The Marble Army. Gisele Firmino

the whites of their eyes one by one disappearing behind their eyelids as each man turned inward. They too had a decision to make.

      Our father took one last look at each of his workers and watched the weight of what he had said sink in. Some of them took their hardhats off like their boss had done and held it by their stomach, as one would do when entering a church on a Sunday morning. Showing the same respect and sadness for the inevitable distance one was bound to have with anything holy like god himself or, in that case, the mine, its miners and their guardian Santa Barbara.

      The General clicked his tongue annoyed at our father’s audacity, “Guess you better go home and tell your family they need to provide for themselves from now on.” He wore a smirk on his face, which our father didn’t see because he was studying the mine.

      As he continued to take it all in, he said quietly, but loud enough for those closer to him, including the General himself, to hear “With all due respect, Sir, my family is my own problem.”

      “If there’s anybody else here who wants to be dumb like Mr. Fonte, please do so now. I have no patience for those who won’t commit to the Union.”

      Out of the fifty workers on that shift, in that section of the mine, about fifteen stepped forward and left with our father without saying a word to the General. Each of them stopped by Santa Barbara’s statue on their way out to ask for her blessing one last time.

      Outside, Pablo suddenly saw the three soldiers shuffle by the entrance as they noticed the crowd coming towards them. José didn’t move. The sun had already set, but its light still infused the open meadow. Our father nodded to one of the soldiers as he walked past them.

      “You’re going to die of hunger, old man.”

      “And you of guilt, kid,” our father said, bringing a smile to Pablo’s face.

      Pablo would repeat this dialogue to me over and over, his eyes never failing to sparkle with pride. He watched our father leave the mine without really knowing what was going on. Although he couldn’t ignore the way his shoulders hunched forward as Pai watched the gravel disappear underneath his feet.

      Pablo was aware this was one of the moments when life did the living despite one’s will. He stayed where he was, pushing his knuckles against the chilly mud as if punishing it for allowing itself to be taken away from all of us. He thought of the dark coal below, of the murky mud, of nature’s darkest wonders, and how much he wanted to be tough and wondrous just like it. But Pablo was all cotton – volatile, weightless, and easily tainted.

      …

      The mine remained open for only a few weeks before they shut it all down due to the lack of workforce. When it happened, people hoped things would go back to normal once again, that they couldn’t sustain it, and that our father would soon be called to resume his position. But two months went by and nobody heard a thing. The mine became a mix of a ghost town and an amusement park. Despite the scary stories going around, kids would eventually find their way back into its caves, zipping along the galleries while playing hide-and-seek, sharing ghost stories, or playing jogo do copo, hoping the spirits would reveal what lied ahead for each of them, or who would win the Brasileirão that year.

      One day Clara, Xico and I were bored and decided to see if there was anybody playing in the mine. But when we got to the very first galleria we saw a couple kissing.

      “Shush!” whispered Xico.

      Clara looked at me with a big smile as we walked towards them. I looked back at the couple. The guy was leaning against the wall, his legs spread apart enough for the girl to fit right in between them. She had both her hands on his head caressing his hair gently, while his hands rested on her lower back.

      “Uuhh!” yelled Xico.

      Rita quickly stepped back, and Pablo wiped his lips. Rita was red with embarrassment, while Pablo seemed to glow with pride.

      “What are you kids doing here?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be here, Luca. It’s not safe.”

      Pablo suddenly looked so much older. As if the age gap between us had widened by at least five years, as if that kiss showed me we had nothing more in common, that we wouldn’t ever play hide-and-seek in the mine again, or soccer, or just talk in the dark at night.

      “You know what’s not safe? What you two were about to do before we got here!” Xico said, maliciously.

      “Shut up, piá! What do you know!?”

      “C’mon, guys, let’s go. Leave them alone,” I said as I started to walk back.

      Pablo smiled, like you would once your dog first learned a trick you’ve been trying to teach for a long time. Clara seemed stunned, petrified. She watched as Rita tried to hide her face behind her long hair. I grabbed her arm and walked her out.

      “You two behave yourselves, huh! Or I’ll have to tell your parents what you’re up to!” Xico again.

      “Get out, Xico. We’ll talk later.” Threatened Pablo.

      “Maybe we should go, too,” said Rita.

      …

      Pablo and I had heard on the radio that there was supposed to be a meteor shower visible in the south of Brasil. Neither of us knew what to expect, but Pablo somehow convinced our mother to let us invite our friends for a sleepover to watch it all together. It was a school night and it meant skipping the next day, as the shower wasn’t supposed to hit until 3am. But saying ‘no’ to Pablo was never an easy quest, so he and I invited Rita, Clara, Xico, and Xico’s older brother Marcos, and we all camped downstairs.

      Pablo and Rita set the fire and spent most of the time talking to each other, laughing and watching the flames dance for them. Pablo played with Rita’s toes while she talked; their cheeks red with heat. Clara, Xico, Marcos and I took turns playing Damas and Cinco Marias. Marcos’s age was sort of in between Pablo’s and mine, and it seemed to leave him conflicted as to where he stood in our little social circle. Every now and then Rita and Pablo would go out to the yard, and Marcos would just watch them like a house cat does when its owners take the dog for a walk, trying to understand why he was never included in their daily outings while also maintaining the hope that he was better off in the warm cozy house, with its toys and soft pillows.

      “You should go,” said Xico to his brother.

      “What do you know?!” said Marcos.

      “Sim, go ahead and bark at me. I know you’re lame as hell is what I know.”

      “Shut up, piá.” Marcos got up and headed for the door.

      Xico shook his head from side to side.

      “Just let him be, Xico,” said Clara after Marcos had shut the door behind him.

      “What a loser,” he whispered.

      “Like you’re any different,” she said, carefully piling up the little cloth bags. Xico went toward the fireplace.

      We ate sandwiches we made ourselves downstairs. Mãe had bought a liter of Cola at the store, and made chimarrão to help us stay awake. While we ate, we gathered as close to the fire as we could. Pablo and Rita had told us they had a plan, and we were waiting to hear it. Pablo had found a piece of tarp large enough for us to lay in, and at 2:50 sharp, we’d go out to our backyard, taking all the blankets, pillows, jackets, scarves, gloves and whatever else we could to keep us warm while we waited.

      “How about we make another fire?” asked Xico.

      “How about you make another fire?! Right now! And keep feeding it until it’s time for us to go out!” Marcos glared at his brother.

      “I don’t think a fire is a good idea,” said Pablo, looking at Xico. “The darkest our surroundings, the better the view is what I heard. Apparently big cities can’t see it that well.”

      We got through everything we had in front of us down to the very last slice of salami and bread