Anotherdoctor.Hesaiditwasnothing,andtoldmetorubonitsomeoftheointmentthatheprescribed." "LiketheoneMummyrubsonme?"

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"Yes.ExceptthatinDaddy'scase,itdidn'twork:Thelumpkeptgrowinguntilitbecamethesizeofaball." "Asbigasmyball?" "Bigger.BythenDaddywasquitescared.Hewentbacktothedoctor,whoorderedanXray." "What'sthat?" "It'sakindofpicturethatshowswhat'sinsidepeople.Butletmefinishthestory,willyou?AsIwassaying,theytooktheXrayandthedoctorsaid:Hmm,there'sa tinycreatureinthere,it'ssmallbutit'sgoingtogetbigger." "Anddiditgetbigger?" "Itdid.TheswellinggotsobigthatDaddycouldhardlywalk.Hehadtolieonhisside.Andhegrewthinnerandthinner.Thebiggertheswellinggrew,thesmaller Daddygrew.ItlookedasifDaddywasgoingtodisappear." "Anddidyoudisappear?" "No.Don'tyouseeI'mrighthere?Ididn'tdisappear.Onenightthathugeswellingburstopen,andalittlegirlsprungout.Itwasyou.That'showyouwereborn." "Ah,"murmuredthegirl.Themotherwasbackfromthewashroom."Whathavethetwoofyoubeenchattingabout?"sheasked,smiling. "Iwastellingourdaughterhere,"hereplied,"thatwefoundherinsideaheadoflettuce.Isn'tthatright,daughter?" "Yes,"shesaid.Loweringherheadoverherplate,shebegantoeat.

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VANGOGH'SEAR[1989]

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ThePlagues TheWatersareTurnedtoBlood Ourlifewasregulatedbyaseeminglyeternalandimmutablecycle.Periodically,thewatersofthegreatriverwouldrise,inundatingthefieldsalmostasfarasour house;afterwardtheywouldrecede,leavingacoatoffertileslimeuponthesoil.Itwasthentheplantingseason.Wewouldplowtheland,sowthewheat,andmonths later,thegoldenspikeswouldbeswayinginthesun. Andthencametheharvestseason,andtheharvestfestival,andagainthefloods.Yearafteryear. Wewerehappy.Occasionallywehadproblems:anillnessinthefamily,oraquarrel,butbyandlarge,wewerehappy,ifhappyistherightadjectivetoqualifyalife withoutmajorworriesorfears.Ofcourse,wewerepoor;thereweremanythingsthatwedidnothave.Butwhatwelackeddidnotseemimportanttous. Thereweresixofusinthesmallhouse:myparents,mytwobrothers,mysister,andI.Allofusdevotedourselvestoouragriculturaltasks.LaterIwastolearnthe craftofwriting;itwasmyfather'swish;Ithinkthathewantedmetotellthisstory,sohereitis. Oneafternoonwehappenedtobestrolling,aswasourwont,alongtheriverbankwhenmysisternoticedsomethingstrange.Lookatthecolorofthewater,shesaid.I lookedandatfirstIsawnothingunusual.Thewaterwasmuddy,forourriverwasnotoneofthosemountainbrookswithcrystallinewatersthatrunfriskilyamidthe stones;itwasamightywatercoursethatcamefromfaraway,flowingsluggishly,anddraggingwithitthesoilofthebanks(butwhatdidwe

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care?Itwasnotoursoil);ahugeanimal,quietbutpowerful,thisriver,whichhadoverthecenturiesgainedtherighttoitswidebed.Itwasbynomeansabeautiful river;butthenwedidnotwantittobeautifythelandscape—wewantedittointegrateitselfintothecycleofourlives,ofourwork,andinthisrespect,itfitthebill. Therewasnoneedforustocontemplateitinecstasy.Oursecretgratitudewasenough. Buttherewasindeedsomethingstrange.Thecolorofthewaterstendedtowardredratherthantowardtheusualocher.Red?Ithadnopartinourlives.Therewas nothingredaroundus;noredflowers,forinstance.Asamatteroffact,flowersweresomethingweneverplanted.Wecouldnotallowourselvessuchindulgences.On theotherhand,itistruethatsometimesatsunset,theskywaspaintedinvariouscolors,scarletbeingoneofthem.Butbythattimewewerealreadybackhome.We wenttobedearly. Mysister(onedayshemightbeacknowledgedasanexponentofthenewscientificspirit),halted.Surprised,therestofushaltedtoo.Thenleavingusbehind,leaving behindthefamiliargroup,herownfamily,thefleshofherflesh,thebloodofherblood(attention,here:thebloodofherblood)—shemovedforward,asvivaciousas ever,andenteredtheriver.Shestoopeddowntopickupsomething,whichshethenexaminedattentivelybeforebringingittous. "Whatisit?"askedFather,andInoticedthefurrowinhisbrow;afurrowthatrarelyappearedbutwhenitdid,itwasanominoussign,aswerecertainblackbirdsthat sometimeswouldflutterovertheregion,invariablyheraldingthedeathofoneofourrareneighbors. "Don'tyoupeopleknowwhatitis?"repliedmysister,withthatsuperiorsmileofhersthatsoirritatedMother:Thisgirlthinkssheknowseverything,butshestillhasn't foundawayoffreeingusfrompoverty."It'saclot.Abloodclot." Strange:abloodclotfloatingonthewatersofourriver.Father,whoalwaysfeltthathewasunderanobligationtoprovideanexpla­

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nation(logical,ifatallpossible)foreverything,suggestedthatitmightbethebloodofananimalthathadperhapsbeenimmolatedintheriver.Therearesuperstitious people,heassuredus,whor*sorttosuchpracticestocontrolnature,hopingtoharmonizethefluxandrefluxoftheriverwiththeplantingseason.Sheernonsense, explicableintermsoftheeternalwarpednotionsofhumanbeings. Yes—butwhataboutthecoloringofthewater?Aboutthis,hedidnotsayanything,andneitherdidweask. Wereturnedhome.MysisterandIwerewalkingsidebyside,insilence.Thenallofasudden:Fatheriswrong,shesaid,andIwasseizedwithfear.Adaughter talkinglikethisaboutherfather?Agirlwho,strictlyspeaking,shouldstayhometohelphermother,andwhoonlycametothefieldsasaspecialprivilegeaccordedto herbytheheadofthefamily?Butunawareofmyperturbation,shewenton:Withoneofthosegadgetscapableofmagnifyingthesizeofthingsenormously,shesaid, wewouldseecorpusclesofvarioussizes.Somearereddish,andtheycancoloraliquid;othersarewhitish. "Inotherwords,"sheconcluded,staringatmefixedly,"theriverhasbeenturnedtoblood." Blood!Yes,itwasbloodandIhadknownitallalong.Exceptthat,unlikeher,Ihadnothadthenervetouttertheword,farlesssayitwithsuchconfidenceand easiness.Blood! Fathereitherhadnotheardorhepretendedthathehadnot.Butonthefollowingdays,evenhehadtoadmitthattherewasinfactatransformation.Theriverthat flowedbeforeuswasariverofblood.Andtherewasnopossibleexplanationforthisfact.Notevenfromtheveinsofalltheanimalsintheworld,slaughtered simultaneously,couldsuchatorrentgushout.Wewereconfrontinganextraordinaryandterrifyingphenomenon.Motherweptdayandnight,convincedthattheend wasnear. Myolderbrother,apractical­mindedlad(andperhapsforthisreason,Father'sfavorite),thoughtthatwecouldtakeadvantageof

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thesituationbysellingthebloodtoforeignarmies,foraseverybodyknows,hemorrhagewasacommoncauseofdeathamongbadlywoundedsoldiers.However,this wasnotgoingtobepossible:Eveninthewatersoftheriver,andattheslightestmanipulationorturbulation,thebloodimmediatelycoheredinclots.Ofacolossalsize. Everysooften,wesawmonkeysperchedonthem. Fatherdidnotlethimselfbecomediscouraged.Helostnotimeintryingtofindasolutiontotheproblem.Beforelong,hediscoveredthathecouldgetclearwaterby diggingwellsalongthebankoftheriver;itseemedthatthesandofthebankfilteredouttheblood(alloftheblood?Eventhoseelementaryparticlesthatmysisterhad beentalkingabout?Ididn'tdaretoaskher.Neitherdidshesayanythingaboutthismatter.Theparticlesinquestionwereaddedtothelistofembarrassingmatters, neververbalized,thatexistineveryfamily,toagreaterorlesserextent.Unutteredwordshaunthomeslikespecters,especiallyonstiflingnightswhenpeople,their eyeswideopen,unabletosleep,lookfixedlyatthesamepointintheceiling.Attheveryplacewhere,intheattic,askeletonremainsunburied). Webuiltacistern.Dayandnight,withoutstopping,wewouldpourewersofwaterintoit.Andthuswehadenoughwatertodrink,tocook,toirrigatethecropsuntil onedaythewatersoftheriverbegantoclearup.Thebloodclotsdisappeared.Apparently,thingsweregettingbacktonormal.We'vewon,Fathershoutedas Motherweptforjoy. TheFrogs Asitturnedout,Father'sexultationwaspremature.Oneday,afrogappearedinourkitchen.Frogswerenotararesightintheregion,andthatonewasanabsolutely ordinaryfrog,ofasizeandappearancenormalinsuchbatrachians.Itwassurprising,though,thatithadventuredthisfar;however,thefactmeritedonlyagood­hu­

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moredremarkonthepartofFather.Onthatsamedaywecameuponseveralotherfrogsinthecultivatedfields;anddownbytheriverthereweredozensofthem croakingendlessly.Thiswasnowratherintriguingbut,asFatherstated,stillwithinthenormallimits,consideringthatwidevariationsarenotunusualinnatural phenomena. Still,itwasanawfullotoffrogs....Andonthefollowingdaystheirnumberincreasedevenmore.Thesituationwasbecomingunpleasant.Itwasimpossibletowalk withouttramplingonfrogs;atmealtimes,wehadtoremovethemfromthetablesothatwecouldeat;andatnight,wefoundtheminourcots. Butevenso,wedidnotloseoursenseofhumor.Myyoungerbrotherevenadoptedoneofthebatrachiansasapet.Forseveraldays,hetookthelittlefrogwithhim everywherehewent;hewouldfeeditfliesandrockittosleep.Onenightthefrogranaway;itwasimpossibletotellitapartfromthethousands,millionsofotherfrogs thatwerenowleapinghere,there,andeverywhere.Fatherwouldlaughattheboy'sdistress,butMotherwasnotamused:removingsomanyfrogsfromthehousewas gettingtobequiteachore. Myolderbrotherwasalreadythinkingofturningthesituationtoouradvantage.Therearepeoplethateatfrogs,heassuredus.Themeathasdelicateflavor,it'slike chicken. ''Ofcourse,wecanuseonlythethighs,butifwewashthemquicklyincoldwater;ifwesteeptheminamarinadeofwinewithnutmegandpepper;ifwesoakthemin milk;ifwecoatthemwithflour;ifwefrytheminbutter;andfinally,ifwearrangethemonaplatter,we'llhave,I'msure,adeliciousdish.Actually,it'sjustamatterof promotingtherecipesskillfullyandofmarketingtheproductproperlyinordertoovercomeanatural,butinexplicable,repugnanceonthepartofthepublic." Itseemedlikeagoodplan,butitwasimpossibletocarryitout.Theentireregionwashavinganinvasionoffrogs;peopledidnotwanttohearaboutthebatrachians, muchlesseatthem.Finally,Fa­

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therbecameirritated.Thisisallthegovernment'sdoings,hesaid;thepoliticiansdon'tcareahootaboutus,theyonlythinkofthefarmerswhenit'stimeforthemto collecttaxesfromus. AsifinreplytoFather'scomplaints,onthefollowingdayarepresentativefromthegovernmentshowedup.Weknewhim:Heusedtobeaneighborofours,aman nicknamedtheGimpbecauseofadefectinoneofhislegs.Beingunabletowork,thismandevotedhimselftowitchcraft.True,withoutmuchsuccess,butsincehehad influentialconnections,hehadobtainedahigh­rankingpostinthecentraladministrationofthegovernment.Andnowhehadbeensentdownourwaytofindoutabout thesituation. Wefollowedhimasheploddedpainfullyalongsidetheriver,attimestrippingoverthebatrachiansheapedonthesand.Somanyfrogs,hekeptexclaiming,amazed,so manyfrogs! "Well?"askedFather,impatient,attheendoftheinspection."Cananythingbedoneaboutit?" "Certainly."Hesmiled."Justastheyappeared,theycandisappear." "Andwhatmadethemappear?"Fatherpersisted. "Don'tyouthenknow?"heasked,surprised."It'sacurse.Putonusbytheworkerswhoareerectingthemonuments.Theyareoutraged;andtheysaythattheirgodis punishingus.Us,thepowerful!Suchgalltheyhave!" Fatherwasperplexed.Heneverinvokedthedeities,forhethoughtthatdoingsowouldbeunfair.Hebelievedthathumanbeingshadtosurvivebymeansoftheirown strength,withoutthehelpofmysteriousentities.Besides:we,powerful?Wewhoalwaystoiledarduously,wewhoneverexploitedanybody?Perplexedandoutraged, Fatherstoodthere.Thewizardpromisedthatthefrogswouldbeeradicatedwithinashortperiodoftime,apromisethatpacifiedFathersomewhat,butleftmykid brotherdisconsolate.Burstingintotears,heaskedthemantosparehispetfrog,whereveritwas.Themanpromisedtotakehisrequestintoconsideration.Hedidnot.

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Mosquitoes,Flies Thefrogsdisappeared,butafewdaysaftertheyweregone,cloudsofmosquitoesinvadedtheregion,attackingusfiercely.Wecouldnotwork,wecouldnotsleep; themosquitoesgaveusnorespite.Mysisterputforththehypothesisofanenvironmentaldisequilibrium(thefrogs,shesaid,haddevouredthemosquitoes;afterthe killingofthebatrachians,theinsectsbegantoproliferate),andmyolderbrotherwasthinkingofmarketinganinsectrepellentmadefromcowdung—butFatherwas sickandtiredofexplanationsanddaringprojects.Hekeptkillingthemosquitoeswithhisbighands: "I'llshowthisgod!I'llshowhim!" Itwasallinvain.Whenthemosquitoesfinallydisappeared,thefliescame—hugegadfliesthatbuzzedincessantlyaroundus.Theydidnotstingus,buttheytormented usjustasmuchasthemosquitoeshad. "Whydon'ttheyletthemgo?"Motherwouldask,anguished.Shewasreferringtothosepeoplethatwerebuildingthemonuments.We,thechildren,thoughtthat lettingthemgowouldbealogicalarrangement,butFatherwasbecomingincreasinglymoreindignant.No,hedidnotwantthemtogo;hedidnotevenknowthem,but hewantedthemtostay;nowhewantedthemtostay. "Toseehowfarthisgodoftheirswillgo.Justtoseehowfarhe'llgo.Blood,frogs,mosquitoes,flies,Iwanttoseehowfarhe'llgo,"hewouldsaywhilefuriously milkingthecows(wehadtwo),whichkepttossingtheirtailsinavainattempttoprotectthemselvesfromthepertinaciousgadflies. Pestilence Onemorningoneofthecowswasfounddead.ThistimeMotherlostherpatience.Shestartedtoscreamatherhusband,accusing

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himofhavingmistreatedtheanimal,thuscausingitsdeath.Fathersaidnothing.Hewasstaringfixedlyathisownarm,wherehesawthefirstinaseriesof Tumors Couldtherebealinkbetweentheman'sgazeandthetumor?Couldtheintenseemotionofthatfixedstare,inwhichhatredanddefiance,bitterness,andevenirony wereblendedtogether(invariableproportionsdependingontheparticularmoment)haveinducedapathologicalprocessintheintegumentofthisman,aprocessthat initiallymanifesteditselfasapainfulbump,whichsoonturnedintoafetidulcer?Mysisterdidnothaveananswertothisquestion;neithershenoranyoneelse.Asfor Father,heremainedsilent.Evenwhenthelesionsspreadalloverhisbody,evenwhentheybegantoappearinhiswifeandchildren,hestillsaidnothing.Clampinghis jawsshut,hewouldsettoworkwithavengeance,plowingandsowingandpullingouttheweedswithfury.Inspiteofeverything,thewheatwasgoingtothrive;in spiteofeverything,therewasgoingtobeabumpercrop.Orsowehopeduntilwewerestruckby Hail Ithappenedunexpectedly:oneafternoon,heavycloudsobscuredthesun,thewindbegantoblow—andallofasudden,wewerepeltedwithpebblesofice,someas bigasaclenchedfist.Partofthewheatfieldwasdestroyed.Father,immobile,hisexpressionsomber,seemedbewilderedbythisdisaster.Forhowmuchlonger,my sisterheardhimsay,forhowmuchlonger?And,wehadtoadmit,evenanexpertinweatherforecastwouldbeunabletoprovideasatisfactoryanswertothis question.Moreover,thenextplaguehadnothingtodowithmeteorology.Soonwewouldbeconfrontingthe

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Grasshoppers! Thedaysgoby,andoneafternoonweareallsittinginfrontofourhouse,whenaneighborcomesrunningtous.Gaspingforbreath,hebreaksthenewstous:The grasshoppersarecoming.Animmensecloud,drivenbythestrongwindthatisblowingfromthesouth.Yetanotherplague! Fatherrisestohisfeet.Onhisface,anexpressionofdetermination: "That'senough!That'snowenough!" We'regoingtoputupafight,hedecides.Witheverypowerwehave,we'regoingtofightthedesignsofthisgodwhomwedon'tknow,whomwedon'tworship,and whohasbeenusingusforhisownobscurepurposes.Whoisthisgod,afterall?Fathercriesout,andhisvoiceechoesinthedistance.Withnoreply. Hedevisesaplanofaction.Aboutgods,heknowsnothing;buthedoesknowallthereistoknowaboutgrasshoppers.Voraciousinsectsthatcanfinishoffwhatisleft ofthewheatfieldinnotimeflat.We'vegottopreventthemfromalighting.How?Bymakingnoise,saysFather.Anawfullotofnoise,withoutanyletup.Thenoisewill frightenthegrasshoppersaway.Thenoisewillsaveusfromthisevil. Atdawnonthefollowingdaywepositionourselvesontheedgeofthecultivatedfield.Insinglefile,immobile,facingsouth:Mother,thefirstborn,myself,mysister,the babyofthefamily.Eachofusholdingabowl(fivealtogether:allwe'vegot)andastone.Westandthere,immobile;onlythewindrufflesourhair.HowdoIknow this?Well,it'struethatthewindisrufflingtheirhair:mysiblings',mymother's,myfather's;butIcan'tseethewindrufflingmine,no,thisIcan't.Idofeelsomethingon myscalp,though:itcouldbethewindrufflingmyhair;butitcouldbeanerrorofjudgment,formyhairiscutshort,muchshorterthantheirs(Iliketowearitclosely cropped)anditisstiff:ofcourse,itisbadlyinneedofawash.Itcouldbean

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errorofjudgmentcausedbymydesiretohavethewindrufflemyhairthewayitisrufflingtheirs.Oritcouldbemyanxiety....Inshort,Ihavebeenseizedbydoubt, andIbelieve(inasmuchasitispossibleforaskeptictobelieve)thatthisdoubtwillneverrelinquish*tsholdonme.Godhassucceededincarryingouthisdesigns. Father,hisforeheadcreased,reviewshissmallarmy.Hecountsonus;orheimaginesthathecancountonus,thatwearewithhim.Arewe?Speakingformymyself: Iam.ButamIreally?Entirely?Completely?Butwhatabouttheseindefinablefeelings?Andwhatabouttheseharrowingdoubts?Godnowdwellsinme.Insidemehe willgrow,andhewillprosper,andhewilltriumph.Iamlost.Wearelost. Welooksouthward.Southwardandupward.Fatherisnowstandingbymyside.Icanonlylookathimsideways;Ican'tlookhimintheeye,butIcanguessthe multiplecomponentspresentinhisgaze:Hatred.Bitterness.Disbelief.Mockery.Helplessness. "Why?"isaquestion,amongmanyothers,heldwithinthisgaze.Amute,agonizedquestion. Allofasudden,adryrustling.Myhair,Icanfeelit(orIthinkIcan),standsonend.Anxious,Iscanthehorizon;there,adarkcloudbeginstoemerge:Thinandsmall atfirst,itsoongrowsbiggeranddenser.It'sthegrasshoppers.Carriedbythewarmwind. Ittakesthembutafewminutestogetwherewestand.Anightmare,thosebillionsofinsectsbuzzingaroundus. "Noise!"Fathershoutsout,buthisvoiceismuffledbythefrightfuldroneofthegrasshoppers."Noise!" Sonoiseiswhatwemake,bangingawayonourbowlsasifpossessed.Butitisinvain:thecloudofgrasshoppershasalreadyalighted,andthegroundiscoveredwith amovingmass. "Thewheatfield!"shoutsFather.Werunthere,andwithourhandsandfeetwetrytoremovethecreatures.Beforelong,however,wegiveup;theentirefieldof wheat,orwhatwasleftofitafterthe

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hail,hasalreadybeendevoured—spikes,leaves,stems,everything.Thebabyofthefamily,amused,laughsandclapshishands;inhisinnocence,hethinksthatitisall agame.Pipedown,bellowsmyolderbrother,andbugoff.Lethimhavesomefun,shoutsMotheramidtheinfernalnoiseofthegrasshoppers.He'sachild,he's innocent.Andatleastoneofusisnotsuffering.Mybrother,fullofdistrust(suchistheconsequenceofthiscalamity:ason,andtheeldestonetoo,beginstodistrust hisownmother),makesnoreply.Hecontinuestobangonhisbowl,alreadybadlybattered. Mysisterpicksuponeoftheinsects,andproceedstoexamineit,oblivioustowhatishappeningaroundher. "Yes,"shemurmurs,"they'regrasshoppersalright.But..." "Butwhat?"Iyell,impatient."Whatnewdiscoveryhaveyoumade?Isitofanysignificance?" Mysistershakesherhead. "Idon'tknow.Theydolookoddtome,thesecreatures." Fatherdrawscloser.Ashen­faced,helooksatus.Heshiversasifhehadafever,histeethchatter.Heasksmysistersomething;shedoesn'tunderstand.Herepeats hisquestion:Hewantstoknowifgrasshoppersareedible.Alarmed,mysisterandIexchangeglances—coulditbethatthislatesttragedyhasmadehimlosehismind? Butsheisnotonetolosehersangfroidinasituationlikethis:Yes,shereplieswarily,therearepeopleintheSouthwhoeatgrasshoppers. Fatherthenscoopsupahandfulofgrasshoppers,andbeginstodevourthem.Heexhortsustodothesame:Eat,eatwhiletheystillhaveourwheatinsidethem.We avertoureyesfromthisscene.Fatherstartsvomiting:Let'stakehimhome,saysmyolderbrotherinanimperativetoneofvoice.Thevoiceofsomeonetakingcontrol: Afatherthatquailsbeforegrasshoppers,afatherthatvomits(albeitafteringestingtheinsects)isnotworthyoftrust.Hecannotheadafamily.Followingourbrother, wemarchtowardourhouse.Thebaby

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ofthefamilyisquiet,strangelyquiet.Heis,aslaterIwilldeduce,thebearerofoneofthosesecretpremonitionsthatsometimesbefallyoungchildren,enablingthemto foresee,severaldaysinadvance,the TheDeathoftheFirstborn DuringthedayswhenFather,deliriousfromahighfever,wasconfinedtobed,myolderbrothertookchargeofthefamily.Hewouldmilktheonlycowwehadleft, anddistributethemilkamonguswhileexpoundingonhisplans:Heintendedtoburythedeadgrasshoppers,andinthiswayfertilizethesoil;laterhewasgoingto installawatermilltogrindthewheatandthenexporttheflourthusproducedtofar­offregions.Andhewascountingonustohelphimcarryoutthisintensiveprogram ofwork. Inthemeantime,Fatherrecoveredfromhisillness.Heresumedhisplaceattheheadofthetable(eventhoughtherewasnofoodtoeat);andagainhewasorderingus aroundinhisbooming,authoritativevoice.Whichmyolderbrothercouldnotaccept.Hesimplycouldnotreconcilehimselftothesituation.Stubbornly,herefusedto obey;oneday,inthepresenceofthewholefamily,Fathercursedhim.Affronted,mybrotherdemandedaretraction.AndsinceFatherwouldnotcomplywithhis demand,helefttheroom,slammingthedoorbehindhim.Onthefollowingdayamessengerarrivedwiththenews:Allthefirstbornweredoomed.TheAngelofDeath wouldsoonbepassingthroughinordertosmitethemwithhissword.Allofushappenedtobeatthetableatthetime;thereactionofmyolderbrotherwas astonishing.Atremble,herosetohisfeet,hiseyesbulging: "Whyme?Whyme,whenI'vealwayshelpedaroundthehouse,whenI'vealwayslookedaftermybrothersandsister?WhyshouldIdie?Isitfair?Tellme:isitfair?" Thebabyofthefamilywaslaughing,thinkingitwasallinfun

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(andinfact,myolderbrotherwasalwaysveryplayfulwithhim).Fatherremainedquietandmotionless;asformysisterandme,weavertedoureyes.Myolder brotherthenranintoMother'sarms,andburstingintotears,hecriedconvulsivelyfor...howlong?Idon'tknow.Ididn'tpaymuchattentiontothepassageoftime then,tothedaysthatkeptflowingslowlyandheavilylikethelogsthatdrifteddowntheriver.Buthemusthavecriedforalongtime.Suddenlyheraisedhisheadand staredatusinachallengingway.I'mnotgoingtosurrender,hesaid.I'mnotgoingtodiewithoutputtingupafight.Thenheopenedthedoorandleftthehouse.He waseighteenyearsold. Hedidnotreturnhomethatday;nordidhereturnonthefollowingday.Hadherunaway?HadhebeenstruckbytheAngelofDeath,likealeapingdeerfelledbya spear?Ourfearsdidnotmaterialize:Hereturnedatnightfall,exhaustedbutseethingwithexcitement.Hehad,heannounced,somethingofgreatimportancetoimpart: Hehaddiscoveredawayofevadingsuredeath. "Yes,theAngelofDeathwillsmiteeveryfirstbornchild.Buthewillpassoverthehouseswhosedoorwaysaremarkedwiththebloodofananimalkilledasa sacrifice." Westoodlookingathim.Thebabyofthefamily,veryastounded.MysisterandI,ratherastounded.FatherandMother—well,Idon'tknow;iftheywereastounded, theydidnotmanifesttheirastonishment.Butregardlessofthedegreeofindividualastonishment,weallstoodtheremotionless,oureyesfixedonhim.He: "Butcan'tyouunderstand?"heshouted."I'msafe.Practicallysafe!" Practically:Itwaswhathesaid.LateronIevencheckedwithmysister,whoconfirmed:yes,hedidsaypracticallysafe.AndeversincethatmomentIhavebeen wonderingifitcouldhavebeenthewordpractically—whichatthetimestruckmeasratherunusual,evenstrangeandsuspicious,awordtingedwithmalignity(the subsequent

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eventsweretoconfirmthisunfavorableimpression;onlyrecently,afterIbecamemorefamiliarwithwordsandcertainfactsoflife,haveIbeenabletoaccept, althoughwithsomenervousness,theadverb.Practically!Ishudder)—Ihavebeenwondering,asIwassaying,ifitcouldhavebeenthisword,soodd,tosaythe least,ifnotsinister,asIhavesaidearlier—ifitcouldhavebeenthisword,thispracticallythatprecipitatedeverything:because,allofasudden,heranuptomyfather, grabbedhimbytheshoulders,andstartedtoshakehim(hewasstrong,thislad,exceptthathisstrengthwasofnohelptohim): "I'msafe,Father!Allyouhavetodoistosacrificeananimal.Killthecow.Collectthebloodinapail,thenpourthebloodoverourdoor.Useplentyofblood,allofit, sothattheAngelofDeathwillhavenodoubtaboutit;sothathewillpassoverourhouse;sothathewillgoaway;sothathewillspareme!" Theystoodgazingateachotheratthatmoment.Whatkindofa*gazeitwas(theson's,thefather's),Ihadnowayofknowing.Theywerestandinginprofiletome.I couldseetheirnoses,theircompressedlips;butIcouldnotseetheireyes.IfIwereendowedwithanunusualimagination,Icouldhavemadetheirgazevisible(inthe form,say,ofluminousraysvaryingincolorandintensity),butevenso,howtointerprettheexpressionintheireyes?Andwhatismore—intheperfectsuperpositionof theluminousradiations,howtotellapartthelookofthefatherfromthelookoftheson?Howtofittheexpressionintheireyesintothecomplexclassificationof feelingsandemotionsdevisedbyhumanbeings,especiallywhenatthetimeIwasfarfrombeingfamiliarwithsuchclassification?EvenifIhadbeenfacetofacewith myfatherandmybrother,Idon'tthinkIwouldhavebeenabletodescribetheexpressionintheireyesadequately.Actually,Idon'tevenknowiftheywereinfact lookingateachother.Theywerestandingfacetoface;butoneofthem,theoldermanortheyoungerman,couldhavebeenwatchingthesouth,

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couldhavebeenwatchingthenorth,couldhavebeenwatchingthespotfromwheretheAngelofDeathwouldsupposedlycome.Butwhowouldbecapableof identifyingthecomponentsofsuchalook?Ortoputitinadifferentway:Howdoesapersonwaitfordeath(ingeneral)?Howdoesapersonwaitfordeath,whenitis hisowndeath?Howdoesapersonwaitfordeath,whenitisthedeathofhisfirstborn?Afatherlookingatasonwhoisabouttodie,asonlookingatafatherwhowill dielater—whoiscapableofdescribingsuchagaze?Sucharethedilemmasthatappearintimesofplagues. Thefirstbornloosenedhisgrip,andhisarmsfelltohissides,helpless.Youarenotgoingtokillthecow,hemumbled.Yes,itwasmorethanasupposition,itwasan assertion,butwhatthehelldidhemean?Thatwewereunwillingtosavehislife?Thatweshouldnotkillthecow,nowouronlysourceofnourishment?Thatheloved thecow,whosemilkhehaddrunkeversincehewasachild?Inshort,whatwashetalkingabout? Weneverknew.Withoutasigh,hecollapsedheavilytothefloor.Fatherstilltriedtocatchhiminhisfall,buthesimplycouldnotholdhim:Hewastoofrail.Nobody hadeverobtainedpropernourishmentfromgrasshoppers. Weburiedourbrotheronthefollowingmorning.Aswelearnedlater,hewasnottheonlyfirstbornthatwasburiedthatday.But—itwasthelastoftheplaguesto afflictus.Sincethen,nogodhasbotheredus;atleastnotsignificantly;nowandthentherehasbeenacropfailure,oraminordisaster,butnothingserious.Nothing serious.Onecouldsaythefollowing(anditisnotoneofthemostpompousstatementsthatapersoncanusetoendanarrative):Lifefollowsitscourseinaseemingly eternalcycle.

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Don'tThinkAboutIt,Jorge ''I'mgrowingold,Zilda.Oldandfrail.IfeelIwon'tlastmuchlonger." "Don'tthinkaboutit,Jorge.Thinkaboutthegoodthingsinlife." Thesestomachpains.Itmustbecancer.Thedoctorsaysitisn't,butIthinkhe'sdeceivingme.Itmustbecancer,Zilda." "Don'tthinkaboutit,Jorge.Thinkaboutthehappymomentswe'vespenttogether." "Iknowit'scancer,Zilda.I'veseenlotsofpeopledieofthisdisease.It'saterribledeath,Zilda.Youwasteawaylittlebylittle." "Don'tthinkaboutit,Jorge.Thinkaboutyourjob.Thinkaboutyourcolleagues,andaboutyourboss,who'ssofondofyou." "First,youstartlosingweight.I'malreadylosingweight.I'velostfivekilogramsthisyear.Asamatteroffact,thisyearhasgonebysofast.Amazing,isn'tit,howthe yearsgobysofast.Howthedays,thehours,gobysofast.Whenyounotice,it'salreadynight.Whenyounotice,themonthisover.Whenyounotice,lifehascome toanend." "Don'tthinkaboutit,Jorge.Thinkaboutyourbowlingbuddies;they'reacheerful,fun­lovingbunch." "Itwon'tbelongbeforeIhavetobehospitalized.Andonceinthehospital,Zilda,peoplecashintheirchipsprettyfast.Ithinkit'sbecausetheyfeelsohelpless. Helplessnessisterrible." "Don'tthinkaboutit,Jorge.Thinkaboutyourchildren.ThinkaboutRosaHelena,aboutZe.ThinkaboutMarquinhos,Jorge." "I'mafraidofdying,Zilda.I'mashamedoffeelingthisway,afterall,I'vehadalonglife,butthetruthis,I'mafraidofdying.Idon'tbelievethere'slifebeyondthegrave. Ithinkeverythingendsinthetomb.Thefleshdetachesitselffromthebones,thehairfallsoff,theskullbecomesexposed.Thisisdeath,Zilda.Thisiswhatdeathis like." "Don'tthinkaboutit,Jorge.Thinkaboutyourvegetablegarden.

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Thinkaboutyourchickens,Jorge.Thinkaboutahenincubatinghereggs,Jorge." "Ahenwithcancer,Zilda?" "Whynot,Jorge,whynot."

VanGogh'sEar Wewere,asusual,onthebrinkofruin.Myfather,theownerofasmallgrocerystore,owedasubstantialamountofmoneytooneofhissuppliers.Andtherewasno wayhecouldpay. ButifFatherwasshortofmoney,hecertainlywasn'tlackinginimagination.Hewasanintelligent,cultivatedmanwithacheerfuldisposition.Hehadn'tfinishedschool; fatehadconfinedhimtoamodestgrocerystorewhere,amidbaloneysandsausages,hebravelyrepulsedtheattacksofexistence.Hiscustomerslikedhimbecause, amongotherreasons,hegrantedthemcreditandneverexactedpayment.Withhissuppliers,however,itwasadifferentstory.Thoseaggressivegentlemenwanted theirmoney.ThemantowhomFatherhappenedtoowemoneyatthatpointintimewasknownasbeingaparticularlyruthlesscreditor. Anyotherpersonwouldhavebeendriventodespairunderthecirc*mstances.Anyotherpersonwouldhaveconsideredrunningaway,orevencommittingsuicide. NotFather,though.Alwaystheoptimist,hewasconvincedthathewouldfindawayofdealingwithhiscreditor.Thismanmusthaveaweakness,hewouldsay,and that'showwe'regoingtogethim.Bymakingsomeinquirieshereandthere,Fatherdugupsomethingpromising.Thiscreditor,whotoallappearanceswasaboorish andinsensitiveman,hadasecretpassionforVanGogh.Hishousewasfullofreproductionsoftheworkofthegreatpainter.Andhehadseenthemovieaboutthe tragiclifeoftheartist,withKirkDouglasinthestarringrole,atleasthalfadozentimes.

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FatherborrowedabiographyofVanGoghfromthelibraryandspentawholeweekendimmersedinthebook.Then,lateonSundayafternoon,thedoorofhis bedroomopenedandheemerged,triumphant: "I'vefoundit!" Takingmeaside—attheageoftwelveIwashisconfidantandaccomplice—hethenwhispered,hiseyesglittering: "VanGogh'sear.Hisearwillsaveus." Whatarethetwoofyouwhisperingaboutoverthere?askedMother,whodidn'thavemuchtoleranceforwhatshecalledtheshenanigansofherhusband.Nothing, nothing,repliedFather,andthentome,loweringhisvoice,I'llexplainlater. Whichhedid.Asthestorywent,VanGoghhadcuthisearoffinafitofmadnessandthensentittohisbeloved.ThisfactledFathertodeviseascheme:Hewouldgo tohiscreditorandtellhimthathisgreat­grandfather,theloverofthewomanwithwhomVanGoghhadfalleninlove,hadbequeathedhimthemummifiedearofthe painter.Fatherwaswillingtolethiscreditorhavethisrelicinexchangeforthecancellationofhisdebtandthegrantingofadditionalcredit."Whatdoyouthink?" Motherwasright:Helivedinanotherworld,inafantasyworld.However,themainproblemwasn'ttheabsurdityofhisidea;afterall,sincewewereinsuchdire straits,anythingwasworthatry.Rather,itwassomethingelsethatwasopentoquestion. "Butwhatabouttheear?" "Theear?"Helookedatmeastounded,asifthematterhadnevercrossedhismind.Yes,Isaid,VanGogh'sear,whereintheworldareyougoingtogetit?Ah,he said,noproblem,wecaneasilygetonefromthemorgue.Afriendofmineworksthere,andhe'lldoanythingforme. Onthefollowingdayhelefthomeearlyinthemorning.Hereturnedatnoon,radiant,withaparcelwhichhethenproceededto

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unwrapcarefully.Itwasasmalljarfilledwithformaldehyde.Inside,therewassomethingdark,ofanindefiniteshape.VanGogh'sear,heannounced,triumphant. Andwhowouldsaythatitwasn't?Anyhow,justincase,hestuckalabelonthebottle:VanGogh—Hisear. Intheafternoonthetwoofusheadedforthecreditor'shouse.Fatherwentin,andIwaitedoutside.Fiveminuteslaterhecameout,disconcertedandindeedquite furious.ThemanhadnotonlyrejectedtheproposalbuthehadalsosnatchedthejarfromFatherandhurleditthroughthewindow. "Ofallthegall!" OnthispointIhadtoagreewithFather,althoughIhadsortofexpectedsuchadenouement.Westartedtowalkalongthetranquilstreet,withFathermutteringallthe time:Ofallthegall!Ofallthegall!Suddenlyhestoppeddeadinhistracks,andstaredfixedlyatme: "Wasittherightone,ortheleftone?" "What?"Iasked,withoutgettingit. "TheearthatVanGoghcutoff.Wasittherightoneortheleftone?" "HowshouldIknow?"Isaid,alreadyirritatedbythewholething."You'retheonewhor*adthebook.You'retheonewhoshouldknow." "ButIdon't,"hesaid,dispirited."IconfessthatIdon'tknow." Westoodinsilenceforawhile.Iwasthenassailedwithanaggingdoubt,adoubtthatIdidn'tdaretoarticulatebecauseIknewthattheanswercouldwellbetheend ofmychildhood.However: "Andtheoneinthejar?"Iasked."Wasittherightone,ortheleftone?" Hestaredatme,dumbfounded. "Youknowwhat?Ihaven'tthefaintest,"hemurmuredinaweak,hoarsevoice.

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Thenwecontinuedtowalk,headedforhome.Ifyouexamineanearcarefully—anyear,whetherVanGogh'sornot—you'llseethatitisdesignedmuchlikea labyrinth.InthatlabyrinthIgotlost.AndIwasnevertofindmywayoutagain.

TheFragment FormanyyearsNandohadbeenplayingtheroleofadwarfwithsuccess;afterall,sincehewasnomorethanonemetertwentycentimetersinheight,that'sexactly whathewas—adwarf.Ahappyone,too;hisjobasactorgavehimmoney,recognition,andpleasantcompanions.Ashappyasadwarfcanbe,Nandowas.Butthen hewasaskedtoplayadifferentrole.Actually,itwasstilltheroleofadwarf,exceptthathewasagiantthathadbeentransformedintoadwarf.Asamatteroffact, thegiantneverappearedinanyofthescenes;hisexistencewasmerelyimplied. Nandoacceptedthepart.Asusual,hisperformancewasasuccess.Particularlymovingwasthefinalsceneinwhichthedyingcharacterkeptpleadingwiththewitch forthemagicwordthatwouldtransformhimagainintoagiant.Butthewitchremainedadamantinherrefusal,andintheendthegiantdied. Afteractinginthismovie,Nandowasneverthesameagain.Tohavelivedthepartofa*giant,albeitonlyapotentialgiant,unsettledhim.Heaskedvariousclairvoyants, astrologers,andmediumsforthemagicword;nobodyknewwhathewastalkingabout.Frustrated,hetooktodrinking,whichledhimtohisruin. Yearslaterhedied.Inaccordancewithhiswishes,hewasburiedinathree­meterlongcoffin.Sacksofshreddedpaperwereusedtoholdthecorpseinplace;among thosescrapsofpaper,therewasonewithamysteriouswordwritteninGothiccharacters.Perhapsitwasthemagicword,perhapsnot;perhapsitwasthefragmentof awordsectionedintotwopartsbythescissorsofsomeunknownperson.

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Perhapsthemagicwordwasjustthis—afragment.Asamatteroffact,shortlybeforehisdeath(perhapsoutofpique,perhapsnot;but,astheendocrinologist attendinghimsaidafterward,inadyingman,thisdoesn'treallymatter),Nandosaidthatfromcertainaspects,agiantwasnothingmorethanafragmentofadwarf.

TheDecisionTree Aman—hecouldbeasystemsanalyst—issuddenlyafflictedwithamnesia.Deprivedofhismemories,butnotofhisintelligence,andstillincontrolofcertain techniquesthatseemtohavebecomepartandparcelofhiswayofbeing,hedecidestoevokethepastbygoingbackoverthedecisiontreewhich,ashesupposes, hasdirectedhislife.Thus,ifIhappentoliveinthishouse,it'sbecauseImadethisdecisionafterchoosingfromvariousoptions;ifImarriedthiswoman....The methodturnsouttobeasuccess,andfromdecisiontodecisionheretrogressesdowntothedistantyearsofhischildhood....Themanwhosuffersfromamnesia managestorememberfarmorethananyoneelse.Butthenhereachestheculminatingmomentjustbeforehisbirth.Therearetwooptions,naturally:tobeborn,ornot tobeborn;heknows,ofcourse,thathemusthavechosenthefirstoption;however,withconsternationandevenfear,herealizesthathedoesn'tknowwhy.Whydid heleaveasituationofperfectamnesiatoenteralifethatconsistsofnothingbutmemories?Andthenitdawnsonhimthatthereasonforhisamnesiaisamnesiaitself; thattoforgetisanoption,thereasonforwhichisdefinitivelyforgotten.Anextremefatigueengulfstheman,andhenolongerremembersanything.Allthatislefttohim issleep,andsohesleeps,andhedreamsaboutatree,whichisnotthetreeofhisdecisions,butanactualtree,acommontree,ahumblespecimenofwhatonceupon atimewasknownastheVegetableKingdom.

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JigsawPuzzles Formymaster'sThesis,IhadaccesstotheunpublishedworkofArmandoCossio.AndonceagainIhadtheopportunitytomarvelathisstyle—sober,clear,andso deeplyresonant.However,asurprisewasinstoreforme;whenIthoughtIwasfinishedwithmysurveyofCossio'sfiction,hiswidowpresentedmewithanenvelope: "Hislastshortstory,"shesaid,gazingintentlyintomyeyes. (Itdisturbedme,thewayshewaslookingatme.Cossiohaddiedattheageofsixty­two,butshewasnotevenfortyyet.Stillayoungwoman,beautifulandfiery.And thetwoofusaloneinthathouse...No,ithadn'tbeeneasy.) Itooktheenvelopeandopenedit.Insidewerecarefullycutbitsofpaper,eachonecontainingatypedword. "Oneofhisjokes,"shesaid,smiling."It'sashortstorythathewrotejustbeforehisdeath;hededicatedittome.Hecutuptheshortstory,wordbyword,andthenhe challengedmetoreconstructit.HewantedtoknowhowmuchIlovedhim,that'swhathesaid.ButIdidn'tevenopentheenvelope." Thenafterapause: "Wouldyouliketogiveitatry?" Iwouldhaveto.Itwasmyworkthatwasatstake.Perhapsmorethanthat. Iplungedintothistaskrightaway.OnalargetableIspreadallthebitsofpaper,justlikechildrenwilldowiththepiecesofajigsawpuzzle.Apreliminaryexamination revealedthattherewasnosetpatterntofollow;therefore,Istartedbyplacingthecapitalizedwordsatthebeginningofsentences,theverbsinthemiddle,the adjectivesnexttothenouns,andsoon.Iwouldthenputthesentencesthusassembledonacomerofthetable,underasheetofglasstoholdtheminplace.Onthe nightwhenIputthelastword(whichhappenedtobefinally)inplace,thewidowsleptwithme.Wespent

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hoursofintensepassion.Inthemorning,shegotoutofbedandwentstraighttothetabletoreadtheshortstory."Isthiswhatthestoryissupposedtobe?"Iasked fromthebed. Sheshruggedhershoulders. "Idon'tknow.Hedidn'tletmereaditbeforehestartedcuttingitup." Shethenliftedthesheetofglass,andwithonesinglepuffofair,shesentthebitsofpaperflyinginalldirections. Smiling,shereturnedtobed:Wemadeloveagain.Butthistimeinadifferentposition:Sheontop,Iunderneath.

TheMarchoftheSunintheTemperateRegions ThesunofthetemperateregionsshinesuponthelandsofSantaCatarina,astateinsouthernBrazil,withabrilliancethatisnaturallylesssplendorousthanitisinthe tropics. ItisSunday.Theyearis1957. Onthetopofahill,twosisters—Marta,sixteen,andMarlene,nineteen—areseatedonthegrass,chattinganddoingneedlework.It'sSunday,yes,andit'sbeenthree yearssincePresidentGetulioVargaskilledhimself.Downbelow,theycanseethesmalltown,andtheriverglitteringinthesun.Inthesky,blackbirdsofanunknown kindorspeciesflitabout(later,inretrospect,thisfactwillstrikeMarleneasominous),attimesflyingfromeasttowest,attimesfromnorthtosouth,attimesfrom southtowest. Thesunisatit*zenith,andtheshadow—Marta's—thatitprojectsonthegroundis,althoughdeformedbytheunevennessoftheterrain,theshadowofabeautiful youngwoman.Marlene,too,isbeautiful,bothinshadowandinreality,butnotasbeautifulashersister.Lessbeautiful. "I'mpregnant,"announcesMarta,withoutinterruptingherneedlework.

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"Forheavens'sake!"exclaimsMarlene,turningpale."Forheavens'sake,Marta,Fatherwillkillyou." Sheknowswhatsheissaying:Theirfatherisastrictman.Strictnesscharacterizestheinhabitantsoftheirsmallhometown,allofwhomdescendfromuprightGerman immigrantswhosettledinthearea,butthebakerWolfgangisparticularlystrict.Awidower,hehasraisedhisdaughtersaccordingtorigidmoralprinciples.Andhe hadendlesslywarnedthemagainstincurringpregnancyoutofwedlock. "Who'sthefather?"asksMarlene,distressed.Martashrugshershoulders.Shethinksit'satravelingsalesmanwithwhomshehadbeenonlytwice,acariocawho returnedtoRioaftercomplainingaboutthecoldweatherintheSouth. Marleneisnowdevastated.Ayoungwomanofmodelbehavior,marriedtoatextileengineerwithaseriousdemeanor,shedoesn'tknowwhattosaytohersister. Marta,however,alreadyhasaplan:Shewillgivebirthtothechild(shedoesn'tevenconsiderhavinganabortion,forshewantsthebaby)and,ifhersisteragrees,she willleavethebabywithher.Shewillthengoinsearchofahusband,anyhusband. WhatcanMarlenesayinreply?Martaisheronlysister,heronlyanddearsister,thekidsisterwithwhomsheusedtoplaywhentheywerechildren,andtoward whomshehasalwaysfeltprotective.Intears,Marlenehugsher:I'lldoanythingforyou,Martadarling,Iloveyou.ShecriessomuchthatMartahastocomforther: Takeiteasy,sis,everythingwillbealright.Ofthetwo,Martais,andhasalwaysbeen,thebravest;sheusedtoconfrontthestreeturchins,whereashersisterwould seekrefugeundertheirmother'sskirts.You'retough,saysMarlene,wipinghertears.Iknow,Martasayswithasigh. ThatverynightMartaannouncestoherfatherthatshefoundanexcellentjobinthetownofLajes,andthatshehastoleaverightaway.Thefather,althoughsomewhat suspicious,consents.Heis

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strictbutfair;herealizesthatchildrenmusteventuallyfollowtheirownpath,eventhoughthepriceisapainfulseparation.Hetrustshisdaughter;besides,helovesher. Ifthat'swhatyouwant,hesays,youcangowithmyblessing. OnthefollowingdayMartasetsoutonherjourney.InLajes,shestayswithafriend.Thenonenightsixmonthslater,sheknocksonthedoorofMarlene'shouse.She iswiththebaby,abeautifulgirl.Withprofusethanks,sheentrustsherdaughtertoMarlene'scare.Andsheleavesamessageforherfather:Allshewantsishis forgiveness. Shethentravelsnorth,toSãoPaulo;there,inthestreetsthrongingwithzillionsofpeopleshewillcertainlyfindaman.Shefindsaccommodationataboardinghouse— andforthreedayssheisunabletoleaveherroom:Shecriesnonstop.Shecriesforherdaughter.Shecriesforherfather.Shecriesforhersister.Shecriesforherself. Shecriesandcries:Allthetearsthatshemanagedtoholdbackformonthsonendnowgushforth. Onthemorningofthethirddayshesuddenlystopscrying.Enoughisenough,shesayswithdetermination.Nowlet'sgetdowntobusiness. Sheneedsahusband—butfirstsheneedsajob,forsheisshortofmoney;besides,ajobwillgivehertheopportunitytomeetvariousmen(amongthem,perhaps,her futurehusband).Shedollsherselfup,andmakesforthedoor,butassheisabouttogetout,shestops,intimidatedbythecrowdsofpeoplehustlingandbustlingon thebroadavenue.ThesunofSantaCatarina,thesunthatshinesupontheplacidvalleysandthesofthillsofSantaCatarina,hasneverseensomanypeople!Her uneasequicklyturnsintopanic,butshereacts.Whatthehell!That'swhatshewanted,wasn'tit?People,mengalore,sothatshecouldchooseafatherforher daughter?Well,herearethemenofSãoPaulo,theaudaciouspaulistas,theleadersofthecountry.Asshelooksatthefacespassingby,herinterestgradually

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turnsintochildishenthusiasm.Look,theregoesaJapanese!StraightfromJapan!Hisfathercommittedharakiri,hismotherbecameageisha,buthepickedupthe piecesandcametoSãoPaulo.Look,theregoesanordestino—amigrantfromthedepressedareasofnortheasternBrazil!Thedroughtkilledhiscrops,twoofhis childrenstarvedtodeath,thebreastsofhiswifeshriveledup,buthe,too,pickedupthepiecesandcametoSãoPaulo.Look,theregoesablackman!His grandfatherwasaslave,hisparentsareilliterate,butheisgettingaheadforhebelievesinSãoPaulo!Look,theregoesaGerman!HecanbarelyspeakPortuguese, buthe,too,isgettingaheadbecauseheisamechanicandthisplacehereisSãoPaulo,anindustrialmegalopolis.Look,theregoesa...a...butwhatishe?A Javanese?Look,theregoesanIndian!AtleasthelookslikeanIndian!Look,afatman!Look,across­eyedman,ascross­eyedastheycome! Ah,SãoPaulo.Ah,Brazil.EverythingisfineinBrazil,that'swhatshehearspeoplesay;thiscountryhaseverything,cars,radios,bicycles,younameit.Thepresident ofthecountryisalikable,cheerfulman.Inthiscityonlypeoplewhodon'twanttogetaheadfail,Marta'slandladyassuresher,beforeadding: ''Butwatchout,oryou'lldriftintoprostitution." Shewon't.HerdestinyhasbeenchartedunderthebenevolentsunofSantaCatarina:apathleadingnorthwardandupward.Shecrossesthestreet,buysanewspaper, andbeginstoscantheclassifiedads,lookingforwork.Therearemanyjobsadvertisedinthepaper,andsheisinluck:Sheishiredasawaitressinanelegantbar. Thereshemeetsthefirstmaninwhatwastobealongsuccessionofmen. Heisold.Aricholdman.Anindustrialist,aformercongressman,thevice­presidentofasoccerclub.Apleasantlittleman,affableandfatherly.Shelikeshimanditis notjustforhisgeneroustips;shelikeshimespeciallyforhisendearinggentleness,forhiskindnesstowardher. Soontheystartdating;ononeoccasionhetakeshertoarestau­

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rant;onanother,toanightclub.Martathinksthatdespitehisage,hewouldmakeanidealhusband—afatherforherdaughter.Thus,itiswithspontaneitythatshe acceptshisinvitationtovisithimathishouseinJardimEuropa,ahigh­classdistrict.Whilegoingthroughthegatesoftheimposingmansion,whilewalkingalongthe graveledpathsescortedbyasilentsecurityguard,whilepassingbytwothreateningdogs,whilewipingherfeetonthedoormat,whilecrossingthethresholdofthe massivedoor,whileenteringthespaciousfoyerwiththemarblefloor—notoncedoesshefalterinherbeliefthatsheispreparedforanything.Shouldhegreetherwith aglitterinhiseyes,sheisprepared.Shouldhetakeherbythewaistandpropelhertohisbedroom,sheisprepared.Shouldhetakeashowynegligeeoutofa wardrobe,sheisprepared.Preparedforanything.Preparedtoliedownonthewide,canopiedbed;tospreadherlegsopen;toreceivethisgnomeofaman.What sustainsheristhethoughtthatherdaughterwillsoonhaveafather,anoldanduglyfather,alecherousfather,butafathernonetheless.Sheisprepared. Sheispreparedforanything,butsheneverexpectedwhatistofollow. We'regoingtoplayagame,announcestheoldman,smiling.Whatgame?sheasks,rathersuspicious.Nothingtobeafraidof,hereassuresher,it'sagamethatmy latewifeandImadeup:it'scalledmommyandsonny.Mommyandsonny?Sheisnottookeenontheideaofplayingthisgame,buthepersists:Iwantto,henow sayscategorically,andshethinksshehadbetteracquiesce;herfuturemarriageisatstake;besides,itcan'tbeanythingtooterrible,thismommyandsonnything. Anyway,whatdifferencedoesitmake,she'sinfactamommy,isn'tshe,shethinkswithbitterness. Comeoverhereandsitdown,saystheoldman,pointingtoacomfortablerockingchair.Sitdown,andwaitamoment.I'llberightback. Heleavestheroom.Afewminuteslaterheisback.Uponsee­

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inghim,Marta,astounded,openshereyeswide:theoldmanhasstrippedhisclothesandisnowwearingnothingbutadiaper.Adiapermadetoorder,forsure,but exactlylikeababy'sdiaper.Andwhat'smore:apacifierhangsonathingoldchainaroundhisneck;andinhishand,ababybottlefilledwithmilk. "So?"hesays,triumphant."Don'tyouthinkI'macutebaby,hm?" Flabbergasted,Martaisatalossforwords. "CanIsitonyourlap?"heasksinatinyvoicethatsounds,infact,ratherbabyish. "What?"Shethinksshemustbehearingthings,butherepeatswhathehasjustsaid,thistimewithacertainimpatience. "MayIsitonyourlap?Babywantstosnuggleuptomommy." Ah,yes,sothat'swhatitwas:mommyandsonny,that'swhatitwas.Ofcourseyoumay,senhor,shehastenstosay.Don'tcallmesenhor,hesays.I'mababy,your baby.Andwithoutfurtherdelay,thelittleman,sotinyandwizened,nestleshimselfinthelapoftherobustMarta.Hugme,hedemands,andshehugshim.Nice, comfylapyou'vegot,hesays. "Doyouhavechildrenofyourown?" Shehesitates.Isthistherightmomentto—? "Agirl." "It'sobvious:youhaveaknackformothering.Yourgirl,doesshelivewithyou?" "No,she'sinSantaCatarina,withmysister." Shestiflesasob.Don'tbesad,saystheoldman,sympathetic,sometimeschildrenarebetteroffawayfromtheirmothers.Then,animated: "Stopthinkingaboutit,I'myourchildnow.Rockmetosleep,willyou?" Shestartsrockinghimvigorously.Slowdown,hewarnsher,becareful,orI'llfall.Ithappenedbefore,somestupidbroadletmefallandIalmostbrokeanarm.

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Martarockshimmoregently.That'sit,saystheoldmanapprovingly.Nowgivemethepacifier. Shetriestoputthepacifierintohismouth.Buthekeepshislipstightlyclosed,andthenhestartsmovinghisheadfromsidetoside,whimperinglikeababy.Shelooks athim,perplexed. "Whatareyoustaringat?"heasks,irritated."Don'tyouthenunderstand?Whatkindofmotherareyou?"Thencontrollinghimself:"Allright.IfIdon'twantthe pacifier,andifI'mwhimpering,it'sbecauseI'mhungry,can'tyousee?" Martapicksupthebabybottlefromthenighttableandthentriestoinsertthenippleintothemouthoftheoldman,whoprotests: "No!Notlikethat.Firstyouhavetotastethemilktofindoutifit'swarmenough,ifitneedsmoresugar,thingslikethat.Hey,waitaminute!Don'tputthenipplein yourmouth,younitwit!Doyouwanttocontaminatemewithyourgerms?Tastethemilkbyputtingafewdropsonyourarm.Onyourarm,youidiot!Right.Now tasteit.Isitgood?" "Yes,"murmursMarta,herfacebathedintears.Theoldmanthenstartstosuckatthebottle.Littlebylittle,theexpressionofdispleasuredisappearsfromhisface;he isnowtranquil. "Thatwasgood,"hesaysuponfinishingthebottle."Verygood.Nowyoumustsingmetosleep." Martabeginstorockhim:Sleep,baby,thecucawillsoonbehere...,shesings.No,notthisone,theoldmanprotestsfeebly.Itfrightenshim,thissongaboutthe cuca,ahorrendouscreaturefromBrazilianmythology.Shethenstartshumminganoldlullabythathermotherusedtosingatbedtime.Itworks:Withhiseyesclosed, theoldmansmiles;beforelong,heisasleep. Afterputtinghimtobed,Martatakesoffthenegligee.Shegetsdressed.Sheclimbsdownthestairway,walkspastthebutler,whomaintainsanimpassivemanner, pastthedogs,pastthesecurityguard,andleavestheproperty.Shewon'tbeback.

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Forsomereason,sheisdismissedfromthejobatthebar.Shetriestofindemployment,butthistimesheisnotasluckyasbefore,andshecan'tfindagoodjob.She hasnoexperienceinofficework.Notypingskills.NoknowledgeofEnglish.SheisagirlfromSantaCatarinainsearchofafatherforherdaughter;butnobodyis interestedinherstory.Finallyshelandsajobasasalesgirlinastore. Itisarduousandfatiguingwork.Thepayislow.Whatsheearnsisbarelyenoughtomakeendsmeet;besides,sincesheinsistsondefrayingpartoftheexpensesthat hersisterincursinraisingthebaby,shehastodepriveherselfofeventhebarestessentials.Therearedayswhensheeatsonlyonemeal;shebeginstoloseweight quickly,andsheisalwaysexhausted.Rita,agirlwhoworkswithher,suggeststhatshereturntoSantaCatarina.Noway,saysMarta.NotuntilIhaveafatherformy daughter. Uponleavingthestoreoneevening,shefallsunconsciousinthemiddleofthestreet.Sheistakentoadoctor'sofficeinthevicinity;there,afterashotofglucose,she comesto.Thefirstthingthatsheseesonopeninghereyesisthepleasant,kindfaceoftheyoungdoctor,Ricardo.Anditisloveatfirstsightforbothofthem. EverydayMartagoestoRicardo'soffice,whereshecanhardlywaitforhislastpatienttoleave.Thentheymakelove—ontheoldcouch,onthefloor,onthe examinationtable.Butdespitethepassion,thelove­makingleavesmuchtobedesired.Heisanervous,insecureman.Hefeelsguiltyanduneasyaboutusinghisplace ofworkforclandestinetrysts;hisanxietyissuchthatitrubsoffonMarta.Sexbetweenthemisfarfrombeingsatisfactory.Shefindsitpainful,andsheneverreaches anorg*sm.Asforhim,hisproblemwithprematureejacul*tionworsens. Heismarried,whichfurthercomplicatesthesituation.Hedoesn'tlovehiswife.Onthecontrary.Hedescribesherasbeingacruel,authoritarianwomanwhotakes pleasureintormentinghim,eitherbycallinghimafailure(you'renothingbutatwo­bitdoctorina

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low­classneighborhood),orbymakingfunofhisphysicaldefect—Ricardowalkswithaslightlimp.Shedoesn'twanttohavechildren,andshedareshimtowalkout onher.However,despitetheconstanthumiliations,hetrieshardtopreventthebreakupoftheirmarriage.Partlybecausehefears,naturally,ascandal,whichmight damagehisreputationasaphysician,butmostlybecauseheisinfacthopelesslyattractedtohiswife,whoisnotonlyawomanofgreatbeautybutalsoarealdemon inbed.Sheknowshowtomakehimgethisrocksoff,ah,doessheever.Atanytime,anywhere(oftenwhilebathing,shepullshimintothebathtubwithher),andin anyposition.Shedominateshim;bypullingthestringsofsex,shecanmanipulatehimasifhewereamarionette.Dayandnighthelustsforher,andwheneverhis thoughtsturntoher,hecan'thelpmasturbating.IfonlyIcouldridmyselfofthiswoman,wecouldthenmarry,Martadarling;becauseit'syouthatIlove,nooneelse butyou. Martatriestobesupportive:Iloveyoutoo,Ricardo,andI'llwaitaslongasnecessary. Inwardly,however,sheisfilledwithanguishatthethoughtofherdaughtergrowingupawayfromher.Itwon'tbelongnow,Marlene—shewrites,anditiswhatshe hopes:soontobeabletoreturntoherdaughterinthecompanyofahusband,evenifhehappenstobedivorced. Onenightthereisaknockonthedoorofherroom.SheopensthedoortofindRicardostandingthere,suitcaseinhand.Helooksupset,reallyupset:bug­eyed,his hairdisheveled,hisnecktieundone: "Ididit!"heshouts."Imanagedtoridmyselfofher,Marta.ThankGod,Ididit!" Weeping,hefallsintoherarms.Foralongtimetheyjuststandthere,lockedinanembrace.Latertheygoandseetheowneroftheboardinghouse—Ricardowantsto askherpermissiontospendwhatheconsidershisweddingnightinMarta'sroom.Thelandlady,

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showingunderstanding,accedestohisrequest,especiallybecauseshealreadyknowsaboutMarta'saffairwithhimandwantstohelpherout. Thetwoofthemaretooexcitedtofallasleep.Theyspendthenightmakingplans—theywilltraveltoSantaCatarina,theywillchooseasmalltowntosettledown:He willpracticemedicinethere,shewilllookafterthehouse,andlittleClarawillgrowuphappy(togetherwithherlittlebrothersandsisters—fortheyintendtohavelots ofchildren).ThesunofSantaCatarinawillseethemhappy,alwayshuggingeachother.Inthemorningtheyhavecoffeewiththelandlady,whomakesabriefspeech, wishingthemeveryhappinessinthenewlifetheyareabouttostart,andthenMartaandRicardoleaveforwork.Shegoesstraighttothestorewheresheworks,and hetohisoffice;theywillgettogetheragainintheevening,inherboardinghouse.Atwork,Martakeepsglancingattheclock,yearningforthemomentwhenonce againshewillbeembracingherRicardo,herman. Buthedoesn'tshowup.Neitherthatnight,northenextnight.Worried,shedoesn'tknowwhattomakeofitall.ThetelephoneinRicardo'sofficeringsunanswered; shedoesn'twanttophonehimathome.Finally,itisRicardowhoringsherup.Sobbing,hetellsherthathehasreturnedtohiswife. "She'sadevil,Marta." Ricardogoesontosaythathiswifecameforhimwhilehewasinhisofficegettingthingsreadyfortheirjourney,andthatsheseducedhimthenandthere,andashe wasmoaningfrompleasure,shemadehimpromisethathewouldmovebackwithher. "Forgiveme,Marta!Forgiveme!" Withoutaword,Martahangsuponhim.Shereturnstothecounterandmechanicallyresumesmeasuringalengthoffabricforashopper.Itisnotuntiltheeveningthat shegivesfullventtoherfeelings:inthearmsofherlandlady,sheweepsandscreams:Why,

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ohGod!Whydothesethingshappentome?Don'ttakeitsohard,saysherlandlady,yoursorrowwillpass. Itpasses.Itisnoteasy,butitpasses.Threeweekslater,Martafeelsbetter:shemanagestowritetohersisterandtellherabouttheincident,sayingthatshehas learnedalesson. However,thelettergoesunmailed:onthatveryday,thereisagainaknockonherdoor.It'sRicardo,thistimewithoutasuitcase,withoutanything,lookingradiant: "Atlonglast,Marta!Ifinallydidit!I'mridofher." HisexultationissogenuinethatitisimpossibleforMartatodistrusthim:Weeping,theythrowthemselvesintoeachother'sarms.Latertheyinvitethelandladytojoin themfordinneratarestauranttocelebratetheoccasion.Theoldwomanlookssurprised,butsheacceptstheinvitation,wishingthem—again—muchhappiness. Threedaysofecstasyfollow.Martahasforgotteneverythingthatwentonbefore;theyarenowstartingfromscratch,andeverythingwillturnoutalright. ButthenRicardodoeshisdisappearingactagain. Thistimehedoesn'tevenphone;hehassimplyvanished. "Iknewit,"remarksthelandlady,notwithoutacertainamountofcensure."Iknewhewoulddothisagain.He'sacoward,Marta.Likeallofthem,asamatteroffact. TypicaloftheBrazilianmale,youjustcan'ttrustanyofthem.Peruvianmenaren'tasbad,believeme." Martadoesn'twanttothinkabouthimanymore,shedoesn'twanttothinkaboutanything.Shemovesaboutlikeanautomaton,fromtheboardinghousetothestore, andfromthestoretotheboardinghouse.Shethinksonlyaboutherdaughter,aboutthisdaughtergrowingupawayfromhermother;shefeelslikegoingbacktoher hometown;onedaysheevengoestothebusstation;butatthelastmoment,realizingwhatsheisabouttodo,shehastilywalksawayfromthelineofpeopleatthe ticketcounter.Shewillonlyreturnhomewithahusband.

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Ricardocomestoherplaceonceagain.Butheisn'talone;hiswifeiswaitingforhimonthestreet. "Goandtellher,"heentreatsMarta,"thatweloveeachother.Goandtellher,Marta.Seeifyoucanpersuadehertoleavemealone,Marta.Doit,becauseIcan't!" Martalooksathimwithoutsayingaword.Suddenlyshestartsshaking;shelookssounhingedthatRicardo,startled,stepsback. "Getout!Getthehelloutofhere!Takeyourwifeandgetout!GetoutbeforeIkillyou." Frightened,hetearsdownthestairs.Burstingintotears,Martaflingsherselfuponthebed;andtheresheremainsforonedayandonenight,cryingnonstop.Nurses finallycometotakehertoamentalhospital. Amonthlatersheisdischargedfromthehospital.Unemployed,andnotknowingwhattodonext,shewandersaboutthecity,amidthehurryingcrowdsofpeople.As shewalksalongtheViadutodoChá,asmallboyhandsheraleaflet:MadameOlga.Clairvoyant.Familyproblems?Amissingchild?Thewhereaboutsofa spouse?Comeandseeme.Asuddenhope:PerhapsthisMadameOlgacouldhelpherfindahusband.Perhaps. Martacallsontheclairvoyant.MadameOlgagreetsherandlistensattentivelytoherstory.Afterward,sheinvitesMartatositdownatthetable.Takingholdof Marta'shands,theclairvoyantthenaskshertoclosehereyesandconcentrateonherself.Tenseminutestrickleaway.Inawaveringvoice,MadameOlga,whohas fallenintoatrance,saysthatshecanseeaman;hisfeaturesarenotclearlydiscernible;however,sheknowsthathelivesinacomfortablehousebecausesheis watchinghimthroughoneofthewindowsofthishouse.Martainsistsonmoredetails.Howdoesthemanlooklike?Ishetallorshort,thinorfat?Doeshewear glasses,doeshehaveamustache?Andthehouse?WhatcanMadameOlgatellheraboutthehouse?Isitatwo­storyhouse,apalatialresidence,or

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what?Buttheclairvoyantdoesn'tansweranyofherquestions;shesaysthatthevisionisbeginningtodissolve;thetwowomenfinallyopentheireyesandtherethey are,facetoface.Iwasdischargedfromthementalhospitalaweekago,saysMartainalow,subduedvoice.Itwashorrible.Icanimaginewhatitwaslike,saysthe otherwomanwithasigh.Then,aftersomehesitation,shegoesbacktohervision: "No,Idon'tknowwherethehousewas,orinwhichcity.ButI'dsayitwassomewhereinthenorthratherthaninthesouth.Tryyourluckin...BeloHorizonte. That'sit:BeloHorizonte,giveitatry." Marta'slandladypaysforthebusticket,andshetravelsnorthtoBeloHorizonte,thecapitalofthestateofMinasGerais.Shefindsajobinagarmentfactory;she managestoscrapealiving.Periodicallyshereceivesaletterfromhersister,sometimeswithapictureenclosed:Clarainhercrib,Claratakingherfirststeps.Thefirst birth­day,thesecond,thefifth,thesixth....Everyletterbringsonacrisis:Martacriesandrages.Butsheremainssteadfastinherresolution:Shewillonlyreturnto SantaCatarinawithafatherforherdaughter.OnSaturdaysshedollsherselfupandgoesout:tonightclubs,todances,topartiesorganizedbyherWorkers'Union. Shehasboyfriends—uglyandhandsome,oldandyoung.Butproposalsofmarriage?None.It'syourownfault,herfellowworkerskeeptellingheramidthedeafening noiseofthemachines.Becauseofheranxiousness,sheputstoomuchpressureonthemen.Wemineiros,wefolksfromMinasGerais,areverydistrustful,oneofher loverssaystoherinahotelroombeforeheputsonhispantsanddisappearsforever. Atonetimesheactuallybecomesengagedtoabankmanager,anearnest,methodicalmanstillinhisprime:Everytimetheygooutonadate,herecordsthefactinhis appointmentbook.Theygotomovies,torestaurants;overdinnertheydiscussthedetailsoftheirweddingplans.

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Onedayshesummonsupenoughcouragetomentionherdaughter.Hetumspale: ''Butyou'venevertoldmeanythingaboutthis." "Iknow,butit'sbecause..." "AndhereIwas,thinkingallalongthatyouwereavirgin.I'vealwaysshownthegreatestrespectforyou.I'venevermadeanindecorousproposaltoyou.Andnow youtellmethatyouevenhaveadaughter." Onthefollowingdayheannouncesthatheisbreakingofftheirengagement.Andhepresentsherwithabillcontainingthreecolumns,withtheheadings:Date, particulars,expensesincurred.Alltheirdinnersandoutingsareitemizedthere. "I'veconvertedtheexpensesfromcruzadosintodollars,"heexplains."Duetothegallopinginflation,wehavetothinkofcostsintermsofastrongcurrency.Ithinkwe shouldsharetheexpenses.Ifourrelationshiphadworkedout,Iwouldn'tbemakingthissuggestion.However,sinceourpathsnowdiverge,throughyourownfault, it'sonlyfairthatIshouldgetsomeindemnification." "But...I—Idon'thavethiskindofmoney,"Marta,bewilderedanddejected,faltersout. Hehesitates. "Well,I'lltellyouwhatIcando:Icangiveyouadiscountof,let'ssay,abouttwenty­fivepercent.Afterall,itwasonlyatmyinsistencethatyouwenttosomeofthose places;andifmymemoryservesmeright,youdidn'teatmuchwhenwedinedout.Andyouneverdrankwine.ButIcan'tforgothemoney.That'scompletelyoutof thequestion." Then,onasuddenimpulse,hediscloses,instrictconfidence,thathehasbeeninvesting.Andinvestingheavily.Hehasbeenbuyingbonds,sharesofstocks.It'sthe righttimeforthissortofthing.It'sabullmarket;hehasitfromreliablesourcesthatthepricesofshareswillskyrocket.Anyonewillingtotakeriskswillstrikeitrich.

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Fortuneswillbemadeovernight.You'reprobablyright,saysMarta,butI'vegotnomoney.Hemakeshersignsomepromissorynotes.Frightened,sherunsawayto thenortheasterncityofSalvador,thecapitalofthestateofBahia. Thereshemeetsayoungpaulista—anativeofSãoPaulo—namedJorge.HeisauniversitystudentwhoisspendingsometimeinBahiainsearchofsolutionsforhis anxieties.Forthefirsttimeinherlife,sheexperiencestheheatofpassion:ononeoccasiontheyspendtwodaysinbed,makinglovenonstop.Theydon'teveneat: theymerelydrinkcoconutmilk. Sheisunabletofindajob.Andhe,althoughhehasarichfather,hasseveredrelationswithhisfamily.Whenhermoneyisgone,theyleaveSalvadorandgotoa communenearthecityofPortoSeguro.Therethedaysflowplacidly;sheisheadoverheelsinlove;andhe...heistoo.He,too. Shetellshimaboutherdaughter.Heshowsinterest,inquiresafterthegirl,wantstoseepicturesofher.ButwhenMartasuggeststhattheygetmarriedandmoveto SantaCatarina,heturnsdownhersuggestion:Heistryingtofindhisownway,anditwillleadtopolitics,notmarriage.Besides,hetakesadimviewofthewhole thing:family,bourgeoispossessiveness:Peopleshouldgiveofthemselvestoeverybody.Andasiftostresshispoint,onthatverynighthereturnstotheirshackwitha girlnewlyarrivedatthecommune: "She'llbesleepingwithus." Jorgeliesdownbetweenthetwowomen.Hetakestumsmakinglovetothem.Martawakesupearlyinthemorning.Shekissesthestudent,whoisasleep,andleaves. FromPortoSegurotoBrasilia.FromBrasiliatoCampoGrande.FromCampoGrandetoBelém.FromBelémtoManaus.Armando,ageologist;Rui,atruckdriver; Aristeu,apriestfromasecretsect.César,analderman.Peixoto,astreetvendorwhosellsfruitsandvegetables.Negrinho,aconstructionforeman.Ignácio,a farmhand.

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InthecityofGoiania,shemeetsJoséReis,anoldPortugueseactorwhopresentshimselfatcircuses,oldmovietheaters,anyplace,alwaysenactingthesameplay, TheDramaofTiradentes.Itisatribute,hesays,toTiradentes—theToothpuller—whodiedamartyrinthecauseoffreedom.Hewastheleaderofthepatriotic movementof1789thattriedtoliberateBrazilfromthePortugueseregime.Itwas,JoséReisdeclares,Brazil'sgreatestmovementeverofnationalliberation. Agoodman,JoséReisis.Agoodbutbitterlydissatisfiedman.HeleftPortugaltoescapefromtheSalazardictatorship,andarrivedherewithhighhopesofseeing SocialismbecomesuccessfullyimplantedinBrazil—anewcountryinthetropics,withnoneofthedepravitiesofEurope.In1961heactuallybelievedthathisdream wouldcometrue. "ItwassoonaftertheresignationofPresidentJânioQuadros,whenthemilitaryattemptedtostageacoup.IwastheninthecityofPortoAlegre,whereIparticipated inthemovementtodefendthelegalityoftheconstitution.Thatwasreallysomething,thosecrowdsofworkersdemonstratingonthestreets.Unfortunately,itallended muchtoosoon:thepoliticianscameupwithasolution—compromise.Itreallyshatteredmyillusions.Deepdownthey'reallthesame:theBrazilians,thePortuguese. Allofthemcongenital,dyed­in­the­woolreactionaries. Hewouldarguewithpeopleonthestreet,hewouldinsulttheshoeshiners:Whydoyouhumiliateyourselveslikethis?Whyareyouonyourknees?Toearna pittance,isthatit?Moneychangersinthetemple,hewouldmutteruponseeingthestreetvendors.Nothingbutmoneychangersinthetemple.Theyshouldbedriven outwithlashesofawhip.Eventhecapitalistshavenouseforthelikesofthem.Ifonlytheycouldbeusedasatargetintheclassstruggle—butno,theyfallsomewhere betweenthebourgeoisieandtheproletariat,betweenheavenandearth.

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Hewouldgototheairportandapproachacleaningladywhohappenedtobesweepingthefloors: "Haveyouevertraveledbyairplane?" "No,"thewomanwouldreply,astonished. "Andyouneverwill.Never.Takealookatthesepeoplearoundyou:Theytravel.ToSãoPaulo,toRio.ToParis,toVienna.DoyouknowwhereViennais?" "No." "Youdon'tknowwhereViennais.Youknownothing.Doyouknowhowtoread?" "No." "SoIthought.Whileyou'reheresweepingfloorsandcleaningtoilets,thosepeopleareabovetheclouds,sippingwhiskey.Don'tyoufindthisoutrageous?" "Well...I'mpoor...youknow,sir." "Iknow.Poorandstupid.Poor,stupid,andresigned.You'llgooncleaningtoilets,whatelse?You'llgooncrawlingfortherestofyourlife.Haveyoueverheardof Tiradentes?" "I'veheardofhim,yes." "You'veheard.Andthat'saboutit,right?You'veheardofhim."Thensuddenlyangry:"Getlost!" Anembitteredman.Agoodbutembitteredman.Tooembittered,hewas.Martaliveswithhimforthreeweeks:Sheisdeeplytouchedwhenshewatcheshimperform inhisplay,butshecan'tstandhisconstantgriping.Besides,JoséReisdoesn'twanttobeafathertoanybody. "Me?Afather?WhyshouldI?Idon'tbelieveinhavingafamily.Orinanythingforthatmatter.Eachmanforhimself...." Sheleaveshimandheadswest.Insearchofafather,afatherforherdaughter. Beingsterile,MarleneraisesMarta'sgirlasifshewerethedaughterthatshecannothave.ItisMarlenewhomClaracallsmother.Of

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Marta,Marleneneverspeaks;onthecontrary,inherprayerssheimploresGod(whileatthesametimeaskingforforgivenessforherghastlyselfishness)tokeepher sisterawayforever.Martaneverretumshome. Butdon'ttheirpaths—themother'sandthedaughter's—evercross?Yes,ithappensoneday.AtabusstationinBuenosAires.Claraistheretogetherwithher boyfriendandagroupoffriends.Sheisnoweighteenyearsold,andthisisthefirsttimethatshehasbeenawayfromhome. Marta,too,hasjustarrived;sheiswithanArgentinianbusinessmanwhomshemetinCuiabá,acityinwest­centralBrazil—amanwhoiswillingtodiscussmarriage aftertheygivetheirrelationshipatryoutinhisdistanthometown. Forafewsecondsthey—ClaraandMarta—lookateachother.Theylookintentlyuponeachother'sfaces,likeexplorersstudyingthemapofanunknownregion. Exceptthatthereisnotenoughtimeforthemtoabsorbthroughthisgaze(howeverintenseitis)theirrespectivefacialfeaturesandtostoreintheirmemoriesthe recollectionofawell­shapedmouth,ofaneyebrow,ofanincipientwrinkle.Andyetitispossiblethatsomething—adisquietingparticle,thegermofapassion—will remain,somethingthatwillperhapshavetoliedormantforalongtime.Butbehold!Marta,propelledbytheArgentinian,isalreadyboardingthebus.Sheisgoing south,headedforicyPatagonia,wherethesnowwillstirupinheryearningsforthepalesunofthetemperateregions.

TheDiaryofaLentilEater Asonecaneasilyimagine,lentilswereneverthesametoEsauafterhelosthisbirthright.Esau,whohadneverbeenparticularlyfondoflentilsandwhowouldsayto certainhosts,no,no,notthelentils,I'dratherhavethesucklinggoat,wasnowobligedtoreflect

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seriouslyuponadishthathaduntilthenplayedonlyarelativelymodestroleinhisemotionalmakeup.Inthisundertaking,hewentthroughseveralphases.Thefirstone, naturally,wasofrage:I'velostmybirthright!Somethingveryprecioustome.Andforaplateoflentils!Hisgriefwasaggravatedbythegibesoffriendsandrelatives: Neverhasaplateoflentilsbeensoexpensive,theywouldsay,breakingintoderisivelaughter.Andstilllaughing,theywouldsuggestthatEsauopenanestablishment specializinginlentildishes(andawagevencameupwithaname:TheLentilofGold). SuchreadywisecrackinghurtEsaumorethananythingelse.Ahairyboorofaman,heusedtoembarrassotherpeoplewithhisoffcolorjokes;butnowthatthetables wereturnedonhim,andhewasonthereceivingendofhispeers'crueltaunts,herealizedhowpainfultheroleofvictimcouldbe.Ifanything,thelentilshavetaughtme thislesson,hewouldsigh. Hesuspectedthathewasatthestartofanewroadinhislife.Itispossiblethatatthetimehewashauntedbydreamsofgiantlentils;however,nosuchdreamsare recordedinhisdiary,alengthymanuscriptfoundhiddeninaclayewerthatwasrecentlydiscoveredinacavernnotfarfromtheplacewhereheissupposedtohave lived.Thediarybeginswiththedaywhenhelosthisbirthright;andthefirstword,spelledinawaythatisincomprehensibleeventorenownedexperts,ispresumablya swearword,eventhoughtheswearwordsofthosedaysarenotrecordedanywhere. Itisofcoursepossiblethatthevibrationsresultingfromthevoicesofthosepeoplethatclamoredtotheskiesarestilldiffusinginspace;however,theprocessof capturing,decoding,andplacingsuchvoicesinahistoricalcontextissomethingstillbeyondthetechnicalpossibilitiesavailabletoeventhemostsophisticatedexegetes. OnecanonlysurmisethatEsau,likeallhumanbeings,alsofelttheimmemorialimpulsetoemitcertainsoundsthatconventionallyexpressdispleasure,especiallyafter thepleasant(orperhapsnot

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sopleasant;thediarymakesnomentionofthismatter)sensationofgastricfullnessgavewaytoafeelingofdisquiet,afeelingwhichinmanyindividualsmanifestsitself asquestionings(whoamI,whatamIdoinghereonearth,whydoesthebamboogrowsoimpetuously?). Thefirstphase,therefore,canbeconsideredasbeingoneofrebellion.Whichuptoapoint,isunderstandable.Esauwasayoungman.Hedidn'thavemuchtolerance forcertainrigidpreceptsofcommunallife.Althoughhewouldn'tsayso,hefeltthatCainhadbeenrightinkillingAbel,andthatinthisworldtherewasnoplaceforthe weak.Hedidn'tthinkitfairthatsomepeopleshouldhaveeverything,oralmosteverything,andothersnothing,oralmostnothing.Thatsomeshouldlaugh, shamelessly,whileotherswept,copiouslyornot,silentlyornot.Thatsomeshouldcrowwhileothershadtoholdtheirtongues.Moreover,onseveraloccasionshe hadhintedtohisfatherthatheintendedtoshaveonadailybasis(fullyawarethatelderlypeopledidn'tliketoseeaclean­shavenface).Thelookofpainonthefaceof themantowhom,inaccordancewiththemoralcodesofthetime,hewassupposedtoshowrespect,didnotarouseinhimtheslightestremorse.Onthecontrary:His smileevincedabarelycontainedfeelingofpleasure. Andnowontopofthis,lentils.Lentils!Isitfair,hekeptaskinghimselfashepacedtoandfrointheroomtowhichthosethathadlosttheirprimogeniturehadto betakethemselves,isitthenfairforsomeonetobestrippedofhisprerogativesjustbecauseoutofhunger(andwhatcouldbemorehumanthanhunger?),helets himselfbetrickedoutofhisbirthrightwithaplateoflentils? Lentils,plainfood:nothingfancy,nothingthatwouldleadanyoneintothinkingthatEsauhadyieldedtoagastronomictemptation(especiallybecausehewasreputedto beamanofsimpletastes).Inanutshell,hereiswhathappened:Amanisonhiswayhome;beingexhaustedandfamished,heisnotinfullpossessionofhismental

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faculties,andthushefallsintoatreacheroustrap,whoselureisaplateofharmlesslentils. Hecouldgoastepfurtherinhisreasoningandsuspectthelentilsthemselves.Notthattheymighthavecontainedstrangesubstances:No,hewouldn'tcarryhis suspicionsthatfar.But—weretheyreallynothingbutordinarylentils?Perhapsnot.Perhapstheyresultedfromsomeelaborateprocessofgeneticselectionaimedat obtainingavegetablecapableof—bymeansofitsappearance,oraroma,orboth—beguilingafirstbornoutofhisbirthright.Herememberednowthatthearomaof thelentilshadarousedinhimastrangesensation,whichhehadattributedtohunger—topureandsimplehunger. Therewasnothingthatcouldbedonenow.Avictimofhisowngluttony—andonceagainhebemoanedthefact—hehadpolishedofftheplateoflentils.Therefore,he lackedanyprooftosubstantiatehisaccusations.Besides,hisagedfather,althoughwise,sufferedfromvarioussensorialprivations,ofwhichblindnesswasthemost serious;thus,behindtheguilelessappearanceofthelentils,hisfatherwouldbeunabletodetectanyevidenceofaperfidiousenticementcontrivedbythewomanwhom hehad,inanevilhour,married,andwhomhetrusted—forhelovedherverymuch.So,whatelsecouldEsaudo?React,fightback,that'swhat.Turndefeatinto victory.Whichwouldn'tbeeasy,especiallybecausehewouldhavetostartwagingbattleinastateofbitternessandhumiliation.Butperhapshecouldstartfromthe verytrapintowhichhehadfallen.TheLentilofGold,whynot.HaveatasteofthelentilsthatseducedEsau.Hecouldmakealotofmoneyoutofthetreachery perpetratedonhim.Orhecould,asanotheroption,hoisttheflagofidealism.Hecouldwarnpeopleagainsttheimmoderateeatingoflentils;hecouldchampionthe abolitionofprimogeniture;inshort,hecouldfightforaworldinwhicheverybodyisequal,foraworldinwhicheatinglentilsdoesnotresultindanger.Adream? Deliriumattribut­

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abletotheresidualeffectofacertainintrinsicorextraneous—substanceinthelentils?Perhaps.However,whatelsecanafirstbornstrippedofhisrightsdo,except dream,orevenrave? Esau'sdiary,longanduneven,leavesmuchtobedesiredregardingtheimportanceofhiscogitations(onemightevensayruminations;nottomentionthespellingerrors andtheintricatesyntax,whichmakereadingthediaryarealchore).So,onceallthislucubrationisexpurgated,whatelseisleft?NothingbutthebasicfactthatEsau losthisprimogeniturebyeatingaplateoflentils.Forthisreason,thescholarsthathadbeenperusingthisdocumentabandonedanyandeveryattempttoextractfromit apieceofworkthatwouldberemarkablefromanacademicoranyotherpointofview.Theythenturnedtheirattentiontoother,morepromisingfields.Threeof thosescholars,forinstance,setupinbusinessasexportersoflegumes.TheynowfollowthequotationsfromtheChicagoStockExchangeattentively.However,the matterofinterestisnotthelentil,aboutwhichEsauhadsomanycomplaints,wellfoundedornot.Itisthesoybean,whommanycall"theseedofgold."

Misereor Asheenteredthehospital,FernandorealizedthatSuzanahadbeenthereforoneyear.Alreadyoneyear.Oneyearofpain,oneyearofanguish,oneyearofsuffering: oneyear. Thisrealizationstruckhimsuddenly:foramomentheeventhoughtthathewouldn'thavethestrengthtoproceed,thathewouldbeataretreat.Buthefoughtoffthese feelings.Heclenchedhisteeth,andwithfirmdetermination,heforgedonward.Hewalkedpasttheinformationdesk;thereceptionistbarelyglancedathim;mostof thehospitalstaffwerealreadyusedtohispresencethere.Heclimbedaflightofstairsandturnedright.Hewalkeddownthelongcorridor,glancingatthenumberson hisrightandonhis

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left:1010,1011,1012.Healreadyknewthembyheart,andhealsoknewsomeoftheoccupantsofthoserooms,theold­timers:themanwiththekidneydisease,the girlinacomafortwoyears.Sometimeshewouldrunintotheirrelativesinthecorridor,andthentheywouldexchangethosehalf­anguished,half­connivingglancesthat unitepeoplegoingthroughthesamegrievousplight. Suzana'sroomwasthelastone,attheendofthecorridor.Itsdoorwasnexttoalargewindowfromwhichthehospitalgardencouldbeseen:pinetrees,bedsof flowers,graveledpathsalongwhichchildrenwerealwaysrunning.Fernandoknockedonthedoor. (Healwaysknocked.Itwasatacitagreementbetweenthem:Hewouldknockandwaitforawhile,givinghertimetorecomposeherself,incaseshehadto.) Comein,saidaweak,almostinaudiblevoice,andheopenedthedoor.Rightawayhewasassailedbythesmell—avague,nauseatingsmellofsickness,of disinfectant,towhichhehadn'tbeenabletogetused.ButhemanagedtosmileatSuzana,wholayinbed,proppedupbyseveralpillows.Herappearance,heverified withananguishedheart,keptdeterioratingdaybyday:Hercheekswerebecomingincreasinglymorehollow,herlipsincreasinglymoreshrunken.Onlyhereyesstill retainedsomeofherformerself,buttheglitterinthem—andthecomparisonpresenteditselftohimimplacably—wasofthekindseenintheeyesofatrappedanimal. Afterbendingoverhertokissherontheface,hepulledupachairandsatdown. "You'relookingverywelltoday." Shesmiledfeebly.Heknewthatsheknewthathewaslying;butshekeptsmiling,andsodidhe.Itwaspartofatacitgameofcompassionthathadreplacedsomany oftheothergamesthattheyusedtoplaythroughouttheirmarriedlifeinordertolivetogetherinanatmosphereofrespect,ofaffection—andwhynot?oflove(for whosaidthatloveexemptsanyonefromplayinggames?).

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''Hasthedoctorcomearoundyet?" "Yes.Hewashereearlyinthemorning." "And—?" "HesaidIshouldcontinuetotakethisnewdrugforanothertwentydays." Yes,that'sthewayitwas.Timewasnowdividedintolimitedunits.Anothertwentydayswiththisparticulardrug.Aweekfromthen,anotherXray.Ifthebloodcount showsnoimprovementbytheendofthemonth...Thatwasthedoctor'sgame:Todemarcatethedarkroadwithboundarystakes,therebymaintainingtheillusion thattheywouldgetsomewhereandreachahappyending.Willingly,thepatientssubjectedthemselvestothisgame,andfeltgratefultothedoctor.Afterall,hewas human,thedoctorwas.Besides,hewasanoldfamilyfriend.He,too,hadtobeprotectedfrompain. "Everythingokayathome?"Shewasnowplayingherpart,throwingadifficultquestionathim,justassomeonewouldthrowalifesavertoadrowningman. Everythingokayathome?Shealwayshelpedhimout,bygivinghimthecuetostarttalkingaboutthechildren,aboutthemaid.Andimplyingthathecouldtalk withoutfeelingguilty,andwithoutcensuringhimselfforbeingaliveandingoodhealth.Sohestartedtalkingaboutthingsathome:abouttherisottothatthemaidhad cookedfordinnerthenightbefore,aboutthereportcardthattheireldestchildhadbroughtfromschool,aboutthefacesthattheiryoungestdaughterhadbeenmaking attheirnextdoorneighbor,abouthisintentionofhavingtheirapartmentfumigatedinthenextfewdays.Hetalkedonandon,withoutapause,partlyoutofgratitude, partlyoutoffear—fearthatanyinterruption(eventocatchhisbreath)mightturnintoanimpassableditch,intoanabyssintowhichtheywouldbothplungeheadlong. Shelistenedtohiminsilence,awansmileonherface;attimesshewouldnodherhead,andthisveryunobtrusiveencouragementgavehimthestrengthtoproceed.At onemoment,however,helostheart;the

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constrictioninhisthroathadbecomeunbearable,andhisvoicecameoutstrangled;aspanicwasabouttoovertakehim,therewasaknockonthedoor,andanurse's aidcameintogivethepatientaninjection.Whileshewasbusypreparingthehypodermic,Fernando,inastateofexhaustion,managedtopullhimselftogether. "Willyougivemeahand,sir?"saidthenurse'said."We'regoingtolayDonaSuzanaonherstomach." Withadeterminedgesture(butmuchtooabrupt,hethought,muchtooabrupt),thewomanpulledofftheblanket,exposingaravagedbody:armsandlegsthinas reeds,ahollowbelly.Itwasalmostimpossibleforhimtobearthesight,whichdidn'tseemtoaffectthenurse'saidverymuch: "Standherenexttome,willyou?WhenIsaynowweturnherover." Shewasayoung,beautifulwoman;adisturbingpresencethere,whichonlyservedtoincreaseFernando'sanguish.Eagertoputanendtothesituation,hedrewnearer thebedandpositionedhimselfnexttotheyoungwoman.Andthenherarmbrushedagainsthis.Atthetouchofthatwarm,solidflesh,hequivered—andatthat momenthecaughtSuzanalookingathim.Therewasnoaccusationinthatlook,nogrieforanything.Shehadjustlookedathim.Thenextmomentshewaslyingon herstomach. Thenurse'saidadministeredtheinjection,helpedSuzanalieonherbackagain,putthepillowsinplace,andleft.Fernandosatdownagain.Foramomentthetwoof themremainedsilent,shestillgaspingforbreath.Suddenlyshespoke,withoutlookingathim: "It'shard,isn'tit,Fernando?Iknowit'shard." Hecouldn'tbelievehisears.Hecouldn'tbelievethatbeforethisdaywasovertheywouldhavetoputthemselvesthroughthisordeal,toyetanotherordeal.Whatis hard?heaskedinavoicethatcameoutalmostasawhisper. "Youknow.Beingwithoutawoman.It'shard,isn'tit?"

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Hemadenoreply.OhGod,hewasthinking,letthisbeoversoon,ohGod.Butshewenton,inavoicethatalthoughneutral,wasasfaintasitwasimplacable: "Istheresomeoneelse,Fernando?Youcantellme.We'vereachedapointinwhichthere'snoneedforustokeepsecretsfromeachother.Afterall,it'sbeenone yeartoday." sh*t,hethought,sh*t.Butthenhereacted.Anddisplayinganenergythatsurprisedevenhimself,heliftedhisheadandsaid: "No,Suzana,there'snooneelse.Youknowthereisn't." Shesaidnothing.Shelayinsilence,hereyesfixedontheceiling.Butnowhewantedtohearmore,hewantedtogettothebottomofthismatter;andasifreadinghis mind,shethenaskedinthesamefeeble,flatvoice: "Howdoyoumanagethen?" "Youknow.Imasturbat*." "Iknow.Iknowyoudo.Butthinkingofwhom,Fernando?" "Ofyou.Ofwhoelsebutyou,Suzana?" "Ofme?"Therewasnowbittermockeryinhervoice:Hertolerancehadreacheditslimit."Ofme,Fernando?OfmeasIamnow,orofmeasIusedtobe?" Hewasnowfeelingdevastated.Anabsurdity,thiswholething.AnabsurditythatwouldclamorforGod'sattentionifGodexisted,ifitwerepossibleforGodtoexist. Hedidwhathecoulddo:Hetookherhand—andsaidnothing.Sheclosedhereyes.Thetearswerenowstreamingdownherface. Insilence,theyremainedmotionlessuntiltheshadowsoftheeveningstartedtogrowdenserintheroom.SeeingthatSuzanahadfallenasleep,hegotupandwithout makingnoise,helefttheroom. Hetookataxihome.Thechildrenwereout;theyhadgonetoSuzana'ssisterfordinner.Aftertellingthemaidthathedidn'twanttobedisturbed,hewenttohis bedroomandlockedthedoorbehindhim.

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Hestrippedoffallhisclothesandlaydown,naked. Hethenclosedhiseyes,andwithouteffort,heyieldedhimselftoafantasyinwhichhehadbeenindulgingeversinceSuzanawasadmittedtothehospital.Heimagined himselflyinginbed,inaluxuriousmotelroom.Suddenlythedooropenedandagorgeouswomandressedasanodaliskslowlydrewnearer.Enraptured,hewaitedfor her,hismouthparchedbydesire. Shethenthrewherselfuponhim.Butbeforeheclosedhiseyes,beforethedevastatingpassionobliteratedeverythingaroundhim,hestillcaughtsightofsomeone peeringathimthroughthewindowofthemotelroom. Suzana,naturally.

TheCalligraphers'Union Thecalligraphers'unionisinpermanentsession.Thisdecisionwasnotreachedabruptly,norwasitmadeinresponsetoacrisissituation.Onthecontrary,thiscourse ofactionbecamenecessarybecauseoftheaggravationofthecalligraphers'alreadypoorworkingconditions,whichledthemtoconveneaseriesofmeetings—initially onceamonth,thenonceaweek,finallyeveryday—untileventuallytheassembledmembers(numberingthirtyatthepresenttime)decidedthattheywouldbein permanentsessionasaformofconstantmobilization.Besides,theyhavenootheralternative.Wouldtheyratherstaycoopedupintheirdinkylittlehouseslocatedin distantneighborhoods,mullingovertheirlives,ruminatingonsorrows,waitingfordeath?Never.Atleasthereintheheadquartersoftheirunion—anduntilthetime whenajudgemakeshisfinaldecisionontheevictionorderpendingagainstthem—theyfindshelterandcompanionship(nominormattertotheseelderlygentlemen whosecircleofrelationskeepsnarrowing)andtheyfeelthattheyarefightingtogetherforamajorcause.Thepreservationoftheartof

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calligraphy,saysAlcebiades,onethefoundersoftheunion,isaprerequisiteforthesurvivalofourculture.Sippingtheirwaterytea,theothercalligraphersconcur,but quiteafewofthemcan'thelprecallingthedayswhenitwascustomaryfortheirassociationtoofferitsmemberssumptuousdinnersduringwhichthewinepoured freely. Timedragsastheysitinpermanentsession.Oncethediscussionsofvariousissues(rangingfromdemandsfortheeliminationpureandsimpleofthetypewritertothe needtoappealtothegovernmentandcharitableorganizationsforhelp)areover,thechairmanlosesnotimeinsteeringtheconversationtowardothertopics,forhe knowsthatthereisnothingmoreterribleandthreateningthanabsolutesilence—thekindofsilenceunbrokenbytheraspofwritingpensonpaper.Therefore, discussionsofatechnicalnatureaswellasaccountsofpersonalexperiencesarealsoplacedontheagenda. Differentstylesofcalligraphyareanalysedandcompared;theremarkablemodificationsthatappearedwiththeadventofthesteelnibarediscussed.Reminiscences abound.Istillremember,saysHonório,theveryfirstsentencethatIwroteasacalligrapher:Andthisaboveeverythingelse—befaithfultothyself.It'sfrom Shakespeare.DoesanyonenowadaysknowwhoShakespearewas?DoesanyoneknowtheworkoftheimmortalBardofAvon?Hm?AndIaskyou,mydear fellows:Doyoubelievethattoday'syouthcareahootaboutsuchmatters? Nobodyreplies;thereisnoneedto.Honóriomerelywantstounburdenhisheart,andhisfellowcalligrapherslistentohiminsilence.Thosewhobelievethat calligraphyandShakespearearetwoseparateissuesandthattheaudienceshouldnotbeoverawedbyBritishwriters,keepsuchobjectionstothemselves.Thisisnot theoccasionfordissent,notevenforaspatovertrivia.Unity—astheConstitutionoftheCalligraphers'Unionstates—shouldbeeverybody'sobjective.Itisforthis reasonthatAlmeidadoesnotvoicehiscriticismsofValentim'swork.Hewouldneversayinpublicwhatherecorded

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onpagesevenofhisjournal:"Valentim'sMresemblesacamelinthedesert."Themembersrespectoneanother;eventhoughtheymightbelongtodifferentschoolsof thought,theyrecognizethefactthatpluralismisaconditionforthesurvivalofcalligraphy. I'vealwayspreferredtheR,saysEvilasio[Evilásio,oreventheW—perhapsbecausetheyenablemetotracefancifulscrolls,whichsuitsmybaroquetemperamentto aT.ButthenIdiscoveredthei,yes,that'sright,thelowercasei,andwhatarevelationitwas.Themodestsimplicityofthisletter!Andwiththepointsuspendedin space!Thispoint,believeme,fascinatedme.IthinkthatinitI'vefoundthetruemeaningofcalligraphy.Whereassomepeople—myownson,forexample—tendto exaggeratethesizeofwhattheycallthe"dotofthei,"andevengoasfarastodrawasmallcircletorepresentit,I,ontheotherhand,duringamomentofdeep introspection,cametotheconclusionthatIshouldinfactendeavortoachievetheopposite,thatis—reducethepointovertheitoitsminimumdimensions.Infact,as everybodyknows,thepointiscompletelydimensionless.Thenumberofpointsisinfinite.Invisible,omnipresent.CouldthepointbeGod,orcouldGodbethepoint? Toacceptsuchanidea,however,Iwouldhavetobeannihilatedbyit;thatis,Iwouldonlybeabletoapprehendthepointattheexactmomentofmytotalextinction.I wasn't,andI'mstillnot,preparedforthis,andforthisreasonIcontinuetoputapointoverthei,butIdosobybarelytouchingthepaperwiththetipofmypen.A verycontainedgesture,certainly,butagesturenonetheless.Andtothoseofyouwhobelievethatcalligraphyisbornofgestures,letmesaythis:Itismyconvictionthat authenticcalligraphyischaracterizedbytotalinaction;potentialityratherthanfactualitydistinguishesit. "God,"concludesEvilásio,"isthegrandcalligrapher." I'veheard,Marcondeswhisperstowhoeverisnexttohim,thattheynowhaveelectronicdevicescapableofcapturingsoundsandtransformingthemintowriting.I don'tbelievethatthey'vereached

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thispointyet,retortsthebitter,skepticalAmâncio.ButRebelosays:Idon'tfindthissurprising.Thetypewriterstartedacourseofactionthatwouldinevitablyleadto disaster.Andthetabulatorismerelyspeedinguptheendofcalligraphy.CalligrapherRosáliodisagreeswithhim.Heisnotagainstprogress;heevenhasaninteresting projectinmindthatinvolvestracinglettersinsmokeupinthesky,withhimflyingtheairplane(butfirsthewillhavetotakeflyinglessons,butthat'sallright,hesays,for heisquitewillingtoputupwithanythinginordertomakehisdreamcometrue).Tothosewhoseethisastreacherytotheartofcalligraphy,heretorts:Thehandthat nowgentlyhandlesthepenisthesamehandthatwillfirmlyholdthecontrolstickoftheairplane.Actually,Rosálio'sonlyproblemisthefactthataltitudesgivehim vertigo,fromwhichhehassufferedsincechildhood,andforwhichthereisnoknowncure,accordingtothevariousspecialiststhathehasconsulted. Forquitesometimenow,Ináciohasbeencorrespondingwithayoungwomanwhosenameheoncesawin"Love'sMail,"apopularcolumninamajornewspaper. Oneletterfromhim,andbingo!sheprofessedthatshehadfalleninlovewithhishandwriting:"ThewayyoucrosstheTclearlyshowsavigorousmind;thegentle curvesofyourSindicatesanaffectionateheart."Inácioweepseverytimehereadsthesemissivesfromher,buthehasdecidedthathewillnevermeettheyounglady inperson.Hislovewillsubsistonlyonhandwrittenpages. Feijóhasjustcomein.Thelastonetoarrive,asusual;andasusual,withthatsuperiorsmileofhis.Hehaseveryreasontobesmiling.Ofalltheunionmembers,heis theonlyonetohaveanassuredjob.OnceeveryfouryearsheisresponsibleforwritingthenameoftheGovernorelectonaspecialcertificate.Withgreatcare,Feijó prepareshimselfforthistask:hestartsexercisingandhegoesonaspecialdiet.ThejobpayswellandFeijóistreatedwithdeference;however,hehasnoticedover theyearsthatthenamesofthegover­

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norskeepgettingshorterandshorter;hesuspectsthatthisfactisnotjustamatterofchance,butrathertheproductofaconspiracyinwhichradicalelementsare involved. Whatifweweretorevitalizeourprofession?burstsoutAlonso(whooftenbragsabouthavinganentrepeneurialmind);wecould,forinstance,runadsinthe newspapers,like:Yourbelovedwon'tresistaletterpennedinabeautifulhandwriting.Alonsohasalsoplansforsettingupcoursesgearedtopeoplefromevery walkoflife.Hethenstartstalkingaboutcalligraphyforpoliticians,calligraphyforexecutives,calligraphyforproletarians.Mercedes,theonlyfemalememberofthe union,makesaseriousaccusationagainstgraphologists:Theyweretheones,shestates,thatdiscreditedourprofessionbydisseminatingtheideathataperson's handwritingcanrevealhischaracter.Wemustintroduceintotheschools'curriculumtheconceptthatcalligraphyunitespeople,shesays. TheCalligraphers'Unionishousedinanoldmansionlocatedintheoldestpartofthecity.ItisalegacylefttothembyAbelardo,acalligrapherofinternationalrenown (atonetimehehadevenprepareddocumentsfortheBelgianmonarchy).Thosewerethedays!ThecalligraphershadjustthenestablishedafamousBrotherhood.The Unionwasnotformeduntilmuchlater,atatimewhenjobopportunitiesbegantogetscarce.Themeetingstheyusedtohave,Damiãoreminisces,werereal celebrations.Dressedinformalattire,thecalligraphers,accompaniedbytheirwivesandchildren,wouldarriveattheheadquarters,ablazewithlights.Themeetings startedpunctuallyat8P.M.Theminutesofthepreviousmeeting—inlonghand,naturally;beingaskedtorecordtheminuteswasamuchcovetedhonor—were circulatedamongthemembers,notsomuchforcommentsasforadmiration(orscorn).AfterwardtheorchestraplayedtheCalligraphers'Hymn(Withathousand serifsandathousandscrolls/I'lltracethenameofmyBrazil/Whileinthebluestoftheskies...etc.,etc.).Glassesfilledwithimportedchampagnewere

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thenraisedinatoast;dinnerwasserved—troutorsalmonorlobster,finishedwithdessert—atortewiththewords"LongLiveCalligraphy"writteninwhippedcream. Andthentherewasdancing,whichwasalwayslively.Nobodyeverleftbeforefiveinthemorning.Ah,thegoodolddays,sighscalligrapherMoura.Daysthatwill neverreturn,addscalligrapherFelipe(eventhoughtheyhavefallenoutwitheachother,theyareunitedinsorrow). "Fanti!"shoutscalligrapherReginaldo."FantideFerrara!" Theothercalligraphersexchangeglances.TheyknowthatheisreferringtoFantideFerrara,whoin1514introducedthegeometricmethodintogothiccalligraphy. TheyknowthatReginaldoownsanextremelyvaluablecopyoftheTheoricaetpracticaperspicassimiSigromundideFantis:Demodoscribendifabricandique omneslitterarumspecies,publishedinVenice.ButsinceReginaldowon'tlendthisbooktoanybody,theydeliberatelyignoretheprovocation.Calligrapher Guilhermethenchangesthesubject:Calligraphy,hestates,istheartofbeautifulhandwriting.Inspired,hegoeson:Itisfreedomunitedtodiscipline.Itisthepast speakingtoourhearts.Thisisallverynice,mutterafewcalligraphers,butwhataboutthelaborlaws? Wehavenothingincommonwiththisnewgroupthekeypunchoperators.Ifwehaveanaffinitywithanyone,statescalligrapherLudovico,itiswiththosemonkswho inthesilenceoftheirmonasteriesusedtocopytextsingothichandwritingandinterspersethemwithexquisiteilluminations.Whichwasalso—calligrapherArthurcuts inabruptly—aprotectionagainstfraud:Themoreintricatethehandwriting,themoredifficultitwouldbetofalsifyapapalbull.Thisunexpectedinterruptionsilences calligrapherLudovico.Hedislikesbeingremindedofthepracticalaspectsoftheartofcalligraphy.ItisaknownfactthatPopeEugeneIVhadorderedthataspecial typeofhandwriting—thecursivescript—bereservedfordocumentsthathadtobewrittenquickly—brevimanu—fromwhichthewordbrief,meaningasummary,is derived.Briefs!Briefsinanartcharac­

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terizedbyunhastiness!EquallydeplorableisthefactthatPacioli—apriestwhowasafriendof,incredible!noneotherthanLeonardodaVinci—madeaclosestudyof thegeometryoftheletters.Asifitwerepossibletocomparefeelingstosquaresandhexagons! CalligraphersRaimundoandKochareengagedinalivelycontroversy.RaimundochargesthatColbert,thefinanceministerofLouisXIV,wasresponsibleforthe demiseofthegothicwhenherecommendedthatallgovernmentemployeesadoptthetypeofwritingknownasfinancière:Itwasalreadythebourgeoistastelessness takingover,hebellows.Koch,inasubduedvoice(inwhich,however,hiddenvibrationsofresentmentcanbedetected),reasonsthatthegothiccontainedinitselfthe germofitsowndestruction.Becauseofitsangularity:Life,statesKoch,favorssoftcurves.It'snotbystrikingthepaperwithapenthatwewillbeabletoimitatethe fluxofexistence.Twoorthreecalligraphersapplaudtimidly.Raimundoremainssilent.Deepdown,however,hebelievesinreturningtothegothicstyleasawayof projectinghimselfintothedizzyheightstherewherethestarstwinkle.CalligrapherRonildoagreeswithRaimundo:asfarasheisconcerned,theeraoftheSunKing hadadisastrouseffectoncalligraphy,notwithstandingtheeffortsofDanoiseletandRousselottocounteractthedamage.Nowadayspeoplesaythatitismore importanttohavecharacterthantowritelegibly,but—andatthispointRonildo'svoicequiverswithunrestrainedindignation—isn'tthisareductioadabsurdum? Whatiselegance?askscalligrapherDimone.Andhehimselfsuppliestheanswer:It'stheopportunityforembellishment. Ithinkofthetrajectoryofmylifeasifitwerethetracingofaletter,sayscalligrapherEpaminondas—ofthelower­casel,tobeprecise.Iclimbedup;whenIreached thetop,Iturnedaroundandbegantoclimbdown;Ithenreachedthelowestpoint,andeversinceI'vebeenwaitingforthefinalturnupward,howeverslightitmight be.

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''AttimesIwonder,"hesighs,"ifIshouldn'tcallmyselfLuís.Luíswithalower­casel. Nobodyrepliestohisremarks.Besides,itisgettinglate.Onebyone,thecalligraphersgetupandleave,headedfortheirdinkylittlehouses.Theywillbebackonthe followingday.Thereisnolifeoutsidethepermanentsession.Thereisnolifeoutsidecalligraphy.

FrenchCurrentEvents Inthemiddleofthenight,heisbrusquelyawakened.Itishisfatherwho,terrified,roughlyshakeshimawake: "Tiago'sbeenarrested,Leo!You'vegottorunaway!" Bewildered,hesitsupinbedandbeginstoexplaintohisfather:It'sTiagowhoisapoliticalactivist,nothe,allheeverdidwastotakepartinafewstudent demonstrations,innocuousthings,really.Hisfather,however,won'tlisten;hehasalreadymadeaphonecalltoafriendofhis,hehasalreadygottenintouchwitha lawyer,hehasalreadymadeuphismind:Hissonwillhavetofleethecountry.Andwithoutfurtherdelay.Leodoesn'targue.Hepackshisthingsinahurry.Atdawn, heboardstheColossus,abouttosailforFrance.InParishefindsaccommodationinarun­downhotelintheQuartierLatin.Hehopesthathewillbeabletoreturn homesoon,assoonasallfearsandapprehensionsdissipate.Butinfact,hewon'treturnsoon.Sixyearswillpass;hisfatherwilldie,andsoonafterward,hismother; withnoparentsandnofriendsleft,hewillnolongerhaveanyreasontogohome. HeisyetanotherBrazilianexpatriate.Unliketheotherexpatriates,however,hedoesn'twanttohaveanythingtodowithBrazil.Orwithanythingelseforthatmatter. Hemanagestomakeendsmeetthankstoamodestjobworkingasajanitor.Atnight,inhisroominaboardinghouse,hewatchesTV.Wheneverhehasenough money,hegoestoaconcert.Hehasalwayshadapassionformusic.Some­

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timeshegetsdrunk,sometimeshepicksupawoman—asalesgirl,adivorcee.Theydon'tlastlong,theseaffairs.Then,it'sbacktotheusualroutine. OnerainynightheisstandinginfrontofthePleyelConcertHall.Frustrated:Theticketsforthatnight'sperformancearesoldout,oratleasttheseatshecanaffordare allgone.Heisabouttowalkawaywhenawell­dressedyoungmanapproacheshim.Hehasaticketforsale:Duetoanunforeseencirc*mstance,hewon'tbeableto attendtheconcert.Onehundredandtwentyfrancs.Leoshakeshisheadsadly:Hedoesn'thavethatmuchmoney.Thewell­dressedyoungmanpersists:Youcan haveitforonehundredfrancs.No?Forninetythen.No?Seventy?Suddenlyirritated,theyoungmandoessomethingsurprising:HestuffstheticketintoLeo's pocket—it'syours,forfree—anddisappearsamidthecrowd. Perplexedandsuspicious(cantherichbetrusted?),Leoenterstheconcerthall,findshisseat—whichisinfactexcellent—andsitsdown.Justintime:Theorchestra beginstostrikeuptheopeningbarsoftheJupiterSymphony. MozartisLeo'sfavoritecomposer,andtheperformanceofthePhilharmonicisbreathtaking—buthefindsitimpossibletoconcentrateonthemusic.Becauseofthe youngwomanbesidehim:Shekeepslookingathim,butshedoesn'tdososurreptitiously,withsidelongglances.No,shestaresathimpersistently.Whatdoesshe wantfromhim,thisbeautifulandelegantyoungwoman?Hecan'timaginewhat,andhebecomesmoreandmoredisconcerted,tothepointofthinkingthathewillget upandleave.Butno,it'samatterofhonor:Hewillremainseated.Heisnotindebtedtoanyone,heowesnooneanyexplanation.Hewon'tleave.Thehellwiththe rich. Duringtheintermissiontheyoungwomanaddresseshim:DoyoumindifIaskyousomething?ShespeaksinFrench,buttohissurprise,herealizesthatsheis Brazilian;heraccentisunmistakablycarioca,aRiodeJaneiroaccent.YoucanspeakinPortuguese,hesays,

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smiling.Ah,you'reBrazilian,too!It'sherturntobesurprised.Hesaysthatyes,heisBrazilian,buthehasbeenlivinginParisformanyyears.Shethentellshimthat shehasjustarrivedinthecity,thatshecametostudyforadoctorateattheuniversity,butshemissedtheregistrationdeadline;anyhow,shedecidedshewouldstayin Parisforawhile.Daddyvouchesforme,shesayswithagrimace. Theylaugh.Shethenrepeatsherinitialquestion.ShewouldliketoknowhowLeohappenedtogetthisparticularseat.Hetellsher.Isee,shemurmurs.Sheisupset, obviouslyupset,butshesaysnothingelse.Attheendoftheconcert,however,shespeakstohimagain: "Ishouldtellyou..."Shehesitatesforamoment,andthengoeson:"Thisticketentitleditsholdertohavedinner.Atmyplace." Heacceptstheinvitation.Howcoulditbeotherwisewhenheisalreadypassionately—whateverthemeaningof"passionately"is—inlovewithher.Passionatelyin love.Anditiswithpassionthattheyyieldthemselvestoeachotherinthebeautifulapartmentwhereshelivesalone. Hespendsthenightthere;onthefollowingdayhedoesn'tgotowork.Instead,hetakesherforawalk.Itisabeautifulday,thefirstbeautifuldayafteraweekofrain. OccasionallyheplaysthetourguideandshowsheraroundtheEiffelTower,NotreDameCathedral—placesthatshedidn'thavethepatiencetovisitbefore,places thatnow,sheadmits,sheisdelightedtosee. Asnightdescends,Leobecomesincreasinglyrestless(later,inretrospect,shewillrecallthatstrangerestlessnessofhisatsunset).Hetellsherhehastogo,hehasan appointment.Shemakeshimpromisethathewillphoneher.Iwill,forsure,hesays. Beforeheleaves,heasksherformoney.Whatfor?shewantstoknow,surprised,andevensomewhatoffended.It'snoneofyourbusiness,hesaysdryly.Takingthe money,hestuffsitintohispocket,andwithoutanotherword,hewalksaway. OnthatsamenighthereturnstothePleyelHalltoattendan­

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otherconcert.Whetherbycoincidenceornot,heoccupiesthesameseat.Whetherbycoincidenceornot,itisagainthePhilharmonicplaying.Exceptthatitis Beethoventhistime.HalfwaythroughthesymphonyknownasThePastoral,Leostandsup,andremovesfromhistotebagwhatlaterwillbeidentifiedasaMolotov co*cktail;afterignitingthewick,hehurlsthebombontothestage.However,asidefromthefactthatthemusiciansarethrownintoapanic,therearenoother consequences,forthecrudeartifactfailstoexplode. Leoisarrestedanddeported.Handcuffed,hearrivesinRio.Heisinterrogatedbythepolice,whoaskhimifheisaterrorist.Leomakesnoreply.Indoubt,theclerk recordstheanswerasbeingintheaffirmative.

AJabfartheAngelofDeath Everyyear,onhisbirthday,thebosstreatsustolunch.Ahugemarqueeissetupinthecourtyardofthefactory,andallofus—morethansixhundredworkers, togetherwithsupervisorsanddepartmentheads,sitdownatthelongtablestorelishthemagnificentspread:potatosalad,chicken,rice,beans,pasta.Amenuchosen bythebosshimself,whois,ashehimselfinsistsonpointingout,apersonofsimpletastes.Andwithhisfeetontheground. Thefoodisgood,andthemealiseateninanatmosphereofcheerfulcamaraderie:afewbeersandwearealreadypeltingeachotherwithpotatosalad.Thebossand thecompanydirectorssmileatourantics.Everybodyishavingfun. Thenataparticularmoment,abellrings.Silencefalls:Thebossisabouttoaddressus. Hestartsbysayingthatheisveryhappytobewithhisemployees,whomheconsidersashisownchildren,particularlybecauseheisanoldman,mucholderthan whatpeoplethink.Thenheadds: "Iknowthatmanyofyouconsidermeacantankerousoldman

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becauseIamverydemanding,butIamjustashardonmyselfasIamonyou.ManyofyouthinkthatIshouldhaveretiredalongtimeago." "ThatIshouldhavediedeven,tomakeroomforanewboss,ayoungerman,lessstrict." Hepausesandthengoeson: "Letmedisillusionrightawaythoseofyouwhoentertainsuchthoughts.IhavegoodreasonstobelievethatI'llbearoundforalongtime." HethenproceedstotellusthestoryabouttheAngelofDeath: Thebosshadjustestablishedhisowncompany.Atthattime,hemanufacturedonlysmallboilers.Hehadfiveworkerstohelphim,butthebulkoftheworkwasdone byhimself.Onenighthewasworkinglate.Aboilerhadtobereadyfordeliveryonthefollowingday,buttheworkmenhadalreadygonehome,leavingtheworkhalf­ finished.Sohedecidedhewouldfinishthejobhimself.Andtherehewasinhisshop,allsweatyfromsolderingmetalplatestogether,whenallofasuddenhesaw beforehimastrange­lookingperson:tall,thin,withhollowedcheeksandasinisteraspect.Heaskedtheindividualwhohewas.I'mtheAngelofDeath,hereplied,I've comeforyou.Thebosswasthenayoungmaninthepinkofhealth,andtheideaofdyinghadneverevencrossedhismind.Butheknewthatthingslikeaheartattack, astroke,couldhappentoanyone.Therefore,resigned,hetoldtheAngelofDeaththathewouldgowithhim.Buthewouldliketohavehispermissiontofinishthe boilerfirst,forhedidn'twanttoleavehiscustomerinthelurch.Aftersomehesitation,theAngelofDeathallowedhimtofinishthework.However,hesaidthathe wouldwaitonlyuntildaybreak.Assoonasthefirstraysofsunenteredthroughthefanlight,thebosswouldhavetogowithhim.Underthesecirc*mstances,theboss lostnotimeingoingbacktohiswork.TheAngelofDeathstoodwatching.Atagivenmoment,hedrewcloser;curious,heaskedtheboss

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whathewasdoing.Thebossgavehimanexplanationwithout,however,interruptinghiswork.TheAngelofDeaththenaskedifhecouldbeofanyhelp.Atfirstthe bossconsideredtheofferofhelpwithsuspicion;hethoughtthattheAngelofDeathwasinahurrytotakehimaway;however,atthatmomenthewouldaccepthelp evenfromthedevilhimself,andso,handingtheAngelofDeathamonkeywrench,hetoldhimtotightensomebolts.Andtogether,theyworked.Whentheyrealized it,itwasalreadyday,andtheworkmenwerebeginningtoarrive.TheAngelofDeathwaspanic­stricken.Andnow,whatamIgoingtodo?Hewaswhimpering.I've failedinmymission,Ican'treturntotheplacewhereIcamefrom. TakingpityontheAngelofDeath,thebossofferedhimajob,withthewarningthathewouldbepayinghimonlytheminimumwage,forhewasafteralljustan apprentice.Theofferwasaccepted. "Andthus,"saysthebosswindingup,"I'vegainedaloyalandhelpfulpartner.I'msurethataslongasheissatisfied—andheisindeedsatisfied—I'llremainhereand I'llrunthiscompanymyownway.Andthat'sit,myfriends." Theairresonateswithaburstofenthusiasticapplause.Itistruethatafew,themalcontents,keepcastingsurreptitiousglancesaroundthem;theyaretryingtoidentify whichoneoftheirfellowworkerscouldbethisAngelofDeathwhohadfailedtocarryouthistask.Mostpeople,however,areintentonsavoringthedessert.Guava pastewithcheese.Deliciousandnourishing.

TheRightTime Theairplanehadbeenintheairforaboutthirtyminuteswhenmyhusbandsuddenlyrealized:No,hedidn'treallywanttowalkoutonme. Everything—therashdecision,thehastydeparture(hehadn'tevenpackedasuitcase!),andthenboardingtheairplane—every­

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thingamountedtonothingmorethanprecipitation.Toaterriblemistake.Infact,hedidn'twanttolivewiththeotherwoman;hereallywantedtostaywithhiswifeand children. Fifteenyearsofmarriedlife,afamily—thiswasn'tsomethingthathecoulddiscardasifitwereabananapeel, (Abananapeel:atthethought,thereintheairplane,hecouldn'thelpsmiling.Becausehenowrecalledafunnyincident:Onourveryfirstdatehehadslippedona bananapeelrightatthedoorofmyparents'house.Bothofushadlaughed,althoughIwassomewhatannoyed,Ihopeditwasn'tanomen,abadomen.Hemusthave readmymind:I'llneverslipagain,never,heassuredme.) Averitableoath,whichcametomindastheairplaneproceededalongitsrouteacrossblackclouds,whichwereattimesilluminatedbythreateningboltsoflightning. Averitableoath.Whichhehadbeenonthevergeofbreaking:Inamomentoffollyhehaddecidedtoabandonhisfamily,hisfriends,inshort,everything,forawoman thathadjustarrivedintown—anactress;true,shewasabeautiful,intelligent,educatedwoman,butastrangernonetheless.Typicalofanadolescent.Butluciditywas back:Theflightwaslongenoughtoallowhimtocometohissenses.Thankgoodnessweliveinacountryofvastdistances,hethought,inacountryoflongflights. Shucks,allthismoneyspentontheairfare—andonlythendidhenotice:itwasaround­tripticket.Meaningwhat?Well,thathehadinfactthoughtofgoingback,that hehadnevermeanttocuthimselfloosefromeverything.Unconsciouslyhehadtakenaprovidentialprecautionagainstthispossibility.Allthathehadtodoaftergetting offtheplanewastogototheticketcounteroftheairlinecompanyandbookaseatonthefirstreturningflight.Theyoungwomanbehindthecounterwouldfinditodd, forsure—butsowhat?Letherthinkitodd.Itwouldn'tupsethim.Hemightevenrevealtoherthefactthathewasreturninghome.Youknow,I'vemadeamistake, I'vewalkedoutonmyfamily,

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butduringtheflighthereIrecognizedthatwhatIwasdoingwasamistakeandnowI'meagertogobacktomyfamilyassoonaspossible.Smilingsympathetically,the youngwomanwouldthenaskifhehadanyluggage;andafterherepliedinthenegative,shewouldthenverbalizewhathehimselfmusthaveknownbeforesettingoff onthistrip:Ah,Isee,soyouprobablyweren'tallthatseriousaboutembarkingonthisadventure,sir.Andthetwoofthemwouldlaugh. "Dinner,sir?" Itwastheflightattendant,withatray.Myhusbanddeclined:No,hedidn'twantanything;hewashopinghewouldbehomeintimefordinnerwithus,hisfamily.It wouldbeareconciliationdinner,eventhoughwewouldn'tknowthisbecausehewouldtellusnothingaboutwhathadhappened;hewoulddisclosenothingtous. Whyspoiltheenjoymentofhavingdinnerwithus?Dinnerwasourbestmomenttogether.Always.WhatafoolishthingIwasabouttodo,hemurmured.Theman besidehim,surprised,lookedathimsuspiciously.Myhusbandsmiledathim.Heconsideredtellingtheman:Youknow,Ialmostwalkedoutonmyfamily—butthen decidedagainstit.Helookedathiswatch:7:45P.M.No,I'mwrong:thetimewas7:42P.M.Fiveminuteslatertheplanecrashedintoamountain.Andeverythingthat myhusbandhadbeenthinkingabouthasremainedasecret;asecretbetweenthetwoofus,asecretthatIcarefullykeep. AsIcarefullykeephiswatch,stoppedforever:7:45P.M.

ThePublicEnemy Theactivitiesofarão,thepublicenemy,startatseveno'clockinthemorningofanyday,winterorsummer.Itisnoteasyforanalmostsixty­year­oldmanafflicted withchronicrheumatismtogetupsoearly,butArãoneverwavers:Hehasamissiontoaccomplish,andsohegetsdressedandgoesout,headedforthebusstop. Thebus

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comes.Hegetsonthebus,makesaquickassessmentofthesituation,andfinallytakesaseat,usuallynexttoafatanduglyoldwoman.Assoonasthebuspullsout, Arãoleanstowardthewoman: "You'reveryugly,lady,"hewhispers. Atfirstthewomandoesn'tunderstand:What?You'reveryugly,lady,Arãorepeats,you'retheugliestwomanonthisbus,inthiscity.Thewomanthinksthathemust bejoking,butArãocontinueswithhistorrentofinsults:You'reawitch,lady,you'reahag,you'reamiscarriageofnature,youshouldbedevouredbyvoracious alligators.Curiouslyenough,thereisnohatredinhisvoice;thewholethingsoundslikesomekindofasourlitany,itisasifArãoweregoingthroughsomeritual;this fact,however,doesn'tpacifythewoman,whosuddenlygetsupscreaming—youdirty,disgustingbastard—andthensheslapshimonthefaceseveraltimes.With bloodtricklingfromhissplitlip,Arãoisthrownoutofthebusbytheindignantdriver.Hefallsdownandrollsonthedustysidewalk—oneofthevicissitudesinthelife ofapublicenemy—buthesoonpickshimselfupandgetsintoataxithathappenstobeparkednearby.Thecabbie,afatmulatto,makessmalltalk:Whatabeautiful day,isn'tit,wehaven'thadadaylikethisforquitesometime.Ignoringthecabbie'sremarks,Arãoaskstobetakendowntown.Assoonasthetaxipullsaway,he leansforward: "Youstink." Likethewomanonthebus,thedriver'sfirstreactionissurprise:Hethinkshemustbehearingthings.Butno;Arãoisnowsayingloudandclearthatthemanstinks, thathestinksreallybad,thathestinksmorethanamountainofsh*t;thatheispollutingthecar,thewholestreet,thecityitself,withhisstench.Angered,thecabbie(a peaceablemanunderothercirc*mstances)bringsthecartoahalt,thenopensthedoorandordersArãooutofhistaxi.SinceArãorefusestogetout,thecabbie grabshimbythecoat,dragshimoutofthecar,andthendrivesawaywithouteventhinkingofcollecting

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themoneyowedtohim.Arãorecomposeshimselfandstartswalking.Fromadoorway,abeggar,whohappenstobeacripple,askshimformoney. "FortheloveofGod." Arãoignoreshimandcontinuestowalk.Allofasudden,however,hestops;hetumsaround,walksuptothebeggar,andforawhilestandsstaringattheman. "Dropdead,"hefinallysays. Likethetaxidriverandthewomanonthebus,thebeggaristakenaback;hegogglesatArãoinsurprise.Toleavenoroomfordoubt,Arãorepeats: "Dropdead." Andbeforethebeggarhastimetogethiswitstogether,Arãoburstsintoaferocioustirade:Theworldisalreadyovercrowdedwiththepoor—withthepoorandthe crippled,andbeggarsshouldreallydie.Thenallofasudden,thecrippledmanrisestohisfeet,andbalancinghimselfprecariouslyonhisoneleg,hedeliverssucha violentblowofhiscrutchthatArãostaggersandfallsdown.People,filledwithindignation,rushtohisaid:It'sunheard­of,abeggarassaultinganelderlygentleman, heavenknowswhy.Angryvoicesshoutlynchhim.Apolicemanwantstoarrestthebeggar,butArãowon'tlethim.Hesaysthatheisfine,thatthewholethingwas nothingbutamisunderstanding.Thenhehobblesaway,headedforhome. Hearriveshome,takesoffhishat,hangsitonthehatrack.Heexamineshimselfinthemirror:asplitlip,anabrasiononhischin.Hashehadenoughforoneday? Perhaps.But...whataboutthatmansellinglotteryticketsthathesawawhileago?"Youbringbadluck."Yes.Whynot."Youbringbadluck."Hesmiles,grabshis hat,andgoesoutagain.

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TheMessage Thekingusedtoorderthattheheadsofthemessengersthatbroughthimbadnewsbecutoff.Inthisway,aprocessofnaturalselectionwasestablished:The incompetentsweregraduallyeliminateduntiltherewasonlyonemessengerleftinthecountry.Hewas,asonecaneasilyimagine,amanthathadmasteredtheartof impartingbadnewssurprisinglywell.Yoursondied,hewouldannouncetoamother,uponwhichthewomanwouldstartchantingjubilanthymns:Hallelujah,Lord! Yourhouseburneddown,hewouldinformawidower,uponwhichthemanwouldbreakintofreneticapplause.TotheKing,thismessengerwouldrelaythenewsof successivemilitarydefeats,epidemicsoftheplague,naturalcatastrophes,thedevastationofentirecrops,starkpoverty,andfamine.TheKing,surprisedathisown reaction,wouldlistentosuchnewswithasmile.Sopleasedwashewiththemessengerthatheappointedhimhisofficialspokesman.Actinginthisimportantcapacity, themessengersoonwonthesupportandtheaffectionofthepublic.Concomitantly,hatredforthemonarchstartedtogrowuntilhewasfinallydeposedbythepeople, whohadriseninrebellion,andtheformermessengerwascrownedKing.Thefirstthinghediduponassumingofficewastoordertheexecutionofallcandidatesfor thepositionofmessenger.Startingwiththosethathadmasteredtheartofimpartingbadnews.

UnpublishedWorks Theownerofaprintshop­cum­publishinghousegreetstheladythathasjustwalkedin.Theowner,amustachioedmangoingprematurelybald,isstillyoung;heis negligentlydressedincheckeredpantsandafloweryshirtthataffordsaglimpseofhishairybelly.Bycontrast,theladylookscheerfulanddiscreetinhergray

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suit.Inabeautifulmoroccobriefcaseshecarriesamanuscript:poems.Shewouldliketohavethempublished,shesays,anditisatthismoment(butonlyatthis moment,notthereafter)thathervoicetremblesinanalmostimperceptibleway. Theowneroftheprintshopdoesn'tfindherrequestsurprising.Hisfather,fromwhomhehasinheritedthebusiness,usedtopublishbooksofpoetry—deluxelimited editions,aimedatasmall,selectreadership.Hechargedalotforthiskindofwork,whichhedid,heusedtosay,notforthemoneybutforthepleasurehefeltin disseminatingculture. Apleasurewhichhissonandsuccessordoesnotfeel.Heknowsnothingaboutpoetryorliterature;asamatteroffact,hehardlyknowsanythingaboutprintingitself; somuchso,infact,thatbusinesshasbeensteadilygoingdownhill.However,hethinksofhimselfasbeingshrewd;awhileago,whenthisladywalkedin,hehada hunch:today'smyday.Andnowasheleafsthroughthemanuscript(beautifullyhandwritten,incidentally)heisindeedconvinced:hereishisluckybreak,his opportunitytohitthejackpot,tocomeoutontopoftheheap.Becauseinthesepoemsthewomanspeaksofahopelesspassion;besides,sheisobviouslyrich.Arich widowordivorcee,maybearichheiress.Amiddle­agedwomanwhowritespassionatepoemsandwhodesirestoseetheminprint:She'llpayanyprice. Noproblem,saystheowneroftheprintshop,we'llprintthem,sure;we'lldesignabeautifuledition,arealworkofart.That'sexactlywhatIhaveinmind,saysthe lady.Aworkofart,ifpossiblewithillustrations.Certainly,theowneroftheprintshophastenstosay,withillustrations,yes,beautifulillustrations,andIhavetheright mantoillustratethepoems.Heproceedstogiveherfurtherdetails:Hewilldothetypesettingwithspecialtypefaces,thepaperwillbeofthehighestqualityavailable. Ofcourse,thiskindofwork,heforewarnsherwarily,unabletocontainacertainanxiety,doesn't

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comecheap.Ohyes,Iknowitdoesn't,theladyisquicktosay,butitdoesn'tmatter,moneyisn'taproblem.Theowneroftheprintshopcanbarelycontainasmile.A handshake(howsoftherhandis)sealsthedeal,andamomentlaterheisalreadyaskingforanadvancepayment:Itwouldbeagoodideatobuythepaperright away,pricesaresoongoingupagain.Withoutanyvacillation,shewritesoutacheckandthenleaves. Thismoney,heinvests.Andfromthenon,hekeepsinvesting:themoneyfortheillustrator;themoneyforthetypesettingexpenses;themoneyfortheinvitationstothe launchingofthebook.Heinvestsandinvests.Everytimethewomanmakesapayment,sheinquiresaboutherbook.It'scomingonnicely,hereplies,don'tworry. Hegetsagoodreturnonhisinvestments;hepaysoffafewdebtsandhecanevenaffordtobuynewclothes.Butheisinastateofrestlessness.Thefactis...hehas falleninlovewiththewoman.Thereisnodenyingthatheisreallyinlove.He,ofallpeople,he,aseasonedmanwhohaslostcountofthenumberofloversinhislife. Whatonearthpossessedhimtofallinlove?Andwithaladytoboot,awomanfarabovehissocialclass,andtomakemattersworse,awomanwhomhemerely intendedtotakeadvantageof. Apparently,shehasnotnoticedanything.Shephoneshim,butonlytoinquireaboutthebook.Thenoneafternoonshecomestotheprintshoptohavealookatthe workinprogress.Thereisnobodyelsetherebesideshim;thetwooldtypesetterswhoworkforhimhavealreadyleft.Helaysafewroughsketchesforthebook coveronthedeskinhisoffice,andwhilesheisexaminingthem,heapproachesherfrombehind.Heembracesher.Sheoffersnoresistance,andmerelyaskshimto begentle.Rightthenandthere,onthetatteredcouchinhisoffice,hepossessesher.Afterward,theyliethere,shesmokinginsilence.Hewouldliketotalk,totellher thingsabouthimself,todescribehisunhappychildhoodandtor­

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mentedadolescencetoher.Butshe,claimingthatshehasthingstodo,saysgood­byeandleaves. Theycontinuetomeet,butnowinadiscreetmotel.Yes,theyhavebecomelovers;however,allsheisinterestedinisherbook:howistheprintingcomingon,when willthebookcomeout?Hefindsherdoggedinsistencesomewhatirritating:Whyalwaystalkaboutthebook?Whynottalkaboutlove?Sheclaimsthatsheisina hurry,sheisleavingforEuropesoon,shewantstoseeherbooklaunchedbeforeherdeparture.Onenighttheyhaveanargument.Shegiveshimanultimatum:She wantsherbookreadyonthenextday.Otherwise,shewillgotothepolice. Heleavesthemotelfuriousandhurt.So,shewantsherbook;well,shewillhaveit.Hemakesfortheprintshop;hehimselfwilldothetypesetting.There'snothingto it,really,justafewlittlepoems.However,thejobturnsouttobeextraordinarilydifficult.Therearethingsthathedoesnotevenunderstand;whatthehelldoesthis wordheremean?Andthisone,whydidshedivideitlikethis?Laboriouslyhetoilsawayuntilsuddenly—thedayisalreadydawning—arevelation:Inaflash, everythingmakessense,henowunderstandswhatsheissayingwiththesestrangewords.Yes,it'soflovethatshespeaks,andshedoessobeautifully;sobeautifully thattearsofjoybegintorundownhisface.Yes,he,aboorofaman,istouched,deeplytouchedbythebeautyofthesepoems.Onascrapofpaper,hestartsto scribbleafewlinesofpoetry;theystrikehimasprettygood;nothingfancy,butquitegood.Herevisesawordhere,awordthere,anotherwordhere.Andthenan ideaoccurstohim:Hewilladdhisownpoemstothebook,hewillbetheco­author.Somethingsymbolicandtimely,too,forhehasalreadydecidedthatheisgoing toproposetoher. Inthemorninghegoestoherhouse.Aservantshowshimintoherstudy,sayingthattheladywon'tbelong.Impatient,hestartspacingtheroombackandforth.

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Thetelephonerings.Withtheconfidenceofsomeonefeelingverymuchathome,heanswersthephone. Aman'svoice.Askingfortheladyofthehouse.Sheisn'thome,hesayswithbrazenness(fromnowonshewon'tbehomeforanyone).Wouldyouplease,saysthe caller,tellherthatthecontractisready.Whatcontract?askstheowneroftheprintshop,surprised.Thecontractwithourpublishinghouse,themanreplies;wethink thatherbookisverygoodandwe'regoingtopublish*t. Mechanically,heputsthereceiverdown;inhisamazement,hestandstheremotionless.Butthensheappears,dressedinabeautifulflowerytunic,lookingmoreelegant thanever. Withaneffort,herecovershimself.She,too,smiles.Whowasit?sheasksinacasualtoneofvoice. Wrongnumber,hereplies.Wrongnumber. Wrongnumber,shemurmurs.Shestandstheremotionless,afarawaylookinhereyes,herfacelitupbyasmile.Heknowswhatsheisthinking:It'llmakeagoodtitle forapoem.Wrongnumber.

AMinuteofSilence Thekingdied,andthegovernmentissuedadecree:atteno'clockinthemorningofthedayafterthefuneral,theentirepopulationwastoobserveoneminuteof silence.Everybodycompliedwiththeorder,andattheappointedtime,aheavysilencefelluponthewholecountry. Peoplewhohappenedtobeoutonthestreetsawotherpeoplestandingsilentandabsolutelyimmobile.Supposedly,theywereallthinkingofthedeadmonarch,and indeed,manywere;infact,almosteverybodywas,withtheexceptionofaprofessorofmathematicswho,assoonashefellsilent,startedtodosomecalculations.He foundoutthatthetotalsumoftheminutesofsilenceoftwenty­sixmillionandeighthundredthousandcitizensamountedtofifty

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years—exactlytheageoftheKingatthetimeofhisdeath.Onelifelost,theprofessorwasthinking,andnowanotherlifeisbeinglostinthissilence.Andlater:No,not beinglost,notentirely,forI'vediscoveredsomething—butwhatisit? Atthatverymomentinamaternityhospital,hiswifewasgivingbirthtoababywho,sufferingfrommultiplecongenitallesions,wasunabletoclingtolife:Helivedfor onlyoneminute.LongenoughforhismothertonamehimaftertheKingsosadlymissedbyeverybody.

ThePrince Shewasaloneinabar,drinkingbeer,whenhecameuptoher.Hesaidnothing,anddidn'tevenintroducehimself,butimmediatelysheknewforsure:Hewasa prince.Ahandsomeyoungman,dressedinausterebutelegantclothes,hisstraightchestnut­brownhaircarefullycombed.Aprince,yes.Andthegreatadventurethat shehadalwayshopedtohavewasfinallyabouttobecomeareality. Smiling,theprincegaveheranimperceptiblenod.Shegotupandfollowedhimoutofthebar.Theygotintoabigsilver­graycarthathadbeenwaitingforhim. Withoutaword,andasifbypriorarrangement,thechauffeurstartedtheengine.Theydroveacrossthecityforawhilebeforereachingthesuburbs;andnotaword passedbetweenthem—betweenherandtheprince.Attimestheywouldexchangeglances,andastheydidso,theywouldsmile,butwithoutsayinganything,for wordsdidn'tseemnecessary.Theyarrivedatacountryhouse,whichwasjustasshehadimaginedit.Abighouseinthemiddleofastretchofwell­keptlawn.Atthe door,abutlerwaswaitingforthem;theyimmediatelywentupstairstothesecondfloor.Theprinceopenedthedoortoabedroom,andjustasshehadimaginedit, thereitwas,thelargedoublebedwithitsmuslincanopyandrichlyembroideredcounterpane.Withasigh,

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shefellintohisarms,andwithoutfurtherdelay,theyengagedinforeplay,whichafewminuteslaterculminatedinthesexact.Afterward,heopenedthechampagne bottlekeptinasilverbucket;alwayssmiling,andneversayinganything. Andtherethetwoofthemremainedinsilence,drinkingchampagne.Thenallofasudden,shecouldn'tcontainherselfanylonger;allofasudden,hereyesglittering, sheblurtedout: ''Haveyounoticed,YourExcellency,thatwehaven'tsaidawordsincewemet?" Themanstilltriedtodetainher,butitwastoolate,thespellwasbroken,andheburstintotears,forhewasirremediablytransformedinto—what? Intoaprince,certainly.

TheProblem Theproblemisinitiallyenunciatedlikethis:Ourgrand­motherlovesherhusbandIsaiasverymuch.Whichseeminglydoesn'tconstituteaproblematall;however,the factisthatGrandfatherIsaiasisveryoldandsick,andthereiseveryindicationthathewilldiesoon. Theenunciationoftheproblemcontinuesinthismanner:Ourgrandmotherwillneverconsenttoaseparationfromsomeonewhohasbeenherlifelongcompanion.She willprobablyhavehisbodyembalmed,whichisnotunusual.However,wehaveeveryreasontobelievethatourgrandmotherintendstokeeptheembalmedbodyof herdeceasedhusbandinthelargeclosetinherbedroom. Theproblemthenreachesanalmostcrucialstage.Thequestionthatisboundtoariseis:Howtogetridofthecorpse,whosepresenceinthehousewecannot obviouslytolerate.Inthisregardthegrandchildrenproposeavarietyofsolutions.Somesuggestsettingthebodyonfire—anideathatseemsquitefeasible,butit*tirs upacon­

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troversy.Itisnotamerematteroffindingoutifanembalmedgrandfatheriscombustible;thecrucialfactoristhattheriskofawidespreadfireshouldnotbetaken lightly.Forthisreason,otherssuggestthatwecutourgrandfatherintotinybits,whichcouldthenbedisposedof;ifdonegradually,hiswidowwouldnotnoticeathing; however,thiscouldgoonforyears.Thebestsuggestioncomesfromagranddaughterwhoworksforaresearchlaboratory.Bymeansofaconditioningprocess,she intendstotrainarat,whichwillthennibbleatthebodyofourgrandfatheruntilitisgone.Ofcourse,ourgrandmothermightcomeacrosstherat,butthiswon'tmatter. Theproblemwillbeformulatedinacomplete,definitive,andrelentlesswayatthetimewhenourgrandmotherstartscallingtheratIsaias.

IntheWorldofLetters Hecomestothebookstoreduringpeakhours,butitisalreadycommonknowledgethathedoessoonpurpose:Itmakeshisjobsomucheasier. Hestealsbooks.Somethinghehasbeendoingforyears,practicallyeversincehischildhood.Hestartedbystealingatextbookthatheneededforhisschoolwork;it wassoeasythathegothookedonit,andhewassoonstealingadventureandscience­fictionnovels,aswellasbooksaboutart,politics,science,economy.He perfectedhistechniquetosuchanextentthathewasabletostealfourorfivebooksatonego.Heshopliftedinthebookstoresofeverycityhevisited.Atonetimein London,hewasalmostcaughtred­handed—anincidentthathenowrecallswithafeelingofamusem*nt. Atfirst,healwaysreadthebooksthathestole.Later,readinglostit*appealforhim.Thewholethingbecametheftfortheft'ssake—hestolejustforkicks.Hewould givethebooksawayasgifts,orsimplydiscardthem.Buthehadlessandlesstimetofrequentbookstores;hiscommercialenterprisesrequiredhisfullattention.Be­

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sides,asanentrepreneur,hecouldn'taffordtoruntheriskofbeingcaughtinflagrantedelicto.Aproblemthathesolved,ashesolvesallhisproblems,withacumen, audacity,imagination. Bingo!Hehasjustpilferedanotherone.Nothingspectacularinthisaction:Hemerelytookasmallbookandstuffeditintohispocket.Heglancesaroundhim; apparently,nobodyhasnoticedanything.Hegreetsmeandleavesthestore. Aminutelaterhereturns.HowdidIdo?heasks,notwithoutanxiety.Great,Ireply,andhesmiles,grateful.Whichmakesmehappy,too,forpraisinghimisnotjust anactofcompassionbutalsoacertainmeasureofprudence.Heis,afterall,theownerofthebookstore.

SensitiveSkin Amanisonthebeach,lyingunderanumbrella.Apleasantday.Asoftbreeze.Themanlooksathiswatch,andmuchtohissurprise,itisalmosttwoo'clockinthe afternoon.Hehasbeentheresinceeleveninthemorning;hesimplywasn'tawareofthepassageoftime.That'sthewayitis,heconcludes:whenyoufeelfine,you don'tnoticetimegoby. Sucharealizationleavesthemanworried.Heisnolongeryoung;heisfiftyyearsold.Byignoringthepassageoftimeheisinfactspeedingupaprocessthat inexorablyleadshimtodeath.What'stheuseoffeelingfine(andhedoesfeelfine;heisrichandwellknown;andthebeautifulwomanlyingbesidehimishispresent wife),wheninfactheisdying?Anddyingwithoutgivingmuchthoughttoit. Hisheartssinks;hehastheimpressionthatthedayhasdarkened.However,beinganenergeticandcourageousman,hewon'tletdefeatistmoodsdescenduponhim. Ifthispainfulsensationoftheinevitableendoriginatedinapeculiarwayofthinkingaboutasunnyday,allhehastodoinordertocounteractthissensationistofinda

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differentwayofthinking.Atrick,asalastresource.Atrickofreasoning.Hesoondevisesone.Itgoeslikethis:Well­beingandhappinessspeedupthemarchoftime; ergo,discomfortandsufferingmustslowitdown.Anundeniabletruth,forinthispresentbrooding—apainfuland,itseemedtohim,awfullyslowprocess—hehas spentnomorethantwominutes,asindicatedbythewatchofanexcellentmakethathewearsonhiswrist.Whichgoestoprovethatslowandpainful,thetwowords thathaveoccurredtohimtodescribethecrisisheisgoingthroughatthemoment,arecloselyconnected.Asamatteroffact,hecan'tthinkofasinglepainfulthingthat doesnotalsoslowdowntime.Forexample,asmalloperation(withoutanesthesia)thathehadasachildwasthemostunbearablyprolongedthinginhisentirelife;and yet,ittookthesmilingsurgeonnomorethanafewminutestoperformthatoperation. Therefore,hewillhavetoinflictsomeimaginarysufferinguponhimself.Sufferingthatcouldbecomequitepotent.How?Byimbuingitwithasenseofuselessness.In thecaseofthatchildhoodoperation,thepainwasallayedbytheideathatitwasnecessary.So,whathewilldonowistopicturehimselfinasituationinwhich sufferingwillresultinnothing,absolutelynothing. Heimagineshimselfasbeingaguerrillainacountrythatisadictatorship,inacountryunderastrongandunassailablemilitarygovernment.Heimagineshimselfbeing capturedandsubjectedtohorribletortures:ared­hotbrandingirononhisgenitals,pincerspullingouthisfingernails,andsoon.Forwhathehasinmind,thiskindof imaginingshoulddothetrick;inoneofthesetorturesessionslifewillhavetostopbecausethevictimhasvoluntarilyrepudiatedanymoralsupportandgivenupall hopeforthefuture.Byrenouncingthefuture,heacquiresaneternalpresenttime. Theideaabouttheguerrillaandthesubsequenttortureisgoodbutdifficulttoimplement.Aseriesofmeasureswillhavetobetakentoputitintopractice:themanwill havetosellouthisbusinesses,

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traveltoadistantcountry,contacttheleadersoftheguerrillamovement,etc.—allofthisrequiring,forstarters,thatheleavethebeach.No,itjustwon'tdo.Hethen startsthinkingofsomethingelse,ofsomethingmorewithinhisreach.IfImoveawayfromthisplaceundertheumbrella,heponders,andexposemyselfdirectlytothe powerfulsun,I'llfeelatfirstdiscomfort,andthenpain;soonafterward,theexcruciatingpainthatIwillhavetoendurewill,byincreasingexponentially,turnevery secondintoayear,andeveryminuteintoamillennium:timewillleantowardeternity. Buteternitywillneverbereached.Notonlybecausethesunkeepsmarchingtowarditsowndecline,butalsobecausethisunbearablesuffering,asitapproachesthe momentofbreakingthebarrieroftime,willgraduallyyieldtothejoythatresultsfromhavingovercometime;suchjoywillthenpromptlyactuatethemechanismofthe invisibleclock,thusoncemoremakingexistencemeasurableandfinite,inevitablyfinite.Thereisnosolution,themangroanssoftly.Hiswife,lyingbesidehim,opens hereyes:"Whatdoyouwant,honey?"Thesuntanoil,hereplies,andwhenhiswifepasseshimtheplasticbottle,hegetsup,squeezesafewdropsofthedark,viscous liquidontothepalmofhisrighthand,andslowlybeginstospreadtheoiloverhisface.Astheadvertisem*ntsays,whenitcomestosensitiveskin,youcan'tbetoo careful.

TheSurprise Onthelargedoublebedthathasbeeninourfamilyforseveralgenerations,amanliesdying.Hiscancerhasspreadtosuchanextentthatthedoctorshavevirtually stoppedtreatinghim.Hehasaskedhisdoctorstolethimdieathome,onthesamedoublebedonwhichhisancestorsslept,madelove,anddied. Hiswife,tearful,isathisbedside.Themanaskshertocheerup:Theyhavetodiscusshowhisfinalminuteswillbespent.Iwant

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mysonherewithme,hesays.Buthe'sjustachild,thewomanmoans.Iknowhe'sachild,andit'sforthisveryreasonthatIwanthimwithmenow,contendstheman, whohappenstobemyfather.Iwantmysontoretaininhismindapositiveimageofmyself—anencouragingimagethatwillguideandsustainhimthroughouthislife. Heisalreadygaspingforbreath.Itiswithatremendouseffortthathecontinuestotalk. "I'lltellhimthat,yes,man'slifeonearthdoesmakesense.Thatkindnessandtoleranceareappreciated.Thatdignitymustbemaintainedatanycost.Andthat love..." Heinterruptshimself,hisfacecontortedwithpain.Whatisit,darling?asksthewife,indespair.Whatisit? "Nothing,"hesays,controllinghimselfwithdifficulty."WherewasI?" "Thatlove—"Sheisintears."Youweretalkingaboutlove." "Ah,yes.Thatloveiseverything.Thatloveisindeedeverything.It'simportantthatheknowthis.Thathebelieveinlove." Sheisnowcryingsoftly.Andthen,likeajack­in­the­box,Isuddenlyspringupfromunderthebed,openmyarmswide,and "Surprise!"Ishout.

TheWinner:AnAlternativeView Inthefirstsevenrounds,Raulwassoundlytrounced.Whichdidn'tcomeasasurprise:Hewasbadlyoutofshape.Monthsofindolenceandevendebaucheryhad takentheirtoll.Thecombativepugilistoftheolddays,themanwhommanyhadconsideredaworld­classboxer,astar,wasnowreducedtoalimpdishrag.The crowdwasnotatallinthemoodtoshowanycomplaisance.Therewasasuccessionofboosandabusivejeershurledathim. Suddenly,somethinghappened.Whilelyingonthecanvas,flooredbyadevastatinghook,Raulraisedhisheadandsawhis

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nieceDoris,thedaughterofhisdeceasedbrotherAlberto,sittinginthefrontrow.Thegirlwaslookingathim,hereyesbrimmingwithtears.Itwasalookthatpierced Raullikeadagger.Somethinginsidehimburstapart.Hethenfelttherebirthofthatenergythatintheolddaysusedtoturnhimintothewildbeastoftheboxingring. Leapingtohisfeet,headvanceduponhisopponentlikeanenragedbull.Atfirstthecrowddidnotrealizewhatwashappening.Butwhenthefansnoticedthatareal resurrectionhadtakenplace,theystartedtorootforhim.Withabarrageofwell­aimedpunchesdeliveredwithgreatviolence,Raulsenthisopponenttothecanvas. Therefereestartedcountingtheregulatoryten,andthendeclaredRaulthewinner. Everybodywasapplauding.Everybodywasdeliriouswithjoy.Everybodyexceptthepersontellingthestory.Thepersontellingthestorywastheonethatwas floored.Thepersontellingthestorywastheonethatwasdefeated.Oh,God!

MemoirsofanAnorexic Inthebeginningofwhatthedoctorshaddubbed"herdisease"(addingitsname:anorexianervosa),Rosawouldrefusetoeatthefoodthatwasservedtoherandher familyatthetable,andshedidthesameinthehospitalwhereshehadbeenadmittedfortreatment.Beforelong,however,shebegantorealizethatwhatshewasdoing wasn'tenough:Shecouldn'tlimitherselftomerelyrefusingtoeatthericeandbeans,orthesteakparmiggiana.Shewouldhavetogobeyondthis.Buthow?For severalmonthsshetackledthispredicamentuntilfinallyshehituponasolution:imaginaryfoods.Acategorywithnobarriersthatwouldhinderherrefusaltoeat. Slowly,shebeganthisnewphase.Shewouldclosehereyes,andwithhardlyanyeffort,shewouldfindherselfinthatsameelegantrestaurant

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whichsheandherparentsusedtofrequentwhenshewasachild.Shewouldstudythemenuatlengthandthenorderareallysophisticateddish,likelobsterortrout. Whenthewaitercamebackwithaplatteronwhichsmallportionsoffoodwereartisticallyarranged,shewouldrisetoherfeet,andlaughing,throweverythingonthe floor.Orshewouldthrowthelobsteratthefaceofherastoundedfather.Forafewtimessuchbehaviorwascondonedbutafterward,ofcourse,shewasbarredfrom thisluxuryestablishment;evenimaginarymanagerswerecapableofbeingmovedtoindignation,whichhardlyupsether,though:Shesimplystartedtogoto luncheonettesandothermodestrestaurants.Whatshewasnowthrowingonthefloorwerepizzas,hamburgers,hotdogs.Andsoftdrinksaswell,forsure.Atfirstthis kindofbehaviorwascondonedbecauseinimagination(aswellasinreality),shewasrichandcouldpayforthedamages.Intheend,however,therestaurant managersbecamefedupwithher;soonshewasbeingthrownoutofeventhecheapestgreasejoints.Bythattime,shehadalreadydestroyedanincalculablequantity offood,andherweightwasdowntoamerefortykilograms(keepinginmindthattheyoungwomanwasonemeterseventycentimeterstall),butshefeltthatshehad notaccomplishedhermissionyet.Shewouldneedsomethingbig,somethingthatwouldnotonlyrocktheworldbutalsoputanendtotheverysubstanceofher body—herflesh,hernerves,herblood—inamostdefinitivemanner.Inordertocarryoutthisproject,shewouldhavetostealallthefoodavailableinthecountryand sendit—where?—toAfrica,ofcourse,tothatplacewherethosepoorcreatures,incapableofanorexianervosa,sufferedthepangsofhunger.Therefore,shebeganto visualizehugestorehouseschock­fullofgrain,giganticcoldstorageroomspackedwithbloodycarcassesofbeef,largebarrelsfilledwithwholemilk.Insinglefile,an armyofdutifulservantswouldtransportallthisfoodtomagnificentships,whichwouldthensail

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acrosstheoceaninthedirectionofAfrica,wheremillionsoffamishedpeoplewouldbewaitingeagerlyonthebeach.Andassoonastheshipswereunloaded,the peoplewouldscrambleforthefood. Itisnothardtoimaginewhathappenednext.Wellnourished,thenativeswerenolongersatisfiedwithwhattheycalled"crumbs"(asemanticincorrectness:noneofthe foodthathadbeensenttothemleftanyresidualmatterthatcouldbecalled"crumbs").Theywantedmore,andinordertogetwhattheywanted,theydidnothesitate toresorttoviolence.Hordesuponhordescrossedtheoceanincrudeboats.Theydisembarkedclamoringforfood;andtheykilledanyonethatgotintheirway.Rosa, bludgeonedwithprecisionontheskull,wasthefirstvictim.Thedeathcertificatereferredtoacerebralhemorrhage;italsomentionedanorexianervosa,butthosein theknowdonothesitatetoattributethecauseofherdeathtofood.Imaginaryvictualsareverydangerous,evenwhennotingested.

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EPILOGUE

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IntheTribeoftheShort­StoryWriters:ADeposition Theyearis1943.ThesettingisaneighborhoodinPortoAlegre,acityinthesouthernmostpartofBrazil.LikemanyothercitiesinthisareaofLatinAmerica,it receivedagreatcontingentofEuropeanimmigrantsintheearly1900s.Thisneighborhoodinparticularisaneighborhoodofimmigrants:JewsfromRussiaandPoland. Andperhapsforthisreason,itresemblesasmallvillageineasternEurope,withitssmallhouses,tinyshops,grocerystores.Duringthedaythestreetsarecrowded: womengossip,kidsplay,streetvendorscrytheirwares.Butnowit'snight,awarmsummer'snight;alltheresidentsareoutonthestreets,seatedonchairsplacedon thesidewalks. Inoneofthosegroups,somebody,awoman,tellsastory. Theyearis1943.ThereisawargoingoninEurope.BraziliantroopshavejustlandedinItaly,wheretheyjoinedtheAllies'army.Disturbingrumorsaboutdeath campsjuststartedtocirculate—butthisisnotwhatthewomantalksabout:thestorythatshetellsconjuresupthefirstfewyearsoftheimmigrantsinBrazil,their astonishmentattheforests,atthevastgrasslands,theirexcitementupontastingtropicalfruitsfortheveryfirsttime.Oranges!TherewereorangesinBrazil!Andtosay thatinEuropetheycarefullydividedonesingleorangeamongtheentirefamily....Oranges,yes,andbananastoo,andexoticfruits.Andsugar:inRussiatheywould holdacubeofsugarbetweentheirteethanddrinkteathroughit—inthisway,itlastedlonger.ButinBrazilsugarisplentifulandcheap,soplentiful

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thattheyevenputitintheirmaté,thisbeveragewhichthegauchosprefertodrinkunsweetenedinthemachoway. Sheisagreatstoryteller,thiswoman,andeverybodylistens,fascinated;andmorethananyoneelse,herson,asix­year­oldboywhowouldratherlistentostoriesthan playsoccerwithhisfriends.Hedoesn'tknowityet,butheismakingadecision:inthefuture,hewilltellstories,likehismother. MorethanfiftyyearslaterIrememberthatnightintheBomFimdistrictinPortoAlegre,andIwonderaboutthismysteriousimpulsethatmakesapersontellstories andtransform,asKafkasaid,lifeintofiction.Inmycase,it'salifethathaschangedagreatdeal:lifeingeneralismutable,butfarmoresoinacountrysomutableand contradictorylikeBrazil.Infact,veryearlyonthecontradictionsofBrazilianlifebecamepartofmyownwayofbeing,andconsequently,ofmywriting. I'mthinking,forexample,ofmyname—theresultofaninterestingcombination.ScliarisaverycommonsurnameamongJews.Moacyr,however,isanIndianname;it means''hewhoinflictspain."I'veoftenwonderedaboutthereasonsbehindmymother'sdecisiontogivemesuchaname:thetraditionalmasochismofaJewish mother?OradesiretomakethingseasierforhersonbygivinghimaveryBrazilianname?Beingateacher,mymotherknewthatMoacyrisapopularnameinBrazil becauseofafictionalcharactercreatedbyJosédeAlencar,anineteenth­centurywriterwho,inaromanticway,idealizedtheIndians—infact,victimsofa*genocide thatreducedtheirnumbersfrommillionstoafewthousands. AnIndiannamehasasymbolicmeaning.Tribes:Ihavemovedfromonetribetoanotherinthecourseofmyexistence.Realtribes,buttheyhaveinspiredthe characterswithwhomIhavepeopledtheterritoryofmyimagination.Thefirsttribewastheoneinmyneighborhood.TheJewishtribe:thesoundsofYiddish,the melancholyhumor,therichtradition.Althoughnotabeliever,IreadtheBible

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enthralled,andintheparablesIdiscoveredaliteraryformclosetoperfection. Timewentby,childhoodwasgone.Iwentoutsidethelimitsofmyneighborhood,Idiscoveredothertribes. Itookupmedicine.Thereasons?Many.Themainone:Idreadedillness.Everytimesomeoneinmyfamilybecameill,Iwasterrified.Idecidedtoconquerthisterror byconfrontingit.InmedicalschoolIbecameacquaintedwithcorpses,andlater,inthepubliccharityhospital,withpatients.Theycamefromallpartsofthestate; mostly,theywerepoorruralworkers,thevictimsofBrazil'slatifundia—thelargelandedestateswithlaborofteninastateofpartialservitude.Thankstomedicine,I plungeddeeplyintotherealityofmycountry:IgottoknowtheBrazilofsheerwretchedness,theBrazilofthefavelas—theshantytowns.Likemanyothers,Ifelt indignationovertheappallinggapbetweentherichandthepoorinLatinAmerica.Myfirstshortstoriestranslatedthisindignation;likemanyyoungwriters,Iwas influencedbythesociallycommittedliteratureofwhichJorgeAmadowasthemajorexponent.In1964,however,protestgavewaytosilence.Thiswastheyearof thecoupd'étatthatwastokeepthemilitaryinpowerfortwenty­fouryears.Onescenebecameengravedinmymemory:Iwasdowntownwhenallofasudden,army trucksarrivedattopspeed.Soldiers,dozensofthem,jumpedoutandblockedthedoorofabuildingwhosemezzaninehousedasmallleft­wingbookstore.From there,bookswerethrownintothestreet.Thesoldiersgatheredthemupandtookthemaway. Themilitarydictatorshipparalyzedtheintellectuallifeofthecountry.Therepressionculminatedin1968,theyearwhenIpublishedmyfirstbookofshortstories,The CarnivaloftheAnimals. Rereadingthosestories,Iidentifyinthemmanyinfluences.Theretheyare:theBiblicalparables,theKafkaesquesituations,andalsomagicrealism—theLatin Americanwayofcombiningpolitical

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fictionwithhumorandfantasy.Inmycase,theexperienceofLatinAmericaisalsotheexperienceoftheJewishimmigrationitself—theastounded,suspicious,amazed eyesthattheJewscastuponthecontinent. Likemanyotherwriters,Ididn'tstickexclusivelytotheshortstory.I'vewrittennovels,essays,newspaperarticles.ButIkeepreturningtotheshortstory.An implacableliteraryform;likethesphinx,itissuesachallenge:deciphermeorI'lldevouryou.That'swhythetribeoftheshort­storywriterslivesinapermanentstateof apprehension,searchinginvainfortheterritoryinwhichitcanfeelsafe. Itisanancienttribe.Storytellingisanartthatgoesbackalongway.Wecanimagineprimitivemengatheredaroundafireinacave.Outside,wildbeastsprowlanda thousanddangerslieinwait,butitisnotofdangersthattheyarethinkingbecausesomeoneistellingastory,andthestoryhasthemagicpowerofperformingtricks withreality,oftransportinglisteners,orreaders,toanotherworld,attimeswonderful,attimesfrightening,butalwaysdifferent. Short­storywriters.Likepoets,theystartyoung;likepoets,theydie,orusedtodie,young:Poeatforty,Kafkaatforty­one,Maupassantatforty­three,Chekhovat forty­four,O.Henryatforty­six.Bycontrast,Dostoievskyatsixty,Faulkneratsixty­five,Mannateighty,Tolstoyateighty­two:novelistslastlonger,theirtextdoesn't havethedramaticurgencyoftheshortstory. Nordoesthenovelhavethechallengeoftheshortstory.Thephysiologicallaw—theall­or­nothinglaw—appliestoit.Ifweapplyanelectricstimulusofgrowing intensitytoalonemuscle,wewon'tgetaresponseatfirst;however,oncethemusclecontractsitself,itwilldosowithallitsenergy.Ashortstoryislikethis;itresults fromasuddenrevelation,fromanepiphany.Iteithersucceedsorfails;andwhenitfails,itfailscompletely,irremediably.Anovelcanhavepassagesthatarebetteror worse,moreinterestingorlessinteresting;

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itwillbejudgedasawhole.Buttheshortstory,abriefform,doesnotconsenttosuchapossibility.Thus,thepermanentstateofanxietyinwhichtheshort­story writerslive.Ananxietythatisirreversible.Whoeverisadmittedtothetribeoftheshort­storywriterscannotleaveit.Forbetterorworse,youareimprisonedfor good.That'swhathappenedtome.ButI'mnotcomplaining.I'mjusttelling.Whichiswhatshort­storywritersaregoodat.