he’d buy me some really yummy sweets so I wouldn’t tell anyone.
I couldn’t even ask Uncle Edmundo what “promenade” meant or the whole family would find out.
My other two siblings had died young and I had only heard about them.
They say they were two little Apinajé Indians, very dark, with straight black hair.
That’s why they were given Indian names. The girl was called Aracy and the boy, Jurandyr.
Then came my little brother Luís. Glória was the one who looked after him the most, then me.
He didn’t even need looking after, because there wasn’t a cuter, quieter, better-behaved boy in the world.
That’s why when he spoke in that little voice of his without a single mistake, as I was heading out into the street, I changed my mind.
“Zezé, are you going to take me to the zoo? It doesn’t look like it’s going to rain today, does it?”
How adorable. He spoke so well. That boy was going to be someone; he was going to go far.
I looked at the beautiful day with the sky all blue and didn’t have the courage to lie.
Because sometimes, if I wasn’t in the mood, I’d say, “You’re out of your mind, Luís. Just look at the storm coming!”
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