Jane Telford, Lancaster u3a - Third Place
North West Region
An Opening into Darkness
The drive home was the commute from hell. The roads into Sao Paulo normally in crumbling disrepair now made worse by the flood rivers cascading down every slope. Mudslides blocking the carriageway, cars left where they had stalled, too wet to restart, branches down and blocking the route. But then it’s always like this when a storm comes in, normally chaos, now city driving interlaced with rainforest survival, half a world away from the small-town congestion that inconvenienced me before taking this job. I smile to myself as I think of my naivety, the job opening of a life time offering excitement and a massive career step, the reality being long hours in a city rife with corruption.
It was also the day before the start of Carnival, if possible, the roads were even worse than usual with people leaving work early for the holiday. A week of music and parades, with people dressed in outlandish costumes showing the irreverent take the Brazilians have on Catholicism. The end of last year’s Carnival starts the preparation for the next, mixing Beauty pageant, Pagan gods and Christian symbols to achieve the pulsating cacophony that takes over the streets. As a European I had heard of Carnival, but only now, working with and knowing people where carnival is the highlight of their year did I realise how entangled it is in the life of Sao Paulo.
I had to be in the city limits before 4pm or number plate recognition would make sure a hefty fine arrived in the post, the Rodizio system giving allocated times for travel into and out of the city. Laughably a way of reducing congestion, the rich have multiple cars so they can beat the system, the richer still, use helicopters. The middle classes have to stay in their cars, mobile Faraday cages in the city with most lightning strikes recorded in the world, shielded by smoked and bullet proof glass unwilling to use public transport fearing the armed gangs that rob openly then disappear into the closed world of the Favelas.
Sliding the car through the security gates of my apartment block in Moema, I waited until the outer gate was closed before winding down my window to wave to the security guard. Only when he was sure he recognised me did he open the inner gates to the underground parking lot, an airlock separating the lawless streets of the city from the security of home. Dropping my handbag on the hall table, I registered the quiet of the apartment, no one to greet me, no children’s laughter or cooking smells?
“Marissa, are you home?” I called.
As if on cue, my mobile started buzzing in my handbag, but not Marissa as the caller. “Hello, who is this?”
Everything felt wrong and I heard the tension in the crack of my voice and felt the rise of hairs along my arms.
“Listen carefully” said a man, his English spoken slowly and with a heavy Paulista accent, “your Nanny and Children are with me, go to the Factory distribution centre, I will call you when you are alone in the office.”
The silence as he closed the call was like a kick to my sternum, my legs collapsed beneath me and I crashed to my knees. The raw terror sending adrenaline through me preparing my body for fight or flight, but actually helpless to do either, racked with sobs, I tried to hold back the flood of panic. I had to stay in control, if I made the wrong move now, I would have no family to come home to.
Driving like a madwoman, I was fortunate that the route to the factory was away from the centre and on the edge of the city where rainforest backed up against civilisation. Clever man, I thought. The distribution drivers collected cash on delivery, today there was no way it had been taken to the bank due to Carnival. The safe in the office would be stuffed with untraceable cash.
Day had changed to night as I approached the factory and I could see that the building was in darkness. I parked the car haphazardly outside the office door, the storm still giving intermittent grumbling thunder and jagged flashes of lightning to illuminate my way. Fumbling the keys I managed to let myself in. I tried the light switches but nothing. Either the storm has caused an outage or “He” had cut the power.
My mobile rang, lighting up the darkness in the office.
“You bastard, where are my children” I yelled, unable to stifle my anger at this man.
He knew I was powerless and the cruelty of his laughter shocked me.
“Follow my instructions,” he stated “Empty the money from the safe into the Securicor bags and place them on the counter. Go and stand by the front window and I will bring your children and Nanny to you,” he paused and with voice laden with threat, he said;
“I am watching you.”
How was he manipulating me like this? Night cameras? He must have had help to set this up. My mind was a whirl of hows' and whos', but no time to think about it now, using my phone torch, I punched the combination into the safe and swung open the door to see neatly piled up bundles of cash. Manically, I filled 3 large money bags and grunting under the weight, heaved them onto the counter as instructed. Backing up to the window, I waited for my children.
After what seemed like a lifetime but in reality, was probably less than a couple of minutes, Marissa stumbled through the front door. Although dark, I could see she has a small child tightly grasped in each hand and immediately behind her, the shape of a man, the dull gleam of a gun in his hand.
The tension released from my body as I stretching out my arms, pulling my daughters to me. I looked up through the darkness to check on Marissa. “We are OK” she said her voice trembling with fear.
The man, indistinct in the black of the office swung one bag of money over his shoulder and picked up another but was unable to carry the third bag with his gun hand. “You” he said – pointing at Marissa, “carry this bag for me. “
Turning to me he said “Do not follow us, she will come back to you in a few minutes.”
Whimpering, Marissa picked up the last bag. Keeping his gun trained on her, he pushed her roughly out of the office towards the service exit at the back of the building.
I hugged my daughters tightly, smothering them with kisses, feeling relief that I had them with me coupled with immense fear for Marissa. She had guarded them through this ordeal and that bastard still had her. I was damned if I was going to wait patiently.
Taking both girls by the hand, I said, “We need to be very quiet, let's go and see where Marissa is,” their two trusting faces, eyes wide with fear nodded agreement.
Keeping low, I gambled on him being too busy getting to his car to be monitoring me in the office. Creeping towards the back of the building, I was overwhelmed by the rain forest smell; damp, earthy; of primal untamed life in abundance.
That smell, contrasted with the sanitized office environment made me realise he had left the back service door open. The unlit passageway disguised the opening from darkness into darkness, the opening between safety and the unknown. Keeping the girls behind me, I manoeuvred carefully around the coffee machine and the piles of boxes left haphazardly piled by the cleaners. I had just reached the open door when a bass rumbling stopped me. The growling starting low and soft; building into a physical wall of sound, a warning that shook the air and resonated through my body; lightning ripped through the sky, the opening freeze-framing tree branches bent in the wind, leaves in high-definition, the drops of rain captured like diamonds rifling their way into the earth.
I shut my eyes protectively to shield myself but the images I had seen were fixed, the acrid ozone smell only enhancing the visions like a series of stills from an old black and white movie.
Marissa on tiptoe; Marissa being embraced; Marissa arm outstretched to him as she turned back towards the office.
The images slowly dissipated and the darkness enveloped us, the night marking time as I waited for Marissa to come through the opening, once my friend and confidante, my children’s companion; now my betrayer.