THE BLANKET IN THE GRASS

Review postponed due to environmental commitment. The notice stayed small on the kitchen panel, behind the basin. At six, the repair shift was already gathering in the street, called up to cover with mineral blanket the drainage that ran down from the springs to the Areias. The operation would pay half the period. The other half would be entered as community contribution. Tiago, a duct fitter from another town, tightened the strap of his tool bag again. He had come to Buritaçu to see Ilva and had accepted the shift because his reduced return priority left three empty days. Under the borrowed uniform, the container was still against his ribs. He opened the bag, took out an optical key and two clips. It fits here, he said. Ilva lifted the basin only as far as needed to reach the screen. The parallel ledger kept the three peaks of the reading. She copied the values to a hidden volume, named the entry with the pump's time and covered the device again. The sample's file stopped waiting for a name. It gained an hour of work. Tiago watched the numbers over her shoulder. If they take the bag, they take it with it. If it stays in the house, they search where my profile slept. He took the container out of his shirt and fitted it between the clips. The optical key closed over the glass, hiding only part of it. When he tried to put the assembly away, Ilva held the strap of the bag. You came to see me. I came. And you're leaving with what I hid. The crew turned the corner. Four workers carried dark rolls, each wide enough to cover the wounded bed. Behind them, a vehicle of the operation projected the outline of the intervention onto the ground. The line ended before the first house. Tiago set the bag down on the table. The weight made his glass wobble, still holding half of the reserved water. He drank a sip and pushed the rest towards her. She let go of the strap. For years, the audited voice had reduced him to credit, delay, classified breathing. In the kitchen, the name took up a distance smaller than the table and larger than the towns between the two of them. Ilva took the container out of the tool. She wrapped it in a strip of field uniform and fastened the bundle below her own knee. The sample would accompany her access review, visible to any camera as a new stiffness in her walk. Tiago put the optical key away. Then I'll go without it. You'll go with me. The repair began by the hydraulic cabinet. The drainage had dug furrows between cut roots, and the old rain had left plates of dry ore on the stones. The environmental commitment required covering the wound, fastening the blanket and feeding the panel with images of stabilisation. No root would return to the soil during the job. Tiago unrolled the first stretch. Ilva held the edge with her foot, protecting the bundle tied to her leg. He noticed and changed position, putting his body between her and the tracking camera. They worked like that for an hour, she advancing, he closing off the frame. When the crew stopped, the blanket reached the grass by the houses. Tiago wiped his hands on his uniform. If you lose access, I'll come back, he said. Ilva gave him three values, in the order of the peaks. Tiago repeated them until he got them right. Over the covered drainage, the rusty water found a fold in the blanket, formed a shallow pocket and reflected the cameras pointing down.