The Last Judgement
by Nadia Silva Castro
“Oh vó[1], oh vó,” screams the old parrot Loro[2] again. “Your vó isn’t here,” I tell Loro. Say “Amen” instead, say “Amen,” Loro!
It’s been over a month since Lorena, the granddaughter of dona Sandra, left me in charge of the house next door. She said that she had received a phone call, that her grandma and aunt were waiting for her in Bahia, and that she had to leave quickly but they would all be back soon.
Ever since that day, my sons and I have been taking care of the neighbor’s parrot, the jabuti[3], the dog, the plants and the house. Every day I send one of my sons, Fernando or Reginaldo, to look after everything. I am already old, so old that I lost count. My I.D. says that I am 61 but I made up my age back in the day to be able to travel to Sao Paulo and get married. I added a few years because I was too young. I do feel like 61 now, some days I feel even older. I haven’t told anyone yet about my sickness, but I am very sick. This sickness will be the end of me.
“REGINALDO, go turn on the lights at the neighbor’s house, it’s getting dark!” I shout at my younger son. He grunts and jumps over the tall wall, into the courtyard. It’s quicker that way, otherwise he would need to go downstairs, open our gate, and go back upstairs through the neighbor’s garage and courtyard. We want to give the impression that someone is home – the lights help. We do not want strangers in the house, gang members, drug addicts, thieves. It would not be good for us next door either.
I don’t know if the neighbors will ever be back. People in the neighborhood are talking. Some are saying that they were killed, maybe by the gang. Some say the granddaughter did it and then fled. I find it hard to believe, although that last encounter with Lorena was strange. I saw her the day before her departure. She was cleaning the house frantically and throwing away a bunch of stuff. The next day she made herself all pretty and said that she had to leave in a hurry. I did inspect the house and didn’t see anything suspect. In fact, many corners were not swept properly, and she certainly didn’t wipe down the doors and doorknobs. I’m not a professional detective, but I seriously doubt that a murder took place there. And I sure hope that they are well, hopefully all together in Bahia. We are being neighborly and helping them with the house and pets.
Reginaldo gingerly climbs back to our own courtyard, holding a bottle of beer under his chin. “My son, what if they come back?” I ask him. But he shrugs and tosses down the pair of sandals that he was holding in his left hand. “Mãe[4], they’re your size, try them on!” They fit nicely, so I decide to keep them. I can always give them back if the neighbors end up returning.
I put them in the armário[5] together with my other shoes and go to my room where I turn on the TV. In the old days, I didn’t have a TV in my room. I actually got this one from the neighbor’s living room. I lay in bed, trying to get comfortable. My entire body aches. Loro comes running into the room, screaming and making a fuss as always. This parrot has never been happier. Now that we cut his wings, he is finally free. He spent his entire life in a tiny cage, sometimes sticking his foot down his throat out of boredom. Depending on where they placed his cage, I was able to see him from my front yard. But now he can race around the house; he loves being around us. We have to wear socks now, since he will bite right at the back of our ankle, but we don’t mind. Somehow this little guy brings me joy, and a good distraction from all my problems, which come rushing into my head all at once as soon as I think of the word “problems”:
- My sickness
- Reginaldo who is almost 38 and has still not gotten married, on top of not working and hanging out with some shady people
- Fernando, who got married to a nice lady from church, but now has a little girl and his wife to take care of
- My husband, who at this stage of our lives decided to leave me for a younger woman. She’s 51, also from the church.
The last thought brings even more issues than the heartache and shame. My genius husband married that old chick without a separation of goods[6]. And she has 4 children from a previous marriage, plus the 2 children my husband had before we got married. All these people are going to want a part of our house when we are gone. My sons will be left with next to nothing.
The TV is showing the latest novela, Das 9[7], a remake of Vale tudo, an old novela I used to watch. I try to concentrate, but keep getting lost in my own thoughts and worries. Fernando comes through the door, with his wife Sara and my darling granddaughter, my first and probably last grandchild. Her skin is a nice shade of white, much much whiter than my skin and that of my sons. They live in the tiny house right behind my own place, on the same lot. Fernando enters with a bottle of Guaruaná[8] and a bag of French bread. “Oh vó, vem tomar café da tarde[9],” Sabrina yells. Loro echoes, “oh vó, oh vó.” Now I am his vó too. Sabrina erupts in a cry of happiness, which is also echoed by the bird: “ah, ah, ah.” “Yes, my darling, can you bring it to me on a tray, I just got comfortable here in bed. Come, you can sit here too, we can watch TV.” Fernando sits on the floor, by the foot of the bed, and Sara pulls up a chair.
“I don’t understand why they would produce a remake of a show with exactly the same story. What is the point?” Sara asks.
“The murderer of Odete won’t be the same,” Fernando replies.
To myself, I think, But that’s life. Unless you take some drastic measures or get very lucky, you will live a life very similar to the one your parents lived. Not a whole lot changes. Our lives are like a cheap novela remake. I am getting philosophical with age.
“Mãe, we were thinking of moving into the neighbor’s house, since it looks like they won’t be returning any time soon. You know how tiny our house is, with the three of us sleeping in the same room. In their house, Sabrina would have her own room, and we would have ours.” I chew my cheese sandwich and shake my head. “No, that would not be right. That is not our house.” They eat their sandwiches and decide to leave because they will have an early morning. I turn off the TV and decide to call it a night.
Suddenly I am awakened by a strange sound. I get up and look through the window: my son Reginaldo is in the courtyard with his friend Marco, smashing beer cans and smoking marijuana in the middle of the night. They both jump over to the neighbor’s house. I don’t even want to imagine what they’re up to! Maybe it would be for the better if Fernando moved in with his family, then at least Reginaldo won’t be able to transform the place into a drug den, maybe even befriend some of the gang members and gather there. That would be very dangerous, very very bad. Most boys who join the gang die young. One dies every week in the neighborhood here. Last week it was the son of Maria do Carmo, Reinaldo, who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, she said. But you are always in the wrong place when you’re in the gang, and there’s never a good time.
Hopefully the neighbors will never be back, I think to myself. What an awful thought. Maybe we could rent out the smaller houses in the back, since each lot has one additional kitchenette. We can also rent out the garages, for cars or even businesses. I bet a hairdresser or a store would be great here. The street is very busy during the day. We could make the wall between the lots smaller again, back to the way it was before dona Sandra decided that she needed more privacy, but did not think of me and how dark my yard would get with that huge ugly wall. In a few years, we would acquire the house by squatters’ rights. I don’t know how many years. And Reginaldo can live in this house with me until he develops some juízo[10], or until I die, which, at the moment, seems to be more likely to happen first.
The next evening, I gather the whole family in my blue-tiled kitchen for supper. I’ve made canja[11], which we soak up with French bread. They make loud noises with their spoons and slurp the soup quickly. I taught them no manners! Before they have finished their supper, I tell them that I’ve changed my mind, and that Fernando, Sara, and Sabrina can move into the neighbor’s main house. That we will rent out the smaller units on this lot and the neighbors’ lot, as well as the garages, and make some extra money that way.
“This is so unfair,” Reginaldo barks at me. “They will get the house and rent money, and I am left with nothing?”
“You will get to have this house all for yourself, once I am no longer here,” I tell him.
“Oh yeah, me and all the fans of the Corinthians football club,” he replies, referring to the fact that the value of this house will be split between 8 people once my ex-husband and I pass on.
“It’s just for now. We can think of how to split it more fairly between you two later.”
“I want to keep the rent from Fernando’s old house.”
“No, absolutely not,” I tell him.
I say “no” out of love because I want to see him succeed. He cannot acomodar[12] himself here and be happy with this little money. I know we won’t get much more than 600 reais for this tiny thing. If we were in the south of the city, they would call it a studio and charge a lot more. But here, it’s just a kitchenette, very small, very simple.
The next day they start packing, and one week later they are all moved in. They had to throw out a ton of stuff, useless things that we could not understand why anyone would want to keep – boxes and bags full of all sorts of items, from old books to pieces of scrap wood. But now, after throwing away this junk and painting the house inside and out, everything looks neat and nice. They paint my house as well, because it hasn’t been painted in a while and was starting to look shabby.
A few days later we find tenants that seem nice enough to share the courtyard and the common stairs. One family is even from church, and we can walk together every day and talk about the service. Fernando brings over a few items from his house that they thought I would like, some Tupperware, and a nice rug. For a moment I feel happy, because everything seems to be falling in place: my sons will be taken care of, maybe I will be able to rest in peace after all.
I will die like my dad did. My heart will simply stop. He had a heart condition after he was bitten by a Barbeiro. He had mal de Chagas and needed a heart transplant, but waited too long. And I am too old for a heart transplant, 55 is the cut-off age, and I am officially 61.
My dad died when I was 7, and my mom at this point is certainly with God as well. I never went back to Sergipe after I left her on the corner of the street in that tent. I wanted to, but the money was always tight, and my ex-husband had no interest in going back with me to look for her. He said we would never find her because such people moved around a lot, which was true. It would be pointless.
I remember the day I took off. I looked in the face of my mother for the last time. She looked so old, even though she was probably much younger than me now. I took that bus with my new I.D., and this bus driver got me a good job in a casa de familia[13] here in São Paulo, in the centro[14]. I was a babysitter and cleaning lady for that family for a very long time, took care of their baby Natalia, and learned a great deal – how to clean, how to cook, how to speak properly. I even learned a bit of Japanese because they were from Japan. With this family I learned to keep my house always nice and organized, never leave crumbs on the table or the floor, because that attracts cockroaches. Only have one child or two, more is a mess. Fold the laundry, keep the cupboards closed, always. I glance around my house and feel happy. It’s looking especially nice today with the new curtains we got from the neighbor’s house.
Reginaldo wakes me up from my deep thoughts and remembrances: “I will make you a deal. I get a job and in exchange I can keep the money from the rent of one of the kitchenettes.” I agree, that would be wonderful if he finally gets himself a job and sticks with it. Everything is almost too good to be true, I think to myself. He just needed to find a nice girl now, ideally one from church like Sara. Then he could live here with his wife and kids just like I did with his father and my sons. I will tell him not to have too many children, but to have at least two so they have one another.
The next few days pass by, and nothing out of the ordinary happens. A neighbor across the street burns the overgrown bushes and grass; children drive from the top of the hill down our street with their rollimãs[15] or run down flying their pipas[16]. I buy a new propane tank and ask the man to install it for me because I still do not know how to do it myself. I go to church every day, I pray, I do the laundry. I cook, I clean; Reginaldo finally comes home with good news – a job at the grocery store on the corner of our street. He complains that the salary is not much, but when I remind him that he also gets to keep the rent that is 650 reais, he seems happy enough.
I gather the family in the kitchen again. I think it is time that they know the truth. “I am dying,” I want to tell them. I imagine explaining in so many words the condition, or at least the part I understand, and that the doctor gives me a few months to live – max. They would cry, even Sara who I thought would not care that much. Sabrina, of course, would not stop sobbing. My son Fernando would declare that he wants at least a second opinion, but maybe a third and a fourth as well, if necessary. I sigh. I cannot bring myself to tell them. Only in my fantasy do I tell them.
Sabrina decides to sleep over. She tells me that they renamed the dog “Mike” and the jabuti “Jack,” and we both sleep in the same bed after watching a couple things on TV – first the news where they said that some “big fish” from the gang were arrested, finally! Then a movie on Netflix, all while eating popcorn. I fall into a deep sleep, decide to enjoy my last days, make memories with my family, and pray that my end will be quick and painless.
On Saturday we decide to have a barbecue. Fernando invites us over, because his new place is much bigger and they have a grill, whereas we would just use some bricks and an old piece of metal grid for our churrasco. I bring a salada de maionese[17], and even my youngest, Reginaldo, brings a case of beer. I walk up the uneven steps of my son’s new house, stopping at the middle of the staircase to catch my breath. It’s a beautiful afternoon and we are all together on the veranda. Loro is sitting on Sabrina’s shoulder, accepting pieces of apple. The churrasco tastes excellent. I like the sting of the linguica calabrese. The music is loud but not too loud; the people passing by on the street greet us as if we belong here. I no longer feel like an intruder – it’s been so long now, almost 3 months since the neighbors left. Wherever they are, they are better off there, I think to myself.
It is almost 6 pm. The sun is setting. It hasn’t rained in a few days. That is why the air is dusty and glimmering red where the dust particles meet the sun’s rays. Up on the hill, on the corner by the grocery store, I see 3 vultures. One seems to be carrying an old tube TV on their head. How bizarre! Why would anyone need that old thing? They come closer, and I can tell that one of them is using a walker and keeps stopping. She has an oxygen tank attached to her walker. And the other bigger silhouette is helping her with the walker, while holding a cigarette in the other hand and… No. As they approach, I can see their faces clearly for a moment: they are back. The neighbors are back! My head becomes fuzzy. I can’t breathe. I hear my son screaming “mãe.” I hear Sabrina whimpering, “Vó, acorda.”[18] I hear the parrot screeching, “Amen, amen!” Finally, he learned it! At last, the voice of dona Sandra echoes from deep within in my head, “Até o dia do juízo final[19]!” Then everything goes quiet.
[1] Short for “avó” (grandmother)
[2] “Loro” is the most common name for parrots in Brazil
[3] Pet turtle
[4] Mother
[5] Armoire, wardrobe cabinet (closets are unusual in Brazil)
[6] Without a prenup
[7] Soap opera at 9:00 pm
[8] Brazilian soft drink
[9] Come join us for “afternoon” coffee
[10] Reason, better decision making
[11] Chicken soup
[12] Make himself comfortable
[13] House of a family
[14] City center
[15] Brazilian toy cars, similar to a sledge on wheels
[16] Kites
[17] Potato salad with mayo
[18] Grandma, wake up
[19] Until the day of final judgement, or Judgment Day