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The city inside the city

What is a happy ending? What really matters when retelling stories we hear? Giving color and light to details, carving words to achieve emotions we feel when, through other narratives, we can exchange our skins.During our passage with workshops for health professionals in hospitals in Rio de Janeiro in 2010, we heard many stories. One of them, at the leprosy colony, captured me. That’s the one I’ll be telling.An invitation to wear other worlds, not to be another. Just to give more space to what we are.

A cidade dentro da cidade | A city within a city

Morgana Masetti

The guard came down the street, whistle in mouth, blow after blow, announcing the curfew to patients. In the next street, Salsinha and Tonhão sewed pretend conversations to reach without suspicion Mrs. Tetê’s home. Bell and whistle and news reckless ran into the house: Mineirão was coming down the alley for another inspection. Mrs. Tetê down the ladder built into the ceiling, hiding the path to the lining. Sonia rose in the arms of the aunt that kept her quiet in that little room thanks to pacifiers with sugar.

The belly of Minerão penetrated the house before anything. Then came his moustache and his fat hands. He moved as if driven by the smell of the healthy. Sensed caches: beat with his nightstick on the ceiling looking for Sonia cries. When he found her, made her leave the colony in the police’s car, the cries of Dona Tetê wetting traces of road dust.Time ran and Mrs. Tetê returned with Sonia in forgotten paths.

Sonia grew up in these comings and goings. From two to six , when she also developed the disease and could stay: compulsory admission. The stash became her doll house. Spent hours in her maternal care of feeding, clothe and lullabies. When the dolls wore asleep, spent her time peering through the small attic window João’s grocery store. He used to built coffins for the colony. Liked to see him cuddling with the woods. The cut of the scissors carefully in silk. Took the measureslike a tailor. Enjoyed seeing the fabrics that lined the woods: purple velvet footage in abundance, thin fabric party ready to lay the forms. Every now and then someone came hastily to make an order. Seu João sank on the night putting the request in due time. Sonia never thought of Joãos’s work as the hose of the dead. On contrary, through the efforts of its hands as a caresses with life. Like who cuddles children who sleep, João exalted life building boxes that guarded mysteries.

Sonia always passed through the cemetery to reach the school. Once, in the second grade, the teacher asked everyone to write letters to be carried to the tombs. Everyone had a relative, near or far, to send some news. At recess pinned their cards with letters that still crawling. Sonia had an envelope for each tombstone: green for Aunt Aninha, a rose one to Grandma Luiza, and a blue one for cousin Olavo. The news written were the same: we are well, I have bananas for breakfast and lentils for dinner. I know that soon we will dine together, Mom said she will prepare roast beef to celebrate.

The letters stood there twirling in the wind, the sun and the rains. It was the time waiting for the fate of Sonia be fulfilled. Instead of purple velvet, had asked Seu João for red cloths, always in abundance and with the caresses of the tailor.

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