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“We’ll go out to the highway,” Rita said. “We should be able to get a bus there.”

Paulo dos Anjos slowly nodded his head. “Yes, that is the best. Two girls like yourselves. Any bus will stop.”

We bade goodbye and walked toward the highway. The rain came so thick we could hardly see. Malvinas had no street lights. We walked along the highway until we found a bus stop. We waited, our hair and clothes soaked. After a half an hour Rita saw a bus in the distance. She began to wave, but it didn’t even slow. It rushed by, spraying us with mud and water.

“I was afraid of this,” Rita said. “Buses won’t stop on this part of the highway at night. Not even for women. Here.” She pushed me forward. “Maybe they’ll stop if they see you first, a white woman.”

“They’re going to think it’s strange,” I said.

“True,” Rita said, “but perhaps they’ll stop.”

In the next half hour, two buses passed, both at full speed, not slowing an iota when they saw me. The rain continued unabated.

“How much money do you have with you?” Rita finally asked.

“About ten reais in my wallet that I gave you and another twenty in my bra.”

“Good.” Rita smiled. “I don’t think any bus is going to stop for us here. They probably think there’s some robber hiding in the dark behind us ready to hijack the bus if they stop. We’ll take a taxi to my house. It’s much closer than yours. You can go home in the morning.” Rita waved at the first taxi she saw. It slowed, then stopped. We climbed in and Rita quickly negotiated the price.

“Pretty dangerous place for you to be standing,” the driver said once the price had been agreed upon. “I wouldn’t want my sister out there.”

“No,” Rita said. “The buses weren’t stopping.”

“They never stop here after dark.”

“What happens if you want to go somewhere in the evening?” I asked.

“You don’t,” the driver said. “Or you come back the next day.”

“I was surprised you stopped,” I said. “If a bus wouldn’t stop, why did you?”

The driver laughed. “I’m only responsible for me. And if I see someone coming out of the bushes, I can just pull away fast. People are also less likely to rob me than a bus—the robbers here know that we taxi drivers can generally defend ourselves.”

I didn’t ask how.

We arrived at Rita’s neighborhood, and the driver dropped us off as close as he could get to Rita’s house.

“Be careful of the stairs,” Rita said as she unlocked the iron gate. “I haven’t finished them yet.” I remembered the stairway and trod carefully in the dark. Rita went first and unlocked the house door. I walked in, and she switched on a light.

As the room illuminated, I stepped into another world. Rita had transformed her house. The living and dining rooms were now one airy, open space. White tile covered the floors, and the walls were trimmed in beautiful Amazon dark wood. The windows were covered with skillfully crafted shutters of the same rich wood. The kitchen was open, separated from the dining room by a half wall topped with wood and tile. The living room contained two sofas, a stereo, and a table. In the dining room stood a lovely wooden table and matching chairs. The dark and white of the decor was offset by varied rich greens of the tropical plants in pots around the rooms and hanging from the ceiling.

“What happened, Rita? This is incredible!”

Rita laughed in delight as she handed me some dry clothes and a towel to dry my hair. She set about making tea. “Didn’t I tell you? I won my suit.”

“The one about you getting fired?”

“Yeah. They paid me an entire year’s wages and then some. So I finished my house with it. Except the top verandah. And the stairs. I ran out of money for those.”

“That’s incredible. So the system does work, you can sue against wrongs of racial discrimination.”

“Well, sometimes. The law is written in favor of the plaintiff, but the reality is that most plaintiffs would not, and cannot, get a lawyer.”

“But you did.”

“I am the exception.” She