Luiz bowed. “A final token of my esteem, Don Alfred.”
Alfred couldn’t help chuckling as he accepted the cigar. In truth, he rather enjoyed being the object of such a gesture, however absurd it might seem to the crowd at the Bar-Café Copacabana. It cheered him at the end of the afternoon. The end of watching the beach soccer, and the women. The end of the ice cold beer—chope, they called it here—and of the Coronas that Luiz, who was called in to roll them whenever a regular fell sick, shared so generously. But tomorrow was another day. Or so that lovely actress had realized at the end of the American film he’d seen a month or so ago.
Luiz straightened. “Remember, my friend, it is Lourdes’ birthday next week.”
“I have everything arranged.” Alfred hoped he’d struck the right tone, jovial and indignant at once, for of course he had forgotten the matter entirely. “Your sister will have a fine celebration.” He bit off the end of the cigar and spat it to the side.
Luiz smiled and struck a match. Alfred watched as his friend lit one cigar, then the other, then extinguished the small flame. They shook hands.
The cigar lasted the walk home. Alfred plodded inside the building on rua Alice and flicked away the final ashes. Most days, it wasn’t worth checking the metal mailbox marked “A. Haguenauer.” Just bills, or something misplaced, meant for a neighbor. But he’d spent his last centavos on the beer today. If only the check...
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