LAVADEIRA DO RIO by MARIA RITA. Story by Chiara Vascotto.

Italy, 30^th August 2008

The whisper.

“There’s still time. No rush,” said my mother, with what I hoped was a smile. Then: “See you there.”

Staring at my CD cabinet, I couldn’t decide. I knew there had to be one last song, and I had to choose well. Finally, my polished fingers landed on a yellow case, MPB Classics, and picked track nine.

An ebullient samba filled the room like a swarm of revellers, as Maria Rita’s velvety voice sang Lavadeira do Rio. My feet began to shuffle, trying to emulate the carioca swagger. My elaborate earrings joined and jangled to the beat. Soon I was back to those shores, to the time I almost became the Girl from Ipanema.

Incessantly, the singer repeated the verse. I could only catch ‘donzela’ and ‘casar’. It rippled into the chorus, to the fading finale. Then, silence.

I took the spray of peonies and left.

Cousin Frank was by the church, scrubbed up like never before. I loved his effort for this one day. I coveted his everyday free spirit. The heavy doors opened and, hooked on his arm, I tentatively walked down the aisle.

It was only years later, as I returned to Rio, laden with marital unease, that I heard the song again. As the verse came back to haunt me, I asked my friend to translate it. Puzzled, she did: “She wants neither marriage nor singledom. Why?”

“Just curious,” I replied, my straw tormenting the watermelon juice.

My ears had heard the whisper, before my heart could.

Stereo Story #751

Photo by Dagmara Dombrovska, via Pexels.