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And now we had a partner in Fio. Bahia Street could hardly have a more intelligent and dedicated worker than Fio. Rita had known him for years; they’d been in theater together some twenty years before. Fio had been a well-known sculptor as well, but a few years before had almost died of spinal meningitis. The illness had left him physically frail, and he had slipped into a deep depression. Rita had somehow coaxed him into the job at Bahia Street. And there he’d come alive again. The girls had also changed with him, responding to his gentle, clear calm. When he smiled, he seemed almost to emit his own light. I had never believed in the concept of “unconditional love,” but if it existed, Fio embodied it. Rita and I were harder, had more barriers, were perhaps more emotionally vulnerable.

I stood up and watched the sun rise. I again reflected on the reality that in the States almost no one had actually seen Bahia Street. Most had never even been to Brazil. Their trust was in me, the person they knew. I was the person who wrote the letters they read, who reported on the project in some faraway land. And now I’d screwed up. Our operating budget was now about $100,000 a year, not including the building. On top of that, we had the loan I had assured Meps and Barry we would pay off—and for which the U.S. board had legal responsibility.

I was convinced it wouldn’t work. Something was going to crash.

Rita, her brother, Rubim and I were scheduled to go through the building the following day. Rubim was a general contractor. Why hadn’t Rita told me this before? I wondered to myself. Why hadn’t he inspected the buildings?

I tried to think, to be rational. I stopped at our usual cafe for a solitary cup of coffee, a medium with milk, so I could stall longer while drinking it. What would possibly be Rita’s motives for not including this qualified person in our decision about the building? I stirred a bit of sugar into the very strong coffee. I didn’t really want to admit that I understood Rita’s actions, but I was also pretty sure I did. Rita had felt that the U.S. board would be happier if she had the place checked out by a middle-class person. In other words, Mario, not her brother. I also had to admit, regardless of the outcome and the trouble it had caused us now, that in that sentiment, she was probably right.

I finished my coffee, smiled at Reinaldo who asked me if I was feeling well, and went to face Rubim and the building.

“God in Heaven!” Rubim said as we stepped over rubble. “I’m not sure this place is safe enough to inspect. I often wonder how people live in these places. Rita, be careful who you let in here.” We filed down the broken stairs to the lower floor. “Beautiful porticoes,” Rubim said. “And the metal filigree. We’ll take those down, restore them and use them in the new building. To give it the same wonderful feel this one has.”

“How about demolition?” I asked. “How complicated will that be?

When would people be able to start? How much will it cost?”

“Did you hear what happened up the street?” Rita asked. “The building three houses up is in the process of being reconstructed itself. The family doing it doesn’t have much money, so some family members are demolishing it while others live in the ruined back portion. Yesterday, an entire wall fell down. Three stories of wall just crashed. It would have killed everyone. But by some incredible luck, it happened while everyone was away for lunch. So, no one was hurt.”

Rubim nodded. “That kind of thing happens a lot. It’s because people don’t know what they’re doing. See.” He walked over to a wall that edged the back of the building. “You can’t just bash these walls out in these old buildings. They’re fragile. You have to start at the top and back, slowly working your way toward the front and down. And when you want to demolish a wall like this, you have to cut it out in chunks, removing it piece by piece. Otherwise you weaken the entire structure.