Employment Structure For Brazil Primary

Schweblin, Samantha: Fury of the pests

Gismondi was surprised that the kids and the dogs ran to greet him. Restless, looked to the plain where, as a minimum, return the car away from him the next day. Had spent years visiting sites border, compounded by poor communities and population register which reciprocated with food. But for the first time, up to this small village that sank in the valley, Gismondi received an absolute stillness. He saw houses, small. Three or four figures and some dogs lying motionless on the ground. Advanced under the midday sun. He carried on his shoulders two large bags, the slip, hurt his arm and compelled him to stop. A dog raised his head to see him coming, without getting off the ground. The buildings, a mixture of mud, stone and metal, were released without order to the center leaving an empty street. It seemed deserted, but he could guess the people behind the windows and doors. They were not moving, not spying, but they were there and saw Gismondi, next to a door, a man sitting, leaning against a column, the back of a child, a dog's tail protruding from the interior of a house. Dizzy from the heat dropped the bags and hand wiped the sweat from his forehead. He stared at the buildings. There was no one to talk to so I chose a house with no door and asked permission before lean. Though he did in a low voice felt strong return from the valley and some shadows moved among the houses. But nobody answered. Peek tested. Inside, an old man looked at the sky through a hole in the tin roof.
"Excuse me," said Gismondi.
Across the room, two women sitting at a table, and beyond, on a cot old, two boys and a dog dozing supported each other.
"Excuse me ... "He repeated.
The man did not budge. When Gismondi became accustomed to the darkness, he discovered that one of the women, the youngest, looked at him.
"Good morning," said recovering the mood. Government work y. .. Who do I have to talk? -Gismondi leaned forward slightly.
She did not answer, his expression was indifferent. Gismondi was attached to the wall that framed the door, she felt dizzy.
-You must know someone. A reference ... Do you know who I have to talk?
- Talk? "She said wearily. Gismondi
not answer, afraid to discover that she had not spoken and that the midday heat affected him. The woman seemed to lose interest and stopped looking. Gismondi thought he could estimate the population and to complete the registration criterion, no agent would bother to corroborate the data in a place like that, but anyway, the car would go through he would not return until the following day. He approached the boys, perhaps he could at least get them to talk to them. The dog, the nose resting on one leg, or even move. Gismondi waved. Only one of the guys, slow down, looked into her eyes and made a small gesture with his lips, almost a smile. His feet dangled from the bed, bare but clean, as if they had never touched the ground. Gismondi reached down and touched his hand with one foot. Did not know what led him to do that, maybe just needed to know that people was able to move, they were alive. The boy looked frightened. Gismondi was incorporated. He, too, standing in the middle of the room, the boy looked scared. But that was not face that fear, or silence, or stillness. Glanced dust from the empty shelves and counters to a stop at the only vessel in sight. He took it and emptied the contents on the table. He remained absorbed in a few seconds. After the dust scattered stroked without understanding what he was seeing. Check drawers and shelves. Opened cans, boxes and bottles. There was nothing. Nothing to eat or drink. No blankets, no tools, no clothing. Just a useless tool. Remains of jars that once would have contained something. Without looking at the boys, as if speaking only for himself, asked if they were hungry. Nobody answered.
- Be? "A chill shook her voice.
They looked puzzled, as if they do not understand the meaning of those words. Gismondi left the room, went out, ran up the bags and carried them back. He stopped in front of kids, agitated. He emptied the load on the table. He took a bag at random, opened it with his teeth and dropped a handful of sugar into his palm. The boys looked at how he crouched beside them and offered some of his hand. But none seemed to understand. Gismondi was then that he felt a presence, felt, perhaps for the first time in the valley, the breeze of a movement. He sat up and looked sideways. Some sugar fell to the floor. The woman stood and watched from the doorway. It was the look he had held until then, watching a scene or a landscape, looking at him.
- What do you want? "He said.
was, like all others, a sleepy voice, but burdened with an authority that surprised him. One of the boys had left the bed and now beheld the hand full of sugar. The woman looked at the packages scattered and turned angrily to him. The dog rose and circled the table uneasy. Through the doors and windows were beginning to lean men and women, heads peered behind heads, a growing crowd. Other dogs came. Gismondi looked at the sugar in your hand. This time, at last, all focused their attention on it. Just saw the boy, his little hand, fingers stroking wet sugar, fascinated eyes, some movement of the lips that seemed to recall the sweet taste. When the boy put his fingers to his mouth, everyone froze. Gismondi withdrew his hand. He saw in it an expression that looked, at first, failed to understand. Then he felt in the stomach, sharp injury. He fell to his knees. He had let spilled sugar, and the memory of hunger was growing on the valley with the fury of the pests.

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Schweblin Samanta (Buenos Aires - 1978) graduated from the career of Image and Sound at the University of Buenos Aires. In 2001 he won first prize of the National Endowment for the Arts and the first prize in the National Haroldo Conti with his first book " The core Disturbance" (Planeta, 2002). In 2008 won the Casa de las Americas, for his book of short stories " Birds in the mouth "and the scholarship FONCA of residencies for artists from the Mexican government. Many of his stories have been translated into German, English, Italian, French, Portuguese, Swedish and Serbian, for published in numerous anthologies, magazines and cultural backgrounds.