FOUR BOWLS ON THE FLOOR

He said not to leave, he didn't say you stay, said Renan from the kitchen doorway. The man kept the sieve propped against the wall. He had spent the small hours holding the mesh in front of the ventilation, and now his fingers kept the curve of the rim even when empty. Ilva placed four bowls on the whitewashed floor, where the shadow of the table still covered a narrow strip. Into the first she poured water up to the dark mark on the metal. Into the second, two fingers less. The third received only the bottom. The fourth stayed dry. Antônio's house obeyed an order older than the charges. Whoever came back from work drank first. Whoever was passing through waited. The absent one's portion stayed covered until the hour when someone admitted he would not come. Renan came in. He had the wrench tucked at his waist and his shirt stiff with dust. He had walked to the operation's workshop to ask about the lost job. The artificial intelligence assistant had recognised his voice, linked the question to the retention of the part and answered with an offer of unpaid remote training. The workshop needed people. The model preferred people not yet committed to a house. He sat down near the fullest bowl. It's yours, said Ilva. It belongs to whoever worked, answered the man. Renan pulled over the dry bowl. The metal scraped the floor and stopped between his feet. At the workshop they're saying the datacenter is leaving, he said. Or that it's growing. A driver heard they'll pay well for anyone who unloads processing units. Another said they're bringing workers from outside. They promised a closed circuit, almost no water and a full market. The farinha on the table fitted in Ilva's cupped hand. She set half aside in a bowl, then divided the other half into three unequal portions. The largest stayed in front of Antônio's empty place. The man watched the division without touching the food. Renan said the offer would be tied to the address. Houses with an available occupant would get priority to lodge the installers. Houses with contested occupancy would lose the selection. The smallest packet of farinha, set aside at the bar for when Antônio returned, cost that morning the equivalent of two hours of mining unloading. The afternoon before, it cost one. Ilva moistened Antônio's farinha with a spoonful from the full bowl. The dough darkened, enough not to fall apart. She repeated the movement on Renan's portion. When she reached the third, the spoon hit the bottom. The man pushed his bowl toward her. You drank yesterday, said Ilva. And he didn't. Antônio had spent the night inside a truck, between reading zones that confirmed his presence without revealing where his body rested. The voice sent from the road had told the two of them to stay. In the house, the sentence found four containers and water for three. Renan lifted the dry bowl and set it over Antônio's, covering the dough. He did this when he worked long shifts and wanted to keep food from the heat. In his first week in mining, before learning that the break could be docked, he had hidden cassava under a borrowed helmet. He still trusted a thing turned upside down more than an open promise. If the address goes into the selection, he becomes lodging, he said. I won't work for them, said the man. They don't ask the house that. The street gave back the deep noise of a cargo climbing slowly. The sensors fixed to the facade followed the vibration, one light after another, until the sound faded. Inside the taipa wall, the ducts added by the operation trembled over the lime. The kitchen stayed hot. The refrigerated air circulated less than three metres away, reserved for the cabinet that kept the surveillance at a safe temperature. Ilva picked up the fourth bowl and put it away in the low compartment, with the others Antônio used at the bar. She left three on the floor. Then she took out the covered portion and divided the dough into four with the edge of the spoon. One part went back under the upturned bowl. The others were smaller than the hollow of a hand. The man took his. Before eating, he broke it again and put half under Antônio's cover. The heat dried the edges of the dough. Ilva distributed the water in the order of the house. Renan drank first, handed back the bowl with a little left in the bottom. She passed the container to the man, who took only a sip and handed it to Luzia when the girl appeared at the door, drawn by the sound of work and by the shared food. Luzia drank the rest without asking whose it was. The fourth portion stayed hidden. By noon, it would be hard. By night, it might still carry Antônio's name or already serve as evidence against whoever ate it. The man took the empty bowl to the sink, but did not put it among the residents' bowls. He left it on the floor, a hand's width apart. Where do you want me to leave this one, he asked.