Green house, gray house

In São Paulo there is a neighborhood called Casa Verde, located on the banks of the Tietê River. According to legend, it was once a farm where the owner's house mirrored the color of the vegetation and trees. The city's relentless growth swallowed the floodplain and devastated almost everything. The gentle cattle and crops disappeared. Only the name survived.

In my neighborhood, there's also a green house. A real house, the kind you live in or run a business. It became famous because they repaired suitcases, bags, and shoes there. Whatever the problem, whether it was a half-sole or a whole sole, a clasp or zipper, a patch or a wheel replacement. Porfírio, a talkative and skilled Uruguayan, never turned down work. He worked hard, charged little, and never lacked customers.

One weekend, Porfírio packed his own bags and moved. He left a sign with his new address.

Even the wise mockingbirds knew. The green house would collapse at any moment.

A construction company bought the land to build a skyscraper.

The neighbors closest to the green house turned to dust. A corner bar serving hearty, simple meals; Dolores's salon; Solange's mini-market; the locksmith…

The green house, even with its front part empty after the shoemaker moved out, still remained because there was a boarding house in the back. One of those that rent rooms to "single young men and young women from good families".

The neighborhood residents watched helplessly. Demolished houses or shops bury feelings, stories, and shared experiences.

The melancholy isn't limited to the residents. Bricklayers and helpers lent their talent and sweat to build each wall. Ask them what they think of this wave of demolitions across the city. Or, if you prefer, ask a writer what they think about one of their early books being torn up because the pages are yellowed.

**

Just a few days after the shoe store closed, a tragedy shocked Vila Buarque. The green house tragically disappeared.

I'll tell you the sad surprise in a moment. I ask for a little patience while I give you more details about the two-story house with its large windows and its inhabitants. Eight people lived there. Eight single people, eight friends, both male and female. Almost a family.

They used the laundry room, the kitchen, watched TV, and took turns taking quick showers in the only bathroom. They paid six hundred reais a month for the small rooms.

All working people. Otávio, a cook at the bakery on the next street. Dona Leila, an employee at a shop that repairs radios and televisions. Joelson, a valet. Elizângela, a seamstress. Márcio, a mechanic.

Everyone woke up that morning to the heat, smoke, and noise. Somehow, the fire came on strong, engulfing doors, roof, and furniture.

Those who could ran into the street, and those who couldn't jumped out the window. That's what happened to Dona Leila, a lady with bright eyes and a slender figure. Having lived in the boarding house for 16 years, she knew she wouldn't be able to escape through the front. She jumped from the second floor and was rescued by firefighters. She suffered a scratch on her elbow.

But the clothes and small pieces of furniture, which she bought on credit, have disappeared.

– What the fire didn't burn, the fireman's water ruined, young man.

Do you have somewhere to go?

My boss will help me, and the neighbors here too. They're all good people. For now, I'll go to another boarding house up ahead.

Dona Leila wept alongside her friend Otávio – the bakery cook – over the death of their retired neighbor. An 88-year-old man who couldn't escape the flames. Aparecido died burned. He helped manage the pension and once a month he ate spaghetti carbonara at a restaurant across the street.

– We talked yesterday. I saw him take the trash out. Now Otavio is telling me about it.

The news went viral online and only received a few seconds on the news program. The city offered shelter and food supplies. Neighbors arrived to see the ruins of the house and offer support, even without knowing what to say to someone who has lost what little they had. And what little they had was a lot.

In front of the neighbors, the man collapsed into the arms of another resident of the boarding house, his knees bent.

If we had more time, we could have saved something…

If we had more time, we would have saved Apatrecido.

Yes, that's time.

The green house, so many decades old, now gray, bravely resisted.

But Aparecido's death didn't even receive a minute of silence; the pile driver wouldn't allow it.

*The fire occurred in February 2024. Days later, the boarding house was demolished. To protect the privacy of the people involved in the story, I have changed their names.

I co-wrote the screenplay for the film Our Neighborhood with my friend Chris Duurvoort.