northeastern Brasil, 1945-1954, part seven
sigh! I never would have thought I had so much to appreciate here when I started this sequence. (remember the caveats: 1945-1954 is once upon a time, and these come from the memories of a boy two-and-a-half years old to twelve years old, remembered by a seventy-four-year-old man.) I think we get to finish today with two incidents, one at the blue-grey house, and one before it. they may be funny to you, they may horrify you. be prepared. I think I have told you about the nice neighbor who showed movies every Saturday night, or every Sunday night. so by roughly 1954, I had seen more movies than I knew existed before 1952. Do you remember movies before 1954? everybody smokes. it was weird. in my everyday experience, nobody smoked, nobody drank, nobody drove a car, nobody did any of the things that everyone did in movies. well, a small variation, when I wandered from "straight home" after school, almost every day after school, I saw men smoke, I saw men and women drink, and I saw men and women interact in ways that nobody did in my everyday life. it looked like fun, but I didn't know how to get a girl to do that with me any more than I knew how to get to drive a car. but smoking I might be able to learn. when I did some task at home really, really well, sometimes my mother gave me cinco centavos, if I did a task superbly well, sometimes she gave me dez centavos. neither cinco nor dez centavos amounted to a spendable amount, but they added up. one day they had added up to enough. I snuck off to the little news stand that sold a little of this and a little of that on the side. I bought enough candy to bribe my sister and my brothers not to tell on me. then I asked for two cigarettes, and a box of matches. the man looked troubled. "you know I can't sell these to you if they're for you." I didn't know any such thing, but I nodded seriously. "they're for the servants at my house," I lied. he studied me, shrugged, and sold them to me. I had planned right! I had no money left. I walked home, distributed the candy after exacting promises, then went back into the walled-away back yard. man oh man! I burned through nearly every damned match in that box, and I blew and I blew and I blew through the cigarettes, just like I was sure those people in the movies did, but I could not get either cigarette to light. "here, let me show you," my little sister offered. I suspiciously handed over the cigarettes and matches, but she had no more luck than I did. eventually, almost out of matches, I gave up. years later, in high school, I just about fell over when I watched guys smoke and recognized that they sucked! I hurried over to the drugstore, bought a pack of Camels, and got free matches! sure as hell, inhaling was the trick! I finished my first cigarette, rolled the pack into my T-shirt sleeve, and damn near strutted home. but back to Brasil and roughly twelve years old. I puzzled and puzzled and puzzled over those failed cigarettes, and watched and watched and watched, and never tumbled to inhaling! <shaking my head> maybe it was the magic of the place. maybe twelve-year-olds don't need to smoke, and oughta wait until it's cool. in any case that's how it happened for me. and the other story I meant to tell you today will take at least as long, and probably deserves its own paragraph, so there will be a part eight tomorrow.
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