So, I had just being accepted in the Journalism University I wanted to attend in Rio, living by myself, having a dream of a life surrounded by great friends and beautiful places when I received a phone call from my mother saying I have received a letter from the army saying I had a week to show up and since I had already missed the official enrollment day that guaranteed a higher position within the army's rank, I had to enroll as the lowest type of soldier. I guess I still remember how it felt... me, standing there in the corridor, phone in one hand, probably gazing at the mirror that stood above the telephone's desk, looking at my own face and saying: I see... but we will do something about it, right? Like a phone call or something, right?
No. She said. No, your father thinks it is going to be very good for you, to go through it. It will turn you into a "real man".
That's when I realized that my father finally would have his revenge. Revenge from me having chosen the paths I chose that hardly resembled anything he had dreamt for "my life" seen through his perspective.
So there was nothing I could do. I had to go back to Recife, show up at the designated place and spend a year learning how to be a "real man", according to my father's idea of what a real man is... I can describe the mirror on top of the telephone's desk, the apartment in Rio, meters away from Ipanema's Beach, my delight in being by myself, leaving my own life, but I can't describe how I felt having to go back to my home town in the Northeast of Brazil to join the army!!! It was a black hole, a horrible joke from the Gods above blablabla...
The 34th battalion of the motorized cavalry was my posting. It is worth mentioning that I tried everything not to be accepted. During medical exams I insisted that I had plank feet, asthma, everything I could slightly suffered of was mentioned to Smiley -knowing- it- all- too- well Doctors who kept on passing me exam after exam...
As I mentioned before, because I had missed the deadline for applications, I lost the right I had to be in a higher rank, a rank that boys who have had a certain degree of studies would immediately be sent to. That meant that, as my grandmother brilliantly put it: If there was a war I would be sent first row, attacking the enemies and receiving the first bullets on my chest!
You would have to be Brazilian to fully understand the social and economical profile of my new best friends who looked at me as shocked and confused as I looked at them. Listen, can we talk? Let's be honest, this is my blog and I don't want to pretend this or that. We were simply from different Universes. The way we spoke, the way we dressed, the way we behaved, I was in a total state of shock. We usually had 4 minutes to eat our lunch that consisted on a type of scrambled eggs served in a tin plate and water also graced with scrambled eggs floating in it to drink.
I will give you a car, my father said in a, maybe, rampant of compassion and empathy, seeing me arriving home after 3 hours and 4 buses everyday, late for dinner. I could not look into his eyes, I knew that with a phone call he made, all would be over. I thought of my University in Rio, my plans for my life, all in jeopardy because of my father's revenge!
I did the best I could while in there but had the obsessive thought: I have to get out of here!! I have to get out of here. I also knew that sooner then later, the social differences, the unfairness of a system that allows some to have education, culture and possessions while keeping others way below the basic principles of decency would show it's face. Me representing one side and most of people around me representing the other. I could clearly see it coming. There were days spent with a tiny scissor having to remove the grass that was growing in between the cracks of a football field made out of concrete, under the noon's sun, sweat dripping on my forehead, drenching my shirt while another boy could not stop crying and saying: this is hell, sob, sob,sob, this is hell...
Yes, it was hell. A hell of a cliche from a war movie, something like platoon or any other where officers would look at your face and shout: Push ups! I remember doing push ups and thinking: Is it for real? Aren't these people aware that this is a bad movie?
Never mind my literary ambitions... by then I had already had some of my writings published on some newspapers and magazines... I thought all was lost, I was probably going to end this experience, a year later, so bruised and beaten that I would never be able to write anything again.
That was until I heard one of the sergeants informing us: We have too many people in this battalion. There is space for one person to leave, raise your hand if you do not want to be part of it.
WHAT? Did I hear it right? Raise your hand? Are you kidding???? I was already having deserter's thoughts and now, raise your hand??? I thought there was going to be a sea of hands being raised but no. Only mine. People looked at me and than down to the floor. I know this will sound a bit ridiculous but after weeks of being together I must confess there was a slight feeling of a bond starting to happen between myself and some of the other "interns". But now it was too late. Maybe it was becoming a metaphorical fight between myself and my father. I had to prove that I did not depend on him to shape up my future. I stood there with my hand raised.
Fairly well then! Only one... but there is something else. You, there. And he pointed to a very skinny boy, half my height, looking like a scared little mouse. You, we think you are not strong enough to be part of this experience... Oh no, I thought! Oh no!!!!!! Of course the little boy will seize the opportunity and run out of this hell as fast as possible.
Please, he said with tears in his eyes, please, don't do that to me. I want to develop a career here within the army, I am the older brother of a big family, my mother can't give us food, please don't send me home...
Silence once again, my heart beating so strong I was afraid they could all hear it. The Sergeant talked privately with another officer, they left us alone and 10 minutes later came back with the following decision:
We will have to go to court. You, he said pointing at me, you will have to defend your case, tell us why we should let you go and you, pointing to the small guy, will have to show us how much you really want to stay. You will have one week until the trial.
I did not say any of this at home. I started collecting articles and writings that I had written in School and the few that had being published.
The day of the trial came and I was confident! We were brought to a room where 7 or more officers were seated looking at the 2 of us. The boy hardly reached my shoulders in height and I knew it was not looking too good. I looked as if I had being fed by milk and steaks while him... oh gosh, I thought, I am doomed!!!
We both had our time, facing the "jury", trying to convince them. Me, why I had to go and him, why he had to stay. After the talk they brought us rifles. Very heavy machines. I simply picked mine up and have to confess, allowed a quick thought of killing all the men sitting in front of me with their colorless uniforms and lack of smiles. I bet they had no ammunition though. When I looked at the boy standing beside me I had to look again cause he was almost out of sight, crumbling down under the weight of the weapon. Oh, no!!! There was no doubts after that. Even I would have let him go myself were I part of the jury. But he begged and pleaded: I have no food at home, I want to grow here in the army, please give me a chance. And I? I told them: I feel I can be of better use to Brazil if I become a Journalist. I can serve my country through my writings! I have just started the University and had to stop it to be here.
They asked us both to, with the gun in our hands, go out in the sun and run 10 laps around the football field. I saw the small boy opening up a huge smile and I only understood why when, after the 2nd lap, while I was collapsing having a heart attack, my face as red as a tomato, he continued and continued and continued. It was as if he got his strength from the sun itself. Although I was practically being carried back to the hall where our Jury sat, I was so content with my defeat!!! I almost could not stand, out of breath and shaking while he stood up, like a victorious war hero's statue, holding his machine gun!
I was let go on that day. Not without a last attempt of guilt from a member of the jury: How will you feel when you are in Ipanema beach, looking at nice bottoms of the girls, knowing that this boy will be here in your place working hard under the sun? I had an impulse to answer that girl's bottoms would not be what I would really be interested in at Ipanema's beach but thought was wiser to say: Well, Sir, he wants to stay and I want to go so I guess it is a win/win situation, Sir!
I said goodbye to my battalion. I saw a couple of truly sad faces and one of the soldiers even said: What a shame... I thought we were going to be good friends. It is strange to write about it now cause a big part of me wanted so much to go out of there but there was a small piece that murmured: And what if... it was an unknown universe that still lingers inside of me in a space of possibilities that never really unfolded... I closed a door behind me but the curiosity about what would had been behind this door never ceased to exist.
I went back home this evening, changed into my bathing suit and headed straight to the beach, I jumped into the sea and thanked the Universe for giving me the power to shape my destiny. I also prayed for discrimination to choose wisely in the future. You never know in which packages the greatest gifts in life will be delivered at our door.
PS
The picture on this post is from my Dutch grandfather Henry, during the Second World War. He fought in the Pacific Islands against the Japanese occupation.
