Blood-drenched Beard

She gives Bonobo a look that says “not now.” Customers sitting at the outside tables turn and glare at them disapprovingly. Altair is swaying in silence in the middle of the road, facing the sea, almost falling, as if sent into a trance by a song that only he can hear. A deliveryman on a motorbike swerves to miss him, honking.

We’re going to my place to drink some more.

I don’t want to know about it. For heaven’s sake, be careful.

Don’t worry, everything’s okay.

I’ve got to work—’bye.

Farewell, Princess Dália! shouts Bonobo.

She ignores Bonobo and warns him again. Be careful.

They pass in front of the Bauru Tchê. The TV is on, and there are no customers. The owner, Renato, is leaning against the counter and looks depressed. He greets the trio and asks if they are going to have a beer. They say they haven’t got any money. They pass the Embarcação Restaurant and walk down the cement ramp from the beach promenade to the sand. The calm, waveless sea looks more like a dark lake. A small group of children is playing in the water, stirring up the green glow of luminescent seaweed. Near the fishing sheds, Altair wades out until he is knee deep in the water and stands there staring at the ominous horizon, ignoring his companions’ pleas to come back — then suddenly vomits. He takes a step back after each heave to avoid the floating emissions of his stomach, then wades back out of the water and runs to catch up with them. The gulls standing in the sand aren’t flustered by the passing trio, and the orange rings of their eyes shine intensely as they blink nonstop. They climb the stairs to Baú Rock cursing the disgusting smell and take the footpath up to his apartment.

Beta bounds over to greet him when he opens the door. He kneels and ruffles her fur. He wonders if he forgot to feed her but sees that her bowl is still full of dog food. There are half a dozen beers in his fridge. Altair says he is done drinking but changes his mind that very instant and goes into the kitchen to help himself to a beer.

When he opens the window, Bonobo stops clowning around and admires the view in silence. Altair suggests he put on some music, but his radio isn’t working. They go into his room to play Winning Eleven. They run out of beer, and the bottle of cachaça is summoned. Altair begs to play God of War II, gets permission, and takes over the controller. They leave him playing and go back into the living room. Bonobo climbs onto the window ledge and says he misses smoking. He asks for a cigarette, but no one smokes. I haven’t put a cigarette in my mouth for three years, he says, but I’d smoke one now. Beta starts barking at Bonobo. After a dozen barks she stops with the same lack of motive with which she started, licks her teeth, looks around as if she is positively surprised at herself, and sits on the carpet. Bonobo says that she is happy, and he agrees. They are slurring their words and leaving sentences half-finished. He hears what he intends to say clearly in his head, but his mouth deforms the words as he utters them. They sit in silence for a long while, forgetting the cachaça, just gazing at the dark ocean and the lit beach and listening to the epic soundtrack and violent sound effects of the video game in the bedroom. He has the feeling that this moment will last indefinitely, that nothing else will happen, as if the world has reached a kind of final state in the insignificant scene he is living out. Bonobo asks in a low, circumspect voice if he has noticed the thing too. What thing? he asks. Haven’t you noticed anything different? asks Bonobo, holding up his index finger like an antenna and looking sideways as if concentrating on some very subtle phenomenon. He pays attention but doesn’t notice anything besides the murmuring of the waves, the throbbing of his temples, and the room spinning under the effect of the alcohol. Then suddenly it comes to him. The most revolting thing he has ever smelled in his life, an almost viscous stench of concentrated methane that makes him gag in the middle of an attempt to shout a swear word. Bonobo hoots with laughter, gets down from the window ledge with an incomplete somersault, takes a swig of cachaça, and does a little dance holding the bottle and hollering, Radioactive Fart! Let’s get outta here! Life’s short and the night’s a babe!

He escapes to the bathroom, pees, and washes his face, trying to recover from the effect of the nauseating gas.

You’re rotten inside, Bonobo.

I am, and so what? Let’s go party.

He laughs until he realizes that Bonobo is serious.

There’s a party over at Rosa that must be starting to warm up about now. A sushi bar near my bed-and-breakfast is closing for the season. Let’s go back to the kiosk and get my car.

You’ve got a car?

Yep. Let’s go. Get Altair.