Her grandma, this convoy, suddenly jumped off the train taking over Vila Marta earth upturned, no, no it couldn’t be her, not her grandma so many times over. Goddamn, only her grandma knows, did her grandma tell Scarlett? Is that why her daughter won’t speak? Her grandma, this convoy, taking hold of us all, knowing everything, her mute daughter, my God, it can’t be Grandma this dust in the wind, it can’t be Grandma this wind, no, stop, it can’t be Grandma the convoy and she so slight, only one of her, poor thing. Nothing.

  Poor little Fátima.

  In Vilaboinha the sun didn’t go away, it was our eyes that didn’t stick around to see. All of us suddenly struck by blindness we couldn’t see the sky, couldn’t see a living thing, couldn’t see the time to see again, even Cida’s daughter born of the shock. All of us blind we didn’t see death sniffing around Cida, licking at her name, calling to her wounds. All of us blind and the girl was born. When we could see again, we thought our eyes had tricked us. But that you already knew.

  Where the hell does Fatima think she’s gone? Damn woman doesn’t even try to hide that bulk. Leaves her bag of clothes on top of everything, now it’s Tonho who’s lost for words. He paces around, not understanding, herds stampeding through his veins, beast to the slaughter, the silence of the dogs that aren’t barking, dammit. He paces around kicking everything and there’s Fátima quietly holding a pan, its bulk held high, blood pounding in her veins, Tonho frightened with his dogs asleep, Fátima my God she’s almost smiling.

  Tonho grabs Fátima by the neck.

  Fátima could have left before he arrived she could have but she couldn’t leave, couldn’t take her daughter, she couldn’t leave Tonho in Vilaboinha. Not after facing the madman alone. Who doesn’t want to pick open scratch at a wound, dig out the depths, open it even further, scrape out everything, til you find Tonho all small so small, who wouldn’t want Tonho’s body in pieces, crushed with the saucepan, an offering to the devil, who wouldn’t want to kill Tonho that bastard?

  Fátima could have left before he arrived she could have taken Scarlett and left, but Fátima waited for Tonho with her bundle ready, Fátima with her neck in Tonho’s hands stands firm, she breathes as best she can until she’s ready and then she spews all the earth in her mouth at him. And she spews out the silence, her earth madness. She spews out the beatings, vomiting up a wave of mud. Tonho with an eyeful, trying to get out of it all, scrabbles at his eyes, a thousand tails between his legs, the dogs are silent, he doesn’t even see the pan.

  The blow to Tonho’s head breaches his blood. The blood on Fátima’s hands breaches her silence.

  Hold on. This we need to say.

  No, come on, just let it be

  In Vilaboinha night fell in broad daylight, children were racing around with the devil in their bodies and we were doing whatever we pleased. We sat in silence, teeth gritted, in the corners of our homes, with whoever we came across. But it was still early and when the night lifted again we were all caught in the middle of it all we pretended we couldn’t see, a spot of making light, and putting on our clothes went round asking so what was it you were saying, oh yes, it seems Cida gave death to a daughter.

  Her grandma was taking over Vila Marta, the crazed earth, taking over Fátima’s feverish body. Her grandmother a new kind of sickness, Vilaboinha fever, wanting our bodies, a plague sickness, running rampant. Her grandma an intense heat prying through the gaps in the clapboard shack, Fátima was frightened, her grandma the shadow of her feet at the crack beneath the door, weary.

  Her grandma wants to come in.

  ‘No, Scarlett! Keep the door closed!’

  Her grandma’s eyes at the window, her grandma’s heat bearing down on the roof, her grandma in Scarlett’s touch, her grandma closing in around her the convoy wants to come in. No, no, no, Fátima won’t let it. Don’t go near the door, Scarlett, the door’s hardly enough, keep everything closed, earth don’t come in, stay outside, water won’t work, not even prayer soon. Her grandma’s thousand eyes in the cracks, her grandma’s convoy closing in on the shack, that heat on the slats, her grandma’s constant murmuring hiding in the prayer, in every word. Oh my God, she wants to come in.

  Scarlett, don’t believe anything Grandma tells you.

  In Vilaboinha they kept saying the darkness was another daughter of Cida’s, mother of twins, one was born hiding our eyes, the other was born in hiding. Perhaps Cida dreamed it all? Mary mother of God. A child born like that must have three eyes and be born with a tapeworm, I thought those stubby legs can’t have much life in them, and one arm can barely reach to scratch three holy wounds. But the child didn’t have any scales it was one big disappointment: it had arms, legs, a little gibberish baby prattle, only it didn’t have a name, but that’s easy enough to fix. Hard to believe the blindness hiding the sun might have been her twin sister.

  In Vila Marta the dogs are alive, goddamnit, here in Vila Marta the dogs bark running loose. With the earth muzzled they’re hushing everything all the more, one step at a time now the dogs have fallen silent. This restless earth dogs’ despair and yet they’re calm, accustomed, suddenly they remember how to do it they choke their lungs out and go back to barking their lives away, and back to choking up Vila Marta Vilaboinha.

  If the restless earth that the dogs didn’t tread down starts barking again, catches in the throat, it can only mean someone’s coming, goddamn, is it Tonho? Is it the devil? Isn’t it enough all these people mud hand wattle and daub entire houses train tracks crowds? Goddamnit, there are so many dogs, not just the ones from Vila Marta, not just. It must be Tonho coming with the devil in his body, on the warpath, after all nobody here would kill a dog.

  ‘Sweet tastes don’t come wrapped in rags, you demon dog,’ — Fátima’s silence bursts its banks, floods forth, just before she leaves. ‘You don’t make a person sweet the way you candy fruits, by bottling them in syrup, you bastard, that’s not how it works. Taking whoever we fancy must be a different pain I don’t know that pain I know another pain, you demon, another pain that isn’t being beaten. All this time sat quiet in your house, lying low in my grandma’s skirts amid your beatings all this time being kept down didn’t make me sweet, you bastard. I didn’t want to give birth to your daughter, it’s true, she crept up on me, I didn’t want her, but Scarlett birthed that hunger I didn’t have that hunger I didn’t recognise it, beating the girl, that hunger I took to handle the madman alone that hunger to handle you, Tonho, and now I have a hunger to talk, Tonho, and this hunger I—

  Fátima could have left before Tonho arrived, she could have taken Scarlett and left, but she waited for Tonho with her bundle ready; Fátima with the saucepan in her hand stood firm, she breathed deeply until she was ready, and swung the cast-iron at him hard. She could have left, she could have kept quiet, but the blood on Fátima’s hands breached her silence, a flood, and Fátima’s broken silence rouses Tonho. He catches Fátima by the heels she falls like a bundle of clothes. Tonho grabs hold of her the blood pouring from his head is also pouring onto hers. He takes her by the throat. There’s not one dog, Tonho tightens his grip, not one dog he feels Fátima’s silence trapped in her throat. It’s her he’s beating, just her, there’re no dogs they aren’t barking, she’s the one kicking Tonho, just her, goddamn bitch, don’t even know how to quietly take it. Tonho pulls Fátima’s hair, her nails biting his flesh, Tonho pulls Fátima’s face and her dark circles to the ground, she’s the one he beats only her, there are no dogs they aren’t barking, only her back plucked raw, eyes full of blood the woman’s rags on the floor and this desire. He presses Fátima down squeezes her neck her insipid body, gives her weary donkey bollocks another slap, another slap to see if she’ll learn. He drags Fátima’s face smeared with blood, but it’s still her, it has to be her lying on the floor, a punchbag, it has to be her with a foot on her neck, she’s still not dying, the bitch. The earth is sticky with blood. And she’s still struggling, legs in a frenzy, that bitch, it’s still her, this fury without end. Faced with Fátima ground down with beatings he hits her again, there are no dogs, only Fátima all beaten raw and this desire. He walks right onto Fátima, over her whole body he walks over the earth her chest. He rests on Fátima, then drags Fátima along the ground, wounding the earth. He swears at Fátima. Cries over her. Spits on her. She always was his little bitch. Send this bitch woman send this woman to hell, goddamnit, how can she how can he love this she-devil? She says you’ll have to kill me she says I’ll take a part of you with me she says. Goddamn, how he used to love Fátima’s silence. Tonho gets on top of her to enter her, Fátima struggles, Tonho remembers Fátima struggling feeling so good, her way of not wanting it, Tonho remembers, Fátima never forgot, Tonho grabs pulls goes to devour his bitch, Fátima lunges for a piece of him, Fátima bites, dog-woman, Fátima tears it off, spits, Fátima smiles faintly, and dies.

  Her grandma’s in the prayer, in everything, better not say a word, be quiet, Scarlett, keep your mouth shut, she shouts, but the wind blows the door wide open, and the earth takes hold of Scarlett the kitchen the bedroom the door is gone. Her grandma’s convoy takes over the shack, the entire earth, Fátima dazed barely sees anything, she just feels the mud on her feet, the dust in her eyes, just senses her grandma wanting to come in, her tired grandma.

  Her grandma the earth brought in by the wind wanting ears wanting eyes, her grandma sodden mud wanting feet, her grandma this urgent hubbub, whispering, wanting everything, my God, wanting everything. Her grandma no gentle breeze make no mistake, she gets under your skin, and with each breath she takes over your blood, she lies along your guts and spreads through your ribs, grandma takes hold of her granddaughter’s body entire.

  Rest, a single breath, don’t wait, her grandma’s convoy takes over Fátima entire, leaves Fátima forgotten, and when she awakes my God what in the world? It can’t be. Fátima looks at the earth, looks at the flock, looks at the earth and, Lord Almighty, she sees the gorilla machine:

  In Vilaboinha the sun that used to crackle overhead is suddenly drilled into the sky. At first all our eyes are blurry, two eggs cracked in the darkness, thinking it must be our body gone wrong, age, sleep, Hail Marys, God’s retribution, the Devil’s arts, demons pushing idleness, our own notions, it must be nothing, goddamnit, it’s the flour shortage. In Vilaboinha nobody knew it, but the sun buried in the middle of the day is an eclipse that’s just beginning:

  ‘Roll up, roll up ladies and gentlemen! Please take your seats for the most terrifying show on the face of the Earth. We recommend to all those here with heart conditions that you do not watch the following scenes. The incredible metamorphosis for the first time in Vila Marta Vilaboinha. Is about to begin. Right now. This is Fátima, you all know her. An ordinary woman, smooth of skin, a woman who’s no risk to anyone. She moves proving to everyone that she is alive and real. Say hello to the audience, Fátima! Now prepare for your transformation. Close your eyes and go to sleep, Fátima. Sleep, sleep deeply. Take your thoughts down into the earth. Take your bones, your flesh. Take your blood, your muscles. Take your guts deep down, where nobody else can reach. Don’t forget your ribs. Bring it back, not yours, Fátima, no, no, hers, bring back her guts, her flesh, her bones, her veins. Watch closely, ladies and gentlemen, see how one body takes the place of another, one arm gone, the heels back again, fingers, two unearthed ears, and watch very closely, ladies and gentlemen, two faces. Fátima is slowly turning into a monster! Into her sister! Into the girl! Look, look! What a nightmare spectacle! The creature’s eyes, two infinite holes, gaping wide, and Fátima giving birth to a monster through all her orifices. She is absolutely out for the count, Fátima has no idea what is happening as she transforms. Observe, ladies and gentlemen, from head to toe observe what has happened to Fátima, she has been utterly transformed, see her swinging arms, her bandy legs, observe the creature’s eyes. Now we shall prove that she has been buried in Fátima all this time we’ll prove that this creature hidden like Fátima let’s prove that this creature is still alive. Awaken, monster! Wake up, girl!’

  The girl arrived in São Paulo twenty years earlier with Fátima’s bag, her papers, everything. They asked for identification, she didn’t understand, they asked for her name, this meant even less. Who are you, the man with shoes on asked, she didn’t know, she looked at her own bag, she didn’t know, she looked at the papers she looked at the ticket, nothing meant anything to her, she looked back at Maria de Fátima’s bundle of clothes again. I’m a fátima, she replied. Goddamnit, how could this be, girl? It isn’t easy to explain:

  ‘Not having a body of your own is like when Skin-and-Bones finds a bone in my shin. Skinny doesn’t have her own body, she’s always chasing her tail to see if it’s really hers. The tail is what’s left of people, there are times when it’s flesh, and times when it’s their eyes. It’s a far-flung body part, the tail stays behind you telling stories. History is another body that belongs to us, one that time can’t destroy, or not so much. Time is what doesn’t pass when you’re hurting. And hurt is when none of this matters.’

  You must be wondering what happened to Skinny. We’ll tell you later. Alright, I’ll tell you now. In Vila Marta Vilaboinha the dogs are alive even when they’re dying, they bark uncontrollably, why? It’s Skinny, poor thing, barking from dog to dog. She thought Tonho wasn’t coming, but she knows he’s on his way, and the dogs are in a doggy frenzy, they won’t stop barking but no, it’s Skinny, poor thing, who came to look for what wasn’t there in Vilaboinha. The shin of that bastard Tonho. We’ll tell that story later. Cross my heart and hope to die.

  Fever: a condition typically featuring hyperthermia, tachysphygmia, vilaboinha. Spiritual exaltation. The desire to consume earth. Along with everything the earth holds. Summer inside us. The desire to leave ourselves behind. Things at odds.

  ‘Goddamnit, there were two words, not one!’

  ‘And they weren’t such long ones either.’

  ‘They don’t treat us right at all.’

  ‘Not us nor anyone, what does that mean, fever is Vilaboinha?’

  ‘But I liked that one so much as it is…?’

  ‘Which one? The one about the daughter? I liked when it said a daughter is eating people from the inside.’

  ‘No, I liked the other one, what was it again?’

  ‘The one about the vulture sprouting out from death? I love that one.’

  ‘No, the other one.’

  ‘The one about the city?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The one about the circus?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The monster one, then?’

  ‘Nope, not that one.’

  ‘Dammit, if you liked it that much you’d have remembered.’

  Left stomach

  right stomach

  When the girl went to the circus for the first time she’d never heard of phantasmagoria, of metamorphosis or of gorillas. She walked through the streets with a rib bone tucked under her arm, the rest inside, her own ribs, and her pelvic bones, she went taking everything with her they were going together, but Fátima made the girl drop the bone she was gnawing. An osseous sadness, the girl didn’t know what to do. With a smack Fátima returned the bone to the earth. Don’t fuss, girl, little devil, hold your tongue.

  The woman appeared on stage wearing next to nothing, gleaming and forgotten, her bones encased in flesh, the bones she barely had. Everyone was scared and the girl was looking at the woman’s flesh, tamed earth, the girl was looking for her ribs and couldn’t see any, branches, twigs, the girl couldn’t see them goddamn could this woman have hidden bones? It was the first time in her whole life that she’d ever seen a fat person, imagine that, it was the weirdest thing. She thought fat was what happened to old chickens.

  Fátima, seeing her sister frightened by this discovery, made herself clear: there’s people far away from here who eat all sorts of strange things, girl, goddamnit, you didn’t know? Wood, bird beaks, gravel even. There’s people who open up a creature’s stomach, worms and all, I do it too. Some people eat lice, the roots of hair, party banners, some do that here, but far away people eat other things, girl, every kind of disgusting, you couldn’t even imagine. There’s even some people whose stomachs sleep peacefully, would you believe?

  In Vilaboinha the wind beats on the door, old Dona Penha goes dragging her feet, opens the door, and sees nothing. Any wind raises the earth in these parts, every damn day it’s lifting bodies out of earth, Penha gets up and opens the door to hell but nothing. The wind raises everything, animal skeleton, dead leaves, Fátima’s last dress left on the washing line, the one with the strap sewn back on. Penha steps out the door, no harm in taking a look, just a quick look, damnit, no harm in it, Penha opens the cursed door. All she sees are the vultures and the street.

  Old Penha, strange fixation, looks to the earth the horizon the dust to see if her granddaughters are there. Goddamnit. They went and found a place to live out there. Penha tries to see into the distance, nothing meets her eyes, let alone the finger she’s still pointing. Penha goes sifting through the dregs of the wind, through the traces of time, goddamnit, Penha even goes scouring the depths of her pot. Penha stares out at the raised dust, stares at the circling vultures and, Lord Almighty, she can’t see a thing, all she sees is Scarlett in amongst them learning how to fly.