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  • Life in Debt
  • Cuti (Luiz Silva) (bio)

“You’re going to die boy!”

“I didn’t do nothing to you. Just paying for my cigarettes.”

“With the money you stole from me yesterday, you asshole! You think I don’t know?”

“It wasn’t me.”

“So, you’re telling me it was my mother? When I left to check out the fire in Rosane’s house, you were there on the corner, right?”

“I didn’t steal nothing.”

“It’s already the second time that you hit me, boy! I’m gonna get you taken care of, just wait . . . What can I get for you, Maria?” And the store owner turned to wait on a customer.

Paulo Roberto’s hands were shaking as he took his change. One of the bakery employees looked at him and smiled, hiding his teeth. The teenager lowered his eyes and left. He felt a deep chill, in spite of the 90 degree weather. The look of the man behind the cash register had also been deeply sinister. It wasn’t the same Manoel as everyday. Upset, the teenager walked along the corners of the street, trying to find the some bit of shade. But, at noon, there’s hardly any shade at all.

“Sons of bitches! Fuck them! All they do is beg. Or else, they rob. Fuck them! Let them go rob the devil!” With these thoughts, Manoel closed the bakery much earlier than usual, and apologized to those who were lingering around. He had to take care of business.

“Where are you going Paulinho?” asked the young girl.

“When mama gets here, tell her I went to see about a job in the city. I won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“But I’ll be alone again.”

“Leo will get home from school real soon. Just play around here. There’s bread and butter on the table. Look, here’s some gum I bought for you. But don’t go outside, okay? Understand, Telminha? When mama gets home, tell her I left something in the trunk, all right? Don’t forget.”

“But I’ll be alone . . .” whined his little sister, trying with all of her four-year-old strength to convince Paulo Roberto not to abandon her.

“I’ll bring you back a present.”

“You got no money.”

“Do too,” he responded, taking out some bills from his pocket. [End Page 718]

“Not enough.”

“I’ll get some more.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I will . . .” answered the teenager, closing the door to the shack by hooking some wire around a nail. And he left, with his thin fourteen years overwhelmed with fear. He had to leave and never return. But he would send money. Like a man, like those who were always on the road. He was conscious of the danger that surrounded him. Not even a week ago, his friend Demerval was shot and killed. The month before, a neighbor was stabbed to death by her husband. The neighborhood was violent. And in spite of all of his mother’s worries, Paulo Roberto was convinced; he had to get out of there. He was also convinced of his responsibilities when he left. He was the oldest of three children. He liked to feel like he was the man of the house, since his father had taken off when his sister was born. But feeling like a man meant having cash, and that was hard. Yesterday had been profitable, but it had brought trouble, accompanied by this inner coldness. He was going after Bebeto’s group in the Cathedral Square downtown. It was Friday and he could get hold of some sweets to sell over the weekend at the entrances to movies, theater, soccer fields, at stop lights and other places. Where was Father Batista, who protected the street kids, particularly those who wanted to work? He remembered that the priest was very sick. A sudden fear blocked his breathing for a moment. Five in the afternoon. He caught his breath. He tried to smoke, looking for courage. But it triggered the old cough.

Manoel was sweating under the handkerchief. The night seemed to be endless. He had still insisted, “There’s no big...

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