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Chapter 6 The Beginning
last update2021-05-19 19:45:06

The sun's beam came in through the open window, illuminating Josias's room. And when the light reached his eyes, Josias had to wake up, even against his will.

He stretches on the bed, under a thin sheet that was folded on the bed when he entered. The sweatpants were on the back of a wooden chair. Other than that and another dresser, there was nothing else in Josias's room.

Josias gets up, still wearing his briefs, goes to the open door to the balcony (he always had this habit of sleeping with the window open, even with mosquitoes coming in. That's why the window was providentially open when he needed to escape) and watches the activity of the shantytown. From the third floor, he had a good view of the area. As he looked down, he saw children and teenagers in school uniforms going to study, women socially dressed, probably going to work as attendants or secretaries, older women going to work as cleaners for some wealthy family, and men in industrial uniforms or plain clothes, going to do some informal work.

If Josias were on the main street, even though he was on the third floor, he would be woken up earlier by the noise of the neighborhood. A van that has already had better conditions passes by now. Josias can see it from afar, passing the corner. No, Happiness Slum does not have a bus; it is probably this van that transports residents.

Across Josias's view, in another four-story building, a girl on the third floor watches Josias from her window. She is smiling, approving Josias's good looks, especially his arms and chest, as he is shirtless.

Josias has Arab features, which makes him attractive to the opposite sex. His skin is brown as if it was tanned by the Middle Eastern sun, his eyes are brown and his face expresses authority like a sheik. Josias turns and accidentally finds her; the two of them exchange a smile. This girl can hardly imagine that Josias is only in his underwear!

Josias leaves the balcony, much to the sadness of the girl. He goes to the chair and puts on his sweatpants. It already has some dirt. Josias puts his hand on his chin, wondering what he is going to do when cleaning his clothes. Then, he starts to ask about his cleaning. The room had no bathroom. How do people take care of their hygiene?

Thinking about it, Josias puts on his slippers and leaves, not even bothering to lock the door because he had nothing to be stolen. When he goes down to the ground floor, he looks for Teodoro. The owner of the building is at the counter, looking intently at the radio, listening to the morning news. His frown tells Josias that it was bad news.

“Good morning, Seu Teodoro.” Josias risks saying, “How are you?”

The announcer reported on the radio. “... Investigations are continuing by the civil police. Unfortunately, neighbors refused to give any information. We will wait for more news of this crime in Rainbow Garden.”

Teodoro reduces the device volume and turns to Josias with a rueful look. “I'm sorry, young man. They just confirmed it in the morning news. Your father was murdered; they found his body still lying on the couch. Whoever executed it cleaned your house, stealing everything they could to make up for the debt. But the neighbors refused to help the police, for fear of reprisals.”

And then, for the first time, Josias starts to cry for his father's death. So much happened that he didn't even have time for that. Mr. Rocha was not an example of a father for Josias and died of yet another of his stupidity. But that was not why Josias was going to wish his father's death.

Teodoro comes out from behind the counter and hugs the youngest. “Calm, take it easy. Everything will be fine.”

Yes, Josias believed that strongly. It is only pain and grief that he needed to vent; put out, relieve his chest. If it weren't for that, Josias would now be at home having breakfast, showered, and brushed teeth. But now he is there, only in sweatpants (which is not being appropriate for today, which promises to be hot) and slippers and with less than five bucks in his pocket. Practically, nothing.

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