The tough guy, the night owl, the whoremonger was sprawled out on the carpet. Omar didn’t get up. His father chained him to the lock of the steel safe, sat for a few minutes on the gray sofa, took a deep breath, and went out. He disappeared for two days. Zana couldn’t interfere; she had no time to come to her son’s aid. She blustered, shouted, and felt ill when she saw her son chained, leaning against the rusty safe, his cheek swollen up in high relief. Deep inside, that slap echoed like part of my revenge too.

Rânia put arnica onto the bloated cheek, his mother fed her little chick through his pursed mouth, and Domingas got the chamber pot in position so he could piss: three slaves for one captive. Zana went after Halim and found the shop locked up. I was charged with combing the city center: I went into the stalls scattered around the harbor in Remédios Square, the little restaurants hidden at the top of the gullies, and the cheap bars in the labyrinth of the Floating City, where he used to go for a chat with one of his cronies. No one had sighted him, and even if I had found him, I wouldn’t have said a thing. Right at the end of the Escadaria harbor, tethered to a canoe, a dog was barking—the poor beast was foaming at the mouth in its distress; this time I really laughed, for the sight of the tethered dog reminded me of the prisoner with the swollen face. Every tough guy has his weak points. Did Halim, calm as he was, know that? He gave his son’s face a good thump and left. He only came back home two days later. For the two nights he was captive, we heard Omar bellowing, the sound of him pointlessly kicking the solid safe, and the harsh clanking of the metal chain. A blowtorch would have freed him, but no one thought of that, least of all me, ignorant as I was of the existence of blowtorches and only thinking vaguely of revenge. But who could I exact vengeance on?

It was only after the episode of the Silver Woman that Halim decided to send Omar to São Paulo. Yaqub was now married and, once again, hadn’t accepted a penny from his parents; he would have turned down a gift from the hand of God. He didn’t reveal his wife’s name, and only gave notice of the wedding by telegram. Zana bit her lip. For her, a son married might as well be lost or kidnapped. She pretended not to be interested in her daughter-in-law’s name, and danced attendance on Omar even more; she was attracted to him like iron filings to an immense magnet.