Role Play by Clara Drummond

Author:Clara Drummond
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

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Alberto Barbosa Ribas was the godfather who baptized me. Often enough, when Dad was in some financial trouble, running the risk that he might need to sell a painting, a small retail unit downtown, or, even worse, a house, it was Uncle Alberto who came to his rescue. His job is buying companies that are about to go under, and Uncle Alberto has so many companies that he can always find Dad a spot on the management or the board. My family refers to this with some detachment, like it’s a kind of hobby, like collecting stamps or old maps, vinyl records, shipyards, cold storage, or oil companies. When Dad is touched at the friendship between them, I’m almost sure it’s because a substantial amount of our money exists only because of Uncle Alberto. The trajectories of money are always slightly shady, like in alchemy. What’s left is the matter, the result, the visible, it is the word that is made flesh and lives among us.

Recently, it was a publisher of women’s magazines, who had let a dozen employees go, with their wages delayed and severance they’ll never receive. The elevator operator, who had cancer, was forced to stop his treatment because of the sudden absence of a health-care plan. The story went viral, the internet was moved, some donations came in, and finally they managed to get at least enough money for the radiotherapy. Maria Elisa was so dreadfully concerned that she even made a generous contribution herself, and when she learned of the positive outcome, she was pleased, relieved, and lit a candle, she said everything in life works itself out, thank God.

At sixteen, I went to the birthday party of Vicky’s younger sister, in Búzios. I wasn’t invited, exactly. I was in the city over the holidays, three days with my parents already. That Saturday, Maria Elisa informed me that I’d been invited, which was weird, I didn’t know anyone, only enough to say “Hey, how’s it going?” at the most. It was probably a favor between adults that had little to do with me. They didn’t tell us the timing, or the plans, we assumed it’d be a dinner or something, and when I arrived, at seven, the “late luncheon” had already finished. Only the torta alemã was left for dessert. Later, when the adults had gone to sleep, we went to the TV room to play cards, video games, charades. There were eight of us girls and three boys, Uncle Alberto’s son Albertinho among them. At one point, somebody brought a bottle of vodka from the kitchen and suggested we play Truth or Consequences. After a bit of reluctance, everyone agreed.

In this version of the game, a little different from the traditional version, you could refuse to answer, but as a consequence, you had to take a drink. It seemed Albertinho had some privileged information about my life, ’cause all his questions were real specific. Years before, during my early adolescence, Uncle Alberto had needed

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