To the mothers

   amazon.com/author/hyldasouza

The Ant, the Cicada and the Globalization

                                                

                                                        

                             Gilson Marcon de Souza

The hot sun of the last day of spring was a harbinger of a scorching summer, but that did not matter, because that was what Magy was expecting.

She got up early after spending all winter and part of spring retired as a contemplative nun, making plans and wondering how the summer was going to be like next year.

It was time to act, although rumors have it that the cicadas were not used to keep up hard work.

“Ready,” Magy said to herself, “now these lyrics are perfect and I can no longer wait to rehearse the new arrangement of Simone's wonderful song.

The melody part Magy liked the most and considered the most meaningful  one was the section that said ‘see, see, see, see, see...’ which she kept on singing all day long.

It was time to put the guy out and enjoy the summer:

“Enough of contemplation,” she ruled herself.

Hardly had she set foot out and she met her old friend: a stocky, short, but always active ant, always scouring around with her eyes, as if she were searching for someone or trying to escape from some call, as if hiding herself — which was not a lie at all.

“Hi, Anty, it has been a long time since we met; I haven't seen you for many months. Always running, right?” 

“Yeah, Magy, things are really rough in the anthill as the World Cup approaches; additionally, they are implementing a new network. They are implementing a Quality Assurance Certification System and the ant-managers don't stop picking on us. What about you, how are things getting along?”

“I’m doing what I have always done, Anty: singing, singing, singing... Someday I sing here, someday day I sing there, and that is how life goes...”

“But, Magy, tell me one thing,” she asked with her spiky antennas and an air of curiosity.

“Do you only sing or do you also work?”

Magy got a little upset with the question, but she did not thing her friend meant to offend her and decided to explain:

“Damn, Magy, singing is also working... I spent all winter long retired, contemplative, writing lyrics, composing... Now, nothing but fair than wishing to express my art and my work in the summertime.”

“Oh, sorry, Magy, but I was wondering if you have other activities on top of singing.”

“Well,” the cicada thought for a while, “I also like to dance. As a matter of fact, ​​I was going to invite you to spend the night out with me in a party.”

“I think it won't be possible,” she replied.

“Today we have to work overtime,” she said promptly, but her bright little eyes could not hide her desire to go. 

“Come on, Anty, today is Friday, things start later...” 

“I know, Magy, but I have a severe back pain and my whole arm is tingling. I carried a huge amount of heavy leaves today, but where will that be?”

“In a bar in Vila Madalena. My friend Cricket will play there. Why don't you come along with us? He is a DJ and is going to play some really nice songs there and teach us how to dance free step and psy trance.”

“It won't be possible, Magy; I need to be fit for the next week: the international auditors will make a wanton in the anthill and there will also be an inventory besides this audit.” 

“But, Magy, that Cricket friend of yours is a little too weird, isn’t he?”

“What do you mean, Anty?”

“Oh, you know, he's kind of stoned…”

“No, Anty, he is super cool, very fond of singing too; it is his way, because he is an emo.”

“Er, I really don’t know, Magy, will you be offended if I ask you a question?”

            “Go on, Magy,” answered the cicada bluntly, imagining, by that pitch of her friend's voice, the question was going to be related to the use of certain herbs or something like that.

“Don't you think that singing is bad? Aren't you afraid of singing around all the time? I've heard of a cicada that burst out of so much singing!”

“In my opinion singing just makes us feel good, Anty, both us and everybody else. And if that's the case, I want to die singing,” she said almost losing her patience and in a provocative tone: “see, see, see, see, see...”

“Sorry, Magy, I do not mean to offend you. Well, I guess I have to go...” 

“Would you like to have lunch with me?” 

“Where? In your place?”

“There is nothing to eat in my house, Anty, I got up a little late and there are only some withered leaves in my trunk, but we can eat something at MacBob's.”

“Not today, Magy, my boss doesn't allow us to have lunch outside the anthill.”

“Gosh, your boss is a deuche bag! Does the union know about that? Why don't you tell him to...?”

“He is no way a deuche bag, Magy.” Anty interrupted her friend with an air of indignation, “he is very fair with the employees. He has just been on pins and needles because of this policy change in these times of globalization. But he is very fair.

“And what is the new policy he intends to adopt?”

“A new management concept. He thinks the current system, Fordism, is outdated. Now he wants to implement a new system called Seven Beta.”

“Well,” said Anty excited, assuming a rather professorial posture, “in the Seven Beta System, the ants work towards the organization and the overall cleanliness of the anthill, aiming to avoid any waste whatsoever, focusing on production, quality control and the reduction of the leaves in the inventory... There will be only two shifts of twelve hours each, and the ants will remain in line and pass the leaves to each other as much as they can — all of them properly uniformed. It is going to be really nice,” the ant wrapped up, breathing deeply and turning her eyes to the sky.

“I can no longer wait to see this globalized system implemented, Magy, with the new network implemented, there will be cameras installed everywhere, and the ants from the international anthill will closely monitor the activity of each affiliate anthill. For example, the accountant-ant from the headquarters anthill will be constantly in touch with the accountant-ant of the affiliate anthill down here, as if the ant here were just an extension of the eyes, ears, hand and feet of the headquarters anthill ant there. Isn't that cool?” 

Magy was a little thoughtful, but was interested on how the uniform model was going to be like, since she felt that fashion was also an art, and everything related to art fascinated her: poetry, literature, music, sculpture, cinema, theater...

“How is the uniform model gonna be, Anty?”

“Gee, my boss is so brilliant and thought about that too! He created a dress and conduct code and sent an inter-anthill announcement letter stating that the ants must wear a sober navy blue dress to prevent the ants-workers, you know, the hard-hat ants, to harass them. So, nothing of sandals, low-cut blouses and other types of clothes that expose the ants’ body. He wants to protect them from sexual harassment. He thought about everything, even the type of perfume. Nothing of strong perfumes, because, since he is very smart, he is just trying to avoid the use of perfumes that emulate pheromones in order not to tease those pervert big ants.

“I think I wouldn't fit. With such transparent wings and almost naked underneath, your boss would shoo me.”

“He really would, Magy, I can even see your panties! At the end of the circular letter he said that in case of disobedience, the immediate boss of the ant would send her back home, without payment for lost time, and the ant in question would only return when properly dressed.”

“But, Anty, the weather is tropical in the anthill. With all those ant workers moving around, I imagine it must be very hot there; even I myself have to freshen up in a vented tree to escape this heat.”

“Yeah, Magy, but it is a sacrifice we have to make for the smooth progress of the work.”

“Anty, what about in the anthill headquarters, do they use the same uniform?”

“No, there the ants were shorts and tank top to work. Can you imagine that?

“But, Anty, why is it different there?” the cicada asked, rubbing her chin and trying to understand.

“Because it snows a lot there, so there is a very strong heating system, and they allow the worker ants to be more at ease; furthermore the headquarters is in the first world and they don't have this harassment issue over there.”

Magy rubbed her hands on her face, shook her head and hummed a little bit more:

“See, see, see, see, see... But, Anty, this business of Fordism, in which fashion is the new system of your boss different? Do you really think it will work out? I think the Brazilian ants are very versatile and creative. Do you really think the Brazilian ants would be able to work if they can't exercise their creativity? Do you really think they'd be content just being an extension of the ants of the headquarters anthill?”  

“You don't understand, Magy... Brazilian ants are lazy and corrupt. My boss only cares for number one. You know, once, at a meeting, he said the ants were to express their opinions and demonstrate their creativity without fear. He said the ants' ideas were an intellectual property of the company. But see how ethical he is: in order to avoid quarrels and frictions when the idea is good, he tells the CEO the idea is his. What wisdom! What a wise and righteous man! What ethics…” She sighed once more.

“Well, I think I gotta run, Magy, I don't want to be late.”

“I understand, Anty, I also need to go.”

“Will you sing some more?”

This time the cicada saw a bit of mockery, but kept her pose:

“No, Anty, today I won’t sing, but I will attend a meeting of writers and poets at the Writer's Circle. It is gonna be a poetic soiree about the influence of soccer on the Brazilian culture and I just can't miss it...”

“Er, poetic soiree!” The ant exclaimed, scratching her forehead and looking down. 

“Why doesn't the government give lectures on the Seven Beta System? My boss can help. Oh, and don't forget to sing a song for me, I love when you sing!”

“Never mind, Anty,” the cicada replied discouraged, not knowing whether it was still a mockery or just a request from her heart.”

After the meeting, Magy returned to her place up in the tree a little thoughtful. Deep inside she had a sort of admiration for the ant and began to wonder if ought she not to follow the example of such a dedicated and hardworking ant. She spent all week long meditating on the subject.

The following week, she met another ant, who abruptly informed her about the sudden death of her friend Anty: she had died of a fulminating syncope on the way to the warehouse, where the tenderest leaves were held in stock for the winter.

Magy was shaken; despite everything she loved her friend Anty when she explained her about the Seven Beta System.

Actually, she was too sad for the loss of her friend and decided to mourn in the most outstanding branch of the tallest tree, where she began to sing at the top of her voice:

  

"Because you asked me for a song to sing

On how the cicada burst out of so much

Light and fills the air with sound.

Because the ant is the cicada's best friend,

Roots of the same fable that she touches

Weaves and spreads in the air.

While it is still winter in our hearts,

This song is to sing

On how the cicada lights up the summer

And brightens up the air.

 See, see, see, see, see, see, see, see..."

Gilson Marcon de Souza

amazon.com/author/gilsonsouza

The Fox, the Grapes, and the World Cup in Brazil

                                                   Gilson  Marcon de Souza

Vulpy no longer walked so resolutely as before. It is true that the route she had to take from her district to São Paulo downtown was strenuous; it was not easy to take a crowded bus at 5:20 a.m, the train, the subway, another bus and still have to walk five more blocks to work at a fabric store.

On the way back she had  to repeat that all over again, however she went straight to school, because she could not even think about the possibility of making a quick stop in her den.

She had to sacrifice something, actually more than that: she had to sacrifice a shower, a quick hot meal, a quick nap. Nope, Vulpy's life was made of   sacrifices and renunciations. In the morning she used to gobble down a piece of dry bread and a cup of black coffee — milk was left for her younger siblings. If there were any fruit, it was left for the young ones too — if any.

Vulpy was a tiny redhead fox with short legs, thin, but always attentive. Her big ears and   peeled eyes worked together. Her eyes were small, but they would not let anything pass. It is true that they got even smaller when she was sleepy, but she learned to pay attention to everything because of her assignments in the store.

 Actually, Vulpy already was an attentive fox since her parents separated and her mother became ill. She became mature and adult before due time.

 Despite being nineteen years old, Vulpy already thought as an adult fox. Rationing, sharing, dividing, caring  for her younger siblings, doing  math, watching the movement of the shop, the customers, the staff taught her to be careful and keep an eye on everything and everyone.

 Sometimes, she was considered opportunistic and sly, but she had to be this way to survive; she did not mind about that. Vulpy had but one goal: to finish the Business Administration college and get to be the store manager. But her greatest passion was theater and dance.

 Monday was a day to sort out thoughts, organize activities, divide tasks among her little brothers, do lists: who was supposed to give mommy the medicines; who would take out the trash; who would wash the dishes; who would cook the lunch; and who would do the laundry.

  All five brothers participated in the activities. Early in life everybody had learned they needed to work together to survive.

      She was nervous because the bus that was supposed to pass every hour failed and then she had to walk on foot for almost two miles as far as the avenue.
      Walking was not that bad, though, Vulpy just hated when it rained because the dirt road red clay was relentless to her ​​delicate shoes. She was also indignant about the big stairway tall steps of the alley: she had to strive quite a lot to take each step — over a hundred and ten big stairs —, a major challenge for her little paws  squeezed  within her footwear and for her short legs. But she was really outraged about the street dogs: they were always at large without anyone to stop them. Vulpy really hate when those big dogs approached, coming from behind, and smelled right under her tail. It hurted her soul. She felt humiliated and powerless. She did not like being mistaken for a bitch — she was a fox and she was very proud of that.

 The effort to reach the avenue bus was rewarded because it was the same bus her cousin and best friend used to take.

Said and done. After elbowing herself in, Vulpy immediately spotted her cousin on one of the back seats. So, if she were really fast, just a few more firm steps would suffice to reach out cousin Foxy, which, cleverly, always tried to save a seat to Vulpy by taking a bench at the back. Actually, it was a trick Foxy had developed: that is, sitting on the last seat by the window, but occupying half of it, pretending she was arranging her backpack while giving time to wait for her cousin Vulpy. However, they had to be quick and synchronized, if they wanted to go sitting and chatting along the way.

Foxy lived in the neighborhood around, also in the outskirts, which was a little better —or less worse — because it was paved and had a sewer system, only running water was missing.

Despite being older, Foxy got along very well with her cousin Vulpy. Vulpy learned a lot from her cousin, who was already in the last year of teaching.

Foxy had rather darker and brighter hair. Her nose was sharper and her mouth, smaller. Her lips were even smaller when she pressed them. She had this craze when she was supposed to remain quiet a little longer or before giving any opinion or guesses.

     “Gosh, Vulpy what dark circles!” Exclaimed her cousin, widening her eyes and frowning, “And your eyes are red and swollen. What has happened to you?”
      “I cried the whole night through, Foxy, I cried too much, as Grandma used to say ‘I cried my eyes out’ ”.
      “Because of the death of your brother?” Foxy asked, expecting a positive answer, since Vulpy had not yet overcome mourning the death of her older brother, who incidentally had died after being hit by a random bullet amidst a gunfire between the police and the criminals. So far it was not very clear who shot first, whether the police or the bad guys.
     “No, Foxy, not that I've resigned myself, but no-one would bring my brother back anyway,” Vulpy steamed, “I am just upset when people say he walked among the thugs. My brother led a hard life to take care of us and never ever meddled with bad people! He lived to work and study, and whenever he had some time free, he used to play soccer. He was also fond of playing the tambourine in a Samba band. He was a fan of David Luiz and had even let his hair grow and made ​​some   ringlets. He said that he’d be like David Luiz someday.”
    “Then you cried a lot because of your mother,” risked Foxy, straightening herself up on the seat and struggling as much as she could to open the window just a little.
    “No, Foxy, Mom is a little better. The stroke didn’t prevent her from moving her hands and talk, but she can’t get around very well, so she needs a wheelchair.
    “She doesn’t deserve that, poor thing!”  Foxy whined, squeezing her lips. "But was not that she had an aneurysm?"
    “Yeah, Foxy, but we can't be sure, because she awaited many months in the SOS list, you know, the government health system list, and when she was finally called up, they said they had lost her exams and she had  to do them right from scratch again. It seems they are likely to put that little piece like a spring on her.
    “Little piece, Vulpy?” Inquired Foxy, laughing  because of the simple explanation provided by her cousin.
    “Yep, Foxy, something like a small spring that they insert into people’s vein in order that it doesn’t  burst out.”
    “Got it, Vulpy, but I think the correct name of that ‘little spring’ is stent.”
    “Whatever it is, Foxy, it seems that this would have prevented the stroke, but the SOS doctors disagree.”
    “And how's aunt now?” Foxy asked.
    “She couldn’t retire because the medical experts said she still can work because, although having to use a wheelchair, she still has two hands.”
    “Then why have you cried so much? Do you want me to pass some blush to disguise a little since you are pale?
    “I think so, just lend me and then I'll give it back to you later on, Foxy, now the bus is rocking too much.”
    “I can spread some,” insisted Foxy, holding her cousin's chin.
    “What's that in your ear, Vulpy?” Foxy asked surprised.
   “I burned doing my hair with the Babyliss.”
   “Gee, Vulpy, you've got to pay more attention, it is really dangerous. But why have you cried so hard?”
    “I know how to handle it, I just didn't pay attention,” she justified. In fact, Vulpy handled these tools very well because she had a side job as a hairdresser and manicurist on the weekends to earn some extra money and get through college. She was really able with the scissors because she was used to cut fabrics in the shop all day long and also to cut the hair of the neighborhood customers ever since she was younger — a craft she had learned from her mother.
   “Vulpy, come on, girl, tell me why have you cried so hard? Can I be of any help? Is it you situation in the college?”
   “No, I've resolved that, I mean, I have worked around, you know...”
   “What did you do? Don't tell me that you dropped college,” her cousin asked wroth up, raising the pitch of her voice.
   “No, Foxy, I switched to a cheaper college, but I had to wait another year.”
   “And why have you waited so long?”
   “Well, cousin, I was going to quit because I was unable to pay the Materialist University. The Materialist University is very expensive. I insisted because I passed the entrance exam and they said they would give me a scholarship.
   “And did they?”
   “Nothing, Foxy. I talked to the guys there. They told me to be at easy because they would help me. I remember very well they even quoted a wonderful phrase from John Wesley: ‘Preach expressly for education...’ They said time had elapsed, but if I squared my accounts there, they'd give me a scholarship in the following half. I took money from my credit card, from the banking account limit, I gave post-dated checks... and they told me they'd give me a scholarship in the next semester. I waited, and then they told me a document was missing and that I should wait for another semester again. I could no longer attend classes, time passed and they sued me. Foxy, they really screwed me up. I grabbed a thousand bucks from the credit card and now the debt is already around thirty thousand bucks because of the interest rate, let alone the money from the banking account limit. I ruined my credit and I no longer can use checks.
    “And why don't you try a scholarship from the government?”
    “You are kidding, Foxy, I've tried that already and they told me that my family income would do. It made me laugh. They didn't give me anything, but the Councilman's son got one. I really don't know what criteria they use, Foxy.”
    “That sucks, Vulpy, I will no longer ask why you have cried so much, blow off your steam, dear!”  Foxy insisted somehow impatient.
    “Oh, Foxy, it is because of a bunch of mixed issues,” she answered discouraged. "First, because I was not chosen to be a dancer at MC Jester Funk Band.”
    “You mean that guy full of necklaces and expensive jewelry, which has even a yacht?”
    “That is him… Remember Mazoca? So, I met her. She is doing really fine: she has now an apartment, a car, everything first class, because she has been hired to dance at MC Jester Funk Band. Then she gave me a card for me to try as well. She said there was going to be a test.
    “Oh, tell me, how was it?”
    “A disaster, Foxy, a chaos ...”
    “But you dance so well; you've got experience on the stage... What happened?”
    “Well, maybe I should have talked to MC Jester directly, he is very human and helps everyone, but I decided to take the test. I did everything right, everything…”
    “Was it difficult?”
    “Not at all, that was too easy; I just had to crouch and sing:             

     'I'm getting stuck, I'm getting stuck, I'm getting stuck...'” 

     Foxy wanted to laugh; she tried hard not to chuckle and squeezed her lips as usual.
    “So, why they didn't hire you, Vulpy?”
Vulpy let her hair down and began to weep bitterly:
    “Because,” she answered with her hands on her face, “because they said I had no body, Foxy, they said I had short legs and had no butt and that my boobies were too small. I missed that opportunity because I have no ass and tits,” and kept on sobbing.
    “Oh, dear Vulpy, come on. Think about it, dear, time is cruel, soon   everyone will have a saggy and withered butt, full of cellulite. Their breasts will also wither, fall and then, what will be next? Think about that, Vulpy.”
   “Yeah, you're right, but I'm ugly... ridiculous, short and as flat as a board.”
   “Don’t talk like that, Vulpy, you're a pretty and cute little fox. Everyone would want you. Think, buddy, you've been led by the fashion dictatorship... you're so smart... don't you realize that they dictate the standard of beauty and we must follow them without questioning? One more thing, sweetie,” Foxy said with her eyes full of tenderness, “everybody has butt and chest, otherwise they can even put up silicone, but honesty, persistence, courage, daring, determination, few people do have them, and these values ​​are perennial and you show them all.
    “What does perennial mean, Foxy?”  Vulpy asked wiping her tears away, but paying much attention the argument of her cousin.
    “Well, perennial means something evergreen, which lasts long and doesn't fade   away easily.”
    “Vulpy was almost surrendering to the argument, but had another fit of crying.”
    “Come on, Vulpy, stop crying, girl, you say you have no butt or tits, but you are courageous and persistent. Let's stop crying now.”
    “But there was one more thing that made me cry on top of that, Foxy.”
    “Another thing yet, dear? What else?”
    “Because of a phrase from David Luiz, which stuck with me.”
    “I think you're projecting your brother on David Luiz, Vulpy.”
    “It may even be, these soccer players seem to be our neighbors or relatives, you know, people just like us. Why do you think Brazil lost, Foxy, whose fault is it?”
    “It is difficult to answer, Vulpy, but I think the players were sincere and wanted to win. Who plays to lose? But then they said that they should be heroes, should save the country, they were told that if they didn't win the World Cup Championship  there were going to have riots all over the country, Brazil would go bankrupt, the government would lose the elections, there would be a revolution... Then they placed on them the burden of being heroes, of replacing Neymar. They  told them  they were 'five time champions' and that the team jersey was powerful and those five starlets made the adversaries run afraid and so they had just two options: win or win. When they realized they were not Neymar, that they were themselves,   with their weaknesses, and that they could not be who they are not, and that the scratch was not that omnipotent, they collapsed. I think they even had a breakdown.
    “Yeah, I also agree, though I don't care much about soccer anyway.”
    “Ah, Vulpy, there you go again with this disdain craze; you just said you were crying because of the World Cup.”
    “No way, not because of the World Cup. I'll cut a long story short: The college guys organized a visit to a farm where they grow grapes. We had to study the administrative system of the farm and make a kind of picnic at the same time. I still had not sold a share of the transportation vouchers and had not exchanged the food stamps for food at the grocery store. I had nothing to take. I not even took my food-box that day. The only thing I had eaten during the day was a cup of Yuck Noodles. I was very hungry. Each student took something to eat: Swiss roll cakes, pâtés, cold cuts, pies, soft drinks, yoghurts... and I had nothing to take. Then I took a shortcut  so that they wouldn't realize I had nothing to eat and went to walk around for a while. I saw a vine filled with grapes and that made my mouth water. That day had been difficult because the bailiff had intimated my boss to attend the court right away. My boss tried to explain that he could not pay the taxes because of the floods and because of the black-blocs riots, and that he was expecting the government new bill of motion regarding the  debt financial agreement to be approved  to pay the back taxes. Then I began to jump to reach out the grapes. I jumped and I jumped but I couldn’t make it. A guy filmed me with his cell phone and posted it on YouTube, Facebook and Google+; everyone started laughing and it   became a viral video. Then I said I didn't like green grapes anyway.”
    “Wow, Vulpy, but that is bullying.”
    “It is. Now they are making fun of me for three centuries.”
    “Oh, don't exaggerate. Why have you played such a fool?”
    Vulpy lifted her small and puffy red eyes and shot:
    “Do you know what it is to be hungry?”
    Foxy swallowed.
    “Do you know what does it means to starve all the daylong or have to leave the food for the younger siblings?”
     Foxy surrendered inside and wished that she finished her argument soon… 
    “And what happened, sweetie?”
    “When we were leaving, a tall and stout gentleman held me by the arms and said he wanted to talk to me. He took me to a small room and was short and to the point. He then said he was the manager and had seen me trying to pick the grapes. I shaked to the base and remembered about that lady in Mauá City who had been detained for a year for stealing a pot of margarine. I tried to explain, but I found no words, then I said:
      ‘Because I was hungry, sir.’
      Then he escorted me towards another room. I trembled with fear and was about to pee. Then he said:
       ‘I saw you jumping and trying to pick the grapes. I was very moved by your effort and perseverance and I want you to accept these gifts from our farm.’ 
        “Foxy, his eyes were filled with tears and he went on to say: 
        ‘Today, I was watching an interview with David Luiz, and I was moved by what he said. So I want you to take these boxes of grapes for you and your family.’ 
      “Then I remembered what David Luiz said and I cried the whole night through.”
    “Ah, because of  the World Cup, then?”
    “No, Foxy, because of poverty, because of violence, because of war, because of the lack of education, because of poor health system,  because of hunger and because of corruption. So I understood why David Luiz was so sad.
    “And what did he say, Vulpy?”
    “Well, he said:

     ‘I just wanted to bring some happiness to my people who suffer so much... I Just wanted to see my people smiling.’

   “That’s why I cried all night long and not for the defeat of Brazil in the World Cup Championship.

Gilson Marcon de Souza

amazon.com/author/gilsonsouza