By Roberto Monteiro

Important note: This story has sex and violence, strong adult content. This is a 100% fictional work. The story uses some of Henri Bergson’s idea of pure memory and objective memory to tinker with Afro-Brazilian beliefs.

– Well, this should not be important, said Umbigo to himself as he walked back home, trying to remain calm.

He had just been robbed. His thoughts were still giving a lot of gas, though, racing round and round, like a spiral, or better, a milky-way spinning into a black hole. As the kid went on with his attack, Umbigo’s present, past and future collapsed inside his brain. A constellation of sights were shooting in every direction as he struggled with the feelings of being cut, robbed, invaded, dominated. He didn’t have to leave the stadium alone, but he did.

– Maybe I’m nuts, maybe I’m an idiot, maybe I’m nuts, maybe …

Ok. English is not my first language. If I told you this story in my native language, I’d be too close to being reliable. Talking in English or any foreign language is like talking to someone from behind a curtain, in the shadow, in other words mostly fake talk. I feel good when I disguise my feelings. Life is a theater in any language, but particularly in a foreign language. Although I sound defiant and pretentious in a foreign language, that is something that doesn’t bother me. And even so, you’ll find some honesty in the false notes of my English accent.

Allow me to continue my story.

Umbigo was walking a long way home, in Rio suburbs. He still had at least one hour to get home. It was early in the night, around 7pm, but already dark. He had just been mugged, after he left the soccer stadium Maracanã. The game he came to see lost interest and he decided to leave early, leaving his friends behind. Umbigo was not crazy about soccer, but he loved to watch the crowds during the games. The show they naturally put on was spectacular despite the dangers of the fireworks and aggressive crowds in popular areas of the stadium.

Walking alone outside Maracanã had its risks. The kid who robbed him took all his money. He didn’t want to explain the robbery to the bus driver, who would have taken him home. He decided to walk, instead. He knew that between Maracanã and Catete, where he lived in a room he rented, there were lots of risks, especially for lonely walkers. The attack, however, was still provoking on him strange sense of loss, liberty, carelessness. He seemed to be reaching somewhere in his mind where time doesn’t exist, at least the mathematical or intelligent time we are used to. He seemed to have consciously gone into pure mémoire, into temps réel.

– That is not important! Nothing worse could happen to me. I’m going to turn this hard knock into my favor. I just need to grow out of it.

Walking alone, he was discovering, was not that bad. As he walked, he could see the statue of Christ, the Redeemer, shining in the night, pleasingly, peacefully. His first impulse was to complain to the Redeemer. But he realized that it made no sense to complain to a statue, just as it made no sense to Cartola to complain, to talk to flowers.

“I complain to roses / But what a nonsense, / Roses do not speak. / Roses simply exhale / The perfume they steal from you.” Queixo-me às rosas / Mas as rosas não falam / Simplesmente as rosas exalam / O perfume que roubam de ti.

– Beautiful song, remarkable lyrics, ah Cartola… Why am I thinking of Cartola? Anyway, I’m not going to blame the statue of the Christ. It has nothing to do with the mugging. It’s such a beautiful statue. It doesn’t protect me or attack me. It simply exhales peacefulness, grace. For me it is both saintly and devilish, well balanced, just like everything tends to be in life, in equilibrium.

Instead of becoming angry, he was taking rather well this surprisingly forced walk. Long walks are ideal for thinking, for organizing, for filtering pure mémoire into intelligent time. His remembrances would entertain him while he walked. Sometimes he found himself materializing his thoughts, speaking alone. When he realized it, he looked around to see if anyone heard him thinking aloud, or saw him moving his lips, from a distance. Maybe the best would be to hold his teeth tightened, to make sure his mouth didn’t move. This way, if he started to talk alone again, it would be harder for someone to notice it. Otherwise, passersby would think that he was crazy.

Umbigo’s odyssey through the dark streets of Rio’s suburbs was a bit of a challenge. Everything tonight was making him rethink of who he was, where he was, where he wanted to go. Still, he felt unusually confident, fearless. The kid who robbed him was an adolescent, who appeared out of nowhere, outside the stadium, as he tried to cross the streets under a viaduct. The adolescent had a frightful piece of glass taken from a broken mirror, threatening to punch him with it, if he didn’t give him his wallet. He tried to talk the kid into changing his mind, but that made the kid nervous, itching to attack. As he reached his pocket in willfully slow motion, hoping that the longer it took the better his chances of keeping his money, the kid hit him in a fast move, tearing his shirt around his belly, making a cut on his skin. The cut was precise, a clear message to how skilled the kid was with that piece of glass. Right after, in a purposive, deliberated move, the kid lifted his hand holding the dagger-like piece of broken mirror, ready to hit harder. Umbigo blanked for a second, as he saw the kid’s face reflected on the glass. But he saw his face on the glass, too. His own face on the mirror was so revealing! And it lasted what? A blink of an eye. And the Umbigo on that flash would mark him for ever.

His face on the broken mirror is what made him regain control and speed up handing in his wallet to not irritate the kid anymore. In no way he would say anything else. He gave his wallet to the kid, who took the money inside it, returned the wallet to Umbigo and ran away. Umbigo felt consoled to see his documents back.

Living on the edge changes anyone. These unnerving moments with an attacker about to punch him with a dagger-like piece of mirror, seem to have awakened something in Umbigo. Living on the edge shakes anyone. The kid needed the money most likely to buy drugs. Somehow, he related to the kid. He also did some drugs. He never robbed anyone for drugs, but he understood that the addiction can drive anyone to do things out of his normal.

His thoughts were streaming out of his mind into the streets of Rio.

Old memories were assaulting him, triggered by whatever he saw on the streets. An airfare ad with ticket prices to New Orleans, took him back to the United States, where he worked once, illegally, on a farm. He met someone in New Orleans, who was led into the psychedelic drug fad at age 16, who used more drugs than did anybody he knows. He did so much damage to his own brain that his college and his career were hopeless. At age 20 he was framed to look like a drug dealer and at age 24 he was emasculated by needle-into-his-spine. Today he is 47 without children and he is almost certainly going to die that way. Had the kid who just robbed him gone through anything of that sort?

He met some curious people in New Orleans. One day, after noticing the slow work of one of the farm workers, he wanted to say something to change that. But he didn’t want confrontation with the worker. He wasn’t sure of what to do, because he felt the strong pressure to “do the right thing,” to tell the guy that it was not fair. “Chill out” he thought to himself. It was a Catch-22. The conflict inside him was cooking into a swirl, a torment of hurricane size.

The guy worked and moved slowly indeed, and maybe Umbigo would have to work harder to compensate for the slow work of the fellow. Maybe the few things that he learned in other languages would help liberating him from the torment within. He guessed that the farm worker would not know Latin and said something in Latin, without exclamation. A period was sufficient.

– Festina lente.

The farm worker looked at him:

– What’s that?

– An expression the Romans used in ancient Rome, he answered cautiously, without explaining what it meant. If he told the worker that the Latin expression suggested for him to “make haste slowly,” he’d be in trouble.

– That’s their nonsense, back talked the farm worker with disgust and conviction. And then, he added:

– People like you think they’re better when they say these things. Very smart, eh!? But just a bunch of stupid idiots. What’s your name, anyways? We work here but never spoke.

– Umbigo. That is my nickname.

– Ambiguous? What kind of name is that? Does it mean anything?

– Um-bi-go. I’m Brazilian. It means navel. It’s not my name. It is my nickname.

– Can’t you talk straight, ignoramous? You should change your nickname to Ambiguous. My goodness!

– I kinda like my nickname. Maybe I’m ambiguous. My real name is not important.

– Anyway… why should I care? But if you wanna talk to me, you better tell me your name or get the hell outta here.

His years in New Orleans were coming back, making him recall his passage in Louisiana, when he was 19. Those farm workers were so confident, talked right to the point, with conviction. He wished he was like that, but that was not his modus operandi. Everything was mixed inside him. He remembered that after some hesitancy he said his name:

– Rodrigo. Rodrigo Olympio Vieira de Souza.

– I see… Rodrigo. Rodrigo ambiguous… uhmmm. So, you are a black Brazilian, named Rodrigo, right Umbigo?

– Almost. I’m a mulatto, not quite black.

– Sure… You ARE umbigous! I mean, ambiguous. Listen, these yes-and-nos don’t work in my country. You are either black or white. Get used to it. Period.

Before going to the US, he didn’t like his kinship to blackness. He didn’t like being perceived as black. After coming back from New Orleans, he became gradually and increasingly comfortable with his blackness. He didn’t want to be called mulatto anymore. He was assuming his negritude. What a feeling of liberation, of empowerment! His experiences with the world were spinning him into another person, another galaxy. In the US, races are institutionalized. In New Orleans, he was institutionalized as black. It was a mix of shock and liberation to find out that he was black. Half hour ago, he had to dialogue with a robber, with death. His life was going from uncertainties, mixed ideas, mixed behaviors, mixed everything, into certainty, confidence, even when he mixed both sides of the same thing.

Everything around him conspired to help him feel good about himself. He felt like screaming that he was black, as he walked by a sidewalk with stores still opened, selling musical instruments, statues and images of orixás, that is to say Yoruba deities, and filled with captivating sounds of percussion and a variety of instruments of black tradition. Statues and images of Exu were everywhere in the walls and on the sidewalk. He became defiant around these images of Exu, although he never understood what he had been told about this orixá. All discussions regarding Exu were marked with yes-and-nos. All explanations sounded contradictory. Sometimes Exu is bad, sometimes good, but never completely bad or good. Exu turns a mistake into the right thing and the right thing into a mistake. He couldn’t define Exu, but he liked Exu.

– Maybe that’s why Exu is so strong. I wanna be just like that. Whatever we define becomes easier to control. I don’t wanna be defined. I do wanna know who I’m and what I’m. But nobody else needs to know who and what I’m.

Maybe Umbigo was right. Defining someone or something turns anyone-anything vulnerable, predictable, unless anyone-anything has a perfectly efficient shield. Otherwise being defined is pretty much like shooting the own foot. It’s an invitation to being controlled. God bless ambiguity, I mean, Exu bless ambiguity.

The drumming nearby alternating fast beats with slower ones, strong beats moving into very low, near imperceptible sounds fascinated him. Sometimes the musical sounds would become so low that he couldn’t actually hear them anymore, but he still felt them through the moving and soundless hands of the drummer. When the drumming started to pick up, to rise again, it took him off into the unknown, carried by the unknown, carried by Exu.

Afro-Brazilian traditions messed up his mind early in his life. The same traditions were now shaping up rather well his being. He felt that he needed more of long walks like these. Maybe it wouldn’t be bad to be robbed again. It felt good to live on the edge. Moving through the streets of Rio in the night was dangerous, but now he was feeling at home. He didn’t dress fancy, his skin color was dark, so he mixed in naturally into the night; and if he remained alert he should be fine. No fears, just the spiraling thoughts that were helping him to stay on the right course, towards blackness.

“I have a lot in common with Exu,” Umbigo kept remembering while walking. “I like tricking people, penetrating people and spaces with or without disguises. I do not fear Laestrygonians, Cyclops or Poseidon. After all, they are just myths. But pivetes, noias and all these evening street dwellers, robbers, spread throughout Rio, yes! I pay more attention to them. They show up, regardless of what we do, where we less expect for them to appear.”

It is fair to say by now that Umbigo was ready for pivetes, noias, anything.

And by now he had already walked past through the barrios Estácio, Catumbi and was passing by Lapa, going to Catete, where he lived. So far, no bad surprises. But he was about to go under another viaduct. As he passed under the viaduct, he noticed, against one of its pillars, a small group of children, sitting tightened around a woman. Throughout the time that he waited the cars to pass before he crossed the street, he heard them talking. She was shooting them with some drug, to alleviate their hunger.

– …here my little one… you’ll like this, no hungry no more… you’ll sleep fine…

She held them together, in a strange mix of peacefulness, desperation, love. He didn’t want to look back for another glimpse. If he looked back, he feared that their reaction would be dangerous, had they caught him staring in curiosity. He was now closer to his building. No need to create new events tonight.

As he moved towards his place in Catete, he heard singing, percussions, and the noise of people and cars while passing in Lapa. Rio was awaking for the night. That ambience sent him into faster walk, invigorated. He was full of life. He was in high spirits as he connected to the airs, drums and lights of Rio. He wanted to be home immediately, take a good shower, and get ready for his transvestite show in Lapa. Life was flowing again. His thoughts were in effusion.

“Those farm workers were fun, after all. One of them was afraid of old age. He’d say that he had reached an age where he was starting to forget simple English words, like ‘maple’ and ‘hyena.’ One day he could find the word, the next day he couldn’t, the next day it came back to him. Funny guy, he didn’t like teachers. People were stupid because they believe what teachers taught them.”

– But TEACHERS DON’T KNOW ANYTHING, he’d shout in protest. Teachers made fools of themselves because they try to teach things to people who don’t understand anything and they didn’t see that people don’t understand anything. IT’S NONSENSE. I wish I could study and learn. I either don’t learn or if I learn, I lose what I learned.

“I don’t think we forget things in old age,” pondered Umbigo, as his thoughts were materializing, coming out in words. He didn’t realize that he was once again talking to himself, alone.

– But everyone tends to believe that we do. Everyone is afraid of old age. We should kill old age. Instead of slowing down our lives because of old age, we should keep things going in high speed, until we die, all of sudden, instead of dying slowly, waiting for old age, for death to come. I remember in my twenties when I forgot or confused things, it was fun. But when old people did the same, it was because of their age, they were losing their marbles. Once, I met two French students, and they were happy to meet me, a Brazilian, especially because I was black, bien typé, as I found out later on. There is this curiosity people tend to have about the size of penises in blacks. I’m a mulatto, but in the US I’m black. I don’t know much French, but I love the language. When the French students came towards me as we got introduced, I didn’t miss the chance to make a fool of myself.

– Venez, je veux vous embrasser!, I said with the intention of saying that I wanted to hug them.

– “Embrasser” sounds like Portuguese “abraçar,” to hug. In French, “embrasser” means to kiss, a friendly kiss. The male student, a bearded guy, kindly kissed me right on the mouth. Urgh! I didn’t know what to do. He may have thought that in Brazil it was a custom to kiss in the mouth. After the guy, the girl also kissed me on the lips. That was nice. She said, after she kissed me, “I know you meant to hug. I thought it’d be fun to play along.” She smiled and asked if I liked. Of course I did. It was fun to kiss the guy too. No, no, maybe not the guy…

Then he realized that he was again talking alone. He looked around to see if anyone caught him talking to himself. He forgot to hold his teeth together, in a bite-like manner while talking, as he wanted to do earlier, when he had caught himself talking alone for the first time. But why the souvenirs of New Orleans kept coming back?

– Oh, I know! He started talking alone, once again, but now disguising it by holding his teeth together.

– That farm worker used to say to the other workers who complained about the US and their miserable lives that the important was not what their country could do for them, but what they did for their country.

Umbigo loved that statement about doing something for the country. And the farm worker repeated it so many times during conversations that the sentence stayed in his mind. Deeper and deeper, he would love for the country to do something for him, to facilitate access to a better life, because he did not mind studying and working. He just needed a little help. But because of that statement he felt guilty, if he said such a thing. And that statement sounded so right, so intelligent.

He was now close to his apartment. Before he arrived he was already planning what to do next. He would take a nice shower, get some money and go out for his show. He needed to go out and see people, meet people. He arrived at his place and didn’t find anyone else in the house. He took the stairs and went straight to his room.

After a replenishing shower, he started his transformations. It took him almost one hour to change into a transvestite. He looked in the mirror and felt confident. Nobody would guess who he was, not even his closest friends. The only thing he needed to be careful about was to leave his place safely, when nobody could see him leaving. Since he started his shows a year ago, only once a person in the building saw him going out. It was one of the tenants. Noticing that the tenant had no idea that he was a transvestite, he felt in control. He naturally asked the tenant about someone who didn’t live there. The tenant said that there was nobody with that name in the house, but also asked the transvestite how he got inside the house. With aplomb, Umbigo explained that the door was open and nobody replied. The tenant didn’t seem surprised. That was the only time someone came across while he was going out.

He was still in his room, but ready for another show. He looked through his slightly opened door and saw nobody.

So, he slowly comes out of his room, walks through the house and wins the streets.

Leaving the house required attention, but coming back was easy, because he had a bag where he placed his gears, before returning home. He also carried a portable sound system and a mic, which are easy to explain if anyone asked about. By the time he came back it was late, and most people in the house were already sleeping.

And Umbigo goes to Lapa.

Once in Lapa, he takes the usual place where he gives his drag-queen show, in front of the Arcos. He is happy to see that his spot is still available, because he usually comes earlier to save that spot.

Umbigo had a good voice, and to his surprise, sometimes a musician who had been playing in the area would stop by and accompany him. As he prepared his show, a girl sits nearby, curious about Umbigo.

– Hey! You look very nice. I can see that you are not a woman, but you look good.

– Thanks, replied Umbigo.

After a few seconds, he comes back to her.

– Maybe you can help me.

– What do you mean?

– Well, sometimes I wonder how the show is going. It’d make me more confident if the audience said something, anything, even offensive, I don’t mind. I need to have some kind of reaction.

– What do you want me to do?

– Do you plan to stay for the show?

– Yes, I do.

– Ok. After half-hour into the show, I’ll sing alone, Aquarela do Brasil. Everyone, even foreigners, recognize it. I’ll finish singing the Aquarela shouting “Long life to Brazil! Braziiiilll!” Just like soccer radio speakers sometimes do. Very nationalistic, you know.

– I see. What should I do?

– You’ll be in the audience. Say something negative about Brazil. People may frown on you, but since you are Brazilian, a girl, the most they will do is talk back. But say something that is not too aggressive. Or if aggressive, acceptable. Something with a compliment followed by a criticism.

– How about that: Yes, “Long Life to Brazil,” but there is a lot of shit here, too! I love our country, I’m crazy about it, but our country is not doing what it’s supposed to do.

– Great! But make sure you also say that Brazil never gave you anything, despite your love for the country. I need you to say a line that leads to something like, “I never got anything from Brazil, I live in misery.”

– Ok. I can do that.

-Good! Make compliments, show your love, and shout clearly that you never got anything from this land.

– I can do that. I’m a woman. I’m Brazilian. Nobody will hurt me in public.

– Right. Let me finish here, then. Maybe you should mix in the crowd, before they notice us working together.

Umbigo was ready. His show has been happening at the same place, a sidewalk in an open area of the Arcos. People watching him, could see in the background the lights, the columns held by the arch-shaped support of the rail for the tramway of the Arcos. There were lots of people walking around, having fun, as it happens every evening in Lapa. Great setting. Great atmosphere. Umbigo blended easily into that climate. He was happy. Very happy.

He made the preliminary announcements, shouting to everyone what they would see in the next hour, and who he was, a false name, and from Bahia, with a false accent, easy to catch.

– As you can see in my accent, I’m not a false Bahiana!

The audience laughed, yelled a few cliché insults, setting the usual climate for the show. Some of the insults were funny, other not so much. He was used to them. He opened the show with a pretty much expected song, “We are family!” He used the original sound with Sister Sledge, to back track his lip syncing performance. It was a popular song in Brazil, as all over the planet. Most people enjoyed it. It was a sure way to start the show. That opening attracted a lot of attention, making passersby stop to see what was going on. With his moves on high hills, a risqué neckline, dressed in a tightened skirt, opened on one side showing his stocking covered legs as he walked back and forth on stage, sometimes dancing with his microphone, sometimes with an imaginary partner, some eyes in the audience popped in astonishment.

Not bad for an unpretentious free show. It was a good time to stop by, sit around and watch Umbigo. After the opening he paraded a number of acts, monologues, some old but still laughable jokes, until he got to a point where he called in a few people in the audience to help him.

To encourage people he would go straight to them, and ask them to participate. Everyone was having a blast and it was not difficult to find four people to participate. He felt unusually motivated for his show tonight and wanted to try a record of five participants. He went toward a group of loud college students having a great time. He told them he needed one more so that Umbigo would enter into the Guinness World Records. The most he had gotten so far was four people. The students were laughing pointing at each other to participate. One of them, despite of being pushed towards Umbigo, decided to cooperate.

– Ok, ok. I’ll go.

Umbigo asked his helpers to stand in line, side by side, on the top of the low wall that separate the sidewalk from the open, play area in the back. Umbigo stayed on the sidewalk, in front of the five participants. He put on a nice song, as loud as possible, and asked them to try to replicate his moves as best as they could. He knew they would try and rarely get it right. He did this on purpose, because everyone would enjoy the show this way. Then he started being repetitive to help them to better synchronize with his moves. This worked out great, because everyone thought the participants learned fast. As the improvised choreography went on, he explained to the audience that tonight he was going to do something that deserved to go into the Guinness. He made sure everyone understood what he announced. The five volunteers, all men, continued dancing, repeating Umbigo’s moves. Then, Umbigo told the audience.

– Now! ATTENTION to my next move. And did a swirl. ARE YOU PAYING ATTENTION?

– YES!!!

Umbigo cheered the volunteers.

– You are fabulous! Now keep your hands up, stretched as much as possible. Imagine you are trying to reach the clouds. YOU CAN REACH THE CLOUDS! YES, YOU CAN!!!

They laughed and cooperated nicely, with some of them exaggerating in their attempts.

– YES, WE CAN!!!

As they all were reaching for the clouds, Umbigo positioned himself strategically in front of them and routed through very fast moves, he mouthed each of their penises, surprising them, making some of them jump backwards, landing behind the low wall. They were surprised. The audience was bursting in laughs, which may have helped to prevent some possible aggression against Umbigo. They didn’t complain, but called Umbigo some expected dirt names. The student went back to his group. They couldn’t help laughing at him. But they all took it well. The student was laughing too, saying that he didn’t believe what happened.

– The guy really mouthed my biiird! What an awkward feeling. But dude, he was sooo fast!

Umbigo, now feeling that he was in no danger for what he did, announced proudly:

– This is my world record! I never succeeded mouthing five at the same time. Four was my record. I’M VERY PROUD! I hope you’ve enjoyed the show so far.

At that moment, he started singing Aquarela do Brasil. The girl who agreed to help, was still in the audience, but avoided revealing that they knew each other. As he finished the song, he started saying aloud, as planned.

– I’m so proud to be a Brazilian! What a great country we are. Viva o Brazil! Braziiil!!!

And the girl followed as planned.

– Yes! I also love Brazil. We could be a great country, but we’re not a great country yet! I still live a miserable life. Our beautiful Brazil never gave me a decent life. I don’t think this is fair!

Umbigo interrupted her politely and charmingly.

– I could agree with you. But that is not how we should see Brazil. We should not ask what our nation can do for us, but what WE can do for our nation.

His passage through New Orleans, the work with those farm workers was handy. The audience was surprised with the exchanges between both, especially the last one by Umbigo, unwarily copying one of JF Kennedy’s discourses.

– That little fagot is good, commented someone in the audience.

– Good job, bichinha! Other people agreed, calling him with a Brazilian expression bichinha, meaning “little queer, little gazelle,” commonly used to insult homosexual men.

And Umbigo closed his show.

– It’s time to close my show tonite. Nighty-night to all!

The student who came on scene couldn’t stop staring at Umbigo in a mix of admiration and curiosity. He had been drinking with his friends, and was having a great night. He came to compliment Umbigo, feeling an unusual climate between them, an unusual curiosity that Umbigo noticed immediately.

– Nice show. I was surprised with the bite, but it’s a show.

– Oh, great! I was wondering… I’m happy you liked it. Do you have any plans now?

– No. Nothing planned. Just enjoying the night.

– If you want we can hang out.

– Hummm… Could be a good idea.

The kid was wondering what would it be to do a transvestite. Umbigo didn’t look so bad, and he, the kid, had a few drinks. And maybe his bucket list included doing a transvestite.

As the public dispersed, the girl stayed, waiting a chance to see Umbigo again. He noticed her and told the student to wait a couple minutes while he talked to her. He went to see her and explained that he was going to hang out with the college student, but tomorrow they could get together, if she wanted.

– I’d love to see you again.

She wanted to hang out with him that same night. She was not happy being pushed to the next day, but she didn’t want to sound desperate to see him.

– Cool! I understand. See you tomorrow, then.

She understood nothing, but it was a sure thing to say. She charmingly agreed to meet the next day, a Sunday, before Umbigo’s Sunday show. Umbigo noticed a tricksy look in her face, as if she had something that he wanted to know about. She folded a piece of paper with her cell phone number in it and put it in his hand, in a way that pleased him. Her hand touch almost made him change his mind about the kid, but he decided to stay with the plan to meet the next day. His interest in doing something with the college student was still greater than his sudden curiosity to find out about the now intriguing girl.

Umbigo was thin, docile, but very strong. It was amazing to see him as a drag queen. Even on high hills, he made no faux pas, as if he were walking magically, sliding on water. Maybe this was how the kid saw him, magical. The kid could not imagine Umbigo’s physical strength, but his elegant walk, his femininity, instead.

Umbigo took all the gears that he brought for the show and walked with them to a nearby shady area. There he changed, packed everything, and came out as a new person. When the kid saw him, so different, he was a bit surprised. But that made him feel more comfortable. Hanging out in public with a plain transvestite is not especially attractive. The new person still had charm, with some expression of an urban elegance and almost unnoticeably delicate gestures, instead of the screamingly eccentric gestures during the show.

Umbigo liked the expression in the face of the kid.

– Ok, cowboy. How do I look?

– Surprisingly good!

– Let’s walk to my place. I need to leave my stuff there. It’s not far.

– Cool.

They left together to Umbigo’s place, getting to know each other as they walked. The kid felt good in Umbigo’s company and didn’t mind when Umbigo, every once in a while held him closer, to tell something dirty, and going apart again as they laughed. There was a good chemistry bonding them. They exchanged cell phone numbers and texted each other a few funny messages to make sure they were connected. When they arrived, Umbigo opened the door carefully. It was late. He asked the kid to go in with him, but to make no noise. They went in, tiptoeing through the shady hall, until they reached Umbigo’s room.

It was a two-level building. In the first level, right after the entrance door, there was an open, common area. Umbigo’s room had a double bed, a desk with a chair, some shelves and a small sofa. No windows. As Umbigo unpacked and organized everything, the kid sat on the chair, watching him. After he finished, he was right behind the kid. Standing behind the kid, Umbigo started to gently massage the kid’s back and neck. The kid had an initial gesture to move out, but then let Umbigo continue. Feeling that the kid liked it, he unbuttoned the kid’s clothes, undressing him as he continued the massage. The kid stood up at the same time that Umbigo started taking off his own clothes.

– I can undress, I can do this by myself, said the kid.

Umbigo stopped his attempt to undress the kid, and took off his own clothes very fast. The kid undressed slowly, taking longer than Umbigo, which gave Umbigo a chance to approach the kid from behind, as the kid was still taking off his underwear. Umbigo held the kid from behind, gently, but firmly, laying him naked on the bed, buttocks up. With fast and sure moves, he held the kid under him, readying to penetrate the kid from behind. The kid didn’t expect that, but could feel that he was not going to get out easily from Umbigo’s grasp. As he felt Umbigo about the go inside, he tried to break free from Umbigo’s grip.

– Hey, man! Stop this! I don’t like it! I wanna do you! Let me out!

– Shhh… Hush-hush. You’ll like it. Lemme do this.

– No! I’m not gay! Let me out!

– Let’s try. If you really don’t like, I promise I’ll stop.

– No! No!

Umbigo had him subdued. He made sure he could keep the kid mobilized with one hand. With the other, then, he’d caress him, calm him down, as he talked friendly, reassuringly…

– See… This is good, eh? You need to try everything in life. It’s a short life. Trust me.

The kid was in bewilderment, not sure of what to do. In a voice half-wanting to cry and half-agreeing he told Umbigo.

– Come on! We can try another day. I just took a shit. My butts are all dirt.

– Not a problem. I’m so used to dirty butts. My little monkey is blind.

And Umbigo forced in, as he felt that the kid was not resisting anymore. His orgasm came quickly inside the kid. Then, he fell on the side as he continued to caress and calm the student.

– Don’t worry about this. Lots of people like it, but are afraid. They just need a little encouragement to try. I’m sure you’ll enjoy this again, the more you get used to the idea.

The student didn’t say anything. He quickly put on his clothes and got out of the room as quickly as possible. As he left the house, he noticed that he had messages in his cellular. His father and one friend had been texting him, trying to find out where he was. Outside, he was walking aimlessly and reading his messages. He felt lost, but not disgusted with what happened. Everything was so fast. He just needed to be by himself for a while, put things back together and maybe forget what happened. “Just an experience,” he thought, trying to appease his feelings. He didn’t know how to reply to the few messages he had. He would contact everyone soon. He kept walking, not sure of where to go.

Umbigo was in his room, thinking about what just happened. When he invited the student to come to his place, he was still disturbed with the mugging. When he saw the kid finishing getting undressed, he pondered, “Am I getting fucked again? No. My turn! This urban kid will like it. I’ll do him a favor for life. Yes. Let me tickle with his body and mind. Then he’ll grow and decide.

He was tired, but could not fall asleep. He wanted to rethink about everything that happened to him. He had so much in his mind. The mugging opened a superficial cut on his belly but also the deepest one ever, in his mind. He came out of it alive. It made him feel strong and fearless. He needed to get out of his confinement, of the repression he lived in, in his routine. He was thinking of calling the girl he just met at the show. How would she react? She could be sleeping now, and would not like the call.

– Hello!

– Who is this?

– Hi. You helped in my show, a few hours ago. Is this a bad time to call?

– Hi! No! This is nice. I’m still wandering here in Lapa. Do wanna get together?

– Yes.

– I can come to your place.

– Great. Let me tell you how to get here.

– I know how. I live across from you. Surprised?

– Oh! Now I understand your mischievous looks…

She laughed.

– Yes. I know a bit about you. I know you’re not gay. I’ve seen your show a few times. Very unusual. I’d love to know you better.

– You’re something! Ok. Come by. I’ll be outside, at the entrance.

She arrived a few minutes later, on her moped.

– Hi! Nice scooter!

– Thanks! I love it.

She locked the scooter, and came to sit by him, in front of the house.

– See that place over there? Number 111. That’s where I live. I can see you in and out.

– It’s a cabalistic number.

– 111? Yes. That’s why I picked the place. I was waiting for this number to take me somewhere. And here I’m.

– This is amazing. Hey! I need to tell you what happened to me today.

He told her how he got mugged, everything, including the meeting with the student. But he didn’t tell what he actually did to the student. He decided to be cautious about that, until he got to know her better. And this was an experience he didn’t feel like repeating. His mind was messed up and he felt he needed to do that. But he didn’t think he would do it again. And certain things you keep between you and your partner, regardless who your partner is.

– Man, you went through a lot today! Do you know what?

– Tell me.

– Let’s go back there tomorrow, around the same time you got mugged. I’m pretty sure he’ll be there.

– I have nothing against him. I don’t want my money back.

– I know. But if you go there and meet the kid, the shock will go away. It will make you feel better. It can be dangerous. But so what? It can be great, too.

– You’re right. We’ll go there tomorrow. That will be better than doing my show. And I don’t feel like doing my show anymore.

– Well, you can decide about it later. Tomorrow we just go there. Do want me to stay with you tonite?

– Would you?

– I’d love to. Let me take my moped to my place. Be back here in a few minutes.

She took her moped to a safe place where she lived and came back to join Umbigo. They went to his room. He loved her name, Ludmila, or Lu. When she found out his real name, Rodrigo, she shortened it to Ro. They took a shower together and then went to bed.

They spent the night discovering each other bodies, joy after joy, sexual pleasure, a night to mark their lives. It was Sunday, mid-afternoon, when they woke up. Lu and Ro woke up in their best mood. They played a little more in bed, and then laid down a few minutes until they started feeling hungry.

– Let’s go out grab something to eat.

– Great. I’m very hungry, too.

They went back to Lapa, and there they found a place to eat, to read the news. They took their time, enjoyed the place, and ended up staying there until around 6pm. Then, they decided to go to the place where Rodrigo was attacked. Lu wanted to take her moped. He loved the idea. He jumped behind on the moped, keeping one hand on the seat, and the other around her waist. She was poised, self-confident, manly and still sensual. Rodrigo wondered what brought her to become so audacious; maybe the roughness of Rio’s streets…, but he felt safe by her side. As they drove to Maracanã’s neighborhood, they talked about their first night. Lu was yelling, she didn’t mind what people could hear when they drove slower in some sections.

– Man, you LIKE oral sex!

– Not with everyone, he yelled back. With you, I do.

– Oh! Just like that?

– Your belly has amazing lines. They slide into your lower mouth, totally shaved… That’s mouth watering delicious. I couldn’t stop kissing you there.

– Yes, I know…

– You know… One day I went for a regular check with a doctor and he told me that the vagina has twenty or so different kinds of bacteria, while the ass has only one. Do you believe that? He sounded like a conservative religious, trying to cut down my bad habits.

– Interesting… Sounds like a bishop talk.

– He told me to live in a heavenly mansion, not in some foul sty. Do you understand what this means?

– Kinda… not sure either.

– I did not. But I felt he was reproaching me. He talked bizarre. So, I asked him where he’d put his tongue if he had to, into a twenty bacteria mouth-hole or a one bacteria airhole?

– You can’t talk to a doctor like that!

The bishop, I mean the doctor certainly knew Yeats, and thought of Rodrigo as some kind of Crazy Jane. But why would the doctor quote the bishop, when Crazy Jane annuls his scolding, Love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement, for nothing can be sole or whole that has not been rent?

– Cannot… But it’s his fault trying to lecture me. After the consultation, he said I didn’t have to come back to see him, kinda suggesting me to go away, find another physician.

– You’re perverted…

– Sure. Tell me something. If I fuck a gay, am I also a gay?

– I heard that in some countries you’d be gay, regardless if the other ever fucked you.

– Here in Brazil, wherever I have been, only the one who is fucked is gay. But in Rio, I’m not sure. They tend to think like people in other countries. Anyway, for me only the one who is done is gay.

– Makes sense to me… Ok. We’re arriving. Do you remember the place?

– Yes. It’s on the other side, by Bellini’s entrance.

– I think I know where. This is going to be interesting.

They rode to the other side of the stadium, where Rodrigo had been mugged. Lu stopped the moped at a safe distance from the place, turned off the lights and told Rodrigo to go there alone. She would wait. If they went together, the kid would not come out.

Rodrigo went back where he was robbed, walking slowly, trying to be aware of his surroundings. As he approached the area, he could see cars and people passing by, but nothing special that called his attention. He wasn’t sure of what to do. To stay there turning round and round would look bizarre. But he needed to stay there, so that the kid who robbed him would see him, an easy prey once more. After a little while, trying to decide what to do, he decided to pretend that he lost something, and started searching for it on the ground. That would keep him busy and normal.

After a couple minutes of searching what he didn’t lose, he notices a couple silhouettes approaching. Two kids came in his direction, and one of them was the one from last night.

– Did you find anything?

The kid from last night had a different voice today. Rodrigo was not sure of what was happening. He was sure that he kid was the same one, but now he looked and talked differently. Rodrigo was calm, well aware of everything around him, because he knew Lu was following everything. He answered the kid.

– No. But I’m happy to find you.

– Me, too, because I need more money. Do you have more money?

– Yes, but I was thinking of inviting you for a beer.

The kid and his friend started laughing.

– You’re funny! Just throw me your wallet, and get outta here.

Out of nowhere, Lu joins them.

– Hi, guys! Can I join you?

The kid and his friend looked at Lu as if they knew her.

– What are you doing here? Don’t tell me that you want to work with us again?

Rodrigo looks at Ludmila, surprised.

– Do you know these kids?

– Yes, we used to work together. I’ll tell you more later.

The kid is also caught by surprise.

– Do you know this guy? pointing at Rodrigo.

– He’s my boyfriend.

– I see… You prefer men now. That’s why you left us? replied the “kid.” Then, she turns to Rodrigo.

– Lucky you, dude! She just saved your life. I was going to kill you after this, because you came here for the second time. That raised my concerns about what you’d do next. I don’t like concerns.

Ludmila intervened.

– Hey, Ro! This is going to be fun. You didn’t realize that these kids are girls, did you?

– What?!

– So, you thought we were boys…

Rodrigo now understood the different voice.

– Of course, I did. You barely have boobs, dressed like a boy, short hair…

– Fuck you!

– Sorry! Last night I was nervous, it was dark…

– Come on, no big deal. It was my idea to come here. Ludmila came between them. I kinda thought that you girls were behind this, when he told me what happened, the dagger-like glass, the place, …

– Who are you? He asked the three of them. And the kid, now girl, talked.

– I’m not an adolescent. We’re about the same age. I’m 23. We were in the army together, for two years. Then, we got fed up with it and left. We live in the streets and survive without problem, just as we learned in the army.

– Until last year, we worked together, everywhere in Rio, in the streets, anywhere, clarified Ludmila.

– Ok, guy, said the girl to Rodrigo. Consider yourself a reborn. Let’s go for that beer.

They walked together to a boteco, a pub in Portuguese, a couple blocks from where they were. Now they were talking profusely, knowing much better each other. As they talked, Rodrigo learned that the two girls never used real arms, only improvised ones, which would save them, in case the police stopped them for searches. Better be always clean, no concerns. Ludmila had a sophisticated gun. She was very skilled with it, keeping it always within her reach. She dressed normally, clean, and the police would never stop her. The three of them only attack safe catches, only when they needed.

As he became more comfortable with them, Rodrigo showed the stabbing from last night, still healing, still stinging.

– I had to do that, said the girl. Sometimes we need to straighten up things, straighten up our preys.

– Are you and your friend… umm, you know…

Rodrigo was trying to find out if the girls were lesbians, but wasn’t sure how to ask that. But they understood, and smiled at each other.

– Yes, sometimes we play together. We love each other.

– Sometimes?

– I like boys, too. But men out there today are usually disguised gays, urban niceties, or something like that. We do make some effort to see which ones still have some manly traits that needs to be awakened.

– Interesting… So, if you find a man like that, you put him on his place, before dating him?

– A little bit like that.

– How do you go about this?

– Well, if he is shakable, I shake him pretty hard. Then, he will come up straightened up and fittingly, for me.

– Have you done this before? Did it work?

– Yes, a couple times. Some birds need to be properly ruffled. It worked for you, didn’t it?

– What do you mean?

– I scratched you pretty well, last night, didn’t I? I could have killed you. But my intuition told me not to do so. And you changed a lot, didn’t you? Aren’t you another man, today?

The girl had skillfully poked him again, right on the spot. He was silent for a few seconds, mulling over who he was. Her words infiltrated him so profoundly that he muttered something, while holding his teeth bite. He was fully aware.

– I’m a mulatto! Screw those farm workers in New Orleans! It’s none’s business who I’m. I know who I’m and that’s all I need. No control! No predictable moves. Blessed is Exu!

– What did you say? asked the girl, as the three of them turned towards him.

– Nothing important. That’s is not important. I just wanna enjoy an extremely cold beer with you.

(Written in Vitória and Paris, 2013)