Camburi
This is an incomplete draft of a short story that accumulated in my brain as I walked through Brooklyn all day on 11/01/08. I will edit this as I see fit over time. This is the first piece of narrative fiction I have ever written. Comments are enabled.
11/16/08: I am editing it again now after two weeks of rethinking.
12/14/08: Had finals and a lot of shit to do. I’ll probably work on this again soon; the other story I started was actually happening at the time and didn’t pan out into anything that would be worth reading.
03/22/09: This semester has been rough. More classes and less therapy… Just got back from a week in South Africa. Had some experiences that I can add on.
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You are twenty-three years old and not long after realizing you can’t take it anymore, you find yourself in São Paulo. You’ve met some boys from London, they’re not particularly important to the event that is the subject of this story… they are just some of the people you meet, that you may or may not ever see again, who will nevertheless be with you for the rest of your life. You rack them up over time spent in this bar or that hostel or this city in that country. You find that you enjoy them more than your friends because, since you have no identity in the contexts of these places, you can reinvent yourself every day. They accept you for who you think you are, they don’t know the difference… You do the same for them and you have a pleasant relationship wherever you are, and you remember them for all time.
At any rate one of them knows a girl with a car… the four of you - the Britons, you, and the girlfriend - end up in Camburi, a beach town three hours from São Paulo (in São Sebastião), and you crash in a cheap hotel that will probably rip you off, which is, for the time being, irrelevant… you’re at the beach in Brazil. The drive was long, so you immediately crash, two people to a room. The hotel is nondescript, television attached to the wall, two single beds, windows without glass, wooden shades… it must not get too cold here.
The next day, as you’re laying on the beach, and as Brazil has somehow sent your self-confidence through the roof, you say hi to a Brazilian girl with whom you’ve made eye contact… she has a broad tattoo across her upper chest, right below her shoulders, that says in block text, VERDADE? Across her back, it’s the same thing, only not a question: VERDADE. You fall in love. She asks you, in Portuguese, if you speak Portuguese… you say não… it’s one of five things you know in her language… she speaks English. She asks you if you want to go for a walk, and … of course you do. As you walk south down the beach you talk about whatever it is two people talk about to reconcile what will inevitably follow. The beach is beautiful… probably the most beautiful place you’ve ever been alone… as is Elis, and you compliment her on her country - in your mind she is a direct manifestation of the beauty that is Brazil. She is extremely interested in life in New York. Your stock, no doubt, has gone up due to the city you’ve come from. However, the conversation consists of nothing beyond smalltalk, getting to know each other, et cetera, and you walk back to where your friends are. She tells you which club she’s going to that night and you take note.
After dinner and a few hours of partying with the boys and a bunch of locals you grab a cab, wasted, in a provincial town in a country you’ve never been to before, to the club that may or may not currently house the girl you met on the beach. The cabbie initially has nothing to say, but knows where you’re going… he knows the score… “Great sluts we have in Brazil!” he says… you agree… this is not the time or place to tell a tough guy to watch his mouth about women… The club is called Camburi, the name of the town… it’s a block from the beach and you realize that you had walked by it earlier in the day, though from the outside one would never know it’s a club. The beachfront is now totally empty, and as a result, pitch black, even though there is a full moon. The fear sets in… before leaving, your friends back in New York put some really dark ideas in your head about what happens to Americans in Brazil.
When you show up to the club, first things first… you’re searched for weapons and you get scared again. Nobody speaks English… you start asking questions in Italian hoping the people working at the club will understand, they do. They give you a card with your name on it and send you inside; it’s a pay when you leave show. As soon as you set foot inside a woman asks you, in Italian, what you’re doing here, cosa fai?!, she’s really rude about it and you’re kind of at a loss… you’re at a club in Brazil by yourself… You tell her your girlfriend is somewhere in the club, she asks where, and at that minute Elis comes out of one of the dance rooms. The club is tacky as hell… they’re playing the X-Games on flatscreens while Euro house plays… got to love South America…
Elis is a ballerina by trade, her body is more than you ever could have asked for in a girl… you can’t believe you’re about the pull this off, not that you are really sure what ‘this’ is. Ready to go, she kisses you out of nowhere while you’re half-heartedly watching some BMX competition… she knows what you came for… there’s a reason she told you where to go… so at the end of the day she’s really the engineer behind all of it. She’s in charge, and why shouldn’t she be, you’re a guest in her country. No simple tourist! She tells you she’s never been with an American before… she says she wants to show you the beach. By this time it’s somehow four in the morning; between motocross, vodka, and trance, you’ve been there an hour already. You’re drunk, and she is as well, but since (or possibly despite the fact that) you’ve both been planning this all day in your heads, everything progresses naturally. You find yourself on the street; paying for your drinks and walking through doors somehow have not been committed to memory. You’re more comfortable than you are comfortable being. It’s an entirely new experience that for some reason makes perfect sense to you. She is in control but you feel like this is just what is supposed to be.
You go for another walk, this time back to the beach… she must be nostalgic for the times you had together… you walk down a side street and you start to get scared, but of course you don’t say anything… this is Brazil after all… the whole nation is inhabited by thieves and murderers… you start to wonder if this is a scam… if there are dudes waiting for you on the beach… they’re going to take you away… you’ll have the new life in South America you never dreamed of…
To your relief, she starts to get spooked, and that brings you back down. She says it’s probably not safe at this hour to go out onto the beach. It’s desolate… the moon lights everything up, you’re in a more open street than when you left the cab. You somehow - perhaps you were both instinctively looking for a ‘safe,’ whatever that means, place to start fooling around - go into a kiosk that sells fruit during the day, it’s placed between a couple of beach houses… you can see the beach, but you’re still twenty yards from the water. Once inside the kiosk it’s dark, with just one window looking south onto some Brazilian’s back yard. You start going at it, just making out at first. While both of your bodies are hard in terms of muscle, she has soft lips and is not aggressive at first; this makes you happy, nothing bothers you more than getting your lips bitten. Her mouth is smaller than yours but you make it work… in fact, you realize you probably have a foot and sixty pounds on Elis. As articles of clothing start to remove themselves she can’t reassure you enough that this is not something she normally does… sex is special… she’s a good Catholic. She pretends that you’re leading but you know what is really going on, and you let it happen. Her English is spotty at best… she’s having a conversation with your body entirely in Portuguese… you fully understand each other…
You try to slow down, not that you’ve even really gotten started, though most of the clothes are gone now… all clothing is gone now… You’re going to lose it any minute, she’s in absolute control. Meanwhile you’re running pictures of rugby matches, Vietnam, anything you can think of through your head. Elis uses her hands… she doesn’t let you touch anything below the belt, except to remove. She gets on her knees… she puts it in her mouth… you’re both naked. You see the tattoos and once again thank the God you don’t believe in for sending you such luck… you thank Him that you’re this drunk, or else this would have been over a long time ago. She loves what she’s doing, she can’t get enough… she comes back up and turns around, she wants you to put it in… you can’t seem to figure out what you’re doing… you’re way out of your league… she sets it up, from behind, and you start really moving, she’s bent over a counter that some kids will be buying mangoes off of in a few hours… the whole time she’s telling you about how she’ll visit you in New York… you’ll stay in touch… she’s heavily invested in your future, as are you. She’s making a serious racket, you’re looking for the cameras… you’re getting loud too… it’s a rodeo. It must be seventy-five degrees… you’re both sweating a ton and that makes things easier. Your head is both in it and somewhere else at the same time… it’s new but it makes sense.
Anything that once stood inside this … whatever it is… has now been knocked over. It’s made out of thin, corrugated sheet metal metal, not exactly soundproofed… it’s the middle of the night… you realize that you probably should be freezing but you really don’t have time to notice… you don’t think about anything except each other, and you certainly don’t feel anything other than each other… you stub your toe, she bangs her head, you’re both really putting in the work, this is as much for self-fulfillment as it is for gratification of the other person, who has made you feel something you were not aware existed…you’re holding her right hip with one hand, your fingers between her ribs with the other, you don’t ever want this to end. During that time there was a serious connection that transcended words… you were buying into the fantasy… it doesn’t occur to you that you’d never see each other again. If it had, it would not have mattered. You two will be with each other for the rest of your lives.
Through the window you see a light go on in the house next door… you don’t stop anything - you are surprised that you even noticed the light. You occupy a different space and time devoid of room for anything else. She wants to try it standing up, facing each other, did she tell you or did you just know? It was simply understood… you pick her up… you’re superhuman, as far as you’re concerned there are not now nor have there any been any problems in the world… you’re in love… you see more lights go on. She has black hair, soft, dark skin, black eyes, straight white teeth, and unlimited parts that fit perfectly in your hands, or that you fit perfectly into… despite how dark it is you see into each other, you can’t stop staring into each others’ eyes… your bodies take over while you both forget where you are or that you have, or have ever had lives outside of this moment… you fall in love for the first time all over again. You kiss and time starts up again; you realize immediately that if you ever need to talk about this, there will be no way to describe it… your life to this point has not provided you with the vocabulary necessary to describe events of this magnitude.
One of the walls collapses. A box of plasticware falls on your head… forks everywhere… it’s the beginning of the real storm. The whole kiosk goes down, wall by wall… some merchant is going to be pissed in a couple of hours. You’ve been holding Elis against you but put her down on the counter, to shield her from the wreckage… the furor you’ve created can no longer be accommodated by these four walls… you deflect sheet metal in all directions… while thrusting your hips, you single-handedly throw the roof into the street. You continue (not that you ever stopped), uninjured, and now you can see the sky. You look up into the black and see the millions upon millions of stars… commit it to memory, when you look up again you’ll think of Elis, and she’ll think of you… this sky belongs to you together. You see the full moon and become entranced for a second until she wraps her legs tighter around you and you remember where you are.
You’re still making noise; you’ve woken up the whole block, dogs are barking but you don’t stop. You’re pulling each others’ hair, she slaps you in the face… any possible way that you can make more physical contact, that you can feel each other, or make the other feel you, you try. This is unreal. You’re starting to sober up and it makes you happy, you can be sure that you won’t forget the details.
You’re fucking in the open… people are coming out of their houses… they want to see the show… a crowd gathers. You assume they’re all stolid nationalists… they want to see their girl show the American how they do business… you’re thinking about the family you’re going to raise… what your kids’ names will be. Money no longer exists… all wars have ended… poverty has been eliminated… your sexual circus has saved the world, and you are to be credited… but you’re still going. The crowd is growing, kids are taking pictures, they’re cracking beers open… someone high-fives you, someone else pulls him away from the stage. They all whole-heartedly welcome you to Brazil. The crowd is getting pretty worked up, but they’re not making too much noise… it’s almost completely light now, you start to heat up a bit more… You’re wondering where the cops are and then in the same breath, remember what country you’re in. The locals start chanting… something about the passage of time and humanity, or something, from what you can gather. Portuguese starts to just make sense to you, or so you think. The chant creates a new atmosphere… it’s no longer just you and Elis, it is a celebration of being… you are, collectively, architects of history… you are alive! Participants in the culmination of all the loves that ever existed… in full view of the community.
The surrounding feeling penetrates everyone… Elis comes, loud, to the rhythm of your bodies and the verse… drenched in sweat, hers and yours, you’ve never felt a connection with another human being before this moment… you’ve never known love. On second thought, you have no idea what any of the words mean, they sound dark, it doesn’t matter. This could be a sacrifice ritual for all you care… it makes no difference… you’ll die happy… in a tropical country…
Há sempre um tempo no tempo
Em que o corpo do homem apodrece
Sua alma cansada, penada
Se afunda no chão…
E o bruxo do luxo, baixado o capucho
Chorando no nicho, capacho do lixo
Caprichos não mais voltarão…
Mas se entre lágrimas você se achar
E pensar que está a chorar
Esse era o tempo em que o tempo é…
She holds on closer than ever before, you’re almost there… you pull out and she grabs it immediately… aims for her chest, you explode, she very sincerely loves it. You’ve validated each others’ existences… the honeymoon is in Goa… the mob goes wild, they want you to sign autographs, they love America… what a nice young man, a true athlete…
Just as you’re reveling in your celebrity, the sun rising low in the east over the water, people divert their attention to the back of the crowd. A woman’s water had broken twenty minutes before, but nobody noticed during the havoc… you thought you were having an effect on people, but this is a bit much… Now there’s a new spectacle, but you and Elis are somehow still central to the whole thing… they’re looking at her, looking at both of you, back and forth. A man starts yelling at Elis… you’re at a loss… she explains to you – they want you to deliver the child. You’re in way over your head… She tells you, while still breathing rather heavily, that you can’t say no, it would be rude… you agree one hundred percent and try to remain calm. Both of you are covered in sweat and everything else that comes with what you’ve just done. Neither of you have put your clothes back on… you don’t want it to be over, and in a sense, it isn’t yet. You assess the situation: this is the emergence of new Brazilian life we’re talking about… the loveliest group of people you’ve ever had the pleasure of encountering… you realize you have no clue what a contraction looks like… or doesn’t look like… you have no foundation in muscular physiology… You are absolutely underqualified. The mother is wearing a dress, so at least you don’t have to get her clothes off. She’s already laying down on the grass… The crowd is moving in to surround her, while they make way for you both to come over.
Lucky for you, a few women in the crowd recognize that labor has started. You know, for some reason, that labor can go on for hours and hours at a time… or be over quickly. The former is much more common. While you and Elis were participating in an act that brings two people, sometimes in love, together for a moment, the excitement has carried to another individual, who will separate one individual from another for all time. The love that this woman witnessed had such an affect on her body that it could no longer contain the new life, which had waited, at long last, to emerge.
This is a strange place - you understand complex concepts more simply than you would back in the city… maybe there is just more time to do so. All the men are silent, and rely on you and the women in the crowd to take care of the situation. The men know women’s bodies only in the superficial sense that most men do, and most of them have certainly been in love, but for some reason what they have just witnessed convinces them that your knowledge of the female body and what happens behind a woman’s eyes far surpasses theirs. While this may be true, it unfortunately is not a knowledge that transfers to physiology, a field in which you have no training. You start to panic and Elis looks at you and smiles, and you realize that, no matter what, you have to try something. You owe these people something. You have never been happier.
The mother has obviously done this before. She is lying down on her back, and for what it’s worth, you at least know that that is the correct thing to do. She is tense at first, then starts to relax, then becomes even more tense. You assume this means something, and Elis seems to think so too; however you infer over the next few minutes that she does know what she is doing, but she wants you to do this together. It’s been a half hour of just watching and waiting, telling the mother to take it easy, you in English and all the women in Portuguese. The head comes out. It’s sideways, facing a hip, and you don’t know whether this is what’s supposed to be happening; Elis looks at you and lets you know that everything is normal. The head comes out some more, rflips around so that it’s face down, and keeps moving. You go with it, and assume this is the beginning of the real show; you’re right.
The child’s head turns another forty five degrees, the shoulders start to come out… the baby is aligned again… a human individual… the rest comes out, slowly, and is covered in… something you don’t know the name for. Whatever it is, it’s wet. Several hours have passed, and you realize that you have participated in two events, in the same day, whose immense importance leave the concept of time by the wayside. Both events have involved the community-seeking nature of the human person. You realize, further, that you are not alone, which is what you have always feared. Even if you were to spend the rest of your life in solitude, you would know that for one day, you took part in life, which is, after all, a festival of misunderstandings. You have discarded the very idea of understanding and misunderstanding and, in the process, learned to simply exist beside others, who, at the end of the day, are the same as you.
Later, in bed with Elis, you notice that she is entirely comfortable with you physically. It all comes back to the fantasy life you had planned in your heads with each other… it may play out now. The earlier realization that you are part of something greater, which you cannot control, is calming in a very general, worldly way… but you realize, by the way she runs her fingers through your hair and holds on to you, that more particularly you represent something to her… it is liberating to find out, finally, that you don’t have to constantly try to be yourself anymore because to everyone else, you are yourself. She understands you not for what you think you are, but for what you actually are. Whether the two coincide is irrelevant… whatever it is that you represent to her, she likes it and appreciates it… she appreciates you.
