Estêvão Santoro drags himself up out of the wicker chair. His son is mocking him. His son hit him in a tender spot, his health, as if he weren’t concerned enough about it himself. He takes medicine, which of course his son knows. He limits his fat intake, and his wife also keeps an eye on the situation. What else can he do? Estêvão Santoro takes a step. What? Is he supposed to start spending his days lolling about too? He slaps his son across the face. Should he abandon their family values too and start acting like money grows on trees? He picks his son up by the front of his shirt and slams him against the wall. A bang. His son’s head hits the metal socket of a balcony lamp—
No! Stop!
Help!
No!
Rosa!
Rosa!!!
Rosa Imaculada collapses on the bed, her face against the rosewood rail. Mr. Santoro’s vermilion BOW TIE has come undone and lies on the white bedspread next to the rust-colored handkerchief and on top of the glass bottle, which is lying on its side. Mr. Santoro screams. He crawls up next to Rosa, checking her pulse and then shouting even louder. Shlomith, Ulrike, and Polina have opened their eyes; Rosa, the Rosa in the air, is singing. The final lines come in a voice draped in sorrow, slowly and crackling like an old phonograph record: Musangolá quina quinê . . .
Goodbye, friend!
Forgive us for doubting, Rosa!
Goodbye! Farewell!
Adeus, Rosa Imaculada!
Authorities are remaining tight-lipped about details surrounding the death of the woman known to readers as Rosa of the Imaculate Heart. In the meantime, rumors have been flying concerning the nature of the relationship between Imaculada and multimillionaire, Estêvão Santoro.
A single mother living in Salvador de Bahia, Rosa Imaculada received a heart transplant six months ago. The organ donor has been revealed as Santoro’s son, who died in a motorcycle accident. “It was a sick obsession,” said a close friend of Rosa. “Rosa’s own father left when she was small. She was clearly looking for a father figure. Her relationships with men have always been catastrophes.”
Super Noticía also interviewed Rosa’s grandmother, who firmly believes that black magic played a role in the events. Since Rosa’s death, her grandmother has been tormented by the same dream every night. In the dream, she prizes Estêvão Santoro’s fingers one by one from Rosa’s neck. “I always wake up to sinhó Santoro’s fingers flying away. It’s a sign. Sinhó Santoro didn’t recognize the evil forces raging in his soul.”
Rosa Imaculada was found dead one week ago in a hotel room that Santoro had been renting for the past two months. Santoro’s family believed he was in Europe on a business trip. The hotel is located in Pelourinho, the old city of Salvador.
“Since Rosa’s death, her grandmother has been tormented by the same dream every night.”
Santoro was found badly injured at the base of a cliff in Pelourinho on the Ladeira da Montanha near the Lacerda Lift the day after Rosa’s death.
He passed away en route to the hospital.
AS BLUE AS BLUE: A LESSON IN LOVE
Auf Wiedersehen, Ulrike!
Once upon a time there was a small, sweet 159-centimeter girl, Ulrike of Salzburg, whom everyone loved. Everyone except the Big Bad Adelwolf. He only wanted one thing in the world, the magic ring that Ulrike of Salzburg happened to own. At the beginning of summer, before Ulrike left on a dangerous journey into the magical forests of Germany to seek the treasure of love, her old grandmother took the child’s milky-white hands in her own wrinkled grasp. “My dear,” the old woman said, “I give you this ring as a gift to mark your entrance into adulthood. It will guide you in difficult situations in your life by changing color. Keep close watch over it. No other ring like this exists. If you lose it, you too shall be lost.”
Ulrike of Salzburg then set off. She wandered in the mountains, leaving no stone unturned, walking until her feet blistered and always checking the messages from the ring she had placed on her right ring finger. When the stones of the ring burned black, she knew she was ängstlich, anxious. Yellow told of a tense state of mind, gespannt, red of restlessness, unruhig. Light green meant that she wasn’t very stressed, nicht stressiert, and dark green revealed a light relaxation, ein wenig relax, and dark blue guaranteed that she was very relaxed, sehr relax. Ulrike of Salzburg saw all these colors on her ring as she wandered in the mountains, startling at the snaps of twigs, admiring butterflies, staring at wisps of cloud. There was only one color she didn’t see, the light blue that proclaimed deep bliss, sehr glücklich. But she learned her first lesson: she learned to trust her feelings.
Halfway through her journey, Ulrike met another young girl, Anke-Marie of Berchtesgaden, who invited her into a small lean-to built of pine boughs. Anke-Marie was Ulrike’s age but much, much more experienced. “Ulrike of Salzburg, you
