His singsong way of speaking fascinated me. I wanted him to sing “the bit about Fanny”.
He always sang it and I wanted to learn. When he got to the bit that goes “In a prison I hope you die”, it was so beautiful I even got goose pimples.
He filled his lungs and sang “Claudionor”. I went to dance samba in the favela. A girl looked at me and said, “Hey there big fella.”
But I didn’t go, my lust unfulfilled. Her husband was strong, I could’ve been killed...
I don’t want to be like Claudionor. To support his family, became a stevedore...
He would stop and announce:Brochures with song lyrics for all pockets, from one to four tostões. Sixty new tunes! The latest tangos.”
Then he’d come to the bit I’d been waiting for. Fanny. One day while she was busy with chores, he stabbed her to death behind closed doors.
For the crime of being a tart... (Then his voice would grow so soft and sweet it could have melted the hardest of hearts.)
Poor, poor Fanny, who had a good heart. I swear to God you’ll have reason to cry, “IN A PRISON I HOPE YOU DIE!”
He stabbed her to death for being a tart. Poor, poor Fanny, who had a good heart.
People would come out of their houses to buy brochures, but not before studying them all to see which took their fancy.
By this time I couldn’t stop following him because of Fanny.
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