The Veríssimo Project

He said:
- But, Land Reform...
She said:
- You gonna tell me you're against it?
He tried bailing:
- It's a complex issue.
She insisted:
- Hold on a sec.
- Gimme a kiss, girl.
- Wait. This is important. I want to know.
- What?
- Land Reform. Are you against it?
- Why? Are you for it?
- Obvie.
- You want the old man to have his land taken from him and given away?
- Your father owns a lot of land?
- Tons.
- I did not know that!
- There is a lot about me you still don't know, sweetheart. Come here and I'll show you...
- Wait. Seriously.
- Gimme some...
- Seriously though, shit.
- Ok. What do you want to know?
- Your dad. How many hectares does he own? Or acres? Is it hectares or acres?
- I dunno. I've never been out there.
- How many?
- Lots.
- More or less?
- Look, they can get in a jeep at the farm in the morning, drive all day and not reach the end of our lands...
- Jesus!
- The jeep always breaks down. Now gimme a kiss, please...
- Stop.
- Come here, woman!
- No. Look, I just never thought...
- What? That my dad is a farmer? How do you think I am paying for school? And the car? And the apartment? And our engagement rings?
- Does he own unproductive land?
- Yes. It's exactly the land that he is keeping to give to us when we get married. It's our land, honey.
- But... what about your speech?
- Well...
- Even I thought it was a bit radical. And you know I lean to the left...
- Let's not fight over this.
- But, the things you're always talking about... Social justice...
- Yes.
- The insensitivity of the rich in this country...
- I stand by it.
- The absurdity of the landless in a country this big...
- Absolutely.
- Ok. The other night. At this very bar. You said that all private property is theft. I thought that was so inspiring...
- The phrase just popped into my head. Now, listen...
- And now you tell me you are against Land Reform.
- I am not against Land Reform. Theoretically, I am for it.
- So then...
- Don't you get it? Now it's not theory. Now it's the old man's land!

She (young, beautiful, alone) had just finished rubbing tanning oil on her arms, after applying it to her legs, thighs and face. She looked around. A few meters from her, sitting on the sand, a man read the newspaper. No one else was around. She examined the man carefully. Wedding ring? Yes. Married. Thirty, Thirty-five. Definitely not ugly, though his nose was a tad long. She spoke:
- Why were you staring at me?
Startled, he turned towards her.
- Are you talking to me?
- Why were you staring at me?
- I’m sorry. I was not staring at you.
- Why not?
He laughed, not knowing what to say.
She continued:
- What do you want?
- Me? Nothing.
- Are you sure?
- I can assure you that…
- Nothing at all?
- Nothing. I swear.
- You weren’t imagining that fate placed us here, side by side on the same beach, with something in mind, a plan for us? You never considered saying a word to me? Asking me out? Having an affair?
- Nope. Not at all.
- Do you find me repulsive?
- No! Really. It’s just that…
Here it comes, she thought. He’s gonna tell me he’s a homosexual. Or impotent. Or, my God, that his wife died yesterday! But all he says is:
- Look, the last thing I am looking for right now is emotional involvement, ok? Don’t take this the wrong way. You are a very attractive girl. I’m just not interested.
Perfect, she thought. Just one more thing:
- Is your wife around?
- My wife? No.
Perfect. She got up, walked over to him, sat down beside him and asked:
- Will you rub oil on my back?

- Hello?
- Russ, let me talk to Moira.
- What?!
- I know she’s there. Put her on the phone.
- Michael, have you lost your mind? Why would Moira be here at this hour?
- I just wanna talk to her, Russ. I’m not gonna fight, I won’t make a scene…
- What is this? Do you have any idea what time it is?
- I’m sorry if I interrupted anything, but I need to speak with Moira.
- Michael. Listen. It’s three o’clock in the morning, I’m sleeping, there’s no one here with me, especially not… C’mon, Michael! What do you think I am? You and Moira are my best friends!
- But Moira’s not just a friend, is she, Russ? I know. I know about you two.
- You’re crazy! Michael…
- Let me talk to her!
- You know something. Go f… Look, if Moira isn’t home, it’s not my problem. She’s not here.
- You don’t know this but I saw you buying the earring at the market.
- What earring?
- I saw it! And the next day Moira was wearing it!
- And she told you I gave it to her?
- She didn’t say anything. I saw it!
- Michael…
- You really want me to make a scene? Fine. I’m coming over. Let’s make a spectacle of this, Russ. Cuckolded husband, gun-in-hand… Get ready.

Michael hangs up. Russ sits and thinks for a second. Robert, on the bed next to him, says nothing. Finally, Russ speaks. There is no anger in his voice. Only disappointment.

- You and Moira, Robert?
- Why me and Moira?
- The earring I bought you. She has it.
- They’re probably just similar.
- Please, Robert. Don’t lie to me.
- Ok, ok. I gave the earring away. But not to Moira, to Lisa.
- To Lisa?
- Yeah, to Lisa, my wife. I swear.
- And Lisa gave it to Moira.
- You think?
- Do you know where Lisa is right now, Robert?
- Should be home, why?
- Because Moira isn’t home.
- You think Lisa and Moira…
- You better go, Robert. I’m expecting someone.
- Who?
- Michael. He’s coming to kill me.
- I’ll stay.
- You’ll leave.
- Fine.

Robert gets out of bed and gets dressed to leave.

- Robert…
- Yeah…
- You didn’t like the earring?

“I am becoming accustomed to the idea of considering every sexual act a process in which, at least, four people are involved.” S. Freud




- Try to relax…
- Sorry. It’s just that there’s a part of me that, you know? Stays out of it, distanced, watching it all. A part that can’t give itself to you…
- I understand.
- It’s as if there’s a third person in bed.
- Right. It’s your superego. Mine is also here.
- Yours too?
- Of course. Everybody has one. The trick is learning to live with him.
- If only he would close his eyes!
- Calm down. I know how you feel. In these cases I always imagine that my mother is present.
- Your mother?
- Yup. She’s in bed with us too.
- Have you seen a shrink?
- I see one, actually. Now that I think about it, he’s also here.
- Who?
- My analyst. In bed. My God, next to my mother!
- My father is here…
- Your father, too?
- My superego and my father.
- Your superego and your father could be the same person.
- No, no. They’re definitely two. And they won’t stop staring at me.
- But sex is such a natural thing!
- Tell them.
- Actually, isn’t it? We aren’t even ourselves. I am what I think I am, I am as you see me…
- And we also are what we think we are to others.
- In other words, each one of us is actually three.
- Four, if you count who we really are.
- But who are we, really?
- I dunno. I…
- What a second. Let’s go over this again. On your side you have you, your superego, your father… – that’s three right there.
- And on yours there’s you three, your mother and your analyst.
- And my superego.
- And your superego.
- Anyone else?
- And Jimmy.
- Who?!
- My first boyfriend. He was the one that…
- Hold on a sec. Not Jimmy.
- But…
- Get Jimmy off this bed.
- But…
- Either Jimmy leaves, or me and my crew leave!

Paul and Dee invited Lana and Antonio for dinner at their house and then to watch what Paul referred to as “a lil porno” on the VHS. Antonio went against his will, whereas Lana didn’t see any harm.
- I don’t see any harm.
- C’mon, Lan!
- What’s the problem?
- I dunno – said Antonio, who didn’t want to be a party pooper, but c’mon!
They barely knew Paul and Dee. He eventually agreed on one condition.
- If this thing involves a midget or a goat, I am walking out!

When he put the tape in the player, Paul winked and said, “This one stars Mike McGee.”
- Ahh, Mike McGee – said Antonio, as if he knew who that was.
- Is he good? – wondered Lana.
- Watch – said Paul.
Dee chimed in:
- Just watch.

In the car, on the way home, Lana was silent. Antonio had already dissed the food (“Strogonoff, in this heat?”), dissed Paul (“He cuts out articles from the Christian Science Monitor, did you see?”), even dissed the dog (“Annoying”) and Lana remained silent, pensive. Finally Antonio said:
- How ‘bout that Mike McGee?
And Lana:
- Crazy, right?
Antonio looked at her from the corner of his eye.
- That could be a trick, you know?
- Trick? How?
- A trick. Make-up. It could be fake, rubber.
- I don’t think it was.
- The guy is an imbecile. C’mon, be serious. He looks retarded. Don’t you think?
- Not really.
- Oh come on, Lan. Could you imagine someone like that… someone like that…
- What?
Antonio searched for words. Finally he said:
- Reading Rilke?
Lana exuded disdain.
- I don’t know what good reading Rilke has brought some people…
I knew we shouldn’t have gone, thought Antonio.

The last time they had seen each other one was trying to bash the other over the head with a bat, while the other attempted to defend himself by throwing wild punches at the first. One yelled, “Communist!” and the other yelled, “Fascist!” But this was years ago. Now here they are, years older, at the same old dive bar. They had greeted each other discreetly. Embarrassed. After a few minutes of hesitation, the one invited the other to have a seat at his table. What the hell, it was ancient history.
The fight had occurred when they were both students. They were friends, but had different ideas. It was a tumultuous time. One day they found themselves on opposite sides of a political protest. One was against and one was in favor of something or other. They were young and impulsive. They cursed at each other. At which point the one attacked the other, bat in hand. Different times. Different hormones. They hadn’t spoken since.
- Are you still in that thing?
- Thing?
- Yeah, what was it? Castrated Christians against something or other.
- Christian Crusade against Communism. No.
- Does it still exist?
- I don’t know. You?
- Me, what?
- Are you still a communist?
- Ha!
It was an answer. The other asked:
- Does it still exist?
- Communist? There’s a couple. But the Russian police has their addresses already.
- Were you militant?
- See this right here? Police. Billy Club.
- It wasn’t me?
- No, you didn’t get me with that ridiculous bat. Christian Crusade… you’re nuts, man.
- And you? With all your fanaticism talk. Marx, Trotsky, Gorki.
- Gorki? What Gorki?
- I don’t know. That litany.
- Nope, litanies are your thing. You’re the fanatic. Religious fanatic.
- Was.
- You left the Church?
- Long time ago. Disillusioned. I was full of doubts. Lost my faith.
- That’s similar to what happened to me. The few certainties I had were lost with everything that happened in Eastern Europe. And Russia. You can’t believe anything these days…
- It’s better this way. We are mature. Rational. Regaining reason is one of the benefits of old age.
- What are the other benefits?
- Haven’t found them out yet.
Before they realized it they were toasting their renewed friendship and exchanging information about their families and discovering that their meeting at that bar had not been that much of a coincidence. They were both waiting to attend the talk given by Rangar Krisnamon on his first visit to Brazil. They were both Rangar Krisnamon’s disciples! Both had read “The Inside Eye” and “My Lives,” both possessed the Regenerative Amulet. They removed from their respective pockets the thin container which held a strand of Krisnamon’s beard, which they lightly dragged over their bodies, reciting the Millennial Prayer:
- Oam, patapai
- Oam, patapai.
Then the one looked at his watch and suggested they head towards the auditorium, which would soon be crowded, for they both longed to be close to Krisnamon and, if possible, touch his feet. For it is said that he who touches Krisnamon’s feet will be filled with Unique Truth, like a pitcher of Unique Truth, and they left the bar in each other’s arms.