THE CRUST ON THE SHAFT

Renan brought the worn rotor out of the cabinet and rested it on two upturned bowls. The part had stopped turning, but it kept in its teeth a dark crust, thin at the edges, thick near the shaft. The workshop would refuse the return if it found mineral dust mixed with the motor grease. The docking had already eaten his shift. A refusal would also take the tool linked to his name. The man stood by the table, putting more weight on his good leg. He took an empty basin, a fibre cloth and the short brush Renan used on the ventilation grilles. The edge first, said Renan. Then the shaft. If you push the dust inside, the workshop calls it induced damage. Ilva set aside three measures of water in a mug. They were not enough to wash the rotor. They would do to loosen the dust without turning it to mud. She poured the first onto the cloth, wrung it until it stopped dripping and handed it to the man. He passed the fibre between two teeth of the disc. The crust came off in black streaks. Renan held the rotor up with his closed hand, his purple forearm bare to the crook of the elbow. Luzia watched from the threshold, counting the clean teeth under her breath. She skipped some. When Renan corrected her, she started again from the number she wanted. At the eighth slot, the cloth stiffened. Ilva used the second measure. The man cleaned the shaft with short movements, breathing through his mouth so as not to take the smell of the metal down into his chest. The cabinet drew air from the kitchen, preserving the machines behind the side plate. The refrigerated strip reached the foot of the bowls, where the grains of farinha were still waiting for lunch. Renan looked at the new rotor turning inside the cabinet. This dust came from the intake line, he said. The fan pulls in air, the dust comes in through the ducts, then the workshop says the workshop dirtied it. Nael, sitting near the door, rubbed a corn kernel between his fingers. The kernel broke without a crack. He left the two halves on the floor for Luzia. The man used the third measure. At the bottom of the mug there remained a film that could not be drunk. Ilva tipped the container over the basin and saw the water darken until it looked like oil. Ilva set the mug beside the farinha and drew her hand away from the mound. Renan examined the edge. There was still a black spot near the fitting. One more, he said. Ilva opened the farinha container. Her bandaged hand took a while to find the bottom. She took a portion from the mound that had been set aside for Antônio and poured it into her bowl. The man saw the reduction, then picked up the dry cloth. Use this, he said. The farinha draws it out. Renan did not answer right away. He ran his thumb over the metal, pressed the dirty spot into the meal and turned the part slowly. The dust stuck to the grains. He repeated it three times, tapping the rotor over the basin until the dust fell in small dark moons. Luzia brought her face close. It looks like old rain, she said. Nael closed his fingers over the broken corn. When Renan put the rotor back in the grey box, the workshop's inspection circle appeared on the lid. The camera asked him to display the whole part. He held up the box. The kitchen panel followed the transmission without sound. The contamination mark stayed yellow for seven seconds, then turned pale green. The tool remained linked to him. The docked shift did not come back. The man sat at the table and opened the channel of his mother's house. The cut strip, fastened to the corridor partition, moved with the air drawn by the cabinet. On the screen, a buyer had been waiting for confirmation of the sale for two hours. She did not show her face. She showed a lower offer, valid until the end of the day, and a new demand for proof of residential provenance. Ilva kept looking at the closed box. They're going to ask for the audios, she said. He went through the preserved files. The first, kept until Antônio's return, carried his voice telling of the work queue and the fruit that reminded him of his mother. The second contained the street where he had slept sitting up. The platform accepted both as memory associated with the property. In exchange, it would release the remote inspection and hand the buyer the complete location of the house. Renan took the box near the door. Before leaving, he touched his own name on the workshop panel and waited for the tool link to close. The man left both files intact. He refused the automatic provenance. The offer dropped once more, without any noise. Ilva scooped the black farinha out of the basin with the spoon and covered the bottom with a plate. She pulled the corridor partition across until it covered the strip.