“Yeah, I bet on him.”
“Hmm. And what do they call him for short? Escapey? How can he be a happy horse?”
“Ah, because adventurous escapes are fun—and he knows it!” River told Theo.
Theo went on to mumble and mutter in Portuguese. His horse placed in the eleventh race and River’s won in the twelfth.
They headed back up to the betting cages to collect. Walking through the crowd wasn’t easy; Theo bumped into someone and steadied himself on River’s arm, apologizing quickly to the man he’d run into.
“Sinto muito. I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Theo said.
It was the swarthy man they had seen get a reaming from Tio Amato.
The man’s lips curled back in a snarl. He was not appeased. “Bastardo! Stupido!” he exclaimed, drawing back as if he were about to take a swing at Theo’s jaw.
“Hey!” River protested, stepping between them. He stared at the other man. “He bumped into you; he apologized. Move on!”
The man stared back at River for a minute, fists clenched at his sides. Maybe he decided that he didn’t want to get into it with someone in fit shape. He raised his fist again and looked at Theo as if giving him a warning, but then he dropped it, aware that Theo was not alone.
Swearing, he moved on.
“He’s beaten up by Amato; he wants to beat up on someone else in turn, I guess,” Theo said.
“Forget him. Let’s collect.”
The track was thronged as they made their way to the window. Mostly, however, people were nice.
They were in Carnaval spirit. Men and women said “excuse me” in a variety of languages as they made their way through the people grid.
Friends greeted one another.
Even strangers laughed when they bumped into one another.
The young were quick to smile and flirt a little, just in passing. River smiled too, passing others. He’d learned that flirting was a compliment, but there were boundaries. In Brazil, as everywhere, people wanted to be respected.
“Complimenting women,” Theo said happily, tipping his head to a blonde. “That is good—whether she has one tooth or is a beauty! Now, pinching—definitely a no these days!” He laughed and moved ahead, winking as he lifted his hands and cast his eyes toward a derriere that he apparently thought should be pinched.
But Theo would be respectful. In his mind, only the old, outdated men of Brazil still considered themselves macho men.
They finally made their way into the line to collect their winnings. Theo took his few dollars; River had made quite a sum from his long-shot bets.
Stepping away from the line, he placed his winnings in the slot of his backpack.
“Forget him,” Theo muttered suddenly. “Forget him? The creep is following us.”
River looked up; the swarthy man was leaning against the wall by the windows, watching them.
“Don’t worry; he’ll leave you alone,” River said and slipped an arm around Theo. They walked away from the windows together and out onto the streets. Theo looked back; the man wasn’t behind them.
“You’re a good friend,” Theo told River.
River shrugged and started to say something but Theo was already moving on. He cried out, reaching down to the sidewalk to pick something up. It was a cigarette.
“Look! Just lit! Someone lit this up and … maybe got into a cab or something!” Theo’s expression was one of pure delight.
“Theo—I just did well. I’ll buy you a pack of cigarettes. Well, I’d rather not. You shouldn’t smoke, you know?”
Theo grinned. “I don’t need cigarettes. I just smoke them when I find them. And this one—it’s good. And, say, I imagine the lips that touched them. They belonged to a beautiful and mysterious woman with big breasts, big lips—and Brazilian buns, ha-ha!”
“What if it was a big fat lousy man with sweat streaking down his face?” River asked. But he found himself thinking of the mysterious and beautiful Natal.
“My imagination is far superior to yours!” Theo said indignantly. “No, the lips that touched this cigarette were full and moist. And the woman had dark eyes that whispered of a bedroom in the night, hot passion … all good things!”
“Fine. You imagine those lips as you like.”
“Yes, I will imagine such a woman for you too, my friend. One filled with fire and life—someone crazy enough to bet on a horse because of its name as well!”
“Hey—my horses came in,” River reminded him.
“Yes. When will I learn?” Theo teased. “So, no cigarettes. But, we’ll go to the café and you’ll buy me lunch, eh?”
River laughed. “Yes, we’ll go to the café, and I’ll buy you lunch.”
Theo’s favorite café in the area was about three blocks from the track. It was situated in a side alley, off one of the major streets where today, men and women in business suits carrying briefcases hurried about—in between stilt walkers and beautiful women in colorful festival shirts and studded, scanty bra-tops advertising menus for Carnaval. On a corner, a group of children from a samba school performed—causing even some of the harried businesspeople to stop, watch, and applaud.
It was business as usual—in Carnaval season.
The restaurant they chose was local and modern—the tables were veneered pine, the kitchen was gleaming chrome, and sheet-glass windows afforded the same view as the race track from the back. They found a table toward the rear with a clear line of vision to Corcovado. The waiters were dressed in suits here, the waitresses in full skirts and tuxedo shirts. Theo ordered a churrasco, choosing batatas, or potatoes, over rice and beans. River asked for the local peixe, or fish and a chope, or draft beer. When their waiter left them, Theo shrugged and took a deep breath. “Ah, a friend buying you lunch—because he likes a horse’s name! That is life. So, what is that you’re holding as if it was so precious? Looks like a paper to me.”
River realized he’d been carrying the paper he’d taken that morning tightly between his arm and his chest, and he showed it—along with the thumbnail picture of Natal—to Theo. “Speaking of Brazilian beauties—do you know this woman?”
Theo studied the picture. “No, I have never seen her. I have never heard of her. But, I do not read tourist papers, you know?”
“No, I guess you don’t.”
“You have that drawing pad of yours in there?” Theo asked.
River nodded, and Theo said, “Draw me a picture while we wait. Draw me anything that comes into your mind.”
River shrugged and took out the sketchpad and his pencil. Looking through the giant, plate-glass windows and beyond, he thought for a moment and then began to draw. He could still see the race track in his mind. He drew the track and as he did so, he saw the background and the horses and he began to sketch a race. Their gar?om, or waiter, brought their food and he thanked the man but kept sketching.
“Hey, your food is here—fish is no good cold,” Theo said.
“Sushi can be great cold,” River murmured.
“We’re not having sushi,” Theo pointed out.
“But fish can be fine cold.”
“Better hot,” Theo argued.