“I think so. I need to understand something, do something. I need advice.”
“You are disturbed?”
“I lack in understanding.”
“Come over. Do you know how to get to Leblon?”
“Yes. I have your address from the telephone book. Are you sure it’s all right if I come now?”
“I ignore Carnival. I am here.”
“Trouble between you and Laura?” Marilia asked.
In her little house in Leblon, behind a high wooden fence, Marilia Diniz led Fletch into a small study.
“I saw you in a car with the Tap Dancers yesterday.”
Fletch did not dare ask her what time of day, or night, she saw them; whether all the Tap Dancers were blinking. “I relieved them of some money, playing poker.”
At the side of the study, Marilia was adjusting a disk in a word processor. “The Brazilian male,” she said, “is known for his energy.”
“There’s magic, high energy in the food.”
“The Brazilian male is slow to give up his … what? … his immaturity.” She started the word processor and watched it operate a moment. “At seventy, eighty, the Brazilian male is still a boy.”
The word processor was whizzing away, typing manuscript. “Forgive me,” Marilia said. “This is my routine for Sunday mornings, making manuscript of my week’s work.” She sat in a comfortable chair near her desk and indicated Fletch should sit on a two-person sofa. “I used to have a typist, but now? Another job lost. Teodomiro arranged this word processor for me.”
Fletch sat.
“You look healthy enough,” pale Marilia said. “Glowing.”
“I have already been to the police station this morning. A woman I know, from California, showed up at my hotel yesterday morning, early. She had been robbed. I told her I would bring her money, immediately. Walking between my hotel and hers, she disappeared.”
“Ah, Carnival…”
“Really disappeared, Marilia. With Teo’s help, I checked her suite at The Jangada. Her clothes are still there. She has no money, no passport, no credit cards, identification.”
“You are right to be concerned,” Marilia said. “Anything can happen during Carnival. And does. Is there any way I can help you?”
“I don’t think so. We went through the hospital for that district. Teo says I just must wait.”
“Waiting is hard.”
“That’s not why I came to see you. As I said on the phone, I have not slept since Thursday.”
“No one sleeps during Carnival.” Then Marilia said, “So I guess you don’t want any coffee.”
“No, thanks. Do you know about this old woman who says I am her murdered husband come-back-to- life?”
“Someone mentioned something about it, the other night at Teo’s.” Marilia glanced at her word processor. “You tell me about it.”
“Okay.” On the divan, Fletch put his hands under his thighs. “When you, Laura, and I were having that drink at the cafe on Avenida Atlantica, Friday afternoon, an old woman in a long white dress came along the sidewalk and apparently saw me. She stopped near the curb. She stared at me until we left. Did you happen to notice her?”
“I’m ashamed to say I didn’t.”
“She was behind you.”
“Is the old woman the reason you disappeared under the table?”
“No. That was because of this other woman, from California, who walked down the street just then. I was surprised to see her.”
“The woman who has since disappeared?”
“Yes.”
Marilia got up and checked her word processor, scanned the processed manuscript.
“When Laura and I entered the forecourt of The Yellow Parrot, this old hag jumped out of the bushes at us. She was screaming and pointing her finger at me. Laura talked to her calmly.” Marilia sat down again and listened to Fletch expressionlessly. “The old woman said that she recognized me. In an earlier life, I had been her husband, Janio Barreto. That forty-seven years ago, at about my present age, I had been murdered. And now I must tell her who it was who had murdered me.”
Marilia said nothing.
Fletch said, “Laura said, ‘Clearly you will not rest until you do.’”
“And you have not rested.”
“I have not slept.”
“You think the old woman has put a curse on you?”
“Marilia, she hangs around outside my hotel, accosts me every time I go in or go out. She brought her great- grandchildren to the hotel to meet me. This morning she was there on the sidewalk, yelling at me and shaking some kind of a voodoo doll at me.”
“A
“Whatever.”
The word processor finished its work and turned itself off.
Marilia said, “An interesting story.”
“No one will help me to understand,” Fletch said. “Otavio Cavalcanti will answer none of my questions, about anything. He just nods and says Yes. Teo says he doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what to do. I can’t understand whether Toninho Braga is making a joke out of it or whether there is some part of him that is serious. Worst of all, I can’t understand Laura at all. She’s an intelligent woman, a concert pianist. She seems to have no curiosity about my background, but she seems to give this Janio Barreto matter some credence.”
Marilia sighed. “Ah, Brazil.”
“I can’t tell if everyone here is playing some kind of an elaborate joke, a trick on me.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. Laura says I won’t rest until I reveal this murderer, and I haven’t. Teo seems to say he is not surprised I am not sleeping. The Tap Dancers just don’t expect me to sleep. How can I figure out what happened in Rio de Janeiro a generation before I was born? Am I to die of sleeplessness?”
“Did the old woman say you wouldn’t sleep until you answered her?”
“I don’t know. Laura talked to her. In Portuguese that was way above my head. I believe the old woman did say so. Why else would Laura have said so?”
“And you believe all this?”
“Of course not. But I’m nearly going crazy with sleeplessness.”
Marilia’s eyes traveled around the stacks of books in her study. “What’s the question?”
“First, could this all be an immense practical joke Laura and the Tap Dancers are playing on me? The Tap Dancers seemed to know all about it before they ever met me.”
“Could be,” Marilia said.
“They’re all friends. I’m the foreigner. Surely it is easy enough to hire an old woman, some children, a ten- year-old boy on a wooden leg?”
Marilia frowned. “A small boy on a wooden leg?”
“Yes. Supposedly the great-grandson. Named Janio Barreto, of course.”
Marilia said, softly: “Or it could be that you are Janio Barreto, and you were murdered decades ago, and you have come back to Rio to reveal who murdered you.”
Fletch stared at her. “Are you in on this, too?”
“Fletcher, my new friend from North America, you must understand that most of the people in this world believe in reincarnation, in one form or another.” Marilia stood up and went to her word processor.
She began to tear and stack the pages of her manuscript.
“Marilia, may I point out to you that while you and I have been sitting in this room talking about ghosts and curses and
