EIGHTEEN MILLILITRES OF DECONTAMINANT

The optical inspection would begin at sixteen hundred hours. The kitchen panel repeated the sentence at one-minute intervals, along with the promise that no physical entry would be necessary. Valdo was sitting on the low bench, his neck turned towards the window. The crust by his nape had opened during sleep and left a dark streak on his collar. Ilva brought a bowl with eighteen millilitres of decontaminant, a sealed gauze and the medical film that remained in the care kit. Tilt more, she said. He obeyed. The cut had dust at the edges, black dust the pillow had not absorbed. Ilva moistened the gauze, pressed once on the wound, waited for the colour to rise into the fabric. On the second pass, the gauze came away grey. On the third, it came almost clean. Nael stayed by the unlit stove, looking at the street through a crack in the door. The tracking cameras on the pole followed the movement of the empty trucks. The buried house lay behind them, under the yard and under Valdo's shortened measurements. That stings more than the delivery, said Valdo. At least the delivery ends, replied Nael. Ilva cut the film into two parts. One covered the cut. The other, smaller, went back into the kit, where there had once been enough material for two wounds. She pressed the transparent edges against his skin until the adhesive recognised body heat. Don't scratch. Don't rub a cloth on it. If it opens again, you come back before loading. Valdo raised his hand, stopped halfway and let his arm drop. The panel announced that the distribution vehicle was already on the high street. Three portions. The reduction appeared in red, too small to feed a man who would drive until the afternoon. Nael pulled a deep pot from under the sink. Inside was hardened cornmeal and two pieces of pequi kept since the night before. He broke up the meal with the spoon, added water measured in Ilva's glass, four sips, and stirred until the dough came away from the bottom. You'll eat first, said Valdo. Nael divided the pequi into four parts. One stayed in the pot. Two went to Valdo's bowl. The last he put in his mouth without looking at anyone. Ilva saw the new film on the driver's neck and the piece of film she would be missing later. She put the kit away closed. In the valley, caring for someone was beginning to look like a way of choosing which wound would have the right to last. The panel called Valdo by name. He did not answer. From the yard came the dry sound of the probe bar knocking the earth when the wind pushed it against the wall. The three holes were beyond the shadow of the buriti. The inspection promised to look without entering, as if looking were not another way of digging. Nael filled a small bowl with the softest dough and handed it to Valdo. He ate it in three spoonfuls. Then he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, picked the bar up off the ground and went to the first hole. Ilva stayed at the door. Valdo brought earth from the edge of the yard in small portions, letting it fall over the black dust. He did not press it down with his foot. He used his palm, slowly, leaving the surface uneven, like ground stirred by ants. At the second point he repeated the care. At the third, the film on his neck pulled when he bent over. Nael did not go out to help. When the vehicle turned into the street, Valdo dropped the bar by the wall, washed his hands in the empty bowl and stood looking at the freshly covered earth. His mouth closed in a way the two of them recognised.