SIX UNITS IN THE SALT

Antônio loosened the reading piece from the tube with the thin blade he used to open thermal packaging. The metal burned the tips of two fingers. He drew back, blew on the skin and wrapped the piece in a kitchen cloth. The luminous band stayed green on the counter, reading the heat of nowhere. The reservoir remained at the same height as the morning before. During the night, the cartridge had consumed enough energy to cut the house's heat for cooking by half and had not produced a drop. On the tube, the mark left by the piece formed a dark ring. Ilva came in through the side door and found Antônio standing before the panel, with the travel container held between his feet. The message to his son was listed as delivered eleven minutes earlier. Below it, a reply took up three lines. Visit not advised during the work cycle. Family presence may affect rest and productivity. New contact suggested in twenty-eight days. He read it aloud. Then he opened the communication data. His son's voice had arrived during the small hours, but it had been converted into a summary by the artificial intelligence contracted by the platform, which had classified the audio as emotionally redundant and kept only the practical guidance. To hear the original recording, Antônio had to close the operational disagreement attached to the conversation. He touched the audio line. The block remained. He touched it again, harder, and the projection split around his finger. Are you going to authenticate, asked Ilva. Antônio picked up the wrapped piece and put it next to the cartridge. The green indicator lit the cloth from below. I'm going today. The water set aside for the journey reached two fingers in the container. He opened the common jug. Less than a portion for cooking was left. He transferred one measure to the container, waited for the line to settle and added half of another. Nael would be without the share Antônio had granted him the day before. Célia still had food kept for her, hardened by the stove. Ilva pulled the reserved bowl into the shade. The surface of the angu had formed a cracked film. And the bar, she asked. Antônio went behind the counter. From the built-in compartment he took a clean cloth, two sealed portions of flour and the decontaminant used at the sink. He put it all in a small bag. The old refrigerator was still locked, with the cut copper incorporated into the incident report. No noise came from it. Outside, the cartridge fins vibrated against the service cabinet, refrigerated to preserve the equipment while the kitchen rose in temperature. The bar stays closed. It's already closed for food. It stays closed for me. She looked at him. Antônio rarely went out leaving the counter without his body behind it. For twenty-three years, he had slept in the guesthouse when there was a traveller and in a hammock in the kitchen when there was not. The only long absence had been his mother's burial, before the tracking cameras learned to separate staying, working and mourning. He pushed toward Ilva the salt container left by Divina. Inside were six units of domestic credit linked to the house, reserved for restocking food when the isolation ended. Keep this. I can't use your balance. You can buy for the house. Which house. Antônio pointed to the ceiling, the counter, Célia's bowl. The question lost room among the objects. If my son answers, you listen, he said. If Célia comes back, give her the food. If Nael comes to charge me for the trip, tell him I went first. Ilva held the container without taking it. The rim pressed into the reddened mark on her palm. Ilva pushed the container one centimetre back. I'm leaving the place. The sink tap coughed air. A cloudy portion fell for three seconds and stopped. In the yard, the low leaf of the buriti was covered in dust so fine that the previous day's caterpillar had left a clean path on it, narrow, broken off before the central vein. Ilva put the salt container inside the built-in compartment and closed the opening. I'll listen, she said. And I'll answer if you're not back in time. Don't answer for me. For him. Antônio tightened the seal on the travel container. He handed her temporary access to the kitchen by voice command, with no payment condition. The register confirmed the transfer in the background, but the two of them had decided before the confirmation. On his way out, he stopped by the cartridge. The cloth around the reading piece was starting to darken with the heat. Ilva pulled the fabric away from the tube using the blade and left the piece exposed on the counter. Antônio set off for the road with water for less than half the way. Ilva stayed behind the counter, where she had never worked. At seventeen minutes past nine, she opened the parallel ledger and added a line. House under care, message awaited, return with no set time.