by João Almino
As she listened to Roberto, Aunt Matilde affected a smile of distrust on her red lips and a certain gravity in the expression in her eyes. She, who normally sought to impress men with her opinions and feminine antics, merely examined Roberto, as if she were inspecting a product for sale, still uncertain about its possible qualities and with the air of someone who doesn’t have high hopes. He seemed like an actor on a stage, but the role he was playing wasn’t attracting her attention. He was charming and handsome, there was some trace of tenderness in his facial features, which contrasted with the severity of his loud, rough voice, the voice of someone who isn’t afraid of what he says. It’s a pity that he was pretentious.
I was telling Moacyr that he should come to my house next weekend, it would be my great pleasure if the rest of you could come as well, said Roberto, addressing all of us, yet looking solely at Aunt Matilde, from there we can walk over to a spot where we can get a extensive view of the construction sites at the Esplanade.
From that day forth, Roberto and Valdivino came over to our house in the Free City many times, and for a while the limits of the known world seemed to be the two of them, aside from my own family, a few friends, the employees of the shops we frequented, and one or another stranger I knew in passing. Roberto was the only visitor who traveled quite a distance to see us, and the most distinguished of them all. For that reason, he was always the object of special care, especially in the case of Aunt Francisca, who would prepare his favorite sweets and juices.
Aunt Matilde thought that Roberto disliked her. Aunt Francisca would ask her, What about you, do you like him? I haven’t thought about it, all I know is that he doesn’t like me, What did you do to make him not like you? You don’t have to do anything for someone to like or dislike you, There must be some reason, Do you think there’s some reason why he likes you? Me? Yes, you, it’s as clear as day that he likes it when you’re cheeky with him, So you’re jealous, is that it? I hope I’m wrong, because he doesn’t deserve you.
Sometimes Roberto would show up unannounced, appearing in the windows of our house, which were always open, and we’d put another plate on the dinner table, which was in the same room where I would set up the hammock I slept in, or else he’d come later on in the evening, and Aunt Francisca would then have to postpone her praying of the rosary. On certain moonlit nights, we’d set up chairs outside in front of the house and, as we sat there, make out his slender figure from far off, Here comes Roberto, bring out another chair, João, Aunt Francisca would bid me. She maintained an expectant air about her, waiting for a man, like Roberto, who would whisk her away from her pitiable daily routine to a grand destiny, but she would never take the initiative or show any interest aside from those minor courtesies.
On the night when Roberto paid his first visit to the Free City, Dad took him out to one of his favorite bars, Carmen’s bar, where Carmen herself, a sociable woman, tended bar until late in the evening, even after her husband went to bed. They drank caipirinhas and competed with the workmen over the few women in the place, to dance body-to-body on the wooden dance-floor, which was set apart by a lattice-work partition and surrounded by drunks swilling beer, rum, and Cuba libres.
During a break in the dancing, Roberto introduced Dad to three friends, all of them engineers, who were talking about a certain Lucrécia. That Lucrécia you introduced me to is an amazing thirty-something gal, said one of them, who was tall and dark, addressing the man next to him, who was carrying his hat under his arm. Lucrécia? I also know a Lucrécia, affirmed the third man, who had a square face and green eyes. Don’t even start, what do you know about her?, demanded the first, the tall, dark one. And what if I know a lot about her? Then it must be some other Lucrécia, she wouldn’t give you the time of day, replied the tall engineer. That is, unless Paulão introduced you to her, he’s over there in the back, said the second man, the one with the hat under his arm. They all looked at the man in the long-sleeved white shirt, who stood out because of his size and the size of his moustache. He knows how to make money with construction sand and women, said the tall, dark man, lowering his voice. His brothel must be a gold mine, confirmed the man with the hat under his arm. And what if I prove that I know Lucrécia intimately?, insisted the man with the square face and green eyes. So, what is she like, then?, asked the tall engineer, with a smile on his lips, as if he were testing the other man. She’s knowledgeable, although crazy, she’s probably about forty years old, but she doesn’t look it, and she’s nothing like these young, inexperienced whores around here, she’s highly sought after because she’s mastered all the techniques.
A blog reader who used to know Lucrécia started an argument about her age, saying that she was thirty-five back then. Others, however, claim that I’m correct, that she would have been at least forty. In order to calm down the heated discussion, I thought about meeting in the middle: thirty-seven and a half, but I ended up just opting for forty, after employing some deductive reasoning and a mathematical calculation or another. For those who prefer precision, I must confess that I still don’t know her exact age. That heated exchange demonstrates the simultaneous usefulness and uselessness of a blog, which allowed for a laudable exchange of ideas, yet diverted my readers’ attention to a detail of minor importance and took all of us away from Carmen’s Bar. Aside from the addition of this paragraph—which would be a disposable one if I didn’t take advantage of it to beg the pardon of Lucrécia’s admirer, who wished to reduce her age—I’ve maintained my original text without adding or subtracting anything, which is happening more and more often. Let’s quickly return, then, to the conversation at the bar.
I can’t believe that you know so much about her, how is it that he knows all these things?, said the engineer with the hat under his arm ironically, Well, this guy knows it all, said the tall, dark one.
At that point the one with green eyes decided to tell them everything that he knew, You know the story, right?, he brought Lucrécia here from Bahia as some sort of high-class whore, set her up in a house that was separate from the brothel, and in time started to develop feelings for her, he practically became her lover and wouldn’t let her receive guests or go out with anyone else, but they say that now he wants to get rid of her, since he’s going to marry some other Bahian woman who insists that he let go of Lucrécia before the wedding; he takes Lucrécia out to the movies and everyone stares at her and says “what a beauty,” I think he does that just to show off, and also advertise her, but I can tell you a true story, which happened to me: one day I was walking here in the Free City, I saw her get out of Paulão’s car and was immediately smitten, then Paulão came over to talk to me, all dressed up in a white suit, like a movie star, Don’t be cheeky, he said, she’s not for people like you, she’s a princess, but by chance I ran into him the next day and, to my surprise, he hinted to me that I could see her at the movies that night and added, If you want more, bring me three thousand cruzeiros, Are you nuts?, I replied, but then I still went to the movies and saw Lucrécia and was unable to sleep all night long. The next day I bought her a pretty necklace, covered with gemstones, and decided to be bold and went straight to her house with it.
The man with the hat under his arm said, Maybe it’s true that he doesn’t let Lucrécia go out with just anybody, but I don’t know, that guy would make any deal if the price was right, She’s a really high quality woman, says some curious things, and what thighs!, added the engineer with green eyes, Yeah, but nothing compares to her ass, added the man with the hat under his arm, I agree, that woman’s got some ass, responded the man with green eyes.
Roberto, who up to that point had been talking to someone beside him, joined the little group, Whose ass is it? he asked, Lucrécia’s, replied the engineer with green eyes, A high-class whore here in the Free City?, there’s no such thing, said Roberto, You just say that because you haven’t met Lucrécia, she’s a true beauty, said the one with green eyes, And what an ass!, repeated the one with the hat under his arm.
Roberto took his leave, since he didn’t want to get home too late, Come over to the house this weekend, and bring everyone, we’ll go take a look at the construction sites.
Much later that night, Dad—sitting at a table by himself, drinking beer and looking out at the dance-floor—heard a voice, Have you already met Paulão? It was Carmen and, at her side, Paulão. Pull up a chair, Dad said to Paulão after the initial introductions were made.
Paulão knew who Dad was and thought that he was well connected to the inner-circles of the president and Newcap, an impression that was reinforced when he saw him with Roberto. At a certain point in the conversation, which was getting increasingly lively, he revealed that he planned to sell the brothel in order to dedicate himself to more lucrative ventures, Here in the Central Plateau there’s a lot of money going around, Mr. Moacyr, you just need a few bucks to invest and then they multiply all by themselves, it hasn’t even been a year since I arrived here from Bahia and I’m not complaining; look, Mr. Moacyr, there’s a lot of money circulating throughout the Central Plateau, and we can’t miss the opportunity to bite off the chunk that belongs to us, isn’t that right?, the money that the government is bringing here alone . . .
Dad thought about the piles of money that he’d seen a little earlier at the Ipê Grange Hall, spread all throughout the immense window-filled hall, money that had been brought out of the safes and placed in the sunlight so that it wouldn’t get moldy. It was true, there was a lot of money going around the Central Plateau, money from Newcap, money from social welfare institutions, money from the construction firms—which never stopped arriving, one after another—and Paulão was right, he couldn’t miss the opportunity to get his hands on the chunk that belonged to him. The words he wrote didn’t generate income, and he would earn very little if he just kept selling commodatums, he had to invest in land and construction, this is what was going through Dad’s mind.
They keep saying that it’s dirty money, Mr. Moacyr, but here you just can’t afford to be scared of dirty money, all the money here is dirty, really dirty, because it’s money that’s as red as the dirt here, everywhere else in the country they immediately know when they get money that was made here, it’s money that’s covered in dirt, in dust, but it’s worth just as much as clean money, and if they have a problem with it, we’ll just run some soap and water over it, right?, I wanted to talk to you about some ideas I have, Mr. Moacyr.
Dad looked at Paulão, but all he could think about was Lucrécia, whom he still hadn’t met. He was tired of all those second-class whores. Was it true that Paulão only introduced her to certain people?
Paulão wanted to specialize in being a tomcat, that is, a third-party contractor for the construction firms, That way I gain an advantage, Mr. Moacyr, unlike the firms themselves, I won’t have to offer workers the benefits that come with a signed worker’s ID card.
They talked until late at night, I’m going to screw Carmen today, Paulão announced at a late hour, Her husband is right there inside, warned Dad, Well, I’ll find a way.
That weekend, we all went to Roberto’s house, packed into the jeep, Dad, me, Aunt Matilde, Aunt Francisca, and—at Aunt Francisca’s invitation—Valdivino, too. We advanced across the terrain with difficulty. Crowning our excitement about this new discovery, the afternoon descended in red over the valley’s vast, rough, imposing nakedness. At one end of it we caught a glimpse of the house on a dirt road that had recently been cleared out. There was something poetic about that outpost, where the first residents of the city of the future lived. As soon as we arrived, Roberto offered his hand to help Aunt Francisca and Aunt Matilde down from the jeep. After that he walked up front with Dad, and we followed the two of them up to the living room of the small house.
Roberto, whose eyes were as agile as his words, looked like some large bird with a long head, a long body, and a long nose. In beautiful boots and khaki pants and shirt, he had the mannerisms of an educated person, both in his gestures and in his appealing and good-humored conversational manner. Later on I learned from Aunt Matilde that that appearance was hollow. After the military coup in 1964, he became violent in his outbursts of jealousy, trying to control her and forbidding her to go out at night to spray political graffiti on walls or even simply to meet up with friends. But at that moment I knew nothing of the future, except that it was going to be grand.
This house is more than enough for me: a living room, two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen, said Roberto, as he showed us into the house, Niemeyer’s house is just like this one, no better and no worse, it’s nearby, at the end of W-3 Street, I’ve been over there to play cards and play drums; in the living room there’s a small field radio, and in the bedroom there’s a cot, a temporary wardrobe like this one, and a stool for a nightstand.
From there we took two cars and drove out as far as we could. Then we went on foot, and Aunt Francisca, wearing a blue dress that went down to the middle of her shins, held on to Valdivino for support and held out her hand to him whenever she had the chance, so she could step over holes in the ground. The temperature was pleasant, and the sun, with its soft light, projected our enormous shadows onto the ground, on which we could freely make our own path.
We went past the wide Esplanade, which they’d just started to clear out. Watch out for holes, advised Roberto. Aunt Francisca held ever more closely to Valdivino, who complained about the dust staining his white pants. At least it’s not raining and your boots aren’t all muddy, said Aunt Francisca.
There’s nothing picturesque about this place, if it at least had mountains, like Rio . . . said Aunt Matilde critically, This is meant to be a modern city, open to the world, it doesn’t need to be picturesque, replied Roberto, who then explained that he knew Lúcio Costa’s plan in detail, the bus station was going to be over there, by the Rabelo Overpass, and next to it would be a center of entertainment, a mixture of Picadilly Circus, Times Square, and the Champs-Élysées, with galleries, wide sidewalks, patios, and cafés, as in Europe, the theaters will be next to each other along alleyways, the way they are on Ouvidor Street in Rio and in the narrow streets of Venice, or along covered walkways, like arcades, and these alleyways will give out onto courtyards with bars, cafés, and loggias with views of the park.
I’ll have to see it first, repeated Aunt Matilde, adjusting her long, tight pants, and I, without saying anything, took part in her skepticism, because out there in the landscape before us, aside from the parts that had already been excavated, we could only see the outline of crooked, rickety trees and some termite mounds, aside from the flowers, which, as always—once the depths of winter were over and it started to warm up again—blossomed even if there hadn’t been a single drop of rain.
Valdivino picked two velvety flowers. He gave one to Aunt Matilde and the other to Aunt Francisca.
Without paying Aunt Matilde’s comment any mind, Roberto continued, They’re also going to build two big plazas here, one beside the Opera House and the other in front of a pavilion, which will contain a restaurant, a bar, and a tea house that gives out onto the gardens of the cultural sector, and over there on the southern and northern sides, there between the residential areas, he said, pointing it out to us, there are going to be rows of shops and, in front of the shop windows, covered walkways bordering the tree-lined sections of the city blocks.
We looked out at the excavated holes and the mounds of dirt, trying to imagine what he was describing to us, like tourists listening to a tour guide give a description of majestic cities that have barely survived in ruins.
I heard that near the residential areas there’s going to be a plot reserved for planting flowers, vegetables, and fruits, said Aunt Francisca, It’s true, but that’s in another sector.
When he found out that they planned to build a chapel next to the Palace of the Dawn—construction on which had yet
to begin—Valdivino became interested in working there, That’s what I want to do, more than anything else: build churches, that’s my earthly mission, Ah, what a noble gesture, said Aunt Francisca, with her sentimental kindness, which bothered Aunt Matilde, I wonder if Mr. Bernardo Sayão remembers me, I bet he could help me get a job there.
A red ball of fire was disappearing on the horizon, and soon the golden hues began to take on a grayish tint. The colors of the immense valley were likewise cooling down, and the outlines of the hills were being erased from view, in a harmony that would have been perfect if it weren’t for the gusts of wind, which carried dust into our nostrils.
I’m not sure about Matilde, but I feel like you enjoyed coming out here, whenever you’d like to come back, just let me know, said Roberto to Aunt Francisca, as if he owned the landscape himself.
When we arrived back home, Aunt Francisca commented, Valdivino is such a sensitive young man, You’re easily enchanted, said Dad, objecting, And you’re practically drooling over Roberto, what a pretentious ass, needled Aunt Matilde.
I was lying on the floor at the entrance to the room so that I could catch a glimpse of Aunt Francisca’s striped panties, and I felt jealous over her because of Valdivino. Why was Aunt Francisca interested in Valdivino? It must be because she had heard Dad say that Valdivino liked older women. Typhoon, seeing me on the floor, came over to sniff at my face and frustrate my intentions.
I told Valdivino, said Aunt Matilde, I know a lot of women who would be wild about dating you, don’t you like Francisca?, and he got all . . . , You didn’t do that, not even as a joke, are you nuts!, protested Aunt Francisca, but he’s not like the other men around here, they’re crude, and he’s not like that, she added, while I remained lying on the floor, regarding myself as just as crude as the men of the Free City. Get out of the way, little boy, she ordered.
