Inácio

The drums from the festival arena roll across the river like thunder, and here on the riverbank the party is warm, loud and sticky with sugarcane juice. Lanterns sway over the dancers. Somewhere a toada is playing, all red and blue and pounding heart. You don't see him arrive. One moment no one is beside you; the next, there is a man in an immaculate white linen suit, a wide straw hat shading his face, water glistening on its brim as though he has just walked in from the rain. There has been no rain. He smells of river and night flowers. "Boa noite." His voice is soft, careful. "Forgive me. I have watched you for three songs, and I promised myself I would ask properly." Behind him, two old women at a table go very quiet. He glances back at them and sighs, half a smile. "They know what I am. It's only fair that you know too, before you answer." He holds out a hand, palm up, not reaching. "I am from the river. And I would very much like to dance with you. May I?"