| Biographical Non-Fiction posted July 9, 2023 |
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Sometimes lucky, sometimes not.
Ladrao
by Loretta Bigg
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
Being robbed in Rio is as common as a Brazil Nut allergy. Vanessa has been robbed three times, and she is only twenty-four. The first time, at eleven years old, some barefoot child with a rock made her remove her classy Nikes and custom-made clothes and left her crying on the street in her underwear. Feeling sorry for her, he had offered his ragged clothes in exchange, but, "I'd rather die," said Vanessa.
All my friends had a story: Paulo had to call his sister in Argentina but he'd accidentally dropped his cell in the toilet, so off he went to an outside payphone. In the middle of his call, a young man interrupted him to ask politely for all his money.
"Can't you see I'm in the middle of a phone call?" Paulo replied, annoyed. "It's long distance, and it's been a bad day. Come back tomorrow."
The young thief apologized and murmured that he could wait. He flashed a knife at Paulo very discreetly. And he leaned on the phonebooth to give him privacy and time to complete his call.
"Who are you talking to?" his sister asked at the other end of the line.
"Oh, it's just a thief," Paulo explained. "He's allowed me to finish this call before he takes all my money."
When he finally got off the line, the thief resumed the robbery and then bowed gallantly and apologized. "My mother is sick, you see."
"Always with the sick mothers," said Paulo, but the thief had run off, never to be seen again.
Deborah's robbery was a duet. She was walking home from a disco with her best friend after a little too much to drink had dulled their intuition. Halfway home, they finally realized this and that they weren't exactly in the best part of town. At the same moment, a looming shadow rose in front of them, the fright of their lives. Ah, but gracas a Deus, he turned out to be a well-dressed young man.
"You almost scared us to death," Deborah's friend laughed in relief. "We thought you were a thief."
The man laughed back at the joke. "No, there's no need to be afraid." He smiled kindly. "Just give me all your money and then you can continue on your way."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Wrong."
Deborah gave him five reais (the rest of her money was hidden in one shoe) but her friend refused. "Look, we have to get home," she said gruffly. "How are we supposed to call a taxi if you take all our dough?"
"Well, how much do you have?" he said.
Down they went into bargaining. She pulled out two bills, a five real note and a ten. The thief reached for the ten, but she pushed him away.
"Oh, no you don't, you can have the five. We have to think of inflation."
The thief reluctantly took it. "Women," he muttered, before he turned on his heels and disappeared, never to be seen again. Thieves are usually never to be seen again. But not always.
But I'd never been robbed myself. Seven years in Brazil.
Everyone marveled. "What is your secret?" one asked.
"I don't drive, I don't go to the beach. I don't stay out late."
"What kind of life is that?"
"A safe one. One I want to keep."
"It can't be that you're a gringa or dress like a tourist," Vanessa said. "They are usually the first on the list."
"I'm exceedingly cautious," I explained.
"You think the rest of us aren't?" asked Paulo. "No I just think you are very lucky."
Till the day I wasn't.
***
It was my last day. In fact, it was my last four hours in the country. I had lived in Brazil for seven years, but all good things must come to an end. I spent my last four hours buying souvenirs, strolling around downtown. Middle of a scorching day. I was quite afraid I would get a terrible sunburn. But otherwise I was excited about flying home.
I often think of this moment. Why had I suddenly thrown all caution away? Why was I walking in one of the worst parts of town carrying a backpack which held my passport, my flight tickets, 500 dollars in cash, two credit cards and the housekeys to my apartment back home? Was it because I'd done everything one can do in Rio except...?
Except seeing the famous cathedral.
I don't remember much about that day. What I do recall is sitting in the cathedral, dark with beautiful sun reflections and children singing. So cool, so peaceful, so safe.
I had a sudden urge to count my money. so I took it out of my wallet and spread it out on my lap, two hundred Reais and five hundred American.
Seeing this money made me feel secure. I looked around me. People praying, some in rags, some in suits. What better place than a church? I put back all my money, lit a candle, and then walked back out into the Brazilian sunshine.
3 o'clock in the afternoon. I'd just looked at my gold watch so I remember that well.
The streets suddenly grew empty. No birds sang. I noticed someone staring at me from across the wide street.
He had a look of total concentration for me and me alone. His brow was furrowed and sweat shone through the dirt on his face. Before I knew what was happening, he'd crossed the street and in a flash stood in front of me.
"I want your backpack," he whispered in Portuguese. Not polite, not joking, fierce.
A short thin man walked past us, oblivious, and I hurried to him: "Excuse me," I said. "This man is trying to rob me. Can I walk with you for a bit?"
"Of course," he answered, but I saw a quick grave doubt in his eyes about whether it was a good idea. Still, Mr. Thief ran off at the sight of him. We both smiled in relief.
But my hero turned, stopped. His face grew pale. "Lady, there's another one."
"Another?"
"Thief." And he pointed at a thin, ragged teenager approaching us with a broken bottle in his right hand. "If I were you, I'd run," said the man. Which is exactly what he did.
Myself, I took on a "Deer-in-the-headlights" attitude. I just didn't know what else to do. The new thief reached me quick and tried to pull my bag away with his left hand, but I held on tight.
"Hand it over," he whispered. A crowd was starting to form very very far from us, watching a clown making balloons.
"I said hand it over, now, or I'll stab you." And he waved the broken bottle in front of my face still fighting to pull my bag away.
But how could I give it to him? It had my whole life in it, my plane ticket, my housekeys, my money, my souvenirs, my cell. All he had was my life in his hands.
"Give it to me now!" he yelled.
"No!" I yelled back and tossed my bag on the ground and threw myself on top of it, screaming, "Ladrao! Ladrao! Ladrao!!" My eyes scrunched up tight.
One lone bird began to sing. All other noise faded.
When I un-scrunched my eyes, he was gone.
Because after all, how could he stay? Downtown, 3 o' clock, the streets full of pedestrians and that clown and his balloons pointing us out to the police.
I'd won.
"I won, I won," I yelled to the crowd who waved and cheered in my imagination.
But then I realized I still wasn't safe. More thieves could be right around that dark corner over there, to claim my things. I flagged down a red taxi, yelling, "I've won, help me."
A taxista pulled up. "What happened to you? you're bleeding," he asked.
I looked at my hands. The thief had stabbed me. Blood flowed very near a vein. I was dripping all over the taxi seat. I worried the taxista would ask me to get out.
"Are you all right?"
"Someone tried to rob me." I sniffled.
"Aw, poor gringa. Did you lose anything?"
"No, he failed."
"You were lucky. Sometimes they kill you. And very brave."
All the building pressure released itself in a whoosh. I burst into tears. "Why me, why me?"
He stopped the taxi and turned to take a good look at me. "Ah," he said. "To look at you... well, the thief believed you would be easy to rob. But clearly he was wrong about that one."
***
I wear my scar as a badge of courage and also as a dunce cap of foolishness (I could have died.) But I don't ask, "Why me," anymore. Because, after all, why not me? And why him or her or them?
But I never went back to Brazil after that. Nothing else, but the young man stole that country from me. That and a precious piece of skin.
Non-Fiction Writing Contest contest entry
Being robbed in Rio is as common as a Brazil Nut allergy. Vanessa has been robbed three times, and she is only twenty-four. The first time, at eleven years old, some barefoot child with a rock made her remove her classy Nikes and custom-made clothes and left her crying on the street in her underwear. Feeling sorry for her, he had offered his ragged clothes in exchange, but, "I'd rather die," said Vanessa.
All my friends had a story: Paulo had to call his sister in Argentina but he'd accidentally dropped his cell in the toilet, so off he went to an outside payphone. In the middle of his call, a young man interrupted him to ask politely for all his money.
"Can't you see I'm in the middle of a phone call?" Paulo replied, annoyed. "It's long distance, and it's been a bad day. Come back tomorrow."
The young thief apologized and murmured that he could wait. He flashed a knife at Paulo very discreetly. And he leaned on the phonebooth to give him privacy and time to complete his call.
"Who are you talking to?" his sister asked at the other end of the line.
"Oh, it's just a thief," Paulo explained. "He's allowed me to finish this call before he takes all my money."
When he finally got off the line, the thief resumed the robbery and then bowed gallantly and apologized. "My mother is sick, you see."
"Always with the sick mothers," said Paulo, but the thief had run off, never to be seen again.
Deborah's robbery was a duet. She was walking home from a disco with her best friend after a little too much to drink had dulled their intuition. Halfway home, they finally realized this and that they weren't exactly in the best part of town. At the same moment, a looming shadow rose in front of them, the fright of their lives. Ah, but gracas a Deus, he turned out to be a well-dressed young man.
"You almost scared us to death," Deborah's friend laughed in relief. "We thought you were a thief."
The man laughed back at the joke. "No, there's no need to be afraid." He smiled kindly. "Just give me all your money and then you can continue on your way."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Wrong."
Deborah gave him five reais (the rest of her money was hidden in one shoe) but her friend refused. "Look, we have to get home," she said gruffly. "How are we supposed to call a taxi if you take all our dough?"
"Well, how much do you have?" he said.
Down they went into bargaining. She pulled out two bills, a five real note and a ten. The thief reached for the ten, but she pushed him away.
"Oh, no you don't, you can have the five. We have to think of inflation."
The thief reluctantly took it. "Women," he muttered, before he turned on his heels and disappeared, never to be seen again. Thieves are usually never to be seen again. But not always.
But I'd never been robbed myself. Seven years in Brazil.
Everyone marveled. "What is your secret?" one asked.
"I don't drive, I don't go to the beach. I don't stay out late."
"What kind of life is that?"
"A safe one. One I want to keep."
"It can't be that you're a gringa or dress like a tourist," Vanessa said. "They are usually the first on the list."
"I'm exceedingly cautious," I explained.
"You think the rest of us aren't?" asked Paulo. "No I just think you are very lucky."
Till the day I wasn't.
***
It was my last day. In fact, it was my last four hours in the country. I had lived in Brazil for seven years, but all good things must come to an end. I spent my last four hours buying souvenirs, strolling around downtown. Middle of a scorching day. I was quite afraid I would get a terrible sunburn. But otherwise I was excited about flying home.
It was my last day. In fact, it was my last four hours in the country. I had lived in Brazil for seven years, but all good things must come to an end. I spent my last four hours buying souvenirs, strolling around downtown. Middle of a scorching day. I was quite afraid I would get a terrible sunburn. But otherwise I was excited about flying home.
I often think of this moment. Why had I suddenly thrown all caution away? Why was I walking in one of the worst parts of town carrying a backpack which held my passport, my flight tickets, 500 dollars in cash, two credit cards and the housekeys to my apartment back home? Was it because I'd done everything one can do in Rio except...?
Except seeing the famous cathedral.
I don't remember much about that day. What I do recall is sitting in the cathedral, dark with beautiful sun reflections and children singing. So cool, so peaceful, so safe.
I had a sudden urge to count my money. so I took it out of my wallet and spread it out on my lap, two hundred Reais and five hundred American.
Seeing this money made me feel secure. I looked around me. People praying, some in rags, some in suits. What better place than a church? I put back all my money, lit a candle, and then walked back out into the Brazilian sunshine.
3 o'clock in the afternoon. I'd just looked at my gold watch so I remember that well.
The streets suddenly grew empty. No birds sang. I noticed someone staring at me from across the wide street.
He had a look of total concentration for me and me alone. His brow was furrowed and sweat shone through the dirt on his face. Before I knew what was happening, he'd crossed the street and in a flash stood in front of me.
"I want your backpack," he whispered in Portuguese. Not polite, not joking, fierce.
A short thin man walked past us, oblivious, and I hurried to him: "Excuse me," I said. "This man is trying to rob me. Can I walk with you for a bit?"
"Of course," he answered, but I saw a quick grave doubt in his eyes about whether it was a good idea. Still, Mr. Thief ran off at the sight of him. We both smiled in relief.
But my hero turned, stopped. His face grew pale. "Lady, there's another one."
"Another?"
"Thief." And he pointed at a thin, ragged teenager approaching us with a broken bottle in his right hand. "If I were you, I'd run," said the man. Which is exactly what he did.
Myself, I took on a "Deer-in-the-headlights" attitude. I just didn't know what else to do. The new thief reached me quick and tried to pull my bag away with his left hand, but I held on tight.
"Hand it over," he whispered. A crowd was starting to form very very far from us, watching a clown making balloons.
"I said hand it over, now, or I'll stab you." And he waved the broken bottle in front of my face still fighting to pull my bag away.
But how could I give it to him? It had my whole life in it, my plane ticket, my housekeys, my money, my souvenirs, my cell. All he had was my life in his hands.
"Give it to me now!" he yelled.
"No!" I yelled back and tossed my bag on the ground and threw myself on top of it, screaming, "Ladrao! Ladrao! Ladrao!!" My eyes scrunched up tight.
One lone bird began to sing. All other noise faded.
When I un-scrunched my eyes, he was gone.
Because after all, how could he stay? Downtown, 3 o' clock, the streets full of pedestrians and that clown and his balloons pointing us out to the police.
I'd won.
"I won, I won," I yelled to the crowd who waved and cheered in my imagination.
But then I realized I still wasn't safe. More thieves could be right around that dark corner over there, to claim my things. I flagged down a red taxi, yelling, "I've won, help me."
A taxista pulled up. "What happened to you? you're bleeding," he asked.
I looked at my hands. The thief had stabbed me. Blood flowed very near a vein. I was dripping all over the taxi seat. I worried the taxista would ask me to get out.
"Are you all right?"
"Someone tried to rob me." I sniffled.
"Aw, poor gringa. Did you lose anything?"
"No, he failed."
"You were lucky. Sometimes they kill you. And very brave."
All the building pressure released itself in a whoosh. I burst into tears. "Why me, why me?"
He stopped the taxi and turned to take a good look at me. "Ah," he said. "To look at you... well, the thief believed you would be easy to rob. But clearly he was wrong about that one."
***
I wear my scar as a badge of courage and also as a dunce cap of foolishness (I could have died.) But I don't ask, "Why me," anymore. Because, after all, why not me? And why him or her or them?
But I never went back to Brazil after that. Nothing else, but the young man stole that country from me. That and a precious piece of skin.
 Recognized |
I am not misspelling the Portuguese. I just can't put the accents in in this program. Sorry
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