Prose (31 page)

Nevertheless, the population of Brazil is increasing rapidly. Life expectancy has gone up considerably in the last few decades. The indomitable and apparently increasing vitality of Brazil shines through the grimmest death toll statistics. It is like the banana tree that grows everywhere in the country. Cut it back to a stump above ground, and in a matter of hours it sends up a new shoot and starts unfolding new green leaves.

*   *   *

Indeed, the banana tree is a fairly good symbol for the country itself and for what has happened and is still happening to it. Brazil struck all the early explorers as a “natural paradise,” a “garden,” and at its best moments it still gives that impression—a garden neglected, abused, and still mostly uncultivated, but growing vigorously nevertheless. Great resources have been squandered, but even greater ones are still there, waiting. Barring some worldwide disaster, material prosperity seems bound to arrive. But it is the mismanagement and waste of both human and material wealth along the way that shocks the foreigner as well as the educated, sensitive Brazilian. To give only one example of this: because of inadequate roads, poor transportation, and lack of refrigeration, some 40 per cent of all food produced spoils before it reaches the big markets.

Exploding birth rate and infant mortality, great wealth and degrading poverty—these are the two big paradoxes. But along with them come many smaller ones repeating the pattern, overlapping and interacting: passionate and touching patriotism combined with constant self-criticism and denigration; luxury and idleness (or admiration of them) combined with bursts of energy; extravagance and pride, with sobriety and humility. The same contrasts even appear in Brazilian history, periods of waste and corruption alternating with periods of reform and housecleaning.

Brazil is very big and very diverse. Brazilians vary widely from one region to another. A man may be a “Carioca” (from Rio—the name probably comes from an Indian expression meaning “white man's home”), a “Paulista” (from São Paulo), a “Mineiro” (from the State of Minas Gerais) or a “Bahiano” (from the State of Bahia), and he is proud of the peculiarities of his own region.

But not only does he vary geographically, he varies historically. Men from two, three or more eras of European history live simultaneously in Brazil today. The coastal cities, from Belém at the mouth of the Amazon River to Pôrto Alegre in the south, are filled with 20th-century men with 20th-century problems on their minds: getting on in the world and rising in it socially, how to pay for schools and doctors and clothes. Then in the surrounding countryside is a rural or semirural population who lead lives at least half a century behind the times, old-fashioned both agriculturally and socially. And for the people of the fishing villages, for those living on the banks of the great rivers, for cowboys and miners—all the backlands people—time seems to have stopped in the 17th century. Then, if one ventures even a little farther on, one enters the really timeless, prehistoric world of the Indians.

*   *   *

And yet there is one factor that unites Brazil more closely than some European countries which are only as big as a single Brazilian state: its language. Brazil is the largest Portuguese-speaking country in the world. Its Portuguese differs from that spoken in Portugal at least as much as American English differs from English English. But throughout Brazil the language is amazingly uniform, and Brazilians have no difficulty understanding each other.

It is a rather heavy and solemn tongue, with some of its grammatical forms actually dating back to the Latin of the Roman Republic. The tendency in Brazil is to be careless about grammatical niceties, at least in speaking, and to lighten the language with constant diminutives (as Maria da Conceição became Conceiçãozinha). In fact the Portuguese regard Brazilian Portuguese as “effeminate”—charming when women speak it, but no language for men.

Not only the constant use of diminutives but also the forms of address help create an atmosphere of familiarity, of affection and intimacy. Brazilian nomenclature is almost as complicated as Russian and is often compared to it, but in general women are addressed by “Dona” followed by the Christian name or pet name, and men by “Doutor” if they have a university degree or, if they have not, by a softened form of Senhor, “Seu,” again followed by the Christian name.

*   *   *

Brazilians are very quick, both emotionally and physically. Like the heroes of Homer, men can show their emotions without disgrace. Their superb
futebal
(soccer football) players hug and kiss each other when they score goals, and weep dramatically when they fail to. Brazilians are also quick to show sympathy. One of the first and most useful words a foreigner picks up is
coitado
(poor thing!).

Part of the same emotionalism in social life is the custom of the
abraço,
or embrace. Brazilians shake hands a great deal, and men simultaneously embrace each other with their free arms. Women often embrace, too, and kiss rapidly on both cheeks:
left! right!
Under strong feeling the
abraço
becomes a real embrace.

A rich man will shake hands with and embrace a poor man and also give him money, try to find him a job, and pay his wife's doctor bills, because they grew up on the same
fazenda,
or country estate, made their first communions together, and perhaps are even “brothers of creation,” a system of partial adoption that dates from slavery days. Servants are still often called
criados,
a term which originally meant they had been raised in the family. Even today one occasionally sees an elegant old lady out walking, leaning on the arm of a little dressed-up Negro girl, or taking tea or orangeade with her in a tearoom; the little girl is her “daughter of creation” whom she is bringing up.

In such relationships there is complete ease of manner on both sides. Sometimes Brazilians seem to confuse familiarity with democracy, although the attitude seems rather to be a holdover from slavery days, or feudalism, or even from the Roman Empire, when every rich man had his set of poor relations and parasites. Nevertheless, a sense of natural responsibility underlies the relationship and certainly contributes something toward the more difficult and somewhat broader conception of what democracy generally means today.

Home and family are very important in Brazil. But because there is no divorce, strange situations arise: second and third “marriages,” unrecognized legally but socially accepted, in which there are oddly mixed sets of children. These situations merely give the Brazilians a chance to exercise their unique talent for kindly tolerance. In fact, in the spirit of mollification the courts more than two decades ago ruled that henceforth no one could be legally termed illegitimate.

There is a story about Rio de Janeiro and its beloved, decrepit
bondes
or open trolley cars. A
bonde
was careening along, overcrowded as usual, with men hanging to the sides like a swarm of bees. It barely stopped for a tall, gangling man to get off; and as he jumped from the step he fell, landing in a humiliating heap. His fellow passengers laughed. He pulled himself together, got up, and with great dignity shouted after them: “Everyone descends from the
bonde
in the way he wants to.”

That is the perfect statement of the Brazilian belief in tolerance and forebearance: everyone should be allowed to descend from the
bonde
in his or her own way.

The greatest tolerance is naturally extended to love, because in Brazil that is always the most important emotion. Love is the constant element in almost every news story, street scene, or familiar conversation. If lunch is an hour or so late because the cook has been dawdling with the pretty delivery boy, her mistress will scold her, even lose her temper (for Brazilian tempers are quick, too), but there will be sympathy underneath and the cook's excuses will be frank, half humorous, possibly even indecent from the Anglo-Saxon point of view. “First things first” is the motto. Opposed to the constant preoccupation with love is the lack of sentimentality about marriage arrangements. There may be surface emotionalism, but there is Latin logic and matter-of-factness underneath.

A Brazilian woman shopping in New York was puzzled by the tag on a madras shirt she had bought for her husband: “Guaranteed to fade.” In a country as rich as the United States, why would anyone want to wear faded clothes? Why do the Americans like to wear faded blue jeans? Surely that is false romanticism and just one more example of the childishness of the Anglo-Saxon as compared to the more adult Latin? Values are realistic in Brazil. Outside of fashionable circles, the poor are thin and the rich are fat, and fat is a sign of beauty, as it has been since the ancients.

Brazilians are in many ways quick, but they can also be woefully slow. The same mistress who scolds her cook for flirting will complain about the meals always being late. Yet if anyone asks naively, “But why not have lunch at one o'clock every day?” she will reply, “Oh, well—this isn't a factory.”

*   *   *

Among the first settlers in Brazil were the big “captains,” impoverished Portuguese noblemen and younger sons seeking quick fortunes, who were used to having feudal henchmen and slaves around them. They and the Portuguese of low rank who were also early on the scene soon established a tradition of having Indian and Negro slaves. One result is that to this day physical labor is looked down upon. Of all his inherited attitudes this one is the hardest for the Brazilian, free of so many other prejudices, to overcome. The upper-class Brazilian who visits the bustling North American continent cannot understand why there is so much eagerness for work. A rich boy mowing the lawn? More romanticism! A lifetime government job, white-collar work, or preferably no work at all, is the poor man's dream. A shabby, sickly bill collector, who can barely support his wife and six children, but who proudly carries a brief case and wears two fountain pens in his pocket, will tremble with rage if his position in society is misunderstood: “I?—Everyone knows I have never worked with my hands in my life!”

*   *   *

But along with admiration for a life of ease and luxury goes a strange indifference to physical comfort. Even in cold weather—and it can get quite cold south of São Paulo or in the higher regions of the interior—there is no heating of any kind. People simply put on more clothes. In the small towns in June or July, the coldest months, one often sees a pleasant, old-fashioned Brazilian scene: the large family, grandparents, parents, babies, visiting godparents, and a few odd cousins and fiancés, wearing sweaters or perhaps bathrobes over their clothes, all sitting around the dining-room table under a hanging lamp. Everyone is doing exactly what he wants: reading the paper, playing cards or chess, or relentlessly arguing over the other people's heads. Elsewhere, even the
granfinos,
the elegant, cosmopolitan-rich set of the upper-class, who have adopted the “English weekend” and spend it in Petrópolis or other resorts, present somewhat the same air of camping out in the winter. In freezing rooms, the ladies with mink coats over their slacks and rugs over their knees, the gentlemen wearing mufflers, they watch after-dinner movies, the latest chic diversion. Perhaps they will sip Scotch, again to be chic, but more likely
cafezinhos,
the boiling hot and very sweet little cups of coffee. The poor, meanwhile, drink the same
cafezinhos,
pile all their clothes on top of them and go to bed early.

Brazilians are a remarkably sober people. Two or three
cafezinhos
provide enough fuel for them to talk and argue on all night long. The late 19th-century sailor-author Captain Joshua Slocum (
Sailing Alone Around the World
) was, in his earlier days, in command of a ship on the South American coast. He speaks more than once of “my sober Brazilian sailors” who, unlike the sailors of other nationalities, always turned up again after a night in port—with no hang-overs.

Perhaps because Brazilians are usually as indifferent to cooking as they are to physical comfort, the staple diet is rice, dried meat, and black beans, cooked with a great deal of lard and garlic and served with a dish of manioc flour, to be sprinkled over the beans. However, there are many dishes of great refinement that use twenty or thirty ingredients, and wonderful desserts with even more wonderful names like Maiden's Drool, Bride's Pillow, and Blessed Mothers (small cakes).

*   *   *

The conversation in the caffeine-enlivened evenings will alternate between politics, real estate deals (a favorite pastime of all classes), and family reminiscences. Proud of their Latin logic, Brazilians are also a little proud of their reputation for “craziness.” Family traits are cherished; such and such a family will be famous for its bad temper or for its obstinacy or for its green eyes—because looks, too, are very important. A good family nose will be traced down right to the last-born infant. This preoccupation with good looks may come from the knowledge that many of the oldest families have some Negro blood. Since everyone also wants to be as
claro,
or white, as possible, this is another of those contradictions that seem to bother no one.

Criticizing the country, running down the government and talking about the “national stupidity” with fearful and apocryphal examples are also favorite pastimes. It is sometimes hard to tell whether the speakers are really angry or merely excited, tolerant or unaware of any need for tolerance, naive or extremely sophisticated. Brazilians are mercurial: recently during Carnival a Negro dancing along the sidewalk with his wife suddenly ran into his two mistresses. There was a small riot and some hair-pulling, but an hour later all four were observed gaily dancing the samba together and holding hands. When the wife was asked why she put up with it, she answered helplessly but rather proudly, “He talked me into it. He's such a pretty talker!”