Blood-drenched Beard

I feel like shaking you, slapping you in the face for your coldness, your arrogance, your vanity, for God’s sake. The

vanity of thinking you don’t need anyone, of believing you shouldn’t forgive or be forgiven. But it’s not like that from your point of view, is it? You’re happy. I can see in your eyes the loneliness I’ve brought you. I know you never feel alone. It’s just because I’m here now. Tomorrow everything will be fine again. I’m going to head back early. I’ll change my ticket this afternoon at the airport. You don’t need to say anything. I know how much you love me. It exists somewhere. It’s safe. I won’t come back here again. If you want to visit us one day, the doors will always be open. I’m due mid-April. Okay? He’ll be your nephew. If you don’t have the dignity, the courage to come and see him, maybe one day he’ll come looking for you, when he’s old enough. Because that’s how you like it, isn’t it? When people come to you.

He chokes trying to say something.

I’m going now. Don’t worry. Things happened as you predicted they would, didn’t they? But it’ll be quicker than you imagined. It’s already over.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The verse extract quoted at the end of Chapter 9 is by Manoel Brandão de Souza and was taken from the book História de Garopaba

(The History of Garopaba) by Manoel Valentim.

I would like to say a special thanks to my friend and open-water swimming companion Mário Martins da Silva Jr., for his limitless wisdom and generosity, and to my father, Gilson Galera, who told me the story that gave rise to all the rest.

Notes