Don't Screen

60 days until the incident

CRASH!!!

The sound of breaking glass spread throughout the apartment. I was reading a paper book—yes, one of those prehistoric books people used to read in the past—when I heard it.

“Girls, is everything okay?”

Silence. When there is silence, it’s best to worry. I stood up and went to the kitchen. Broken glass was scattered across the floor, a cup—the kind you buy filled with tomato extract—shattered. A dark liquid, acerola juice, was spreading across the floor.

“Paulinha!” I called.

She came out from behind the refrigerator, her face dirty and soaked with tears. She hid her hands behind her back and looked sad.

“Let me see your hands.”

She showed them, somewhat reluctantly. There was an ugly cut on her palm.

“You’re going to yell at me!”

“She didn’t mean to, it’s my faul—” Natália started to say, but I raised my hand to silence her.

“I’m not going to yell at you,” I said, kneeling in front of them.

“You’re not?” Paula asked.

I grabbed a cloth and pressed it against her hand.

“I’m not. You are my daughters, not my servants. A father who yells at his children isn’t really a father. Let’s do this: I don’t yell at you, and you don’t yell at me, okay?”

They both nodded.

“And now, what should we do?”

“We clean the mess we made,” they both said, wiping their tears.

“Great. Nat, get a glove to pick up the shards, cut a bottle and put the glass inside so no one gets hurt again. Paulinha, get a cloth and clean the juice. And remember, only get juice from the juice machine—no using the blender.”

Natália took a one-liter plastic bottle, cut it in half, and put the shards inside. Then she taped it shut and threw it in the trash.

Meanwhile, Paula cleaned the floor.

“Are we having a movie tonight, dad?” Paulinha asked as I sat down with my book.

“Yes, we are, as soon as I get back from college. And it’s almost time for me to go. Are you ready, girls?”

“Can I go in this outfit?” Natália asked. She was wearing a long black casual dress.

“You can. Let’s go. I think I’ll be late today.”

I always took the girls with me to work. I taught experimental chemistry and organic chemistry at the Institute. The girls loved the lab. I had adopted two little scientists.

While I was sitting on one of the campus benches reading my book, with each of the girls beside me also reading, one of my colleagues, Carlos—a math teacher—sat next to me.

“Hey man, have you heard about the protests in São Paulo?” he said. He was overweight, bald, wore glasses, and had a contagious smile. My best friend.

“I don’t watch TV, Carl,” I said. I called him Carl because he reminded me of Luke Cage, the Marvel superhero whose name was Carl Lucas.

“You need to see it, man. It’s gone from protests to carnage. It’s a complete mess over there. Check it out, I’m heading to class now.”

“Me too,” I said, standing up. “Girls, put on your lab coats.”

I had custom-made small lab coats for them. Carl left, and I walked with the girls. On the way, I looked it up and saw a wave of protests and deaths in support of the Palestinian people. Everyone was condemning Israel’s actions and supporting Gaza in this endless struggle.

I entered the lab. My students were all outside, ready for class. When everyone came in, we began.

Back home, watching a movie with the girls, I kept thinking: what if that wave of protests reached here? Petrolina is a city where Jewish culture can be seen everywhere. The foundation of the São Francisco Valley’s culture is Jewish. If that wave of protests reaches here, it won’t only end with the Jews—it will destroy the entire valley.

Juazeiro, the neighboring city, had some Muslim minorities. I had never met them, only once saw a mosque while I was lost looking for an Adventist school. There was even a large graffiti: “Palestine resists” on a wall.

Pro-terrorists.

Well, the movie we watched was “Daniel the Musical,” something that made the children laugh. Afterward, I put them to bed and kissed each one good night.

59 days until the incident

Friday is preparation day, although it should begin on Sunday. On Friday we do everything double. The girls and I clean the apartment, water the plants, and feed the cat. Our Saturday meals are prepared on Friday—simple things. A roast, rice, beans—nothing goes into the fridge, and it lasts until lunch the next day.

An ovo-lacto vegetarian diet. No meat, chicken, or fish. The girls took a while, but they got used to it—by their own choice.

I went to work and came back early. After showering and getting ready, the apartment was prepared to receive the small group of teenagers who met there. A youth group from church gathered at my apartment to study the lesson and the Bible.

56 days until the incident

“Paula, wait for the ferry to dock!” I shouted.

The ferry was approaching, and Paula looked ready to jump onto it. Both girls were excited to ride a boat, even if just for a few minutes to cross the river.

Although there was a bridge, there was also the ferry crossing. Two small boats operated—while one went, the other came back, back and forth. I paid for their tickets, and we boarded, sitting near the bridge. As the boat moved, we would pass by the large blue stone woman lying on an island in the middle of the river—a statue of Yemanjá, queen of the waters.

The children loved looking at her. Beautiful, breathtaking, completely blue.

“Do you think the river will ever take her away?” Paulinha asked.

“Maybe not,” I said. “There’s an iron rod coming out of her back, anchored into the island. If the river ever takes her, it’ll have to take the island too.”

The island was actually a small islet. The real island was larger—Ilha do Fogo—named after legends of torches lit there before civilization reached the valley. It also served as a military base and had a beach with beautiful rocks. The bridge passed over it, allowing access.

When we reached the other side, I helped the girls off safely.

“You have beautiful daughters,” said a young man with a southern accent. He wore a traditional Jewish hat and black clothes.

“Thank you. You’re from the south, right? What’s happening over there?”

“A real genocide. Many Jews decided to leave São Paulo. They’re all coming here.”

The news was alarming. And now, as their only option, Jews saw no alternative but to come here.

“What people are capable of in the name of religion…” I said.

“This has nothing to do with religion, brother. It’s about ethics. Muslims have always wanted to exterminate Jews from the face of the earth, and the hatred only grows. It’s only a matter of time before they want to eliminate all other religions as well.”

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