“Do you believe me?” I nodded. “What’s a cadaver?” For the first time, Glória’s face lit up with happiness.
She laughed, because she knew that if I was interested in difficult words I had regained my will to live.
“A cadaver’s a dead body, a corpse. But maybe we should change the subject now.”
I thought it was a good idea, too, but I couldn’t help but think that he had been a cadaver for several days now.
Glória kept talking, promising things, but now I was thinking about Portuga’s two little birds, the blue one and the canary.
What would become of them? They might have died of sadness like Orlando-Hair-on-Fire’s finch.
Maybe someone had opened the cage doors and set them free. But that would have meant certain death.
They didn’t know how to fly any more. They would sit in the orange trees until the children hit them with their slingshots.
When Zico couldn’t afford to keep the tanager aviary going, he had opened the doors and that’s what happened.
Not one escaped. Things began to return to normal in the house. There was noise everywhere. Mother went back to work.
The rocking chair went back to the sitting room, where it had always lived. Only Glória stayed put.
She wasn’t going to budge until she saw me standing again.
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