María Evangelina Cobo Zaballa: RUA ANA DE BARROS, 8, SANTA INÊS

The street broke the avenue, right in the heart of the neighbourhood. If you take the way to, Horto Florestal, left, whether for capital, to the right. At the beginning, there was a small compliment in downhill curve which on rainy days it made you take serious precautions. Without asphalt, at most, a couple of sacks of pebbles improvised just before elections; prevented us to keep a good scare and fill of mud to the eyes. In the corner, there was the house of wealthy Portuguese, for me, a small mansion with garden and orchard, where roses, lilies, *(1) Pitangas, cabbages and lemons, were playing blind man’s buff.

Going down, left, half hid something like a house. Naturally, it was escorted by two papayas and a palm tree embroiled by the cornfield. Nearby, a woman that lived, alone, with her talkative parrot.

A little later, there was the house of my friend, Frida, and her family; Belgian-German emigrants, with its Nordic distinctive white and brown. The, Oma, (grandmother), seemed to be permanently sitting. There, Mrs. Eliza, and her fresh out sweet from that magic oven…Always grateful, delicious, warm, aromatic, seductive...Unforgettable were their Christmas and funny dances. An old medlar tree and leafy avocado shaded and perfumed the place.

A side, right next to a hut, was a grandmother, a little boy who died early, Mauro. Oh, Mauro! Little, Mauro played alone. His hair was wavy and his skin was gold. Nobody knew anything about him... but little, Mauro, looked through the reeds that were closely ... In between, corn and cassava that feed those mouths. They said that he have died of tetanus ... and something else. After little Mauro´s death they said that he was a child who came from the misery and that his old, godmother was the only person who took care. Gossip...

Close to the hut the home of, Mr. Alexander and Mrs. Alexandrine, and their innumerable family, all, descendants of Mother Africa. They were joyful, mystics, workers, black, scented and bright as the *(2) jaboticabas trees which surround the vegetable patch. Near to vegetable patch, there was a shack that served as makeshift kitchen for large family events. There, while they cooked the *(3) feijoada, pork and baked the sweet *(4) cocadas, they used to told old stories of ghosts, missing persons, slaves, potions and spells that did the work, in the kitchen, easier. Its fragrant stews and, endless, *(5) batucadas gave heat to my being.

Just down the street, starting from the right, the first thing you perceived with all the senses was that whiff of unspoiled nature. Huge wild areas greeted you, sugar cane, banana, *(6) goiaberas and giant *(7) flowers, blanketed your view in impressionist canvas.

On the top of the street was a mansion whose people I never saw. After comes the house of Mrs., Leopoldina, Mr., Leopoldo and Margarida, an Austrian family, blonds, smiling and fatties. Besides these, lived, Mr., Duda, Lithuanian, Josephine, his wife and his, mother-in-law, Mrs., Maria, Italian. Her polenta was wonderful!

My little house had the structure of an *(8) old Basque farmhouse; one of the sides of the roof was a little bit bigger. It was cast with mud and *(9) pau-brasil. The walls were white and doors and windows in dark green. Divided into two, we occupied the smallest part only separated by a wire mesh, four boards and well. Improvised garden and orchard surrounded the house, which, Linda, a German shepherd dog, takes care. Well, who really made of tenacious guardian was, Genaro, a goose that a Spanish emigrant gave me, from who I took the name in gratitude; not knowing whether the goose was he or she.

Besides, we had as immediate neighbours to a family of Brazilian Lusitanian, Mrs., Irene, and Mr. Joaquin and children Marisa and Luizinho, and a young couple, she Brazilian, he from Japan.

In this extraordinary street, in that short drive, they embraced and mixed colours, fragrances and flavours, in a bouquet that composed the most beautiful symphony ever hear again.

When the night still starry tended its mantle to birds, animals and people. The fireflies doting the dark confuse the spatial limit of velvet, just awakened by the ringing to everyday reality by the sound of the *(10) Cantareira small train. (Juvenile Letters from Sao Paulo)

* To Watson and family...

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Froehliche Weihnachten und Ein Gluckliches Neues Jahr!

* Rua Ana de Barros, 1958. Ana de Barros Street, 1958

Family: Walter, Eliza, Ona.

Gertrudis, Erika, Walter, Frida, Elizabeth, Bruno.
Family: Maurinho, grandmother.

Family: Alexandro, Alexandrina

Vilma, Adao, Hilda, Creusa, Nelson, Tito, Sueli, Solange, Rosangela…
Family: Cleide, Neide, Edit...
Family: Abigail...
Family: América, husband, Sinval, Sinvalda e Sandra.
Family: Maria da Broa...
Family: Walquiria, Valter...

Family: Leopoldo, Leopoldina

Margarida.

Family: Duda, Josefina, Maria.

Carlos, Maria Elena, Paulinho.

Family: Ángel Cobo Hernández, Juana Marta Zaballa Azcona, (Eva, Ángelo)