The day came when I could go to school. I went, but not to school.
I knew Portuga would have been waiting for me in ‘our’ car for a week and had probably given up.
Naturally, he would only start waiting again when I told him to. My absence must have worried him a lot.
But even if he’d known I was sick, he wouldn’t have come looking for me.
We had given our word; we’d made a secret pact. No one but God could know about our friendship.
His beautiful car was parked in front of the pastry shop, opposite the train station.
The first ray of joy broke through. My heart galloped on ahead, spurred on by my eagerness to see him.
I was going to see my one true friend. But at that moment a beautiful whistle echoed through the station, giving me goose bumps.
It was the Mangaratiba. Violent, proud, master of the tracks.
It flew past, its carriages jiggling in all their splendour. The people at the windows were looking out.
Everyone who travelled was happy. When I was a child, I liked to watch the Mangaratiba go past while I waved and waved.
I would wave until the train disappeared into the horizon. Now it was Luís who was going through this phase.
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