The tower of the howling winds
The Minuano wind has been blowing for two days now, making everyone prefer to stay at home. It's freezing outside, but it's still hard to break family traditions. Today is Saturday, the day to visit my grandfather. By mid-afternoon, the city center is already dead, with only a few lost souls who hurry towards their destination, while a few pairs of eyes watch them from shadowy corners, just waiting for the opportunity to attack. The city center, which was once a hub of economic activity, home to elegant patisseries and the Globo bookstore, has now become a no-man's land. Part of the population no longer steps foot in the center for anything in the world, except at the time of the Book Fair.
My mother and I walk along the promenade, determined and wary of passers-by. I myself was robbed on a Saturday afternoon like this a few years ago. When we arrived at the building where my grandfather lives, the doorman greeted us indifferently. He seems to prefer the movement of weekdays, when hundreds of people circulate in the building, where most of the floors are dedicated to commercial activities. My grandfather is one of the few residents, all of them cloistered high up in the tower, above the 27th floor.
After the risky walk and the cold reception, we finally arrived at the oasis that is my grandfather's apartment. Here the heating is always on during the winter and today we are greeted by a faint tinkling that welcomes us. I turn smiling towards the crystal cabinet, only the two of us know this secret. No one else seems to notice that the force of the wind causes the structure of the building to vibrate. On days like this, even the crystal bowls vibrate inside the cabinet, clashing against each other and tinkling. I walk along the soft carpets towards my grandfather's office. There he is, unaware of our presence, carefully examining the surroundings with his telescope.
Since he had a heart attack, his life has been reduced to half a dozen activities of moderate interest that he carries out indoors, under the watchful eye of his wife and the maid. He used to circulate between his various jobs, supervising employees and meeting with partners and clients, but today he lives submissively within the rules of the home. Friends and relatives hardly visit him because, since the fires at the Andorinhas building and the Renner stores, they're afraid of the tragedies that can occur in such tall buildings.
After greeting my grandfather, I leave the adults in the office and hide behind the curtains in the living room, where I admire the beauty of the Guaíba River undisturbed on this sunny, cold afternoon. In the distance, I hear the voices of my mother and my great-aunt retelling family fables for the hundredth time. Bored, I examine the view when I realize that my grandfather's telescope was pointed in the wrong direction. What was he looking at with such concentration? I return to the office and disguise my intention by running my hand over the shiny cabinet of the record player, examining the photos under the glass of the desk before finally turning to the telescope. Through the slightly blurred lens, I see an entire family parading unperturbed and naked inside the house. In this cold! I turn my face towards my grandfather in amazement, looking for an explanation. But all he does is stare at me smiling, looking like he's been caught doing something naughty.
I return my grandfather's smile and go back to my post behind the curtains, but my peace is interrupted by his voice calling me back to the office. He's waiting for me with a package the size of a battery-operated radio in his hands, which he proudly holds out to me. "I heard that you got excellent results in your last exams. This is a reward for your efforts". Suspicious, I take the package and it takes me a while to finally open the paper. A calculator that does all four operations! And it's portable! My schoolmates will be so jealous!
At the end of the afternoon, I say goodbye to everyone clutching my present, scared to death of being robbed on the way to the taxi stop. Only one thing puzzles me: what's so special about my grades? They're always good and nobody ever says anything. For the first time in my life, I have the feeling that my silence has been bought...
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