A bullet is loaded.
"Bang—"
Shells clatter to the ground.
Another round is loaded.
"Bang—"
Ceramic bowls shatter, the rest rolling into the calabash on the ground.
Another round is loaded.
Old Quitéria: Oh!!! Damn it—!!! Nala!!!
Old Quitéria rushes into the basement.
Old Quitéria: Nala, what are you doing?!!
Anjo Nala: Quitéria! What happened? You look pale. The captain just showed me how to use this. I'm clearing out the aquaroaches in the garden.
Anjo Nala: See, more and more of them have been crawling out from cracks in the wall and floor tiles. Hey! Don't run—
Anjo Nala: "Babaca"! "Trouxa"! "Besta"!
Old Quitéria: Nala! Who taught you those words?
Chaos reigns in the basement as Nala chases the roaches.
Elder I: Ai, meu Deus! Who gave her that gun?
Elder II: A weapon like that is dangerous, child! Be careful!
The elders rush toward her as fast as their old bones can carry them.
Nala chases the roaches, and the elders chase Nala, from the basement to the tearoom, from the tearoom to the terrace.
"Bang—"
The source of the commotion, that black, damp creature, bursts with a short crack, leaving a puddle of methylene-blue ichor.
Anjo Nala: It's not actually that hard to use a gun! It's only taken me one day to learn!
Old Quitéria: Nala! Put the gun down!
Old Quitéria's voice echoes through the home.
Elder I: Hello? Carla, did you hear? Old Cinder passed away two days ago—You heard? Okay, okay.
The hoarse voice echoes anxiously in the empty tearoom.
He hangs up, crosses out a name in the address book, and dials another number.
Elder II: When's lunch?
Elder III: Hold on. We'll heat up the leftover bean porridge in the fridge.
Elder II: But Nala said she'd make us grilled pork and fish today.
Elder III: Hmph. She probably just forgot.
...
Elder II: sigh I heard those young guys are taking her to the Progress Club down in the city. They said they even booked a fancy dinner with her at the Pearl Blue Hotel.
Elder III: Nala? Our Nala? Pfft—don't joke, does she even know how to dance?
Elder II: Hah! If she can dance, then I'm a swan.
Elder IV: But they like her.
...
Elder IV: I heard that they let her play with guns, teach her curses, now they're taking her on "adventures" to the city.
Elder III: Shoot. They're bad influences on her.
Elder II: Hahahahaha—you selfish old fart, you just don't want to eat old bean porridge every day.
Elder III: They've got too much already. The land, the people, the taxes, they publish the newspapers, these are their bridges and their trains. Everything is theirs!
Elder III: And us? We can't even get our pensions!
Elder IV: It'll come. We just have to wait a little longer.
Elder IV: They said there'd be news in December.
Elder III: December, that's what they say.
Elder III: But Old Cinder didn't make it to December.
...
Elder IV: Stop it, I think it's good for Nala to have some friends around her own age. They're getting ready for the procession together, that should be fun for her, right?
Elder III: Yes. The procession, is it that time of year again?
Elder II: Even if she really leaves us, perhaps it's for the better.
Elder II: It isn't like what it used to be out there. They have movie theaters, football arenas, so many things for young people to do.
Elder II: What do we have here?
...
Elder III: But we've got hot bean porridge. Nala can eat three bowls in one go.
...
Elder II: Sheesh, bean porridge.
Anjo Nala: I'm sure you'll love this procession! Every visitor, no matter how many new or unusual things they've seen, has absolutely fallen in love with it!
Anjo Nala: Every household in town will come out, and the streets will be filled with bananas, pumpkins, and sweet eggplants.
Anjo Nala: For a little money, you can buy all kinds of things; spices come cheap, there's cute printed cloth, and even bead necklaces.
Anjo Nala: Next, we'll raise the icon, and everyone will pray. I think most will pray for this rain to stop soon.
Anjo Nala: The colonel said if this rain keeps up, this year's harvest could be ruined.
Anjo Nala: So, we'll need to raise the icon high and tall, and decorate it with gold thread trim and beautiful embroidery.
Nala, holding a candle, leads Moacir through the chapel, showing off their recent work.
An enormous statue lies in the center of the chapel, awaiting decoration.
Moacir: You're amazing, Nala. Did you really make all this?
Anjo Nala: Naturally!
Nala twirls her hair, a little shy, looking away.
Moacir pulls out a bottle of perfume and offers it to her.
Anjo Nala: What's this?
Moacir: Perfume. It's for you, Miss.
Anjo Nala: Oh, perfume. Yes, I know it. My sister used to wear it. So did the colonel.
Anjo Nala: But I couldn't accept it. I'd never use it. Scents like these make me sneeze. Besides all that, I so love the smell of morning jasmine. How could I smell it if I was wearing this?
Nala gently pushes the perfume away.
Moacir: Sister? I never knew you had a sister.
There was a sharpness in his voice. It triggered something in her, a survival instinct.
Anjo Nala: ...
A nameless, brief silence.
Anjo Nala: My sister had a very kind heart. People just didn't know her very well.
She glances around, as if avoiding the topic.
Anjo Nala: What color ribbons should I pick? Red or blue? I prefer red.
Moacir: Your sister, is she about your age?
Moacir steps forward.
Her hands still.
Moacir: Are you still in touch?
Nala turns to face the questioning captain.
Anjo Nala: What? Why do you ask?
Nala steps back, and then once more.
Moacir: Oh, it's nothing—just curiosity.
Anjo Nala: I, I don't have a sister. I just made it up.
Anjo Nala: You know? Um, I've gotta go! I've chosen the ribbons. Oh! Right, Quitéria told me to make a special dish at the home tonight.
Moacir: Ei, wait! Don't go.
Nala turns sharply, her eyes scanning Moacir with wariness.
Moacir: What's wrong? Please, don't be scared. Nala, it's okay.
Her body tenses at his movement.
Moacir: It's okay. You're safe, Nala. I'm right here.
Moacir: You're safe here.
Seeing Nala still unresponsive, Moacir sighs.
Moacir: ...
Moacir: Termites.
Moacir: Did you know?
Moacir: A perfect termite mound needs to be above twenty degrees.
Moacir: I had a brother.
Moacir: When termites find the perfect soil for their nest, they feel it, examine it, then start digging.
Moacir: You might not know his name, but you'd have heard of his bank.
Moacir: They dig, dig, dig. They never stop.
Moacir: The transport companies here got their first loan from him. He made a fortune.
Moacir: He bought a house for my father, a real palatial thing, a villa on the beach, and that garden. But I didn't get to stay.
Anjo Nala: …?
Until their kingdom is complete.
Nala scrutinizes Moacir from narrowed eyes.
He looks back, his face contorted with unspoken pain.
Anjo Nala: ...
Anjo Nala: Are you still in touch with them?
Moacir: No. But I think I might visit him—my brother. When he's finally released.
Anjo Nala: He's in prison?
Moacir: Yes.
Anjo Nala: Is he a bad person?
Moacir: Yes.
Hesitation.
Anjo Nala: No, bad is ... maybe not the right word.
Anjo Nala: My sister wasn't bad either, even though—
Moacir: I know.
His voice quickens.
Moacir: I'm sure your sister isn't a bad person either.
Then, he deliberately slows down.
Moacir: I believe you.
Moacir stares at Nala.
Moacir: So, could I hear your sister's story now?
Until their kingdom is complete.
Anjo Nala: My sister …
A gust of wind blows in from an open window, knocking over a candlestick on the table.
In a flash, the tablecloth has already caught fire.
Anjo Nala: Oh! Watch out!!
The flames spread quickly, climbing up the ribbons, snaking toward the fireworks in the corner.
Anjo Nala: Oh no!—Quick, put it out!
Anjo Nala: Oh no! Oh no! I've messed it all up again. Quitéria won't be able to cover for me this time.
Nala rushes over, trying to smother the flames as best she can.
She throws herself almost entirely into the flames, and soon enough they shrink under her.
Anjo Nala: Ouch! That was hot!
Moacir: ...
Moacir: You've already healed, that immense strength, those claws …
He looks over her in the smoldering darkness.
Moacir: A shadow like a serpent's tail.
Nala stands up, swatting the soot off of her clothes.
Anjo Nala: …!!!
The serpent-like shadow retreats down toward the girl.
The candlelight flickers, making the corner seem even darker.
Moacir tries to approach.
A pair of beast-like eyes appears from beyond the candlelight.
Anjo Nala: W-what did you see?
Moacir: … ?!
As the light flickers back again, an even larger shadow emerges, this time with horns, claws, and a scent of blood.
There are legends that speak of this, of the people that disappear without a trace.
Their corpses picked apart by vultures and devoured by beasts until only their souls remain, left to wander in agony.
Moacir backs away in shaking steps.
Moacir: I ...
Moacir: Nala …
Moacir: Miss, don't be afraid, please. I didn't see anything.
The shadow stretches closer, trembling slightly.
Moacir: You're an arcanist, aren't you?
Anjo Nala: ...
Moacir: It's okay. Don't be afraid. My brother was an arcanist too.
Moacir: It's nothing bad. Nothing unusual.
He suppresses the fear in his voice.
Moacir: I'm right here. I won't hurt you. I don't want to hurt you.
Moacir: You're safe here.
A familiar scent. Jasmine and gunpowder, fear and calm, uncertainty and reassurance, sincerity and delirium.
Moacir: Safe.
Moacir: No one will blame you for this; no one even has to know. They love you, Nala. Everyone that meets you feels that way. Everyone you meet.
Moacir: And I'm not someone who hates arcanists. I'm just a regular person.
Moacir: My brother was an arcanist too. I don't hate you. I'm not afraid. I believe in you.
Moacir: Just like I believe your sister is a good person. You see, in this, we are the same, we're no different.
Moacir: You shouldn't have to fear this world. We should be able to care for one another, to understand and to love each other.
Moacir: ...
The shadow stops its advance and then slowly begins to shrink, until the horns are gone and the claws retract, leaving only the girl.
Moacir: It's okay. You are safe, Nala. See, I believed in you, and you, you can believe in me.
...
The air is hot, still, and calm.
Moacir: I will never speak a word of this, Nala.
...
Anjo Nala: I—
Anjo Nala: Is that true then?
She looks into Moacir's eyes, searching for sincerity.
Moacir: Of course.
We should be able to care for one another, to understand and to love each other.
Her face is vacant for a moment, then she nods.
Anjo Nala: I trust you.
She blinks.
As she steps outside the chapel, she spies something on the ground—a long-extinguished Green Papayas cigarette.
