by Luiz Ruffato
i wake up! I wonder what the time is. I wriggle free of the duvet, get up, put my glasses on. I open the window. It’s the dead of night. A little chilly. My head aches. I shove my feet into some socks. Pull on a pair of pants and sneakers. Step down the hall and turn on the bathroom light. I squeeze some toothpaste onto my toothbrush, and brush my teeth. I rinse my mouth. Remove my glasses. Wash my face. Pat it dry. Put my glasses back on. I lift the toilet cover, pee. Flush. I catch my reflection in the mirror. Switch off the light and shut the door. I put on a shirt. Look around to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. I slip on my backpack. Flip off the bedroom light. I head down the hallway and turn the light off. Lock the door with the key. I cut across the veranda toward the bathroom, past the alcove with the picture of St. Anthony of Padua and slip the key into the space between the rafter and the wall. I circle back, keeping my eyes averted from St. Anthony of Padua’s illuminated alcove. The fire in the grill has died out. I use the rake to check for remnants of the mortar and pestle. Nothing. Just charcoal. I look out at the dog pen, at the seven-a-side soccer field, at the pool, the orchard, the house…I open the gate, slam it shut. I hear the lock click. Clouds cluster just outside Rodeiro. I round the wall, treading the bluish dark. I scramble up the steep incline and skirt the forest on my way up the hill. I take careful steps, making sure to avoid holes hidden by clumps of crabgrass. One morning, I’d snuck into the forest on my own. All night a calf had lowed, leaving me unsettled and unable to sleep. Lying on the dewy forest floor, I tried to parse the wind whispering through the branches, the birds chattering, and the babel of animals I imagined stealing around me, watchful. So I closed my eyes and pretended I was dead, and that the peace and quiet all around me were Paradise, the same Paradise Father Jaime would speak of in his garbled accent at mandatory Sunday mass, as the farmers watched dumbly from the uncomfortable pews of São Sebastião Church. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up, heart pounding, the sun was bright in the sky. I ran from the forest and down the hill, assuming everyone was anxiously searching for me. For a brief moment, I savored the sensation that I mattered, that I was somebody, and that my absence had been felt. When I arrived at Uncle Paulino’s house, I explained my adventure excitedly. My mother listened, then tore off her flip-flop, grabbed me by the arm, spanked me and forced me to spend the rest of the day in the darkly lit room that had once been her own. I reach the hilltop. Stop and gaze down. I forgot to turn off the light in the pool house. The building is like a ship bobbing in the night sea. I turn and wade into the forest. My feet crunch as they tread over tangles of dried branches, litterfall, underbrush, lianas. I knock into trees, skin pricked by thorns. I choose a place in the dark. Set down my backpack. Grope around for the plastic bottle and shake it so that the powder completely dissolves in the water. I unscrew the cap. Take a long swig. My stomach turns. I sit. Breathe deeply. Take another long swig. The bitter liquid slips down my throat, my chest. I stretch out on the ground with my backpack as a pillow. I wait. Damn it! I left my hat on the back of the chair…Grandma Luigia’s little treasures…Prince…Duke…Possible rain tomorrow…Mom used to sing Isinha to sleep, her cradle next to the sewing machine, Come down little kitty, off the rooftop, to watch little baby, gently nod off
Song Credits
Lyrics on this page from “Just My Imagination” by The Cranberries, 1999. Written by Dolores O’Riordan and Noel Hogan.
Lyrics on this page from “Time Is Ticking Out” by The Cranberries, 2002. Written by Dolores O’Riordan and Noel Hogan.
Lyrics on this page from “Fudendo o Psicológico” by MC Brisola, 2016.
Lyrics on this page from “Na Linha do Tempo,” composed by Sérgio Porto and Marcelo Martins, 2013.
Lyrics on this page from “Tchuplin Tchuplin” by MC Bin Laden, 2014.