that life wasn’t scary, that I wasn’t afraid, because that was what I thought men did. That was what I thought that men should do.
…
We left Minas do Leão two days after Pablo’s graduation. The sun succumbed behind dense clouds, heavy with rain, threatening to release themselves on most of our furniture as we loaded Tio Joca’s truck with the few things our parents had decided on taking with us. We were mostly quiet. All we heard were the thumps and clacks and bangs of our belongings hitting the floor of Tio Joca’s dirty truck, while its radio hummed a highly inflected, almost theatrical speech, what I had begun to associate with political propaganda.
As we got through the morning, a few neighbors stopped by to say their farewells. They would wish us luck, and that God would guide us. Some would lament our departure, clasping their hands together, tilting their heads to the side or simply staring at the black dirt beneath us. But we knew my father had become a liability, and deep down they all must have felt great relief in seeing him go. Whenever someone came with a sad face, or a farewell gift, I went inside the house pretending to focus on the boxes, but eventually my name would be called, and I would have to show my face, my smiling and polite face, and say goodbye, and thank them for whatever it was that I had to thank them for.
As we were getting ready to leave, Pablo and I went around the house taking one last look at its empty rooms, silently saying our goodbyes. While I was still inside, Pablo had hid himself behind the shed once again. I found him kneeling down, and kissing the ground that stretched all the way to the mine. Pablo lit a cigarette and studied its quietness, while the cigarette burnt itself up to the filter. I walked up to him after I said goodbye to our chickens, that Tia Mercedes would keep, and Xuxa the stray dog I had adopted a couple months prior, when our parents didn’t care enough to say ‘no’. Xuxa didn’t like being petted all that much, but she enjoyed my company. She’d follow me around like a younger sister, watching my every move. I wondered what would happen to her. Xuxa was lucky that she got to stay, that she got to have such independent life.
When I went up to Pablo, it was as if my presence reminded him of how tough he had to be. He squinted as he looked at me, and took a long drag of his so far ignored cigarette.
“Big city, huh?” he offered.
“É.”
While Pablo took his time in the backyard, saying goodbye to the piece of land where we had always played, the shed, the meadow and its smells, our mother took some time inside the house. I could hear her clogs slowly thumping against the wood floor. I saw her through the kitchen window, staring at the vastness outside. Meanwhile, our father waited for us in the car.
We followed Tio Joca’s truck. Our father and Pablo took one last glimpse at the mine as we headed down the main road, without saying a word. Our mother gently caressed the rabbit foot she held in between her fingers with one hand, while bringing her golden São Jorge necklace pendant to her lips with her other. She kissed it gently. Her eyes shut.
The rain never came, much to our mother’s disappointment. She had spent the entire morning saying that a big heavy rain would be a blessing when anybody showed signs of concern for our furniture. She made herself believe the rain would clear everything out from bad spirits, negative energy, karma, whatever it was that shook people out of synch in their lives. And when we didn’t see a drop of water hit the windshield, I realized that my mother feared that the change of houses, of schools, of cities, was all for nothing. That regardless of where we were, the ghosts of who we used to be would be with us. Quiet. Dormant. Like uninvited guests.
Our father held firmly onto the steering wheel, looking straight ahead, without so much as glancing at the farms on the side of the road. He seemed relieved or hopeful to have succeeded in leaving that town and its mine behind. If anything, he looked determined. He watched our belongings sticking up from the truck, bouncing with the road’s unevenness, as though certain of a brighter beginning.
Pablo and my mother observed the side of the road, the scenery they knew so well, refusing to look ahead. They paid attention to every cow lying around, to every yucca plantation, to every strawberry farm. They watched some of the people who walked alongside of the road with a hint of jealousy in their eyes. Every once in a while my mother would remember to gently caress her São Jorge, hanging over her chest. Our father turned the dial on the stereo, while we all stared at his hand hoping that something would magically play itself. Any cheap melody to save us from ourselves. But nothing. None of the radio stations worked.
It was mid-afternoon when we arrived, and the same thick clouds had followed us, covering the top of some of the city’s higher buildings. Pablo watched the commercial buildings go by, and streetlights change colors, and billboards announce movie premieres, cleaning products and beer.
The city seemed chaotic at first, but it wasn’t at all. Everything and everybody seemed to have a purpose, more so than where we lived. People were everywhere. There were more pedestrians in one block than habitants in the entire Minas do Leão. They spilled out from the sidewalks, taking over the edge of the roads. They walked in between the cars that waited on a red light. Our father didn’t hesitate despite the traffic. It was clear he knew the rules and knew where he was going. Our mother, next to him, looked as if she wasn’t there at all.
We pulled up to a one-story house, the second from the corner. It looked plain with its white stucco and dark brown windows. The front yard could have used some work, but it wasn’t bad. My mother watched it carefully, probably wondering which flowers she’d want blooming there in a few months. An iron fence circled the property. It was plain and not very tall, standing level to my twelve-year-old chest.
“This is it!” our father announced. He walked up the steps of the front porch and looked at our mother who still studied the garden.
“There’s a nice breeze here, Rose,” he said. He spread his arms to cover both sides of the porch. “I think you’ll enjoy sitting here to do your knitting.”
“I’m sure I will,” she said. “The house is lovely, dear.”
My father let a childish smile escape him, and we all went inside. In the living room sat a deep avocado-green rotary-dial phone. Pai pointed at it with the same excitement he’d shown before.
“Rose?” he called. “What do you think?”
It was our very first telephone. Whenever necessary, we’d use the mine’s. Our mother smiled at the gadget sitting by the fireplace mantel.
“That way you can stay in touch when Mercedes’ baby is born, or with whoever you want.”
“Wonderful, Antonio. Thank you,” she said while he gently kissed her forehead.
Pablo and I picked our rooms without much of a fuss. I kept the room between Pablo’s and my parents’. It was smaller but closer to the bathroom. I stood in the hallway that led to all of the bedrooms and looked for any signs of an incline. There was nothing. I wondered if given enough time, if this house would also become slanted. If it would ever feel as though it was ours. I remember thinking that a leveled house would probably be a good thing at that point. I was too old to play with marbles anyway.
…
Inside the mine is quiet. I walk by myself through the empty gallerias, and they look darker than I remember. Darker and vaster. There isn’t a worker in sight, but several abandoned wagons; some half-full, others empty. It’s all just sitting there, forgotten. I must have broken into it. I’m looking for something, or for someone. The mine’s paths are not as clear when nobody is working it. I must be looking
