Luke Fagundes

I was driving down a busy avenue in Rio de Janeiro, watching the car in front of me, so I wouldn’t let it out of my sight. Sweat was running down my forehead. I looked at the clock on the dashboard, and it was only eight in the morning. I accelerated when I realized that the car in front had established a great distance. Inside that car is Gonzalo Fagundes, my father.

The night before, I saw my mother come home from the church with a heavy face. Maybe it was fate. I was at home that day, which was very rare, since I was always wandering the streets of Rio de Janeiro, spending my father’s fortune. I went to the bedroom and, with the door ajar, I saw my mother take an envelope from one of the drawers, open it and take what I supposed to be a letter. A tear rolled down her face, as if she were reading it for the first time. Closing her eyes, she shoved the paper back into the envelope and placed it in the third drawer of her dresser. He got up and walked towards the bathroom. I stood there, thinking about how serious it would have been to write on that paper to make Helena so distressed. In the dim light, with the window still open, I heard the sound of the shower turning on and decided not to talk to her that night. But I needed to read what was in that letter. I also knew that I should not invade Helena’s privacy, but my curiosity exceeded common sense and when I wondered who would write a letter, in times of social networks, I realized that time was passing. Hurriedly, without much thought, I took the envelope hidden in the bottom of the drawer and opened it. My heart skipped a thousand beats while reading the first paragraph. I objected to the information contained. I was full of anger. Besides, I’m sorry about that. The noise coming from the bathroom has ceased. With trembling hands, I put the envelope exactly where I had found it and left the room without Helena realizing it was there. The hours that passed after that were long and thoughtful. I found out what everyone in that house already suspected: Gonzalo was cheating on my mother.

The next morning, I woke up very early and waited for Gonzalo to leave the company. Now I’m here, chasing you through the streets of Rio de Janeiro to find any proof of your betrayal. I noticed, as we crossed the main avenue, that it was going in another direction, toward the suburban area of the city. I knew that place well because I had been there several times to meet women for a night of fun. He parked his car in front of a building. He came down, straightened his jacket, looked around, making sure he wasn’t being watched, and walked into the room. I got out of the car immediately. I was wearing a black hooded jacket. It wasn’t that cold. I put my hands in my pockets and walked towards the same spot. The place was old. There were cracks and dirt marks on the walls. There was a man smoking a cigar in the lobby. He had aged, or his skin was worn out over time.

“Hello, good morning,” I said, but the old man did not look at me. “Did you see a man in a jacket coming in here?”

He caught another drag on his cigar, silent.

“Could you tell me which apartment he went to?”

“Second floor, number 13.”

He was silent and, by the expression on his face, the old man was short of friends.

I ran up the stairs and walked down the hall. The place smelled bad. It even looked like a brothel, with scant women coming in and out of the rooms. A drunk man staggered past me, and I was wondering what Gonzalo, the fifth-richest man in this country, would be doing in a place like that. I walked to room thirteen, and the door was ajar. How careless, rich, business and stupid. That wasn’t in my father’s way. Go around leaving clues. I opened the door slowly. Apparently, the place was clean, and the smell inside was nicer than the rest of the building. I walked across the room and heard a noise coming from the back of the room. It was a small room, it also had dirty walls. I noticed that you had thrown your jacket over the couch. I walked cautiously toward the noise and almost fell back when I saw him kissing another woman. It took me a while to absorb the event. The woman had blond hair up to her waist. She was wearing a red dress and looked very comfortable in my father’s arms. I took my phone out of my coat pocket and pointed them both out to take a picture. They were so involved; they didn’t even notice my presence. But the flash, turned on by the cell phone camera, accused me and both of us looked at me.

“Luke? Your mouth was red, eyes wide,” what are you doing here?

I swallowed it hard before I answered. I looked him right in the eye, thinking about running away. Likewise, I already had the evidence, but my legs just locked up.

“I’m collecting evidence.” I put my phone in my pocket. “Now everyone will know who Gonzalo Fagundes is”.

His expression changed from surprise to anger in a matter of seconds. He ran towards me and grabbed my arm, taking me out of the room.

“What do you think you’re doing? We stopped in the hallway. Your face was too close to mine,” how did you find me here?

“I followed you,” I confessed, defying him. I loved challenging my father. "You should know that the bitch you betrayed my mother sent you a letter telling you everything”.

He let go of my arm, and now his expression was one of fear.

“Give me your cell,” he commanded.

 “Fuck the hell,” I answered, as I held the device hard in my pocket.

“Don’t make me lose my temper with you, Luke.” He leaned even closer, talking with his teeth clenched".

“Or what? I took a step back” will you cut my allowance?"

He laughed, a broad mocking smile.

“Don’t underestimate me.” He reached out, waiting for me to give you his cell phone. “What are you going to do with it? Show your mother.”

“She already knows,” I continued adamantly. I will show it to those who have not yet seen it".

Hurriedly, he walked towards me, pressing me against the wall. He was stronger than me, but I would fight him if I had to win that fight. He tried to take the phone away from me, and in response, I punched him in the face. I immediately regretted what I did and before fixing the mistake, I took another punch in return. When I realized I was fighting with my own father. The woman in the red dress tried to break up our fight and, in a single gesture, he pushed her against the wall. He didn’t respect my mother. Would he respect other women? The cell phone fell out of my pocket and Gonzalo picked it up.

“You’re going to pay dearly for what happened today, you arrogant brat”.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, as I wiped the blood running down my nose from my face".

“Great,” he said, looking me straight in the eye, “because from today onwards he will.”

He took my arm again, but I didn’t try to run away. Before dragging me down the hall, he turned to the woman in front of us and asked,

“Is what he said true?”

She took a while to answer. She seemed lost, looking for any lie to get away with it.

“It’s true,” he lowered his head, confessing in a whisper".

“I’ll settle accounts with you later.”

He looked at her one last time, and we walked back outside. He made me get into his car and drove in silence through the streets of Belo Horizonte. We stopped at an airport for small planes, and I still didn’t understand why Gonzalo had taken me there.

“Why did you bring me here?” He got out of the car without answering me. He opened the passenger door and took my arm again."

“You’re going to travel,” he said as we walked toward the private plane he had.

I tried to pull away when I realized what he wanted to do to me.

“It’s easier to get rid of problems, isn’t it Dad?” I smiled in despair, but I didn’t let my fear show. "Where are we going?”

“We’re not going” we stopped near the plane “you can go with a one-way ticket”.

 “Which is? My eyes watered”.

“Don’t you want to be smart?” he said. “Do you think you can live the rest of your life enjoying the sweat of my work and then stab me in the back? Now I’m going to teach you how to be a real man.”

“Want to teach me something you haven’t learned?”

His jaw locked, and I didn’t like what I saw in his eyes.

“You’re going to live in Brasília with your poor aunt” his anger was boiling over. "And I’m going to tell her to get really tough with you.”

“You can’t do that” my eyes were wide open, fear, now, transparency. “What are you going to say to my mother, to Natalia, when they ask for me?”

“The truth”. He waved his hand, calling the pilot.

“Will you tell them about your betrayal, too?”

As you said, she already knows.

“There was no empathy or remorse in him when he said that. I hated him for doing this to my mom.”He’s going to run out of money, no credit card, and he’s going to stay there until I decide".

I didn’t know what to say. In my mind, it should have been the other way around, but I fell into my own trap.

Gonzalo started pushing me into the plane. I could re-attack him and run away, but it wouldn’t work. I knew my father so well that in addition to him seeking me to the ends of the earth, he would keep his promise to leave me in the gutter.

“You dare not contact your mother or sister” already sitting in the armchair he put his belt on me “you will stand there eating the bread that the devil kneaded to learn never to confront me again”.

“It’s not going to stay that way, Dad.”

But he didn’t answer. He got off the plane, closing the door and leaving me alone with my fears, my hatred and my uncertainties. Gonzalo was very powerful, and even if I were his son, I wouldn’t have the strength to fight it.

I tried to find a way out of the mess I’d just gotten myself into, but it was too late. The plane took off towards Brasília. And I was going without clothes, without hope and alone.

Aurora

 It’s a rainy afternoon, when the neighbor next door knocks on the gate, letting me know that there was someone on the phone wanting to talk to me urgently. I hurry and run out into the rain, imagining the worst. When I answer, I hear that familiar voice on the other end of the line: it’s my father. I roll my eyes inevitably. A long sigh before saying anything.

“Hi, dad”

“Your mother is in the hospital”

He says this without me feeling any emotion in his voice.

“I need you to come over here, Aurora, to help me take care of her”

“Is it serious?”

“I don’t know, maybe”

“Don’t know?”

My voice comes out angrier than it should.

“Are you coming or not?”

“And how do I do with my work? Or do you think only you work here?”

“Put him down”

I’m amazed at my father’s arrogance, in not caring one bit about my life.

“He left home because he wanted to, so don’t blame me for your failures.”

He could only be kidding, I think.

“If you are willing to support me while I am taking care of my mother, I will go without any problem.”

There’s a silence on the other end of the line that I thought would never end.

“Come as fast as you can.”

He hangs up the phone without waiting for any response from me.

I wonder if he really cares about my mother to the point of calling me six months after I left home, asking me to come back. No questions about how I’m doing, if I need anything, or say I miss you. None of this was said or mentioned. I’m still standing in the middle of my neighbor’s living room, phone in hand, wondering at what point I lost control of my own life. Visibly worried about my mother, I go back to my rented room in the suburbs of Brasília and start packing my things to go home.

I was a good girl, and bad things didn’t happen to good people. That’s what my mother told me, that’s what I believed for a long time. But then, high school graduation came, and I was at a loss for what to do with my own destiny. I watched my old classmates go to college, get a good job, take courses, and I, well, I wanted to be just like them, but all I had in my luggage was talent and a lot of uncertainties. Things were tough. My mom didn’t have the money to pay for college or anything like that, and all I had left was to study on my own. I didn’t complain. Good girls understood when life needed to be tough. I didn’t have any friends anymore, and my fear of being judged drove everyone away. It was  books that I found in my refuge. I remember my writing teacher saying how good I was at writing, that I still needed to be polished, but that I was certainly on the right path to be an important writer. I believed that and started writing my first book. Furthermore, I spent hours in my room, polishing myself, writing, creating my own world and when I was asked what I did so much in front of that laptop, my answer was always the same: I’m studying. Likewise, I kept that secret for a long time, until I shared it with my mother. I might not have the permanent resources every budding writer needs to get their first work published, but I had my mother’s unconditional love.

“I should get a job” every time my father saw me studying, he always said the same thing “until you manage to pass a civil service exam, I’m already retired”.

“Don’t be exaggerated, Claudio” my mother was the only one who always defended me “she needs incentives”.

“And isn’t getting a job a good incentive?” he said. "You need to stop putting your hand on that girl’s head, Desiree. She’s not a kid anymore, and I’m not going to spend the rest of my life supporting her”.

Good things don’t always happen to good girls, and my dad was proof of that. Sometimes I got the feeling he hated me, and that was one of the reasons I wanted to leave the house so early. The pressure to find a job was constant and unbearable, and they forced me to give up my dream and obey my father. The fights were intense and painful. That was another reason. I would have to fend for myself. Despite not knowing how to start, taking care of my own existence from that moment on, it would undoubtedly be the best decision I would make in my entire life. It would be, if I really followed the plan I’ve laid out my whole life for a bright future.

I should have been happy, though, when I got a job. Twenty-five kilometers away from home, in a town where I didn’t know anyone, on a salary just above the minimum wage. I could call it freedom, but there was something dull about getting something I really needed but didn’t want to have. Being honest with myself, working in a cafeteria, serving people just to satisfy my father’s wishes, was far from my plans and I would pay a high price for it. Living in a room measuring thirty square meters, with only an old mattress donated by the neighbor and with an uncertain future, certainly did not bring me the freedom that I wanted so much, on the contrary, I was living in one of the most dangerous cities in Brasília; the setbacks were constant. Sometimes I regretted leaving home, but the pressure was too great. I was immature and deep down, I just wanted to prove to my father that I could manage without him. It was a sweet illusion. I remember my mother crying to see me go. I remember her calling me whenever she could to see if I was okay or still alive. Now she was in a hospital with God knows what illness, needing me. I would drop whatever it took to take care of her. In any situation, she would have me by her side until the end.

I called my boss, letting him know that I’m returning to my city for an indefinite period. That was an unintentional resignation, but he is understandable and in the end he wishes me luck. Not only that, but I return home without guilt, with my head held high. After all, that house only belongs to my mother, who had inherited it when her mother died. Even though my father was the man who supported the house, everything in there was hers. I take the bus that takes me to the Plano Pilot bus station and from there I take another bus that takes me to my hometown. Stepping onto that street again fills me with nostalgia. From childhood, I spent running around there, having fun with the few friends I had. It’s only been six months, I tell myself as I fight back the tears. It hasn’t been that long. There is a gate in front of my old house. I know that my father is not at home, because he would not stop a day of work to take care of my mother, let alone receive me. I remember that I still have the spare keys in my purse. Likewise, I take them, open the door and go inside. The smell is still the same, things are still in the same place, my room is still the same as the last time I was here. A tear runs down my face when I see a picture of me and my mother on the nightstand by my old bed. Oh mother, I pray that this illness is not so serious and that soon you will be with me again.