12 March, 2024
Eu não posso acreditar que a minha mae tivesse estado comigo para dois meses, Father reflects to himself as he chews on his calulu. Actually, it has been more like a month and a half, but Father has been busy with work at the hospital. There’s only one public hospital in the entire city of São Tomé, a little far from where he lives, and he oversees more than forty patients in the course of an hour. It’s only in the hours of the evening after he comes home that he has time to savour the taste of the fish his wife makes, sit by the television beside his mother, and chat with her, making her feel young again by sharing the stories of his childhood. How the hours pass, with Father telling long stories about the things he did with his brothers in the coastal town of Vila Malanza, such as how they would cheat each other at football or how they’d spend hours hiking around the crags alongside the ocean without telling any of the adults, just to feel the fresh saltiness of the breeze, the uninterrupted humid smell of the green groves.
A piece of spinach is stuck in between Father’s teeth. He tries to suck it out from the back of his throat, and when that doesn’t work he tries to push it out with his tongue. He pricks at it with his nails, but it refuses to come out. Father finishes his meal and attends to his hygiene in the mirror of the guest bathroom. The spinach is wedged in between his front two teeth like a flag.
As he is taking care of it, Father senses something.
Does my mother have something to say to me?
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