BRAZIL - BOOK IN PROGRESS

BOOK IN PROGRESS

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Below are the first few chapters of a book I am in the process of writing. I would be very happy to receive any comments or suggestions from anyone visiting my blog who has taken the time to read what I have written. Thank you

BRAZIL

CHAPTER ONE

When one of our forebears stood up and took their first step, they changed history. When Christabel Columbus stepped ashore in the Americas, he changed history.  When Neal Armstrong stepped onto the moon, he changed history and when I stepped onto the broken sidewalk in a small Brazilian town, I changed history! That step had hardly even registered in my consciousness, but looking back it should have!   After all that seemingly insignificant act was in fact the first step on a journey which would eventually result in my murder! 

I could begin this story by telling the reader something about my childhood and how growing on a farm  influenced the way I lived my life, or I could begin it by describing my early years as an adult, or I could begin it …….. But I have decided not do any of these things as once you are dead, time sequences are of no importance. So I have decided to start my story in the following way, for no other reason than it took me some time to craft chapter two’s opening paragraph and I like the result!

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CHAPTER TWO

After hours of travelling down the highway with its crumbling infrastructure and excess of over laden trucks, we finally arrived at our destination.  As I opened the car door, the cool air our air conditioning had generated, pushed past me in order to do battle against the salutary night.

I got out of the car and stepped on to the broken sidewalk. That step had hardly even registered in my consciousness, but looking back it should have!  

By the time I had walked across the street and stopped in front of the locked gates protecting the house in front of us, sweet was causing my shirt to my cling to my back.

With two loud claps of her hands, and an; “anybody home”, my fiancée, called her older sister.

After a few moments a woman appeared at the open front door.  At first it seemed she did not recognize her own sister, but then a timid smile lit up her face. Our unannounced arrival had obviously surprised Sandra. It had not been our intension to surprise her, it was just that an opportunity to travel to Marie’s home town to meet her family for the first time, had presented itself at short notice.

As Sandra walked down the short drive to meet us, I had time to observe her. She was around the same height as Marie, 1.6 meters tall, looked older than her 31 years and was just slightly overweight. She wore a light blue cotton dress, which in the absence of wind, on this stuffy evening, hung on her body like a limp sail. But it was her eyes that called the most attention to her. They were forlorn!

As Brazilians usually make a lot of noise and use exaggerated gestures when they meet one another, I was a little taken aback by Sandra’s subdued greeting.

Taking Sandra’s out stretched hand, I noticed it was slightly wet, obviously having been dried in a hurry. Then the smell of babies’ feces attacked my nostrils.  My first thought was for the unattended baby who must be alone inside and the second, if any of the babies’ poo had been transferred onto my hand!

Once the introductions were over Sandra gestured for us to follow her.

As we climbed the drive, few words were exchanged between the two sisters even though they had not seen each other in months.

Just before reaching the open door, Sandra quickened her pace and then broke into a run. She had obviously just remembered her son was alone inside. Marie and I followed, entering the house of our own accord.

The house was constructed of brick and plaster and had a tiled floor. In an attempt to direct even the slightest movement of air outside, inside, all the doors and windows were wide open, though the security bars and insect nets limited somewhat the possibility of this transfer. As in any house in any country which is the home to young children, the internal paintwork had seen better days. Though things were relatively tidy, there were toys, and parts of toys, scattered everywhere. The thing however that struck me the most about this house was the atmosphere. “This was a sad home!”

We found Sandra in the kitchen where she had her back to us as she was in the process of scooping up her fourteen month old son from his playpen. As she lifted him out, the last of his sobs subsided and when he saw us, a large smile broke out on his face. Then with outstretched arms he indicated he wanted me to hold him.

With a few last soothing words, Sandra handed Leonardo over. As he put his arms around my neck I smelt a recently bathed baby who had been sprinkled with an excess of talcum powder and thought; “I was safe for the time being!”

Marie tried to take Leonardo but he was not interested in her. As she tried to pull him away from me, he tightened his grip around my neck and threated to start crying again, so she gave up.

As if somehow it was natural to leave a child alone with someone you had just met, Marie and Sandra made their way to the living room. Marie indicated too me I should stay in the kitchen to entertain Leonardo and also I made coffee for everyone.

While I busied myself making coffee, I could hear the low voices of the two sisters in the living room.  When I passed in front of the open door I could see them sitting together on the sofa at the far end of the room, but as the only illumination was coming from a small table lamp, in the subdued lighting it was hard see much detail.

When the coffee was ready, I placed the mugs on a tray along with an opened packet of biscuits I had found in a cupboard. I then made my way to the living room door where I stopped. I had decided not to enter as it was obvious that a lot of heart wrenching was taking place in the gloom within. I did not want to be the one to destroy the moment of intimacy between the two sisters.

After a few moments Marie noticed me. In the half-darkness I saw her slowly rise and after giving her sister’s arm an affectionate brash, came towards me to collect my offering. As she took the try, she smiled and rolled her eyes indicating she would rather be anywhere else than listening to her sisters’ problems.

Sitting alone in the kitchen, I was just finishing the last of my coffee, when I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye. It was Sandra’s other son, Luiz. Deciding that I wasn’t a threat, he emerged from the darkness of the corridor and boldly stood before me.

“I want a biscuit,” he demanded with all the determination of a four year old who was obviously accustomed to giving orders!

It took me some time to find the type of biscuit Luiz liked. Each time I produced a packet from the cupboard above the sink, he shook his head in disapproval. Eventually I found a packet of chocolate biscuits hidden at the very back of the cupboard. Of course this type met his approval. (I suspected he already knew they were hidden there as he was just taking advantage of my goodwill and height)!

As I was opening the packet, Luiz tapped me on the leg and said; “Two!”

I gave him one, but as I was putting the packet away he repeated his demand: “Two”! This time to reinforce his point he hit my leg with his clenched fist.

“If this was my child,” I thought “at this point I would be clipping him around the ears.” 

As however I did not want to make a scene, I gave him one more biscuit.  He took it, and then to my surprise, immediately walked over to his brothers’ playpen. He put an arm through the bars and gently shook his brother awake.  Leonardo woke and smiled when he saw his older brother and the biscuit offering.  The result being that I soon had two children with faces covered in chocolate and me hunting for a cloth to clean the mess.

After I had cleaned the dirty faces, Luiz tried to climb over the rail to get in his bothers play pen. Seeing he was with difficulty, I gave him a helping hand.

Leonardo seemed very happy with the arrival of his older brother and began to offer him all sorts of toys to show his appreciation for the visit.

Marie reappeared briefly in the doorway with the tray. I took it from her and received a simulated kiss in return.

I was just finishing drying the last of the dishes when I heard a noise behind me. As I swung around I was in time to see that Luiz, now out of the playpen, reaching up to turn on the main light in the living room.

At the same instant the living room filled with bright light, Luiz let out a shout of "Tia"(aunty) and rushed towards Marie as fast as his little legs could carry him! He flung himself into Marie's arms and smothered her face with chocolate flavored kisses.

Seeing that there was more interesting things happening elsewhere Leonardo indicated he too wanted to escape the confines of the playpen. The moment I had him in my arms he began pointing in the direction of the living room. I thought this was a great idea as by the smell of things the chocolate biscuit he had just devoured appeared to have fast tracked its way through his digestive system.

In the living room Leonardo indicated he also wanted to go to Marie. Upon receiving him she screwed up her noise and immediately made her way to the boys’ bedroom to change his nappy.

I felt a little awkward being left alone with Sandra and Luiz especially since Sandra’s eyes were still red from crying. She began to ask me some benign questions about my work and family, but thankfully Luiz interrupted our conversation by insisting I play with him. He produced some toy cars and indicated I should follow him on his make believe road.

Marie was soon back with a changed baby, who subsequently decided that playing with toys was more interesting than receiving hugs from his aunt.

Marie had just suggested that it might be wise for us to go, as she did not want to arrive too late at her parents’ house, when the noise of a heavily laden truck slowly grinding its way up the hill, could be heard.

Luiz let out a scream of delight. “Daddy, Daddy,” he shouted and bolted for the open front door! Sandra picked up Leonardo, who was trying his hardest to crawl after his older brother, and rushed after Luiz. Marie picked up her handbag and indicated to me that it was time we were on our way.  

When we reached the gate, Sandra was still struggling to unlock the padlock, an almost impossible task with one hand, while holding a baby in the other. I took the key and managed to unlock the gate just as a large truck turned into the street. With a shushing of air brakes it ground to a halt a few meters from our car. Through the windshield I could see the irritation of the driver as he realized that our car was in his parking place and without its removal he could not pull his heavy vehicle completely off the street. 

We said quick goodbyes to Sandra and holding Luiz’s hand, we crossed the street. I saw the driver smile, but I suspect it was not because he was happy to see his sister-in-law, but because the owner of the car had been identified.

The truck driver opened the door and in an instant Luiz was climbing up into the cab to sit on his father’s lap.

Over the roar of the motor, Marie hurriedly greeted her brother-in-law and introduced me. As I reached up to take the drivers’ outstretched hand he averted his eyes. I knew instantly that this was someone I did not like. I never imagined that I would be responsible for his death!

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CHAPTER THREE

After we had driven off, Marie sat in silence for some of moments, then with a shrug she said, “My sister is a very complicated person. Since Leonardo was born she has suffered from post-natal depression. She refuses to seek help or take medicine. It is very frustrating!  It must be hard on Gustavo and the children!”

As we left the last of the town behind and moved into the country, Marie’s humor improved. She began to point out various things of interest which had played a role in her life before moving to the city to study at university.

Not long after the lights of the town had disappeared behind a low range of hills, Marie said; “You will need to slow down a little as we need to turn off around the next bend.”

If Marie had not indicated the road I would never have found it, as like many intersections in Brazil, it lacked a sign posts!

When we left the ashfelt I needed to change down into second gear as road was in fact little more than a rutted farm track. As we slowly wound our way around a hill planted in eucalyptus trees, flashes of lighting, which until then had been intermit, began to light up the sky much more frequently. I could see Marie was becoming nervous.

“Can’t you go any faster,” she asked? “If we get caught in the open when it begins to rain we may have serious problems!”

“I am going as fast as possible,” I responded a little irritated! “With the road in this state it would be very easy to damage the car!”

Finally the road reached the crest of a hill which opened out onto a plateau planted in hectares and hectares of corn.

Soon Marie indicated another track that led directly into a corn field. As we began to follow this new trail, a breeze heralding approaching rain sprung up. The swaying corn propelled millions of moths and other insects into the air.  They were briefly illuminated by our headlights in the darkness that occasionally existed, between the now almost back to back flashes of lighting.

At almost the same time as Marie’s parents’ house came into view, a large rain drop rain plopped out of the sky and hit the windshield. Not long after another followed its collegue.

We pulled up in front of the house, grabbed of bags and make a dash for the veranda, just as all hell broke loose.  The thunder and lightning were now one and the wind picked up to gale force. A sound like an express train could be heard approaching. When it arrived it proved to be torrential rain being driven sideward by the wind.

It was difficult to hear what Marie’s parents said to me as we were introduced as it was difficult to hear anything over the racket going on outside the veranda. But from the gestures I understood my future mother-in-law, Laura, was telling me I was to feel at home.

With the rain, the temperature dropped rapidly making the veranda the most refreshing place to be at that particular moment.   I was soon to learn that a great deal of living is done on verandas in this part of Brazil. They are designed to catch breezes from as many directions as possible, and usually have a large low window, opening into the living room, so that anyone sitting on the veranda can watch television inside with ease. The veranda is also where most entertaining is done. Only on very rear occasions are guests invited into the inner sanctums of homes.

Marie’s parents were typical examples of the hardy Italian immigrant stock that had populated the region. They were both shorter than Marie and weather beaten from years spent under the burning sun. Their Portuguese was intermingled with Italian, so sometimes the conversation was a little difficult to follow. 

As quickly as they had arrived, the rain and wind left. For a few moments the only sounds were heavy drips falling out of trees and the gurgling of a brook somewhere in the darkness. Then a frog began to croak. Within seconds it was followed by thousands more. For a few minutes, the noise was deafening, until they eventually sorted themselves out, croaking in sequence.

Marie’s mother excused herself and disappeared inside. Soon she could be heard moving around opening windows. The rest of us stayed on the veranda soaking up the refusing breeze that had now sprung up.

Not long after Marie’s mother advised that supper was ready. As we moved into the house the breeze was chasing the last of the muggy air out.

I had expected that supper would have been a cup of coffee and a biscuit. I was wrong! The table was laden with various types of home baked bread, cheeses, cakes, biscuits, dried meat and jam. This was Brazil after all, where the offering of an abundance of food is a sign of respect and welcome to your guests.

It was late by the time we had finished eating, and the dishes had been washed. I was glad when I was shown to my room. Just before nodding off I reflected over the events of the day. It had been a long one!

Somewhere in a hazy dream a rooster crowed. When it repeated its performance a few minutes later I was confused but as slowly returned to consciousness I remembered staying on a farm.

As I lay in bed trying to return to sleep, I came to the conclusion that I would not be able to do so until I had been to the bathroom. And there lay the problem! The house was wooden so I knew that no matter how quiet I tried to be, the floor boards would creak. The other thing was that as I was staying in a traditional Brazilian farm house, where the bathroom was always located outside at one end of the veranda.  The location of bathroom meant that, after working all day in the fields, one came home and entered the bathroom in your dirty work clothes, had a shower, and then entered the house with a towel wrapped around one in order to change inside.  Under this system, dirt and dirty clothes never entered in the living quarters.

Not being able to put off any longer my desire to use the bathroom any longer, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and gently placed my feet on the wooden floor. To my relief there was no noise. Filled with confidence, I stood up. Again no noise! As I took my first step however the releasing of the pressure point under my foot, caused a counter reaction in the floorboard further down its length. It let out a loud squeak! My second step resulted in the same thing as did all the following paces I took. It was obvious that I was not going to make it outside in silence, so decided it was better to walk slowly and rhythmically, rather than in a rush and thus make even more noise than I was already making.

When I reached the front door I stopped for a moment. From the faint snoring I could hear coming from the bedrooms I was fairly certain I had not woken anyone.

The next challenge was to open the front door! Until that moment I had not realized just how much noise a key makes when turning a lock. After I had unlocked the door I turned the handle and gave the door a gentle pull.  Nothing happened! I pulled harder but still nothing! Then giving the door a good yank, where upon it swung open with a loud bang. I froze! But as the rhythmic snoring continued it appeared I was  in the clear. I went outside closing the door as quietly as possible behind me.

After I had made my way to the end of the veranda and turned on the bathroom light, I remembered the instructions Marie had given me the night before. I was to make sure there were no frogs swimming around in the vase, (I discovered later a frequent occurrence) and to check for snakes in the shower tray!

As dawn was just breaking when I left the bathroom, I decided to sit in one of the wicker chairs on the veranda for a few moments to appreciate it.

The veranda looked over a well-trimmed lawn, which ran into a beautiful flower garden. A series of low bushes behind the garden camouflaged the narrow road we had traveled down the previous evening.  At the open end of the veranda there was a large hibiscus bush in full flower.

I was just about to get up from my seat when something whizzed past my head. Thinking it might be a large tropical beetle on its way home, I swung my arms around in the air to try and flick it away. In mid flick I stopped and then laughed in delight. It was not a beetle but a humming bird. Soon five of its colleagues appeared. Apparently I was sitting in their flight path on their way to refuel at the hibiscus bush. 

Fascinated I stood up and walked to the end of the veranda to watch the humming birds early morning antics. With little chirps of delight, they would stick their long beaks into the flowers to suck up nectar. After a few seconds they would zip off to the next flower. They did not seem to be in the least worried with my presence.

From where I was now standing I had a view further down the road and was surprised when I saw a boy of about nine dressed in a school uniform coming up towards me. This boy obviously needed to be on the road early in order not to miss his first class at 7:15 a.m. (Brazilian schools run in three shifts; morning, noon and night).

In the half-light it was difficult to see what the boy was doing. He seemed to run a little, stop, bend down then start this ritual over again. As he got closer I realized following in his steps, was a little puppy. The puppy was taking great delight in catching and retrieving the stick the boy was throwing. 

As they drew level I complemented him and asked him how old was his puppy?

 He responded with a cheery “Bom dia” (good morning) and said, “five months”.

As his puppy had already run off in front and not wanting to delay the boy, I wished him a great day.

“The same to you sir,” he responded politely as he passed by.

I watched the boy and his puppy until they disappeared around a curve in the road. They both seemed so happy!

As it was still early, I decided to make my way back to bed. I must have been getting the knack of walking lightly, as the floor boards did not seem to make nearly as much noise on my return journey.

As soon my head touched the pillow, I was fast asleep.

I was awoken some time later by the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee and bacon and eggs wafting under my door.  This meant it impossible to stay in bed.

I arrived in the kitchen just as everyone was sitting down to breakfast. It was obvious that the farm was not a place to lose weight. The table was laden once again.

The principal topic of conversation was the tasks to be undertaken during the day. My future father-in-law asked me if I knew how to ride a horse. He seemed very satisfied with his daughter’s choice of boyfriend, when I said I did.

With the day’s activities decided upon the conversation turned to other topics.  I mentioned the young school boy I had seen earlier in the morning. My future parents-in-law were a little confused as they said that the only children who lived further down the road were too girls and that they went to school in the afternoon. They speculated however that perhaps the boy may have been the grandson of one of the neighbors. He was nine years old and often stayed with his grandparents in the school holidays. Perhaps he was staying with them now while his parents were travelling.

After breakfast I was issued with a pair of gumboots and cloves. My future father-in-law, Bernardo, was obviously going to be testing me to see if I was made of the “Right Stuff”!

The first part of the morning was spent feeding animals. Even though there was a lot of grass available, Bernardo had me cutting large bundles of sugar cane to be feed to the cows as supplement. The dogs were then fed and released and then it was the turn of the chickens. I then helped Bernardo saddle up the horses. If I had thought our work for the morning was now done I was sorely mistaken! Once I was mounted, Bernardo loaded me up with fencing equipment. As soon as he was also mounted and loaded we set off down the hill towards the back of the farm where a fence was awaiting repair.

The more I was able to prove to Bernardo that I was not afraid of hard work the more he seemed to open up. As I dug yet another post hole in the rocky soil he told me about the local surroundings and its history. From where we were working he was able to point out the house where he was born and had grown up. As it was traditional for Italian parents to give their sons a piece of land when they got married, (he had five brothers) he explained the home farm had become progressively uneconomic. As his bothers parcels had drifted off to the city to find work, Bernardo had bought up their plots, and today was the only one still living off the land.

At around eleven o’clock we collected up our tools and began the long climb back up the hill. By the time we arrived home and had taken a shower, the temperature had climbed above 36°C.

If I had been expecting lunch to have been a light meal, I would have been   disappointed. Upon entering the dining room I saw the table was groaning under the weight of food once more. There was a large roast chicken, baked potatoes, rice, spaghetti, salad as well as bread and cheese. I spent the meal calculating how many calories I had burnt during my morning’s efforts, but decided that it was not sufficient to compensate for the caloric intake of my first 12 hours on the farm.  The situation was not helped by Marie’s mother insisting I had third helpings of everything!

After the dishes were done everyone retried for a siesta.  With the thermometer reading 42°C outside there was not really any other option.

At around three in the afternoon I woke to movement in the kitchen. I decided to get up and try and find somewhere cooler as the temperature inside was also beginning to rise.

In the kitchen Laura was preparing Chimarrâo, a tea made from the leaves of the Eva-Mate tree.  The finely cut leaves are put in a wooden vessel, similar to a very large cup, into which is placed metal straw with a filter. Hot water is then poured over the leaves and then the tea is sucked up through the straw. The taste is similar to that one would expect if you tried to make tea from hay.

Laura suggested I go out on the veranda where it was cooler. I took her advice. There I found Bernardo and Marie comfortably installed in the wicker chairs talking. Laura soon joined us with the Chimarrâo and a jug of hot water. As the Chimarrâo was passed around, each taking in turn to drink from the same straw, the conversation was about the state of the corn crop, the price of beef, the neighbors, and the weather. Every ten minutes or so, Bernardo got up and walked to the end of the veranda to survey the cloudless sky. Only after a small cloud had appeared over the southern horizon did he seem to relax. “The rain will arrive a little earlier today,” he said seemingly satisfied with his prediction.

On my second visit to the end of the veranda I was able to confirm the small cloud I had seen twenty minutes previously, was already growing into a bellowing thunder storm.

Sometime later Laura disappeared inside and returned with a large shirt box.

“Mum,” Marie protested! “George doesn’t need to see those!”

When Laura opened the box, I saw it was full of family photos. They were heaped together in no particular chronological order. Marie and her parents pulled their chairs closer and, began to extract photos from the pile, reminiscing over each one in turn. Of course there was the odd photo of Marie taken when she was around three years old; “naked” designed to embarrass her at some future date. Near the bottom of the box was a photo of the boy I had seen that morning. It was a professional photo taken at his school. The child was sitting upright at a desk with his arms in a folded position.

“That’s the school boy I said hello to this morning,” I said triumphantly, as if I had single handily resolved a mystery!

There was a shocked silence!

“That’s impossible,” Laura exclaimed with tears welling up in her eyes! “This is a photo of our son, Helton. It was taken the day before he died, thirty years ago!”

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CHAPTER FOUR

Helton was a quiet and reserved boy. He seldom expressed the emotion of anger and was always willing to help in any way he could. At school he was the teacher’s pet and away from school he was adored by everyone. He seemed to personify “good” even though no one could say exactly why. People just felt he was a special child!

Like most rural children growing up on a farm, he had a series of chores to perform. Before going to school he had to feed the farm dogs and cats, collect the eggs that had been laid during the night.

Helton had a special way with animals. He talked to them as if they were his friends and they seemed to respond. It was not uncommon to see him walking across the yard like some young Saint Francisco of Assisi, being followed by dogs, cats and chickens. All competing for his attention!

As soon as Helton arrived home from school, he would eat lunch and then rush off to saddle his horse.  “Pilgrim”, had been a seventh birthday present from Helton’s grandfather. His grandfather had taught Helton how to ride and he had  soon become an expert horseman.

The family farm, like most in the region, was relatively small and irregularly shaped. The house and home paddock were situated on a small plateau, while the rest of the farm cascaded down a hillside towards a small river which marked the back boundary. The property contained several streams and it was because of these streams and traditional Brazilian water access rites, that the farm had seven neighbors.  When the breakup of a huge colonial farm had occurred seventy years previously, year round access to drinking water was guaranteed to all new title holders. Despite crooked fences there were surprisingly few boundary disputes.

One of Helton’s favorite pass times was to ride the boundary fences looking for broken wires or any other problems that needed to be resolved.

By the age of nine he was able to resolve most problems himself and so it was not unusual for Helton to be spend hours alone working on some project in some forgotten recess of the farm.

If Helton had one fault it was his relationship to time. He would become so engrossed in what he was doing that he frequently forgot to return home for such mundane things as meals.  Often he would only stop work because it was too dark to see anymore.

His lateness trait worried Helton’s parents, but he always returned home so full of enthusiasm with what had been doing, that they found it impossible to stay angry with him for long.

One hot afternoon the water pump broke. Without the pump the farm troughs would soon run dry so Helton’s parents decided to take it into town for immediate repairs.  Helton elected not to go with them as he wanted to check the cattle he had moved into the river paddock the day before.

Helton’s parents bundled his two younger sisters into the family car and headed off up the dirt road.

Looking in the rear view mirror of the car, not for the first time Bernardo wished he had a camera to record the moment.   As he watched his son turn and ride off in the opposite direction, Bernardo heart inflated with pride. “Helton was a handsome figure on his beautiful stead. His son was growing into a noble man,” his father thought!

The repair to the pump was straight forward, and within a couple of hours Helton’s parents and sisters were on their way home. When the farm house came into view they saw Pilgrim standing on the front lawn. This surprised them as they had not expected Helton to have returned home before them!

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CHAPTER FIVE

Helton briefly turned around in the saddle and watched his parents heading off to town to fix the broken water pump. Just before the car disappeared around the corner, he urged Pilgrim forward.

They took the track that boarded the forest as Helton loved to stop occasionally to try to spot the rarer types of birds such as Tucano’s, woodpeckers and parrots that inhabited that part of the farm.

As Helton was in no hurry he took his time. At one point he had to dismount and led Pilgrim around a large branch that had fallen across the track. He made a metal note to return the next day with an axe to clear it away.

When he eventually reached the valley floor the track petered out into grassy river flats. This was the part of the farm Helton liked the best, as it was here that he allowed Pilgrim to break free.

The moment they hit the grass Pilgrim took off. Within seconds she was running at a full gallop. Helton clung to the saddle and allowed Pilgrim full reign. From past experience he knew she would only slow down at the far boundary fence.   Anyone observing would have seen man and beast racing across the field in perfect unionism.

........   And then it happened!

Helton saw the snake sunning itself on a rock at the same time as Pilgrim. In an attempt to avoid the snakes lunge, Pilgrim suddenly changed direction in mid stride causing Helton to lose his balance. To his surprise he found himself momently flying through the air and then with a bone splintering crunch, he hit the ground. For an instant pain consumed his whole body and then he lost consciousness.

When he woke up, Pilgrim was nowhere to be seen. He got up and pattered down his body. To his surprise he felt no pain and nothing appeared to be broken. He just felt a little light headed and there was a ringing in his ears. Seeing a tree a short distance away he decided to make his way to it in order to rest a little in the shadow it cast.

After a while the ringing in his ears stopped and he began to contemplate the long walk back up the hill he must now undertake since Pilgrim appeared to have abandoned him.

He was just about to stand up when he heard a flutter of wings. To his delight a parrot had decided that its next way station was the tree he was sitting under. Helton sat motionless. I was apparent the parrot had still not noticed him. As he admired its beautiful feathers, for some unexplained reason the parrot dropped out of the tree and landed at his feet, where it began to feed on a clump of seedy grass. Ever so slowly Helton extended his hand and then when he thought he was within range made a grab for the bird. For an instant his hand managed to close around the birds’ body. He felt its warmth and two or three panicked heartbeats, but then with much squawking it escaped leaving behind one of its beautiful tail feathers.

Helton was still admiring the feather when away in the distance he heard a horse nigh.  He looked up to see his father riding his horse and leading Pilgrim. They were beginning to descend the hill. “It looks as if I won’t have to walk home after all,” Helton thought happily to himself.

When his father was within hailing distance, Helton stood up. He was just about to call out to his father when his father let out a cry, dropped Pilgrim reins and galloped his horse as fast as possible to the spot where Helton had been thrown from his mount!

Helton now noticed there was a bundle of something lying on the ground where he had fallen.

Now free, Pilgrim made her way over to Helton. She neighed, a number of times and began sniffing his outstretched hand. There was terror in her eyes.

Helton’s father came towards them leading his horse with the bundle draped over its back. With one hand he grabbed Pilgrim reins, and with the other picked up the parrots tail feather that was lying on the ground.

Helton had never seen his father in such a state. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and kept repeating; “my son, my son”!

No matter what he said to his father, Helton could not seem to bring him out of his stupor. Then swinging around, his father began to lead both horses towards home. It was only then that Helton realized that the bundle lying across the back of his father’s horse was in fact, a body, his body!  For the first time Helton realized that he was dead!

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CHAPTER SIX

The problem with being five years old is when something important happens, in later life you only remember flashes of what you saw and then it gets all mixed up with what others told you about the event. A good example of this was Marie’s grandmother. All her life she had entertained the family with stories about her early years growing up in Italy before the family immigrated to Brazil.  Her accounts were so vivid that one could almost smell the pasta slowly cooking on the wood stove in the stone cottage where the family resided. It was only after one of her grandchildren began a process to obtain Italian citizenship some years after Nona’s death that it was discovered that Marie’s grandmother was in fact Brazilian. She had been born soon after the family had arrived in country. It was concluded that Nona had heard so many stories told by her older brothers and sisters about life in the old country that she had come to believe she was part of them and had been born there too.  

To a certain extent that was what had happened to Marie when her father had returned home that hot summers afternoon all those years ago with Helton’s body straddled across the back of her father’s horse.   

Through the mists of time, Marie vaguely remembered her father’s disparate pleas for her mother to call the doctor. She remembered the neighbors arriving, the hushed voices and the tears. She remembered being led into her parent’s bedroom by an aunty, to kiss Helton’s sleeping figure lying on their bed, and the stuffiness of the room with so many people crammed into it. She remembered the priest and the undertaker arriving and leaving with a coffin. She remembered when everyone had gone off to the little community chapel and the stillness of the late afternoon alone at home after old Aunt Zilda, who was supposed to be looking after her, had fallen asleep in her father’s favorite chair. She also remembered the voice calling her outside. This last memory she had always guarded in her mind with seven keys, never revealing it to anyone.

Outside she had found Helton sitting on her swing in the shade under the large tree in the garden.   When he saw Marie he got up, and with an aura of total tranquility and happiness, offered to push her.  Marie loved when he did this as he knew just the right height she could reach without feeling afraid. 

After a few minutes of swinging, Helton suddenly stopped pushing and when the swing was almost at a standstill, walked in front of her. His expression was now very serious.

“Marie,” he said. “I have to go away for a while, but before I do I want to give you a present. If you ever need me, place this across your heart and call my name. No matter where I am I will return immediately. One day I will return anyway. When I do you can give this present back to me!”

Upon saying this, he handed her a beautiful colored tail feather of a parrot. Even at the tender age of six Marie knew how rare and precious the gift was.

“Now that I have given you the feather of a bird, let’s see if you can fly like one,” Helton said now smiling.

With that he began to push her again. Up and up she slowly rose until she was flying higher than she had ever flown before! She found herself laughing and shouting for joy. She was enjoying herself so much she had not noticed when Helton had departed.

All the noise she was making had awoken her aunt. She realized this because Aunt Zilda had stormed out onto the verandah.

“This is not the time to be having fun little lady,” her aunt chastised her.

She then ordered Marie to leave the swing and return inside.  

When Marie reached the shade of the verandah carrying the beautiful parrot’s feather, Aunt Zilda wanted to know where she had gotten it!

“It is a going away present from Helton. I have to give it back to him when he returns,” Marie tried to explain.

“Silly girl, he is never coming back coming back,” her aunt whimpered quietly through tears rolling down cheeks! 

Marie knew otherwise!

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Even though most people believe that when you die you enter some sort of tunnel and are then pulled towards a bright light, Helton’s experience of death was quite different. For him his “new reality” simply meant that he was free to travel through different dimensions. He only needed to think of a place and time and “hey presto” he was there!

It took Helton some time to understand how his new existence worked. When he saw his father leading the horses back up the hill after his accident, he simply followed him. Then flash! The next thing he remembered, was being in his parents’ bedroom looking down at his body lying on their bed. The room was full of people weeping and praying and even though the windows were wide open it was stuffy. The situation was not being helped by the burning candles and the freshly cut flowers on the bedside cabinet.  

Eventually Father José and the undertaker arrived. After a short round of condolences Father José cleared the bedroom. When he was alone he took a purple stole and a small flask of oil from his battered briefcase, and after putting the stole around his neck, recited some prayers. When he had finished, using the oil, he made the sign of the cross on the forehead of Helton’s body. Then to Helton’s surprise he then turned in his direction (how he knew he was standing by the window he had no idea) and gently began to speak.

“Helton, don’t be afraid! You have died. You may occasionally be able to communicate with people, but most of the time you will only be able to observe those of us still living. Don’t fight against your new state. Yes you will be sorely missed, but with time those closest to you will come to terms with your passing. Relax and let your spirit fly!”

The next thing Helton remembered was being in their garden pushing his little sister on her swing, and for some reason he could still talk with her. He would have liked to have spent more time with her, but soon after giving her the parrots’ tail feather which had come into his possession while recovering from his fall from Pilgrim, he found himself flying once more.

Flash! He was standing at the back of the little community chapel where he had attended Sunday service every week off his life. The chapel was over flowing with neighbors and relations attending his funeral.  Unfortunately as he had arrived late, so he had missed the homily. He was curious to know what the priest had said about his short life.

As few are embalmed in Brazil due to the expensive, burials are generally rapid, particularly in the summer where there is a race to dispatch the body before it begins to smell.  Judging by the reaction of some of the younger children, who held there noises, as Helton’s casket was carried out of the chapel, Helton suspected the decomposition process was already taking place.

Outside, everyone made their way to the graveyard which was located across the road. Helton had never seen his parents so distort. They both needed to be supported by relatives. He tried to talk to his mother and father but they were unable to see or hear him!

Helton’s uncle was waiting beside the family tomb, and only when last mourner had arrived did he produced a key to open the tombs glass door. The tomb was a traditional Italian styled one looking more like a backyard brick and marble tool shed than anything else. On the left was a door opening into a tiny room, at the rear of which was a small alter. The alter still contained the remains of candles and dead flowers from the last Novembers celebrations of the “Day of the Dead”, the last time the tomb had last been opened. On the right were the shelves which could accommodate ten bodies. Helton’s coffin would fill the third remaining space.

With the sun beginning to set Helton’s coffin was slide into place and the door of the tomb firmly closed and locked. As people began to drift away, Helton tried one last time to communicate with someone, but to no avail.

From this point on the only person Helton was able to speak too with ease, was me. Only I lived half a world away in New Zealand, was six years old at the time, and was too young to know a country called Brazil, existed!

                                                                               
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CHAPTER EIGHT

NEW ZEALAND

When I was a small child my grandparents lived a “stone’s throw” from us. This meant that I visited them almost every day. When I arrived at their  house, I would give them a hug then rush off to visit the fairies.  The faries lived in a hole at the base of an old tree in my grandparents back garden.

As there was the risk of the faries tree toppling onto the house, one day it was decided to cut it down.

The first thing the tree fallers did when they arrived was to climb up into the canopy and cut off all the branches. When they had completed this task, they begin preparations to cut into the trees enormous trunk. It was at this point I arrived!

My grandmother told me years later, that when I saw what was happening, I rushed into the garden in a state of panic. Protesting loudly I embraced the trunk and refused to move. I would not allow the workers destroy the fairies home! No matter what anyone said, I refused to budge!

It was then that my grandmother had an idea. She went inside and returned with an empty shoe box. She said that I might like to suggest to the fairies that a much better place to live was available, and that I would help them move. My grandmother then pointed to a hole camouflaged by flowers under the grape vine. 

To everyone’s joy the fairies accepted my proposal and I was soon helping them to put their belongings into the shoebox. I then transported them and all their worldly possessions across the garden to their new lodgings. The workmen were then free to get on with their work and soon had the rotten tree trunk lying on the ground beside the large pile of branches.

From then on, whenever I visited my grandparents, I would spend time playing with the fairies in their new home under the grapevine.

I cannot remember the last time I saw the fairies. Perhaps I was around six years old, but by then I had a new friend. He was called Helton. Nobody could see him either!

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CHAPTER NINE

Each day before sending me off to school, my mother would ask to see my school bag. She would then make sure my lunch box and school books were in it and also look to see if I trying to smuggle any of my toys out of the house to share with my school friends. Finally she would check to see if I had a handkerchief. Once I had passed her inspection, I was pointed in the direction of the front gate to await the school bus.

You could always tell when our school bus was about to come into view due to the noise it made. If you did not know it was a bus, you could be forgiven for thinking a low flying aircraft was about to appear from the around the corner. Our school bus was painted in regulation Education Board’s colors. The bottom half was red and the top half white. Straddling the roof above the wind shield was a yellow sign saying “school bus”.  The thing I liked most about our bus however was its age. It was probably built in the 1940’s and had a hole in the front grill to turn the motor with a crank if its battery had run flat during the night, something it frequently did. If this happened then the only person in the district who was strong enough to crank the bus back into life, was my father.  By the time the call came through, and my father had saddled up his horse and gone to the rescue of the bus driver. When this happened, to our delight, our school bus would be a least an hour late doing its run meaning we would miss the first class.

Upon arriving at school, our teachers would separate us into our respected classes and repeat the inspection I had undergone before leaving home. Of course these inspections were a breeze for me to pass. This did not mean however, that I did not take them seriously as they were worth “points”. Each student belonged to a team called a “House”.  Mine was “Green House”. Certain correct behaviors such as: being the most attentive student in the class during the day, doing ones homework, having clean finger nails etc., were worth points. At the end of the year all the points were added up and the winning house received a special award at the schools prize giving. Competition was intense!

As class inspections took time, most teachers would simplify the process.  First they would ask if everyone had done their homework and then if we had a handkerchief. Those who said “no” were given some minor punishment, while the rest of us automatically earned a house point. 

As I always conformed to the rules, I contributed to my house’s points with regular frequency. The month of July 1967 however, saw all my hard work turn to dust. And who was responsible for this? None other than “Snotty Nosed Paul Smith”! We called him “Snotty Nose” because his nose was always running. When he did eventually get around to wiping the liquid that usually collected on his upper lip, he used the sleeve of his shirt rather than a handkerchief.

Being a very observant seven year old, I began to suspect that “Snotty Nosed Smith” lied during inspections.

“After all, if one had a handkerchief, why would one not use it,” I reasoned?

 Just to make sure, on various occasions, some of my colleagues and I cornered “Snotty Nose” and demanded to see handkerchief. He never had one. This discovery made us feel powerful and seemed to give us the right to make Snotty Nose’s life as miserable as possible. Of course we threatened to tell the teacher about his inexistent handkerchief, if he told on us.

Then one day he got his own back! On the day in question I had passed my mother’s inspection then caught the school bus as usual. It was one of those very cold winter days and the bus had arrived with all its windows still iced up. We children took great delight in defrosting the windows on our way to school, competing with each other to see who could defrost their window the fastest. There were various techniques that speed up this process. One of them was to blow onto the glass and then use your handkerchief to rub the glass as vigorously as possible. The only disadvantage of this method was that it left ones handkerchief a sodden mess. A wet handkerchief was something you did not really want to put back into your pocket!

My day was going well, having won the defrosting glass competition, until class inspection time. When the teacher asked if everyone had a handkerchief, to my horror I remembered I had left mine drying on the curtain rail in the school bus!

“What was I to do? This had never happened before!”

Knowing that I was lying, but just as certain no one would ever discover, I told the teacher, I had a handkerchief.  As I watched her slide a bright green bead onto the cord representing the point for our house I had just won, my conscience began to grow.

By morning break I wasn’t supporting the guilt I was feeling any more. I just had to tell someone. That someone was my best friend. Unfortunately I did not realize “Snotty Nose” was within ear shot and overheard my confession. He immediately ran off to report me to the teacher.

When I entered the class room after break, I knew immediately I was in deep trouble. Everyone looked at me, and then the teacher, struggling to control her anger, called me up to the front of the class. She demanded to see my handkerchief. Crying I explained that I had left it on the school bus and desperately trying to deflect some of the teacher’s anger, I accused “Snotty Nosed Smith” of also not having a handkerchief.  The teacher ordered him to stand up.

“Mr. Smith,” she said in a serious voice, “do you have a handkerchief?”

“Of course Miss,” he responded respectively, “I always bring a handkerchief to school!”

To my horror he rummaged around in his school bag and produced a neatly folded and very clean white handkerchief which obviously had never been used.

Everybody’s attention returned to me!

“Do you know what we do to small boys who lie,” the teacher snapped? “We do this!” And taking the string of beads, she made me take the green beads off one by one, counting them loudly as I went. I can still remember the sense of humiliation and fear I felt. When there were no more beads she made me hang up the empty string next to the other strings full of brightly colored beads. Fortunately it was Friday and I only had to suffer the taunts of my colleagues for a few short hours.

As our family walked passed the school on Sunday morning on our way to church, I could clearly see the full strings of beads hanging in my class room as well as the empty string belonging to “Green House.” I had half hopped that perhaps at the last moment my teacher had found it in her heart to forgive me and replace the points I had lost, but I could see I was wrong, so I began to pray to God.

“Dear God,” I prayed. “What happened to me was so unfair. It was the only time I have ever forgotten my handkerchief and so it is not “Just” to be punished so severely. If you really exist, by the time church is over you will have performed just a small miracle on my behalf and returned the beads to our house string. Thank you God for listening!”

Of course when we walked past the school on the way home from church the string was still empty. I was not worried however as by Monday I was sure that my teacher would have had a change of heart and replaced the points. I was wrong!

Monday revealed that things were not going to change. When the secretary came to total the house points and record them in her accounting ledger she was surprised when she went to count my team’s string. I overheard the teacher telling her that there had been a little problem the previous week and that was why there were no points to be recorded. The security wrote “zero” in her book without further comment, but I knew this fact would surely be the topic of conversation between the teachers in the staff room, come morning tea time.

Within a short period everyone had forgotten about the incident, everyone except me that was. I tried in the succeeding months to win back as many points as I could, but there we few opportunities to do better than I had previously been doing. 

And then it was the end of year, school prize giving and the eagerly awaited “house” winner announcement. After a year of intense completion my house won second place, but to my dismay the difference between our house and the winner one was by a margin of exactly the difference in points I had lost.  My teacher, who was sitting on the stage, briefly caught my eye.  Before I turned away red faced I could see she felt pity for me. But who made me feel even worse was my invisible friend, Helton. He was sitting next to me, and gave me a painful pinch on the arm.  I took all my control to hold in my squeal of pain!

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