Blood-drenched Beard

He goes back into the kitchen and pours the boiling water into the filter.

Dante was also upset that he didn’t see you at the funeral. You left early, didn’t you? You missed each other.

We didn’t miss each other. I left before he got there on purpose. Dante can fuck himself. And I don’t want to talk about him right now.

The hiatus in the conversation is filled by the smell of coffee and the sound of the waves crashing into the rocks near the window. He returns with two coffee mugs, gives one to Viviane, and sits on the other sofa. She is so beautiful. His coffee making hasn’t kept him with his back turned long enough for him to forget her face. When they lived together, he used to play a secret game where he would test how long he could remember the face of the woman he loved or try to look at her often enough so as not to forget her for an entire morning or a whole day. In the beginning it was easy, then it grew harder, and at some point he lost the will to try, but seeing her again now, after more than two years, the game makes sense again. He decides to put it in practice. He won’t lose sight of her. He won’t let her face escape his memory until she leaves again. When she walks out the door, he will hold her face in his memory at the same time as he remembers how they met at the pool where he was teaching, she in a black bathing suit and blue swimming cap, swimming clumsily with her tall, strong body, stopping at the edge of the pool to breathe and chat, letting her guard down for an invitation to go out for a beer. The house brimming with books where she lived with her rich parents before she moved in with him in a horrible apartment in Cidade Baixa, surrounded by noisy bars and schizophrenic neighbors. Her face will start to fade, but the memories of what they did together won’t. The first time they went to the seaside together and camped in a deserted campsite at Christmas. Her coming out of the water in the middle of the deserted beach shaking with cold, covered in goose bumps, not noticing the blood running down her thighs, and cringing with shame when he told her. Lying on her back on top of him in the damp, stuffy inside of the tent, having little convulsions after she came. Them looking at themselves in the mirror together. Their bodies were so beautiful, it was agonizing. She used to say that the human body was fortunate. It didn’t make much sense, but it was what she said, as if fortunate were a synonym for

beautiful or something of the sort. He never corrected her. The one who was right about words was her, always her. He didn’t read books, and she didn’t watch him compete, but it didn’t seem to matter. It will take a few minutes for her face to disappear. Then all that will be left is a blur. It doesn’t matter what he feels for someone, it always happens. But he won’t allow it to happen as long as she is in his apartment. He makes the most of her being there. One, two, three, go.

Tell me about yourself. How’s life in São Paulo?

I’m well. Really well. We’ve bought an adorable apartment in Pinheiros. One of those old ones with high ceilings that you’ve got to be on a waiting list to get. I went to all the small real estate agents in the neighborhood, where the agents are really old and only know how to use fax machines, and I left a description of what I wanted and asked them to call me when something appeared. The owner of this apartment had health problems and went to live with one of her children, and they put it on the market. The agent called me the same day and told me to go and see it because it’d be gone in a week. We were so lucky. I spent ages freelancing, making contacts, and then at the beginning of this year I got a job working in the children’s book department of a publishing house, which I love. I get to work with writers, translators, amazing illustrators. I went to Flip in July. Have you heard of it? It’s a literary festival that takes place in Paraty. The program includes Flipinha, which covers children’s literature. I worked my backside off, but it was great fun. Dante went with me. He might even be invited to be a guest speaker next time round, if he manages to finish his book by the end of the year. Noll was there, a writer I like a lot. We had some great chats with Verissimo. He talked a lot! He always struck me as so shy that I used to think he was mute.

Verissimo’s the one who does those cartoon strips with snakes, right?