Blood-drenched Beard

He is almost back at the church when he notices a small handwritten rental sign on the wall of one of the old blocks of apartments built by the fishermen on the slope between the street and the sea. On the other side of the gate all he sees is a long, narrow staircase following the wall down to the base of the two-story construction and ending at a footpath around the rocks, some ten or so feet from the waves. He dials the number on his cell phone and asks the man who answers if the apartment is for rent. In an instant the man appears out of one of the nearby houses. He is short and tanned and looks as if he is amused by something, but he isn’t. The apartment is the ground-floor one, right in front of the rocks. The man takes a padlock off the gate, and they head down to the bottom of the stairs, passing the entrance to the upstairs apartment. Under the stairs, in the damp space between two neighboring buildings, is a brown door. They enter a small living room with an adjoining open kitchen. The furniture is limited to two beat-up sofas and a rectangular wooden table. It is much colder inside than outside. There is a predictable smell of mildew. The short guy tinkers with the latch on the living-room window and opens the shutters after a few jolts, revealing a view of the entire bay of Garopaba, the fishing sheds and the old whaling boats anchored offshore. Right in front of the window is a flight of cement steps from the footpath down to a large, smooth rock that the bigger waves are covering with spray but that is probably dry when the sea is calm. On top of the rock is a large blue tarpaulin protecting what appears to be a fishing net. The guy shows him the bedroom, which has a double bed, the bathroom, and the kitchen, with a small outside laundry area, but he doesn’t really care. He’d decided he wanted to live there when he saw the shutters opening.

I want to rent this house. Will you rent it to me for a year?

You’ll have to talk to my mother.

Do you go through a real estate agent?

You’ll have to talk to my mother. She’s the one who handles the place.