THE BLISTER ON THE FINGER

The valve fitted whole in Valdo's palm, but the inner membrane stuck out through the split like a dark tongue. He pressed it with his fingernail. The rubber opened another two millimetres. It's not dark yet, said Nael. Valdo placed the dark stone beside the light one, on the threshold. The sky stayed clear. The light was going down behind the adobe roofs, cut by the ducts fixed to the façades and by the tracking cameras that adjusted their aperture to the face of whoever passed. In the yard, the bowl with the seed had lost its small damp patch. I need to have this ready before the bet, said Valdo. Ilva brought an empty bowl to receive the parts. He unfastened the reservoir from the straps and laid it on the table. He had grown parsley and chives before carrying water. Back then, he repaired the emitters in the beds with leaf fibres and the heat of the stove. The pump shut off by the predictive band had left the pipes buried behind the house, and he had begun pulling them out one by one. The membrane he was cutting now came from the last. He used a short blade to open the valve housing. The first turn released dust. On the second, the ring resisted. Valdo gripped the part between his feet, wrapped the handle of the tool in a cloth and twisted until the fitting snapped. Ilva moved Antônio's mug away. The domestic surface recognised the repair and opened an offer of assistance. The artificial intelligence model asked for an internal image of the valve, the provenance of the reservoir and service authentication. Valdo turned the part face down. The utility company had contracted that assistant to prevent uncertified repairs, the manufacturer charged for the assembly sequence, and the datacenter consortium had bought almost all the compatible membranes for its supply vehicles. The projection calculated eleven meals for a new part. Valdo covered the light with the empty reservoir. From the piping pulled out of the beds, he cut a circle larger than the ruptured membrane. The blade went crooked into the hardened rubber. He started again from the smooth side, turning the material instead of the tool. A circle appeared, irregular at the edges, with a narrow hole in the centre. Nael followed every turn. When they were young, he and Antônio would fill a punctured ball with earth and kick it until the seam split. Valdo still grew coriander behind his father's house. The ground where they played ended at a bank covered in grass. Now the bank held up a refrigerated cabinet for the surveillance machines, and the grass survived in three yellow tufts by the cabling. You'll sell two measures if it rains, said Nael. Two. And if the repair leaks. I lose both on the way. Valdo fitted the new membrane over the old one to keep the thickness. The central pin did not go through. He heated the tip of a rod on the stove, waiting until the metal lost its sheen. He pierced the rubber. The smoke rose smelling of burnt hose. When he pulled the rod out, the membrane came with it and stuck to his forefinger. He tore the material off before it deformed. A white blister appeared on the tip of his finger. Valdo dipped the finger into the empty bowl out of habit and found only the hot bottom. He held his breath, pressed the skin against a metal spoon and carried on. The sun touched the line of the roofs. Nael picked up the light stone. He could take it back, end the bet before the deadline and leave Valdo with the valve open. Instead, he placed the stone on the lid of the reservoir to hold the membrane while the man aligned the ring. Valdo understood the concession. He did not thank him. He screwed the housing down until the rubber thickened at the edge. Then he introduced the air of his own lungs into the reservoir, three long breaths, mouth sealed to the nozzle. He closed the valve and pressed the flexible wall. The first squeeze produced a whistle. He opened it all up again. The membrane had been bitten by the ring. On the second assembly, he trimmed less than a millimetre off the edge, smoothed the cut with the still warm rod and seated the part without the old layer. The reservoir would lose pressure sooner. It would carry less water. Valdo blew again. His cheeks reddened, his shoulders shook, and the rough strap opened a line in the skin by his neck when he lifted the container to look for a leak. No whistle. The operation had ended with less capacity than advertised on the rental panel. Valdo changed the offer from two measures to one and a half. The price stayed the same. Three families waiting on the list lost position when the commercial intelligence recalculated the volume. The last strip of sun left the table. Valdo took the dark stone. Nael held the light one a moment longer, then set it down on the repaired reservoir. The Lajes crosses under the old road, he said. Before the bend that sank. Valdo waited for the rest. From the bend upwards you don't get it from me. That doesn't pay the bet. It's what there is. Valdo fitted the straps over his shoulders. The open line on his neck darkened. He knew where the road was, but there were two sunken bends, one under the licensed polygon and another near the old field. The bar's inspection lit up the next morning's interval on the kitchen surface. Ilva read without touching it. Antônio's portion remained beside the mug, losing preservation. Valdo went out through the yard. Before the street, he turned his body and spoke to Nael. At dawn I'm taking a load to the upper bend. It's already been paid for. He did not say by whom. In the bowl, the crack around the seed advanced to the rim. An ant went down it and came back carrying in its mouth a grain of damp earth.