O Diabo (Portuguese) “The Devil”
“Dad, wait!” I wailed.
We were constantly late in the morning. What should be a relaxing moment to begin the day, always began as a running of the bulls.
Dad was tall, he could take longer strides. Sure, I was tall too (one of the tallest in my class) but I was only 5. I simply couldn’t keep up with my old man.
That morning was no different. His trench coat swung through the air like a parachute, smacking me in the face with every step. His neatly pressed suit grabbed the eyes of onlookers, at least that’s what I thought. At 6 foot 8, I think people were more impressed that he could find a suit that fit. It clearly wasn’t tailored.
We ran and ran, my hand me down shoes taking ever more of a beating. The holes in my socks were causing blisters.
“Dad, pick me up!”
“We’re almost there, you can walk – it’s good for you!”
The station that morning was bustling with activity. Horns blaring, people shouting, the intercom lady drowning them all as the volume seem to be cranked up to 11. I always took in all the sights and sounds. My curious little mind was always fascinated by what I saw. To be out in the real world. Experiencing it. Feeling it.
I sat on the bench as instructed by my father, and read my comic book. “The Amazing Spider-Man” or “The Avengers”. I got lost in their escapades. The colors, the action, the adventure. I marvelled in the wonderment of such a universe.
As I turned the last page of my comic, I noticed the station had died down. People had left. It was almost if it as abandoned. “How long had I been reading?” I wondered.
At the entrance were 2 tall, strong men. Dressed in what was described at the time as a “power suit”. A suit that cost as much as a used car. At the exit, the same. Their bodies turned away from me. I tried to see who they were, but you can’t tell who is who with slicked back, greased hair and a hat.
My eye panned down towards the floor. I sat staring at my beaten old shoes. I began to go into shock.
“Where was everyone? Where was my dad?”
I slowly lifted my head, my eyes blurry with tears. As I wiped them away, I saw a small stocky figure standing gloomily over me.
“Michael, my name is Alessandro Giovanni. You’ll be coming with me.”