by Paulo Scott
With her hair cropped short (Luisa had never seen this on an Indian woman before), she does not seem too friendly when, after they have looked at the baskets and fans of local bamboo hanging from the improvised beams, dry sticks stuck at an angle into the earth and tied with vines close to the hard shoulder, they ask her whether her name is Maína. There is no one else to be seen in the encampment. Maína asks them what they want. Henrique introduces himself and explains the survey work they are doing, Luisa then takes over and asks whether they might film an interview with her, she explains that they heard about her from the doctor who looked after her during her pregnancy. Maína, her expression still serious, tells them to leave the camper van just where it is and come inside. As though they had been waiting for just the right moment, three children emerge from the tent, come to meet the visitors. The oldest, quite a lively girl, appears with a smile and asks whether they have brought them any gifts. Luisa tries to stroke her head, but she dodges her and runs off towards the van, the younger girl follows her, and the boy, who doesn’t look like he can be more than three years old, stays behind. Maína takes the boy in her arms and, still looking quite unfriendly, asks whether they would like a lemongrass tea. Luisa accepts and notices that round the back there are foundations supporting a wooden floor that looks as though it used to be part of a house, and now resembles a giant table. ‘What used to be there?’ she asks. Maína replies that it’s a stage for performing Russian ballet. Luisa doesn’t know how to handle that response, she walks ahead without saying any more and climbs onto the structure, gesturing to Henrique to come join her. The two girls are entertaining themselves with the interns, escorting them as they unload the tripods, the cases with the two Sony Betamax cameras, the microphones and audio recorder. Maína says to make themselves comfortable, she goes into the tent. Henrique climbs the steps and stands beside Luisa looking out towards the west. ‘What do you reckon this was? What do you think of her?’ Luisa asks. ‘Take it easy, Luisa.’ Henrique taps the floor with his foot, testing to see how firm it is. ‘Shall we record up here?’ Luisa suggests. ‘I don’t know, it does seem a bit unusual here,’ he replies. Luisa comes down, walks over to the tent, asks permission to enter, and goes in. Inside she finds Maína’s mother, who greets her saying that the tea will be ready in a few minutes, and an unclothed Maína arranging strings of beads and seeds around her neck and her waist. Luisa tells her there’s no need to do herself up, that it’s only going to be a quick chat about what she thinks about her situation, about being there on the roadside, and about what she thinks of the situation for Indians who live like them. ‘I’m an Indian girl, miss, Indians go naked … I don’t have any problem being filmed like this,’ she says, looking straight at Luisa. ‘If you could make one request that I would be able to grant you,’ Luisa says, ‘what would you ask for?’ ‘Financial support, a study scholarship with a place in a student house where I’d live as a student studying in a state university.’ Luisa is impressed at the Indian girl’s fluency. ‘Very good. It’s a nice choice, it’s a dream worth having,’ she says in a sisterly tone. ‘I don’t know how to deal with dreams, miss … Indian dreams are different from you people’s … It’s not right to play at dreaming, like it’s not right to play with promises. A few days from now I’m going to be eighteen and, however much I read and however hard I try, I still haven’t been able to understand the world you live in, I still haven’t found the door to get in … A scholarship to study would solve my problems and those of my family … I’m not going into the city to work as a maid, I’m not going to be a whore … I’d rather stay here selling my craft things, taking care of my son, of my mother, of my sisters, waiting for handouts from the government and people like you, coming here to play nice with us … ’ Luisa raises her hand in a gesture to stop. ‘Put on your clothes, there isn’t going to be an interview.’ Maína’s mother, who has had her back to the two women, turns towards them. ‘I’ll make you a proposition. Why don’t you join us for a month? We need another assistant. I think it would be quite an opportunity. We’ll give you food and lodging and we’ll even pay twice the minimum wage. We’ve got to go to a place called Fazenda da Borboleta up near the source of the Jacuí, we need to get some notes that only the researchers up there have got, that’ll take us a day, and on the way back we can come by here again to find out what you think and what you’ve decided,’ says Luisa. ‘I don’t need to think. I accept,’ is Maína’s reply. At that moment her mother asks Luisa to go outside. Seeing what this means, Luisa (barely thinking about it, and as has increasingly been her way of doing things lately) jumps in. ‘We can find someone to stay here with you and the children while Maína is with us.’ Maína’s mother thanks her with a shake of the head and, looking sidelong at the visitor, once again asks Luisa to go outside. Now Luisa does. Maína’s mother walks over, tells her to listen in silence to what she has to say. There is no room for any more adventures and if Maína wants an adventure with these people who have appeared out of nowhere she can go, but she’s taking her son with her. To each her own burden (she used an expression very like this). She would manage with her two sisters, she will always be able to rely on help from the people who live in the neighbouring encampments. Maína has never been apart from Donato, the way her mother has understood things this is going to happen for the first time; although it was not clear from the answer she gave the visitor a few minutes earlier, parting from Donato is not what Maína has in mind. She takes off her necklaces and the strings around her waist and gets dressed. Anyone who says that a person controls the things her head devises is lying; it is possible to choose what you want, but not the time nor the way in which things around you will happen. Maína has learned to be patient, but she has become bitter, too, for her this is that thing they call growing up. She thinks, and she worries: she doesn’t know what they will say when she asks for her son to go with her. She will assure them that he’s well behaved and placid (she must remember to use that word) and that he never cries or gets in the way, which is true. It’s the chance she’s been waiting for. If there are benefits, she will not be the one to get them. Children behave in a peculiar way. Children don’t remember too much. Maína does not yet know what her son needs. Maína needs to give him the chance to choose, even if this takes a while. Donato will come with her, he’s a good child (she must remember to say that he is placid). They must accept, they have to accept.
Luisa knows that Henrique doesn’t like that she decided about the Indian girl and the child on her own, which is why since yesterday he hasn’t addressed a word to her beyond the essential. It isn’t just a tantrum, that’s not what he’s like, she knows that; he’s like this because he feels his authority was undermined in front of the rest of the team. The equipment had already been all set up when she appeared saying that there wouldn’t be any interviews. Perhaps he’d been wrong when he said it would be a project for them to undertake together, a test of how much ‘professional affinity’ there is between them. She wants to be with him, basically, that’s the only thing she is sure of. She runs her hand through his hair while he is driving. It is the truce that he must agree to. She puts her hand on his knee, strokes it, she kisses his cheek. They are leaving the Botucaraí mountains, they will go through the Centro de Soledade, because Henrique needs to copy on a photocopier all the documents and maps he got hold of from a Kaingang leader, they’re from the end of the nineteenth century, things that were obtained in some fight or were left over from some usurpation (not forgetting that there were Indians who settled there in the eighteenth century, fleeing the attacks on the Jesuit Missions). They entered the city. Without warning, Henrique stops outside a chemist, asks Maína to come in with him. He buys jars of baby food and disposable nappies for the child. They return to the camper van, they drive on as far as a stationer’s offering ‘Copying Service’. Luisa gets ready to make the copies, she asks Maína to come in with her and learn something that she might have to do herself one of these days, takes the c
hild from her lap, hands him to Henrique, who holds him with the vulnerability of someone who is infertile. Luisa will not have his children, the children they always talked about until they discovered that there was nothing to be done about his condition. Luisa looks at him before going into the stationer’s and is glad to see that the man she so loves might have in his arms an even better reason for spending the next few days driving around for kilometres and kilometres on the highways of Rio Grande do Sul.
all the colours of what is the least important
End of the third week. São Francisco de Paulo is one of the chilliest places in the state, particularly at night. Maína had quickly become friends with the interns. They went out to eat at the snack bar that the locals have told them is the most popular in town, to try the burger dubbed by the owner the ‘Aro Fenemê’ (after the brand of lorry wheels), a pressed sandwich (as is the custom in the region) with three kinds of sausage and five kinds of cheese served without lettuce or onion, just with one large slice of southern tomato and a lot of mayonnaise. Luisa and Henrique have stayed at the hotel with Donato. Henrique is completely attached to the boy. Luisa gets up from the bed, takes a sparkling water from the minibar. Donato is playing on the single bed that is beside the double. Henrique is watching the news. The national news is showing footage of bundles and more bundles of cruzeiro banknotes being packed up on conveyor belts on their way to the incinerator in the Central Bank, while an analyst is remarking that Brazil is the country with the third highest inflation in the world, after Zaire and Russia. Luisa asks him to turn the television off, she can’t bear it any more with this headache she’s got. In the last few days nothing has been able to lessen her migraine. Henrique says she needs to find a specialist and stop self-medicating. She changes the subject, saying how surprised she is at the Indian girl’s liveliness and that she’s thinking of a way to help her, perhaps taking her to Rio for the first term of her doctoral studies next year. Luisa knows Henrique is planning to stay in São Paulo for a bit, but vehemently rejects the idea of living in the Paulista capital herself. This has been the cause of the slight friction between the two of them. Henrique barely hears her, just lowers the volume of the set slightly so he can still catch a young, smiling economist announcing that a leading firm in the calculator sector has over the last year been investing in the production of fourteen-digit calculators where the normal would be ten, that they have been doing this purely as a response to Brazil’s current reality. Luisa sits on the bed where Donato is playing, she says that tomorrow she will do a filming session with Maína alone and, gently squeezing the boy’s toes, she tells Henrique, without making him take his eyes off the television for a single second, that the Indian girl had suggested being filmed naked when they first met.
Nine in the morning. Maína is reluctant to be filmed, says that things have changed too much these past weeks, she is no longer keen on the idea of exposing herself. Luisa suggests recording just a few minutes with Donato on her lap. Maína says that if it’s going to be with her son then she absolutely definitely won’t. Luisa says she doesn’t understand her and, laughing, turns off the camera. At noon as Maína is tidying papers and folders, Luisa films her from a distance. When she realises what is going on, Maína folds her arms, yells in Guarani, but seeing that Luisa is not going to give up, says in Portuguese (her Portuguese that is getting better and better) that it’s ok; she sets aside what she is doing and gets up and moves, half-inclined to run, to imagine something from the cinema (or what she remembers from the cinema), or possibly even to dance.
nobody reads the unexpected (second part)
The morning shower is the most dangerous moment in his day, the water beating down on his head, the relaxation in those bright surrounds of the cubicle, the waterproof white paint, the acrylic of the sliding door, positive thoughts gathering, what the doctors call a flight of ideas. Paulo is not on any medication, nor will he take any. Psychiatric treatment requires a link to the city’s health system and to the city itself that he has never wanted to establish, there is no one to take responsibility for him, a more pessimistic diagnosis might see him caught in a trap from which he might never escape. The cocker spaniel follows him around the rooms in the house. Sometimes the lady shows up and makes a comment on what he might do in order to better fulfil his role as head employee in that cheap seven-room hotel on Fitzroy Street, a two-star establishment less than a hundred and fifty metres from Euston Road and three hundred from Tottenham Court Road. He only leaves the hotel to deposit his salary in the bank, to buy toiletries; if it were up to him he would absolutely never set foot on the pavement. His job is to receive the guests who have been sent by the booking service that goes directly through the owner, an Italian who turns up there once a week; to set the tables for breakfast, served between seven-thirty and ten; and to supervise the cleaning service. Three floors and a basement, where the office and the pantry are to be found. He still cannot look directly at the sky, he can’t imagine getting into a car, going into Warren Street station, the feelings of vertigo are unbearable. In the hotel, he spends most of his time in his bedroom listening to the cassettes that the other employee, a Welsh guy, copies from the CDs he buys and passes on to him, he translates the lyrics to the songs, he gradually becomes able to read some comic books (English comics are very violent) that his colleague lends him. Sometimes Fabio, who is now manager at Café Pelican, shows up for a visit, and the effort that Paulo makes to demonstrate that he is leading a normal life is enormous. He has told no one what is going on. Sometimes his discomfort is visible, especially when Fabio, trying to cheer him up, tells him his jokes and stories of his escapades with women, where laughter is the compulsory response. The debt to the Lebanese men has been settled, Paulo never cried in front of them, never showed weakness. (Paulo does not take any medication.) One novelty is this compulsion he has to write whatever comes into his head. He thought it could be the disturbance known as hypergraphia, but he has asked the medical student who has taken up residence for a fortnight in room eleven about it, and it’s unlikely, people with that particular kind of mania can’t stop writing, he can. Writing is merely comforting. It’s not like drafting pamphlets inspired by the increase in monthly wages, student demands, the end of censorship or in favour of some trade union demand. No. It is a way of putting the day into some kind of order, of having something to do when his jobs are all done, when he cannot imagine what to do without getting anxious. He lines up his duties as though they were a chain, a row of boxes on which he places his hand on each number in sequence, he thinks about what to do, carries that out, then thinks about the next task, carries that out, in this way assuring the tranquillity of his days and saving money to return, defeated, to Brazil.
atomic and subatomic
Henrique turns up at the encampment. He is alone. As soon as Donato sees him he runs over towards him. Maína finds it funny, this little three-year-old doll who is so receptive to the presence of a guy who just four months ago was a stranger. Henrique is downcast, he says he stopped by because he was missing the boy so much he couldn’t bear it. He has brought some little books, the kind you give children under four, he brought a box of tabletop games for Maína’s sisters. He asks if he can stay for lunch and hands her a bag with a roast chicken and polenta. Maína hugs him and says thank you. It is a while before she asks about Luisa, and he replies that they have decided to separate. Luisa has gone back to Rio, she will do her doctorate there, because from one moment to the next she had decided that she had been far away from her parents for too long and, yes, just because she is wilful and impulsive. Maína leaves him playing with Donato and prepares a pot of rice; her sisters entertain themselves with the Chinese chess, whose rules he tries to explain while Donato uses him as a human climbing frame. Maína’s mother says she is going to prepare a sweetcorn porridge for Henrique to have for dessert and to take away in a jar for later, it will help to perk you up,
she assures him. While the rice is cooking, Maína hands Henrique a package, says that there are two envelopes inside, one with his name on and the other with Luisa’s, they’re a couple of things she would like them to have as gifts. She only asks that his not be opened until after they have eaten the porridge and that hers is only delivered to her when the two of them have made their peace. Henrique takes the package, saying he isn’t sure he will be talking to Luisa again all that soon. Maína says she’s sure they will get back together before long, she says Luisa loves him too much, that she has never seen anyone love somebody so much. Henrique leaves the package next to the bench where he is sitting, goes back to playing with Donato. It’s a lovely day, with a breeze that couldn’t be more pleasant. Maína asks her mother to help her take the table from inside the tent to under the tree on the northern side of the encampment. She tells Henrique (who tries to get up when he sees the women carrying the table) not to move, today he’s the guest of honour. They fix the legs of the table so that they aren’t wonky and cover it with a flannel tablecloth with a Christmas pattern that her mother has kept for years, something they use only on special occasions. The lunch has taken on a festive atmosphere. Henrique has left the van radio on loud, the girls asked him to, they are as noisy as ever. Maína proposes a toast, saying she never learned so much in so little time from anyone and that she will miss them. They clink glasses. Her sisters don’t really understand why they do it. Henrique jokes that Maína really did learn: she learned the dramatic touch that Luisa used to bring to even the simplest occasion. They laugh. Maína says she is going out to fetch some leaves and herbs and make some tea while they wait for her mother’s porridge. Henrique says he has plenty of time. Maína takes the basket (which is a bit large for someone who is going to gather leaves and herbs but nobody notices). It’s a lovely day. She goes into that small bit of forest that grows on the north side of the tent, walks maybe thirty metres, climbs the tree, reaches the branch she selected years earlier, ties four good, strong knots, waits for a series of lorries that always scream past to add to the loud sounds from Henrique’s van. (She thinks of the time she talked to Luisa about God, and perhaps because of all that studying, Luisa said proudly that she would rather not believe in the possibility of there being a God. She asks Him for Paulo’s disappearance, his total disappearance, for many years.) She puts the rope around her neck and jumps.