by Erick Rocha

translated, from the Portuguese, by Sheila Thomson

It was Saturday of Carnival. The city was taken over by a frenzy of blocos and bandas, followed by hundreds of revelers, crammed in the downtown streets and alleys, partying with reckless abandon.

He opened the window and the band sounds flooded the apartment, as if calling to him to join the throng singing and dancing to the marchinhas.

He had promised not to go to Carnival that year. But how could he resist the beat of the surdo drum that seemed to shake him inside the rented studio on the twelfth floor of the Cantone building?

He grabbed a mask that he had kept from an old Estácio de Sá costume and went downstairs to the street. He joined the crowd that was assembling at the corner of his street, waiting for the moment when the band would strike up and lead the revelers through the streets of the Bairro de Fátima, snaking through Lapa, ending with a bang at Praça da Cruz Vermelha.

It was at the end of Rua do Riachuelo, almost turning the corner of Lavradio, that he noticed the other mask. Identical. A twin of his own. Probably from the same Estácio section. The other mask also noticed the similarity and for a while seemed to be asking the same questions that assailed his mind, wondering at the coincidence: Who could it be? Did they know each other? Was it looking at him? He stopped searching for answers and started to notice the body under the other mask. Dark-skinned, tall, lean, wearing colors that matched the mask.

At this point, the Banda das Quengas was entering Rua Mem de Sá, marching towards the end of its pre-determined route. There were five hundred meters left for the two masked ones to meet, before the last beat of the drum and the final dispersal of the merrymakers at the corner of Rua Ubaldino do Amaral and Rua Washington Luis, where he lived.

While he thought about ways to approach the other mask, he saw it getting away from the crowd. He thought it was a sign and followed it. Suddenly the other mask turned around and stopped, waiting for him to come closer.

Standing in this way, facing each other, they seemed gods from an ancient indigenous civilization.

When he tried to say something; a greeting, hello…the other man silenced him with his fingertips on his lips and with his other hand pulled him by the back of the neck, locking the two masks into an ancestral kiss.

PARAM PARAM PARAM PARAM

PAM RAM RAM RAM RAM RAM RAM

The trumpet sound was coming from far away to drag him from the arms of Morpheus. He perked up his ears and listened and remembered: the Band!!!!

He had decided to take a nap before the parade and had almost missed it. He ran to the shower, got dressed, got some money, cigarettes, condom and…the Mask.

Could the dream have been a good omen?

Well, it was Carnival and the masked ones were out in the streets “to watch the band pass by singing love songs!”*

* refrain from “A Banda” [The Band] by Chico Buarque