Pedro and Marques Take Stock by José Falero

Author:José Falero
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Astra Publishing House

13

PROSPERITY

SUNDAY, MAY 10, 2009

Pedro was walking through Vilinha, that is, through the part of Vila Viçosa that was neither friendly, quiet, nor civilized. He was on his way home from the bakery with some groceries for his mid-afternoon snack, things he wouldn’t have been able to afford earlier that year: fresh bread, ham, cheese, croquettes, pastéis, a slice of savory pie, yogurt. His eyes became lost in the familiar landscape. In a way, it all seemed completely new, like something straight out of an oil painting: the sun setting behind the empty fields, people ambling up and down the dirt roads, workers stepping off a crowded bus, deadbeats chatting in alleyways, children playing in the streets, dogs barking and running around without leashes, the bars, the shacks, everything. His unprecedented financial security had given him a new perspective: it was as though everything were lyrical now, steeped in beauty and poetry. His soul felt unspeakably light, at last free from sadness, silent rage, and self-hatred. For the first time, he felt almost whole. At peace. Content, in a way.

Only, something niggled at him now and then, not so much a real concern as a faint idea that had been popping into his head more and more, with greater and greater urgency: that he ought to save money and invest it so he could keep up his lifestyle without having to sell weed or do anything illegal. But whenever this thought entered Pedro’s mind, it took him less than a second to mount a defense, making it grind to a halt: it wasn’t time yet to rein in the lavish spending that was so enriching his material life, making a once-arid desert flourish. He had years and years of poverty to make up for. He’d bought clothes, shoes and sneakers, earrings and chains, watches, instruments, stacks and stacks of books. He’d bought more stuff than he could keep track of, and it was always top shelf, always high end. His pastimes had also become increasingly refined: he went to the movies, strolled through Porto Alegre’s downtown parks, smoked good cigarettes, good weed, drank good whiskey, ate good food. No: it wasn’t time yet to rein in his spending. He had to tear down his house and build a new one—nice, spacious, safe from rats. He had to replace all the furniture and appliances. And there was also the small matter of a car. He needed a cool, sleek ride—one of those bad-boy mid-life-crisis sedans he’d been aching for all his life. Only after that, and maybe even a bit later, would he stop spending money like crazy and start thinking about the long-term. At least that’s what he told himself.

Pedro’s mother, who hadn’t been in the best health for a while, didn’t have to break her back cleaning houses anymore. She’d retired, a bit on the early side according to the National Labor Relations Act, and a bit on the late side according to common sense. She was finally free to watch her afternoon telenovelas while sipping chimarrão.

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