Carioca Fletch

Nine

“You do want coffee, don’t you?”

“I guess I need it.”

A houseman had led Fletch downstairs in Teo da Costa’s house to the small family sitting room. Dressed in pajamas, a light robe and slippers, Teo sat behind his glasses in a comfortable chair reading O Globo.

“Have a busy night?” Teo folded the newspaper.

“We went to Seven-oh-six. With the Tap Dancers.”

“It’s a wonder you’ve had any sleep.”

“I’ve had no sleep.”

Standing, Teo nodded to the houseman, who withdrew.

“You look fresh enough. You look like you’ve been out jogging.”

“I have been.”

A look of concern flickered across Teo’s haughty face.

Fletch said, “I don’t feel like sleeping.”

“Sit down,” Teo said. “Is there anything bothering you?”

Sitting, Fletch said, “Well, I arranged to have breakfast with this person I know, from California. When I went to the hotel, she wasn’t there.”

“She went out on the beach, perhaps.”

“I had arranged to meet her less than an hour before I went to the hotel. She could have fallen asleep.”

“Yes, of course. In Rio, night and day get mixed up. Especially as Carnival approaches.”

The houseman brought two cups of coffee.

Teo sipped his standing up. “People don’t realize it, but Brazil’s second-largest export is tea.”

After the houseman left, Fletch asked, “You wanted to talk to me, Teo. Privately, you said.”

“About what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Brazil is not your home.”

“I feel very comfortable here.”

“What would you most like to do in this world?”

“Sit on Avenida Atlantica in Copacabana, eat churrasco, drink guaraná, and watch Brazilian women of all ages walk. Listen to Laura play the piano. Go to Bahia, occasionally. Run, swim. Jump up and down to the drums. Love the people. I am learning a little Portuguese, a few words.”

“Do you mean to stay in Brazil?”

“I haven’t thought.”

“How long have you been here now? Six weeks?”

“Something like that.”

“You’ve bought a car. You’ve met Laura.” Teo sipped his coffee. “Don’t you have any plans?”

“Not really.”

Teo put his cup and saucer on a table. “A young man should have plans. You’re a young man. From everything I can see, a very healthy young man. You are attractive. You have a brain. Because of the business we have done together, I know how much money you have. I do not know the source of that money, but I know you are not a criminal.”

“Thanks.”

“I am only speaking to you, Fletch, because I am sixty, and you are only in your twenties. Your father is not here….”

“I appreciate it.”

“It is not good for a young man to live without a plan.”

“Are you saying I should leave Brazil, Teo?”

“Brazil is a difficult place, even for Brazilians.” Teo scratched the back of his head and laughed. “Especially for Brazilians.”

“Is this about Laura, Teo?” Fletch fixed Teo in the eye. “Did Otavio Cavalcanti ask you to speak to me?”

Teo used his hooded eye on Fletch. “Brazil is not that way. Not intolerant.”

“Otavio is.”

Teo laughed. “Otavio Cavalcanti is one of the most liberal men we have. So liberal he cannot go to New York and read his poetry at a university.”

“About some things he is liberal. About his daughter…?”

“And what do you think of Otavio?”

“He is a great scholar and poet who does not answer my questions.”

“Brazil is difficult to understand.”

“Did Otavio speak to you last night, Teo?”

“Yes,” Teo admitted. “He did. That is not what concerns me.”

“Laura put a frog under our bed.”

“Yes,” Teo said. “So Otavio told me. You know what that means?”

“I do now.”

“You see, you do not know Brazil. Perhaps cannot know Brazil. There is so much here that came from the Nago and the Bantu, particularly the Yoruba. You can have no feeling for it.”

“Saravá Umbanda!”

“What did you do before you came here? You were a journalist?”

“I worked for a newspaper.”

“Then you must make a plan to work for a newspaper again. Buy your own small newspaper, somewhere you want to be. Understand the new technology of communications. Grow along the course you were on.”

Fletch sat silently a moment.

Then he finished his coffee.

“Teo, have you heard about this Janio Barreto … situation? That I am someone who was murdered here forty-seven years ago—?”

“Yes. I was told about it last night. It worries me.”

“Why?”

“It worries me that you might not understand.”

“Of course I don’t understand. Perhaps you could help me to understand.”

“I’m sure the woman—What’s her name?”

“Idalina. Idalina Barreto.”

“I’m sure the woman is entirely sincere in what she believes. There is no scam, swindle. There is no trick involved, as you asked last night.”

Upstairs, a vacuum cleaner was being run.

“Teo, do you personally give any credence to such a thing?”

“Do I think you are a peri-spirit?” Teo smiled. “No.”

Fletch said, “Phew!”

“I worry that you won’t know what to do about it.”

“What do I do about it?”

Teo hesitated a long moment. “I don’t know either. Brazil is one of the most modern nations on earth …” His voice dwindled off.

“I think I understand what you are saying, Teo.” Fletch stood up. “I promise I will think.”

“It’s just that your father is not here.”

“I will think of a plan.”

In shaking, Teo held Fletch’s hand a long moment. “The Tap Dancers,” he said, “Your father would not want you to become a tap dancer on life.”