Colossal Youth Page #5

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It's Wednesday. It's Paulo.

Is your sister better?"

"Yes, thank God.

The operation went well. And you?"

"I'm doing a bit better too,

thank God."

"I'll see what I have."

And she'd come back

with some socks and sneakers

and four euros.

"These are my son's gym shoes.

They might fit you."

"They should, Dona Teresa.

Thank you very much.

I hope your sister gets better.

See you next Wednesday."

Then I'd go downstairs.

"See what I got

from just one building?

Do like me and you'll get by."

So what does that moron

go and do later?

He gets a folder

and some paper,

puts on a half-clean shirt...

and gets right down to business.

He rings at Dona Gina's door.

"Dona Gina,

I have some sad news.

You know Paulo

with the crutches?

They had to amputate his leg.

In despair, he climbed up

on Santa Cruz Bridge,

threw himself in front

of a train and died."

- "It can't be!"

- "It's the truth.

So I decided to come here

and ask for donations

from you and his other friends...

so he can have

a decent funeral.

I'll buy him some flowers,

a casket,

a headstone."

He just wasn't thinking

that a few days later

I'd be back at Dona Gina's.

Imagine the lady's shock

when I knocked at her door.

She almost had a heart attack

when she saw me.

"Paulo, you're alive?"

"Yes, Dona Gina. Why?

My leg's doing better."

"Because a friend of yours

came by a few days ago

asking for money

for your funeral."

"You're kidding me!"

Too bad for him...

Dona Gina was married

to the chief of police.

Last time I saw him,

he was in a police car.

I still go around

to the same people...

and they're even happier

to give me stuff.

Your mother left me, Paulo.

Why?

I don't know.

- This place is too big for just you.

- It's for all of us.

What's in the bag, Paulo?

Toys I sell outside schools.

I don't make much.

Of course not.

No use begging around here.

Everyone's poor.

We'll need cooking gas,

tobacco and matches.

If things get worse,

we'll have to make do here on our own.

Just when things are working for us,

this coup d'tat breaks out.

Soldiers all over...

in their armored cars,

ready for a fight, checking IDs.

They're bound to come here.

Don't go out for anything.

I went to confession.

The priest asked me

if I ever ate human flesh.

Come learn the letter.

Yesterday at dawn

they passed by in a jeep.

They took Yaya up into the hills.

They beat him up

and tied him to a pine tree.

Poor guy was the first,

but not the last.

Please come learn the letter.

It's no use now.

The letter will never reach

Cape Verde.

"Meeting again

will brighten our lives..."

There's no more mail, Ventura.

No boats, no planes, no nothing.

They're all on strike.

One more gone...

Lena's daughter Zita.

The usual poison.

It wasn't the poison she took

but the poison everyone took

before she was born.

See ya, Ventura.

See ya, Xana.

You hear

a woman crying outside?

Well, I do.

But I see two turtles

right over there.

See 'em in the corner?

- No.

Now I see a hen

with its comb.

See it?

No.

Look, there's a uniformed cop

with a cap.

Behind him are lots of houses.

Under the cop, I see a lion

baring its teeth.

- A what?

- A lion...

baring its teeth.

I see a man and a woman.

The man has a tail.

- Where?

- Above the lion.

With a tail?

Then he's a devil.

- Must be.

And you? Are you

a good man or a bad man?

I'm a good man.

In the houses of the departed,

there are lots of figures to see.

Where were you?

In Porto?

Did you see him?

I was in too much pain.

I just heard a man

crying in the street.

You're a good man.

When they give us those white rooms,

we'll stop seeing these things.

It's true.

It'll all be over.

It's hot.

Papa, Zita was your daughter,

but she was my sister first.

I know.

"Nha cretcheu, my love,

meeting again will brighten

our lives for at least 30 years.

I'll return to you

renewed and full of strength.

I wish I could offer you

a dozen fancy new dresses,

a car,

that little lava house

you always dreamed of,

and a 40-cent bouquet.

But most of all,

drink a bottle of good wine

and think of me.

The work here never stops.

There are over

a hundred of us now.

Two days ago, on my birthday,

I thought about you for a long while.

Did my letter arrive safely?

Still no word from you.

I'm still waiting.

Every day, every minute,

I learn beautiful new words

just for you and me,

tailor-made for us both

like fine silk pajamas.

I can only send you

one letter a month.

Still no word from you.

Maybe soon.

Sometimes I get scared

building these walls,

me with a pick and cement,

you with your silence,

pushing you ever deeper

into a pit of forgetting.

It hurts to see these things

I don't want to see.

Your lovely hair slips

through my fingers like dry grass.

Sometimes I feel weak

and think I'll forget."

That's an awful letter, Ventura.

It's me, Paulo.

I've had too much anesthesia.

My head...

They took flesh off this leg

and put it on this one

to plug up the holes

the Lizaroff made.

It's a device like a scaffold

to stretch the bones.

But in my case,

it stretched the tendons too.

The doctors

are running around like crazy...

taking pictures, filming it.

They sent them

to the United States

so their colleagues

could study the method.

They'll send me home

in two or three days.

If they don't,

I'm leaving on my own.

It's costing me a lot.

I'm paying 12.50 euros

a night for a room.

My girlfriend Paula can't pay.

She's sick.

It has to be my lady friends

from Pontinha,

Colina do Sol and Benfica.

But they've had enough.

"Paulo, will these operations

go on the rest of your life?

"No...

not if you find me

some work in construction:

laborer,

tiler, carpenter.

Goldsmith would be perfect.

It's the trade

I learned as a kid.

I can do it all:

weld chains and bracelets,

resize rings.

I even did wedding rings.

The mint was like

my second home."

I want you to come with me

to see my mother.

Your mother?

I know she does her crochet

every afternoon

at an outdoor caf in Trafaria.

She's alone there.

I'm sure

if we go together,

she won't run away.

Seven or eight years ago,

it was a disaster.

I went with a buddy, Nhurro.

My Nhurro?

Yeah. She got scared.

It's understandable.

She gave me 5,000 escudos.

"What can I do with this,

you tightwad?

Go up and get me more dough!"

If we went together

and you talked to her...

What would I say, Paulo?

"Good afternoon, Lurdes.

Remember this boy?

Does this face

mean anything to you?

This dirty hair...

these hands blue from the cold...

these legs full of bullets?

You don't remember, do you?

I do.

It wasn't you who washed him...

gave him hot soup at night,

went to get him

in the oil drum he slept in.

So what are these tears now?

Tears of remorse?

I've brought you your son,

just as he is.

I've done what I could."

I just want her to tell me

my daughter's address.

I haven't seen her in 15 years.

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