A letter from Yaqub would arrive from São Paulo punctually at the end of every month. Zana made a ritual of reading it, intoning it as if it were a psalm or a sura: her diction, filled with emotion, was interrupted by pauses, as if she wanted to hear the voice of her faraway son. Domingas remembered these reading sessions. They were not entirely sad, for Halim invited the neighbors, and the reading was an excuse for a festive dinner. Domingas understood Halim’s ruse. Without the party, Zana would get depressed, thinking of how cold her son must be, or of the leftovers the poor thing must be eating, alone at night in his damp room in the Pension Veneza, in the center of São Paulo. Always laconic, Yaqub described the rhythm of his life in the city. The loneliness and cold didn’t bother him; he talked about his studies, the chaos of the big city, the seriousness of the people, and their enthusiasm for work. From time to time, as he crossed the Praça da República, he would stop to look at the enormous rubber tree. It was good to see this Amazonian tree in the middle of São Paulo, but he never mentioned it again.

The letters revealed a growing fascination with this life, the new rhythm experienced by people separated from their families, and who live alone. He was no longer living in a village, but in a huge metropolis.

“My paulista son,” Zana joked, proud and worried at the same time. She feared Yaqub would never come back. Little by little, the outsider perfected his capacity for abstraction. After six months in São Paulo he began to teach mathematics. The letters got shorter, two or three short paragraphs, or only one: just a sign of life, and some item of news to justify the letter. So, without boasting, almost in a whisper, the young teacher Yaqub told them of his entry into the University of São Paulo. He wasn’t to be a mathematician, but an engineer. He was going to be an expert calculator, planning complex structures. Zana didn’t properly understand what her son’s future profession was, but engineer was more than enough for her: he had a doctorate. They sent him money and a telegram; he thanked them for the generous words and sent the money back. They got the message that their son would never need another cent. Even if he needed it, he wouldn’t ask.