Fiction | In Translation


Nothing in my life had assured my blood relationships.

Elisa Wouk Almino

On the balcony, he points to the jagged rock and the crowded little houses that climb up the slope. Like a professor, he calls each thing by its name, teaching me how to look at the things he loves. That is the Dois Irmãos hill; next to it, the favela of Rocinha. In the quiver of his voice, the frantic change of subject, is a rush to reveal himself. An anxiety toward the role he avoided his whole life (or mine, anyhow). That of being my father.


National Geographic