March 5, Wednesday

It’s still dark outside. I am up early to make breakfast in the cookhouse and pack a lunch for Luiz. Carlos is sleeping on some dirty clothes I put on the floor in the corner.

“Eva, you shouldn’t fuss about my food. There are people selling food at the work sites.”

“Don’t be silly, Luiz. I found a place yesterday to buy rice and beans and dried meat and made you a kind of feijoada as a surprise. I don’t like you eating street food.”

He smiles and nods at me. “Thank you, my sweet and clever Eva. What do you plan to do with your day?”

“I have to wash clothes today. There’s not enough water at the cookhouse, so the camp workers tell me I have to walk to the creek. They say it’s not too far.”

“All right, but please be careful. Be aware of what’s going on around you at all times.”

“I promise.” He kisses me, takes his lunch tin, and I watch him join the other guys who are climbing into the back of a big truck. I wave but he can’t see me in the dark.

Carlos wakes up and fusses for mamar. After he is fed and happy I clean up the area and head back to our tent and tie the dirty clothes up into a tight bundle. The sun is just coming up as I head down the hill, Carlos on hip and bundle on head. I’ve been walking for about fifteen minutes when I hear the sound of rushing water. I round a turn in the path and there is the creek splashing over big rocks. So much water, I love the smell. No one else is here. The sun filters through the big trees that surround the creek.

I arrange a spot for Carlos, though it’s a struggle to keep him in one place. I can’t let him near the water but he is enchanted by it, reaching out and babbling and making little shouts.

“Mamãe has to wash clothes, Carlos. I need you to stay put.” I have brought a couple of spoons and a lid from a pot and give them to him to play with. Untying the bundle, I begin washing the clothes piece by piece. I bought a bar of washing soap at a little shack that sells supplies. I dip one of Luiz’s shirts in the water and soak it, then spread it out on a flat rock at the edge of the water, soaping it good and rubbing to get it clean. Then rinse, wring, rinse again. The water is clean and cool and I rest between each garment and watch the soap make little eddies as it swirls and rushes away down the creek.

It’s an all-day job, especially with Carlos wanting to explore and play. I give him mamar and we have a snack and then he sleeps. When all the clothes are washed I bundle them up again and head back to the tents. I rig up a clothesline inside and hang up the clothes.

“There, Carlos. Nice clean clothes, fresh from the creek!” I laugh and Carlos giggles as we roll around on the cot and I sing a little song to him.

Luiz gets home after dark as usual and I can see how tired he is. There is never a day for rest. President J.K. wants fifty years’ progress in five, and the workers are determined to make it happen. We go to the cookhouse and I make café and couscous. Several of the other guys sit with us at the table.

“Luiz, how much longer do you think we’ll be working on the presidential palace?” One of his coworkers asks.

“Well, the walls are up and they are starting to finish the inside. They want it to be done by June. After that I think they will move us to that big open space where the ministry buildings are going up,” Luiz replies.

“I heard the architect Niemeyer and some dignitaries talking last week when they toured the palace. They say that once we finish building the capital we all have to go back to the Northeast. What do you think?”

Luiz is quiet for a moment. “I think we have as much right to live here in the new capital as anyone. And our skills will be needed for other projects. People will move here and the city will grow.”

“Yes, but what if they try to force us to leave?”

Luiz clenches his jaw. “The workers must organize. We must demand our rights. Fair pay and a place to live with dignity.”