June 7, Monday

“Good morning, Eva!” Altamira calls out to me as I enter the kitchen. She has really taken me under her wing, helping me navigate the rules and expectations. Senhor Sousa made her responsible for my training and she treats me like a work-daughter; she’s demanding but quick to praise things I do right. I washed dishes for the first couple of weeks, then Altamira learned that I know how to use a knife, so moved me to prep. It’s amazing how many vegetables are needed every day just for the elite officers.

Today will be my first day working in the dining room. For the last few weeks Altamira kept me in after work to teach me how to serve: always on the right of the person seated, except dessert, which is from the left. How to tell when diners are finished, how to remove the plate and cutlery without making noise or, heaven forbid, dropping anything. How to pour coffee, when to replenish the water glasses, how to balance big trays laden with heavy dishes.

I do some prep work until a couple of hours before lunch, when Altamira signals to me that it’s time to set up. The dining room is spacious, with ten tables. Five of us will work lunch today, and we unfurl the crisp white tablecloths and place napkins and cutlery and glassware in exactly the right configuration.

It’s five minutes before the doors open, and Altamira pulls me aside for a last reminder. “Aside from serving properly, what is the most important thing?”

“Don’t hear anything. Don’t see anything.”

“Exactly. And if any of these guys look you up and down, remember you are the Queen of England and they are not worthy.”

This makes me laugh. “Yes, Dona Altamira. I will remember.”

The doors are opened and officers enter in small groups, chatting and laughing. I can tell each officer’s rank based on his uniform from my time ironing in the laundry, but I remind myself not to see anything. There are some men in plain clothes who talk in loud voices and I recognize they’re speaking English, but I remind myself not to hear anything, and not to notice that they are probably American. I’m nervous, but service goes smoothly. One of the Americans points at me with his thumb and makes a comment that the Brazilian officers laugh at, but I keep my face impassive and carry on with my work.

We get through lunch without any problems, serving dessert and clearing the dishes, then all the officers are gone and we empty ashtrays, roll up the linen for the laundry, and wipe everything down so it’s sparkling clean.

Back in the kitchen Senhor Sousa is doing his administrative work. Altamira pulls me beside her and he looks up from his desk. “Senhor Sousa, Eva did a great job. She has real class, this one.”

Senhor Sousa smiles broadly. “Very good; thank you, Altamira. Good work, Eva.”

The rest of the afternoon goes quickly, with prep work for tomorrow and cleaning, and I feel happy on the bus ride home. It’s dark and chilly as I walk home from the square, and I pull my sweater close. When I get home Sónia has me sit on the sofa, props the pillows around me and hands me Junior, who giggles and pulls at my hair. I coo at him and pull him close to mamar, and Sónia brings me tea and food which I eat with my right hand while feeding Carlos with my left breast.

“How did it go? I know you were so nervous about lunch service today.”

“Everything went fine, thank goodness. How was your day?”

“Great, the kids played soccer down in the field, did their homework, and they’re playing card games in our living room now.”

“Aren’t Luiz and Chico home from work?”

“Yes, they got home at the usual time but they’ve gone to pick up our new car! Well, it’s a used car, but you know what I mean.”

“The Renault Gordini? I know they got a good price, but it’s only three years old; is something wrong with it?”

“Chico says the car has a bad reputation because of suspension problems, but it’s because of Brazil’s bad roads, not the car. And he and Luiz can do all the maintenance and any repairs.”

Just then we hear a “beep, beep” as Luiz and Chico pull the car into the driveway between our two houses. All the kids come running and shrieking out of Sónia’s living room, and I hold Junior to my shoulder as we all go outside.

It’s a really pretty car with four doors, hard to see all the details in the light from the house, but it’s a shiny light brown metallic color. Luiz and Chico are laughing.

“Querida, what do you think of our limousine?” Luiz grins at me.

“Pretty darn nice! So when can I drive it?”

Luiz looks at Chico and chuckles. “I should have known she’d want to learn to drive. We may never see this car again.”

Sónia chimes in. “Me too! I want to drive this car!”

The kids are swarming around, opening and closing the doors, sitting in the seats, grabbing the steering wheel and pretending to go on a trip. We have a hard time getting them back in the house and settled down to sleep.