It was only then that he understood the tragedy. He didn’t even speak, just looked at me,
his bottom lip jutting out and eyes brimming. “Don’t worry, Luís. You know my little horse, Silver King?
I’m going to ask Totoca to change his pole and give it to you for Christmas.”
He sniffled. “No, don’t do that. You’re a king. Father said he named you Luís because it was a king’s name.
And a king can’t cry in the street, in front of other people.” I leaned his head against my chest and stroked his curly hair.
“When I grow up, I’m going to buy a beautiful car like Manuel Valadares’s.
Remember, the Portuguese man who passed us once at the train station when we went to wave at the Mangaratiba Express?
Well, I’m going to buy a beautiful big car like that, full of presents just for you... But don’t cry, ’cause kings don’t cry.”
My chest exploded with sorrow. “I swear I’m going to buy one. Even if I have to kill and steal...”
It wasn’t the little bird inside me saying that. It must have been my heart.
It was the only way. Why didn’t Jesus like me? He even liked the ox and the donkey in the manger. But not me.
He was punishing me because I was the devil’s godson. He was punishing me by not giving my brother a present.
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