What he wanted to do was slip the handcuffs on.
I had my first attack at fifteen. At thirty-six I’ve still got problems. Wonder what the next problem will be? I’m a walking problem.
It rains and I cry. I cry and it rains. The sounds of Rio funk raping my eardrums.
Go Serginho.
I imagine being out of this place. I’d throw a huge party at my house. Rimbaud showed up: Where am I in your thoughts?
You’re playing with Baudelaire.
I hate Baudelaire. He acts like an old man. He’s very formal. I want to be with you.
Don’t tell me you’re in love.
I was always distant. When I was a teenager I took the bus by myself from Campos to São João da Barra. I took the wrong bus. Alone. By myself. And so I wound up walking for three hours in the middle of some scrubland. I wasn’t allowed to travel because I’d screw up. One time I went to Rio Grande do Sul and slept outside my friend’s house. I ended up at the police station, accusing my friend of nothing. The police didn’t take me seriously. He’s just another nutcase. His poor parents. Get a load of this story, what a pile of crap! You should walk around a bit. Walk over there and back again.
A banana bar. Who wants a banana bar? A banana bar. Who wants a banana bar? Who wants to buy a banana bar?
The sun was a ball of mango ice cream. It was beach weather. And there was everyone burning like sardines in a frying pan. On drips. Dripping with sweat.
I heard a scream from inside. I ran to see. Fearsome was upside down in a corner of his room. Who killed Fearsome Madman? It was you. He was afraid of you. You’re going to be crucified. Fearsome had had a heart attack. No one saw. But there was a lunatic who kept saying I was guilty. Detectives — A detectives and B detectives — had gone undercover among us to see who killed Fearsome. I was smart and had already figured out that the cops had infiltrated us.
The days went by and the nights were calm. Everyone slept peacefully. Just me and Rimbaud were awake. Had somebody killed Fearsome? There’s a lot of people here. He didn’t get along with anyone. He was off his rocker, as Mum would say.
We’ll arrive in Cabo Frio today. And be in Búzios two hours from now. They killed a boy in Búzios. They’re saying it was your uncle. Your uncle’s a poof, but he doesn’t mess around with kids. He never laid a hand on any of you.
I was at work and heard my mum tell me to go home. I knew that my grandfather was ill. Grandpa died that day.
Mum, what’s death?
Death is a soap opera on Globo, son.
Fearsome went by in a wheelchair. He was so fat, he wouldn’t fit on a stretcher.
How could an oaf like that be the Fearsome Madman?
Only Batman could solve that problem.
The Fearsome Madman, who has pestered the people of this town for fifteen years, died today in the city asylum. Some say he was hanged. Others, that he had a heart attack.
Turn off the TV. It’s on all day long.
Another terrified scream. They stole some evangelical pamphlets and another thousand dollars. I was starting to distrust my own shadow. Could Rimbaud be involved? He didn’t like TV. I’m afraid of Rimbaud. I’m fucking afraid of Rimbaud.
Your uncle’s a faggot (hahahaha …). Watch it, he might take you up the arse.
Don’t say that, it’s just going to make things worse for your uncle. This is a small town.
Must have been someone from outside who screwed the little boy.
My uncle was a joker. He liked to drink coffee. He liked to drink free coffee. He would have lunch in botecos. Those trashy botecos that serve pickled eggs and malt beer. He would eat his food leisurely. Pay for the food. Chat with everyone at the bar. Become friends with the staff. He loved a good joke.
You’ve got something on your face.
Where?
He would point at the man’s face.
Go to the toilet and get yourself cleaned up, young man!
The guy would leave and go to the toilet. Seizing his opportunity, my uncle would drink the guy’s coffee and leave. He did that a lot. One day, the fifth time he pulled the scam, the coffee was too hot. He took too long. The guy came back and beat him up. He gave him such a beating that he never tried that dirty trick again.
My uncle had money but he would do it for the adrenaline rush.
A lot of people do things just for the adrenaline rush.
Rimbaud was walking along the wall.
Get down, you fuckwit. Careful.
I went to my room so I wouldn’t feel my adrenaline rising. Rimbaud soon came looking for me.
I’m alone. That’s how this world is. Where’s Baudelaire? He’s playing snooker.
It’s so sad when your friends are two hallucinations. One that’s with me nearly all the time and the other who just shows up every now and then. Get out Rimbaud, you’re just a hallucination.
The doctors at the clinic treated people like customers.
You’re going to have shocks, but you’ll be sedated.
Dad, I’ll do anything to get better.
Shocks under sedation don’t cause those traditional muscle contractions. It’s more like a nervous tic.
Rimbaud appeared and said that everything was going to be all right.
Night came and it was cold that day. Made you feel like building a bonfire in the asylum. A big bonfire. But the B agents were working on the case of Fearsome Madman’s death.
Why was Fearsome Madman afraid of you?
Who knows. I had to act like I was crazy. And I did it really well when I wanted to. Don’t try to be crazier than you really are.
He must have been afraid of my voice.
There’s nothing wrong with your voice. It’s not even deep.
But apparently it sounds like his dad’s voice.
Insufficient explanation. Did you know Fearsome Madman outside?
That interrogation was fucking rough. I wouldn’t harm a fly. Much less kill one.
Talk to Rimbaud. Talk to Baudelaire.
We’re going to build a bonfire. Tons of lunatics around here. Are you a lunatic?
I went to bed.
The lunatic with a cobra in his hands wasn’t there any more. He’d been released. The room was free. I had a wank while thinking about the hottest nurse. The one that came all in white. Then I heard the bell ring for medicine time. The bell echoed shrilly throughout the asylum. The whole gang started to gather.
It had been days since I’d seen Rimbaud. Baudelaire had disappeared, too. It was better being without them.
I missed my room. My blue dog too. I’d never slept away from home, in a friend’s house.
At my friend’s house I watched Esper on TV8. I ate meatballs. I didn’t have problems eating. I always ate everything. I slept on the floor.
When my cousin would come over, my grandfather used to say:
Let your cousin sleep in your bed.
I won’t.
Your cousin wants you to go work in Brasília.
Only if I get there in a VW Brasília. I have to graduate first.
Then they died in that plane crash.
I didn’t kiss the first girl I loved. I went and kissed another girl to learn how, so that I could kiss the one I loved better. The one I loved saw and gave me the boot.
They bought a karaoke machine and put it in the TV lounge. It was one of those where you sing your heart out while the lunatics dance. The sergeant thought he was Frank Sinatra. He sang that old crooner Altemar Dutra. He was awful. My ears aren’t potties. The city street sweeper sang that sertanejo song ‘Boemia’9. To each his own.