Giacomo’s blood was almost solid so cold it had become. His mind began to work with that information. Arthur, who arrived there without two nickels to rub together, with his backpack and a lie in his mouth was no less than a Nunes de Mendonca! He always suspected that story, but he did not imagine it could be something like this. What he had in his mind were the most obvious situations: that he was pretending to be someone or something, some shit he had done in some big city and was searching for a hideout in the middle of the wood; or he was even some kind of idealistic who thought it would be easy to run his live in that community. When the guy showed to be a worker and started to make the difference in the community, it was quite better.
Nunes de Mendonca. He did not like those people. As he did not like any of the great families of the cities’ aristocracy. He hated it more than provincialism; he hated that class of nobility artificially created within the city. They had more resources, their names stamped in the street signs, their ancestors honored in the names of schools, health offices,
hospitals, museums and every kind of public apparatus. More than hating a system where social inequality prevailed, he hated those people who, for the simple fact of being born in the right family, had had all in their lives, while for him there were only two options when he observed that dominant bourgeoisie: admiring and envying.
What he envied the most were the revolution times. How much he wanted to have taken part of an armed, violent, bloody revolution! Being able to get into the house of people like the Nunes de Mendonca, rape their women, beheading their sons, and delight seeing the empire’s patriarch die hanged with his own tie, hung in a Bohemia’s crystal chandelier. How nice it must have been living during revolutions like that of 1917?
He wondered.
The accountant drank a sip of the whisky and gave an evasive answer to the question of his former colleague, still on the phone. Arthur Nunes de Mendonca was taking a walk in Tibiriçá Ecovillage, he was known by the film director, they studied together, he said; it was the first lie he had in mind to get rid of that conversation that a millionaire was there, under his beards, and he had not known, not even suspected.
He pressed play on the remote control and then the mute button. He sustained the conversation for as less time as he could and said goodbye, hanging up the phone quickly. In the silence of his empty house, he heard the ice melting in the glass; then he took another sip and stared at the TV. He was no more watching those Canadian pine tree forests, his mind was not there anymore, it was away, planning, plotting, drawing a trick that would enable him to win a worthy retirement, finally.
He could go live by the beach; perhaps even buy a boat, who knows he would go abroad? He knew about countries where to gain nationality it was enough to buy a nice house. Who knows in Uruguay, with marijuana free, wouldn’t it be a party?
He went to smoke in the verandah. He needed to think, put things in place, and establish a workplan. He lit a cigarette and contemplated the darkness. He would say goodbye to the hellish woods and could live with dignity! Where there would be sun, beach, heat and parties.
Giacomo worked honestly, always within the line, saving the trust of everyone. He would not be like his schoolmates, who, in the first opportunity to take some advantage, take some money out, steal or defraud something, filled up their hands. No. Not him. He had patience, he knew how to wait, like a feline that circulates around its preys, but would not be contented with a rabbit or a deer; he expected a big prize, a big animal. There were moments in his life that he became desperate, especially as his retirement approached and the big move had not yet arrived. With the money he won in the years of the city hall, even with some time in commissioned positions, he thought he would not manage to live with a minimum of dignity. His father did not leave him anything and died of cirrhosis of the liver when he was still a baby. His mother was a good person, she worked hard to maintain the family, but he always thought she was a little limited. And now she was limited to a bed in a cheap nursing house, which was what one could pay with her retirement.
At that time, he lived in a little popular apartment. Little and suffocating: the noise from the neighbors always annoying, obliging him to sleep with earplugs. He had a new car, a cheap model, and nothing else. He felt that, if he retired aged fifty years old, he would keep on working to keep his life standard. If he did not work, he would end up like a square wanderer, drinking cachaça until he died like his father.
However, there was an opportunity in his destiny and, when he had the chance to blackmail the mayor, he earned some money. This had been three years ago. At that time, what he discovered was that he should have asked the corrupt man for more money. With the money he raised, he managed to make the trip of his dreams to Europe, delight some pleasures in the cradle of the Western culture; say he saw Paris; he took a gelato in Rome, and all those tour memories that are as unforgettable as trivial. He sold his apartment and his car, bought a turbo truck with double cab and his piece of land in Tibiriçá Ecovillage. He had already been planning to buy a land in the ecovillage; he helped Pericles uninterestedly during the process of the community regulation when he was still in the city hall. A friend who worked at Bank of Brazil introduced him to those people, when he still worked in the city hall.
The money he had was enough to build a house of two hundred and fifty square meters, endowed with some luxury he made sure he should have, like a sun power system that was sufficient to assure him independence, quality furniture and even some works of art, in addition to an exuberant and exotic garden igloo.
He had found the garden igloo by researching sculptures for the green in front of the house. The work was created by the Turkish designer Cagla Isin Alemdar, a transparent geodesic dome where some furniture pieces fitted and that had three coatings, offering protection from rain, wind and insects. He imported that real work of art of design that soon became a sensation in the ecovillage, almost a tour spot. For the fact of being too flashy, he decided not to put it in front of the house, but at the bottom, in a kind of backyard, for which he had always lasted.
In front of the house, he put a craftwork: a sculpture made of a tree trunk. The sculpture represented the Irish folklore Green Man, with his characteristic face surrounded by leaves. The idea was to let the moss grow and make it all green, but as the statue remained in the sun, it was not what happened; actually, the statue became dry and arid, much different from the Irish versions he had seen in Internet.
Giacomo went to the bottom of the house, lighting the garden’s spotlights when he passed by the switch in the kitchen. He walked through the grass staring at the igloo. If he put the coatings that protected it from the sun and made it opaque, it would be possible, he thought. What would he need? He mentally took note of the items he would need to have success in his intention. He would need a portable air-conditioning; otherwise, it would be unbearable to be in the igloo during the day with all the coating plates put in the metal structure closing it completely. A new mobile phone chip. A portable sound system and some heavy or noisy music. Earphone. Strings. Silver tape.
CHAPTER 27
Arthur pressed the button of the coffee maker, with the smoking coffee cup; he left the lodging and contemplated the nice countryside morning. In the road that cut the Atlantic Forest belt surrounding the ecovillage, the sunlight, filtered by the leaves of the trees, was drawing beams of yellow in the air. The dew was drying slowly under the warm sun of the first hours, in the green and in the organic gardens. High in the sky, a hawk was circulating, with its privileged sight, pressed by the currents of air and searching for its breakfast in the floor. The half a dozen pooches adopted by the community were running to the road, probably having smelled something.
It was a good idea of Clara to bring her espresso coffee machine to the room. Arthur was in Tibiriçá for much longer than his relatives imagined he would stand. As if it were difficult to live in that piece of paradise, seeing his work become food, his beer become smiles and t
he companionship found friendships. His mother called him every week, expecting him to say we was longing for the city, that he wanted to go to a mall or even that he told her he would like to travel or change the scenario. It would be already a hope for her. But every day he felt more integrated to that environment. And in the perfection of that morning, he could even call that space his home.
Only the monastic life he was taking was something that could be improved. Yet he did not expect to live the rest of his life in that lodging.
He had his aspirations that became dreams and plans. Now he knew what fulfilled him, he was fully aware of the things he did not want for himself anymore. He judged his actions with more confidence and could identify failures in behaviors he thought were usual. His relationship with the opposite sex was an example of this. Something that he would surely change from then on.
While he was lost in this thinking, the dogs were making a mess in the entry road, barking without a break. Since this was not usual, he decided to check it out, it would even be good to stretch his legs and feel that invigorating energy of the day, when the heat of the sun had not yet scared all the cold air of the morning away. He crossed the green that separated the lodging from the vegetables garden and went up by the edge of the several plantations concentrated in circular or spiral formations up to reaching to the dirt road that led to the road, crossing the forest.
He heard a screaming in the middle of the barking and hurried up. He contoured one of the pits and saw two bikers shouting in the middle of the road, using the bikes to protect from the dogs that barked around them. He ran through the little road and scared the dogs away with some cries; the dogs lowered their ears and with eyes of repentance stayed along the road observing.
Arthur stared at the two cyclists that gasped in despair. He instantly recognized the taller woman by her thin slightly snub nose, generous lips, brown expressive eyes, the skin color exactly as he recalled, the depression formed by the collarbone... That was the architect who had been his last lover. The woman who inhabited his imagination since he became an unintended celibate in the ecovillage. Beside her, a brown athletic woman, a little older than her, who stared at him with a smile roughly disguised in the face. He could not believe what was happening.
“Hi, hold the beasts!”, Erica said kidding.
“Sorry for the mutts”, he said, while he approached Erica to greet her with a kiss in her face. “Nice to meet you, I’m Arthur” and turning to Lara: “I think we already know each other, don’t we?” He asked ribbing, reading in her eyes it would be completely useless to deny his identity.
The ecovillage guest felt an energy passing through his body when he put his hand on her shoulder and kissed her in the face. He wondered what he would do to disguise he did not remember the name of the architect.
“We saw you in the documentary and decided to stretch here to say hello!” Lara exclaimed, slightly blushed.
Erica laughed and completed saying this was a way to say, with a poke in her friend.
“Welcome, come in, let us see if in the community kitchen, they have already prepared breakfast”, he invited. “You wake up early, don’t you?” “It’s the best time to ride. We arrived quickly, here it’s closer to the city than we had imagined.” Erica replied.
They went to the community kitchen where there was breakfast. To prevent someone from starting to have ideas from where Lara knew him, he clarified since they arrived:
“They watched the documentary and came to get to know the ecovillage, they are...?” he took the opportunity to discover their names, indicating the blonde-haired woman:
“Lara”, she answered.
“And?” He asked, aiming to the brown-haired woman.
“Erica.”
With this artifice, he hoped he could have disguised he did not remind the name. Lara, exactly, he thought, and her surname was the surname of a writer, but he also did not remember which. One of the classics of the literature beginning with A: Azevedo, Alencar, Assis... one of these. The dwellers talked to the bikers asking where they were from, what they did, if they intended to move there too...
Lara’s eyes searched for Arthur all the time. The moments they had spent together had not surely been forgotten.
“Later on, I will show the ecovillage to you, so I will tell you how my life’s changed since I opted to be a guest here in Tibiriçá”, Arthur finished his breakfast and went to the sink to wash his cup.
He hoped they understood he was not willing to talk about his situation in public. But the fact there were two people there because they had recognized his face in the documentary was worrisome. Soon someone would tell Placido or Giacomo, or even to some of the residents of the ecovillage, and he would be in a tight spot. Actually, not even he had a justification that was not embarrassing for that lie.
He went back to the table where a resident was explaining to them how the community kitchen, the dwellers relay and other details worked. It was an old woman who liked to speak too much and remained with details of the community for over an hour, in which they drank water and one more coffee each. Then, the women who arrived became delighted with the visitors and took them to see the orchard.
During this time, Arthur remained at a certain distance from the two riders, enough to have a notion of what they were talking about and be able to admire from several angles the voluptuous architect. The tight and colorful clothes valued her toned body. Her long-sleeved shirt and the pants covering her legs up to the shins had purple and black shades. Her body was fully covered, yet the neckline was something that disagreed because it was revealing.
When he approached, he invited them to know the area reserved to the residences of the ecovillage. Again, they did not have the privacy they wished, because some of the residents wanted to follow them in the tour. They walked throughout the street, the residents indicating their houses and giving descriptions of all the ecologic functions of their houses. They showed some peculiarities, like the house made of two containers piled and the sculpture of the Green Man of Giacomo’s.
When Arthur noticed they were tired of so many details and explanations as for the ecologic way of life, the need to look after our only planet and the advantages of the way of life in a community guided by the principles of permaculture, Lara approached:
“Would you like to go to the movies tonight? The session is at seven.”
He became surprised with the invitation; it had been so long since he had thought of movies and felt thankful for her for providing some chance of privacy. For the first time, he had to answer he had no resources for something, a first-of-its-kind experience:
“I have no car. I’m isolated here in Tibiriçá.”
“I come to pick you up at six, then, ok?”
“Ok. We share the fuel, then?”
“No way, Cast Away!”, Erica was arriving beside her to take the road back. “Kiss and see you!”
And they left through the cobblestoned street where the residences were.
CHAPTER 28
Lara’s Kia Picanto crossed the dirt road with a bravery she did not expect from her small Korean car. She still wondered if it was a good idea. There was a conflict within her; a part of her mind saying she was being a fool and would be used again by some man who did not even remember her name; and the other part denying it: giving her hopes, catching details that could deny what seemed to be evident. His look, the gentle way he received them in the ecovillage, how readily he accepted her invitation to the movies. Anyway, a man like him must be used to be harassed all the time, she thought.
He seemed to be different; he acted differently, smiled differently. It was clear that Arthur she found in the morning was not the same three months ago. Something had changed in his way to be, he seemed softer, happier, as if the position he occupied before obliged him to wear a mask. He was no more the executive who studied in the United States and had obligations, duties, responsibilities for the undertakings, the finances and the family. In the ecov
illage, he was only a freeman, independent and without masks.
This was the image she had of him. How about her? How much of hers was still a mask and how much was the metamorphosed Lara? She already began to wonder what was false and what was true in her life; finally, nobody can lie all the time. Mainly to oneself. She still missed tattooing, but she appreciated her work in the Architecture Office, although she was not willing anymore to do whatever to assure a new project (she had faced repugnant things enough in her life, she did not feel she needed to break the ego more than it was in pieces). Would it be disregarding the rules of ego break? Who cares! No more. In fact, she had metamorphosed so much that it was not a matter of breaking the ego anymore then. Her ego had already been shattered. It was a matter of collecting the pieces and trying to redo whatever possible for this ego, even that some pieces of this jigsaw had been lost in the process and now what she had to do was to mount other thing with the missing pieces.
Many questions were solved in this process, for sure. Her relationship with her mother was different, there was no more conflict, she felt her mother loved and admired her for what she had become (or for the artificial version of what she had become). She had reconciled with religion, even understanding it in a different way. She found new activities, new pleasures, as the delight of taking a bicycle at six in the morning and departing with it while the dirt roads are still cold and feeling her body warming up in the way, admiring the sun that stains the horizon with million hot and orange shades. She knew wonderful landscapes whose existence she did not even suspect so close to her house. And perhaps what was more important was finding a companion for her adventures, who was a loyal friend.
Yet a part of her life was still asking for attention, and at that moment, only Arthur could fix it. She felt good at his company, he was a cultivated man who understood her; she was not obliged to lower her vocabulary or suppress her ideas when she spoke to him. Perhaps she expected this, although she did not order these thoughts clearly in her mind. Yet they were latent in some level of her psique; he was the only person who could give a new meaning to the fact that in a beautiful afternoon she had resigned to her principles to surrender to a man like a bonus for the signature of an agreement. It was in his hands to transform that dirty sale day into something greater, something clean, soft, who knows even something pure.
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