I arrive at home around 4 pm and, from the sidewalk, start shouting, oh vó, oh vó! Only the parrot replies, echoing me. Oh vó, oh vó, quer café?³⁰ Strange, I look up and see the door to the veranda is closed. We only close it at night or if we leave the house. I run up the uneven steps up into the quintal, but only the dog greets me. The kitchen door is locked. My grandma left? Where? She can barely walk to the couch with her asthma. I call out; no one is home; not even at my aunt’s house in the back. How strange. I try calling my aunt, but she does not pick up. My grandma does not have a phone, of course. I ask the neighbor who is hanging her clothes on the line – she can look into our backyard, and we see into hers. I ask her where they are, and she acts strangely. She just says she doesn’t know anything and tells me not to bother her. She’s usually very friendly; she even carries a picture of me in her bible, a picture from when I was very young, maybe 3 years old.

I decide to clean the house, get everything nice so when my grandma gets back, she will be happy about that. I clean the cage of the parrot Loro, give him fresh water and a slice of apple and some sunflower seeds. I also give the jabuti some water and lettuce. I wash and dry the dishes, take out the trash, wipe, sweep, wash the floors of the bathroom and the kitchen with soapy water and a large squeegee. I clean everything with a lot of bleach. I take out loads and loads of trash, things that my grandma would not even notice are gone. I understand why she has so many things – it’s because she used to have nothing, and now she needs everything. Even books, despite never having learned how to read. I run up and down the stairs countless times, loading the metal structure for the garbage pickup with loads of bags. When I stop, somehow it’s already gotten late, 3 am. Lying down to sleep, I realize it’s so silent; I can only hear a dog howl in the distance; a motorcycle drives down the street at full speed; it’s as silent as it gets. I miss my grandma, even the annoying hissing and roaring sounds of her breathing machine. I fall asleep, fast and deep, without being woken up by coughing in the middle of the night.

The next day I sleep in, after enjoying an uninterrupted night. It’s almost 11 am. I take a shower, decide to look pretty for when my grandma comes back. I straighten my hair, which according to one guy in my office “makes me look rich.” I usually don’t have time for such things but all of a sudden I have plenty. I glance at the mirror and look refreshed. I smile. The bread guy honks the horn on his bicycle. I run outside to the Varanda and buy some French bread and some sweet bread with coconut on top. He throws the bread to me and says that he’s going to put it on our tab. I thank him and he leaves.

The day goes by with me cleaning the house some more. I pick up the little cocôs of the jabuti, wash the quintal with the water left from the last laundry, again squeegeeing soap and dirt and water into the drain. Again, loads of bleach. Everything needs to be perfect.

The phone rings and I immediately think that it could be an update from my grandma. I fly from the Varanda into the living room to take the call. Alô? I suddenly realize it’s my boss on the line. She apologizes, explains that it might have been a bit harsh to fire me like that, that if I wanted, I could have my job back – take the weekend off, I’ll start again on Monday. I immediately accept the offer and do not even hesitate for a second. I don’t feel a single ounce of pride. If you are in need, you don’t get to feel that way. I wonder why she changed her mind. Maybe someone left rice in the sink today and she realized it wasn’t me? I decide not to say much more, fearful that she might change her mind. I thank her, see you Monday, tchau tchau! I’m so happy I almost start jumping. This is when the phone rings again and I am pulled back to reality. Because people like me don’t get to be happy: for every good thing you’ll pay with many, many things that go bad.

Footnotes

30. Grandma, grandma, do you want coffee? (Most pet parrots in Brazil know this phrase for some reason)

Transadaptation Volume 6 – Meaning? – Uncertainty, Instability and Extremes Transadapted

January: A Regular Train Trip – Mateusz Tymoszewski (Poland)

February: Growing Up – Adriana Uribe (Columbia)

March: Mess – Veronika Groke (Austria)

April: The Roads We Take – Svetlana Molchanova (Russia)

May: Need – Nadia Silva Castro (Brazil)

June: “Next Sunshine” – Jonay Quintero Hernandez (Spain)

July: Intentions – Narantsogt Baatarkhuu (Mongolia)

August: Planet Kyiv – Anastasiia Leonova (Ukraine)

September: Feeling like a Fool – Ulrike Bergmeister (Germany)

October: Stories of Outcast Souls – Armine Asryan (Armenia)

November: Ronaldinha – Alejandra Baccino (Uruguay)

December: Aimlessly – Krisztina Janosi (Hungary)

Background – Context

Transadaptation Volume 5: Of Flowing Vicissitudes – Life Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2024)

Transadaptation Volume 4: Material Dissent – Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2023)

Transadaptation Volume 3: Evanescent – Young Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2022)

Transadaptation Volume 2: Conceived – Childhood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2021)

Transadaptation Volume 1: In the Middle – Prelude to a Contemporary Transadaptation, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2020)

Peripatetic Alterity: A Philosophical Treatise on the Spectrum of Being – Romantics and Pragmatists by Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)

La Syncrétion of Polarization and Extremes Transposée, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)

The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2018)

L’anthologie of Global Instability Transpuesta, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2017)

From Wahnsinnig to the Loony Bin: German and Russian Stories Transposed to Modern-day America, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2013)

Emblems and stories on the international community

Perception by country – Transposing emblems, articles, short stories and reports from around the world

Credits

Background photo: Sao Paulo, Brazil – Rua Alvaro – Diego Carneiro (Unsplash)

Left to right at top: 1. Sao Paulo, Brazil – The street – Carlos Kenobi (Unsplash); 2. Sao Paulo, Brazil – The lamppost – Gabriel Cattaruzzi (Unsplash); 3. Sao Paulo, Brazil – Cityscape – Ian Talmacs (Unsplash); 4. Sao Paulo, Brazil – Estação da Luz – Vinicus Löw (Unsplash); 5. Sao Paulo, Brazil – The intersection – Bianca Neves (Unsplash)

Left to right on bottom: 1. Sao Paulo, Brazil – Traffic Jam – Hans Elmo (Shutterstock); 2. Sao Paulo, Brazil – Another street – Cris Faga (Shutterstock); 3. Sao Paulo, Brazil – On the street – Cris Faga (Shutterstock)

Source: The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed