CONDENSATION CARTRIDGE

Antônio found the charge open on the counter, projected between two empty bottles and the salt dispenser. Seven units of domestic care, full use, linked house. The light followed the movement of his eyes and increased the instalment when he was slow to blink. Ilva came in through the side door. The man was asleep in the condemned hostel, across the street, under a surveillance band that permitted rest and refused stay. Célia had gone slowly up the climb, her sandal protected by the pale strip around her ankle. You used my balance, said Antônio. She pulled the band on her own leg upwards, where the short edge was beginning to tighten. Célia couldn't walk like that. Célia rested her palm on the counter and pulled from her skirt pocket a small roll of used membrane. She unrolled one end, wet the ankle strip with it and tightened the knot twice. The membrane left a dark sheen on the skin. Antônio took the roll between two fingers, examined the moisture level marked on the wrapper and gave it back. Célia kept the rest under her skirt. The strip stopped hurting. Antônio brought his face close to the panel. The charge divided into four cycles. Below it, an offer of compensation appeared. A condensation cartridge was a metal cooling part that collected some of the vapour from the machines and promised to reduce the water drawn by the equipment. The Areias Consortium would deliver two cartridges to the bar, at no initial cost, if Antônio authorised the thermal reading of the establishment for five years. The image showed a silver cylinder, smaller than a forearm, full of thin fins. Behind it, the simulation raised a clean tower over ground without grass, without buritis, without people waiting at the tap. He ran his finger over the offer without authenticating. Does this pay the debt, he asked. It pays two units now, said Ilva. The rest turns into a discount if the machine works. At the back of the bar, the old refrigerator stayed switched off for sale, its motor mute and its door held by a sanitary lock. Nael and Antônio had hidden under it the money from the first excavator, when there were still games on the ground behind the association. The earth of that ground held, today, buried cables and a line of sensors. No child ran there after dark. Antônio looked at the projected cartridge. They'll put that in the refrigerator. They'll put it in the service cabinet, she answered. The bar comes in as a demonstration point. The panel opened another line. Eligible community participation. The phrase had been made to fit in a mouth without saliva. Through the window, Antônio saw a grasshopper land on the rim of the dry tank. It beat its wings twice, went down into the shade of the drain and came back to the sun. There were fewer insects in the low houses since the dust from the pit had covered the bean leaves. Those that remained looked for moisture in leaks, in forgotten glasses, in used membranes. Ilva set the cold mirror on the counter. The old data collector received no panel light, asked for no face, did not recognise Antônio's house. She opened the parallel ledger and found the empty line after the time of arrival. Célia came through the gate at twelve minutes past seven, she said. Are you sure. I am. The cold mirror's screen showed the time beside Célia's name and the note that she had arrived alone. Ilva put the device away before Antônio could see the whole sequence. He had learned to look at what others hid, because the bar lived off that, but he let the bag go back close to her body. Twelve past seven, he repeated. If the newsroom alters the confirmation, that time holds her presence. Holds it where. She touched the bag. Antônio let out a short laugh, without joy. The consortium had heat maps of the kitchens, purchase forecasts, travel profiles. The time of a woman crossing a street had to fit into a retired device, kept among band, sample and hunger. The panel waited. The offer lost a band of brightness and added an acceptance deadline. Forty minutes. My son sent presence yesterday, said Antônio. Ilva raised her eyes. Just a dot lit on the panel. He didn't even speak to me. He brought his hand close to the projection, then drew it away. If I accept this, the bar gets a discount. Maybe I can set aside credit to go. And they read the heat of your house. They already read it. The answer stayed on the counter, next to the charge. Antônio looked at the metal cylinder and saw in it a part capable of taking vapour out of the air, a promise made for machines that had not yet even arrived in the valley. The Lajes was already paying in advance for their thirst. He authenticated the offer with his iris. The charge fell two units. In the service cabinet, outside, a green light came on to report that the cartridge would come on the next cargo route. Ilva did not ask him to cancel. She gathered her bag and went out through the side door. At the tank, the grasshopper stayed by the drain. When the green light reached the yard, it opened its wings, rose a hand's breadth and landed on the lowest leaf of the buriti.