Rio de Janeiro, the present
On Corcovado Mountain, half a mile above Rio, stood a statue of Christ the Redeemer, arms spread wide as if blessing the sprawling city below. Also beneath the beneficent figure of Jesus, Daniel Danielle reclined on a padded lounger on his sun-washed fifth-floor balcony, facing the city’s edge and the beach near Grande Tijuca. Daniel preferred these beaches near the favelas, where many of Rio’s thousands of homeless street kids swarmed.
Street children were a problem in Rio, but not for Daniel Danielle. They were a savvy, hard-bitten lot, but they were also made vulnerable by lack of time on earth. Prey for predators. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of these children join the disappeared each year. No one seemed to notice. No one seemed to care. No one searched for them. The poor greatly outnumbered the rich in Rio, and there was little to spend on the welfare of wild children.
Daniel placed his espresso on the round tiled table next to his lounger and put on his sunglasses. They had prescription lenses, and he enjoyed sitting in the late morning sun and reading the latest edition of the New York Times. The paper had certainly been interesting lately, but now that was over and he knew the news would be more mundane.
At least for a while.
Occasionally Daniel felt the urge to travel, to return to the U.S. and take up his old hobby. But he knew that truthfully it was safer to indulge in it elsewhere. Perhaps, ideally, where he was.
A warm breeze played over his bare legs. He removed his prescription glasses and put on plain tinted ones, the better to observe the beach. He smiled, as he did most mornings. He knew he had much to smile about. Life was going smoothly. His investments using stolen money had performed admirably. The problems of the common man were for others. What he needed he had in abundance.
He stretched languidly, closed his eyes, and decided on a short nap. Afterward, perhaps he’d make plans for tonight.
Before him, like a bestowal from God, were the children of Rio.