All Dogs are Blue (8 page)

Some familiar faces gave us white, tight-fitting clothes, just like everyone now
wore.

We reached the gates of the farm in Getúlio and there were a lot of people jostling around. Some familiar faces inside the car showed me that the tax payments were up to date and the farm was legal.

Xamarei kodof pluicinai orlandopen rictimu asimbandueira pepinovic astrolov erguirochonte. Ritmos lacrimai rictyuliberius profteriobarto labaredasava perbuliam Todog
.

Todog.

Todog morten Todog livus.

Todog.

Some even more familiar faces took us back. We drove through the crowd with the top down. They threw things at me. Underwear, bras, letters, posters, pieces of paper, confetti, streamers, guitars, bottles, plastic cups. I stood up and waved to the crowd. All of a sudden, a crazy Todog fundamentalist got up close to the car and shot me twice. They grabbed the man and he screamed, saying he was Todog.

I struggled between life and death. I fought with the help of the doctors and drugs, but I didn’t make it. At my funeral, Xuma said that Todog died with me. Even so, many people still say they follow Todog.

Princilimpimpotus todog todog todog
and crickets and electrodes and a house in ruins and a blue dog and an orange cake and B Cops and Granny and I’m going to Paracambi if I don’t eat, I’ll go to Caju and Attorney General Brylcreem and Xuma and now the now. D-Day. The moment of truth. The bomb and its mushroom cloud of endorphins explode in my bayoneted body with the chemical of the angels. The warhead. And then, Rodrigo? What did you do with the after? Here where the clouds meet I always get a bigger shock than the ones I got in the asylum.

Where I am now all the dogs aren’t blue. They gave me a third pair of glasses, third eye. Third ear. A third arm. Third leg. A third hand. All in threes. Then they gave me two more penises. Two more noses. Another foot. Two more stomachs. My third
life.

Three Hail Marys.

I had to get used to my new life and what’s worse is I still haven’t turned into a monster because of
it.

I’m still the boy with the blue dog. A great big blue reflected now in the eyes of the boy who found my blue dog in the rubbish.

This book has a long, difficult history.

I received the manuscript of the first version of
All Dogs are Blue
in 2003, and was blown away when I read it. We weren’t able to invest in its publication at the time (the usual challenges of distributing and marketing first-time authors), but I got in touch with Rodrigo to let him know how much I’d liked the text; to discuss a partnership that would let us explore alternative publishing options; and to encourage him to send it along to other, bigger publishers, as it was one of the best manuscripts I’d ever laid hands
on.

During that first conversation, I made a commitment to publish the book as soon we could afford it
–
something that would only come about five years later, thanks in part to a grant from Petrobras which enabled Rodrigo to work on the final version of his text, and us at 7Letras, his publisher, to produce an initial print run of 1,500 copies.

Over the years, we talked a few times on the phone (he never left the house) and I was struck by how lucidly and clearly he spoke about his condition
–
the schizophrenia, the medication, his paranoia, the hospitalisations
–
which only increased my admiration for his talent and his
art.

Du
‌
ring the time we worked on the book, Rodrigo’s closest contact at 7Letras was with Valeska de Aguirre, who edited the text and became a sort of friend. The two spoke almost daily, always by phone, as well as exchanging extensive emails about Rodrigo’s other literary projects, which were to remain posthumous.

Only on the day we launched
All Dogs are Blue
, at a signing in the playground of the building where Rodrigo lived with his family, did he and I finally meet in person. On that day it became clear that his work
–
which he had already begun to share on the internet
–
was getting recognition from several people in the literary world. Rodrigo himself purchased a sizeable share of books from that first imprint to send to various critics, writers and journalists, always trusting his own instincts.

A few months later came the announcement that the book had been nominated as one of fifty finalists for the Portugal Telecom Prize. On the night that the longlist was announced, his book was specifically cited (alongside the names of some of the most prominent names in Portuguese-language literature) as a sign of renewal and originality in Brazilian literature. The next day I rang Rodrigo
–
who by then was getting out of the house more, taking a painting course at an art school
–
to tell him the good news. During the course of the phone call he became very emotional, his voice cracked, and all he could say was ‘so much suffering’. He repeated the phrase and then couldn’t carry on, and I may also have choked up before we rang
off.

News of Rodrigo’s death fell like a bombshell on 7Letras. It confirmed, somehow, the author’s own prediction (in a message that mixed his delirious lucidity with a dash of irony) that his books would only become successful after his death. In life, I think he was at least able to take in the positive reactions of those first readers and critics, who realised the strength and scope of his potent prose.

I wasn’t able to share with Rodrigo the joy of seeing the book’s first edition sell out (a rare success for a newcomer in Brazil, still a country of few readers), but I can imagine he would feel happy and fulfilled to see this new edition in circulation, coming to life with each new reader
–
just as I imagine each new reader will feel the same impact that I felt upon discovering this incredibly dense, rich and original work, which I continue to appreciate more fully with each new reading.

Jorge Viveiros de Castro, 2010
Publisher, 7Letras

‌
1
It’s only Tupi in Anhembi
. The Tupi indigenous peoples occupied much of the territory that is now Brazil when the Portuguese arrived in 1500. European diseases and slavery largely wiped out the indigenous population, but the mixed-race descendants of Portuguese settlers and indigenous women
–
known as
mamelucos
–
kept the Tupi heritage alive and well.
Indeed, until the Marquis of Pombal made Portuguese teaching mandatory in Brazilian schools in 1750, the Tupi language formed the basis for the country’s earlier lingua franca, Nheengatu, and its close southern relative, the Língua Geral Paulista.

Anhembi is a small town in the state of São Paulo. It so happens that its patron is Our Lady of Remedies. The word ‘Anhembi’ is of Tupi derivation.

The narrator is also alluding to Oswald de Andrade’s 1928 ‘Cannibal Manifesto’, one of the most important texts of Brazilian modernism, which includes the English phrase: ‘Tupi or not Tupi, that is the question.’ The manifesto argues that cannibalism has been misrepresented by sensationalist accounts: cannibals may ritually eat an enemy or an important ancestor, but in both cases it will be someone they revere. By eating the respected person the cannibals take the person’s strength into themselves. Andrade suggests the strength of Brazilian culture lies in its ability to ‘digest’ foreign influences without being dominated by them.

‌
2
Paracambi
. A town in the state of Rio de Janeiro and home to a number of psychiatric clinics. The town’s name is also of Tupi derivation, and means, roughly, ‘the green forest by the sea’.

‌
3
the elastic, bovine drool that writer talks about.
‘That writer’ is the Brazilian journalist, playwright and author Nelson Rodrigues (1912–1980).

‌
4
Casas da Banha.
A Brazilian supermarket chain in the 1980s and 1990s; the name means, literally, Houses of Lard. The chain was based in Rio, where many people still remember it. It was one of the first to have hypermarkets in Brazil, including their flagship store Porcão (literally: the big pig).

‌
5
Caju
. A reference to São Francisco Xavier Cemetery, more commonly known in Rio as Caju Cemetery.

‌
6
I’m leaving for Pasargadae.
The English translation of ‘Vou-me embora pra Pasárgada’
–
a well-known poem by Brazilian writer Manuel Bandeira (1886–1968). In it, the poet imagines escaping to the ancient Persian city of Pasargadae, which he reimagines as a utopian land: ‘Lá sou amigo do rei / Lá tenho a mulher que eu quero / Na cama que escolherei’ (There, I am the king’s friend / Have the woman I want / In the bed that I choose). Translation by ABM Cadaxa (
Oasis
1973).

‌
7
Iansan.
(Iansã in Portuguese.) A spirit entity, or Orisha, of the Afro-Brazilian religious faith Candomblé. She is invoked with the phrase
Epahei, Iansan!
, which is not Portuguese, but comes from the Yoruba.

‌
8
I watched Esper on TV.
Ronaldo Esper is a well-known Brazilian fashion and bridal designer who has appeared regularly on TV programmes since the late 1990s, and is famous for his scathing verdicts on Brazilian celebrities’ fashion sense.

‌
9
‘Boemia’
. A song by Teodoro and Sampaio, an extremely popular duo who sing
sertanejo
music
–
a genre of kitsch, romantic, acoustic guitar music that is rich in double entendres. The
sertanejo
is, literally, a person from the
sertão
, the outback in the North-east of Brazil.

‌
10
National Kid and the Venusian Incas.
National Kid
(or
Nacional Kid
, as it was known in Brazil) was a Japanese TV series produced by Toei Company in 1960 and commissioned by Panasonic, then called National. The series never took off in Japan or the rest of the world, but was big in Brazil. Over the course of many series, our hero faced and defeated several enemies. The first of these were the Venusian Incas, who appeared in a flying saucer from outer space and threatened Japan with malevolent deeds.

‌
11
Acugêlê banzai
. A reference to the poem ‘Não sei dançar’ (I Can’t Dance) by Manuel Bandeira, in which he describes a cross-section of Brazilian society dancing to a jazz band at a Carnival party. One of the dancers is a Japanese man: ‘O japonês também dança maxixe / Acugêlê banzai!’ (The Japanese man dances maxixe too / Acugêlê banzai!). The poet has brought together ‘Acugêlê’, an African interjection not commonly used in Brazil, and ‘banzai’, a Japanese war cry. ‘Maxixe’ is a Brazilian dance that developed towards the end of the nineteenth century and was also known as the Brazilian tango.

‌
12
One takes ether. The other, cocaine.
A second allusion to Manuel Bandeira’s ‘Não sei dançar’. It starts: ‘Uns tomam éter, outros cocaína / Eu já tomei tristeza, hoje tomo alegria’ (Some take ether, others cocaine / I’ve already taken sadness, today I’m taking joy).

‌
13
festa junina
. National celebrations of popular saints that take place every June, coinciding with the winter solstice.

‌
14
Roberto Carlos
. Often called ‘The King’, Roberto Carlos is a famous Brazilian pop singer whose career has spanned over fifty years.

‌
15
Trilce and Quaderna. Trilce,
by the Peruvian poet César Vallejo (1892–1938), is a seminal work of modernist, avant-garde poetry. In one version of events, Vallejo decided to name the work
Trilce
after listening to his printer repeatedly mis-pronounce the Spanish word
tres
, meaning three.
Quaderna
, by one of the greatest Latin American poets, the Brazilian João Cabral de Melo Neto (1920–1999), is written entirely in four-line stanzas.

‌
16
Umbanda
. A Brazilian religion believed to have originated in Rio de Janeiro that blends elements of African religions, Catholicism, spiritism and various indigenous beliefs. It bears some similarities to other Afro-Brazilian religions such as Candomblé.

Zoë Perry

Stefan Tobler

Dear readers,

We rely on subscriptions from people like you to tell these other stories
–
the types of stories most UK publishers would consider too risky to take
on.

Our subscribers don’t just make the books physically happen. They also help us approach booksellers, because we can demonstrate that our books already have readers and fans. And they give us the security to publish in line with our values, which are collaborative, imaginative and ‘shamelessly literary’ (the
Guardian
).

All of our subscribers:

• receive a first edition copy of every new book we publish
  
• are thanked by name in the
  books
  
• are warmly invited to contribute to our plans and choice of future
  books
  

Visit
andotherstories.org/subscribe
to become part of an alternative approach to publishing.

Subscriptions
are:

£20 for two books per
year

£35 for four books per
year

£50 for six books per
year

The subscription includes postage to Europe, the US and Canada. If you’re based anywhere else, we’ll charge for postage separately.

If you’d like to know about upcoming events and reading groups (our foreign-language reading groups help us choose books to publish, for example) you
can:

• join the mailing list at:
  www.andotherstories.org
  
• follow us on twitter:
  @andothertweets
  
• join us on Facebook:
  And Other Stories