Then he told me what it meant: something that’s ready a long time before everything else.
Actually, I don’t think he knew how to explain it properly. It just meant anything that came first.
So I’d fetch bits of rope, scraps of thread, make holes in a bunch of bottle tops and go festoon Pinkie.
You should have seen how smart he looked. When the wind blew, the bottle tops would clink against one another
and he looked like he was wearing the spurs Fred Thompson wore when he rode Silver King.
School life was good, too. I knew all the national anthems off by heart.
The big one was the real one. The others were the hymn to the flag and the one that went Liberty, Liberty, spread your wings over us.
For me, and I think for Tom Mix too, it was the best.
Whenever we went for a ride, except when we were at war or on a hunt, he’d say respectfully,
“C’mon, Apinajé warrior, sing the anthem of liberty.”
My high-pitched voice would fill the vast plains, even more beautifully
than when I sang with Seu Ariovaldo in my job as a singer’s helper on Tuesdays.
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