AA Inter 3

Thoughtful Memory of Advanced Past by gordongn
October 5, 2012, 9:45 pm
Filed under: 2012-13

…receiving the praise of the people of Belem do Para.

In the midst of laughter, a swift flash struck, more blinding than the rays of the scorching sun, and the Ver-o-Peso fell silent as if struck by an angel. Out of the flash came a woman dressed in black. Her outfit was not one of Belem do Para, or anywhere in Brazil for that matter. It was not even one that Father Luis had seen on his European travels or native Ireland. It seemed like one from outer space, or perhaps the future. Her striking red hair was a shade and straightness unfamiliar to these streets of Ver-o-Peso.  Who was this stranger? 

“This memória will easily go for a million reis…” She mumbled to herself as she raised her hand to adjust the blue-tinted eyeglasses that lay on her porcelain-like cheekbones and nose. She paced the open arena as water mingled with sweat dripped from her face, aware of the stares the people of Belem do Para had bequeathed upon her, but her gaze it seemed, was latched onto their surroundings. In her fist seemed to be a weapon of sorts, one that, again, Luis Quinn was struggling to decipher. It catches the scatter-light on its curves like a knife, it fits the fist like a knife – but Luis Quinn can see a shiver along the edge of the blade, like a thing there and not there, like a blade made from dreams. This is much more than a knife. This is a thing of death. She took a long deep breath, and he watched as she kneeled on the ground, ran her hands on the sand, and then with a whimper, disappeared.

Around him, the silence descended. Once again Luis Quinn took in the faces. Many skins, many colors, the open mouths were all still the same: red, hungry. Very hungry. Brazil was not like other places. Luis Quinn finally realized what Father James had meant. Little happens here without inducement, but the cry had already gone out across the market: The rage the rage.



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