THE FOURTH PORTION

The house woke to the low rumble of the trucks stopped on the upper road. They had come one behind the other since before dark, beds covered, wheels motionless in the dust. The load of concentrate was waiting for an authorisation that had stayed on the other side of the world, among tariffs, refining and seven metals held in ports. Down here, the ore kept coming out of the ground and leaving the price of everything lighter for those who bought from far away, heavier for those who measured corn in their palm. The man had slept leaning against the wall of the front room, on the thin blanket. The bag stayed against his chest. Ilva found his eyes open when she passed the kitchen door. You snore very little, she said. He got up slowly, looking for her face before answering. I was listening to the trucks. Nael was already grinding corn in the stone mortar, with long intervals between one blow and the next. The sound came into the house and went back through the tiles, smaller. On the table there were three portions of dough, set apart on a shallow platter. Ilva took one of them and kneaded it with water from the basin, a little, measured by the colour the flour took on. That one is for the path, said Nael. She looked at the dough. Whose path. Yours, he answered. The route still exists. The man lowered his head. The night's link had taken away his status as witness before it took away his sleep. The visit to the route now depended on a body that had not eaten in that house, had not slept under that roof, had not received food from the hand of anyone tied to the climb. Ilva divided the dough into four. A smaller part stayed near the unlit stove. Not that one, said Nael. She covered the portion with a plate. It's for Célia. The journalist passed in front of the gate at that very moment, carrying a folding visor under her arm and an empty container fastened to her waist. Célia kept the region's last newsroom in a room above a closed shop, where she published short notes before the harmonisation swapped the buyers' names for consultation acronyms. She stopped when she saw the trucks. A film of grey dust covered the hem of her trousers. Does she come here, asked the man. She comes when she wants to know who is waiting, answered Ilva. Nael let the mortar go quiet. The corn dough had filled the grooves of the stone. A journalist sees too much, he said. She sees what they leave, she answered. From the yard came the dry crack of a buriti leaf breaking near the stalk. A lizard crossed the narrow shade of the tank and vanished under the duct fixed to the wall. Higher up, the vapour from the mining towers passed close over the treetops, carried out of the basin. The trucks were waiting because the distant refinery had decided to close its hand. The datacenter promised to Buritaçu kept receiving proposals of land, closed circuit, technical employment, refrigerated future. The water of the Lajes had already been called to the table before any machine arrived. The man took the portion that was his and stood looking at the dough. If she accepts, you lose the visit, he said. Ilva lit the stove with the flame authorisation that still remained for that cycle. The blue light rose under the hotplate. She put on Nael's portion first, then the man's. The fourth stayed covered. I've already lost the visit I had, she said. Nael moved his shoulder, as he did when he wanted to push a sentence away without driving out the one who had said it. He took a small gourd bowl from the shelf and poured into it the last of the cooked pequi. He pushed the bowl towards the man. Eat. He did not touch it. Célia came back through the gate, now without the visor. She carried on her face the pale mark of where the device had been strapped during the night. She saw the fourth portion, the trucks on the road, the man sitting too close to the door. She asked for no explanation. The smell of hot corn filled the kitchen and left little room for lies. There's cargo held up there, she said. The buyer raised the deposit on the houses near the road. Antônio will like that, said Nael. Antônio will charge for it, answered Célia. Ilva turned the dough on the hotplate. The edge broke, revealing a part still raw. She pressed the centre with the spoon and waited for the heat to reach the middle. You can go up with us, she said. Célia looked at the man. Then at Nael. Go up for what. To see the water going away. Outside, a truck tried to move forward. The engine swelled, the wheels dug two tracks in the dust and the vehicle stopped again. Inside the kitchen, Célia held the empty container against her belly. I can see, she said, but I won't promise I'll come back on the same side.