fazenda; I love our nanny-goats and ewes, and can cuddle timid one-month-old lambs, I have a soft spot for frightened animals, my pastures will be a mixture of rustic flute melodies, flowering grasses and gentle winds rippling through the fields; I have a shepherd’s soul, dear sister, I make sure all the species get along, I’m a master, even when it comes to the most suspect crossbreeds, I know how to multiply Father’s herd; and along with this vast knowledge, I’ll care for all the fowl, our gregarious chickens, the exuberant roosters, the graceful, wobbling teal, the ducks, flat from their beaks to their webbed feet, the puffed-up turkeys, as well as the adventure-seeking, ornery guinea hens, bearing their sickly lump as if it were a crest; I know how to gather eggs from the nests, and how to make certain stray eggs are forever protected under warm brooders, and I never flounder around timid hens laying their chaste eggs into baskets or nests dangerously suspended from the barn beams; I also know how to take care of the watering troughs, maintaining fresh, clear water in the clay containers and keeping them in the shade to prevent contamination, I know all about mangers, too, how to vary the feed with kernels, greens and meal, and with no risk of damaging our vegetables, I’m going to allow free pecking on the fertile land, I can be useful for lots of other things too, making stakes, fixing gates, I’m exacting with the crossbar, I have a carpenter’s precise blood running through my veins, and I love the trees as much as I do the wood, I can identify them all by their smell alone and know how to make the best use of the pea tree, the cedar, the pine, the peroba and the calabash; I am going to take over the maintenance of Father’s tools, increase his set and clean everything meticulously after each use, removing scraps from the hammer claws, the level vial and the saw teeth, I’ll keep them oiled to prevent rusting so they’re always ready, for I’m well aware that no one cuts without a blade, that tools not only forge the way to the finished product, they often forge our willpower to do a good job; I am also planning to be the handyman, I’m going to eliminate any moisture dampening our reserve harvest, replace sagging beams, change latches and bolts, I’m going to whitewash wherever needed and carefully build a new shed, and, of course, make certain it’s proportional and that the roof tiles are carefully laid, with enough space below the overhang for the swallows; I am very versatile, dear sister, I’m good at so many things, I want to be busy, my arms are just waiting, I want to be called upon whenever there is work to be done, I can hardly stand my own energy, I can accomplish any task under the sun that could possibly need doing on this fazenda; and whenever I have free time, I’ll turn the soil in the garden beds with good surplus manure, and sprinkle it with chaff, kernels and siftings, so everything will flourish, the flowers surrounding the house, the birds in our trees, the doves on our rooftops and the fruit in our orchards; and every afternoon after working from sunup to sundown, I’ll come home and wash the blessed sweat from my body, put on sturdy, clean clothes and at dinner time, when everyone is gathered and the home-made bread has been placed on the tablecloth, I’ll share in the sublime sensation of having contributed with my own two hands to provide for the family; contrary to what everyone believes, I know a lot about herds and planting, but I’ve kept all of this fundamental knowledge to myself, which, if put to good use, would serve the family more than it would me, and I’ve put up with everyone’s scorn without ever letting anyone in on the nature of my idleness, but I am so tired, dear sister, I want to be a part of things, to be with everyone, don’t exclude me and don’t let my talents go to waste, it’s everyone’s loss; I can learn even more than I already know, and will always undertake my tasks earnestly, I’m dedicated and thorough in what I do, and I’ll do everything with joy, but I need a reason, I need to be compensated for my work, to be sure I can pacify my hunger in this exotic pasture, I need your love, dear sister, I know I’m not asking too much, what I’m asking of you is fair, it’s my due, my share, the ration I have coming to me,’ and pausing in this outpouring of pleas, I waited, lost in confused dreams, my eyes fixed on her back, and my thoughts fixed in a disturbing rut, but it had all been pointless, Ana remained motionless on her knees, her body so wooden I could not even tell whether or not she was breathing; ‘Ana, listen to me, that’s all I ask …’ I fell back into the same calm manner, I’ve already mentioned I was well aware that I needed to prove my patience, to speak to her with reason (and how unabashedly versatile it was!), to use my good sense to sensitize all the saints, I needed the entire chapel to back me up: ‘Ana, listen to me, I’ve already said it once, but I’ll say it again: I’m so tired, I want to be a part of things, to be with everyone, I, the wayward son, the perpetual convalescent, on whom the suspicion of being an aberrant growth weighs so heavily; I want you to know, dear sister, that I do not rebel by choice, nor do I mean to grimace and scowl all the time, nor to harbour the anger that leaves its harsh traces, nor do I choose to hide myself away, and certainly not to live in this nightmarish state for which I am condemned: I want to change the muddy clay of my mask, dear sister, to eliminate the spark of madness lighting my eyes, to remove their vile shadows from my adolescent face, to wash away for ever this blemish on my forehead, this dreary scar no one sees, but that you all sense; everything is going to change, dear sister, my face will soften, I’ll abandon my isolation, my mute silence, I’m going to get along with all my brothers and sisters, make my life a part of theirs, would that I be ever present at the bright table of our family meals; I’m going to speak lightly, like everyone else, make conversation with neighbouring farmers, for example, about next year’s promising harvest, or mention that we can lend out one of our new breeders, I’ll borrow their important manner and finish up by commenting that recent rains have made the crops flourish; when I’m out on the road and meet up with people, I’ll tip my hat, just like they do, and in town, when I go to buy salt, wire or kerosene, I’ll stop and chat in every store, shake hands, and smile openly at everyone who looks my way; I’ll be upright and good, show concern and consideration, I like to help other people, I’m perfectly capable of being friendly, and when I have friends, I won’t let them down, I’m going to stop distilling poison at the onset of my loving impulses; and one of these nights after dinner, when shadows have fallen all over the gardens surrounding our house, and quiet darkness has taken over the veranda, when Father, with his grave manner, has become lost in his thoughts, I’m going to approach him, pull up a chair and sit down right next to him, then I’ll amaze him even more when I start up very naturally the distant conversation we never had; and as soon as I say, “Father,” and before I go on, calmly and firmly, I’ll sense the barely contained joy in his face shining through the light in his damp eyes, and the thrill of his ideas eagerly falling into place so that he can announce that the son for whom the family has feared is no longer cause for anxiety, that there is no further need to worry over him, and, because the son has spoken, there is no longer any reason to be afraid of him; and after he has listened to everything I have to say as I unravel the concerns of the whole family through our conversation, I can already tell you what our coming together will be like: first he’ll take my shoulders in his hands, and have me stand up, as he himself has already done, then he’ll take my head between his palms, and look me firmly in the face to rediscover in my features those of his youth, and before I ask for his long-awaited blessing, looking downward, I will feel his rough lips on my forehead as he kisses me austerely right where my scar used to be; and that’s how it will be, plus all the other wonderful things that will happen afterwards; help me to lose myself in the family’s love with your love, dear sister, I can’t take one step forward in this darkness, I want to escape this endless night, to be free of this torment, we’re always hearing that the sun rises for everyone, so I want my portion of light, my share of this warmth, that’s all I need, and as soon as I get it, I’ll give you my lucid soul, my illuminated body and my eyes, glowing at last; just to think of it, Ana, my cup runneth over, I can already feel my muscles strengthening once again, I’m bursting with joy, I could even lift up the world with one arm; and some day of rest, after lunch on a Sunday, when the wine has begun filling our heads with warm words and the sun is dropping from the sky, you and I will go outside to enjoy an exuberant walk; we will cut through the woods and down the cypress-bordered road and as we near the chapel, we’ll leave the lament of the beefwoods behind to answer the calls of the coconut palms urging us out into the open pastures, insisting we lay down on the soft belly of the fields; and only when, beneath that ancient sky, we’ve dyed our teeth in the blood of the mulberries picked along the way, will we surrender completely to the vast, circumspect silence, inhabited at that time of day by mysterious insects, by birds flying high above and by the distant ringing of cow-bells; give me your hand, dear sister, so much awaits us, just reach out to me, that’s all I ask of you, everything rides on this one act of yours, my outlook, my behaviour, and my virtues: kindness and generosity will be the first, and they’ll always be with me, I promise you this sincerely with all of my heart and I’ll keep this promise with no effort whatsoever, but everything, everything, Ana, begins with your love, it is the nucleus, the seed, your love for me is the beginning of the world,’ I kept talking insistently, obsessively, making myself believable, although exhausted from my own carrying on, I was disturbed to my very bones! ‘You must understand, Ana, that Mother gave birth to more than just children when she filled the house, we were soaked in the most sublime syrups from our orchards, rolled in the transparent honey of the honey bees and along with the many aromas rubbed into our skins, we were made dizzy with the delicate blossom-water from the orange trees; can we be blamed for this plant called childhood, its seduction, its vigour and earnestness? Can we be blamed if we were sorely hit by the fatal virus of excessive caresses? Can we be blamed for the many tender leaves that hid the morbid stem of these boughs? Can we be blamed if we were the ones to be caught in the netting of this trap? Our fingers, kneecaps, our hands and feet, even our elbows are entangled in this birdlime mesh, you must understand that not only our fingernails and feathers, but our entire bodies would be mutilated if we were to separate; so, help me, dear sister, help me so that I can help you, the same help I can offer you, you can bring to me, understand that when I speak about me, it is the same thing as speaking only about you, understand that our two bodies have forever been inhabited by the same soul; give me your hand, Ana, answer me, say just one word, anything, at least show me a sign in your silence, a slight nod of your head is enough, or a hint with the tips of your shoulders, a gentle motion of your hair, or the soles of your feet, the smallest promise of movement in your arches,’ I begged, but Ana didn’t hear me, the uselessness of everything I was saying was clear, and it was also clear I was using up all my resources for a dubious reason: to keep my soul light, available, how threatening, how dangerous! I advanced three steps forward and stood barefoot before her, leaning against the oratory, my face in the shadows, hers illuminated by candlelight; standing there in the dark, my eyes were very bright and almost clashed with hers looking up at me, but it was unbelievable: Ana was so strong-willed, she didn’t even see me; kneeling there, she worked away at her rosary zealously, only fervour, water and grime coated her cheeks, washed her flesh, cleansed her leprosy, what a purifying bath! ‘Take pity on me, Ana, take pity on me before it’s too late,’ then, with a more profane approach, I mumbled on, ‘but try to understand what I mean when I speak to you like this: I’m not attempting to earn your devotion with my pleas, i