If his mind was locked to the point of not assimilating reality, at least his subconscious could still bring through flash dreams of archived memories, and so he was able to go back in his childhood time, when beside Bernardo and Lucinda they bathed on the banks of the wide Guajará River, which was in the lower A****n, with its muddy waters. And strong currents capable of leading even the most resistant adult man, as well as the best swimmers to the bottom, causing the wreck of grandiose boats. However, with the adventurous courage of a child and the brothers were not afraid to have fun. Diving in the waves that came and went on the sand of the deserted beach.

There were many plants with edible fruits on the island, and they enjoyed everything they could find. Mangoes of various species, jackfruit, cashews and top quality, guavas, diverse fruits, were a true paradise. But one day, after growing up and discovering that the world went beyond the banks of the river and the beauty of its waves, that besides the infinite waters there were many other things to be discovered and conquered.

So he decided to leave his family and all that natural beauty behind and flee into the unknown. He hitched a ride on the first fishing vessel that anchored a few days on the island, hiding in the hold, he managed to reach the capital and survive among the strangers without regretting the decision made. But, what is the result of having exchanged your humble life as a riverside for the adventure of going out into the world in search of adventures? He met a millionaire lady and at least for a while he enjoyed everything she offered him.

Without missing or missing what he left in his past, but finally came the divine rebuke that sent him to the bottom of that miserable pit. The dream was founded when the night darkness began to dissipate, in a few hours the dawn would say goodbye and the sun would enter the scene with all its brightness and rays. Warming the coldness that brought comfort, after the heat that it had to endure the previous afternoon, during long walks. Unless, again, the black clouds of water prevented its clarity. If it rained again, as usual at that time of year.

In the month of carnival, people could already be seen partying in advance with costumes and drinking, those who were wealthy and did not mind throwing money away had fun in the small bars located in strategic places around. The traditional bar in the square, which some time ago served as a meeting point for people intellectuals, where it became common to chat with the most important names in music. Also literature and arts in general, as well as the most respected public people of the time. But things changed and there was only an empty space of importance, full of drunks and rioters. He wandered around the place, confused, disturbed.

Totally disoriented. While most normal people were having fun, he and others like him paraded randomly like lost souls. Looking for someone who could give them something to eat. A couple approached Dona Rita's stall, she sold typical foods and they tasted delicious food, the poor devil, starving, just looked. Perhaps his mediocre mind was no longer able to reason correctly, but he still knew how to identify the aroma and taste of food. Since she was a child, she loved that dish and would not easily forget it, Dona Maria, her mother, was an expert in preparing it.

And he delighted himself at will, until he was satisfied. Especially during the festivities of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. The patron saint, when dozens of the faithful attended the ceremony that took place every year. The pilgrimage began in the chapel, in the center of the village. Then he continued until he surrounded the entire route around the island and the crowd of pilgrims was immense, he loved to accompany the crowd, listening to their prayers and supplications to a dead saint, he knew that that statue could not hear them, but they believed in it. and there was no use trying to change the tradition. Naomi, her foster mother, was an unbelieving baby.

 His parents as well as all his ancestors were, in addition to materialistic extremes, incorrigible atheists. But even though he came from a Catholic family, his faith was different. He believed in the existence of a God that no one could see, only feel. Alive and powerful who did not need someone to carry him on his shoulders in any kind of mess. That it was not made of clay, wood or plaster, but a spirit present everywhere. Well, that was his thought before it happened, before the mental disturbance reached him.

It didn't matter now, it didn't make sense anymore. They were just shadows that looked more like mists dissipated in the form of null and unreal thoughts. He approached the couple and, in the distance, filled his mouth with desire, wondering how tasty that typical food would be. Seasoned with plenty of pepper. Smoked bacon, pork feet and ears, in addition to the offal and all the seasoning traditionally used in the preparation.

  It was not possible to resist the taste of that delicious regional dish. The young woman noticed the hungry man licking his lips with hunger and decided to buy a plate to give him. That he received and after he poured almost half a kilo of flour over it, he ate it desperately, as if he had been without food for days. The generous girl took pity on seeing him in that state, left the beggar with two more meals, guaranteeing him dinner and lunch the next day. Merciful people, determined to reach out to help those who perished on the margins of society, did not always appear on the way.

However, luck occasionally smiled at him and readied his pieces, helping or throwing him into the abyss. Fate is the author of the story of each human being, his entire trajectory from beginning to end, along with his victories or failures, joys or sorrows. Laughter or tears. Everything is planned and calculated by him. And if something good or bad happens it comes from him, from his intentions for or against each one. It was up to the author of his story to write a useless beginning, a spectacular medium and at the same time terrible.

With a perhaps mediocre ending and in the worst possible way or, perhaps, surprising. The elderly man with gray hair and beard had dinner and sat on another late afternoon. Watching the trees dance in the middle of the square where he lived, a cold wind blowing vertically from east to west of the place. Some people were walking. Some accompanied by their partners, couples in love, exchanging caresses, while others chose to parade alone. Others prefer to hold their pets' leash firmly. The grumpy observer saw everything in silence, inert like the statues and monuments found there and rarely noticed by those present, despite remaining before his eyes.

There were long-shaped fruits, initially green and gray, when ripe, with a slightly yellow and sweet flavor, there were dozens of trees of the same fruit planted in the middle of the square. In the fall, a large number of fruits that fell on the grass could be harvested. They served as food for squirrels and for those who tried to survive at any cost His gaze was fixed on everything that moved around him. Lovers holding hands, others embracing and exchanging caresses in some little place. There were those who, by choice or need, preferred to walk alone from side to side, some walking and others who ran like mad, in search of fulfilling so many dreams.

There were also dog nannies circulating in the square who were paid by the rich only to walk for hours with their dear pets.The animals were different from the others seen on the streets of the metropolis, chubby, their hair shone so clean, without any stains or dirt because they were treated well. Their owners spent a lot of money taking them to the vet, to the beauty salon to do a special treatment as if they were real people.

Some of the more daring even wore clothes and put shoes on animals as if they needed such things. Everything to snub the poorest and show the power they had. For while throwing so much money out of the window with superfluous things, outside they died of hunger and cold and lack of care. Many unfortunates like him who had nothing, not even those who cared about their miserable state, even died on the sidewalks. The vast majority of Brazilians are selfish by nature. Also, just look at your roots and you will see that your attitudes make sense.

 Coming from three races completely opposed to each other and with different ideals, where one dominated with rigor and disdain the other two weaker. And these, having fear, cowardice and naivety as characteristics, the end result of this merger could not be worse.As in the colonial times of that land, the wealthiest and wealthiest people could still be seen showing their whips to the least favored menacing them to slavery. Luís Gustavo remained there, in the same place.

Sitting on the green grass of the square by the name of the republic, staring at what passed in front of him almost without batting an eye. I was not able to reason clearly. He understood very little what he saw and difficultly deciphered every image processed by his brain damaged by madness. Birds flew from tree to tree, with their diverse and loud songs, as if they were a beautiful symphony. His ears heard the song clearly. However, little did they clearly assimilate the perfect musical notes contained in them. The children ran in a tireless game, seemed to be electric or powered by batteries that never ran out. They were beautiful, well cared for and fed the best.

They wore clothes and shoes from famous brands, even the color of their skin looked out of this world, whether white or black, they looked special. It was not like the riverside boys raised on the banks of the A****n rivers or in the slums, accustomed to eating wild fruits with fried fish or rice with dried meat and beans of the type that takes forever to cook. Right behind him was a tall statue made of cement and plaster, in the shape of a crowd of people with spears and swords in hand. It was a monument erected for the explorers who arrived in Pará and colonized the land.

The history of these people and their origins were impressive, their bold pride was already huge at that time, knowing that the existence of life in this part of Brazil is dated well before the arrival of the Portuguese. As some archaeological findings have proved, the ancient inhabitants of Brazilian prehistory were divided into three groups, according to the way of life and the tools. Thus, the peoples emerged: hunter-gatherers, from the coast and farmers. These groups, later called by the European colonizers as Indians. Archaeological records have been found proving the human presence in the Lower A****n archipelago since 3000 BC.

In the Lower A****n, farmers lived in huts or underground houses. Since 3,500 years ago. These people knew about pottery, dyes, natural medicinal compounds. They practiced burning to clear the land and planted cassava. The best known culture of this group was ceramics, which had a peculiar decoration and size. The period from 500 to 1300 was the height of culture in the A****n. In high school, Luís was very knowledgeable in this regard, he knew everything about the history of his state and the entire region.

Other students paid to take private lessons with the young man who mastered the subject well. He often thought about becoming a historian, but due to the importance of the social environment where he lived alongside his adoptive mother, he decided to give his opinion on something more interesting. However, at that moment none of that made any sense, how many times he passed in front of the same monument and made spectacular comments about its importance. Showing how great his knowledge on the subject was, and at that moment he could say nothing because his mind was blank.

 Empty, endless uselessness. After twenty years in that sad situation, would he ever be rescued? Would he be seen in the gutter by any of the old friends with whom he shared so much knowledge in other times? Did they ever walk through the square and contemplate their misery, without, however, having the courage to approach and at least mock their decadent situation? It was impossible to know for sure, but it didn't matter, because if it happened he didn't even notice. For hours he was in the same place, his eyes fixed on the landscape. As well as everything that moved, however without any great definition. A false laugh could be seen on his lips, partially covered by his bulky beard.

He seemed to be happy, satisfied with something, but it was only the mind-blowing effects of madness that gnawed at his brain. So he decided to get up a little and go in another direction. He was hungry and remembered the delicious typical foods that the girl gave him in the tent that was in front of the Theater. A beautiful mansion painted in blue. Located right in the center of the square. Once there, the lady remembered him and served him. His hands were shaking a lot and he was barely able to steady his spoon in the food, it took a considerable time to feed.

A glass of juice accompanied the lunch which was on a whim. After thanking him for his kindness, he retired back to the gazebo where he slept. There he spent the night in the company of several others who were homeless. After removing the dirt and placing the burlap bag on the floor covered with white tiles. Using it as a pillow, she lay down to get some rest. He took a sip of the cachaça he always carried by hand and whispered. Visitors entering the room were startled by the presence of the beggar.

 And immediately they left there differently from what happened before their complete decay, when he still had the title of heir to the lady of rubber, he had many privileges now lost. frequented only fine and refined environments. Their friendships were handpicked and belonged to the highest point of society. And several were the girls from good families who wished to have at least some of their valuable attention. There were often disputes between the candidates for dating and the daughter of the then mayor of Belem. She who was part of his select group of friends.

And with whom he has been making out a few times, he wanted to be his wife, which he in no way insisted on.  Now, after you have turned it three hundred and sixty degrees, look what happened. He became a disgusting being to everyone who saw him in that deplorable state. Would Juliana, the former suitor, recognize him if she saw him? Certainly not, she lost the joviality that won her over and only the most horrendous side remained. And macabre. He was sleeping soundly.

 Snoring like a pig and stank like a skunk, no one could bear to stay by his side. This was due to the bad odor that came out of his fetid body, except for those similar to him. He woke up after a few hours of sleep and it was already mid afternoon that day. As always, there was a strong wind, announcing the arrival of rain that usually falls at the same time. The sun disappeared from the sky and in its place the water-laden clouds darkened the entire city. With the swaying of its branches, the trees dropped ripe fruit and several people took the opportunity to gather them, many other starving people were among the harvesters, from a distance he just admired everything in silence.

He was not given to make verbal comments, he hardly spoke, just what was necessary and when necessary. The frequent thunderstorms and lightning accompanied the beginning of the flood that falls incessantly, wetting everywhere and creating small puddles of mud. The square, which had been crowded with visitors from an early age, soon emptied completely, no sign of a living soul could be seen. Only at dusk did he stop thunderstorms. And the charged clouds dissipated.

The storm ceased and the usual cold remained. That intense climate that made the shirtless teeth chatter during the early hours. Luís Gustavo was part of that number of discouraged, homeless and without any comfort. From where he stood he looked up, looked at the buildings, buildings around. He knew that the millionaires who lived outside the storm that had stopped minutes ago lived there. For they lived locked in their luxurious apartments. surrounded by so much luxury that it prevented them from perceiving what was happening outside their fortified rooms.

 When they lay on their beds, they covered themselves with their expensive duvets, thin covers and heated up to satisfy their intentions, how much antagonism, while some eat and drink satisfactorily, others feel their stomachs bite inside. Some have too much, others too little and there are still those who have nothing. Is that justice? Is God really fair to his creatures? The unfortunate man who lived in the square, like everyone else, was once a practicing Christian and firmly believed in divine justice. In fact, he used to think that his good life was the result of the rewards for his efforts.

For the faith he had in a higher being, and he believed that he even fell from grace. Their faith, however, was not based on customary idolatry. Your parents and the rest of the family. As well as the inhabitants of the island where he was born, they were fervent Catholics and followed their traditions to the letter. However, he loved the long processions in the festivities of the saint, but it was only the agony of a  boy, after all he had no confidence in her. Even in the thought of a child, born in the bush, like an Indian.

 It was possible to analyze that something lifeless is dead and the dead can do nothing. Therefore, statues could not hear him or answer his prayers, he saw God in nature. He would sit for hours near the waterfall in a stream near the house, watching the waters flow towards the river. The tall, low vegetation, the enchanting green, listening to the birds' whistling, the nightingale. The wheezing, the toucan with its huge beak. The heron that caught small fish on the banks of the stream, capuchin monkeys jumping from one branch to another.

The laziness that took an immense amount of time to reach the top of the tree, everything was so beautiful and charming, in his childlike way of thinking, that was God, the creator of all things. But worse for him if he expressed this reasoning to anyone, he would be criticized and could take a beating like that, in their view he would be blaspheming. Dishonoring what was most sacred. The Lady Judith was a Roman Catholic and did not admit heresies.

 If someone spoke badly of his little saint, he would jump down and shout "look at the respect!". A true defender of the faith in Our Lady of Nazareth. When he came to the capital and lived for a few years at Ver-o-Peso, during the pilgrimage he used to accompany the fluvial candle just to be able to ride the boats for free. And eat for free the delicacies that were distributed. Later, when the procession went on foot through the city streets. He mixed with the crowd. He made a lot of mixes as a form of entertainment, he even pulled such a payment rope from his promises, but it was pure fun. When he went to live with Naomi, he left the damage and was educated to behave decently.

As it actually demanded the society of which it would be part. He learned correctly how to have good manners, to act elegantly with the proper class that his new condition demanded. Dalí onwards was obliged to attend Mass every Sunday and perform all the prayers the priest ordered. He was confirmed and made all the communions of the Blessed Sacrament. He became a complete Christian in the eyes of the church and his mother. But what was the point of so much belief in mission or that if in the end neither the plaster saint nor God helped him? If they were not able to prevent such unhappiness?

Well, what good would it do to ask whether or not there was justice in divine decisions if for poor devils like him and his companions in misfortune it all came down to endless hell? The truth is that his world has collapsed, has been reduced to ashes and was nothing more than a figure. A shadow lost among other shadows of so many worthless lives. These truths remained beyond his demented imagination, only the very destiny that condemned him to live in vegetation remained narrating his sad story while amusing himself with his intense failure.

The silence was interrupted by the shrill noise of an accident. It was something very serious that had just happened on the avenue nearby. A beggar crossed the traffic light and was taken by surprise in the middle of the road. It crashed on the asphalt about a hundred meters from the crash site. Several onlookers went to see the disfigured body that remained stretched there for a long time until the deceased popes decided to appear.

 He was nothing more than a pauper, without a name or whoever claimed his filthy body. He looked at Geraldo's deplorable state, all shattered on the track and pool of blood that was dripping from him. The despicable way in which he was treated by those who should show a little solidarity at least at the time of death. But without money in his pocket and a name at the top of the social list he would be treated with contempt, worse than a garbage bag like the one he carried on his shoulders.

Despite the obscure mind it was possible to understand immediately that it would have the same end. After all, what was different about the other losers who lived in the square? Geraldo was a good man, he progressed during his youth as a realtor. Becoming the owner of the largest company in this industry before the age of thirty-five. And his fame exceeded the limits of his expectations. It would have been the biggest icon in this segment, if its partners had not used extreme ambitions and taken it to the last penny.

Throwing him into the deepest ditch of debt ever seen, which made him lose to the roof where he took shelter. Bankrupt and without new perspectives, he sank into drunkenness, becoming drunk. The wife abandoned him and his children felt ashamed of what the father had become and, alone, in complete poverty, without being able to work and maintain his own livelihood ended up on the streets.

 Like one more on the growing list of indigents. He was her sleeping companion in the square bandstand. They exchanged no more than a dozen words a year, but I still had him as a friend. The day they talked the most was when they met and he told his story. After that, the silence became an almost impassable wall between the two. After Geraldo's departure, loneliness completely occupied his limited world.

 He was the only one who trusted to exchange two words. Now it was just him and the confused thoughts that always plagued him. The center of criminal expertise took the body of the deceased to the autopsy, from there it would go to the crematorium and his family. This is the end reserved for frets like him, with no value. And what about him, would there be someone who, at such a sorry moment, would appear to claim the deceased and bury him with more dignity? Of course not.

His parents whom he dared to abandon, nor the adoptive mother who once gave him a valuable surname. None of them would be at their mediocre funeral, there for the suburban bands, public cemetery and low quality. Always with open doors for anyone the devil decided to take to the beyond. Or, who knows, to see the smoke from his bones burning in the public crematorium, as happened with the hit friend, but it was not yet the right time to be concerned with such detail