“I’VE GOT ENOUGH OF NUDIST CAMPS” said Linda. “When are you going to take me to a regular beach?”
We were in Ipanema surrounded by local beauties in thongs. Compared to Linda’s swimsuit, big as a master sail of a cruise ship, those girls were virtually naked. I have to confess that I was as shocked as she was. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in Rio for the last time and I’ve forgot how Brazilian women undress to go to the beach.
“Look at it! “she said, pointing to a teenager with a dental floss across the crack of her buttocks. “If it were in the USA, she would be in jail. As those grownup idiots staring at… Hey!” she slapped one of my thighs. It hurt. “Don’t ogle!”
“But you called my attention…
“You wasn’t supposed to look anyway. This is disgusting. Did she need to be so perfect?”
“I guess…”
“Shut up. It was a rhetorical question you moron.”
It’s been a long week, full of enchantment and surprises. As every North American tourists spending their holydays in Rio, we went to the Corcovado, to the Sugar Loaf, took a tram in Santa Teresa and were robbed by a bunch of street boys in Lapa, a bohemian neighborhood in Rio downtown. I got really pissed off but Linda didn’t care.
“For someone who lived in the Queens for so long she said, “you were supposed to be used to this. Besides, did you see? they were all smiling! Very nice kids, I guess. One of them even called me 'madam'” “Actually, the kid said “Hey madam, give me your fuckin’ dollars or I will chop off your face!” But Linda didn’t seem to understand the last part. “I don’t remember the last time someone called me madam. If ever.”
Latter on we went to a rodízio barbecue place, were Linda made me very ashamed asking the waiter if they didn’t serve hamburgers in that “damn joint”. For my surprise, the waiter not even blinked and returned a few minutes latter with something Linda said was the best burger she ever had since she went to Texas when she was a teenage. It was the most expensive cheeseburger I ever paid in my life, but it worth every bit of it.
Food was an issue. For instance, Linda refused to eat feijoada, our national dish. “If you like to eat molten blacktop, that’s your problem, not mine. And… what’s that? Did I see a pig’s foot floating in that kettle?” She loved Rio’s McDonalds: “Don’t know why, but Big Macs are tastier in Brazil.” but hated every pizza place we went: “If you ever serve a pizza like this in the USA” she said, “You gonna get shot like a mad dog.”
In our first Saturday in Rio, we went to a lambada place, for dancing. We didn’t dance at all but Linda had six caipirinhas in less than two hours and we ended up in a public hospital, my wife in the verge of a coma. Next day, she moaned: “Was I hit by a truck last night? Hell, I had the worst nightmare of my life. I dreamt I was in a dirty public bathroom full of people in the corridors attached to IV tubes.” It wasn’t a dream, I knew. But I made no comments.
For some perverse reason, Linda loved Rio’s buses: “It’s like to be in a rollercoaster without rails were anything can happen!” But had some trouble with the local traffic. She never understood why cariocas don’t stop at the stop signs in the crossings or why they don’t respect red lights after midnight. “They are afraid of being robbed while waiting for the green light” I explained. Then she asked me to stop at the next red light, so she could be called “madam” again. “Brazilian thiefs are so polite…”
One morning, Linda was in the bathroom having a shower when the phone rang.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hi Charlie!” said the voice on the other side. “It’s me, Steve.”
“Hi Steve, what’s up?”
“Nothing much. Just checking. Is Linda there?”
“Actually she is having a shower.”
Silence in the other side.
“Steve, are you still there?”
“Listen carefully you damn Victor Charlie: if something bad ever happens to my daughter, you dead meat, comprende?”
Silence on my side.
“And not even think about escaping to the jungles. I can hunt you there as well. Don’t forget I’m trained for search and destroy missions in the wilderness.”
I took the phone to the bathroom.
“Linda my dear! It’s your dad on the phone!”
“Hi dad! “she cried under the shower. “The VC left the building!”
I hanged up and asked:
“What’s this nonsense of ‘the VC left the building?’”
She laughed and said:
“It’s a code he forced me to memorize. It means that I am being well treated and not being forced to do anything I don’t want to.”
“And why he insist on calling me Victor Charlie, for Christ sake?”
“It’s a military code for 'Vietcong'. That hat you used on your first visit, remember? Dad is a shell-shocked vet. He will never forget.”
(To be continued...)
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