- Prologue Part 2 -

“Finally, we've arrived. Now come on, get down and help me

with the equipment."

"Sir... I mean, Uncle, why didn't we bring any food?"

"Haha!" he laughed excitedly. "You'll see why. I hope you

like it."

José was even more apprehensive about the situation. He

didn't like it, but he would never question Belforte's intentions.

He trusted him deeply, only fearing that something might go wrong

with all these changes and he would end up alone again.

They entered through the main door. The house wasn't old, but

it wasn't very furnished either, with only a few rooms. At the

back, there seemed to be a small kitchen at the end of a corridor.

Immediately to the right, there was a room with two armchairs and

a radio on a simple wooden table with S-shaped legs. To the left,

there was a staircase leading to the rooms above and two doors in

the corridor ahead — one just below the staircase and another on the

right, which was the bathroom.

"Now take your suitcase upstairs and come back immediately.

We need to take the equipment downstairs," he said, placing a hand

on his back and trying to stretch to relieve a pain caused by

carrying the heavy suitcases and boxes of equipment.

"Downstairs?" José thought. "But where? I didn't see a

staircase going down!"

"Move along, boy. We won't waste another minute," he hurried,

beginning to drag one of the boxes toward the door beneath the

staircase.

As soon as José chose his room, he returned and came down the

stairs, but he could no longer see Belforte anywhere. Then, he

heard him calling again.

"Come down quickly, I'm in a hurry," he called, his voice

muffled by the walls.

"Where are you?" José asked, not quite understanding what was

happening.

"At the door under the stairs, turn the lock twice!" Belforte

exclaimed, still with a muffled voice that was hard to identify.

José went towards the door and turned the lock. To his

surprise, there were brooms, mops, and buckets, but no Belforte

inside.

"What’s happening here, my God?" he said aloud, scratching

his ears.

"I told you to turn it TWICE!" Belforte's voice seemed to

come from inside one of the buckets. "Now close the door and turn

the lock twice."

After the shock of hearing the bucket speak with his uncle's

voice, José decided to close the door and try again. But the

second time he turned the lock, he heard a dull sound and the

clatter of wood as if moving a piece of furniture downstairs. The

door opened slightly on its own, without effort, when José pulled

it to see what had happened. There was no grumpy bucket or broom

in a small room. Now he saw a staircase illuminated by a hanging

lamp on a corridor ceiling that led to a basement—a cellar,

perhaps that was its name.

"Hurry up, boy. That staircase won't stay there forever."

"Y-yes, uncle," he replied, preparing to descend the stairs.

As he did, the door slammed shut behind him, and a gear creaked

above his head, pulling planks over the steps, forming a small

room just past the door as he finished descending.

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" Belforte asked without

looking.

"No." José replied immediately. "I just got startled by the

noise."

"Now stop getting distracted and come help me," said

Belforte, arranging an amateur radio receiver.

In a large room, the size of the house itself but entirely

underground, it was a basement—something not typical for Brazilian

houses of the time. José looked around, impressed by all the

signal reception equipment, static meters, all of the highest

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technological level. There was even a gramophone that seemed to

bear Thomas Edison's signature; it didn't resemble anything he had

seen, not even at the observatory. Before reaching the doctor's

side, he noticed sacks of grain at the back of some shelves, which

seemed to be directly below the kitchen.

"So, do you like it?" Belforte noticed the boy's attention.

"Those will be part of our supplies for a few years. Besides, we

won’t need to return to the city and can focus on our work."

"It looks like about 50 sacks of rice from here," said José,

craning his neck to see between the shelves.

"Exactly, plus some canned American food as well. They say

they are developing durable cooked food for the army; we just need

to heat it to eat," he said with enthusiasm.

"Uncle, what is all this, and what is it for?" José asked

hesitantly.

"We will change the world!" he replied, placing a hand on

José's shoulder. "Your father would be proud."

After finishing adjusting the equipment, night began to fall.

They took a few cans and went up to the kitchen, lighting some

lamps. Belforte decided to prepare dinner with one of the chickens

and some potatoes. They brought up half a sack of rice, oil, and

some pots, chopped garlic, onions, and a seasoning of oregano and

dried coriander for the rice. While it cooked in water, Belforte

took the already plucked and headless chicken, cut and separated

it into pieces, placed a layer of seasoning and pork lard to roast

in a wood stove with a roasting compartment in the kitchen. Once

they finished cooking, they sat at the table with their full

plates and shared orange and lemon juice straight from the trees

in the yard as they began to eat.

"Tomorrow morning, I’ll return to the city. I’ll only be back

in two days, and in the meantime, I need you to keep the equipment

always running. Don't let anything get out of place and DO NOT

answer to anyone here," he emphasized. "I need to explain some

important things before I go, so pay attention."

José stopped eating and looked intently at Belforte. He was

afraid of staying alone in that big house but didn't want to

disappoint the only person who cared about him.

"You need to understand a few things. The people who killed

your father and the people who fired me are the same, filthy, damn

criminals, unscrupulous bourgeois," he said, pounding the fist

that held the knife on the table. "In your father's case, they

were specifically racists. In my case, they are government snobs

sucking up whatever they can, but that will change. In a few

years, we will free ourselves from those bastards and show how the

Paulistas can fight," he said, looking at José's confused and

trembling face. "Well, that's not exactly what I want to talk

about. I just want you to understand that if you need anything in

case I take a little longer to return, there is a neighbor on the

farm next door. You will have to walk about 20 minutes on the path

we took to get here, but they seem to be good people, and they

have two children close to your age, a very smart girl and a boy,"

he paused, noticing José had stopped trembling, and continued. "We

have a radio in the living room with a very high range due to the

equipment downstairs. You can distract yourself with it, but with

the amateur radio, you can also try to contact the neighbors if

necessary. Try reading the cooking technique books; you'll need to

prepare more elaborate things. There's also a book on cultivation

for you to take care of the animals with me; the rest, I will

teach you when I return," he said and resumed eating.

"You will come back, won't you... Sir?" he asked, looking at his

cooling plate.

"I already told you not to call me that," he said without

stopping eating.

"My mother died of that brain disease; the doctors said they

wouldn't waste equipment on a black woman. A year later, my father

died from a gunshot when we were coming home," he paused and

looked directly at Belforte. "And now you're going to abandon me

too."

"No." Belforte stopped eating, put his utensils on the table,

got up, walked toward the boy, and hugged his head. "I will never

abandon you."

The next day, they woke up early, and Belforte left for the

city. José closed the gates and the doors and went to see the

animals. He wanted to try to get some eggs for breakfast, but the

rooster attacked him as soon as he entered the coop.

"Darn rooster, I need to eat," he said, rolling up his

sleeves.

He tried to get in again, tripped, and got pecked on the

head. He tried to protect himself immediately with his hands,

which the rooster mistook for worms, aiming for the little finger.

"Ouch!" he screamed in pain. "Damn rooster, I'll make soup

out of you."

He spent the whole morning trying to get the eggs. By noon,

with the rooster already tired, the boy had his chance. He ran and

grabbed four eggs, ensured two for breakfast, which had now become

lunch, and two for dinner, not worrying about the next day. He

prepared a nice lunch of rice and eggs and ate. An hour later, he

went to the living room, turned on the radio to a station playing

a daytime radio drama, but didn't last long before he fell asleep

there, sitting on one of the armchairs, exhausted from his battle

with the devilish rooster. Night fell, and Belforte hadn't arrived

as expected, but his anxiety did not leave him. On the radio, the

evening news began, waking him with a report.

"Car in police chase crashes in Anhangabaú and driver dies

instantly," the announcer said without pauses. "We just received

the police bulletin; the driver was Belforte Mattos, a former

meteorologist from the São Paulo Observatory," he said now with an

air of surprise, making José stand up so fast from the chair that

he nearly threw himself onto the radio. "He broke into the

observatory this afternoon when the staff was taking a coffee

break and stole a piece of equipment from the vault, but he was

seen by an employee before leaving through the front door," he

concluded.

"You abandoned me, sir."

~~