The Seven Sisters

by Lucinda Riley

  47

  I was woken by the sound of a door opening and the feeling that I was not alone in the room. I opened my eyes and saw Valentina standing at the end of the bed, staring at me.

  ‘It’s already ten o’clock. Papai and I just made pound cake for breakfast. Will you get up now and help us eat it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, still coming to, having obviously slept deeply. Valentina nodded in satisfaction then left the room and I rolled out of bed and dressed quickly. As I walked along the narrow corridor, a delicious smell of baking filled my nostrils, reminding me of Claudia’s kitchen at Atlantis. Following the sound of Valentina’s chatter, I climbed the stairs to the roof terrace and found father and daughter already seated and tucking in with relish to the circular ring of cake that sat in the centre of the table.

  ‘Good morning, Maia. How did you sleep?’ asked Floriano, wiping crumbs from his mouth as he pulled out the rickety wooden chair for me to sit down on.

  ‘Very well indeed.’ I smiled at him as he cut me a slice of cake and smeared butter all over it.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes please,’ I said, biting into the still warm cake. ‘Is this what you get for breakfast every morning, Valentina? It beats the boring cereal and toast I eat at home every day.’

  ‘No,’ she sighed. ‘Only today. I think Papai is showing off for you.’ She shrugged nonchalantly.

  Floriano raised his eyebrows helplessly at his daughter’s words, although I did notice a faint tinge of colour come to his cheeks. ‘So, Valentina and I were just discussing how we thought you needed some fun.’

  ‘Yes, Maia,’ Valentina interrupted. ‘If my papai had gone to heaven, I would be very sad and need cheering up.’

  ‘So, between us we’ve come up with a schedule,’ Floriano said.

  ‘No, Papai, you have.’ Valentina frowned at me. ‘I suggested you go to the fun fair and then to see a Disney film, but Papai said no, so you’re doing boring things instead.’ She lifted her small palms upwards and sighed again. ‘Don’t blame me.’

  ‘Well, maybe we can do some of both,’ I conciliated. ‘I happen to love Disney films too.’

  ‘Well, I’m not even coming with you, because Papai is going to Paris tomorrow for his book and has some work he needs to do before he leaves. So I’m going to stay with avô and vovó.’

  ‘You’re going to Paris?’ I asked Floriano in surprise, experiencing a sudden, irrational stab of fear at the news.

  ‘Yes. Remember the email I sent you a few weeks ago? You’re invited too, don’t forget,’ he said, smiling at me.

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ I said, recalling his message.

  ‘I’m not,’ Valentina said, pouting. ‘Papai thinks I’ll get in the way.’

  ‘No, querida, I think you’ll get very bored. Remember how you hate it when you come to my readings and book signings here? The minute we arrive, you’re tugging on my arm asking when we can go home.’

  ‘But they’re here, not in Paris. I’d love to go to Paris,’ Valentina said wistfully.

  ‘And one day,’ replied Floriano, leaning towards her and kissing her on top of her dark, shiny hair, ‘I promise I’ll take you. Right,’ he said, ‘your grandparents will be here any minute. Have you packed your case?’

  ‘Yes, Papai,’ she said obediently.

  ‘Maia, while I clear up breakfast, would you mind going with Valentina and checking that she has enough clothes and a toothbrush for the next two weeks?’ Floriano asked me. ‘She can be a little . . . haphazard with her packing.’

  ‘Of course,’ I agreed, and followed Valentina down the stairs and into her tiny bedroom. Everything in it was pink – walls, duvet cover, and even some of the teddy bears that sat in a row at the bottom of the bed. As Valentina gestured at me to sit down and hauled the case onto the bed for me to inspect its contents, I smiled at the cliché, finding it comforting at the same time. Pink seemed to simply be part of a little girl’s genetic make-up. It had been my colour of choice too.

  ‘Everything I need is in there, I promise,’ said Valentina, folding her little arms defensively as I opened the lid. Barbie dolls, DVDs, colouring books and loose felt-tip pens had been stuffed inside. As had one T-shirt, a pair of jeans and some trainers.

  ‘Do you think you might need some underwear?’ I ventured.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Valentina said, going to a drawer. ‘I forgot about that.’

  ‘And maybe these pyjamas?’ I suggested, reaching for the ones Valentina had obviously thrown on the floor when she’d dressed this morning. ‘And perhaps some more clothes?’

  Ten minutes later, I heard the intercom buzz and Floriano’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

  ‘They’re here. I hope you’re ready, Valentina,’ he called from the corridor.

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ she said, looking up from the pictures she’d been showing me that she’d coloured in.

  Instinctively, I put an arm round her small shoulders. ‘I’m sure it’ll be great fun. I bet your grandparents spoil you rotten.’

  ‘They do, but I will miss Papai.’

  ‘Of course you will. I used to hate it when my father went away. And he did, a lot.’

  ‘But you had lots of sisters to keep you company. I don’t have anyone.’ With a sigh of resignation, Valentina stood up and I closed her suitcase and zipped it up.

  She watched me as I pulled the suitcase from the bed, tugged out the handle and wheeled it towards the door. ‘There, I think you’re all ready to go.’

  ‘Will I see you when I get back home, Maia?’ she asked me plaintively. ‘You’re much nicer than Petra; she just spends all her time on the phone talking to her boyfriend.’

  ‘I hope so, querida, I really do. Now,’ I said as I kissed her, ‘you go off and have a wonderful time.’

  ‘I will try.’ Valentina took hold of the handle of the case and moved to open the door. ‘Papai really likes you, you know.’

  ‘Does he?’ I smiled at her.

  ‘Yes, he told me so himself. Bye bye, Maia.’

  I watched her leave the bedroom, and thought how her demeanour resembled that of a modern-day refugee. Not wanting to intrude on the goodbye between father and daughter, or embarrass Floriano in front of his dead wife’s parents, I sat on the bed with my hands in my lap. I thought yet again how difficult it was for the two of them and how much I admired Floriano for juggling his life between his daughter and his work. I also experienced more than a tinge of pleasure at the fact that Valentina had told me her father liked me. And I admitted to myself how much I liked him too.

  A few minutes later, Floriano knocked on the door and poked his head around it.

  ‘It’s okay, you can come out now. I thought you’d accompany Valentina and meet Giovane and Lívia, but you didn’t appear. Anyway,’ he continued, taking my hand and pulling me from the bed, ‘as I said to you over breakfast, I think it’s time you had some fun. Can you remember what that is?’

  ‘Of course I can!’ I said defensively.

  ‘Good. Then on the way to where I’m taking you, you can tell me the last fun thing you did.’

  ‘Floriano, please don’t patronise me!’ I said crossly as I followed him out of the bedroom. He stopped abruptly in the corridor and turned so I almost bumped into him.

  ‘Maia, please, lighten up, I’m teasing you. Even I, with a propensity for navel-gazing, know that I mustn’t take myself too seriously. You’ve been alone too long, it’s as simple as that. At least I have my daughter to constantly pull me up and out of myself,’ he explained. ‘And just for today, I want you to cast off your woes and live. Okay?’

  I hung my head, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. I realised it was a very long time since I’d last let another human being in close enough to lecture me on my failings.

  ‘I just want to show you my Rio. I can assure you, I need time out as much as you,’ Floriano added as he opened the front door and ushered me through it.

  ‘Okay,’ I agree
d.

  ‘Good,’ he said as he marched down the stairs and we arrived at the front door. He offered me the crook of his arm. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Floriano led me out of the building and along the streets of Ipanema to a café already buzzing with locals drinking beer.

  Floriano said hello to the bartender, who obviously knew him, then ordered us both a caipirinha as I looked on in shock.

  ‘It’s only half past eleven in the morning!’ I said as he handed me mine.

  ‘I know. We are being reckless and debauched beyond belief.’ He nodded sagely. ‘Now,’ he said, clinking his glass against mine, ‘down it in one.’

  When we had, and the acidic yet sickly-sweet alcohol had slid down my throat and into my stomach, and I’d thanked God the cake was already in there to soak it up, he paid and pulled me up from my bar stool. ‘Right, we go.’ He hailed a cab and we climbed inside.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I’m taking you to meet a friend of mine,’ he said mysteriously. ‘There’s something you should see before you leave Rio.’

  The cab drove us out of the city, and twenty minutes later we alighted at what I realised was the entrance to a favela. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said as he paid the driver, ‘you won’t get shot or offered a gram of cocaine by one of the local drug barons.’ He put an arm around my shoulder and we began the long climb up the steps and into the village. ‘I promise that Ramon, my friend, is as civilised as we are.’

  I could already hear the faint throbbing of the surdo drums as we reached the top and entered the favela. The alleyways were so narrow that I could put my arms out and touch the brick shacks built on either side of them. Down here on the ground it was dark, and I glanced up to see a strange mixture of buildings built on top of the street-level homes.

  Floriano followed my eyeline and nodded. ‘The residents on the ground floor sell the space in the air to other families, and they build their homes above,’ he explained as we walked up and up the winding streets.

  Even I, who prided myself on the ability to take the heat, found myself sweating profusely and feeling light-headed in the claustrophobic, airless atmosphere. Floriano noticed immediately and at the top of one of the alleyways, stopped and plunged into a dark doorway. Which I realised as I followed him inside was a shop of sorts, albeit just a concrete space with a few shelves holding canned goods and a fridge in the corner. Having paid for a bottle of water, which I drank thirstily, we continued upwards, finally arriving at a brightly painted blue door. Floriano knocked, and immediately a dark-skinned man opened it. I watched as the two men embraced with much playful back-slapping and arm-punching, and we entered the house. I was surprised to see a computer blinking in one corner of the narrow room, and also a big television screen. The room was sparsely furnished but spotlessly clean.

  ‘Maia, this is Ramon. He’s been a resident of the favela since the day he was born, but now he works for the government as a’ – Floriano stared at his friend for inspiration – ‘a peacemaker.’

  The man’s white teeth flashed as his lips parted and he threw his head back with laughter. ‘My friend,’ he said in a deep, rich voice, ‘you are definitely a novelist. Senhorita,’ he continued, extending his hand to me, ‘it is a pleasure to meet you.’

  During the following two hours, as we walked around the favela, stopping to eat and drink beer at a ramshackle café that some entrepreneurial resident had set up in the tiny space they owned, I learnt a lot about favela life.

  ‘Of course, there is still crime and poverty in the streets of every favela in Rio,’ Ramon explained to me. ‘And there are some places even I would not dare to venture near, especially at night. But I have to believe that things are improving, admittedly far more slowly than they should. And as everyone now has the opportunity to gain an education, and with it a sense of self-worth, I hope my grandchildren will experience a better childhood than I had.’

  ‘How did you two meet?’ I asked as I baked in the stifling heat.

  ‘Ramon won a scholarship to my university,’ Floriano explained. ‘He was majoring in social science, but he nodded his head in the direction of history too. He’s far cleverer than I am. I keep telling him he should write a book about his life.’

  ‘You know as well as I do that no one would publish it here in Brazil,’ said Ramon, suddenly serious. ‘But perhaps one day, when I’m old and the political situation is different, I will. Now, I’m taking you to see my favourite project.’

  As we followed Ramon along the maze of alleyways, Floriano explained quietly that Ramon’s mother had been forced into prostitution by his father, who’d been a known drug baron and was now serving a life sentence for a double murder.

  ‘Ramon had six little brothers and sisters to bring up alone when his mother died of a heroin overdose. He’s an amazing man. The kind who makes you feel hopeful about human nature,’ he mused. ‘He works ceaselessly to lobby on behalf of the residents for some form of basic healthcare and better facilities for the children here. He’s dedicated his life to the favelas,’ Floriano added as he took my arm to guide me down the uneven stone steps.

  From far below I could hear the sound of the drums getting louder, pulsating through my body as we continued to descend the steps. I watched the way Ramon was greeted with respect and affection from every narrow doorway by the residents, and by the time we reached the bottom and he led us through a wooden door surrounded by high walls, my own respect for him had multiplied. I thought how he’d turned round his own life using his own dreadful circumstances to improve those of others, and felt humbled by his dedication and strength of character.

  Inside the courtyard we’d entered, I saw twenty or so children – several even younger than Valentina – all dancing to the strong rhythm of the drums. Ramon led us discreetly around the wall and into the shade that the building above us provided. He indicated the children.

  ‘They are preparing for Carnival. You know the favelas are where it all began?’ he whispered, offering me a warped plastic chair so that I could sit down and watch.

  The tiny bodies of the children seemed to throb instinctively to the beat of the drums. I watched their rapt faces, many of them with their eyes closed, as they simply moved to the music.

  ‘They are learning something we call samba no pé. It was what saved me when I was a child,’ Ramon said quietly into my ear from behind me. ‘They are dancing for their lives.’

  I wished later that I had taken some form of photographic record of the event, but maybe it could never have captured the ecstasy that I saw on the children’s faces. I knew what I was witnessing would be burned into my memory forever.

  Eventually, Ramon indicated it was time to leave, and I stood up reluctantly. We waved goodbye to the children and walked away from them through the wooden door.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Floriano, again placing a protective arm around my shoulder.

  ‘Yes,’ I managed, my voice breaking with emotion. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

  We left the favela and hailed a cab back into the city, my heart and senses still full of the sheer, joyous abandon of the children’s dancing.

  ‘Are you sure everything’s all right, Maia?’ Floriano asked as he reached over and took my hand solicitously.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Honestly, I’m fine.’

  ‘You liked watching the samba?’

  ‘I loved it.’

  ‘Good, because that’s exactly what we’re going to do later on tonight.’

  I looked at him in horror. ‘Floriano, I can’t dance!’

  ‘Of course you can, Maia. Everybody can, especially cariocas. It’s in your blood. Now,’ he said, halting the cab at the square in Ipanema that was filled with market stalls, ‘we need to find you something suitable to wear. Oh, and a pair of samba shoes.’

  I followed him like a lamb through the market as he went through racks of dresses and picked out the ones he deemed suitable
for me to choose from.

  ‘I think the peach would suit your skin colour best,’ he said, proffering a figure-hugging wrap dress made of silky-soft material.

  I frowned. It was exactly the kind of thing I would never pick out for myself, considering such styles far too revealing.

  ‘Come on, Maia, you promised me that you’d live a little today! You dress like my mother at the moment!’ he teased me.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said flatly, as he insisted on paying the few reais for the dress to the vendor.

  ‘Right, now for the shoes,’ he said as he took my hand once more and we weaved through the streets of Ipanema, alighting in front of a tiny shop that looked similar to a cobbler’s.

  Ten minutes later, I emerged with a pair of Cuban-heeled leather shoes that were held in place with a button securing the strap over the arch of my foot.

  ‘Now these really are something that Marina would wear,’ I said, as I pressed him to take some money from me for the shoes, which I knew had been expensive. He refused and instead stopped in front of an ice-cream kiosk, its display offering endless different flavours.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked me. ‘I promise you this place sells the best in Rio.’

  ‘Whatever you’re having,’ I answered. Once the cones were handed over, we wandered across the main road and sat on a bench looking down on the beach, licking the delicious ice cream with relish before it melted.

  ‘Right,’ he said as we wiped our sticky mouths, ‘it’s past six o’clock, so why don’t you wander up to your hotel and get ready for your dancing debut tonight? I must go home to write some emails and pack for Paris tomorrow. I’ll pick you up in the hotel lobby at eight thirty.’

  ‘Okay, and thank you for a lovely day,’ I called as he walked away from me and I crossed the street to return to my hotel.

  ‘It’s not over yet, Maia,’ he shouted back at me with a smile.

  As I asked for my room key from the reception desk, I was greeted by a concerned face.

  ‘Senhorita D’Aplièse, we were worried about you. You didn’t return home last night.’