by Nora Sarel
The sun blazed in the sky, almost blinding, and they were surrounded by a peaceful country quiet. It was interrupted only by the horses’ neighing, a hose splashing water, birds tweeting and dogs barking. They entered the pousada through a large gate and walked on the paved path leading to the main hall. When they passed the threshold, they took a few moments, rubbing their eyes which needed to adjust to the shaded and somewhat dark room. Right by the entrance, behind a huge desk, sat a girl. Although she looked Israeli, she spoke fluent Portuguese on the phone. Her bare legs were stretched out so that her toes touched the side of the desk and her shorts revealed her long-tanned legs. They stood next to her and she waved her hand to acknowledge she had noticed them, though she was still on the phone. When she finished and hung up, she quickly pulled up her long blond hair, rolled and twisted it into a bun, then stuck into it a pencil instead of a bobby pin.
She then spoke to them in clear Hebrew, “Hi, I’m Adi and I’m in charge of registration. Come, fill in your details in this form and then I’ll show you around.”
She got out of the large office chair that nearly swallowed her, approached them and continued, “First, I would like you to meet Bruno who works with me, here, at the reception desk.” Bruno, a slim dark young boy, quickly served them cool water placed on a shining silver platter.
“Bruno speaks Hebrew,” she said proudly, “I’m his teacher.”
“It’s fun to hear Hebrew, ha?”
Liam also praised the hostel and confirmed what he had told them.
After registration, as promised, she gave them a tour “at dinner, while enjoying your hummus, you’ll meet Ami and Andrea. Ami is a former “kibbutznik” and pilot and now owns the pousada. While traveling in South America he met Andrea, fell in love with her and this country, bought the mansion and they have been living here with their three children ever since. Most of the pousada’s guests are Israeli and German mochileiros. Some of the guests stay and work here in exchange for a room, food and some pocket money.
” She looked at them and smiled. “Between the eucalyptus trees is a small stream, it’s a great place for a quiet hangout, and there are lots of parrots on the other side.”
She pointed at a little grove behind the stable. “the parrots are free, but we built them nest stands and feed them when necessary. I wouldn’t recommend going around at night because you could easily stumble upon a snake or monitor lizard, so be careful guys.”
“And at daytime?” Ido asked.
“It can also happen during daytime, but you can at least see it and stay away.”
“How long have you been here?” Omri asked her.
“Here, in Curitiba, about four months. But not consecutively – I went on trips and came back.”
“Have you traveled around?”
“Yes, I got as far as the Foz do Iguaçu falls, and now I want to leave and go up north.”
“Where up north?” Ido was interested.
“North-east, to the real carnival,” she said, “and you?”
“We haven’t decided yet.”
Gadi did not participate in the conversation and it died out, as if they had run out of words.
Only when they reached their room did Gadi speak the words he had kept, “the investigation begins tomorrow.”
That very same day they decided to include Liam in their operation. It seemed he would be right for the part since he was familiar with the place, so they invited him for a consultation in their room. They told him of their plans and Liam, as they had expected, was excited to be the brave commander once again and immediately set up an improvised ‘war room’, he laid out a map of Curitiba and its outskirts and hung it on the wall with a masking tape he brought from the reception. He sat on one of the beds, while taking out a legal pad Adi had given him and instructed them to tell him as many details from the diary as possible, so that he could plan the “operation” properly.
“I haven’t read it yet,” Ido said, “only Gadi and Omri can give you details.”
“Ok, shoot,” Liam ordered and then began asking questions and writing down.
After his interrogation he took out a marker and highlighted different location on the map and said, “guys, I suggest we move slowly using the elimination process. We’ll go to different destinations according to the list we’ll make now and use it to plan our next steps. If we find at a given location any new lead, we’ll follow it. If we don’t, we’ll keep going to the next destination according to the list. Ok?”
“Yes, sir.” All three replied together and saluted.
“Well, we will start tomorrow and conquer our first destination – Nessia and her grandmother’s home. I think it’s the most important destination. I hope we can dredge up some important details, like Nessia’s current address.”
“Why do you think she moved?” Gadi interrupted him.
“Firstly, I assume her grandmother had passed away. It’s been a long time, maybe someone inherited the house or perhaps Nessia got married and built a new life somewhere else. Maybe she was ashamed of what happened and immediately after giving the baby away she left. Look, I’m not sure of what I’m saying, I’m only thinking out loud,” Liam replied.
“Why are you saying ‘baby’? as if that baby doesn’t have a name,” Gadi said angrily.
“Sorry, I apologize if I have offended you. I’ll try putting it differently. Maybe she was ashamed she gave you away.”
“Let’s assume you’re right, how would we know where she lives today?” Gadi asked.
“If she doesn’t live there anymore, maybe the buyers or renters know where she lives now.”
“But if she moved because she’s ashamed of her past, I assume she wouldn’t leave a trail and it would be harder for us to find her address,” Gadi tried to bring up potential obstacles, to be realistic.
“So,” Liam said, “if we get an exact address then it’s good, but if not, we’ll go to the shelter for young pregnant girls. No problem, we will manage.
“Getting to Nessia’s house won’t be that easy,” Ido interrupted, “because, except for the fact that we know the house was made of red bricks and stood out, we don’t know anything else. Not the name of the neighborhood nor Nessia’s last name.”
“We do know that the house is in a slum near Curitiba,” Gadi said.
“Do you know how many slums there are?” Liam asked and answered, “Seventy favelas. The real problem is that we don’t know the favela’s name, which is why I highlighted most of them on the map. We’ll go through them one by one.”
“We have to take Nessia’s and her grandmother’s picture with us,” he said to Gadi.
“He means the picture taken in front of the house,” Omri tried to help.
“Got it. Everything’s going to be great. Thank you for wasting days off your trip helping me,” Gadi said shyly.
“Enough with the sentiment, we’ve heard you. Thank us when we find her,” Liam summarized. “Good night, see you tomorrow at 08 hundred after breakfast.”
“Yes, sir,” they replied.
“Wait, wait,” Omri, who was still under the influence of the diary and Dana’s story, remembered. “We want to put an ad in the newspaper, too.”
“What ad?” Liam asked.
“An ad asking for information, with Dana’s pictures,” he replied.
“Who’s Dana?” Liam asked.
“She’s our friend. She’s also adopted, and we promised her we would look for her parents,” Omri explained.
“No problem, just before we begin, we’ll go to the newspaper, to the ad section and do what that Dana asked,” Liam said.
“Hey, she’s not ‘that Dana’, she’s Dana, our friend,” Gadi tried defending his friend’s honor.
“Wow,” Liam barked, “so sensitive, got it.”
Exactly at 8 A.M. the three stood in front of
the pousada. It was a hot summer day. Adi was already hunched over the huge desk and with a morning smile gave them sandwiches for the road. Liam probably told her, Gadi guessed. But she didn’t show any sign whether she knew or not.
They all crammed into Liam’s pickup truck and left to ride the dusty roads surrounding Curitiba.
“Darn, we forgot going to the ad section,” Omri remembered.
“No worries, I’ll make a U-turn and we’ll go into town,” Liam apologized, “what wouldn’t we do for Dana,” he kept on as if he had known her for years.
They parked the truck at Carlos Gomez circle, in a no-parking zone.
“You stay to watch over the car,” Liam said to Ido, and before he could answer, the three had disappeared around the corner. They climbed up to the second floor of a luxurious office building, where they found the ad section of the Gazeta do Povo newspaper – the most popular paper in Curitiba.
A smiling receptionist opened the door yet told them the place was still closed and would open at 9.
“Por favor – please” Liam asked and had a pleading expression like a child asking his mother for a toy. To their surprise, she gave in quickly and agreed to help them.
“It always helps,” he was satisfied with his success and started explaining to her, in detail, about their attempts at finding Dana’s biological mother. Gadi interfered and carefully took out Dana’s pictures from the envelope she had given him. “One picture of Dana as a baby and the other taken recently,” he said while handing them over. The receptionist looked at them puzzled, “what would you like me to do with these?” she asked.
“They should be part of the ad,” Liam explained. The receptionist then helped him draft the ad,
I was born in Brazil on March 16th, 1982 in a hospital by the Santos favela. My mother stayed during her pregnancy at a shelter. I was given up for adoption when I was 3 weeks old after being hospitalized due to a suspected condition. Today I live in Israel.
Whoever may be familiar with this information or is reminded of anything by these pictures, can call 33151098041, discretion guaranteed.
Thank you, Dana.
“Now add these two pictures and underneath this one, write, ‘3 weeks old” and underneath that one, ’22 years old.’,” Liam said.
“With pleasure, and you, don’t forget to tell me what comes of the ad” the receptionist said.
“We will,” they promised and thanked her. Liam smiled at her the same smile that won her over before, and she turned both of her cheeks at him for the traditional kiss.
“That’s it, the ‘ad operation’ is complete, now – let’s go, ‘red house operation’!” Liam called and being the obedient soldiers they were, the three got into the truck, racing through the favelas. The first favela they had chosen was the Mexico favela. Before they drove in Liam stopped the car and said proudly, “not everyone can walk around here. Wait a few minutes, I’m going to get permission and make sure there aren’t any surprises.”
“Permission from whom?”
“Every favela is run by a gang. If we don’t ask their permission, we would need a rescue team. By the way, do you have insurance?” they laughed, although they were unsure if he was joking or not.
“What will you tell them?”
“Trust your bro,” he said and disappeared into one of the alleys.
After a nerve-wrecking half hour, Liam came back with a big smile smeared on his face. They knew he had succeeded.
The Mexico favela, like many others, was very crowded, one house touching another. The houses were one room blocks with a kitchenette. The alleys were very narrow and it seemed impossible to find a house with a fence and a garden. After two hours of searching, when they stopped to drink water that one of the residents gave them, Liam said, “This probably isn’t the right place.”
“Did you notice? There are so many houses built of red bricks. If all favelas are like this one, there’s no chance we’ll find the house,” Ido expressed his doubts.
“Don’t worry we will.”
“How?”
“Maybe by its garden.”
“Have you even seen any gardens in this dump? And flowers, what kind of a flower would want to grow here?”
“We haven’t even started and you’re already giving up?” Liam scolded them. “and by the way,” he went on, “those who gave us permission to enter the favela have never heard of Nessia. It’s probably just not this one. Let’s go to the Frolin favela.”
Liam needed to get permission at the Frolin favela, too.
“I think this favela is even more crowded than the one before,” Ido said. “The streets are so narrow, I don’t think the car would even fit on the main road.”
“Refugee camps in Gaza look like vacation retreats in comparison to these favelas,” Omri laughed. “Generally, this all reminds me of the patrols we did in Gaza, only that here no one is shooting at us.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Liam said.
They followed the plan Liam had made. At every favela they used a map, and that is how they walked up and down the tangled alleys. Yet, usually, the map didn’t match real life. Occasionally, to save time, they split into two groups. One group kept driving and the other scanned the favela on foot. The marked the favelas they had visited with a checkmark and circled it with a blue pen. Most of the favela’s alleys were unpaved and the truck made reddish-brown dust clouds. However, the house they yearned to see was nowhere to be found. The day was about to turn into night, but they relentlessly kept searching.
“That’s it, this is all for today. We’ll continue tomorrow, and if we see that nothing matches what we’re looking for in any of the favelas, we’ll move to the shelter,” Liam decided.
“Maybe she doesn’t even live in a favela? Maybe she just lives in a slum, is there such a thing?” Ido shared his thoughts with them.
“Perhaps,” Liam answered, “if that’s the case, we should look through neighborhoods tomorrow. That’s a whole other story, not as complicated or dangerous. We don’t even need permission to go in.”
The next day they took a map on which Liam had marked the chosen neighborhoods at the outskirts of Curitiba. They passed through them according in the order they had chosen beforehand. Usually they didn’t even have to get out of the truck because, unlike the favelas, the roads here could be driven on.
“Did you notice that here, too, a lot of houses are built of red bricks? Perhaps it was special twenty years ago, but now, every fifth house is a red one. How would we find the one we are looking for?”
“Do I hear desperation again?” Liam asked.
“Actually,” Gadi recalled, “why are we wasting our time, we know the house was next to a railroad. We could narrow down our search to neighborhoods next to the tracks. The journal explicitly says this.”
“Well good morning, sunshine, you remembered this detail just now? “Liam was angry.
“Sorry, sir,” Gadi apologized.
When they entered the Pircuera neighborhood the sun was about to set, a few seconds from completely disappearing. However, at that moment exactly, the red house appeared before them in all its glory, shining against the last rays of sunshine. Behind it were the railroads and a vegetable garden in front. Without uttering a word, they understood they had found it.
“Yes!” they roared together and their voices echoed throughout the neighborhood.
They stopped the truck in front of the house, which was casually located on the main street, exactly where Sebastião’s scar had parked twenty-two years ago. They got out of the truck, opened the gate and walked on the condensed pebbles.
Gadi did not go in.
“What’s the matter?” Liam shouted, “cold feet?”
Yes, Gadi wanted to reply, but Liam started clapping so loudly the sound merged with Gadi’s pounding heart.
“What are you
doing?” Omri said, “have you lost it?”
“That’s what people do in Brazil, instead of calling or ringing the bell, people clap,” Liam explained.
Then, a minute later, the door opened and a little boy peeked through it. His expression showed he wondered who these people were who had invaded his home. “Oi, tudo bom?” he asked politely, “hi, is everything all right?”
“Tudo,” Liam answered and then continued, “we are looking for Dona Nessia. She lived here many years ago.”
“Mommy,” the child yelled, not answering Liam, “there are people here asking for you.”
“What did he say? That there were people here asking for her? His mother is Nessia?” Gadi asked his friends with a low, almost inaudible voice.
“I didn’t expect we would find her so fast,” he mumbled to himself, “I wasn’t ready, it was so simple.”
At the door stood a beautiful young woman, her eyes sparkled with a unique color one could not miss. Only when they looked closer, they noticed they were brown and encircled with a blue ring.
“What do you want?” she asked with suspicion. Gadi looked down and shrank. All signs indicated this was her, and he was terrified.
Liam was the only one who hadn’t lost his senses and asked with confidence, “Are you by any chance Nessia? We are looking for Dona Nessia.”
“And who are you?” she replied with a question, her gaze scanning them.
“We would like to talk to you,” Liam assumed this was her. Their conversation attracted dozens of children around the truck and they stood behind the fence, which was no longer white nor wooden but made of cast iron.