Daniel Galera - Blood-drenched Beard

— and objectives, while you let your furniture and few belongings go practically for free to the first person who appeared at your apartment in Menino Deus. You granted power of attorney to your lawyer friend so he could wrap things up for you, while you ran away to the beach and burrowed a hole in the sand like an armadillo. How do you know she pays half?

She told me.

When did you talk to her?

She sends me messages on Facebook sometimes.

But you aren’t friends on Facebook. I’ve looked.

You don’t have to be a friend to send a private message.

I didn’t know you were speaking.

I don’t answer her messages. And I closed my account the other day anyway.

I didn’t know she pays half.

There are lots of things you don’t know.

Dante never told me she pays half.

It’s normal. They live together. And I hope you’re done, because I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It was good we had this talk ’cause now we don’t need to have this talk anymore. I couldn’t give a fuck what Dante does or doesn’t do, and I don’t care if he’s your favorite until the day you die. I came to terms with that a long time ago. Just don’t compare me to him. Spare me. São Paulo? You always hated São Paulo, and now that they live there, it’s the only place a human being could want to live. Look me in the eye, and tell me that you think someone like me could—

I’m not comparing you, darling, I just wanted—

I’m fine here. Seriously. I know you don’t understand how it’s possible. But try. I like living here.

I love you both equally. I don’t have a favorite.

It’s okay.

I don’t.

How are you , Mother?

I already told you. I’m really well. I’ve talked so much since I arrived. I don’t know what else to tell you. What do you want to know?

Are you walking? Have you managed to get your triglycerides down?

Yes . Walking and stuffing myself full of omega-three. I got tested last month, and the doctor told me my blood is like a little girl’s.

What have you got them down to?

Two hundred and a bit.

It’s not like a little girl’s but it’s come down a lot. That’s good. Are you working? I know you get a big kick out of this Ronaldo guy, but I reckon you should take more interior decorating assignments to keep busy.

I’ve been busy with your dad’s will and probate.

I thought Dante was looking after almost everything.

Dante’s in São Paulo and only comes if it’s absolutely necessary. I’ve been acting on his behalf. By the end of the year, you and your brother should get your money. And I’m going to sell his house. I’d like you to give some thought as to what you’re going to do with the money. Use it to set yourself up. Get a partner and open a gym in Porto Alegre. Or put a good-size deposit down on an apartment. Don’t give your money away.

Who would I give my money to, Mother?

You know what I’m talking about. You’re too generous. Hold on to the money when it comes. Promise your old mother.

Do you miss him?

What are you talking about?

Do you miss Dad?

She turns to stare at the ocean and bites the insides of her cheeks.

I hate to admit it, but I do. Now that he’s gone, I miss the good years. There were lots of them.

That’s nice to know. I’m glad.

His mother wants to feel the sand on her feet. They drive down to the south end of the beach, walk to Meio Lagoon, and return. They barely speak. The hills are imposing and make them seem small in comparison, while on the other side the ocean flaunts its infinitude. The wind blows his mother’s straw hat off twice, and he has to chase it over the soft sand. The beauty of the beach erases the last traces of the animosity of lunch.

Jasmim greets them in her cabin in Ferrugem late in the afternoon with coffee, maté, and an orange cake cut into little cubes. They give her the yerba maté that his mother brought from the Porto Alegre Public Market. He instructed his mother the night before not to bring up certain topics, and the conversation flows without any hitches, propelled by the contrived enthusiasm of his mother, who thinks everything is absolutely wonderful, funny, and incredible. It is at times like this that he is most irritated by her, when she is trying to please and there is no trace of the love that underpins her scolding and judgment and eternal comparisons to his older brother. Jasmim hams up the story about the metal detector, and his mother laughs until she cries. At one point, which he can hardly believe, they actually discuss a detail of the plot of the nightly soap opera, even though Jasmim doesn’t even own a television set. There are no questions about what it’s like for a woman to live alone in a place like this or about future expectations; nor are there any quips about mothers-in-law and grandchildren. He wonders if they could really get along. It is possible. With time.

On the Sunday morning he doesn’t take Beta for her swim, in order to avoid upsetting his mother. He thaws out a fish for lunch and opens two beach chairs on the paved area in front of the apartment. Beta barks a lot, and he catches his mother pouring hot water from the Thermos on her, but when he confronts her about it, she swears it was accidental. The pest passed underneath right when I was going to fill the gourd, and I got a fright.

A woman goes past on the footpath and stops in front of them to chat. He realizes it’s Cecina only when she starts saying that he’s a good tenant, the best she’s ever had in the off season, really easygoing, unlike his granddad, who lived here many years ago. He has never talked to Cecina about his grandfather, and the inappropriateness of her comment can only be some kind of veiled message, but it is a topic for another time. When Cecina leaves, his mother asks what she meant with that comment about his grandfather.

I haven’t got a clue. She’s not all there. She’s always confusing me with other people who have stayed here before.

Close to midday, he goes inside and sets about seasoning and baking the fish. It is a while before he hears her voice again.

Come and look at this, son.

He goes outside and looks around but can’t tell what his mother is referring to.

Over there. A booby fishing. It’s a brown booby. Watch.

The bird is gliding between the fishing boats at a height of seventy to ninety feet. It starts its descent in a wide circle, then suddenly changes course, folds itself into an arrow, and pierces the water at a right angle. It bobs up seconds later without a fish in its beak and takes flight again, resigned.

If there’s one thing I love, it’s watching these birds that fish by diving. I used to come up to Florianópolis and Bombinhas a lot with my family when I was a teenager, and I’d spend hours watching the boobies. My dad knew everything about birds. They have pockets of air in their heads to absorb the impact when they dive. Did you know that? I like it when they stand still on the rocks with their gawky feet and white bellies. They’re such show-offs. Dad once told me that someone had found a booby that had plunged into the water with so much force that it had gone beak-first into the mouth of a fish. They pulled the fish out of the water with the booby’s head still in its mouth. They had both died at the same time because the booby’s head had got stuck, and it had drowned. Can you imagine?

He looks at his mother, who keeps watching the booby like an awestruck child, and smiles to himself. He feels a lump in his throat.

A friend of mine would say that their lives were connected.

After lunch they go for ice cream at Gelomel. He suggests they visit another beach, but his mother says she is tired and isn’t up for another long drive. They head up Antenas Hill in the car to enjoy the view of the town, beaches, dunes, and Siriú Lagoon. When it starts growing dark, they go home and make a simple dinner of coffee and sandwiches. His mother asks how he is doing for money.