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96 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2006
Life was a fabric made from everyone and everything. The ones that went before, the ones that were now, and the ones that would come to be.As Evaristo’s heroine Ponciá Vicêncio pieces together the fragments of her family’s past, she manages not only to unearth the root causes of her community’s suffering, but also to embrace the survival of African mysteries in the Americas. It reads like a dialogue between past and present, between memory and experience, between real and imaginary. This hunger for a deeper knowledge base – one that honours ancestral roots and is at the same time capable of empowering the forward-looking imagination – is what drives our heroine’s quest.
What good was any of it? The slave’s life still went on. Yes, she too was a slave. Slave to a condition that kept repeating itself. Slave to despair, the absence of hope, the impossibility of launching new battles, organising new communities, imagining a better life.The city has proved her with new eyes and a critical distance that permit her to witness the fruitless labours of poor, rural Black people as an echo of colonial slavery. Her return to her village concretises her awareness of race: the persistence of the conditions of slavery and the manifestations of racism at every institutional and interpersonal level did not disappear when Princess Isabel waved her “magic wand”. [Background information: The Law of Free Birth was enacted on September 28, 1871, freeing all children born to slave parents. Next, the Golden Law was adopted on May 13, 1888, abolishing all slavery in Brazil. Both laws were signed by Isabel, Princess Imperial of Brazil (1846-1921).]
He was the horse on which the youngster would gallop … One day the little colonel ordered him to open his mouth because he wanted to make his piss there inside. … That night he hated his father more than ever. If they were free, why did they have to stay there? Why then were there so many blacks in the slave quarters? … He asked and the father’s answer was a rough cackle between a laugh and a wail. The man didn’t look at the boy. He looked into time as though combing the past, the present and the future to find a precise answer, but it was always slipping just beyond his grasp.Ponciá's father was never able to completely forgive his father for not being able to protect him. Even when he was a grown man, he knew "that if he made his father remember everything, if he would hurt him in his memory, the man would drop. He would die the death of all the deaths, the deepest. [...] To remember what happened was to sip from death itself – but this death would be his own."
One day in a fit of jealousy, one of them had called Balisa a whore. It didn’t bother her. Whore just means someone who likes pleasure. That’s me. Whore means sneaking off with whoever I want? That’s me. Am I a whore because I don’t open my legs for anyone if I don’t want to? Then so be it.Lundi also fell in love with the prostitute Balisa, their marital plans thwarted when she is brutally murdered by Climério, the owner of the club where Balisa worked. When Ponciá does return to Vila Vicêncio, she finds the family home vacant. Even her mother has gone to the city in hopes of reuniting with her children. The narrative is split into three POVs (Ponciá, Maria and Lundi) and in large parts the book is about the family finding each other again.