Madeira-Mamoré Railway Society

Madeira-Mamoré Railway Society: "The Madeira-Mamoré Railway Society has learned of plans to convert the main railway station in Porto Velho into a shopping center. This railway stands as a tribute to the thousands of workers from all over the world who lost their lives during its construction in the deadly Amazon jungle."

Meire called to wish me a happy birthday. I didn't remember it was my birthday today. Started thinking when it was the last time I celebrated my birthday with someone. It was surely before 1994, but I just can't remember. I invited her to come over, but she was leaving for another place, maybe visit someone else, I don't remember very well. I only remember it's now been ten years since I started writing. A birthday and an anniversary to celebrate. And I don't feel like celebrating anything.

I spent the day at home. Where to go, after all, with this lousy weather. Outside it drizzles and rains and then it starts raining again. There is no pause between drizzling and downpouring, only the intensity changes. On the street, I hear a car that maneuvers in front of my house and comes to a stop. The door bells rings at the top of my concentration on an article on the Internet, giving me a nice scare. And it happens it's Figueira and Zangrandi. Unbelievable, under the rain. What are they doing here? I have the two come in, then advise them not to visit me, it's not interesting when we are working together. My involvement with my clients that never stops keeps bringing people to my house. They walk in and wish me a happy birthday. I wonder how they got to know it was my birthday. Maybe Mr. Costa. Or worse, the Internet. But I'm happy to have them here on such a boring day like Sunday.

"I have not much to offer, but... care for some soda?"
 
Figueira was the first to say yes. Zangrandi didn't need to say anything, he got hold of his glass very soon after; we started talking about everything. I had some yakisoba still in reserve and it ended up in the microwave. We ate in silence for some time. Then I decided to break the silence and ask how the training was going.

"Galhardo is going to kill me", said Figueira, shrugging.

"Because you let him do it, Figueira", said Zangrandi, "there is nothing he does to you you don't allow him to. You don't know how valuable you are. Morales is hard at training, but he's not being hard on me; sometimes because of himself, sometimes even because I don't allow him to."
 
Here I interpret Zangrandi's words as incentive, and it reinforces in me the idea he could talk sense into the others, make them advance into practice and quit random wanton violence. If it makes any sense to children who want to prove themselves valuable. What's the scale of values, what are their measuring sticks for what a valuable wrestler could be? I asked them the question, and there seems to be no easy answer ahead of us.

"A gentleman is a man that knows how to play accordion but doesn't", laughed Zangrandi, looking at Figueira at whom the joke was certainly aimed. Figueira looked at him too, but said nothing.

"What do you mean?" I inquired, wanting to know more about his point of view.

"I mean it's not because you know how to fight you are going to use it against people that don't do you harm", he said looking me straight in the eye. Figueira simply ate, without saying a word, casting sometimes a look on his fellow. "I had to learn it the hardest way", finished Zangrandi.

Figueira had finished his dish, I offered more, he accepted and ate more before I asked him the same question. He didn't add anything to what had been said by Zangrandi, what led me to the impression they had very strong common grounds.

"And you were speaking about Figueira's and Galhardo's training together, Zangrandi", I said after making sure Figueira wasn't opening his mouth to speak again. "You said Galhardo is doing everything he does to him, because he allows Galhardo to. What exactly do you mean by that, if not incentive?"
Figueira seemed restless for some reason. Zangrandi looked at him as if looking for approval. Figueira's silence was his consent. And then he himself said, "I just want to belong; just want to make the team and still sometimes I think it's too much to ask for..."
 
"And...?"
 
The two stayed silent, none said a word. Somehow I felt their coming to my house had to do with something they had to tell me. And I'm here to hear them. And away they went without telling me anything no matter how much I insisted or tried to show them listening to them was what I had been hired for. The question mark remained in the air, the impression, the strong and annoying hint of something that was left unsaid, in the air as I heard the maneuvering sound of the car again to pick up the boys.

Dusk | Walk your dog to hell

Radio Universal: The Making Of A Thousand Gods.