Dance Lest We All Fall Down - Margaret Willson [38]
Luzia and I had constant discussions about everything from philosophy to bodies to sex. In talking about sex, Luzia was always relaxed and completely forthright. In the discussions I fared well, but in attracting men, she won hands down. At some point I had learned that the two slang words commonly used in Bahia for sexual intercourse were “to give,” which meant the act of being penetrated, and “to eat,” which was to penetrate someone else. Most women, when speaking of having sex, said they “gave.” (This always seemed counterintuitive to me.) Not Luzia. Whenever she felt the need for sex, she wandered around the apartment complaining.
“I want to eat. I need to eat!”
I once asked her why she used that term. “Because that’s how I feel,” she said. “I don’t want to give. I want to eat!”
One day, Luzia and I arrived at our capoeira class to find that a man we both considered stunning had just joined the group. Both Luzia and I had a policy that we would not become sexually involved with men in the group because it just caused problems—but here was a possible exception.
“Since we are both attracted to him,” Luzia suggested, “why don’t we have a contest and see who can get him in bed.” I was dubious, but agreed to give it a try.
We wandered over to him. He flashed us his white and perfect smile, and we began to chat. Within minutes, he was entirely smitten with Luzia. I didn’t have a chance. Neither did he, for that matter, but he did not seem at all displeased by his entrapment. That night, Luzia suggested I entertain myself somewhere other than our one-bedroom apartment. Sullenly, I agreed, but told her I would be coming home by midnight and that she had to make me breakfast – for a week.
Interactions between men and women were markedly different in Brazil from what I had experienced in the United States and Europe. Flirtation in Brazil was an art form that often had little to do with a progression to actual sex, although sex was generally a possibility weighed equally by men and women. When I first arrived in Brazil, I was uncomfortable with the intense stares of men on the street and their continual sexualized comments. This interaction I found oppressive because of my experience in the States, where male street commentary always seemed to be accompanied by an underlying threat of sexual aggression. “Hey chick!” construction workers or others on the street in the States would shout. When I ignored them, which seemed the only reasonable reaction, they would shout afterward, “Well, fuck you then!” Such interactions seemed to stem from male frustration at not being able to connect with women in a way they would like, as well as a strange mistrust and almost dislike men and women often seemed to have for each other.
Under Luzia’s tutelage, I began to learn how to react to male street commentary in Brazil. I took notes out of anthropological habit, but I also tried to adopt her suggestions. I noticed that my notes about general Bahian life had decreased to almost nothing. I mostly took notes on incidents related specifically to issues of race and gender or about capoeira. People around me had moved from being anthropological “subjects” to friends. Luzia’s insights, however, were so perceptive that I often wrote them down afterward, just so I wouldn’t forget.
A Brazilian man’s commentary, Luzia told me, was an appreciation of the woman he saw, as well as a comment on his dominance in a public space. Luzia taught me how to ignore the comments and yet show acknowledgment. When men standing along the street stared at Luzia in apparent uncontrollable passion, murmuring such comments as, “Delicious” and “Beautiful,” Luzia appeared to ignore them. But with the toss of her head or the swing of her hips, she indicated that she had heard, and implied that, “Yes, I know I’m sexy. But I’m not available to you.”
It was