That’s when my inner imp would begin to wake up. I actually liked it when Totoca went on ahead so that I could do my thing in peace.
I was fascinated with the highway. A piggyback. Definitely a piggyback.
To cling to the back of a car and feel the highway blowing wind in your face, whooshing and whistling.
It was the best thing in the world. We all did it.
Totoca had taught me, telling me over and over to hold on tight, because the cars behind us were dangerous.
We slowly learned to overcome our fear, and our sense of adventure prompted us to attempt even more difficult piggybacks.
I was getting so bold that I’d even piggybacked on Seu Ladislau’s car.
The only one I hadn’t been on was the Portuguese’s beautiful vehicle.
What a fine, well-kept car that was. The tyres always brand new.
The metal so shiny you could see your reflection in it. I loved the sound of the horn: a gravely moo, like a cow in a field.
The Portuguese would drive past sitting stiffly in his seat, master of all that beauty, wearing the biggest scowl in the world.
No one dared piggyback on his back wheel. They said he beat people up, killed them, and even threatened to cut off their balls before he killed them.
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