Carnival Love. ®. (English Version)
SYNOPSIS
“Carnival Love” brings us closer to a Brazilian journalist, nicknamed Guakimachi, who writes about carnival in the Diario del Sol, a modest news”aper in the capital. Guakimachi falls in love with Julia, a beautiful married woman, owner of a beach hotel. This story has a carnivalesque, comic, romantic, intriguing, journalistic, and slightly poetic tone.
Guakimachi stopped dancing and took refuge in a dead-end alley off the avenue planted with adorned palm trees; aerial notes were whistling “The Girl from Ipanema” from a nearby tavern: “Look what a lovely thing, so full of grace”…
“I’m very happy tonight.”
“Buddy, drink some caipirinha and console yourself.”
“I have no reason to console myself! I’m happier than you!”
“I’ve known you since you were a child, you can’t fool me.”
“Look what a lovely thing, so full of grace…”
“Don’t look at her, she’s the daughter of the owner of the beach hotel, and she’s a bit silly; besides, she’s married.”
“Well, I always see her alone.”
“She likes to stroll during carnival.”
“Where is she going?”
“I don’t know everything, Guakimachi, here, drink a little and let’s keep dancing in the parade. The night is starry and hot, and you’re only thinking about dying before your time, and during carnival, which is a true sacrilege.”
“I would consider dying for her, my dear friend, a genuine sacrifice in the purest romantic style.”
“Come on, the night is slipping away.”
“As you wish, my friend, as you wish…”
Turning the corner, they blended with the happy revelry of the crowd. But he didn’t see her again.
“Don’t look for her. She’ll have returned to her hotel to wait for her husband.”
“Why do you know so much?”
“I’ve been working there for years. Why are you smiling?”
“That’s good news, I guess.”
“Don’t even dream about it. And if you don’t forget this skirt situation, I’ll think you need to drink a lot more, much more.”
“All right, case closed. Let’s dance, vote, prance, and drink until dawn to the rhythm of your Indian brew!”
“Now that’s my friend…”
In the morning, the capital’s cleaning services threaded through the streets and avenues, removing the leftovers and the serpentine decorations, now lacking light and dancing love. Guakimachi had a small attic near the beach. Every day he wrote an article for the Diario del Sol, and that new dawn he didn’t wake up crestfallen because he had to clock in exactly on time, as it was one of his days off. He had been commissioned by the newspaper to write a report on the carnival festivities, but the monstrous hangover mixed with the notes of “The Girl from Ipanema” didn’t let him open his eyes to reach the medicine cabinet and grab something “miraculous” to recover and go out to the streets to take notes and meet with prominent members of the carnival scene…
Paolo would be waiting for him at the Café de la Mar, and he hurried his departure, somewhat recovered and clean, of course:
“Good morning, Guakimachi.”
“Good morning. Do you have my copy?”
“Of course. Did you see what happened last night?”
“Oh, I still have aches and caipirinha all over my body.”
“This morning at dawn, a girl was looking at your window.”
“What did you say?”
“Yes, and I think I know who it is.”
“Well, hurry up, I’m bursting with curiosity.”
“No, sorry, I can’t remember her name right now; she walks on the beach a lot.”
“Wow. What did she look like?”
“A beauty, too much for you.”
“When you remember, tell me. Ciao, Prensita.”
“Ciao, Guakimachi.”
Paolo hadn’t arrived when some people were already playing volleyball on the beach sand at dawn. On the way, he was drinking black coffee while thinking about the weekly article. He sat near the Atlantic foam; the distant sounds of the nightly samba still ran through the air. The Sun wasn’t too hot, and he didn’t feel like writing. Even so, he pulled out his notebook and jotted down details of the first day of the festival. As a journalist, he couldn’t avoid the intriguing curiosity that gnaws at the insides, and he thought about that woman who had been looking at his window. Maybe she was just one of his friends lost in the night who couldn’t find a place to sleep; in that case, the newspaperman would have told him. Who could she be?
“Hey, Guakimachi! Up for a game? Three on three.”
“Wait, I’m finishing a paragraph; it will do me good. Who are we playing against?”
“You, my cousin Marinao, and me, against people from the hotel.”
“OK, Paolo.”
His beloved city had a high poverty rate and too many rich people crammed into luxury suites. Thank goodness football, beautiful women, and samba partially alleviated that dingy and shameful reality.
“Don’t think about it anymore! You know what, Guakimachi? I think you overthink things that have no solution. Come on, your serve.”
“Okay, okay, shut up now. Get it!...”
“We’re too old for this.”
“In this country, you’re never too old to play soccer, even with a can.”
“Did you know that soccer started with human heads as a ball?”
“Ooh. Nice one, Marinao! 1-0. What were you saying? Look who’s coming over there, my boss’s daughter.”
Guakimachi knelt down and, looking at the Sun, began to make gestures as if lamenting.
“Don’t even think about looking at her; her husband is jealous and has a very bad temper. She’s coming this way.”
“Did you see those ankles sinking into the white foam? I’m dying.”
“I knew it, I can see it on your face. Good morning, ma’am.”
“Can I play with you?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Are you Paolo?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You all work at my father’s house, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Guakimachi played dumb, while the other team waited to take the center serve. Then she went up to him and said something:
“Hello, I don’t know you, but your face looks familiar.”
“Well, I work at the…” – Paolo interrupted –
“I think it’s time to go to work. See you later, Guakimachi.”
“Guakimachi? Is that your name?”
“No, but it doesn’t matter, you can call me that. And yours?”
“I have to go; they’re waiting for me at the hotel,” the beautiful woman concluded somewhat indifferently.
She looked at him with half her face turned towards him while her swirling hair was reflected in her natural and beautiful gaze. The columnist was left with his racing heart and the leather ball under his sole. Paolo smiled from afar as he walked with his co-workers along the playful shore; the boss’s daughter told them to wait for her.
What a woman! He thought. He took out his favorite pen and held it up to the Atlantic light while talking to his notebook; We should write something about this angel, do you hear me, ballpoint? And you, notebook? I know, I know you won’t answer me. And he left for his house with the idea of writing something else for the midday. Then he would go to the Café de la Mar to visit some samba musicians; he needed to collect tickets for a night party.
The newspaper vendor, nicknamed El Prensita, was tidying up some fashion magazines when he saw him arrive.
“Tell me, Prensita. Are you sure about that woman looking at my window?”
“I knew you’d ask me again, Guakimachi.”
“What did she look like?”
“Poor, she was undoubtedly a poor person. Although very beautiful.”
“Are you sure you never saw her around here or with me?”
“Don’t be like that, you know I have plenty of neurons, and during carnival, they multiply. No, I’ve never seen her, well, I think I saw her walk by at dusk once, but I’m almost sure she’s from the village.”
“All right, if you see her again, call me. Here, load your card with this bill.”
“Wow, she must interest you.”
“I’m going upstairs, we’ll have coffee later.”
“OK, Guakimachi…”
“The city breathes the music of ancient drums and aphrodisiac rhythms. I can only imagine sweaty love and glorious brew between twisted mouths and dancing hips”…
He was writing this when his desk phone suddenly rang.
“Yes?”
“Is this José Roberto?”
“Yes.”
“Journalist for the Diario del Sol?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
Whoever it was hung up immediately. He was used to those telephone snubs; a good journalist always is. After this, he continued writing with his newly smitten pen:
“This year’s parade surpasses itself. The schools are instructing better and better, but what can be said about music that comes from the heart? Who holds the master key to tame the blood, our blood? I fall in love with you, with all of you, even more this year.”
He stopped his hand and looked at the phone, but it didn’t ring again that morning. He left what he had written on the table and took a flattering shower, thinking about her and why the beautiful girl from the beach hotel hadn’t given him her name, although he could ask Paolo. He looked at the crucifix hanging on the wall. Hey! I’m Jesus, the voice of your conscience! You cannot desire her; she is your neighbor’s wife. Help me, he told himself, because it’s going to be difficult not to think about her, besides, I never followed the commandments. You’ll have to forgive me this time, he said to himself as he finished drying off. The programmed voice of conscience and love itself. Which do we choose? Before leaving his house, he looked at the crucifix again and exclaimed;
“Jesus. But have you looked at her the way I have?”
May God forgive me. And he hurried down the stairs, the newspaperman shouting from the street to invite him for a black coffee from the land. “Look what a lovely thing, so full of grace,” he hummed, as he remembered the salty, greenish flight of her hair and those eyes like the sea.
Joao Anastasio gave him those tickets for the party. He chatted with him about the colors of the carnival and the samba, they drank something cooler than coffee; behind the windows, the beach was exhibiting itself as usual, full of tourists and beautiful women, hustlers, and many athletes. They were both proud to be from there.
“What’s wrong with you today, kid? I notice a certain buoyancy in your gaze?”
“Maybe I’ve found the perfect article this year.”
“No, no. That’s not it. There’s something loving you haven’t told me.” And he smiled.
“I have to go, I need to find the right costume and a party companion.”
“Hey, my cousin is very cool. Do you want me to introduce you? She’s right over there across the street, in that ‘beach volleyball’ game.”
“I’ll call you later,” and he ran away again.
Immediately after, his cell phone rang; it was the Prensita.
“That woman is hanging around here. I went up to her to ask if I could help her with anything, and she ran off as if terrified; she had fear in her eyes.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Thanks anyway, I’ll see you later.”
“No, I’m leaving now. I’ll see you at dawn if you manage to avoid getting stuck at the party…”
“Ciao, Prensita.”
All right, I need to calm down. She’s not the first or the last desperate person who goes looking for a columnist to help them with something the authorities don’t want to see, people who have no one to trust, as if we were saviors of the new era. He didn’t want to file the matter away until he had evidence of who it could be. By then, his night program was more than planned: an informal dinner at a beach hotel and a party in the purest carnival style with a subsequent outing to the streets and bars. He looked through his agenda for the name of a female friend or colleague, but they were all committed, and Celia Parker, a faithful friend for ”emergencies,” had finally found happiness with a stagehand who drank rum and loved wide buttocks and nipples like the ring of Saturn. He looked at his watch. The sun had reached its highest point, and he decided to taste some seafood on the balcony of a friend’s restaurant.
Very close to his apartment was the hotel where Paolo made a living, although he never imagined it was there, so close to that strange woman, simple and beautiful like peaceful nights. After finishing the wine and flirting with a low-cut madam who agreed to go with him, they went to a luxurious, air-conditioned room where they got involved in sweet talk, liquors, and maybe I’ll let you eat me, until well past six in the afternoon. Then he rushed out, short on time, although with his company for the night sorted out. Later, she called him to cancel the date, citing an unavoidable commitment. That’s what you get for not being completely handsome, he told himself, and he sat looking at the sea from his window with whiskey, searching for the perfect excuse to skip the commitment; everyone went to those places paired up or with a friend. Just one hour before dinner, he was half-surprised to check that the dinner was at Paolo’s hotel, and his motivation went from zero to a hundred in a few seconds. He looked at his suits, ties, and shoes, and even rummaged through his jewelry box for a wristwatch that wouldn’t look out of place. Better an excuse without a date than not attending; he couldn’t abandon all those people loaded with questions; besides, after dessert, almost everyone would be high and masked. Now more than ever, he needed a good disguise. Would she be at the dinner? And if so, her husband too. He was finishing dressing when his phone rang.
“Is this José Roberto?”
“Yes, please don’t hang up.”
“If you are interested in something I have to tell you, come to the village around twelve, near the broken fountain. It’s the perfect night; everyone will be disguised and drunk. Bring a disguise; people’s lives are at stake…” And she hung up.
He looked in his drawer; the revolver for extreme occasions was loaded and ready, although he had never carried it on him, so he didn’t take it and left for the beach thinking about her. He even dabbed on a little Italian perfume. For a moment, that change seemed pathetic to him. What chemical reaction has this Venus, drawn by the moon, awakened in me? Forget her, I command you! But who can tame ancient blood when love injects its venom with sea drums and eternal flavors?
“Hey, Guakimachi!”
“You again.”
“Can you spare some coins? It’s carnival!”
“Go on, take it and have a good time! And don’t take anything!” It usually cost him to part with anything for the bowl.
He walked slowly and somewhat nervously. He would have to give a convincing explanation for the absence of a companion. He assumed Paolo would be there, which could help him. He spotted a couple chatting in front of the sea at the hotel entrance; it was undoubtedly her with her husband. He tried to cross the threshold.
“Good evening, I think we met this morning. Guakimachi, then?”
“Excuse me, it’s a nickname from when I was young; my name is José Roberto.” Then the husband intervened in the conversation.
“Columnist for the Diario del Sol. Am I wrong?”
“Oh, no. That’s right.” He extended his hand.
“I’m Carlos da Silva.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Well, I think they’re waiting for us for dinner.”
He felt like a child. That man was handsomer than him, and she, she was slightly taller. He looked somewhat ridiculous physically speaking, and although it wasn’t that bad, that intense feeling that covered his being made him feel somewhat insecure, but at the same time, also a giant capable of anything.
Almost everyone was in costume, and some were already affected by caipirinha and rum with lemon. Celia Parker was there with her smitten stagehand and hugged him semi-naked.
“You’re coming to dance samba with us, aren’t you, Guakimachi?”
“Are you the lucky one?”
“It’s an honor. Celia has told me a lot about you.”
“The honor is mine…”
Everyone who was supposed to be there settled at a large table for about fifty guests that was set up in front of the sea in an open-air area surrounded by beautiful palm trees. The music filled hearts, and without being able to fully believe it, she looked at him with crystal-clear eyes. It was a look he couldn’t believe. Her husband, meanwhile, chatted cheerfully with a very elegant friend of theirs who wore an impressive carnival hat and was slightly tipsy from the atmosphere. Paolo arrived with a tray of seafood and white wine, whispering in his ear:
“Be careful; if he catches you watching her, he’ll annihilate you. Goodbye, my Guakimachi.”
Then, after the last drink, he remembered the appointment at the broken fountain with that strange woman. It must have been ten-thirty when everyone got up to go up to the suite where the party would take place. By then, he was already convinced that he loved her, or was in love, or maybe it was the drink and the samba; not even he knew for sure what he felt for that strange woman who didn’t leave her partner’s side but looked at him between the shoulders and the dancing “big butts.” On one of the occasions when he approached the bar to ask Paolo for rum with lemon, she came to order a drink and looked at him sideways, smiling.
“Hello.”
“Hello. How are you? Beautiful carnival night.”
“Will you join us in the streets?”
“I don’t think so; I have a job to do at midnight.”
“We could meet up when your work is done,” she exclaimed, looking at him with a half-smile.
“I don’t know,” and he got lost in her gaze.
“Hey, Guakimachi, your rum.” She extended her hand and said,
“See you later, then. I hope to see you again…”
“I don’t know,” Guakimachi replied, a little blocked and half-dazed…
She turned her face as she left, just like in the morning.
“They’re going to kill you, Guakimachi; I can see it coming.”
“I don’t care anymore. Did you see that look?”
“Come on! She’s very sweet to everyone. Don’t drink any more.”
“I think I should go.”
“Oh, what a shame; it was ending soon. I thought we would join the group.”
“I have something important to do, Paolo.”
“Take this card; we’ll be here starting at two.”
“OK, I’ll try to be there…”
He took a taxi; the broken fountain was half an hour away by car. He was looking at the city lights while listening to the car radio, then something unexpected happened: as they were arriving, the car stopped in the middle of a nearly abandoned road; in the distance, he could see the hill leading to the village.
“What’s going on!” the journalist exclaimed, annoyed at the driver.
“Don’t worry, I’ll fix it, don’t worry, sir. I’m sorry.”
His watch showed quarter to twelve at night; the public transport vehicle didn’t finish starting until twelve-thirty.
“I won’t charge you anything, I’m sorry.”
“Can you hurry up, please? It’s very urgent.”
The broken fountain square was deserted, which annoyed him.
“Be very careful; don’t go too deep into the shacks,” the taxi driver replied before leaving the area, skidding and leaving a dust cloud behind him.
A gloomy-looking woman no older than forty approached him; he had never seen her before.
“José Roberto?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m María da Silva.”
“I don’t see anyone in costume or people dancing.”
“You should know people are in the city; I said that so you wouldn’t be scared. You know the rumors that circulate about these neighborhoods.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Come with me.”
Guakimachi followed her through narrow streets of corrugated iron houses with corrugated iron roofs and boarded-up windows. Agitated and violent conversations were heard, but also a background of terrifying silence. The night seemed darker and gloomier there.
“Don’t stray from me.”
“I won’t.”
After about fifteen minutes, they entered an alley where there was a small industrial warehouse. She then urged him to look through a small window. When the journalist looked, he saw a room full of babies and small children. There were two caretakers and a disheveled man sitting at a table with a radio, cigarettes, a bottle, and glancing at a newspaper.
“What is this about?”
“My little boy is in there; I had to sell him to support three others I have, but now I regret it. You have to help me.”
“Then give the money back.”
“They never give it back.”
“And what do you expect me to do!”
“She told me you would help me.”
“Who is ‘she’?”
“The woman I work for; I clean her house twice a week.”
“I think someone misinformed you.”
“She reads your column in the Diario del Sol every day. She told me you could report this in the press.”
“Listen, listen, if these people find out, they will kill me. I’m sorry, I only write trivial things about the big city.” The woman started sobbing.
“Take this handkerchief. Tell me the name of the woman you work for.”
“Mrs. Julia. She said you would help me.”
“I don’t know any Mrs. Julia, and I’m sorry, but this looks like child trafficking. It would be better to call the police right now.”
“No! Don’t do that; then they will discover us. They have someone inside.”
“I’m sorry, María, truly, but this is too big for me. First, if I wanted to write an article denouncing this, you know what would happen to me. Second, my boss wouldn’t let me publish it, and third, I’ll see what I can do. It’s better if we leave here quickly.”
“You don’t understand, do you? Tomorrow, some of them won’t be here anymore; someone comes every night to take them to another place.”
“I can’t think right now; you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“She was wrong about you. She said you would help me.”
“Understand me! I don’t know who ‘she’ is! Do you understand?”
The woman ran off sobbing, leaving Guakimachi alone in that gloom. Suddenly, the metal door of the place opened. He then hid behind some corrugated sheets.
“Who’s there!”
He saw the man from inside carrying a revolver. He looked around and closed the door again. Guakimachi ran with all his might to the broken fountain, half-hidden. He called a taxi, which took almost an hour to arrive. His desire for carnival had evaporated, and very soon, he was lying in his bed looking at the sea through the window with a good drink and some slow samba music. Around three, the phone rang again.
“Hey, Guakimachi! Where are you!”
“At my house, Paolo, I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Come on, buddy!” Then someone took the receiver from Paolo.
“Hello, you remember me.”
“Of course. How’s the party?”
“We are at the address on the card. Why don’t you cheer up? Paolo and the others are asking about you.” At that moment, Paolo brought his mouth to the microphone and began to whisper; “Look what a lovely thing, so full of grace.” “Now I’m sure they’ll kill you, heh, heh…”
“We’re very cheerful, Guakimachi,” she said, taking the phone from Paolo again.
“I really am sorry, ma’am. I had work tonight, and I feel a bit tired, I need to write some paragraphs, to be honest.”
“Well, I hope you come to visit us at the hotel tomorrow. Ciao, good night, and get well.” “I’ll put your friend on.”
“She’s gone already, silly. Her husband left on a flight to Europe, and she asked me about you two or three times. I told her you were a poet too.”
“Ciao, Paolo, don’t drink any more. I’ll see you tomorrow…”
The matter of those children had overwhelmed him. His heart collapsed when he heard that beautiful voice. Anyway, he had already set his sentimental machinery in motion to forget her. His premise was not to get involved with married women, and even though she seemed so sensitive, cultured, and educated, he would not spoil a marriage, he would not, even though he was almost sure she could be the love of his life, he would not break any relationship, even if his soul broke…
Very early, he showed up at the newspaper’s editorial office, knowing that almost everyone would be asleep, except his chief editor, who was surprised to see him.
“José! What are you doing here so early, man! I commissioned you to do a job for the week.”
“I need to talk to you, Chief.”
“Oh, I see something in your eyes. Spit it out.”
Guakimachi told him what he had seen, and the boss stared at him for a few seconds. Then he said:
“We can’t get involved in those things. Our newspaper has a small circulation. We touch people’s hearts with a homeless vagrant abandoned here, a robbery there, how beautiful the city is during carnival, and our samba schools, plus everything else you know, but about child or drug trafficking or anything to do with the broken fountain, we can’t publish anything at all. Do you want us to end up in the morgue before carnival is over?”
“And couldn’t we pass the information on to some other influential media outlet in the country?”
“Have you suddenly become some kind of Messiah? Come on! You know our limitations. Forget the matter and go out into the streets. I want a two-page article on the carnival by Sunday, and it better be good. I appreciate you; your father was my best journalist, but we can’t do anything or compromise our contacts with a matter of that nature.”
“All right, Chief.”
“Do you need money?”
“It wouldn’t hurt, Chief…”
There were fewer people than usual that morning on the beach at the Café de la Mar. After sipping half a cup of black coffee, he sat on the sand and took some notes:
“Carnival is more than music and dance. It is love from the coffee plantation, love from the jungle, the sound of hearts trembling for those who cannot dance with joy; it is our colorful sadness disguised as an eternal smile. I didn’t go out to the streets yesterday, but I didn’t need to; I saw another carnival hidden from the eyes of all of us, the carnival of hidden misery, of hearts kidnapped by misery for not being able to save themselves…”
He looked on both sides of the beach. There she came, in a green T-shirt, jogging, and with her eternal smile. He stood up to greet her, but she sat down next to him near the shore.
“We waited for you. Paolo thought you would finally show up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you writing there?”
“I forgot to tell you yesterday. I’m a columnist for the Diario del Sol.”
“I know. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Julia Esmeralda.”
“Julia?”
“Yes. I have to tell you that I’m a regular reader of the Diario del Sol, and I usually read your articles. I’ve been doing it for years. You are a man committed to our roots.”
“Thank you. I do what I can.”
She looked at him with sympathy and eyes reflecting the sea. She was so beautiful that Guakimachi began to feel restless and eager to fly away from there.
“Does the name María da Silva ring a bell?”
“Yes, she’s my assistant.”
“Did she tell you I would help her with something?”
“Yes, and I want you to excuse me for having taken that liberty. I didn’t think she would contact you.”
“Did she tell you what it was about?”
“No. She only told me that in the village someone was abusing certain people, and I commented that you would surely write something. I don’t know; that’s the impression you gave me when I read your articles. Why?”
“Don’t worry, I’m already on it, although I would like to talk to you. Would you like a coffee?”
“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I have to go, and thank you for helping María.”
She gave him a tender kiss on the cheek and ran back to the hotel with her figure translucent in the morning sun rays. Guakimachi was in a great bind, the worst of them: the bind of unrequited and impossible love, and besides, he didn’t know what he would do regarding María da Silva’s matter.
At that moment, an idea occurred to him: he had to be very cautious now. He had lost contact with María and couldn’t help but be a little distressed, waiting for his cell phone to ring. He would go to the broken fountain that night. Paolo didn’t show up. Why would he have left like that? He had a strong intuition that something was hidden in that escape, of course, if Julia had noticed any feeling for him, and being as chaste as she seemed, she didn't want to risk cheating on her husband. But on the other hand, he felt a little disappointed; they were both adult enough to talk about anything without having to resort to kissing. Suddenly, his friend appeared.
“You look troubled? And a little sad. Or is it the misty day.”
“Paolo!”
“How are you, my Guakimachi.”
“What time do you clock in at the hotel?”
“In two hours. I couldn’t stay in bed; I was afraid of falling asleep.”
“I need to talk to you about a very important matter, and I need your advice.”
“I hope it’s not something intellectual. You know I’m not a graduate, and my world is samba and soccer.”
“Believe me, you’re surely more of a doctor of this matter than I am. Let’s go to my house…”
The morning mist dissipated on the way home. The two friends enjoyed a coffee with the Prensita, who had dark circles under his eyes and was still emulating the dances of the night before to the sound of the morning radio music.
When Guakimachi had told Paolo about the broken fountain and María da Silva’s case, Paolo smiled sarcastically.
“You’d better forget that matter,” he told him. “We are normal people, and we won’t be able to do anything about that, buddy.”
“I knew you would say that. Anyway, I’m going to write some of my article, and then I’ll go to your hotel to enjoy an ice-cold beer. How was the night?”
“Oh, oh, she was attentive. I don’t know, it seemed like she longed for your return, but she’s very sweet to everyone, polite. She didn’t want to drink anything and seemed a little worried. In my dancing and drunken lethargy, I came to think that she had fallen in love with you. Then I realized it was impossible. Her husband called her on the phone, and she left.”
“And the streets, Paolo! And the people!”
“Ooh, Guakimachi, my feet and my whole body hurt, but ‘La Sal de Sao Paulo’ was playing. You know how those mulattos are, and I met a dark-skinned girl who drank more than me but didn’t want to kiss me. I asked her to marry me, and she said she wouldn’t even dead, that she would only dance with Paolo until dawn.”
“That’s my Paolo da Norte.”
“Now I have to go. Are you coming to see me?”
“Not you.”
“Ooh, my Guakimachi, they’re going to kill you. Start taking your measurements for the wooden pajamas…”
José Roberto took off his sandals to walk along the shore to the hotel. María hadn’t called him again, nor did he write anything. Without being on the street, it would be practically impossible for him to report the events with complete veracity, so the days passed, and his position as a columnist was in danger if he didn’t get a good article about the carnival.
The surprise was great when he saw Paolo waiting for him at the reception.
“I’ll take you to the library; the boss wants to talk to you.”
“You mean Julia?” Paolo smiled.
“Yes. Come, follow me.”
He entered the cozy library of the adjacent chalet to the hotel installation, where Julia’s family lived. He was even more surprised, if possible, when he saw María da Silva sitting next to Julia, both crestfallen, especially the owners’ daughter.
“Sit down, José Roberto,” the honey Venus said.
It was like an order to him. He didn’t take his eyes off María, whose eyes were misty with tears. After settling in, Julia began to speak:
“I am very sorry for having compromised you.”
“You are not to blame.”
“Please, use the informal ‘tú’ with me. I am married, but I am not that old; I’m not even forty yet,” and she smiled; he did too.
“Do you think we will find a way to help María get her little boy back?”
“Honestly, it’s almost impossible. According to the information I have, those people are very powerful. Our lives will be in great danger, and I can’t find a way. I’ve had some ideas, but I’ll need help and some money that I don’t have, since I only earn enough to survive.”
“Money is not a problem; my husband and I are quite wealthy.”
“Julia, do you have any friends in the Department of Justice or the Police?” the journalist added.
“My father knows a lot of people; my husband is not from this country.” Then María spoke:
“No, no, they have people infiltrated in the Ministries; they would find out within minutes.”
“I already imagined that.”
“María, wait for me at the reception; I need to talk to Guakimachi. Do you mind if I use the informal ‘tú’ with you, Jose?” She smiled, and he said no with an embarrassed look; undoubtedly, she had already noticed something. Alone, she sat close to him and looked at him fixedly.
“Tell me, what kind of person do I seem to you? Be sincere. And I don’t mean physically.”
“A very good person, that’s what you seem to me.”
“Very poor intellectually, what else.”
“Committed, and you seem very cultured to me.”
“Committed to what?”
“To life, to the environment, to the world around you; that’s why I’m in love with you.” He meant, “with you” (informal).
She took his hands and looked at him with sweetness and a bright gaze.
“Thank you for being sincere. You know I’m happily married.”
“You asked me to be sincere.”
“I don’t mind. I just want you to know that I cannot reciprocate your feelings.”
“I don’t mind either.”
“If you truly love me as you say, you have to rescue that little boy and the others. I will give you money. You have to act fast.”
“I will need Paolo for a couple of days.”
“That’s no problem; he can go with you now. Tell me, will you do it?”
“Yes, I will. I will do it for that mother and her son, but above all, I will do it for you.”
She kissed him on the cheek, and they said goodbye. Guakimachi’s heart was still racing and beating wildly…
Very soon, the two friends had drawn up a plan. Paolo suggested that they would need someone from the broken fountain area.
“I know someone from around there. He can be of great help to us. Of course, you’ll have to pay him.”
“Good, go get him, and I’ll wait for you at my house. Don’t be long.”
“No, Guakimachi. Listen, I never imagined you in something like this.”
“I’m doing it for the money.”
“Now that I don’t believe.”
“Get out of here now!”
After two hours, Paolo showed up with a picturesque character, very hippy in his attire, smooth-chinned, and with long, messy hair.
“I introduce you to Gato Rabioso (Rabid Cat).”
“It’s a pleasure. I’m Guakimachi.”
“Paulito has spoken well of you.”
“Have you already told him what this is all about?”
“Of course, he told me on the way.”
“And what do you think?”
“Wait, I’m going to light this.”
“Oh, no, no, I don’t want drugs here.”
“If I can’t smoke my weed, there’s no deal.”
“What a smoke cloud! All right, open the window, Paolo.”
“Those people belong to a very powerful clan from the broken fountain. We won’t even be able to move before they catch us.”
“And what do you propose?”
“First, my money. In dollars, because I plan to leave when all this is over.”
“All right.”
“I want $15,000 now.”
“That’s a lot of money. I don’t have it here, but I’ll get it for you.”
“Don’t you have anything?”
“I’ll give you the $3,000 I have.”
“I want the rest tonight.”
“Tonight!”
“According to Gato Rabioso, the children are moved every two days. María’s boy is still there, but he won’t be tomorrow.”
“Well, what are we going to do?” Guakimachi exclaimed.
“The area is very isolated so the police won’t suspect anything. It looks like an abandoned warehouse.”
“That’s right.”
“Good, this is my plan. We’ll set a fire and call the fire department. Paolo will be waiting for us with a large van. I’ll knock that monkey out, and you take the kids to the car. By then, the firefighters will be on their way.”
“And why call the fire department?”
“Someone will have to put out the fire, right?”
“It’s very dangerous,” Paolo said, “if something goes wrong, the children will be in danger.”
“Hey, for thirty thousand dollars, I won’t fail. Of course, we’ll have to act very fast. We just need a place to take the kids.”
“Wait, I’ll make a call,” Guakimachi said.
“All right, deal made. You’ll have your thirty, and the van. You need to pick it up where you know, Paolo. The location is already agreed upon.”
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Guakimachi.”
“Same here, Gato Rabioso.”
“Paolo, accompany him. At ten o’clock at the broken fountain ditch. I’ll take a taxi.”
“OK, Guakimachi…”
Around 10:15 PM, Gato Rabioso looked through the little window. He was disguised as an old woman with a doll in his arms. He knocked on the door. The thug opened it and looked on both sides of the street.
“What do you want, old woman!”
“Go to hell!” And he landed a tremendous blow that knocked him out. After this, he shouted; “Noooow!”
Guakimachi set some tires on fire with gasoline, and intense smoke began to emerge from the area. Paolo arrived with a van. Some lights in the village began to turn on, and shouts were heard. The two women were gagged, and about twenty babies and five teenagers were taken out of there to an unknown destination. As they fled, they crossed paths with the firefighters. The police also arrived and discovered a computer and compromising documentation about the extortionists at the scene. By then, all the boys and girls were safe on a property owned by Julia Esmeralda’s family.
María da Silva recovered her little boy that same night; he was in good health. She hugged Guakimachi and Paolo, as Gato Rabioso had disappeared, but the police had appeared at the scene and discovered the plan. Julia, however, left that afternoon for Europe to meet her husband, and Guakimachi never saw her again…
A few days later, the clan was arrested, and the two friends were decorated. They appeared in all the media as the great saviors of those children. This brought José Roberto immense popularity and a promotion at the Diario del Sol. Even so, more than a year later, he had not forgotten her; she did not return.
The following year, the carnivals began with the same light as always, the same sound, the same colors, the same love…
“Through the blind night, that entire multitude danced, some sweaty, others freckled, almost all dark-skinned, blonds shoulder to shoulder, and other races disguised as new loves, some as forgotten promiscuous ones, but almost all continued dancing to the rhythm of the ancient drums…”
Guakimachi stopped dancing and took refuge in a dead-end alley off the avenue planted with adorned palm trees; aerial notes were whistling “The Girl from Ipanema” from a nearby tavern: “Look what a lovely thing, so full of grace.”
“I notice you’re sad tonight, buddy. You still haven’t forgotten her, have you, my Guakimachi? Now almost everyone adores you!”
“You know, Paolo, I came to think she was the woman of my life. How silly for a man my age.”
“Here, drink caipirinha and console yourself.”
“Can I drink with you?”
“Julia!”
“Hello, José Roberto. How are you, Paolo.”
“Have you returned to the city?”
“Yes. That’s right. To stay.”
“I’ll be right back, I’m getting more caipirinha,” Paolo said.
She gave Guakimachi a brief kiss on the lips and exclaimed:
Maybe this is the only kiss I’ll give you in this life; it’s for what you did. I admire you; I will always admire you.”
“With that kiss, I’ll have enough for the rest of my life. Thank you, Julia.”
“Now I must go, Jose. I’ve written you this letter. I want you to read it. Goodbye, Guakimachi.”
When Paolo returned, he said:
“Guakimachi? What happened to your eyes? You look like you’ve taken a psychotropic or ‘seen God’…”
“You won’t believe it.”
“I’m sure I will. What a beautiful girl, right?”
“Someday I’ll tell you, Paolo. Let’s have fun.”
When the night ended, and José Roberto returned to his house, he opened Julia’s letter, which said the following:
“My husband and I have divorced by mutual agreement. We have annulled our marriage so that each of us can remarry if we please. I am a Christian. I hope this is not a problem for you. Apparently, our relationship didn’t work out. My exhusband left with a beautiful woman from the financial world he belonged to. If you want, we can have coffee one of these days.” Don’t take too long. A kiss.”
Julia Esmeralda.
That night, José Roberto could not fall asleep, so he couldn’t wait until the next morning to dial Julia’s phone number. She answered the call, and they arranged to meet for breakfast on the beach. Weeks later, they married and said their vows under a huge, ancient tree they christened “The Girl from Ipanema.” Paolo da Norte was the best man, and María da Silva was the maid of honor.
And in gold and blue, this was carnival love in love.
“The city breathes the music of ancient drums and aphrodisiac rhythms. I can only imagine sweaty love and glorious brew between twisted mouths and dancing hips.”
This year’s parade surpasses itself.
The schools are instructing better and better.
But what can be said about music that comes from the heart.
Who holds the master key to tame the blood.
Our blood. I fall in love with you, with all of you, this year. Even more.”
“Through the blind night, that entire multitude danced, some sweaty,
Others freckled, almost all dark-skinned, blonds shoulder to shoulder, and other races disguised as new loves, some as forgotten promiscuous ones, but almost all continued dancing; to the rhythm of the ancient drums.”
“Look what a lovely thing, so full of grace…”
THE END
Story Author: Jorge Ofitas.
Spain. 2008. 2011. ®. Europe. 2025. ®.
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