“You’ve got another son, who gives you nothing but joy, and has a good job. Now it’s my turn to live … Me and my woman, far from you …” He lifted up his head and shouted to his father: “Far from you, too, far from this house … from the lot of you. Don’t come after me, you’ll get nowhere …”
He went out shouting like a madman, without saying goodbye to Rânia or Domingas. He would have hit out, broken everything if anyone had tried to stop him leaving. No one slept that night. Zana never ceased lamenting; she blamed herself, and then accused Halim: “You were never a father to him, never. He’s gone because of your selfishness … That’s right, selfishness.” She went up and down the stairs, bewildered, demanding first my presence, then Domingas’s. She didn’t know what to ask for, or what to say to us. Sleepily, we awaited orders. But she couldn’t make up her mind, and asked: “What do you think of this? My son besotted over a piece of trash! What do you think? Why doesn’t Rânia come down? Instead of helping, gathering dust in that room.” Finally, she commanded me to go and get her daughter out of bed. Rânia opened the door, with a scowl on her face. She wasn’t asleep; the light was on in her room. The two of them prayed, made vows, lit candles. They lit everything: the lamps, their eyes, their souls. Time passed, and he didn’t come back. Had he finally broken free? He had wings, and he was impulsive, but he hadn’t the strength to fly high and lose himself in the immense sky of desire.
“Zana’s son! He comes and goes, drunk with indecision, a lazybones when it comes to the crunch,” Halim complained. “He lasted a good time, but at bottom I knew he wasn’t going to make it. He had everything in his hands and heart: love, a colossal woman … He had pure gold; all he needed was courage. He did try, though. And how! He even tricked Zanuri the informer. All that money thrown away!”
Zana went into action. She wandered around the city in search of the convertible. Three taxi drivers went around the neighborhoods, looking in hidden garages, sheds at the bottom of gardens, old Manaus housing developments; in all kinds of no-man’s-land, in the city and around its edges. It was impossible to inspect everywhere; the thousands of dwellings in the shantytowns built out over the muddy creeks, the Floating City, the rafts in the bay, the towns nearby, the boats, the lakes, the rivers and the channels linking them.
She was miserable, muttering, “They’ve stolen my Omar”; she slept badly, had nightmares, and lost her energy. She hardly ate, just nibbled and sipped. But she didn’t give up on the search, she wouldn’t resign herself, sobbing in quiet desperation. She was a mother in mourning. Only, for her, this mourning had an end. Her son’s return was a question of life, but never of death.