Issue 22

Cidinha da Silva
Translated by Ana Luiza de Oliveira e Silva and Daniel Persia

“Girl, all that glitters sure ain’t gold. What does anyone see in that songamonga, anyway?” one woman remarks to her neighbor, as they sit out, sunbathing in front of the condo. Their neighbor walks across the yard carrying several grocery bags stuffed with lettuce.

“He’s unbelievable—yesterday alone there were three!”

“Three?! Naughty, naughty, used to be two!”

“Don’t I know, but this time it was three, honey, three.”

“In a row?”

“Yes ma’am! One walked in and another walked out.”

“It’s settled, then: must be the Viagra, lasts up to four hours. My husband told me that his friend told him that a friend uses it.”

“Ah, must be … I mean, can’t say for sure, my husband doesn’t have any friends who use Viagra. But each girl is in there for less than an hour, hard to believe much gets done with all that giggling. Hardly ever hear a good solid moan, you know? And when I do, it’s professional, overly climactic.”

“True, I bet they fake getting off just to get it over with, it’s so boring. A lot of women do it, you know.”

“And so the man thinks he’s nailing it. They’ll believe anything!”

“Ain’t that the truth! And if she goes to town, there’s a good chance he’s calling back. Where he gets all that money, beats me. That kind of delivery sure don’t come free of charge.”

“Not a clue, probably some kind of inheritance. After his wife left, seems like he retired and turned into a sex addict. Who’d’ve thought, seemed like such a serious guy.”

“Seriously? Go figure. Must’ve done somethin’ real bad for her to leave like that.”

“She left him, huh?”

“Oh, came as quite the shocker. They were a quiet couple, never too affectionate, but they weren’t known to fight, either. Sometimes they went out together, but no one ever saw them talk. They had a daughter, she was about eight … I mean, have, because the girl’s still alive, thank God. One night (it was a full moon), without any arguing, no noise whatsoever coming from the house, the woman left with her daughter and went to her sister’s place, in that condo across the street.”

“They didn’t even fight?”

“I guess not, or at least I didn’t hear anything. I only heard the girl say, ‘Bye, Daddy,’ when she was already on the stairs, which means he walked them to the door, probably out of courtesy.”

“And him?”

“What about him?”

“What did he do when his daughter said goodbye?”

“Not sure, that’s all I heard. He must’ve said goodbye to her, too.”

“Bizarre!”

“But wait, there’s more!”

“More what?”

“The woman left with a mattress on her head, one of those long ones that you can’t roll up, you know?”

“Well, maybe the sister didn’t have a mattress for guests; it was already late, and she didn’t want to be a burden.”

“She left with that thing on her head, hand-in-hand with her little girl, and never came back. The girl never visits her father, even though they live right across the street.”

“Strange indeed. And that’s when he became a pervert?”

“Exactly. Before, he was just a serene, harmless man.”

“But he’s not harmless anymore? Does he hit on women in our building? Does he harass little girls?”

“No, no! None of that! But it’s strange, isn’t it? A man who receives call girls in his home every other day. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, to be precise.”

“Strange indeed.”

“You should hear him calling the agency, he always says the same thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“He asks for juicy little things, and for discreet clothes, no extravagant makeup.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“And so are they, juicy little things?”