Building My Life

Chapter 05

Josias reached into his sweatpants pocket, pulled out the contents, and deposited the few remaining notes and pennies on the counter.

The old man counted the amount and responded with a tone of concern, not mockery. “This doesn’t even add up to five bucks, buddy. I can’t even let you stay here overnight.”

Josias took the money back and put it away. “I know, that’s why I thought I could count on your mercy. As you are already aware, my father was murdered. The moneylender probably knows that my father had a son, and if they find me, they will either kill me or try to torment me into paying the debt. I wasn’t going to stay there to suffer that. My mother got divorced and disappeared from the city; she is probably in Europe with a very rich guy. I have no one here.”

“Tell you what.” The elderly man went to a dresser, opened a drawer, took something out, and closed it. When he turned around, Josias realized that it was money. “I’m going to buy you a ticket to the bus station, and you can go look for a relative of yours. Surely you must have uncles or cousins.”

Josias pondered for a moment. His mother’s uncles lived in Rio de Janeiro, a long way away. He would be safe there. But would they accept sheltering the son of the man who had caused their sister enormous distress? It was one thing for them to receive their distant nephew for the holidays; it was another thing entirely to live with him and support him.

Therefore, Josias declined the offer, shaking his head. “No, sir, thank you. My closest relatives are in Rio de Janeiro. And I don’t want to go that far; after all, it’s just for a while, until I have the financial means to get by.”

“And how do you plan to manage that?” The man put the money back in his pants pocket.

“Somewhere in this city, there must be something for me to do. I am only eighteen, but I have already done odd jobs to earn a little money. If I had depended on my father for everything, I would be standing here naked before you.”

The building owner laughed louder. He was already sympathizing with him. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Josias Rocha,” he responded with dignity, as if he were the CEO of a multinational corporation.

“My name is Teodoro. Look, boy, I like your attitude. If this story of yours is true, then I have to congratulate you on your courage. Another boy your age would be crying desperately without knowing what to do. But hearing you say with such confidence that you intend to make your own way and overcome this situation... that gives me confidence.”

Teodoro then bent down behind the counter and straightened up with a key in his right hand. “Here’s the deal, Josias: I’m going to let you spend one night here, and tomorrow we’ll see what to do. You look exhausted.”

Josias grinned and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you very much, Teodoro! Thank you very much! And you can rest easy with me; I’m being sincere.”

Teodoro, a longtime resident of the favela, knew the boys who messed with illegal things. And as he talked to Josias, he realized that Josias wasn’t one of them. Perhaps the story of the murdered father was a fabrication, but at least he was sure that Josias wasn’t running away from something wrong he had done.

Josias and Teodoro talked some more, and later, the owner of the building pointed to the stairs. The bedroom was on the third floor. Josias entered, closed the door, and looked up in gratitude to God. Once again, Everaldo’s phrase echoed in his mind: “I will pray for you and plead that God will bring you the best for your life. You will get out of this and be successful. And I believe that you will have the willpower to overcome your adversities! Amen?”

Josias smiled; he believed that, in fact, Everaldo had already prayed for him.

***

Meanwhile, the police and a man from the local newspaper were at Josias’s old house, recording the cruel murder of his father, Mr. Tony Rocha. The police vehicle stopped at the entrance of the house had caught the attention of the neighbors.

Of course, they had heard the shots, but at the time, no one had dared to go out to find out what was going on. Now, with the police present, they came out feeling safer.

Two policemen carried Tony Rocha’s corpse out of the house, already wrapped in a black body bag, and placed it in the van bound for the morgue. Another officer was taking pictures of the mess the killers had left, looking for valuables to cover the debt. Furniture was overturned or broken; the television that Mr. Rocha had been watching was shattered on the floor, in pieces.

“Does anyone here know what happened?” the officer in charge of the investigation suddenly asked the neighbors.

However, they not only remained silent but withdrew from the crime scene. Nobody would dare to rat on the moneylender who controlled the neighborhood.