Blood-drenched Beard

The trail goes around the first hill, following the river, and leads to a small beach occupied by a herd of cattle. The cows wander among the rocks, calves behind them, and the bulls raise their heads to watch him pass. Beta starts to bark, and part of the herd stirs and trots quickly toward the back of the beach, gathering near a small cascade formed by runoff water from the hill. There are two closed fishing sheds, one of which has a sign above the door with the name of a bar that must open only in summer. The trail continues over the next hill and comes out on a deserted beach walled in by an inaccessible green slope. As he is crossing this beach, the lightning starts. The claps of thunder take a long time to arrive after each flash but are slow to pass. He tries to pick up his pace but can go only at the same speed. He doesn’t have the strength to go any faster and is afraid he’ll give out entirely if he goes any slower.

After crossing the deserted beach, he climbs to the top of a grassy slope and is surprised by the sight of a large valley running parallel to the sea that extends as far as he can see until it is swallowed by the gray mist of the rain. The trail forks off, and he chooses to follow the crest of the hill that separates the valley from the sea because the approaching night will be stormy and the trees on that side look as if they might offer a little shelter. Night must be falling, though he can’t tell for sure, and he walks as quickly as he can. The trunks and branches of the pines on the edge of the cliff have grown curved due to the incessant wind and look as if they want to jump down to the bottom of the valley in search of some respite. The horizontal rain whips the right side of his face.

Farther in, the low, dense treetops neutralize the storm’s thrashing, shut out some of the cold, and make everything a little quieter. He is looking for a sheltered spot to spend the night when he hears a baby crying. He tries to find a plausible explanation, like the bleating of a sheep or the creaking of a tree trunk swayed by the wind, but it isn’t the kind of sound that is easily mistaken, and the second time he hears it, he is sure. He looks around thinking of hauntings and improbable phenomena. Can a sound be carried so far by the wind? A little farther along he catches sight of something yellow among the trees. He approaches cautiously, afraid of what he might find.

The yellow tarpaulin has been pulled taut and tied to the trees on a slant so the water will run off it. It serves as a roof for a small igloo-shaped tent. The baby’s crying is coming from inside it, and the light of what is probably a gas lantern projects the silhouettes of two people against the green nylon of the tent. He shouts hello and claps his hands to attract their attention. The door is unzipped. A head of long black hair with Coke-bottle glasses pokes out.

The couple are called Jarbas and Valquíria but he prefers to be called Duck and she goes by Val. The baby is thirteen months old and is called Ítalo. They are from Santa Cruz do Sul and live most of the year in an eco-village. Duck comes out of the tent and squats next to him in the small area protected by the tarpaulin, hugging his knees with his arms. He is very thin, and his glasses enlarge his eyes like magnifying lenses. His mane of unruly black curls frames his face like a cluster of flowers. Val leans out a little to say hi and take a good look at the visitor. She has thin lips, thick eyebrows, short, straight hair, and a pinkish mark high on her left cheek. Neither of them smiles at any point. Even after days or weeks of nonstop rain, their campground is dry, which must mean that Duck and Val set up camp there some time ago, before the rain started. The slightly sloping terrain helps with drainage. They have dug ditches around the tent and set up a small gas-operated camp stove. In the corner are a black umbrella and a few plastic bags of garbage. Duck lights the stove, puts a teapot on to boil, and starts preparing a gourd of maté. The baby wails endlessly and appears to have been wailing for a long time, but his parents seem to be able to tune out or ignore their protective instincts and remain immune to his shrieks.

Have you been camping here long?

Almost a month. We came when Ítalo turned one.

I got a fright when I heard him crying.

He’s got a fever.

Have you given him any medicine?

We took him to the medical clinic in Pinheira yesterday, says Val. They gave him some medicine.

They both speak very slowly and pause for so long before answering anything that he gets the impression they aren’t going to respond.

What are you doing here?

What do you mean?

Why are you camping here in this rain?

Why are you walking through the hills in this rain?

I didn’t know it was going to rain until the end of time when I left home.

We didn’t know either when we came here to camp.