Blood-drenched Beard

Every morning he runs barefoot to Siriú or rides to Silveira and swims across the bay, where he sees timid schools of fish in the clear water, the first and only sign of the approaching spring in those weeks of dry, persistent cold. Beta is now allowed out all the time and never ventures far from home except on her early-morning walks, when she limps along the beach with growing boldness and swims through the waves like no Blue Heeler before her. She tags along whenever he goes out on foot and heads back to the vicinity of the apartment only if he stomps on the ground and shoos her away with a short, dry hiss, one of the signs of the new language that is slowly replacing the previous one established over a decade and a half of living with his father. His long, frequent runs along the beach bring him knee pain for the first time in years. He spends his nights in bed in his dark, slightly musty room with the windows and shutters closed, eating pasta or rice and meat straight from the pot, bags of ice on his knees, playing FIFA on PlayStation. He feels hungry all the time and takes to going around with bars of chocolate and packets of cookies in his pocket. Every time he goes out, he feels like he is being watched, and he starts to avoid meeting people’s gazes. Sleep hits him and passes in a flash. He compares his face in the mirror with the photo of his grandfather and notices that his own beard is already a little longer than his grandfather’s. His thinner, more tanned, older-looking face has never appeared more like the one in the photograph, and every time he wakes after a lightning-quick night, he feels as if he has spent the last few hours dreaming he was his grandfather, wandering the coastal cliffs and hills on sultry afternoons filled with thunder, lightning, drops of rain, water splashing up as the waves break against the rocks, herds of cows trampling trails, grasses rustled by snakes, black birds in flight, and ocean winds. The rain arrives quietly. No one gives it much thought, and there is no reason to believe it won’t leave in a few days as it always does. The last few whales head with their calves for the Antarctic seas, and with them the last few winter tourists go too.

The news that he’s leaving the gym spreads among the students, and he starts receiving invitations to farewell outings and dinners that he politely turns down with lies. After a certain point, it doesn’t even occur to him to recharge his cell phone battery.