Lonely Hearts

Rubem Fonseca

I worked at a popular newspaper as a police reporter. An interesting crime has not happened in the city in a long time, involving a rich and beautiful young woman from society, deaths,
disappearances, corruption, lies, sex, ambition, money, violence, scandal.
Such a crime, even in Rome, Paris, New York, said the newspaper’s editor, we are in a bad phase.
But soon it will turn. The thing is cyclical, when one least expects one of those scandals that gives material for a year. Everything is rotten, at the point, just wait.
Before it burst, they sent me away.
There is only a small merchant killing a partner, a small bandit killing a small merchant, the police killing a small bandit. Small things, I told Oswaldo Peçanha, editor-in-chief and owner of the newspaper Mulher.
He also has meningitis, schistosomiasis, Chagas disease, said Peçanha.
But outside my area, I said.
Have you read Woman ?, Peçanha asked.
I admitted not. I like to read books more.
Peçanha took a box of cigars out of the drawer and offered me one. We light the
cigars. In a short time, the environment became unbreathable. The cigars were ordinary, it was summer, with the windows closed, and the air conditioner didn’t work well.
Women are not one of those colorful publications for bourgeois who are on a diet. It is made for the class C woman, who eats rice and beans and if her luck gets too bad. Take a look.
Peçanha threw a copy of the newspaper in front of me. Tabloid format, blue headlines, some photos out of focus. Photonovela, horoscope, interviews with television artists, cut-and-sewing.
Do you think you could do the section From Woman to Woman, Our sentimental office? The guy who did it said goodbye.
From Woman to Woman was signed by one Elisa Gabriela. Dear Elisa Gabriela, my husband arrives every night drunk and …
I think I can, I said.
Great. Starts today. What name do you want to use?
I thought a little.
Nathanael Lessa.
Nathanael Lessa? said Peçanha, surprised and shocked, as if I had said an ugly name, or offended his mother.
What’s the matter? And a name like any other. And I’m paying two tributes.
Peçanha puffed on the cigar, irritated.
First, it is not a name like any other. Second, it’s not a Class C name. Here we only use Class C names, beautiful names. Third, the newspaper only pays homage to those I want and I don’t know any Nathanael Lessa and finally Peçanha’s irritation gradually increased, as if he was taking advantage of her – here, no one, not even me, uses a male pseudonym. My name is Maria de Lourdes!
I took another look at the newspaper, including the office hours. It only had a woman’s name.
Don’t you think that a male name gives more credibility to the answers? Father, husband, doctor, priest, boss – there is only one man telling them what to do. Nathanael Lessa takes it better than Elisa Gabriela.
That’s what I don’t want. Here they feel like they have their nose, they trust us, as if we were all like dres. I’ve been in this business for twenty-five years. Don’t come up with unproven theories. Woman is revolutionizing the Brazilian press, it is a different newspaper that does not give old news from yesterday’s television.
He was so angry that I didn’t ask what Woman was up to. Sooner or later he would tell me. I just wanted the job.

My cousin, Machado Figueiredo, who also has twenty-five years of experience at Banco do Brasil, says that he is always open to unproven theories. I knew that Woman owed money to the bank. And on top of Peçanha’s table was a letter of recommendation from my cousin.
Upon hearing my cousin’s name, Peçanha paled. He took a bite of his cigar to
control, then closed his mouth, looking like he was going to whistle, and his fat lips trembled as if he had a peppercorn on his tongue. Then he opened his mouth and tapped his nicotine-stained teeth with his thumbnail as he looked at me in a way that he must have considered meaningful.
I could add dr. to my name. Dr. Nathanael Lessa.
Rays! Okay, okay, snarled Peçanha between his teeth, you start today.
That’s how I became part of the Women’s team.
My table was next to Sandra Marina’s table, who signed the horoscope. Sandra was also known as Marlene Kátia, when doing interviews. He was a pale boy, with long, thin mustaches, also known as João Albergaria Duval. I had recently left the school of communication and was always regretting, why didn’t I study dentistry, why?
I asked him if anyone had readers’ letters on my table. He told me to speak to Jacqueline on the expedition. Jacqueline was a big black boy with very white teeth.
It’s bad for me to be the only one in here who doesn’t have a woman’s name, they’ll think I’m a fag. The letters? There is no letter. Do you think Class C women write letters? Elisa invented them all.
Dear Dr. Nathanael Lessa. I got a scholarship for my ten-year-old daughter at a high school in the south. All her classmates go to the hairdresser, at least once a week. We don’t have the money for this, my husband is a bus driver on the Jacaré-Caju line, but he said he will do extraordinary work to send Tânia Sandra, our little girl, to the hairdresser. Mr. don’t you think that children deserve all the sacrifices? Dedicated Mother. Vila Kennedy.
Answer: Wash your little girl’s head with coconut soap and put paper bags on it. It looks just like the hairdresser. Anyway, your daughter was not born to be a doll. In fact, neither is anyone’s daughter. Take the money from the extraordinary and buy something more useful. Food, for example.

Dear Dr. Nathanael Lessa. I’m short, chubby and shy. Whenever I go to the fair,
in the grocery store, they pass me by. I am deceived in weight, in change, the beans are
bug, moldy cornmeal, things like that. I used to suffer a lot but now I am resigned.
God is watching them and in the final judgment they will pay. Resigned Domestic. Penha.
Answer: God is not watching anyone. You have to defend yourself. I suggest you scream, put your mouth on the world, make a fuss. Don’t you have any relatives in the police?
Bandit will do, too. Turn you around, chubby.
Dear Dr. Nathanael Lessa. I’m twenty-five years old, I’m a typist and a virgin. I met this guy who said he loves me very much. He works at the Ministry of Transport and said that he wants to marry me, but that he wants to try it first. What do you think? Mad Virgin, Lucas Parade.
Answer: Look here, Mad Virgin, ask the guy what he’s going to do if he doesn’t like the
experience. If he says he kicks you, give it to him, because he is a sincere man. You are not
gooseberry or jiló stew to be tasted, but there are few sincere men, it is worth trying. Faith and foot on the board.
I went out to have lunch.
On the way back Peçanha sent for me. I had my story in hand.
There’s something here that I don’t like, he said.
What? I asked.
Ah! My God! the idea that people make of Class C, exclaimed Peçanha, shaking his head thoughtfully, while looking at the ceiling and making a whistling mouth. Those who like to be treated with profanity and kicks are the women of Class A. Remember that English lord who said that his success with women was because he treated ladies like whores and whores like ladies.
It’s ok. So how should I treat our readers?
Don’t give me dialectics. I don’t want you to treat them like whores. Forget the English lord. Put joy, hope, tranquility and security in the letters, that’s what I want.
Dr. Nathanael Lessa. My husband died and left me a very small pension, but what worries me is being alone, at the age of fifty-five. Poor, ugly, old and living far away, I’m afraid of what awaits me. Lonely Santa Cruz.
Answer: Engrave this in your heart, Solitaire of Santa Cruz: neither money, nor beauty, nor
youth, not even a good address gives happiness. How many rich and beautiful young people kill themselves or
lose in the horrors of addiction? Happiness is within us, in our hearts. If we go
just and good, we will find happiness. Be good, be fair, love your neighbor as yourself, smile at the INPS treasurer when you receive your pension.
The next day I asked Peçanha and asked me if I could also write the photo soap. We produce our own photonovelas, Italian fumeti is not translated.
Choose a name.

I chose Clarice Simone, there were two other tributes, but I didn’t say that to Peçanha.
The soap opera photographer came to talk to me.
My name is Mônica Tutsi, he said, but you can call me Agnaldo. Are you ready with the porridge?
Papa was the soap opera. I explained to him that I had just received the task from Peçanha and that
he needed at least two days to write.
Days? ha, ha, he laughed, making the sound of a big, husky and domesticated dog, barking at the owner.
What’s the fun? I asked.
Norma Virgínia wrote the novel in fifteen minutes. He had a formula.
I also have a formula. Take a walk and appear in fifteen minutes that you will have your novel ready.
That idiot photographer thought of me what? Just because I had been a police reporter, it didn’t mean I was a beast. If Norma Virginia, or whatever his name was, wrote a novel in fifteen minutes, I would write it too. After all, I read all the tragic Greeks, the ibsens, the o’neals, the beckets, the Czechs, the sbakespeares, the four hundred best television plays. It was just a matter of sucking one idea here, another there, and there you go.
A rich boy is stolen by the gypsies and presumed dead. The boy grows up thinking he is a real gypsy. One day he meets a very rich girl and the two fall in love. She lives in a rich mansion and has many cars. The gypsy boy lives in a cart. The two families do not want them to get married. Conflicts arise. Millionaires send police to arrest Roma.
One of the gypsies is killed by the police A rich cousin of the girl is murdered by the gypsies. But the love of the two young people in love is greater than all these vicissitudes. They decide to flee, to break up with their families. In the escape they find a pious and wise monk who sacraments the union of the two in an old, picturesque and romantic convent in the middle of a flowering forest. The two young men retire to the nuptial chamber. They are beautiful, slender, blond with blue eyes. Take off your clothes. Oh, says the girl, what gold chain with a diamond-studded medal is that one on your chest? She has an equal medal! They are brothers! You are my missing brother! screams the girl. The two embrace.
(Attention, Mônica Tutsi: how about an ambiguous ending? Making a non-fraternal ecstasy appear on their faces, eh? I can also change the ending and make it more sofoclean: the two only discover that they are brothers after the consummate fact; desperate, the girl jumps out of the convent window and smashes down there.)
I liked your story, said Mônica Tutsi.
A dash of Romeo and Juliet, a little spoon of Edipo Rei, I said modestly.
But I can’t shoot, boy. I have to do everything in two hours. Where will I get the rich mansion? The cars? The picturesque convent? The flowering forest?
This is your problem.
Where am I going to get it, Mônica Tutsi continued, as if she hadn’t heard me, the two slender blond young men with blue eyes?
Our artists are all means for the mulatto. Where will I get the cart? Do another one, boy. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.
And what is sofocleano?

Roberto and Betty are engaged and are getting married. Roberto, who is a hard worker, saved money to buy an apartment and furnish it, with color television, stereo, refrigerator, washing machine, waxing machine, blender, mixer, dishwasher, toaster, electric iron and hair dryer. Betty also works. Both are chaste. The wedding is scheduled. A friend of Roberto’s, Tiago, asks him, are you going to marry a virgin? You need to be initiated into the mysteries of sex. Tiago then takes Roberto to the Superputa Betatron house. (Attention, Mônica Tutsi, the name is a bit of science fiction). When Roberto gets there he finds out that the Superputa is Betty, his fiancée. Oh! heavens! terrible surprise! Someone will say, maybe a porter, to grow is to suffer!
End of the novel.

  • A word is worth a thousand photographs, said Mônica Tutsi, I am always in the rotten band. I will be back soon.
    Dr. Nathanael. I like to cook. I also like to embroider and crochet. Above all, I like to put on a long prom dress, paint my lips with carmine zim lipstick, put on a lot of rouge, put mascara on my eyes. Ah, what a feeling! It is a pity that I have to stay locked in my room. Nobody knows that I like doing these things. I am wrong? Pedro Redgrave.
    Tijuca.
    Answer: Why wrong? Are you hurting someone with this? I already had another consultant who, like you, also liked to dress up as a woman. He led a normal productive and useful life for society, so much so that he became a standard worker. Wear your long dresses, paint your mouth scarlet, add color to your life.
    All letters must be from women, warned Peçanha.
    But this is true, I said.
    I do not believe.
    I handed the letter to Peçanha. He looked at her like a cop examining a note
    grossly falsified.
    Do you think it’s a joke? Asked Peçanha.
    It could be, I said. And it may not be.
    Peçanha made his face reflective. After:
    Add an encouraging phrase to your letter, such as, for example, always write.
    I sat on the machine:

Always write, Pedro, I know this is not your name, but it doesn’t matter, always write, count on me. Nathanael Lessa.
Fuck, said Monica Tutsi, I went to do your drama and they told me that it sucks from a movie
Italian.
Scoundrels, niggas, babysitters, just because I was a police reporter are calling me a plagiarist.
Calm down, Virginia.
Virginia? My name is Clarice Simone, I said. What more stupid thing is to think that only Italians’ brides are whores? Well, look, I already knew a really serious bride, she was even a charity nun, and they went to see her, she was also a whore.
Okay, kid, I’m going to photograph the story. Can Betatron be a mulatto? What is Betatron?
You have to be red-haired, freckled. Betatron is a device for the production of electrons, with great energy potential and high speed, driven by the action of a magnetic field that varies quickly, I said.
Damn! That is the name of a whore, said Mônica Tutsi, with admiration, leaving.
Understanding Nathanael Lessa. I have been wearing my long dresses gloriously. And my mouth has been red like the blood of a tiger and the breaking of dawn. I think in
put on a satin dress and go to the Municipal Theater. What do you think? Now I’m going to tell you a
great and wonderful confidence, but I want you to make the biggest secret of my confession. You swear?
Ah, I don’t know if I say it or not. All my life I have suffered the biggest disappointments for
believe in others. I am basically a person who has not lost his innocence. The perfidy, the good-natured, the shameless, the stupid, I am very shocked. Oh, how I would like to live in isolation in a utopian world made of love and kindness. My sensitive Nathanael, let me think. Give me time. In the next letter I will tell you more, maybe everything. Pedro Redgrave.
Answer: Pedro. I await your letter, with your secrets, which I promise to keep in the arcana
inviolable from my hidden conscience. Keep it up, facing jealousy and
insidious malice of the poor in spirit. Adorn your body thirsty for sensuality, exercising the challenges of your brave mind.
Peçanha asked:
Are these letters true too?
Pedro Redgrave’s are.
Strange, very strange, said Peçanha tapping his nails with his teeth, what do you think?
I don’t think anything, I said.
He seemed concerned about something. He asked questions about the photonovela, without
interest in the answers.
How about the blind letter? I asked.
Peçanha took the blind man’s letter and my answer and read it out loud: Dear Nathanael. I cannot read what you write. My beloved grandmother reads to me. But don’t think that I’m illiterate. I am blind. My dear grandmother is writing the letter for me, but the words are mine. I want to send a word of comfort to your readers, so that they, who suffer so much from small misfortunes, look in my mirror. I am blind but I am happy, I am at peace, with God and with my fellow men. Cheers for all. Long live Brazil and its people.
Ceguinha Feliz, Unicorn Road, Nova Iguaçu. I forgot to say that I am also paralyzed. Peçanha lit a cigar. Touching, but Unicorn Road sounds fake. I think you better put Estrada do Catavento, or something. Now let’s look at your answer. Ceguinha Feliz, congratulations for your moral strength, for your unwavering faith in happiness, good, people and Brazil. The souls of those who despair in adversity should be nourished by their uplifting example, a beam of light on stormy nights.
Peçanha returned the papers to me. You have a future in literature. This is a big school here.
Learn, learn, be dedicated, don’t give up, sweat your shirt.
I sat on the machine:

Tésio, bank employee, resident of Boca do Mato, in Lins de Vasconcelos, married on second nuptials to Frederica, has a son, Hipólito, from his first marriage. Frederica falls in love with Hipólito.
Tesio discovers the sinful love between the two. Frederica hangs herself on the mango tree in the backyard. Hipólito asks his father for forgiveness, runs away from home and wanders desperately through the streets of the cruel city until he is run over and killed on Avenida Brasil.
What’s the seasoning here? asked Monica Tutsi.
Euripides, sin and death. I’ll tell you something: I know the human soul and I don’t need any old Greek to inspire me. For a man of my intelligence and sensitivity, just look around. Look at my eyes. Have you ever seen a more alert, more awake person?
Mônica Tutsi looked at my eyes and said I think you are crazy.
I continued:
I quote the classics just to show my knowledge. As I was a police reporter, if I don’t do that, the bastards don’t respect me. I read thousands of books. How many books do you think Peçanha has read?
None. Can Frederica be black?
Good idea. But Tésio and Hipólito have to be white.
Nathanael. I love, a forbidden love, a forbidden love, a secret love, a hidden love. I love another man And he loves me too. But we cannot walk on the street hand in hand, like the others exchange kisses in the gardens and in the cinemas, like the others, lie embraced on the beach sands, like the others, dance in the nightclubs, like the others. We could not get married, like the others, and together face old age, illness and death, like the others. I have no strength to resist and fight. You better die. Bye. This is my last letter. Tell me to say a mass. Pedro Redgrave.
Answer: What is it, Pedro? Will you give up now, that you found your love? Oscar Wilde suffered the devil, was ridiculed, ridiculed, humiliated, prosecuted, condemned, but he put up with the bar.
If you can’t get married, love yourself. Make a will for each other. Defend yourself. Use the Law and the System to your advantage. Be, like the others, selfish, disguised, relentless, intolerant and hypocritical. Explore. Spill. It is self-defense. But please, don’t make any crazy gesture.
I sent the letter and the reply to Peçanha. The letters were only published with his visa.
Monica Tutsi appeared with a girl.
This is Monica, said Monica Tutsi.
What a coincidence, I said.
What a coincidence what? Asked the girl Monica.
You have the same name, I said.
Is he called Monica? Asked Monica pointing to the photographer.
Monica Tutsi. Are you also Tutsi?
No. Mônica Amélia.
Monica Amelia was biting a nail and looking at Monica Tutsi.
You told me your name was Agnaldo, she said.

Outside, I’m Agnaldo. In here I’m Monica Tutsi.
My name is Clarice Simone, I said.
Monica Amelia watched us closely, not understanding anything. He saw two circumspect people, too tired to play. disinterested in the name itself.
When I get married, my son or daughter will be called Hei Psiu, I said.
Is it a Chinese name? Asked Monica.
Or Fiu Fiu, I whistled.
You are becoming a nihilist, said Monica Tutsi, leaving with the other Monica. –
Nathanael. Do you know what two people are if they like it? It was the two of us, me and Maria. Do you know what two perfectly attuned people are? It was us, Maria and me. My favorite dish is rice, beans, cabbage from Minas Gerais, farofa and fried sausage. Imagine what was Maria’s? Rice, beans, cabbage from Minas Gerais, farofa and fried sausage. My favorite gemstone is Ruby. Maria’s, you see, was also Rubi. Lucky number 7, color Blue, day Monday, film, from the West, book O Pequeno Príncipe, drink Chope, mattress Anatom, club Vasco da Gama, music Samba, hobby Love, everything just like me and she was wonderful. What we used to do in bed, boy, is not to brag, but if it was at the circus and we charged entry we would get rich. In bed, no couple has ever been taken by such resplendent madness was able to perform as skillfully, imaginatively, originally, pertinaciously, splendidly and satisfyingly as ours. And we repeated it several times a day. But that was not all that connected us. If you didn’t have a leg I would still love you, she would tell me. If you were hunchbacked I wouldn’t stop loving you I would reply. If you were deaf and dumb I would still love you, she said. If you were cross-eyed I wouldn’t stop loving you I
answered. If you were paunchy and ugly, I would still love you, she said. If you were all branded with smallpox I would not stop loving you, I replied. If you were old and powerless I would still love you, she said. And we were exchanging those vows when a desire to be real hit me, blow it with a stab, and I asked her, and if I didn’t have teeth, would you love me? and she replied, if you had no teeth i would still love you.
So I removed my dentures and put them on the bed in a serious, religious and metaphysical gesture.
We were both looking at the dentures on top of the sheet, until Maria got up, put on a dress, and said, I’m going to buy cigarettes. Until today it has not returned. Nathanael, explain to me what happened. Does love suddenly end? Are some measly little pieces of ivory worth that much? Odontos Silva.
When I was about to answer, Jacqueline appeared and said that Peçanha was calling me.
In the Peçanha room was a man with glasses and a goatee.
This here is dr. Pontecorvo, which is – what are you really? Asked Peçanha.

Motivational researcher, said Pontecorvo. As I was saying, first we do a
survey of the characteristics of the universe we are researching. For example: who
Are you a Woman reader? Let’s suppose she is a woman and from Class C. In our previous research we have already raised everything about the Class C woman, where she buys her food, how many panties she has, what time she makes love, what time she watches TV, watching television, in short a complete profile.

How many panties does she have? asked Peçanha.

  • Three, replied Pontecorvo, without hesitation.
    What time does she make love?
    At 9:30 pm, Pontecorvo replied promptly.
    And how do you discover all this? You knock on the door of D. Aurora, in the set
    INPS housing, it opens the door and you say, good morning D. Aurora, what time is it
    Do you give your shag? Look here, my friend, I’ve been in this business for twenty-five years and I don’t need anyone to tell me what the Class C woman’s profile is. I know from experience. They buy my newspaper, understand? Three panties … Ha!
    We use scientific research methods. We have sociologists, psychologists, anthropologists, statisticians and mathematicians on our staff, said Pontecorvo, unperturbed.
    Everything to take money from the naive, said Peçanha with undisguised contempt.
    In fact, before coming here, I collected some information about your newspaper, which I believe is of interest to you, Pontecorvo said.
    And how much does it cost? Asked Peçanha sarcastically.
    I give this one for free, said Pontecorvo. The man looked like he was made of ice. We did a
    mini-research on its readers, and, despite the small sample size, I can assure you, without a doubt, that the vast majority, almost all of its readers are male, Class B.
    What? Shouted Peçanha.
    That’s right, guys, Class B.
    First Peçanha went pale. Then it became red, and then purplish, as if he were being strangled, mouth open, eyes wide, and he got up from his chair and staggered, arms open, like a mad gorilla towards Pontecorvo. A shocking sight, even for a man of steel, like Pontecorvo, even for a former police reporter. Pontecorvo retreated at the advance of Peçanha until, with his back to the wall, he said, trying to remain calm and composed: Maybe our technicians were wrong.
    Peçanha, who was an inch from Pontecorvo, had a violent tremor and, contrary to what I expected, did not throw himself at the other like a bad dog. He gripped his own hair tightly and started pulling it out, while screaming, scammers, swindlers, thieves, profiteers, liars, scoundrels. Pontecorvo, nimbly, slipped towards the door, while Peçanha ran after him, tossing the tufts of hair that he had pulled out of his own head. Men! Men! Class
    B !, snarled Peçanha with a wheezy air.
    Then, everything was still – I think Pontecorvo ran off the stairs – Peçanha, again sitting behind his desk, said to me: It is to this type of people that Brazil is delivered, manipulators of statistics, forgers of information, forklifts with their computers, everyone creating the Big Lie. But with me they have no time. I put the sacripanta in its place, didn’t I?
    I said something, agreeing. Peçanha took the mouse box out of the drawer and offered me one. We were smoking and talking about the Big Lie. Then he gave me Pedro Redgrave’s letter and my reply, with his visa, for me to take to the composition.
    Halfway through, I found that Pedro Redgrave’s letter was not the one I had sent to him. The text was different:
    Dear Nathanael, your letter was a balm for my troubled heart. It gave me strength to resist.

Não farei nenhum gesto tresloucado, prometo que…

A carta terminava aí. Tinha sido interrompida no meio. Estranho. Não entendi. Havia algo de errado.

Fui para a minha mesa, sentei, e comecei a escrever a resposta ao Odontos Silva:

Quem não tem dentes também não tem dor de dentes. E como disse o herói da conhecida peça Papo Furado, nunca houve um filósofo que pudesse agüentar com paciência uma dor de dentes. Além do mais, os dentes são também instrumentos de vingança, como diz o Deuteronômio: olho por olho, dente por dente, mão por mão, pé por pé. Dentes são desprezados pelos ditadores. Lembra-se do que Hitler disse para Mussolini sobre um novo encontro com Franco?: Prefiro arrancar quatro dentes. Você teme estar na situação do herói daquela peça Tudo Legal se no Fim Ninguém se Ferra -sem dentes, sem gosto, sem tudo. Conselho: ponha os dentes novamente e morda. Se a dentada não for boa, dê murros e pontapés.

Eu estava no meio da carta do Odontos Silva quando entendi tudo. Peçanha era Pedro Redgrave.

Em vez de me dar de volta a carta em que Pedro me pedia para mandar rezar uma missa e

que eu havia lhe entregado junto com a minha resposta falando sobre Oscar Wilde, Peçanha me entregara uma nova carta, inacabada, certamente por engano, e que deveria chegar às minhas mãos pelo correio.

Peguei a carta de Pedro Redgrave e fui até a sala de Peçanha.

Posso entrar?, perguntei.

O que é? Entre, disse Peçanha.

Entreguei a ele a carta de Pedro Redgrave. Peçanha leu a carta e percebendo o engano que havia cometido empalideceu, como era do seu feitio. Nervoso, mexeu nos papéis sobre a sua mesa.

Era tudo uma brincadeira, disse depois, tentando acender um charuto. Você está aborrecido?

A sério ou a brincadeira, para mim tanto faz, eu disse.

Minha vida dá um romance… disse Peçanha. Isto fica entre nós dois, está certo?

Eu não sabia bem o que ele queria que ficasse entre nós dois, a vida dele dar um romance ou ele ser o Pedro Redgrave. Mas respondi:

Claro, só entre nós dois.

Obrigado, disse Peçanha. E soltou um suspiro que cortaria o coração de qualquer outro que não fosse um ex-repórter de polícia.

“Feliz Ano Novo” de Rubem Fonseca, Editora

Artenova. s.a., 1975.

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