Renato grabbed my forearm. His hand cold, in spite of the heat of the night.
“It’s good that you now understand. That’s exactly my concern. Local drug dealers already know of you. But Fátima is doing her best to keep us here as long as she can. We will be able to leave before someone hands us over to Flávio Beirario’s faction. Just... give me a bit more time. One or two days,” he said.
I shivered.
“But you told me that drug dealers that command Gloria Santa slum are enemies to Flávio Beirario’s faction. You said we’d be safe here.”
“Flávio Beirario is a powerful drug lord.” Renato sighed as though speaking had been draining his energy. “Local drug dealers are happy about his imprisonment, but they’re not going to set off a war because of you. If word gets out and Flávio’s faction learn you’re hiding in Gloria Santa, they’ll raid the favela with heavy weapons. We’re only here because of Fátima. She’s been telling local drug dealers lies about our health conditions in order to gain us some time.”
“A man had just come inside here while you were asleep, bragging, pointing at you. A stout woman actually managed to get him out. He was about to hurt you,” I said.
Renato shifted over his bed and groaned.
“That woman is Fátima. The man is somewhat a middle-manager inside local drug hierarchy. They don’t take our presence here lightly.”
“We gotta go now,” I said. I grasped his forearm tightly, his hand still clutched to my arm.
The other man in the clinic erupted into a coughing fit. I was sure he’d either jolt up or choke to death. But after changing his position on the bed, he turned on his side, faced the wall beside him, and went back to sleep without noticing our conversation.
We kept our mouths shut for a few moments. Renato was the first one to break the silence.
“There’s a way out. After five minutes of stairs up there’s clearance, on a high plateau, surrounded by what remained of Mata Atlântica, Rio’s native forest. And—”
“Why are you telling me that,” I said.
“You need to know the way in case I faint after we start walking. When we reach the plateau, we must look for a path into the forest. The signs of the trail will be at 2 o’clock. We must be sure to have our backs turned to the slope that led us up there.”
“I don´t need directions, Renato. Get up, now. You won´t faint, you´ll walk beside me.”
“Not now, Emily. Not tonight. Just imagine the path. We need to be ready when the time comes. We´ll follow the trail and climb down the hillside opposite to Gloria Santa. It will lead us to Tijuca. Once we jump over the fence at the end of the trail, we’ll see Pão Quente bakery shop’s sign right across the street. Vicente de Castro, the owner, will help us.”
“Let´s go, now, Renato! God damn, you need a hospital, now!”
I tried to pull him up, but only pushing myself up made me feel dizzy. Before I could answer Renato, I heard again, filtered by the whir of the fan, the sound of steps scratching the ground coming close to the building.
I crawled back to my bed, strained my joints, and held back in my throat the agony caused by the injuries I carried over my body. The door opened, Fátima got into the room, turned on the lights, and I faked my sleep, even though Renato had said good things about her.
Through barely opened eyes I noticed a single light bulb attached to the ceiling, its wires curled round wood shafts. Fátima brought with her a steaming bowl. She poured into a cup what seemed like hot tea. She gently took hold of my head and hoisted it up so as to help me take a sip. I did so without opening my eyes.
The liquid trailed down my throat, leaving numbness and warmth along it.
She did the same with Renato and the other man, and left the room after turning the lights off.
The liquid that Fátima made me drink helped to stop the aching of my injuries. It brought a lightness to my body. I even forgot I had been filling the gaps between wood slats with lumps of my flesh.
After my conversation with Renato, I pondered whether I should go on alone or wait for him. But I slid into deep sleep as soon as Fátima left the clinic.
Chapter 17
I woke up under Fátima’s gentle tapping on my forehead. She brought an uneasy smile to her face, propped my back up on a pile of pillows and offered me a glass of milk and a piece of bread, which I gladly accepted. My empty stomach did not allow for fake sleeping at that moment.
It was daylight, and my condition seemed to have improved overnight. The man who had laid on the bed next to my feet wasn’t there anymore. Even his bed had disappeared.
After offering me breakfast, Fátima headed toward Renato. He was still asleep, but the gauze around his torso had been removed, the red spot on his shoulder exposed. Fátima dipped a piece of cloth in a liquid and dabbed his injuries, but her hands seemed to shake. Her face repeatedly turned toward the door, as though she were expecting an undesirable visit.
I estimated it had been four days since Renato and I were injured in the crossfire. During that time, I woke up only a few times, either to take in the medicines Fátima had gave me, to run from a bad dream, or to dump my physiological needs into an iron
