“Who is it?” “It’s me. Open up.” I unlatched it without making any noise so as not to wake Glória.
Standing there in the darkness was Pinkie, all shiny and festooned with gold, like a miracle.
“May I come in?” “I guess so. But don’t make any noise or she’ll wake up.”
“I promise not to wake her.” He jumped into the room and I went back to bed.
“Look who I brought to see you. He insisted on coming too.” He held out his arm and I saw a kind of silver bird.
“I can’t see properly, Pinkie.” “Pay attention because you’re going to get a surprise. I dressed him up with silver feathers. Isn’t he beautiful?”
“Luciano! How fine you look. You should stay like that for ever. I thought you were a falcon from The Tale of Caliph Stork.”
I stroked his head, overcome with emotion, and felt for the first time that it was soft and that even bats liked tenderness.
“You missed something. Take a good look.” Pinkie turned around to show himself off.
“I’m wearing Tom Mix’s spurs. Ken Maynard’s hat. Fred Thompson’s pistols. Richard Talmadge’s belt and boots.
And to top it off, Seu Ariovaldo lent me that chequered shirt you like so much.”
“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful, Pinkie. How did you get it all?” “When they heard you weren’t well, they lent it to me.”
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