March 24, Sunday

It is Sunday, the day of the Lord. I wake up early and get café ready, get the children ready, and get dressed myself. Everyone is seated around the table when Papai and Madrasta come into the kitchen. She is wearing a dark blue dress with a white lace collar and black shoes. Her hair is pulled back and bumped up a little on the sides by her forehead, with the rest pinned back in a bun. Her black hair is very curly and there are wisps around her face; her face is puffy and her cheeks are red. Papai is wearing his white linen suit.

“Good morning, children, today is the day of the Lord.”

“Blessing, Papai.”

“God bless you, my children.”

He sits at the head of the table and everyone bows their heads.

“Oh Lord, bless the food we are about to receive, Amen.”

Everyone murmurs Amen. I made cajú juice and there is café, bread and butter, and cut fruit on a plate. No one speaks, and the children aren’t eating much. I don’t fuss at them. After we eat I take the dishes outside in the metal bowl and put water on them, but I will clean up later. We gather in the living room and go out the gate, walking to the church.

When we arrive at the church, there are people gathered outside talking as they always do. Several look up, and everyone stops talking. I see them sneaking glances at each other out of the sides of their eyes, but they look down at the dirt and say nothing. We all walk in together and sit in our usual pew. Pastor comes over and greets Papai and nods to Madrasta. The sermon goes on forever, more forever than usual, but finally we are out the church door and walking again, a dust cloud following our group as we head home.

Everyone changes from their church clothes. I think I will have to make lunch again today, because Madrasta hasn’t come in the kitchen except to eat. She stays in the bedroom most of the time. She doesn’t say much. After lunch I am tidying up and putting João down for a nap, when I pass the big bedroom. The door is open just a little bit and I hear her crying, the kind of crying that isn’t noisy but you hear the little gasps for air, and sniffling. I listen for a little while.

“Eva! Let’s get lunch going please!” Papai is looking at me from the doorway to the living room.

“Yes, Papai.”

“Let’s slaughter a capon for a nice lunch. Cacilda is here, she knows how.”

“Yes, Papai.”

Cacilda is sitting down outside the kitchen door, cutting green beans. She looks up at me and smiles a little bit, but she is also frowning.

“Oi, Eva. All good?”

“I’m fine, Cacilda, thank you. Papai wants us to prepare a capon for dinner. I don’t know how to kill them. Can you?”

“Sure, Eva. But I can’t do with my just two hands, you gotta help me.”

I don’t like killing animals for food, but it must be done. So I take a breath and sit down next to Cacilda on the bench. We sit without talking while she finishes trimming the green beans. I like the crunch and the smell when you cut them; when I think of green, that is a smell I think of.

Cacilda brings a metal basin, knife and a bowl and we go to the chicken house, where three capons sit fat and lazy in their coop. They aren’t hard to catch like chickens, and they aren’t mean like roosters, which they were until Papai did the little cut to make them capons. Cacilda grabs one with her big hands.

“Okay, Eva, get ready with the bowl. We need to save the blood.”

Cacilda holds the capon by the neck, and trims some of the feathers away. She makes a quick, deep cut and I put the bowl underneath to catch the blood. The bird doesn’t struggle; this is better than how some people snap the neck and then you have to watch the animal run around the yard suffering until it dies.

Cacilda carries the bird in the basin, I carry the bowl of blood and the knife. I boil water and we put the bird in the water and pluck the feathers. We work silently until the bird is cleaned and ready to roast. We will boil the blood with herbs to serve with the capon.

Dinner is very nice when it’s ready, Cacilda and I did a good job. Roast capon, rice with blood gravy, red beans, green beans, and sliced tomato, lettuce and onion. Cacilda eats outside and afterward Cacilda and I wash up.

I sit outside the kitchen door when everything is cleaned up and everyone is resting. Cacilda lies down in the hammock to rest. Papai is in the living room reading the Bible. The children are playing quietly. The day is heading toward sundown, the light golden behind the trees. Everything is peaceful. I can breathe a little bit. Maybe things will be all right. Different, not what I wanted, but all right.