Memories of the Saint

Do me the favor

The sky tinged the streets of Bello Horizonte with fire. The sunset lulled some people to sleep, while it cheered others up, filling the place with laughter of the kind that hurts and anecdotes that are told too loudly to ensure the good reputation of those involved.

Roberto, Aramel and Pablo were among the second group. They were on the terrace of a bar, surrounded by gentlemen in hats who were beginning to blush from a slight drunkenness. The waiter of the Bar "Maravilhosa" was beginning to pick up the big umbrellas that a few hours ago prevented the sun from bothering his customers while he was refilling "petiscos" of olives and dried fruits in the empty bowls of some of the tables.

Roberto played with the peeling sole of his shoe, tapping his foot against the floor as he listened to Aramel. "She has the most perfect tits I've ever seen, really" Aramel was speaking too loudly, but he wasn't the only one. Around that bar men were crowding in to tell of their adventures, so Roberto didn't mind. Meanwhile, Pablo seemed to enjoy every moment of Aramel's descriptions with a goofy grin on his face and his eyes wide open. "But she wants me to bring her here, to Bello Horizonte. She doesn't know that I live with Roberto" continued the bright-eyed young man.

"How could she not know? Didn't you tell her? Doesn't she know you don't have a job either?" Roberto replied with an insidious tone.

"They gave me a job as a waiter, but they were going to pay me very little. And my face is too pretty to be spending my days on the street serving, don't you think?" Aramel said it with a mocking tone. Roberto didn't know to which extent Aramel believed himself or was making fun of himself. Whatever it was, that didn't matter to the waiter who passed by Aramel's side, listening to the conversation and giving him a dirty look.

Roberto began to think that perhaps he devoted too much concern to the friendship he had with Malthus, and not enough to Aramel. He knew that behind that big back framed by athletic shoulders, hid the heart of a frightened child. Even though he was the first of the three friends to start puberty, Aramel was left with a head full of birds, he refused to let them go free.

"I'm going to Hollywood, you know that, I just need to find the right contact" Aramel's tone sounded confident but the fist tapping on the armrest of his seat betrayed him.

"And that blonde with the perfect boobs believes that story?" Pablo was still smiling at Aramel, now sarcastically. If Aramel had a provocative temper, Pablo surpassed it by miles. Aramel didn't answer, just took a sip of his drink without looking away from the table. There was a small awkward silence.

Realizing his mistake, Pablo tried to change the subject "Well, next time invite some girl and not that Saint. What a scare he gave me when he left all of a sudden, I thought he was possessed or something, walking like a madman towards nothing. You two were very comfortable with your little girlfriends and you had me as a third wheel".

Roberto looked away from Aramel's face. So far he had been watching him, trying to figure out what that stoic face he made when he heard Pablo's bitter comment meant.

"What are you talking about?" Roberto looked his freckled friend in the eye with a frown. He finished sipping from his glass "That weird guy with the mushroom hair. How funny he was! Malthus is his name, right?"

The two best friends shared a complicit glance, neither knew what to answer.

"No, that wasn't Malthus" Aramel took the initiative to shield his friend.

"What do you mean it wasn't? yes he was, the Saint right? My mother told me about him and said he was here in Bello Horizonte. I saw him in the gardens of the park and I'm sure it was him" the freckled man insisted and the two friends ran out of ideas.