In Rio's Shadows

Chapter 4 Proposed Project

CHAPTER 4

PROPOSED PROJECT

Carlos Silva shifted in his seat in the Rio Cafe as he tasted their version of his favourite meal, feijoada. The national dish of Brazil was a rich black bean stew with mixed meat.

Carlos flicked his dark hair away from his eye as he looked up at Luiz, his best friend, sitting across the table.

Luiz sipped his beer, set it back on the table and shook his head. “How in hell do you eat that stuff? I can’t stomach it, man.”

Carlos put down his fork. “That’s where you and I are different. I have impeccable taste in fine dining, while you’d rather eat dirt off the ground.” His eyes roamed the café. Sunlight streamed through the double glass doors onto the bench of historical statues and landscape murals, making the customers squint as they sat or rose from the floral-backed chairs.

Luiz grunted. His tall, lanky frame was too big for his chair. His size, combined with his handsome face, smiling green eyes, and shoulder-length, frizzy black hair, drew women to him. He could then turn on the charm easily. “Anyway, man. I asked you here today because I need your help with something.” He downed the rest of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can you check in on Juliana? I visited her recently and she’s still struggling with the loss of her daughter, Antonia, after all these years. Another girl’s apparently gone missing in the neighbourhood, and it triggered memories of Antonia.” He cleared his throat. “You can visit and take new photos for your magazine job to show the infrastructure upgrades in the favelas.”

Carlos nodded. “Sure, I’d be happy to visit. But who’s this missing girl?”

“She came from the favelas, but got into dealing drugs and had problems with gangs. She’d been caught a few times by police, but she’d never gone missing before. She always came back even if she was selling drugs. Pimps were hanging around her too, I believe.”

Carlos shook his head. “Does it ever end, man? The drugs, the prostitution, the territorial gangs?”

“Never in our lifetime, but I’d love it if you could get in touch with Juliana.”

“I know there’s a new editor coming from Spain. Pedro might get her to investigate business in the favelas. I’ll probably be working with her, taking photos for her stories. And I’m sure I’ll get to take photos of the favelas while visiting Juliana, too. Those kinds of issues about business profits and expansion sell magazines, and my uncle thrives on making higher profits each year. He has less interest in human interest stories.”

The mention of the editor from the Madrid office brought back Carlos’ memories of his two years working in Spain as a freelance photographer. But those thoughts led to memories of his girlfriend, Sophia. They had dated for over a year, and Carlos had even planned to move to Spain to marry her—until she died of cancer. The memories of her sweet face were still painful.

The screams of young children brought Carlos back to the restaurant, to the rumble of the espresso machine, and chatty waiters. He finished the last of his stew. “Why does Juliana want to see me, specifically?”

Luiz frowned. “I don’t know. I think she had a connection with your mother and wants to get to know her son.” He checked his phone. “If I had the time, I would ask. I have a few projects on the go, and they don’t include the favelas.” He stiffened. “And I cringe going to the favelas sometimes.”

Carlos leaned forward. “It’s those under-age prostitutes that repel you.” His chest tightened and his stomach churned at the thought.

Luiz nodded. “Seeing those old men propositioning young girls makes me sick. But nothing ever gets done about it.”

“There is corruption in every corner, exploiting young girls. It’s going to take a huge effort against corrupt police and government officials to end it,” Carlos said. “The only positive things happening in the favelas are the infrastructure improvements. But that’s not enough to give girls an alternative to prostitution for survival.” He squared his shoulders. “I sure as hell plan to talk to Pedro about presenting a balanced view of the favelas, at least through my photographs. We need to see the light and the dark. Hopefully the new journalist will agree with me.”

“I hear you, Carlos, but good luck if you think you can create much change. You’ve got the most violent favelas, the drug traffickers, and damn organised crime. Plus, your uncle wants to publish positive stories about business, not human interest.”

Carlos nodded. “You’re right, but if my photos can bring change for just one of those girls, I’ll have made a difference.”