Leãozinho

Dragging her teddy bear into the fresh grass, Mikki tottered out of the house with semi-closed eyes. 

“This way, Mimi.”, a soft voice said.

Mikki’s hand groped in the night, through the cloud of dark particles stinging her eyes. She stretched her chubby arm and squeaked as she started to lose balance. Thin fingers glided through her silky hair and she felt the grass being swallowed beneath her feet. Female hands drew her towards a round chest that smelled of peony and Mikki snuggled into its warmth. 

“No candles, no lights, no matches.”, Hetor’s voice roared from behind a bush. “Where’s the tent?” 

“Third shelf, to the left, under the blue lamp, in the gara...”, Graziella stopped. Without power, the garage automated door would not open. That was why Hetor never wanted that door automated. Oops. Hetor also wanted his camping material stored neat and clean, by his sports clothes, in the dressing room. But Graz knew better. She smiled at herself and cradled Mikki’s little body tranquilly. 

A 46°C stream of air fumed out of Hetor’s nostrils as he stared in Graz’s direction, shaking his head. Now he’d have to come up with a plan. He drew his phone out of his pocket – 3% battery. Typical him. Anyway. He hinted at three dots of light under the açai tree – the solar LEDs Graz had bought for their “chimeric glow”, or whatever that was. Graz, still carrying Mikki, followed him.

Mikki enjoyed Montreal summers with her uncle and Graz. This was their 4^th Canadian gathering and, in two weeks, Mikki would be turning 5. Betania, Hetor’s sister, would join them from Tokyo, where she and Mikki’s father lived. Mikki was tiny but intuitive – she picked up inconsistencies and drew regular reports to her mum. Usually in the format of why-questions. The last thing Hetor wanted was her to report on his marriage. Or even on that situation. For that one, again, was no mystery. For sure Graz had, again, forgotten to send the cheque - seventh time in three months. Bills, summons, penalties – all the same to her. Her negligence weighed not only on her tight illustrator finances but also on his nerves. 

Graz rubbed her nose in Mikki’s neck, as she sat her on her crossed legs. She liked the acid smell of her baby skin and liked how Mikki shrugged at her tickling. But she stopped as she noticed her husband’s signature stiffness in the dark. She had enjoyed poking in it since their first day in primary school, back in Sao Paolo. His anxiety and even his criticism made her smile. Her wit had always been enough to push through life and she couldn’t care much for the circus of adulthood. He was always tense. She wanted Hetor to embrace the unexpected a bit more and did employ strong techniques on him. But that was in his best interest. 

“You two stay here. I’ll get the blankets.”, he said.

“Top right corner, in the red basket by the-”

“I know.” 

She frowned. What was wrong again? Never mind. She drew her phone out of her pocket and played a song by Chico Buarque. She grabbed the wrists of observant Mikki and made her dance. Mikki liked musica popular and her Portuguese was excellent. She also had a good sense of rhythm. Graz used to teach music to kids in the favelas back when she lived in Sao Paolo. She liked how quickly they picked it up and how their eyes shimmered to the sound of bossa nova and Afro-Brazilian rhythms. Mikki’s eyes were no exception. She was now tilting her head from side to side, and Graz mimicked her. Mikki laughed out loud and let herself fall into the ever-joyful arms of her aunt. 

Hetor was puzzled. On the kitchen table, electrical candles - powered with batteries. Was that a prank? He sighed and fetched blankets and pillows, from the red box. How could he still underestimate Graz’ tricks? He piled everything onto two chairs and walked back to the açai tree outside. Mental. 

Graz’ long chestnut hair swung from side to side with her shoulders. She was so lively. So free. He eyes glued to her dancing scapula, his heart sank.

His hands shook as he put one chair to her left and another one to her right, as pillars for the makeshift tent he had devised in his mind. Through the dark, he felt her large eyes looking at him. Why couldn’t he relax? Was it his job? His ongoing deal? Should he share that burden with her. Nao. She would laugh it off, suggest he listen to music and draw, lying on the floor. Was it really freedom or carelessness? Maybe she was careless and that’s why he resented her. He nodded to himself, throwing a blanket on top of the chairs. That was it – kind and engaged, except when it came to his fears and need for support. Her cheerful, live-and-let-live-prison. He clacked his tongue. Or maybe he envied her independence? He who worked hard only not to disappoint others. Or no. Maybe that was not envy, maybe that was dissapointment. 

Hetor spread a blanket on the floor. And slipped underneath the shelter with them. Turned on the candles and lined them up next to the chairs for the lighting to be even. Mikki threw her head backwards, looking into his eyes, upside down. 

“Oi Leaozinho”, he said forcing a smile and touching the tip of her nose. Leaozinho, little lion, was their favourite song by Veloso. They liked to sing it together. 

“Happy to see you, little lion.”, Mikki replied in Portuguese, just like the lyrics of the song.

She laid back down slowly and rested her head on his folded laps. He smiled with an inch of melancholy that was enough to push back to the surface his mulled brooding. Graz stared, attentively. He stared back. He couldn’t read her face; he had never managed to. She was fun and expressive, but he could never identify what she felt, needed or thought. What she was planning. Especially with regards to him. He felt like a deserted island scrutinized, from afar, by a fierce invader. He felt invaded, yet unseen. Disrespected. Here we go, disrespected. A chill ran down his spine. He couldn’t say anything. Graz would make fun of his thoroughness, which he had always thought to be a quality. Unappreciated. Humiliated he was. Her hand landed on his knee and interrupted his thoughts.

She had sensed his agitation at night, but she had never seen the lines it drew on his face. In the electrical candlelight, it was now all revealed. She read those lines, like a psychic. She had never understood the insecurity trembling inside of him. She wanted to share out her creative flame. That very flame had never warmed up the body of the creature that she had loved since their first day in primary school. It had only burnt his wings. His tense traits burned her back, in her chest. She could say something. Meet him in this dark place he felt seated in since that first day at primary school. And yet, she couldn’t. For her optimism was her escape out of darkness, a place she never wanted to go back to again. Not even for Hetor. That was all resolute. A discipline. The execution of a long-taken decision.

So, they sat, their faces yellowed by the shimmering non-flames. Mikki’s feet against her knees. Mikki’s head lying on his. They sat, looking at each other. Graz’ hand resting on his knee and his arm reaching for it slowly.