Late Summer: A Novel - Softcover

Ruffato, Luiz

 
9781635420203: Late Summer: A Novel
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1635420202 ISBN 13: 9781635420203
Verlag: Other Press, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

Longlisted for the Dublin Literary Award and named a Best Summer Beach Read by BuzzFeed

From one of Brazil’s most important living writers, a powerful reflection on the effects of isolation and feelings of inadequacy in our time.
 
Sick and abandoned by his wife and son, Oséias decides to go back to his hometown after twenty years away. During this time apart, he has heard about his family only through sporadic phone calls from his younger sister, Isabela. The shadow of the suicide of their sister Lígia, when she was fifteen, lingers over Oséias as he tries to reestablish contact with his siblings. Each of them is absorbed in their own world: Rosana and her obsession with fitness; Isabela and her struggle to survive; João Lúcio and his isolation. All of them are branded by loneliness, but most of all Oséias, who, misunderstood by his family members and old acquaintances, decides to put an end to his journey.
 
Late Summer can be read as both the realistic story of a displaced man tortured by his unsuccessful attempt to redeem his past, and as a portrait of contemporary society, in which social classes have ruptured any form of dialogue between them, and people have become rogue planets whose paths cross occasionally, risking mutual destruction.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Luiz Ruffato was born in Cataguases, a small industrial city in southeastern Brazil. The grandson of immigrants who fled northern Italy, Ruffato worked throughout his youth as a bar clerk, textile worker, street book vendor, and turner to supplement the income of his parents, a popcorn vendor and a laundress. He earned a journalism degree from the Federal University of Juiz de Fora, and later settled in São Paulo. He is the author of eight novels as well as short-story collections, poetry, and essays. In addition to numerous Brazilian literary prizes, his works have received the Premio Casa de las Américas (Cuba) and the Hermann Hesse Literaturpreis (Germany), and have been published in thirteen countries. Since 2003 Ruffato has worked exclusively as a writer.

Julia Sanches translates from Portuguese, Spanish, and Catalan. She has translated works by Susana Moreira Marques, Daniel Galera, Claudia Hernández, and Geovani Martins, among others, and is a founding member of Cedilla & Co.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

I am sitting on a white-painted metal bench while Rosana stands against the dividing wall between the backyards. “And Nicolau, what does he do?” If we’d been anything more than voices in the dark, she might have noticed how uncomfortable I looked. “He . . . I mean . . . We don’t talk much . . .” But Rosana isn’t interested, and she isn’t listening. “C’mon, let’s head in,” she says. I take the opportunity to steer her monologue in another direction. “Have you spoken with Isinha lately?” We sit. She at the head of the table, and me in the same seat as before. Rosana’s hands are neat and thin, with long fingers and red nail polish. She’s always been enormously proud of them, ever since a teacher in primary school sang their praises—the hands of a pianist, she’d said—and is always finding ways to show them off in conversation, flaunting them to relatives, neighbors, acquaintances, and strangers, The hands of a pianist . . . “No . . . Isinha’s difficult, you know. She’s never been able to stomach how well we’ve done! The woman’s green with envy. But it’s not my fault she married a drunk!” I think of Tamires’s impersonation— she’d used almost the exact same phrasing—and for a second I can’t help laughing. “What about João Lúcio?” “I never really got on with Jôjo. We haven’t spoken in years. Did you know he’s filthy rich?” She catches her breath, asks, “Anyway, what are you doing here, Oséias? You’d never even seen this house, had you?” “No . . . It’s beautiful. Well done! I had the address from the time I sent you the paperwork and power of attorney so you could sort out the mess with the inheritance. Remember?” “Will you be staying long?” “No, don’t worry. A day or two and I’ll be out of your hair.” “Oséias, why’d you turn up like this, without warning?” Rosana is like Dad: she’d pretend to let go of something, creating a diversion that allowed her to close in on her opponent. “I don’t know, Rosana.” “What do you mean you don’t know?” She gets up and paces around the kitchen, performing her frustration. “Don’t even try to fool me!
Twenty years and you’re nowhere to be found. I only ever hear about you when Isinha calls. Now, all of a sudden . . . What do you want?” “I don’t want anything from you, Rosana. Calm down.” “Are you broke?” she asks. “No, Rosana, I’m not broke.” “Well, then, I don’t get it . . .” “Can you imagine if Mom heard you talking like this? You sound like you’re about to turn me out. What would she think?” “That you’re being cynical, Oséias. That’s what she’d think! Now quit beating around the bush: What do you want?” “You may not believe it, Rosana, but I honestly don’t know . . . Maybe all I want is some peace and quiet . . .” “Peace and quiet?! Here? Hahahahaha. You’re putting me on—” “No, it’s true! You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, but it’s the truth.” “Gone and become a Buddhist, have you? Do you want to make peace with Ricardo too?” she asks, sarcastically. “Of course not! I’ll never—” “Careful, that’s my husband you’re talking about!” She plants herself in front of me, finger wagging. “Rosana, now you’re the one being cynical. Ricardo’s no saint. You know it, I know it, Tamires knows it—” “Don’t you dare bring up my daughter!” she yells, slamming her open hand on the oilcloth. “You’re right,” I retreat. “What do you want, Oséias? Aside from causing everyone distress?” she presses, beside herself. We hear the metal gate open. “It’s Tamires. I don’t want her to see us arguing. I’m going to shower, collect myself, sleep. I have to go to work early.
Think about what I asked. Sleep on it. I’ll expect an answer from you tomorrow!” “Goodnight, Rosana!” She strides down the hall in a fury, without saying goodbye. I hear the sound of the car being locked, the whir of the metal gate closing. Tamires steps into the kitchen. “Hey, Uncle Oséias!
Have you had dinner yet?” she asks, pleasantly surprised. “I had a bite earlier.” “Oh, you won’t join me then? I don’t often eat at night, but I fancied a nibble . . .” She’s no good at pretending. Feeling sorry for her, I decide to tag along, “All right then.” She smiles and says, “Gimme a minute.” She sets her purse on the table and disappears into the house with her cell phone. It can’t be easy being Rosana’s daughter. My sister needs to feel that she is adored, courted, and praised. I don’t think she’s cheating on Ricardo.
Cheating requires dedication, and Rosana is impatient, her faithfulness shaped by an enormous moral inertia, though at the same time she needs constant reminding that she is pretty, smart, and interesting. She needs to be able to measure herself against other women, including her own daughter, and to come out on top, infinitely superior.
Tamires returns to the kitchen, grabs the keys to the Honda Fit, unlocks the car, opens the door, and squeezes in. I sit in the passenger seat. She turns on the engine. The metal gate clicks open and she reverses. “There’s nothing to eat at home. Mom’s always on some diet, and she makes everyone do it with her,” she remarks, pitching the car toward the center. “Dad’s got the right idea. He has dinner every night before coming home.” “Where are we headed?” I ask. “Cachorrão do Leo. You know it? It’s super trashy!” She laughs. Lightning no longer flickers in the dimly starred sky. A full moon steals through sparse clouds. Tamires drives in silence for just over five minutes, then parks. We climb out of the car, still silent. Tamires’s body strains under its weight, and her legs lumber. From a bar in the distance comes the hubbub of voices and the din of sertanejo music. Cachorrão do Leo is a trailer parked under a spray of oiti trees and six tables arranged on the sidewalk. Four of the tables are taken, two of them by cooing young couples, another by three blathering teenagers, and another, at a remove, by a man sitting alone. We set up next to the teenagers, and the server soon comes over to take our order, hard-plastic sheet menu in hand. Without looking, Tamires orders a burger with everything, “The works.” The server smiles—he knows her—and runs through it all, “Lots of cheese, lots of bacon, mayo on the side.” “That’s right! And a Coca-Cola Zero.” Though I’m hungry, my stomach is sensitive to everything. In the end, I order a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich and a regular Coke. Tamires stares at the individual sitting alone behind me, and finally excuses herself, “He’s a friend, I’m going to say hi.” I turn around to get a better look: roughly forty, black clothes, hair falling down his shoulders, tattooed arms. The air is thick with the smell of grilled meat, which attracts a gentle and wary black-and-white stray dog. The teens’ chatter is riddled with slang I can just barely make sense of. Tamires scuffs back. “Uncle Oséias, so . . . what’s your son’s name again?”...

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Verlag
Other Press
Erscheinungsdatum
2021
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1635420202
ISBN 13 
9781635420203
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
288
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