Meat

It was 6:20 p.m. when Alba and Mané left the office.

“My boss was horrible today. I’m exhausted,” she said.

“And I’m hungry. Do you want to have dinner with me later on?” he asked.

“Call me,” she replied. She flagged a taxi that she discovered amidst the crazy movement of all the traffic. When she got in, her skirt rose and exposed part of her thighs, which were pinkish and soft-looking. Mané stared and thought about strawberries. Then he went to get his own car. He would go home and call her a little later.

The parking lot was immense and covered, but there were wet spots everywhere. A moldy smell and some puddles gave the place an air of being abandoned and neglected. Mané’s red Monza was between two other cars—a Belina and a Veraneio. There were two men in the Veraneio who seemed to be ready to leave. Mané waited but, unexpectedly

CLACKKK TROANNNKKK

the two men got out of the car and grabbed him. One of them had a face that was horribly deformed by burns, the other seemed to have escaped from some horror film because of his huge hands . . .

SOCKKK BOOM

. . . blows of flesh and blood that hit Mané in the stomach and mouth

SOCK BOOOOM POW while powerful tentacles held him SOCK PROCK immobilizing him. He tried to break free, hitting one of them POW right in the eye SOCK which started to bleed BROAM but the guys were mean and strong.

“Listen up, Mr. Clown . . . “

shit, I lost a tooth, sweet blood, my tooth, oooh . . .

“Listen, clown. Ulysses said you have until midnight to get the money.”

that face, horror film, midnight show, bleeding gums, Frankenstein, yeah: Frankenstein . . .

“Did you hear me . . . boy?”

Mané’s head swayed, nodding with difficulty. The men got in the Veraneio and left. He pulled himself together and started the Monza. In spite of his bloody gums, he wasn’t too badly beaten. The money, the money, he thought as he was driving. Ulysses is a killer. To send two guys like that . . . Damn loan shark. The world turns in terms of money. His head began to hurt. Was it because he got trashed or because he was hungry?

He stopped his car at a diner. Lately, he had been really, really, strangely hungry: a desire to smash something, destroy it. Lately, he had acquired an uncontrollable taste for meat: grilled tenderloin, filets layered with bacon and onion, pieces of beef with some nice farofa on the side. He wolfed down four snacks. He had to get the money together. He thought about Alba, but gave up on that idea. Besides her, there was only one person who could help him in such a terrible situation.

DING DONG DING DONG

what’s she going to say when she sees me like this?

DING

First Jâmila looked frightened, then she had a disapproving look on her face when she opened the door.

“Come in.”

The room was simple and comfortable. Some speakers filled it with the beat of some afro-music. There was the sweet smell of incense in the air.

“What happened this time?”

“Ulysses sent some guys . . . I owe him a little money . . . ”

On the wall, two African statuettes seemed to be alive. There was a stack of books on a shelf with pictures of the Ivory Coast.

“Go clean yourself up,” she said. Mané went to the bathroom in the small apartment. A few minutes later, he returned and saw several articles clipped from newspapers and magazines on the coffee table. Jâmila must have been working on that. He began to check it out while she prepared some coffee. “Cop Accused of Racism Might Be Identified Today” said one of the headlines. That interested him. He read on: “Jorge Franklin de Jesus will appear at the police station today to identify the police officers who arrested him . . . one of the officers said that a black guy in a new car is suspicious and that if he ran, he would be shot . . .” He glanced...