Blood-drenched Beard

It’s normal. They live together. And I hope you’re done, because I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It was good we had this talk ’cause now we don’t need to have this talk anymore. I couldn’t give a fuck what Dante does or doesn’t do, and I don’t care if he’s your favorite until the day you die. I came to terms with that a long time ago. Just don’t compare me to him. Spare me. São Paulo? You always hated São Paulo, and now that they live there, it’s the only place a human being could want to live. Look me in the eye, and tell me that you think someone like me could—

I’m not comparing you, darling, I just wanted—

I’m fine here. Seriously. I know you don’t understand how it’s possible. But try. I like living here.

I love you both equally. I don’t have a favorite.

It’s okay.

I don’t.

How are you, Mother?

I already told you. I’m really well. I’ve talked so much since I arrived. I don’t know what else to tell you. What do you want to know?

Are you walking? Have you managed to get your triglycerides down?

Yes

. Walking and stuffing myself full of omega-three. I got tested last month, and the doctor told me my blood is like a little girl’s.

What have you got them down to?

Two hundred and a bit.

It’s not like a little girl’s but it’s come down a lot. That’s good. Are you working? I know you get a big kick out of this Ronaldo guy, but I reckon you should take more interior decorating assignments to keep busy.

I’ve been busy with your dad’s will and probate.

I thought Dante was looking after almost everything.

Dante’s in São Paulo and only comes if it’s absolutely necessary. I’ve been acting on his behalf. By the end of the year, you and your brother should get your money. And I’m going to sell his house. I’d like you to give some thought as to what you’re going to do with the money. Use it to set yourself up. Get a partner and open a gym in Porto Alegre. Or put a good-size deposit down on an apartment. Don’t give your money away.

Who would I give my money to, Mother?

You know what I’m talking about. You’re too generous. Hold on to the money when it comes. Promise your old mother.

Do you miss him?

What are you talking about?

Do you miss Dad?

She turns to stare at the ocean and bites the insides of her cheeks.

I hate to admit it, but I do. Now that he’s gone, I miss the good years. There were lots of them.

That’s nice to know. I’m glad.

His mother wants to feel the sand on her feet. They drive down to the south end of the beach, walk to Meio Lagoon, and return. They barely speak. The hills are imposing and make them seem small in comparison, while on the other side the ocean flaunts its infinitude. The wind blows his mother’s straw hat off twice, and he has to chase it over the soft sand. The beauty of the beach erases the last traces of the animosity of lunch.

Jasmim greets them in her cabin in Ferrugem late in the afternoon with coffee, maté, and an orange cake cut into little cubes. They give her the yerba maté that his mother brought from the Porto Alegre Public Market. He instructed his mother the night before not to bring up certain topics, and the conversation flows without any hitches, propelled by the contrived enthusiasm of his mother, who thinks everything is absolutely wonderful, funny, and incredible. It is at times like this that he is most irritated by her, when she is trying to please and there is no trace of the love that underpins her scolding and judgment and eternal comparisons to his older brother. Jasmim hams up the story about the metal detector, and his mother laughs until she cries. At one point, which he can hardly believe, they actually discuss a detail of the plot of the nightly soap opera, even though Jasmim doesn’t even own a television set. There are no questions about what it’s like for a woman to live alone in a place like this or about future expectations; nor are there any quips about mothers-in-law and grandchildren. He wonders if they could really get along. It is possible. With time.

On the Sunday morning he doesn’t take Beta for her swim, in order to avoid upsetting his mother. He thaws out a fish for lunch and opens two beach chairs on the paved area in front of the apartment. Beta barks a lot, and he catches his mother pouring hot water from the Thermos on her, but when he confronts her about it, she swears it was accidental. The pest passed underneath right when I was going to fill the gourd, and I got a fright.

A woman goes past on the footpath and stops in front of them to chat. He realizes it’s Cecina only when she starts saying that he’s a good tenant, the best she’s ever had in the off season, really easygoing, unlike his granddad, who lived here many years ago. He has never talked to Cecina about his grandfather, and the inappropriateness of her comment can only be some kind of veiled message, but it is a topic for another time. When Cecina leaves, his mother asks what she meant with that comment about his grandfather.