- Prologue Part 2 -

  “Finally, we've arrived. Now come on, get down and help me

  with the equipment."

  "Sir... I mean, Uncle, why didn't we bring any food?"

  "Haha!" he laughed excitedly. "You'll see why. I hope you

  like it."

  José was even more apprehensive about the situation. He

  didn't like it, but he would never question Belforte's intentions.

  He trusted him deeply, only fearing that something might go wrong

  with all these changes and he would end up alone again.

  They entered through the main door. The house wasn't old, but

  it wasn't very furnished either, with only a few rooms. At the

  back, there seemed to be a small kitchen at the end of a corridor.

  Immediately to the right, there was a room with two armchairs and

  a radio on a simple wooden table with S-shaped legs. To the left,

  there was a staircase leading to the rooms above and two doors in

  the corridor ahead — one just below the staircase and another on the

  right, which was the bathroom.

  "Now take your suitcase upstairs and come back immediately.

  We need to take the equipment downstairs," he said, placing a hand

  on his back and trying to stretch to relieve a pain caused by

  carrying the heavy suitcases and boxes of equipment.

  "Downstairs?" José thought. "But where? I didn't see a

  staircase going down!"

  "Move along, boy. We won't waste another minute," he hurried,

  beginning to drag one of the boxes toward the door beneath the

  staircase.

  As soon as José chose his room, he returned and came down the

  stairs, but he could no longer see Belforte anywhere. Then, he

  heard him calling again.

  "Come down quickly, I'm in a hurry," he called, his voice

  muffled by the walls.

  "Where are you?" José asked, not quite understanding what was

  happening.

  "At the door under the stairs, turn the lock twice!" Belforte

  exclaimed, still with a muffled voice that was hard to identify.

  José went towards the door and turned the lock. To his

  surprise, there were brooms, mops, and buckets, but no Belforte

  inside.

  "What’s happening here, my God?" he said aloud, scratching

  his ears.

  "I told you to turn it TWICE!" Belforte's voice seemed to

  come from inside one of the buckets. "Now close the door and turn

  the lock twice."

  After the shock of hearing the bucket speak with his uncle's

  voice, José decided to close the door and try again. But the

  second time he turned the lock, he heard a dull sound and the

  clatter of wood as if moving a piece of furniture downstairs. The

  door opened slightly on its own, without effort, when José pulled

  it to see what had happened. There was no grumpy bucket or broom

  in a small room. Now he saw a staircase illuminated by a hanging

  lamp on a corridor ceiling that led to a basement—a cellar,

  perhaps that was its name.

  "Hurry up, boy. That staircase won't stay there forever."

  "Y-yes, uncle," he replied, preparing to descend the stairs.

  As he did, the door slammed shut behind him, and a gear creaked

  above his head, pulling planks over the steps, forming a small

  room just past the door as he finished descending.

  "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" Belforte asked without

  looking.

  "No." José replied immediately. "I just got startled by the

  noise."

  "Now stop getting distracted and come help me," said

  Belforte, arranging an amateur radio receiver.

  In a large room, the size of the house itself but entirely

  underground, it was a basement—something not typical for Brazilian

  houses of the time. José looked around, impressed by all the

  signal reception equipment, static meters, all of the highest

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  technological level. There was even a gramophone that seemed to

  bear Thomas Edison's signature; it didn't resemble anything he had

  seen, not even at the observatory. Before reaching the doctor's

  side, he noticed sacks of grain at the back of some shelves, which

  seemed to be directly below the kitchen.

  "So, do you like it?" Belforte noticed the boy's attention.

  "Those will be part of our supplies for a few years. Besides, we

  won’t need to return to the city and can focus on our work."

  "It looks like about 50 sacks of rice from here," said José,

  craning his neck to see between the shelves.

  "Exactly, plus some canned American food as well. They say

  they are developing durable cooked food for the army; we just need

  to heat it to eat," he said with enthusiasm.

  "Uncle, what is all this, and what is it for?" José asked

  hesitantly.

  "We will change the world!" he replied, placing a hand on

  José's shoulder. "Your father would be proud."

  After finishing adjusting the equipment, night began to fall.

  They took a few cans and went up to the kitchen, lighting some

  lamps. Belforte decided to prepare dinner with one of the chickens

  and some potatoes. They brought up half a sack of rice, oil, and

  some pots, chopped garlic, onions, and a seasoning of oregano and

  dried coriander for the rice. While it cooked in water, Belforte

  took the already plucked and headless chicken, cut and separated

  it into pieces, placed a layer of seasoning and pork lard to roast

  in a wood stove with a roasting compartment in the kitchen. Once

  they finished cooking, they sat at the table with their full

  plates and shared orange and lemon juice straight from the trees

  in the yard as they began to eat.

  "Tomorrow morning, I’ll return to the city. I’ll only be back

  in two days, and in the meantime, I need you to keep the equipment

  always running. Don't let anything get out of place and DO NOT

  answer to anyone here," he emphasized. "I need to explain some

  important things before I go, so pay attention."

  José stopped eating and looked intently at Belforte. He was

  afraid of staying alone in that big house but didn't want to

  disappoint the only person who cared about him.

  "You need to understand a few things. The people who killed

  your father and the people who fired me are the same, filthy, damn

  criminals, unscrupulous bourgeois," he said, pounding the fist

  that held the knife on the table. "In your father's case, they

  were specifically racists. In my case, they are government snobs

  sucking up whatever they can, but that will change. In a few

  years, we will free ourselves from those bastards and show how the

  Paulistas can fight," he said, looking at José's confused and

  trembling face. "Well, that's not exactly what I want to talk

  about. I just want you to understand that if you need anything in

  case I take a little longer to return, there is a neighbor on the

  farm next door. You will have to walk about 20 minutes on the path

  we took to get here, but they seem to be good people, and they

  have two children close to your age, a very smart girl and a boy,"

  he paused, noticing José had stopped trembling, and continued. "We

  have a radio in the living room with a very high range due to the

  equipment downstairs. You can distract yourself with it, but with

  the amateur radio, you can also try to contact the neighbors if

  necessary. Try reading the cooking technique books; you'll need to

  prepare more elaborate things. There's also a book on cultivation

  for you to take care of the animals with me; the rest, I will

  teach you when I return," he said and resumed eating.

  "You will come back, won't you... Sir?" he asked, looking at his

  cooling plate.

  "I already told you not to call me that," he said without

  stopping eating.

  "My mother died of that brain disease; the doctors said they

  wouldn't waste equipment on a black woman. A year later, my father

  died from a gunshot when we were coming home," he paused and

  looked directly at Belforte. "And now you're going to abandon me

  too."

  "No." Belforte stopped eating, put his utensils on the table,

  got up, walked toward the boy, and hugged his head. "I will never

  abandon you."

  The next day, they woke up early, and Belforte left for the

  city. José closed the gates and the doors and went to see the

  animals. He wanted to try to get some eggs for breakfast, but the

  rooster attacked him as soon as he entered the coop.

  "Darn rooster, I need to eat," he said, rolling up his

  sleeves.

  He tried to get in again, tripped, and got pecked on the

  head. He tried to protect himself immediately with his hands,

  which the rooster mistook for worms, aiming for the little finger.

  "Ouch!" he screamed in pain. "Damn rooster, I'll make soup

  out of you."

  He spent the whole morning trying to get the eggs. By noon,

  with the rooster already tired, the boy had his chance. He ran and

  grabbed four eggs, ensured two for breakfast, which had now become

  lunch, and two for dinner, not worrying about the next day. He

  prepared a nice lunch of rice and eggs and ate. An hour later, he

  went to the living room, turned on the radio to a station playing

  a daytime radio drama, but didn't last long before he fell asleep

  there, sitting on one of the armchairs, exhausted from his battle

  with the devilish rooster. Night fell, and Belforte hadn't arrived

  as expected, but his anxiety did not leave him. On the radio, the

  evening news began, waking him with a report.

  "Car in police chase crashes in Anhangabaú and driver dies

  instantly," the announcer said without pauses. "We just received

  the police bulletin; the driver was Belforte Mattos, a former

  meteorologist from the S?o Paulo Observatory," he said now with an

  air of surprise, making José stand up so fast from the chair that

  he nearly threw himself onto the radio. "He broke into the

  observatory this afternoon when the staff was taking a coffee

  break and stole a piece of equipment from the vault, but he was

  seen by an employee before leaving through the front door," he

  concluded.

  "You abandoned me, sir."

  ~~