All That’s Best of Dark and Bright

A Novel

In the vibrant streets of 1960s Rio de Janeiro, a young busboy named Carlos is captivated by the enigmatic Beatriz, a blind girl with a mysterious past and an overbearing mother. As he navigates a journey of ambition and danger to escape the abject poverty of the favelas of Rio, Carlos finds himself entangled in the creation of a timeless hit song and a treacherous path to wealth and power. But when faced with the true cost of his American dream, Carlos must confront his past and rediscover his lost identity. Join Carlos on a gripping tale of love, betrayal, and redemption in "All That’s Best of Dark and Bright”.

Excerpt from All That’s Best of Dark and Bright

The next morning, Carlos was up before the sun. He washed with extra care at the standpipe near his home, excited at what the day was going to be bringing when he would begin his journey—with Beatriz—to a new life in America. He changed the tape on his sandals, strangely content with the fact that she wouldn’t be able to see just how poor he truly was by the sight of them, and lit out for the meet-up point, the bench along the Rua Visconde de Pirajá.  He sat, patiently waiting for her, watching the horizon turn from a dark blue to a ruddy orange as the sun began its rise beyond the Morro Dois Irmãos. While he waited for Beatriz, he snacked on a handful of jabuticabas, small Brazilian grapes, that he’d picked from a tree on the way.

This is going to be a good day, he thought, smiling, the juice of the berries running down his chin. But he had to admit to himself that he had some anxiety over the fact that he was taking her on such a long, dangerous trip. He had only been imagining their life once they reached the safety of America like it was in the movies. Once a month a local organization would put up a makeshift outdoor cinema in the favela. These cinemas would be set up in an empty lot or on a street and American movies would be projected on a large white sheet or on the wall of a building. On those special nights Carlos and his siblings would sit on the ground, rapt by the scenes of beach parties, or beautiful people driving fancy cars through gleaming, clean cities. Not a word spoken by the actors was understood but the scenery told Carlos that there was a better life there. So much better than life in the favela. He wanted to give such a life to Beatriz but knew that the journey was going to be arduous, and twice as hard with someone who could not see the dangers around her. But he felt that he was up to the challenge.

By the time the sun had cleared the horizon, Carlos began to worry. He didn’t have a watch but knew it had to be close to the time Beatriz had agreed to meet him. He asked a man and a woman passing by if either one of them had the time.

“7:38,” said the man.

Carlos was devastated. He stood up, panic eating through him, and worriedly looked left and right, behind him, and at the beach in front of him. He ran through the events of yesterday in his head and concluded that he had, in fact, told her to meet him in this very spot at 7:00. Had she been stopped by her mother? Had she had a change of heart once she got home (wherever home was) and thought about the absurdity of running away with a strange, silver-tongued boy?

He didn’t know what to do. He knew she lived in the favela but hadn’t a clue as to where exactly. He couldn’t return to the Veloso as there was no guarantee she and her mother would stop to buy Hollywoods any time soon. That and the fact that Davi would wring his neck if he showed his face after the insult he hurled at him the day before. He waited another hour and then headed back home; his heart was shattered by the realization that he would have to go it alone and live without love in America. And leave Beatriz to the Carioca pigs of Rio.

Maybe one day, he thought, watching the tourists passing him on their way to the beach as he walked back up toward his home in the Favela Praia do Pinto, I’ll come back and she’ll decide to come back with me then. Maybe her mother will die and she will come away without any reason to stay. Maybe.

For now he would walk back home and start the long journey without her.

Turning off the Rua Visconde de Pirajá he saw the reason Beatriz never showed up and was immediately sickened and enraged. Halfway up the block he saw her being helped into the passenger seat of a blue 1961 FNM 2000 JK by a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Carlos knew what Beatriz was, what her mother made her, but it hadn’t been real to him. He blocked it out as one would block out a childhood trauma.

To himself, he denied that it was real. But there was no denying it after actually seeing a transaction in progress. He watched as the car pulled away, Beatriz’s black hair blowing like a flag in the wind out the open window as she and her customer made their way to parts unknown.  He sadly watched as the car turned a corner then turned his gaze to Beatriz’s mother, Senhora Cardosa. She was stuffing money into a pocket when she spotted him.

She gave a wave. Always looking for the next customer.

He crossed the street, his fingers pressed into the palms of his hands. He wanted to hit her, wanted to make her feel just a modicum of the pain he was now feeling. This was all her fault. A myriad of ideas flashed in his mind, images of killing this woman in several horrible ways, waiting for Beatriz to return so he could take her away from here as planned. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Doing away with this horror of a woman would put a rift between him and Beatriz that could never be repaired.

“Bom dia”, she said, smoothing the front of her dress.

“Good morning, Senhora Cardosa” Carlos answered in a humorless voice.

She regarded him from head to toe with contempt. She looked back down at his taped sandals with amusement.

“So you wanted to steal my daughter and you thought you’d be able to take care of her when you don’t even own a decent pair of shoes.”

“She told you?”

“No. A neighbor she asked to bring her here told me as soon as my daughter asked her to write a note explaining she was running off to America with the Veloso busboy. You little fool. What makes you think that you, a favela gutter rat, can take better care of a girl than her own mother?”

Carlos moved in close to her until he was just a few inches from her face. She looked up at him, unflinching, and with not a small amount of disdain.

“How can you do this to your own daughter?” he spat.

She winced at this as if he had slapped her. Blinking, she backed away.

“What else am I to do?” she asked, “You see how beautiful she is? She is probably the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, no?”

Carlos had to nod in agreement to that.

“My daughter is blind and has no prospects, no skills, no education. I won’t be alive forever, so she must build her roster of customers. She must do it now.”

“There are other ways to make money, ma’am.”

“Such as running away with a boy poorer than herself? She’d die in the Darién jungle as you will. The thought of you dying first and my daughter lost out there, starving, maybe taken by a cartel, maybe eaten alive by a jaguar, perhaps bitten by a snake…...I’d rather see her bed a thousand men before I let any of that happen, boy.”

Carlos remained silent. He knew there was no convincing this woman to let her daughter come away with him. He could argue for the next hour while waiting for Beatriz to return with her current customer, but the situation would only worsen. Senhora Cardosa was an insurmountable roadblock and, try as he might, he couldn’t argue against her point about the journey and all its perils. While he despised the state Beatriz was in he had no choice but to leave her in it until he could return for her and save her from this path her mother had put her on.

“I’ll be back for her. You’ll see. I may be poor now, but I am going to come back for her richer than you can imagine and get her as far away from you as possible.” He said, his voice cracking as he futilely attempted to stifle tears that began to flow.

Senhora Cardosa laughed at him, mockingly. “Then I had better wish you all the luck to do so. But you’ll be returning here in a coffin, you little fool!”

Carlos started running home, crying.

“Run!” she called after him, “Run, little boy!”