Before the green dance

Literary Review, Summer, 1995 by Lygia Fagundes Telles, Leland Guyer

"He liked you," said the girl, turning to the woman who was still clapping. "He paid you the compliment. Did you see how elegant he was?"

The black woman grinned slightly.

"My man's a thousand times more handsome, at least I think so. And he must be on his way already. He's supposed to pick me up on the corner at ten o'clock. If I'm late, he'll start to get drunk and that'll be it, he'll be out of it for the rest of the night."

The girl took her by the arm and led her to the bedside table. The room was a jumble, as if some thief had broken in and emptied the drawers and boxes.

"I'm way behind, Lu! This costume's such a pain . . . You're going to have to help a little."

"But aren't you done yet?"

Sitting on the bed, the girl spread the green ballet skirt over her knees. She was wearing a bikini and mesh stockings that were also green.

"Finished? I still have to stick all of this on, just look . . . I had to go and choose this really hard Pierrette costume!"

The black woman came close, her hands smoothing the shining silk of her kimono. She wore a red crepe paper chrysanthemum stuck in her kinky hair. She sat down next to the girl.

"Raimundo should be getting there any time now. He goes through the ceiling when I'm late. We're going to see the paraders, and today I want to see them all."

"Take it easy, you have time," interrupted the girl. She brushed away the hair that fell over her eyes. She stood up the lamp that had fallen over on the table. "I can't imagine where the time has flown."

"But Tatisa, you know I can't miss the parade. Anything but miss the parade!"

"And who's saying you're going to miss the parade?"

The woman stuck her finger in the pot of glue and placed it softly on the sequins in the saucer. She quickly raised her finger to the ballet skirt where she was forming a random constellation. She caught a sequin that had fallen away and gingerly touched it to the glue. She placed it on the ballet skirt, fixing it in place with small circular movements.

"But if I have to fasten the sequins to the whole ballet skirt . . ."

"So you're already complaining, are you? I thought I had plenty of time and I can't leave it half done, see? . . . It'll only take a second if you help. I've already put on my make-up. Look here, how's my face?

You're not saying? Why, you witch! Come on . . . How do I look?" The woman smiled.

"You look pretty, Tatisa. That green in your hair makes me laugh. You're starting to look like an artichoke. But I don't like that green on your nails. It's weird."

In a sudden movement, the girl raised her head to catch her breath and passed the back of her hand over her flushed face.

"But the nails are what make it special, silly. It's a green dance, the costumes have to be green . . . everything has to be green. But you don't have to keep staring at me. Come on, don't stop. You can talk, but keep working. It's not even half done, Lu!"

"I don't have my glasses, and I can't see straight without my glasses."

"It's all right," the girl said, wiping away with her handkerchief the excess glue running clown her finger. "Just keep gluing. There'll be so many people there that nobody'll notice. This heat is driving me crazy, I can't take it any more, I feel like I'm melting, don't you? This heat's incredible!"

The woman tried to attach the chrysanthemum that had worked its way down to her neck. She wrinkled her forehead and lowered her voice.

"I went in there."

"And?"

"He's dying."

A car passed by in the street, with its horn honking frantically. Some boys broke into singing at the top of their lungs to the rhythm they were beating on a frying pan: The king's crown isn't gold, and it isn't silver either. . . .

"I feel like I'm in an oven," groaned the girl, flaring her nostrils beaded with sweat. "If I'd known, I'd have made a lighter costume."

"Lighter than that? You're almost naked, Tatisa. I was going with my Hawaiian costume, but just because a little bit of thigh shows Raimundo makes accusations. So imagine you . . ."

With her fingernail, Tatisa picked off a sequin that had gotten caught in the mesh of her stocking. She let if fall onto the small constellation that she was arranging on the hem of her ballet skirt and pensively kept rubbing a drop of dried glue that had fallen on her knee. Her eyes wandered over the objects, without focusing on any of them. She spoke in a somber tone:

"Do you think so, Lu?"

"Do I think what?"

"That he's dying."

"Oh, yes. He is. I'm sure of it. I've seen a whole bunch of people die, and I know all about it. He won't make it through the night."

"But you were wrong once before. Remember? You said he was going to die, that he was at the end of the line . . . And the next day he was just radiant, asking for milk first thing."

"Radiant?" she asked with surprise, pursing her red-violet lips. "And I didn't say he was going to die. Just that he was real sick. That's what I said. But today is different, Tatisa. I looked in on him from the door. I didn't even have to go in to see that he was dying."

"But when I went in there he was sleeping so calmly, Lu."