The Wrestling Season Part 4

[6/2/2002 3:48:39 PM..............
Cobras/Corporal Meet; Antonio Guenaga Municipal Gym, Santos
When I stepped outside, the first thing I saw was the van waiting for me. Mr. Costa was behind the wheel, smiling as he greeted me; Coach Rodrigo was at his side and the kids were in the back seat, making a lot of noise. They made me promise there would be no talk on Monday, since it was Brazil's first game in the Cup, against Turkey. I did try to protest, but they reminded me there would be no training on June 8th, when Brazil would play China, and I surrendered. Despite the normal joy and excitement kids usually have, there was a note of tension in the air the kids tried hard to release by playing tricks and jokes on each other, as the van glided through the streets of the city heading for Rebouças Municipal Gym. The place was already full. I looked at my watch and it was 7:50.
The kids went down to the locker rooms to get ready and it was fascinating to see them in full gear, for my first time with them in a competition; see the way the adversaries looked at them, especially Panotti and Galhardo who seemed to be well-known in the community. All against all. The referee drew lots to distribute the matches. Morales would be one of the first to wrestle. We all sat down around the mat, out the security limit imposed and watched as Morales went to the center of the circle with his opponent. Rodrigo and the opponent's coach stood outside the mat for encouragement, according to Figueira.
"It's the only thing they can do for us. Root and give us courage. For the rest, Morales and his opponent are all alone. And believe me, you will never feel so alone in life as you are there on the mat, even surrounded by so many people. I feel every time I go for it and will feel it today", he said with a grave expression.
My stream of thoughts was interrupted by Morales and his opponent standing in front of the referee, a man in white with a blue wrestlet on his right hand and a red one on his left. They shook hands with the referee and with each other before they started.
And did they start, fierce, as if warm-up had taken place for long. Morales attacked and was attacked all the time. Then the two were stuck, still standing as Morales sought to pull up his opponent's supporting feet to take him to the ground. The latter was then faster and managed to throw Morales over his back, exposing Morales's back to the mat. Nervousness took hold of Corporal.
"The other kid is already scoring", said Galhardo, concerned, "the closer his shoulders are to the mat, the worse"
Morales was in a difficult situation, though he moved a lot, trying so very hard to escape as his opponent prepared him a wrench, forcing his body and shoulders into the mat, when in a desperate move he got out of what could become his opponent's pin and got him by the back. Morales, as the other kids at Corporal didn't seem to want to only escape a difficult situation, he wanted always to use it as the beginning of a counter-attack. More than the mere obligation of wrestling rules, he seemed to never want to wait for the referee to say he should combat, he seemed to want something that could be permanent for his life. Some initiative, after all. This initiative led him to pin his opponent at 2:34.
Galhardo's match was not any different. Almost pinned twice, he could settle the score at 1:52, taking points out of opponent by forcing him to passivity. Zangrandi elbowed me as it was his habit, smiling and pointing at Galhardo's opponent stunned face. Galhardo was just waiting for him as he returned from the position and two were set to fight. At 2:11, he ended the match with an arm-lock, twisting his opponent's arm real hard, forcing the opponent to give it up because of the pain. Other results were: Zangrandi winning for higher score, Panotti pinning at 1:12, Figueira pinned at 3:01. Figueira would lose another match and win the others, three of them, one for pinning, others for higher score. Corporal got the better out of Cobras in the end and it was thrilling to watch them receive the medals from the chairman. Panotti was 1st, Silveira, from Cobras was 2nd, Galhardo and Morales were 3rd and Zangrandi was 4th. All of the players got the medals as incentive as the game was friendly, but each player had the value for each medal in his memory. "Medals can be taken away, but the memory of what we did to get to it", said Zangrandi to me, at the restaurant we chose to have lunch, "not even time is able to remove from us."

[6/4/2002 12:17:18 AM..............
Corporal was full of Brazilian flags today. Not only Corporal, but there was green and yellow everywhere. Brazilians keep their faith, no matter how badly they have criticized the Brazilian football selection before. Some people say the best way for the selection to travel is booed at. This is the way they won some of the Cups before. I hope the game has finished and it really has. The kids are waiting for Rodrigo to come to start the practice. Some give themselves away to some light warm-up before he walks in, but I don't see Figueira anywhere.
"Saw that penalty? Were lucky the referee was Korean... All of them root for us", said Galhardo, laughing.
"Lucky? 2-1 against Turkey was a loss, very lucky they were", replied Morales.
Haven't asked the boys in order not to disturb their warm up, but the receptionist tells me she hasn't seen him so far. "He's a bit late for the practice, maybe watched the game at home", she said, shrugging. Then I decided to ask the kids his whereabouts.
"The last time we saw him", said Panotti, "was yesterday, when Mr. Costa left him at home after the meet. Maybe he's not coming today. Maybe he is sick or celebrating victory."
"What victory?"
"Brazil's, of course." and he smiled.
I didn't like Panotti's mocking tone of voice at all. Walked out of Corporal, heading for Figueira's. Found him sitting on the banks of Canal 4, rippling the water with stones he threw almost parallel to the water. The dejected expression I have almost gotten used to seeing him assume; an expression that tells me something is not working.
"Rodrigo and the kids are waiting for you at Corporal", I said, laying my hands on his shoulders.
He turned to look at me, startled. His face was now angry.
"Why waiting for me? Because they can't wait to make some more fun of me? So they can say, like yesterday, that they would have to build an eight-step stand to accomodate me?"
"I didn't hear they say a word", I said, surprised.
"Of course not", he said, "you were already at home when they started; maybe they were just waiting for you to be away."
"Zangrandi too?"
"Zangrandi is my buddy, but he couldn't make a stand alone."

[6/4/2002 5:19:56 AM..............
I was reading a book when heard the iron front door open at Corporal. It was Zangrandi. He said hello and lied on the mat, waiting for the others to come for us to start. Then it was Galhardo and Morales. Panotti was the fourth to come. The threesome started talking about the meet on Sunday at Guenaga. Each one was telling the others how they felt during the meet; the expectations they had, the results they got. If the results met the expectations they had before. I was just pretending I was reading the book, half of me reading, half paying attention to what they said. I let them talk until they realized they were the only ones talking. Zangrandi just looked at me, as if he could foresee something. As if he could see the shape of things to come. Then, Panotti looks at me, smiling and asks me what I have to tell them today. I continued reading and saw them shrugging and exchanging looks with each other.
"You're not going to say why we got up at five to come here?", Panotti asked, smiling again.
"Yes. You got up at five to come here and hear me say you are never going to make up a team."
Panotti's smile disappeared. He looked at Galhardo and Morales and they were just astonished.
"We are nearly bringing a prize as a team to Corporal", he said, "what makes you sure we'll never be a team?"
The iron door opened once more. Figueira. He took ages to come to the practice room. We heard his footsteps around Corporal, going upstairs and then downstairs again; except for his footsteps, everything else was silence around. Zangrandi was looking at me in expectation. Panotti charged me for an answer while Figueira's footsteps became heavier and heavier as he approached the practice room. He didn't say a word as he walked in. Just sat on the mat, between Galhardo and Panotti. Zangrandi found it strange, the fact that Figueira wouldn't sit beside him. The threesome found it even stranger. Panotti and Galhardo looked at him, trying to figure out why. Panotti looked then at me and said:
"I still don't understand why you..."
"Real teams don't have members covering the others with scorn and ridicule, Panotti."
"Did I?", he asked, as if taken by surprise, "just what did I say?"
"I just won't waste my time jogging your memory. Hold any of the members as a laughing stock if you want to. But don't be so sure to tell me you are nearly bringing a prize as a team to Corporal, because you'll never make up a team this way."
Figueira looked at them, at the same time sad and delighted by my words. He didn't even care when he saw Galhardo clenching his fist and hitting the other hand's palm repeatedly. "Figueira, there is a practice today. Remember", he said, looking at him with anger, as if he said Figueira was going to be given a hard time at the practice after our talk. I found it would be better if I talked to Rodrigo to monitor them a bit closer during the practices.

[6/7/2002 12:58:25 AM..............
Figueira spent the whole session lying on the mat beside me, left eye black. Bruises on the face. The talking he did was for telling the others he hadn't caught them as he should. There's a dead silence around. It's 6:40, session everybody attended. All of them late.
"Haven't I told you five gangsters won't make up a team? You deny it one day just to be living proof one day later. Take a look at Figueira. And he didn't even come by car, as Panotti."
If I can't arouse the rascals' pride now, it will be never more.
"Figueira is always spilling the beans", said Galhardo, laughing out loud, "he's cheeky. When the heat is on, well, that's just his tough shit."
"Seems to me it's a situation you know very well, don't you, Galhardo?"
Galhardo stopped laughing. Now it was Panotti laughing. And Morales.
"You're more about to sell protection than to one beautiful day figure out why you got stuck with wrestling", I said, staring at them.
"You think you know a whole lot about what selling protection is, don't you?", questioned Morales.
Turned my eyes to him and, as Figueira one day, sustained the look into his eyes.
"I really don't know a lot of it. Only enough to perform the body count."


[6/7/2002 8:01:09 PM..............
I looked at the calendar and there was another meet, this time the venue would be Tumiaru Club, in São Vicente, on Saturday. I tend to believe these meets and tournaments will always bring out these feelings of stiff internal competition that have kept Corporal down in this grave of good intentions; this chronic individualism and desolation.

[6/8/2002 4:57:54 PM..............
I got to Corporal after the match of Brazil and China e there were comments about Brazil's luck with the lots drawn for the groups and the referee at the Brazil - Turkey match.
"I lost the bet", told me Zangrandi, who had bet money on China. Asked how much. Said it was two reais. Asked what had led him to bet money on China. He said he only bet they'd score at least a goal against four of Brazil. Didn't know why, but I was much happier then.
I came to talk to Coach Rodrigo, see if we could join forces again. He tells me it's the practice right before the meet, but he can give me half an hour and help me with the kids. Said I'd blindfold them all during the warm-up and the beginning of the practice. He frowned at the idea, you can imagine the kids.
All blindfolded, they were assisted by me and Rodrigo. Panotti started meowing his own peculiar way. Galhardo seemed to even find it fun, between rage and laughter. But real terror was yet to come. I and Rodrigo said we would accompany the five on a tour through Corporal, without touching them, only giving directions. They'd only have themselves. If one of them fell, the others would have to help, without knowing who they were really helping. Except for Galhardo, because he was plump and easy to identify.
The exercise had to be interrupted by a howl at the top of the staircase. The kids had hardly started it when had to stop. And I was sure Panotti didn't look or try to look through the blindfold even for a minute, that he had followed my instructions faithfully when I saw him crying at the top of the staircase, surronded by serious, grave, embarrassed faces. He looked at me with hatred when I came to him, making my way through the team.
At night, meet at Tumiarú Club. Corporal 55, Cobras, 36. Nice score, celebrated by the kids, but they've had lots of experiences with the Cobras before. The worst part, according to Morales, will be going to São Bernardo, for the Regional Tournament.

[6/15/2002 5:07:58 AM..............
"Have you forsaken us?", inquired Figueira, upset, "did it have to be now I've been striving so much to improve?"
It's six twenty-five a.m. And yes, it's true, been to Curitiba, a seminar on Bipolar Disorder in children. Apologized to them, their looks were suspicious, mainly Panotti's, he's been suspicious since we last met. I planned to blindfold them again. They opposed me as much as they could, but I did it just the same. "You're blind anyway", I declared, "why not face it blindfolded?"
I guided them to the mat and had them wrestle. No referee. Any wrestler wanting to quit would have to hit the mat with his hand. Unless they recognized each other's wrestling style, they wouldn't know who they were playing. At the end of the practice, all wanted to know who the steamroller was that had nailed them all to the mat. Figueira was the only one who wasn't very curious about it at all.

[6/18/2002 4:21:54 AM..............
"What happened to the two of you? Can't I even turn my back and leave for a while?"
Panotti and Figueira. Figueira's black eye was no longer a novelty, but Panotti's is. The latter seemed to be feeling like crying. I learned from Morales that Figueira took Panotti away from a circle of friends. I asked him what this ritual is, of taking someone away from a circle of friends and he told me Figueira took him away from his own circle of friends to avoid him being slaughtered for food by them. Apparently Panotti had fought with one of them, who had recognized him on the spot. What Panotti would be doing there is a mystery. But he definitely didn't belong there. Figueira told me in private he wouldn't be around very often, after Panotti's rescue. Then, went to the bathroom to blow his nose.

[6/21/2002 2:05:40 AM..............
Woke up today with the strange howl of a dog. It was not six in the morning yet when I woke up. The howl was piercing, deafening, gnawing into the cushions I fastened to my ears, noise that invited you to rise, shine and explore the neighborhood after the source of the noise. An ominous and weird howl, tearing this morning into pieces.
Panotti's eye looked better. Figueira's too. Zangrandi joked friendly saying Panotti had put a steak on the eye and collected from Panotti a furious stare that didn't seem to frighten him. Figueira looked liked he'd caught a cold. Once in a while, he excused himself, went to the bathroom to blow his nose. Morales seemed uneasy. Galhardo, indifferent, nonchalant. I asked about the news and Galhardo told me the Regional Tournament would take place this weekend. Saturday and Sunday. Figueira returned and pulled a very long face when heard what it was we were talking about. I noticed, asked him why the long face. He didn't answer, just gazed into the void. From Morales I learned that they were practicing more and tougher than ever for the event. Another tournament, one more chance to get a prize as a team at last.
"Figueira's been pulling this long face lately, 'cause he knows he'll have to face Martins", said Galhardo, seriously, "he's his archenemy."
"Afraid of him, Figueira?", inquired Panotti. Figueira looked at him outraged through blodshot eyes.
"I'm not afraid of anybody. I respect Martins a lot, but I've got nothing to fear. Had I been afraid of wrestling, I'd never have started it all."
The tension in his body was evident, rendered me oblivious to everything else. I notice a shadow cast over it all, something that brings me concern I can't define what is nor what it is for.

[6/23/2002 9:37:56 PM..............
Regional Wrestling Tournament, São Bernardo do Campo Sports Center, SP.
São Bernardo do Campo. This is the beginning of the afternoon. The lights at São Bernardo Sports Center started going on slowly. We're sitting on the first row of seats of the sports center, me and all Corporal. I only came today, could not come yesterday, but little by little, blow by blow the kids put me in the picture. And the main picture for them is the score: Cobras 25, Onças 30, Corporal 27, São Bernardo 27. The other teams, already disqualified had long gone back home, what leaves me without the efervescence I imagined for the event. Figueira is sitting at my side, staring into that eternal void, speaks too little, looks you in the eye too little. I accompany him to the sports center's cafeteria for O.J., asked him to not exaggerate with sugar, what he complied with despite himself. He wouldn't say a word. I was going to say something, break the silence, but there was no time for that. A voice behind us did it for me.
"I was looking for you, fighter."
We turned to the voice, almost at the same time. A kid that was a bit taller than Figueira, staring at us. Figueira returned the stare as it was his style.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to her?"
"This is Miss Grisam. This is Martins, from São Paulo", he said in a slow, monotonous voice, despite himself again.
Martins. The famous Martins, finally, someone I had heard talk about so much was now a concrete reality in front of me. He was serious, not allowing himself even a shadow of a smile, as far as I could observe.
"Can I take a seat?" and he looked at me. I pulled a chair for him, even not knowing whether or not I should.
"As far as I'm concerned, the cafeteria is a public place, isn't it?", Figueira shrugged.
He sat with us. Asked whether Figueira had seen the set of bouts for the day.
"They've put us together to fight again today, Figueira. They gave you the list, didn't they?"
"And you had nothing to do with it, did you, Column?"
"You know I didn't", he retorted, "what do you think the system here is? If you do this kind of thing in Santos, just don't come blaming it on me."
Figueira was then silent. Started spinning the glass and gazing at the circular movement of the O.J. inside. I decided not to interfere, see what would become of that dialogue, if anything. It seemed a cordial conversation if a conversation between two rivals like them can really be cordial.
"You know I'm going to kill you, don't you, Figueira?"
"Wha'?", I asked, astonished at what he had just said.
"Stay out of it, Miss Grisam", growled Figueira, "no boasting, Column, win the bout where you have to: on the mat."
Martins smiled, calmly.
"I'm going to kill you, Figueira... You won't get out of here alive; this is your last night on Earth..."
He then looked at me and said, "You're beside a great, great big forceful wrestler, did you know?"
I told him I did.
"This is why it'll be so sweet to kill him. I'll lock his leg and put him in my arms, like a baby to show the referee. Then, I'm gonna crush him till he is as big as a matchbox and give him back to Corporal, where he belongs. It's even easier to take him home in the van. In the glove compartiment. You have a son of a bitch of a style, Figueira. But you're not ready for me", and he held out his hand to Figueira.
Figueira shook his hand firmly, as if he knew the exact meaning of every word the Column said; as if he knew, right from the start why the Column was saying all that to him.

And it happened that two teams were left in the end, when the others had long thrown the towel: the Onças, from São Paulo and Corporal. Onças 40, Corporal 36. The bouts were the toughest many of them had lived to see and tell, but the Corporal kids were in one of their rare days of complete concentration. But what it bolied down to was that the paulistanos were not there to talk about the weather. Even Panotti was overwhelmed by the Column's might, the way he threw the opponents around, with both rage and technique in an ever-increasing level. He never won by higher score, only pinned and pinned. That was exactly what Figueira was about to face, he told me.
"If Figueira wins, this is going to be our first prize as a team. But I don't believe he is going to win, not even by a higher score. Not the Column, Figueira doesn't stand a chance. If any better wrestler had disqualified the Column, we'd have a better chance. But since he's still in the game..." and Panotti shook his head, in disbelief.
Actually the kids of Corporal had already finished their agenda for the day, now that Zangrandi came back from the mat, weary, worn-out, but triumphant, after pinning his opponent from the Onças, waiting for the end. Mr. Costa approached us with Coach Rodrigo. He motioned to Figueira:
"I want to see this blood today, Figueira", he poked Figueira on the chest with his index, with a grave expression, "I want to see you give your blood for the team tonight."
"He is doing his best, Mr. Costa. I have never known him to do anything but his best...", I defended. Figueira stopped me and said he had already gotten the gist of it. His look, lost into a void that got to overwhelm me. He'd only have eyes to face his forceful opponent now. And he knew how worthy the Column was. Great ships have gone aground and sunk, he said. And this might happen again.
And, at the blow of the referee's whistle, the two went at each other as animals, seeking to take the supporting foot of each other off the ground. Corporal was tense; nobody would even blink. The onlookers wouldn't understand why so much fierceness betwen the two wrestlers; they knew it was a fight after all, but there had to be some more cold technique, not what they could see on the mat then. The referee even looked at us, confused, seeking to figure out why it had to be so violent. In a moment, Figueira twisted his own body, trying to throw the Column over his back. He even managed to score, but in a quick and unexpected movement, the Column mounted his back and applied him a headlock. Then, started to ride Figueira, as if he were his horse, dizzy amidst the roar and confusion of the paulistano rooters of Onças and ours. Figueira breathed heavily, suffocating under the forceful opponent's headlock, spinning like crazy around the mat while Morales and Panotti shook their heads.
"Well, it's gone", said Panotti, "now Figueira is going to be turned into peanut butter in the hands of the Column. It's the end and I don't want to watch it anymore."
The two fell down to the mat, Figueira underneath the Column, forming a mount on the mat, under a rain of battle cries from the Onças. The referee and the judge asked people to calm down, while the still mount lied on the mat. The referee knelt down to see what it was and didn't believe what he saw: Figueira's shoulders, still off the mat, the Column desperately fighting to pin him, Figueira holding up under the absurd weight of the opponent with only his backbone alive, a twisted face, just about to explode. The referee was waiting for Figueira to tap the Column on the shoulder or on the mat to finish the bout. Nervous, I couldn't help but telling Mr. Costa, "throw the towel. The kid won't stand the pressure, for heaven's sake!" Panotti, Morales, Mr. Costa, Coach Rodrigo and Galhardo looked at it astonished. Only Zangrandi seemed to imagine Figueira could be that mighty; but even he was tense at what was happening. And what seemed to be impossible turned out to be inevitable: Figueira slowly started lifting the Column, very slowly, making all those people rise to their feet, in suspense. Time stood still all around us, when, still on his knees, Figueira threw the Column to the mat, ignoring his astonished look. Summoning up his last reserve of energy, mouth and nose bleeding, he mounted the Column's back and strangled him with all the might rage would artificially put around his arms, until the eyes of the Column almost jumped out of his face. Impressed, the referee stood still, without knowing what to do. Awed, Coach Rodrigo approached the scene and shot it into a snapshot, freezing the moment forever as if it wasn't in our memory for the eternity. The two raging opponents were now a raging sculpture chiselled with a sledgehammer, trembling with involuntary contractions. And slowly, as he had once risen above the noise and confusion, Figueira fell over his mighty opponent, now that he was even mightier than the Column, to the final blow of the referee's whistle. As if he had only waited for that to allow himself fall. The fight was over. Figueira had won. The referee waited for Figueira to rise again to take them to the center of the mat. He didn't rise. Never more would he rise again. Figueira's last stand. It was over and the wrestler too. Doctors had run to the mat, feeling his pulse, cleansing the blood no more hankies would be able to cleanse. One of the doctors fell down sitting on the pool of blood, a stain that would be on his clothes for good. Corporal, the Onças, the public, the audience clustered around, overwhelmed. I sat beside Zangrandi that started sobbing.
"He died, didn't he, Miss Grisam?"
I embraced Zangrandi, while he sobbed non-stop. My watering eyes, not only for sadness, but for the rage I felt for everything that makes a child a man long before the time. It was a brilliant season after all. And it was over. Corporal had finally gotten its glittering prize.

[6/25/2002 6:00:56 AM..............
Lying on my bed, been looking into the white void of my ceiling part of the day. When I felt I couldn't stand looking into the white void of my ceiling any longer, I sat at the computer e started writing. About what happened yesterday, about Figueira's wake. I decide to open it all. Share it with those who happen to read me. Who knows I wouldn't feel so lost and lonely doing it.

All Corporal was there. No tears, but the sinking feeling nothing would be the same again. The feeling nothing would be. Strange how sad it was to see them like that, triumphant and defeated at the same time. In light of what I saw, maybe not even Figueira had an idea of the price to pay. To lose everything to able to win. Now I have no idea if he cared about it. I just had a vague notion of what his wounded pride could lead him to do. In light of everything I know now and the clock of time I can't set back in time to Sunday, I see how vague and tiny this notion was. Almost military practice for one who perhaps saw it so differently, one who could possibly see through all this. If he could really see it, it's something Figueira took with him when he went away. If he had the final conscience of having pinned the Column and if it still appealed to him on that threshold, it's another thing we'll never know.
The Column was at Figueira's wake too. I saw him, together with his mother at Santa Casa's cafeteria. Saw him point at me, say something to his mother and come my way. He approached me, head first, scarcely looking at me, "can I talk to you for a minute?", I told him it was alright.
"I didn't want to kill him, he beat me, you saw it", he was almost crying. I had him sit down like on Sunday at the cafeteria.
"I know, Martins. I know you went there for a fair game. Figueira spoke so much and so well about you; he admired your wrestling style very much."
He lowered his head, desolated.
"Me too. I told you on Sunday. He wrestled like hell", he spoke, but his focus seemed to be receeding to a distant point, as if there was something he wanted to say that had been a thorn in his side since that bout.
"What's going on?"
The Column looked at me, hesitant.
"Come on, Martins. What's going on?"
"You won't tell anybody I said all that to him, will you?"
Decided not to tell anyone. It'll be a secret among me, Figueira, the Column and all those who happen to read Sunday's post at Book Of Nights And Days. Dropped by Corporal after the funeral, left my farewell letter to the team. Coach Rodrigo was there, looked at me in the same spirit of desolation. I went away without looking back. Maybe one day I can even call them, but I didn't look back when I left.

[6/27/2002 5:42:57 AM..............
Opened my e-mails today and it's full of messages from Africans who want me to help them find a bonafide bank in Brazil for a deposit of 25,000,000 dollars, from which I'd have 25% just for indicating a bank. Another had an attached file. It was from Corporal's Coach Rodrigo, what was no surprise, since they have had my e-mail since they first met me. The subject was no surprise either: Figueira. The file was.
The snapshot of Figueira mounting the Column I saw him take at that very moment on the mat.
Figueira's last stand.
Shivers up and down my spine. The file was enormous, 1105 X 1000. The scene. Figueira's tension upon the Column's back, his usual bloodshot eyes that lent the picture an even fiercer atmosphere, the insane look in his eyes, the look of someone who can finally see through the games he himself plays and the games of the others. I deleted the file. Couldn't stand seeing Figueira in that situation any longer. Can't help but thinking he was mightier dead than the Column would be alive. I don't say that because Figueira is dead. I say it because he's alive somewhere in his very own history of wrestling. He was his own hall of fame, a hidden sanctuary from those who'll never learn about him.

7/1/2002 3:36:06 AM..............
The sound of the howl woke me up again. I walk with difficulty across the dark bedroom, come to the window. Nothing, only the empty and lone street. The bulbs on the lamp posts, casting focuses of light on the street, somebody hardly ever passes by. And there's the howl, that seems to be coming from nowhere. I close the window and go to bed; somehow I still can't get to sleep with that strange howl. In the morning, when I could finally sleep a wink, the telephone. It's unbelievable, but it's Mr. Costa and calls me at this time of the morning to tell me I have become redundant since Corporal is closing down. I ask him how long it has been since he last looked at his desktop. Now, as the moment Figueira had frozen in time and in space, his desktop seemed out of date yet timeless. Frozen forever.

Stella Freitas-Grisam
Santos, Brazil, 2002.