Two Sides of Me

by Nora Sarel

  At the hospital we were rushed into Doutora Marina’s office, a pediatrician, who explained to us that our baby is most likely HIV positive. She is currently suffering from bacterial meningitis, a condition brought on by AIDS, and the doctors believe her disease will eventually lead to cerebral atrophy. She thought we could not take the baby, although she was promised to us, “for your sake and hers, it would be better if she stayed here,” Doutora Marina determined. We asked to see her at least one last time, but she would not oblige our request. We left the hospital in tears. I tried to be the stronger one, but I couldn’t. We leaned on one another and cried.

  We arrived at the hotel in the afternoon. We saw Ori and Nili happy to greet us, I signaled them we would talk later. Dafne wore her sunglasses and wouldn’t even look at them. We went up to our room and wept loudly, we couldn’t stop.

  Tuesday, March 23rd, 1982

  At the morning we arose from a sleepless night. We fell asleep now and then, but it was safe to say that we were awake most of the night, speaking and crying alternately. Dafne asked if she could have been infected from Dana since she kissed her. However, I told her that would be impossible as it required a significant amount of saliva. I was bothered by the fact that we were explicitly told the mother who stayed at the shelter was a healthy woman. So, how could she have been HIV positive without them knowing about it. I felt cheated and it was clear to me that if I wouldn’t put an end to this, we would lose our minds. I told Dafne that we need to decide among ourselves, either we are aware of the fact that if we wanted a child this would be a long and hard process without any shortcuts, or we decide this “pregnancy” is not for us and pack our belongings and go back home. We can’t keep on like this. Dafne agreed with me and said we would keep the adoption process even if it meant we would get our hearts broken.

  At the hotel dining room Ori and Nili waited for us by the breakfast table. We’re so happy we met them. They were understanding and encouraging. We told them about everything that happened the other day, they hugged us and asked us not to give up and be strong, because eventually we will succeed.

  Nili and Ori didn’t leave us, although they were stressed as well. Nili’s mother, who stayed behind to babysit their little son, told them he was down with measles, and the Brazilian adoption agency kept deluding them with empty words. Still, they stayed with us, listened to us, and didn’t say a word about their own problems, as if our troubles were more important than their own because they already had a child.

  At breakfast Dafne said that if she were offered baby twins, she would adopt them both, so that we wouldn’t have to come back to Brazil. Dafne said this quietly and it almost sounded as if she was surrendering. It pained me to see her so sad and exhausted.

  Later that morning we went with Nili and Ori to see an orchid exhibition. It’s an ongoing exhibition at the Jardim Botânico – the botanical gardens, in a special building shaped like a large round greenhouse. The flowers made us a bit happier, and after, we went out to the magical garden surrounding the greenhouse. Parents walked with their children and we sat at a distant bench, listening to their laughter and enjoying the sunny day. However, I suddenly heard Dafne weeping. I turned to her, hugged her tightly and she shivered violently. Nili quickly hugged her, too, and whispered to her, “It’s normal, cry, it’s good, it’s an outlet, it’s as if you are mourning, it’s alright,” I couldn’t say a word, I was choked up. If I would have tried to say a word, the tears would burst out.

  Monday, March 29th, 1982

  After the long weekend, a new week begins. We got off on the right foot and wished ourselves good luck. I thought we had left everything behind us, but suddenly Dafne regressed and told me that although we wouldn’t be taking Dana, she missed her a lot and wanted to visit her at the hospital. I looked at her and she seemed to me like a desperate hiker who was about to reach the mountain top but tumbled down and is now holding on to the ledge. I felt sorry for her, for my hiker, and perhaps also a bit for myself? All and all, it was hard to shake off all the disappointments we suffered in Brazil. I asked Dafne to let it go and stop thinking about Dana. We met Nili and Ori downstairs to plan the rest of the day. However, then, their agent came over and told them that at a hospital, not very far away, a baby girl just completed her medical tests and they should hurry to see her and make up their minds. They were very excited and we tried being happy for them. Yet, I saw Dafne taking out her sunglasses and covering her pretty eyes. Although I hated seeing her cry, she was so beautiful when her green eyes sparkled with tears. When Nili and Ori left we sat at the hotel lobby and contemplated what we should do today. Dafne suggested we call home and tell them about what happened. I told her I thought it was unnecessary and would make everyone panic. I hope that when Nili and Ori come back with the baby, Dafne won’t break down. I have to be strong for her.

  When they sat at the Copa Cabana beach that evening, Omri told Gadi and Ido that he could not stop reading the adoption diary. “Kudos to Dafne and Dani for documenting, revealing, and generally for what they went through.” He said and then turned to Gadi, “Hey, how are you still holding on here in Rio? If I were you, I would have already gone to Curitiba. If you want, we can change our plans and come with you.”

  “I was thinking of going to Curitiba, but I think we should be in Rio until New Years Eve, or as the Brazilians call it, Ano Novo. Then we can head south. There are amazing celebrations here on December thirty-first, it’s a shame we should miss them. I waited almost twenty-twoyears, I can wait a few more days.”

  It seemed as if Gadi was trying to postpone the inevitable.

  “What celebrations are you talking about?” Omri asked.

  “For the sea goddess,” Gadi answered knowingly. He opened the book which was placed, as always, in his bag and read them the description, while holding a flashlight he took out from his pocket, “Yemanjáis a sea goddess, and in a culture where most rely on the ocean for their livelihood, she is very important. Yemanjáis the patron of sailors, but she is also their lover; sometimes she takes them to herself and they never return to shore.”

  “What’s special about this celebration?” Ido asked.

  “Patience,” Gadi said smiling and kept reading, “‘People wear white and sing all the way down to the shore. Each person holds a lit candle in one hand and flowers and gifs for the goddess in the other. The goddess likes flowers and other feminine gifts such as cosmetics, combs and perfumes. Exactly at midnight they send the offerings out in fishing boats, and in the middle of the ocean throw them into the water. If the gifts reappear on the beach, it means the goddess did not accept the offerings, and it would be a bad year. Then they put down the candles and jump over the waves seven time, throw flowers into the water and make wishes to the sea goddess.’

  “Sounds great,” Omri said, “but I don’t think we need to stay.”

  “Before we decide, listen, there’s more,” Gadi said, “the celebration, ‘festa’ in Portuguese, takes place in the lagoa – the lagoon. The locals float the Christmas tree, and around it they place white flowers, candles and gifts for the Yemanjá.”

  “It should be amazing.”

  Gadi wouldn’t pause for remarks, “‘The Peste is run by a Candomblé faith priestesses, which are usually dark-skinned women, large and full-figured, dressed in snow-white gowns. They sing, dance and go into a trance, the audience joining them.’’”

  “I have never heard of such a religion, what did you say it was called?” Ido asked. Gadi found the answer in his book, “‘the Candomblé faith is an Afro-Brazilian religion, combining the faith of the African slaves who were kidnapped and brought to Brazil and Christian elements forced on them by their masters. The merging between the two led to a great pantheon of gods and goddesses, each assigned to a different aspect of life. All exist in great harmony with the Catholic saints, Catholicism is the country’s religion.’

  When he finished read
ing, he looked at Ido and Omri and asked, “So, what do you think? Are we leaving or staying?”

  However, they wouldn’t answer.

  Gadi turned off his flashlight and put it back in his pocket. He shoved the book back into his backpack. They kept quiet.

  “If you won’t decide, then I will. We’re staying here in Rio de Janeiro until New Year’s Eve and may we all have a happy new year – feliz ano novo.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Gadi was excited even before they arrived at Curitiba. The bus leaving Rio de Janeiro was packed with passengers and their belongings. They too, crammed into their seats. Omri and Ido seemed preoccupied with their thoughts, which gave Gadi a good excuse to keep to himself. When the bus stopped for lunch, they said nothing more than necessary. Gadi fell asleep only for short periods of time during the long drive. There were times, especially at night, when not a single sound was heard in the bus. However, most of the time, it was so noisy he could hardly hear his own thoughts.

  Omri and Ido knew that in Curitiba they would have to support Gadi. They knew they would help him during these crucial moments, yet, none spoke of it. Each kept his thoughts to himself. Especially Gadi, who dedicated every minute to Curitiba, planning how he would act and what he would say, playing and replaying different scenarios in his mind.

  A short while before they entered the city his phone, planted deep in his bag, rang.

  Who could it be at this time? What time is it in Israel? Maybe something happened? He panicked. Gadi didn’t answer on time, and the ringing sound resonated like a cry from a distance.

  Later, he checked if someone had left him a message. Maybe it was Tamara? They haven’t spoken since they broke up, which was two months ago. Maybe his parents? They called every three days, but never at this time. Maybe there was a terror attack in Israel, and someone got hurt? He decided to let it go. If someone wanted to talk to me, they would call back.

  The driver announced something on the loudspeaker but Gadi couldn’t understand what it was, although, by then, he was able to have a conversation in Portuguese. He was in Brazil for only a month or so, and to his surprise, his accent sounded local; rolling r’s and l’s that sounded like a’s, all while speaking in the Brazilian melody. At times he would even meet Brazilians who thought he was one of them. He could make sounds that Ido and Omri could not pronounce, it seemed the language was in him, from birth. Maybe it’s genetic, could that even be? He asked himself.

  In the early morning hours, when the bus was still quiet as night, yet a first ray of light stroked the sleeping faces, Gadi took out his diary again. The more they got closer to Curitiba, the more did he feel closer to the journal, the place he was born in, where most of the diary was written. Gadi stroke with his fingers the book’s leather binding, a shield protecting the words that belonged just to him and were hidden in its pages. He opened and flipped through it, until he reached one of his favorite parts.

  What a coincidence. About less than an hour since Ori and Nili left, we ordered coffee, but before the waitress could bring it over, Sebastião stormed in and yelled, “Senhor Dani, Dona Daphne, vamos seu filho está esperando por você!” Then, he burst into laughter. We couldn’t understand what he said so we remained seated in the leather chairs. I looked at Dafne who still wore her sunglasses and thought, maybe, she understood what he had said. But she, too, looked at him in wonder.

  “Dona Dafne, Senhor Daniel, o que aconteceu?” he went on, and I muttered at him “Speak English, please.”

  “Sorry, speak Portuguese because much excited,” he said in broken English. “But want to tell that your boy wait at grandma’s house, strong like tiger baby, come.”

  Dafne immediately understood what he meant andin a split second stood by Sebastião. It took me a bit longer to realize what he had said until it hit me.

  “Maybe only I should go and you stay here?” I offered Dafne, since I was worried.

  “No way, are you insane?” was her reaction. I tried convincing her by repeating what Dona Arlete had explained to us the other day, “It wasn’t a good idea for the adoptive parents to see the biological ones, because psychologically, it might make them associate the baby with its biological parents, rather than themselves. It’s better to receive a child without seeing the parents,” I tried summarizing Dona Arlete’s explanation. But Dafne was insulted and said, “What about you? Aren’t you a parent? Either we both go, or we both stay. I’m a parent as much as you are.”

  It seemed I wasn’t as hopeful as I should have been. We went through so many disappointments that I couldn’t optimistically believe that we would come back with our promised baby. It was easier for me to believe in Dona Arlete’s theory. I reluctantly agreed that Dafne would join.

  On our way, Sebastião told us that Nessia, or rather in her full name, Hortensia, the girl who had Bernardo, agreed to give him up for adoption. He told us that Bernardo was almost two months old. Nessia could not raise him because her grandmother was very sick and she had to work. She wanted to give him away to good and wealthy people who could love him and give hima happy life. But she wants to pick the parent and speak to them first. Dafne, who was no stranger to disappointments, refused to be happy just yet, she was scared she would not pass Nessia’s interview.

  “Look,” she told me, “now we are ones who are being chosen. They have turned the tables,” she paused for a moment and then continued, “there was no point arguing who would go, because the biological mother wants to meet us. She conditioned giving away the baby on seeing the both of us. Now Dona Arlete would have to find a psychological theory as to why it was a good thing to meet the biological parents. By the way, if I remember correctly, she had a lot of other theories. Did she forget that she took us to the shelter? What changed?” she finished laying out her thoughts and smiled with satisfaction. I could only pray that this time it would work out.

  We arrived at Nessia’s and her grandmother’s house. At the entrance, by the front gate, stood Dona Arlete, Dona Anna – the shelter’sadministrator, the grandmother and a young, thin, short girl. I could see from the car window that the house was different than the rest. It wasa red house. Its bricks were not painted red, but rather made of red clay. In front of the house was a vegetable garden; it looked like a bouquet of roses wrapped in green leaves. Around it was an improvised wooden fence made of simple planks secured by other planks which were probably found in the area. At the exact moment we got out of the car, the train whistled and three carts passed before us, so close we could almost touch them. The train surprised us, and its whistle sounded like a trumpet blast announcing the beginning of the ceremony. We kissed both cheeks of those who stood in line to welcome us. “This is Nessia,” Dona Arlete introduced the girl, “Muito prazer– nice to meet you,” we smiled at her, almost bowing. “Igualmente– me too,” she answered shyly, yet pleasantly. She wore shorts and was barefoot, not showing any signs she had just gone through labor. She’s so young, I thought to myself, like a schoolgirl on spring break, dressed in summer clothes and tan. Her blue-purple-green-brown eyes (I couldn’t decide what color they were, it kept changing) glistened against her skin. Her beauty shone. She examined us from head to toe, shamelessly scanned us with her eyes, lingered on my shoes and Dafne’s glasses. I felt this was the most important test of my life. After this she pointed at the path leading to her house, it was paved by large and condensed pebbles and she politely gestured us to walk it. We could barely do it. At the entrance Nessia invited us to sit in white plastic chairs which had been prepared beforehand. She served us cool water to quench our thirst, and then, while everyone waited for her to speak, she sat down, took out of her pocket two folded pages, straightened them slowly on her knees and glanced at us. Only when there was complete silence did she start reading her well-prepared speech, which detailed her entire life story. Dona Arlete translated word for word and when something was unclear, the speech was paused for further explanat
ions.

  “Hello dear guests,” she began, “I invited you to our humble home to meet me and Bernardo, so that, even though I decided to give him up for adoption, you would know he came from a good home and is not a streetchild.You will receive Bernardo today into your custody. You need a child, and I, sadly, cannot raise the fruit of my loins. He was made with great love, mine and his father’s, Francisco de Oliveira, whom I met while working for his wife as an empregada– housemaid. Francisco loved me and was happy to hear I was pregnant, and so was his wife since they had no children of their own. They took care of me with great dedication. However, when I was six months pregnant, Francisco suddenly died, and his wife no longer wanted me and the baby. I left their house and moved to a shelter for pregnant women, I didn’t want to burden my grandmother. I have never met my parents, they broke up when I was a baby and left me with my grandmother. Although my mom had visited me a couple of times, I don’t remember her and recognize her face only in pictures. I know she has a new family. My father has never visited me, I haven’t seen him since I was a year old and I know nothing of him. It was hard for my grandmother to raise and support me, so, after I completed the fourth grade, at the age of eleven, I started working. Francisco’s house was the first and last place I had worked in.