THE UPTURNED BOWL

The first brightness caught the high street at the base of the ducts and climbed slowly, as if it had to ask leave of the rust. In Valdo's yard, the earth of the three holes kept the colour of the small hours. The saúvas had made a line to the buriti, carrying crumbs of the flour that had fallen the day before. The kitchen panel kept the charge open. Forty-seven minutes remained until the dawn recognised by the rental company. After that, the three retained portions would lose preservation at the depot and the human review would go on with no food, no delivery, no paid driver. Valdo washed his face in a bowl of water used for the dough. The water ran grey down his chin and fell on the floor. Nael was by the door, putting on his reinforced sandal. He was looking at a strip of low cloud, broken by the datacenter towers. It's going to rain before noon, said Nael. Valdo turned his head. You've been saying that for three days. Today I'm betting. The sentence brought Antônio's bar into the house. Before the ducts, Nael spent his afternoons behind the counter, arguing about rain with those who needed to plant and with those who only wanted to stretch out the conversation. He got it wrong when he wanted someone to stay. The predictive machine got it right from above, in maps so wide that a cloud could die over the low street without entering the count. Valdo took the shirt from the back of the chair. It still had the fold it had taken on the lid of the thermal box. He put it on without buttoning the last two buttons. With what, he asked. With one of your portions, answered Nael. The portions are held. Then bet the next one. Valdo looked at the panel. The projected charge stayed above the time, four whole deliveries, as if the rental company had already chosen the size of his guilt. Bodily authentication was available. He had only to bring his face close to the dark surface and accept that the disturbed earth had been his work, with no house, no ash, no men who had lived beneath it. He switched off the projection with his palm. The panel did not close, it only dimmed its light. In the bar, Antônio was sorting kernels of corn in a shallow sieve. The food activity remained suspended, but nobody stopped him from picking the weevils out of the grain kept at the bottom of a box. There were twenty-three weevils in one corner, seven empty husks and enough corn for a small pot once the inspection was over. The son stayed lit at the terminal's presence point, with no answer to the forty-three second message. Antônio raised his eyes when the two of them came in. The company's already called, he said. It has, answered Valdo. And you. I'm still here. Antônio left the sieve on the counter. Nael went to the door and measured the sky with his open hand, without touching the light from the street. The low cloud came from the direction of the mine, the colour of a cloth washed many times. Above it, the blue showed dry, hard, without depth. Noon, Antônio repeated. Before, said Nael. Valdo pulled up a stool. His throat worked once. Bet a portion that might not even arrive, he said. Bet made, answered Antônio. The owner of the bar offered no credit and no note. He took an empty bowl and set it upside down on the counter. That was enough. If it rained before noon, Valdo owed Nael a portion when the depot released any load. If the sky held, Nael would get the share of corn Antônio managed to cook at home, away from the inspection visor. It was a poor bet. That was why it fitted the valley. Ilva arrived by the back street, putting her weight on one leg only for a few steps, then resuming her regular pace. She carried the cold mirror wrapped in a piece of clothing. She saw Valdo in front of the bar's panel and did not ask about the charge. She opened the device in the corner where the light did not reach the screen. The parallel ledger received the time, the retention of the three portions and the charge still without authentication. The verifier added a line about the low cloud. Not as a forecast. She wrote down the direction it came from and the shadow it cast over the buriti. Antônio gathered the clean kernels into his palm and took half to a bowl. The other half stayed in the sieve, set aside for the next day, in case the panel allowed there to be a next day for that food. Valdo brought his face close to the projection. The camera searched for his iris. He drew back before the recognition was complete. I want to see the in-person inspection, he said. The panel replied that the inspection still had no time. Then I'll wait. The rental company recorded a provisional refusal and deducted a unit of priority from the next route, a priority Valdo no longer had. The screen corrected its own sentence. It applied extended retention to any future job until the final decision. Nael looked at him, then at the upturned bowl on the counter. You bet anyway, he said. Valdo pulled the stool close to the door. Outside, the strip of cloud advanced over the roofs and stopped before the towers. The three portions remained at the depot, cooling inside a preservation that no longer served to feed him.