Tag Archives: brasil

by

…the visit…

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I didn’t write much of anything while V was with us.
There was so much intensity, so much to take in and feel.

So much attention to pay, and things to learn.  This was the only
child he had really given himself to.  As is frequently the case with
men, when they are young they do not allow themselves to get as
involved in child rearing as they do when they have matured, and
I knew by the pictures in the drawer and on the wall that he had
indeed been very involved.  It was a beautiful thing to see.

When his girlfriend got pregnant, Alcir was very happy, and began
his quest for a healthy child, by enforcing rules upon her.
He told me that he made her eat her broosel sprouts, and
made her stop smoking and drinking.

From what I could glean, they had already split up and made up many
times, so I’m sure there was a lot of adjustment going on on both sides.

_____________

Journal, February 2005…

“He told me that when he introduced his woman to his grandmother,
later she told him..
“She loves you, yes, but she loves you because
of what your penis does.
Later on, when you turn to her she will not be there.”

This was the grandmother who was the only one really There for him,
and did her best to support him, while witnessing the abuse that
he suffered every day from the father and mother.

He says V’s mother hated him for taking care of her
during the pregnancy.

“I made her eat her vegetables, wouldn’t let her smoke.
Not for her, but for what she was building inside of her.
That was mine, and I wanted my daughter to be strong
and intelligent.
This was not Hers… it was Ours. ” ”
_______________

She gazed at the tiny snapshot of the boy.  Such innocence,
such beauty.  Perfect symmetry, those wrap around eyes,
a pure, sweet baby.
And here was that little boy’s picture, overlaid with one
of little V.

The photos of them, his face glowing with pride and
complete satisfaction… these pictures amazed me.
To see this man I knew as a fierce warrior, now a tender father
caring for his child was a beautiful side, and I was fascinated.
There were faces there I had never seen before.

It was at a tender age that he began to turn;  he was constantly
in trouble in school, couldn’t sit still or be quiet.
He was beaten, and punished on a daily basis, and emotionally
abused as well, frequently in public.
I know they did it out of ignorance and stupidity…
but…what a travesty.

ADHD or not, the sort of Hatred that was heaped on him, because
his mother never wanted a child in the first place, was
unforgivable in my mind.
They also may have been embarassed in front of family and friends,
by his inability to behave and fit in, and the trouble at school.

They knew nothing about ADHD brain chemistry in those days, and
well I know it, for my brother is close to his age, and is ADHD too.
And as well, and this is really strange, both he and my brother
were left handed, and both mothers made them go Right.
I thoroughly believe this made things even more difficult.

“All I wanted was kisses from the mother,” he said.
” Kisses and holdings….
But the same mouth that kissed, that same mouth punished me
with hatred, told me I was worthless.
I was hated by them because they said I was the most intelligent
in the family.  The Most Intelligent! and all she wanted was to turn
me into a faggot.  She could control me if I was a faggot.
She couldn’t control me as I was, and she hated me for that. ”

This small room which served as living room and bedroom contained
only things of and about Him.  The only one else present, in the form
of photos, was his daughter, who was now eight years.

The rest of his life was in a drawer, and I did look at the pictures
now and then, when he was gone…. of course I did.
But I could not find one picture of the mothers…. his Or V’s.
I wanted, nay, needed, to understand just what it was that
made up this man.

So it’s Birthday Day, a day of delight for him, we picked up V,                                                   and the three of us went out to a wonderful dinner….
a very fancy family restaurant, where the waiters bring out
huge slabs of beef, and slice it in front of you, as much as you want.
This was my gift to him… dinner and his new Raybans,
which he wore with pride.

When we came home, there was romping and play with the two
of them, and I happily sat back, doing my part by taking
scores of pics, and thoroughly enjoying the cloud of
wild abandon between them.

That night, we all slept together on the simple bed we’d made on
the floor, and I let her take possession of her father.

She lay in his arms, between the two of us, arms and legs wrapping
up any thought that another might join in.
Little puffs of soft, light green jealousy clouds floated up
now and then, and from both sides.

 

 

by

…the daughter …

Thunder rolled over the favellas, and dogs went crazed.
The sky was a thick paste of grey, and the wind spoke of rain.

She sat on the steps of her boat, her island of sanity in a
world gone crazy.  This man was sane.  How rare…

Someone brave enough to continue that sanity through a lifetime,
no matter the outcome, no matter the cost.

She explored his face.  He’d blown half of it apart in a diving accident,
a pressurized problem upon resurfacing, some sort of explosion,
something about oxygen that I can’t recall now.
He’s said his left eye was hanging down, and when he closed
the right one, he could see his feet….

They put it back together, one of the best surgeons ever did the work,
and now only a scar across the left cheek, from above the bridge
of the nose to down below his cheekbone.  A miracle really.

She could see that the damage had extended into the jaw, for
the teeth were no longer perfectly symmetrical, yet still and all,
he was a handsome devil, with some of the edges rounded out.
The Perfect was gone forever, but enough was true North to believe.

This man, punching himself silly, and still he demands the Truth.

Before I’d come, he’d said his daughter V would be there the
28th Jan, and go home the 9th of Feb, the day before I arrived.
“Not for your birthday?” I’d asked.
“No,” he said, “I don’ wan’ to get her involved right now,” and that
“if someone ends up in my life, then she will…”

But he said he had never had her with another woman, that her
mother had been pretty loose about men, and he will not subject
her to that.
I did respect that, and admit I’d been wondering how all that
would work… whenever he mentioned the mother, great tension
built in the air, the tone of the voice changed, and unpleasant
adjectives  inserted themselves.

It was obvious there were many unresolved issues between them.
I remember thinking that part of him was still in love with this
likely beautiful blonde that he had been so crazy about, the one
who had given him a third chance at really being a father, present
and deeply involved this time……for surely it is true….
The opposite of love is not hate… it’s apathy.

So now, suddenly after only three days, he tells me he wants V
to come here for his birthday, and stay a few days.
His way of telling me, I guess, that what he feels is real.
I take this to be a good sign.

So we go to the house of her mother in Sao Paolo… a ride on a long
long bridge across the bay to Rio’s twin city, newer and more
commercial, and certainly not as picturesque.

Actually, when Piney had visited Brasil for some business there,
she stayed in Sao Paolo.
“Ha!”  he exclaimed. ” An’ she thinks she’s seen Brasil?
No, I don’ thin’ so!”  and his laughter exploded through the phone.
“Oh that’s funny.”

So the daughter hops into “Pai’s” car…. a little jeep like thing called
a Gervel, produced in Brasil by Volkswagon.
Cute, sporty, good mileage……top on, top off, quite fun really.

She eyes me suspiciously, while simultaneously smiling and enduring introductions.   Since I don’t actually speak Portuguese, they chatter
away, and I do my best to just take it all in.

She has his huge dark eyes, brown skin, long thick hair.   Her mother
is the blue eyed blonde, and I watch to see where she fits in the mix.

Very self possessed, confident, dramatic, expressive and smart.
And obviously in love with her Pai.
She has his wild, and something else…
Something seductive and coy,  with great feminine wiles.

Oh this is going to be interesting….

 

 

by

…a sweetness…

“These are the little things that make life so good.

The simple little things.

One must live life this way each day.

And then, when you die, everyone else is crying…but

you have a permanent grin on your face, forever. ”

 

 

…Alcir

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…chef Alcir…

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Is it Wednesday?  time had lost it’s power, finally.  There were no
day-names, only days.  So much touching, after so long without.
The desert of loneliness, although accepted at the time, now
thirsted beyond bounds.

What was enough now.  The chasm was dark and deep, and knew
no bottom.  His eyes made her know, made her surrender to him,
to them, to It.

The Sade songs rang in her heart from so many years ago, and
just last night… Those words of sadness and comfort now came from
his own lips, as he sang to her, his voice like his eyes, deep and dark
and touching her very core.

“I want to stab you with my brown knife… to go in where there is
already a little hole…”  he whispered…  cuxixos means whispers.
A lovely sexy word…. Kushishooos.

The incredible and instant intimacies within these walls drowned
out all boundaries.  The natural physicality.  The messages sent
through touch and look, the dances without words… vertically
and horizontally…
They’d had enough words.  But she had to admit the ones he gave
her shimmered like gold.

Mind Images from the past, with their little spaces unfinished,
now filled in, blended, completed themselves in bits and parts.
The feelings of reaching, leaning in, waiting for him to leave and
return endlessly then, had now softened their sharp cutting edges,
now filling her heart with pounding waves of nourishment.

“I need to get my ass kicked by a polar bear.” he began one day.
“That’s what I need!  The first time he wouldn’t Eat me.  He’d say
OK stupid, I won’t eat you this time, but next time….”

He Loved to cook, was a beautiful cook, trained at the Grandmother’s
side, and I watched him slice the scored onion, to create little squares.
Often I would hear singing coming from the cooking place,

“Oh Solo Mio……. ” would drift through the walls, the melody line
correct and continuous, but the words repeated over and over…
“Oh solo mio….. oh solo mio…… oh solo mio….. la la la laaaaa”.
It was pretty darned adorable…

Sauces were a specialty, and I learned that in Brasil, most sauces
begin with Olive Oil, Onions, Garlic, sweet peppers and tomatoes.
From there it goes in whatever direction it will.
“It’s so good, you’re gonna drip,” he said, meaning  ‘drool’.

He began with creating a meal that took him all day.  I was his
assistant, which meant I not only chopped, I also cleaned shrimp
and cleaned up the mess.
The kitchen was a converted laundry room on the basement level,
just large enough to hold the machines, a makeshift shower, and
a sink with cold water.   The cold cement floor felt good to my
frequently bare feet, in the heat of summer.
All of it used to be the maid’s quarters, and now was his.
He told me later that that was where he was sent for isolation
when he was bad, which I gathered was a frequent occurance.
Now the two little rooms were his cave, and the kitchen/laundry
was shared with his Aunt Maria.
Maria lived in the front part of that same level, and would bang
on the common wall between us, when she wanted him.

It was the tropics, and I was concerned about sanitary conditions,
but he assured me if we used enough soap, the cold water
didn’t matter…. I wasn’t so sure, especially since Maria loved to do
the dishes, which was nice, but her eyesight wasn’t great, and often
I would find food on dishes, if I was the one to put them away.
I mentioned it to him, but he said I’d hurt her feelings if I said anything.

In the first couple days he made a magnificent feast for us….

**Bobo Camarao… using that sauce he’d cooked all day, that also
had reduced liquid from the boiled shrimp heads…
coconut milk, sour cream, and lots of cream cheese.   Lots.
There were chunks of Yucca, and lots of shrimp, added at
the last moment.

**Mashed Potatoes and Carrots…. called batata e cenoura.
The two are boiled together, then mashed leaving chunks, and
adding butter, salt and sour cream.  Fabulous.

**Fresh fried potatoes …. all finely shredded, and fried with olive oil.

**Salad, consisting of piles of watercress… that was brasilian salad….
drizzled with olive oil.

Turns out watercress is one amazing anti oxidant and detoxifier,
and that is good because fresh vegetables, at least in this house,
were sorely missing.
I remember Maria cooking cauliflower in a Pressure Cooker til it
was unrecognizable.  For someone used to under cooked veggies
a la West Coast Cuizine, it was really hard to get excited about.
To me that wasn’t vegetables, and I did my best to taste it…
She ate it with a spoon….

But at the Super Mercado, we could buy Huge Bouquets of
Watercress for 2 Reis, the equivient of $1 American, and slowly
I brought in more veggies, many of them Organic, and cooked
them My way.  He scoffed at the organic signs, but I tried to let
him know that we had to at least try to believe it.

I began a campaign, and introduced him and Aunt Maria to salad
everyday.  Eventually they learned to love it, although I usually
ate three quarters of the bowl myself.

Brasilians love heavy foods…. spicey meats especially, marinated
and barbequed on a grill, and rich foods more suited to the
Mediterranean clime, carried over from Portugal, in spite of the fact
of heat and humidity.

The other ingredient of every day was
Frozen-to-Slushy Brasilian Beer.
We drank it every afternoon, and into the night.  It was light,
with Lots of flavor and nuance, not like our light beers.
In the summer heat, we looked forward to this treat, and it always
jollied up our evenings.

We both were very happy, and seldom were apart, with lots of
touching and hand holding, showers together, with Sade as our muse,
and oh, so much joy.

 

 

by

…the days…

He slept now, and she went to find herself once again.
To feel need, to feel wanting seemed foreign to her now, and it
disturbed the center achieved in three years’ aloneness.

Tears rose up, and she pondered the strangeness of the day’s
passages.  Each day rolled like waves upon one another, creating
a layered mass of nothing but change.

She was in search of self here, and togetherness only spurred
on the quest… Contrasts creating stretch…

A blue truck drew away her focus.  Old blue truck, careening
down the winding stone street, large warm drops touched her
hungry skin, cool point of light on browning edges, edges of her
self…where she stopped …where other began.

So immersed was she in it now.  There was no room for thoughts.
She reached for words, familiar touchstones to what she knew,
to what she had known, but three days ago.  And now what?
No clues, only moment on moment, flesh touched for the first
time in so many how longs.
Skin hungry yet hiding…for fear.. for fear of what?
Discovery…real discovery.

 

 

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…the house on the hill…

Here she sits, in her grandeur of yesteryear.

Double Click to get the larger picture…

 

 

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…brasil at last…

Up until now, these last few entries were almost directly
from my journal in 2004 and 5.  Now, at this point, my journal
gets a little less continuous, a bit more sporatic.
I write here and there, when the moment moves me, but Now….
well, what can I say?  I am overwhelmed, in the moment, and
much too enveloped by the Now to take time out to write about it.

I remember arriving.  I remember going through customs…
I remember the rush of warm moist air, much like the first time
I arrived in Hawaii… like breathing steamy flowers.
I remember searching the crowd for The face …
And then, at last, I am out into the terminal, and as I scan the
crowd, I see him…. Dark glasses, serious face, and when we at last
acknowledge eachother, it is a Nod that I get… one of those
upsidedown nods, where the chin moves up, as in Hey… I See you.

At last we are there, face to face, and I move into his arms…
my head falls on his chest, and as I sigh, he says…. “I know….”.
Relief, joy, exhaustion, that ultimate ..oh god i’m here … all of it.

We have long looks at eachother, between casual chatter about
nothing, while we do all those obligatory things… get the baggage,
walk through mazes, find the car…

I’m sure we talked, but of what… who can recall.
What were my first impressions?  He looked ragged, tired, but still
looked like him, and I was relieved to see his face, though scared,
was still Him, that wonderful intensity and handsome grace still
present.
He said he hadn’t slept much, and I could see he was nervous,
and even parking had been stressful.  He was as nervous as I was.

At last we are on the highway, and I get my first glimpses of Rio.
This is a large island in the Guanabara Bay, and I am fascinated.
Actually, as we were banking in to circle and land at Jobim
International,
I remember taking in that view, at a low altitude, of that mythical
city, now real, but still not…. my heart pounded.
The International Airport, Aeroporto, is on this large island, the
largest in that Huge Bay, and Ilya do Governador was populated
long ago, as a suburb of Rio.
To venture to Downtown Rio, there was an old shuttle, in the
form of a Ferry, and it didn’t take cars.
Later they built a highway, but the ferry was so picturesque.

But that was saved for later… he only lived on the other side
of the island, and the tangle of little streets and clusters of
old houses, as we took the narrow road that circled the island…
my eyes just couldn’t take it all in.

This is Real, I kept on saying in my head…this is really happening…
My head could not keep up with reality… it was like there were
hiccups in the time warp web, and I struggled to keep hold.

Now we’re home to his house, this strange old place, the place
of his birth, a multi layered sort of grandiose manor with columns
and stone walks, with an aura of dark sadness and unkempt order,
like some aging Hollywood actress, far past her prime, yet doing
her best to keep up the face of elegance and regal charm.
It was set up high from the sidewalk, with wrought iron fences
and gates, locks and uneven stairs…
We unload my suitcases, go up and collapse into his tiny
basement abode.

I don’t remember much until it was time to change.  I had been in
my same clothes for maybe 18 hours, and moved into the next tiny
room, a hallway actually,  to find something cool and homey, from
the place he had offered me for my things…. I saw his Legion
jacket, next to his Futebol (foochibole)  jersey in black and white.

He followed me.  And as I undressed, he watched with eyes wide
and brilliant.  He never took his eyes off of me, his stare washing
over me like sweeping lazers.
I felt more naked than I actually was, which was pretty darned naked.

He surveyed every inch, taking in the reality, as the covers peeled
away…. which wasn’t too bad actually….
My daughter had exclaimed that I had an incredible body for
my age (oh thank you!), and my son had mentioned that I easily
could be 47, instead of my 60-something in earth years.
That helped, but still…

I was glad I’d worked out and exercised, tanned and dieted.
Come on!  this man lived in the city of some of the most gorgeous
women you’ve ever seen…. and when he’d last seen me,
I had definitely been in my prime.

I think we ate, I’m sure we drank, and he broke into the list of
things he’d been missing.  Scotch was shared, my space was allotted,
I bet we bit into one of those chocolates, and shared the
pungent green center.
And from there, well what would You do at this point?
We were like polarized magnets, unable to be apart long enough
to barely breath.

I remember his skin, that beautiful smooth brown tropical skin…
I remember his calling me Babe from the first day…

It was February…. our equivalent of August in the North….

It was a moist, humid, brilliant tropical air, soft breezes with palms
and flowers outside, gatherings of birds rushing by our windows,
and we had eachother.
At last, we had and held eachother.

 

 

by

…leaving on a jet plane…

February 9, 2005

OK… so here I am, sitting in the airport, all packed and ready to go…
It’s about 5:30 am, and the plane boards at 7.  > EGAD…!

The day is finally here, and I am a bit numb.  The last 24 hours
are a blur of lists and deadlines… I was up at 3am yesterday, and
I think I dozed a couple hours between 5 and 8.  Very physical day,
moving tons of boxes and furniture.  Last minute things all day,
finishing the animals and ebay, and mending,
cleaning, packing…all of it.

And now I’m here, waiting to begin my journey to my future.

She wondered how she ever got here… Looking ahead, to a future
unknown, yet so full of strange foreign fare.  Possibilities loomed…
She’d felt many things in the past 2 months…lately she’d been
saying she felt like the girl on the half shell.
Like a mail order bride. Like Grace Kelly leaving all she’d known,
to be with her man, in a strange country.
All pleasant……all prickly strange.

If it all were true, this would be the last hours of aloneness.
So many years seeing herself alone…how many? 21?  Lots of
false starts, lots of maybe – maybe nots….. And now?
Could this be a cosmic joke?  The signs were auspicious,
she had to admit.

Could things really just fall properly into place, and aside from
the usual day to day drab realities of really knowing someone,
is it possible, just possible that the two of them were inheriting
some sort of golden egg, laid how long ago, but now fully ripe
and hatching forth a creature of shimmering luminescence,
full of light and ready for action.

To see him finally face to face… His specter prowled
the cove of her heart, and she desperately desired
a peaceful resolution to her longing.

It would be many hours, stops in Chicago and Miami, time changes,
dozing and rousing in that dream state that travel creates…
And by late tomorrow afternoon, they would be together.