poem written not long ago
to drive out the mornings
to stand the past to attention
to cry in front of you
to have imaginary children
and put up with them
when they are more savage
and above all
when they sleep with no clothes on
during those fatal fights
in the damp chambers of the prison
built by your own hands
(at my wakes)
where there are no longer
any coincidences
nor the limestone shadows
from that dead day
on the dead pavement
outside that square
the day before the hearing
The president of FUNAI tendered his resignation, but the resignation has not yet been officially accepted. The number of the undersigned multiplies online, analysts are saying the masked man inspires people to pay attention, he is undoubtedly an unpredictable provocateur. At eleven in the morning he will speak at a small press conference called by Catarina (the first offline interview to have a wide reach) to talk about the meaning of his appearances and about the hearing at tomorrow’s Minor Offences Court.
‘What’s the mask for?’
‘The mask is an allegory, it has a personal purpose.’
‘What would that be?’
‘To reclaim my identity, my dignity as an Indian.’
‘Reclaim your identity by hiding?’
‘ …’
‘You’ve threatened the government. Am I right in saying that?’
‘If talking about the dignity of indigenous people is threatening,’ he pauses deliberately, ‘then I’m delighted to be the cause of such a threat.’
‘Is there any way you could clarify a bit what you mean by dignity?’
‘It’s about returning the lands that have been usurped … When I was younger I thought the only solution was to take all the Indians and civilise them in the non-Indian way once and for all, but I was wrong.’
‘Is it true you’ve done a deal with a toy company to produce a doll wearing a mask just like yours?’
‘ …’
‘And that the toy mask will be removable?’
‘That’s absurd. It’s never going to happen.’
‘But if it did, do you think any child would want it?’
‘Children aren’t usually scared of things that are real.’
‘Are you real?’
‘ …’
‘Is it true that people have been mobilising and encouraging donations to your cause right across Brazil?’
‘No.’
‘What about this hearing tomorrow?’
‘Justice wears a blindfold … A blindfold? I won’t be going that far myself.’
Then, deliberately disturbing the rhythm of the interview (to tell the truth, this was the only reason he agreed to do it), Donato says he would like to read out two very short stories written by his mother, a young Guarani Indian called Maína who lived on the side of the BR-116 and who, like hundreds of other Indians all over Brazil, precisely because she was unable to see any sign of a possible future, committed suicide in nineteen ninety-three. After this, and as though it would be impossible to go back to answering questions, he volunteers to talk about the meaning of his chanting. He confirms that, yes, the straw and wood do hurt a little, and the interview comes to an end.
An hour and a half later, Donato arrives home. He turns on his computer, checks the messages. Another one from Rener. She has been sending messages for more than two weeks. They always say the same thing, to add her on Skype or make a reverse-charge call to the number of the house where she’s living now. (If not today, then when?) He opens Skype, calls the number she has given him. ‘Who is it?’ the voice asks in French. It isn’t a good connection, there’s some hissing, but all the same he’s so pleased to hear her. ‘Curumim here, Brown Sugar.’ She laughs. (How he has missed that laugh.) ‘You told me to forget you, but I couldn’t do it,’ she says. ‘I can see that.’ ‘I’m never going to forget you, my shy little thing … ’ He says nothing. ‘I wanted to give you a bit of news, and ask you for something,’ she says. ‘Just like that, after all this time? Ok. You’ve managed to scare me, Rener,’ he stutters a little but it’s barely noticeable. ‘I’m moving in with a guy … ’ she says. ‘He’s French?’ She takes a moment to answer. ‘Yes.’ He leans on the table with the computer on it. ‘And is he cool?’ he asks. ‘I think he’s really cool.’ He can tell she is happy. ‘You’re still very young for this, Sugar … You sure?’ ‘I love him, that’s all … I got tired of changing boyfriends every week … and, another thing, I’m pregnant … ’ This did shake him. ‘You’re going to be a mother? Really?’ She lets out a shriek (one of those genuine Rener shrieks). ‘I’m seven months gone already. So isn’t that Proper News?’ she asks. ‘I … yes, of course, it’s a huge piece of news. I’m very happy,’ he says, unnerved. ‘And now the request … drumroll … I want you to be the baby’s godfather … You know how my family’s Catholic … ’ She is preparing the ground. ‘I know … and Catholics … ’ ‘You know I’m crazy, right? And this guy, though I really do like him very very very much, well he’s a lot crazier than me … ’ Still preparing him. ‘What does he do?’ He takes on a paternal tone that makes no sense. ‘He works in the circus, he’s a clown … ’ Coincidences. ‘Now I can see our childhood games have gone too far.’ She burst out laughing, she’s jubilant. ‘Things are coming full circle, Curumim. For better or worse, there’s no way out. Accept it.’ ‘The godfather of a child, a child with two irresponsible parents?’ he says happily. ‘Right! The child of your best friend, almost the love of your life,’ she says and laughs. ‘Listen — you really love this guy?’ Silence. ‘I’d like to think so … He loves me very much, I’m sure of that.’ ‘Everyone loves you, Rener.’ ‘That time is over, Curumim, I’m no longer that revolutionary … Listen. I’ve already spoken to my parents, they’re going to pay for the flight … and you’ll stay here at mine.’ He says nothing. ‘I need to think. It’s quite a hard decision … ’ ‘I know you’ll accept … Paris will be good for you … I’ll leave it to you to choose a name for her,’ she says. ‘Her?’ and he can’t contain himself. And Rener starts telling him everything that has happened to her in these past years and makes him laugh a lot. The Skype credits are running out. He will let them run out and then he will call her back.