March 4, 2013
2 of 2
Roberto cut off the tip
of his right index finger. It looks like a charred plastic digit, puffy and
under the weather. He has continued working despite getting hurt on the job while
cutting a large piece of timber to prop the foundation in the renovated
bathroom. Roberto has a chatty wife, Carolina
and son who’s timidity is covered with shocking pink hair. Ricardo is working
on an application on-line to be accepted to a Cosmetology Program in London for a year. He is
obviously anxious to get out of the partially constructed house, ceiling tiles
exposed, walls extend halfway up the middle of the rooms, rough bricks glare at
us from all four sides and get away from his three young girlie girl cousins
who live in the house with their underemployed mother.
The dog has three legs,
born that way, so I understand. An elderly woman crept out from one of the back
rooms to join us on the walkway. She didn’t seem to comprehend my story, kept
repeating to the sisters that I live in the States and that I WANT to live
there, that my ENTIRE family lives there too! Why don’t I want to live in
Brasil? What do I DO there? I am not the only one lost in my conversations! I
draw everyone into the confusion. I suppose it stems from answering questions
that weren’t asked and not responding to the ones that were! As you can see,
this can go ‘round and ‘round for hours. Quite fun after a beer or two.
The gang we stayed with
has one structure in front of the lot and a smaller one within spitting
distance out the back door. Lea married Andre and they have a boy and girl.
Five years after the happy couple walked down the aisle, he left her to live
with another woman. Andre’s mother’s younger sister has now taken in Lea and
the two children. No one knows how Lea is surviving since she complains about
not having any money yet is “decked out to the nine’s,” as my mom used to say, hair
and nails perfect, luxurious pricey labels grace her back and Brasilian butt.
Thin as a twist tie in her jean shorts and white tank, suede high heels and
died blond hair pulled tightly in a bun at the back of her twig head. Whines
project from her mouth in a perfect “O” while she prepares her seven year old
daughter’s coffee. Loads of cream and sugar with a dribble of thick black
singed coffee.
The last time Pedro,
Lea’s son was in Florianopolis,
he played with Legos for the first time. He was enthralled with the bright
colored blocks. Katia promised him a set for his birthday. Pedro’s 6th
birthday came and went and the squares never appeared. Katia explained that she
had not forgotten her promise but clarified that when she has enough money to
buy the set she will do so and bring them along the next time they visit. The
next day we approached the block house, Pedro was seated on the cement steps in
front with a R$20 bill in his hands. He asked Katia’s son Rafael how much the
Lego set costs and made it clear he had borrowed the cash from his Caca
(granny) to buy them since Katia is too poor.
Puppy (pronounced like
poopy) a tubby peanut-shaped female Chihuahua and her offspring, a brown and
white four month old, slender Bella race through the house, bouncing off
furniture and jump onto laps and lick faces whether you like it or not. NOT! Problematic
to fling the mutts off my knees without appearing like an appalling abusive foreign
guest. Killing off the ankle-biters would not go over well so I pet and tussled
with them until they dropped with exhaustion on Pedro’s prone stomach. Makes me
long for my husky 100# dog back in Minnesota.
Now THAT is a REAL dog!
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