Paulo Scott - Nowhere People

Contrary to what Paulo had assumed (Rener only operated in south London), they went straight to Hampstead, in the north of the city, the millionaires’ part of town. On the way, Rener told him about the building’s location and the peculiarities of its owner — one of those modern-day financial gangsters — so that Paulo could understand the real reason for the action. When they meet up with the others they get the bad news. One of them didn’t show. ‘We’re not going to cancel,’ said Rener. The look-out plans had to be re-done, the places rearranged, apart from Paulo’s, she just asked him to be as alert as possible and gave him a bigger torch than the previous one, one that could be seen from far away (the guy who didn’t show up was to have been the in-between person in Paulo’s group; now there would no longer be anybody positioned between him and the person at the front gate ready to go in, to warn the others or assist them in their escape, should anything go wrong). She warned him that having a larger torch could get him into trouble more easily. He answered that’s fine. This happened a few minutes ago; now Paulo is walking towards the corner where he will have to wait. He wasn’t able to loosen the watch strap any further because it was already at its widest. Rener asked him not to take the watch off his wrist. ‘People who keep taking a watch out of their pocket and putting it back again attract suspicion and we don’t want that, do we?’ Paulo keeps the watch in his pocket anyway. He reaches the corner, looks towards the house that Rener and the others will be going into, he takes the watch from his pocket, looks at it. ‘Excuse me, young man, have you got the time?’ He hears the voice and turns. It’s a lady with a caramel and white cocker spaniel sitting without a lead, his muzzle in the air beside her. Where did she spring from? How could he not have seen her coming? ‘Sure … ’ He looks again at the watch, getting over the surprise and already trying to find the words for the numbers in English in order to give her the information. ‘Ten-sixteen,’ without looking her in the eye. ‘Thank you very much,’ she says. ‘Welcome,’ he says. ‘Buster can’t abide using his lead any more, but he’s devastated if I don’t carry it with me when we go for our walk,’ and she indicates the lead in her hand. Paulo looks at the dog, trying to be attentive. ‘He’s a very beautiful dog.’ Evasively, ‘Have a good night.’ ‘Where are you from?’ she asks. He looks back towards the house. ‘I’m from Portugal,’ he says, making something up because he feels that in such situations being thought European might be beneficial. ‘I don’t know anything about Portugal, but I do like the Portuguese people,’ she says, and adds, ‘if I were from Portugal I’d never end up in England.’ The dog stares at Paulo. ‘It’s very sunny there, isn’t it?’ Paulo says nothing. The dog runs off in the opposite direction to the house. The woman is impassive. ‘Don’t worry, Buster knows how to take care of himself.’ Paulo puts the watch back in his pocket. ‘Is the strap broken?’ she asks. Still he says nothing. ‘Talk to me.’ There’s a certain cadence to her speech that hypnotises him and makes him unable to imagine how he might free himself of her. ‘Addie, that’s my name. You don’t need to tell me yours.’ Now where the hell has that dog gone? ‘You’re with the gang who are going to go into that mansion down there aren’t you? The one owned by that Egyptian with the bogus company? Large torches always give squatters away,’ she goes on. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to start screaming for help, asking someone to call the police. Other people have tried to get in there before and haven’t managed it, you know. There were hired security guards, that was less than a month ago … I think the owner slacked on the security, he must have thought: lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice. But I know it does, and not only twice. Do you agree?’ Paulo has no choice but to listen to her, he takes the watch out of his pocket, looks at it again: ten twenty-two. They must have gone in by now. ‘Promise me you’ll be good neighbours,’ she says. ‘I promise,’ Paulo says despite himself. ‘Can I give you a piece of advice?’ she asks. ‘I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I feel I have to tell you this.’ Paulo nods, his eyes never leaving the house as he waits for some kind of signal. ‘London isn’t the place for you. It might seem as though it is, young people from all over the world come here thinking it is, the coolest place in the world, but I can see it isn’t. You’re torn, and being torn is not good. What I mean is: go back to Portugal and sort out whatever needs sorting out there, before it’s too late.’ Paulo sees the signal from the torch, responds with his. ‘Thanks for the chat, young man. I must go and see what Buster has been up to. I hope to see you round here again,’ and she walks away. Paulo doesn’t know what to say. Rener is coming towards him. Paulo walks over to her and, when he is closer, he sees the concern in her expression. ‘What happened, Paulo? We’ve been waiting for you for nearly half an hour.’ Paulo takes the watch out of his pocket: ten forty-four. He can’t understand what has happened. ‘I met a lady, she had a dog with her … ’ Rener doesn’t wait for him to finish. ‘A lady with a dog? That’s so unlikely.’ Paulo hands back the torch and the watch. ‘You don’t want to keep the watch?’ she asks. ‘No, thank you. I’m going to Willesden Green, to sort out my things.’ She takes his hand. ‘Stay at my place … ’ He looks annoyed. ‘Or stay here, there’s going to be plenty of space.’ He looks in the direction the lady and her dog went in. ‘I’m going to need your tools, Rener.’ Paulo lets go of her hand. ‘Whenever you need them, brésilien .’ He considers asking if it’s ok with her, his leaving now, but Rener who has been serious gives a broad smile and calls him ‘one lucky son of a bitch’. He returns her smile and doesn’t tell her that his stomach and his leg have stopped hurting.

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the master’s student

Luisa was absolutely certain that the members of the selection panel had been impressed by her, the twenty-three-year-old lately graduated in history from the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro, with unusual determination, who had come down to Porto Alegre in order to secure a sought-after place as a postgraduate at the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul. ‘From one Rio down to the other,’ said the chair of the panel before letting slip in so many words that she would be most welcome on the master’s programme. Then she took a bus to the centre of town, went straight to the hotel on Praça Otávio Rocha. She decided to stay in the city until the results were released. Seven days to take in what would be awaiting her in that Distant South if she were to be accepted, seven days far away from the dullness of Urca, from the brand-new Chevette her father had given her, from her childhood friends, from the groups that hang out at Lifeguard Post Nine on Ipanema Beach. ‘Make yourself at home, Miss Luisa,’ said the man behind the hotel reception desk as he handed her the key to her room. Luisa Vasconcelos Lange, only daughter of Colonel Ambrósio, that placid man, exemplary husband, conscious of his realm of influence, capable (through his kindnesses, his sophistication, his affected reserve) of establishing a network of absolute control over every move made by his subordinates, his close friends, his wife and now, since her graduation more than ever before, by his daughter. Luisa, however, has always managed to escape. She knew that she would never be able to realise certain desires if she remained under that control. She went into the room, turned on the air conditioning, took off the suit that she had chosen specially for her interview with the panel, showered, put on a dress like the ones southern girls wear. She went out to explore the centre a little more. She walked to the São Pedro Theatre, went up to the mezzanine, struck by the five o’clock evening light, sat at one of the outside tables of the theatre café, looked at the menu (everything looked promising), ordered a chamomile tea, a slice of apple cake. She took in the Praça da Matriz, the cathedral, the historic buildings, the residential buildings and the ones filled with offices, she told herself that this would be a better place than her Rio, distant, self-sufficient, where she might perhaps discover what to do with everything that brought her closer to the freedom of a life without regrets.