For
me
even
as
child`s
play,
it
is
an
act
of
violence
to
take,
in
the
dead
of
night,
my
stump
of
twelve
years
of
valuable
service.
It
was
a
piece
of
old
log,
damaged
by
the
sun
and
rain,
suffered
by
the
bad
treatment
given
by
the
neighborhood
kids,
stepped
on,
rolled
around
and
violently
pushed.
Its
all
so
very
primitive,
with
deep
cuts
from
the
ax,
without
bark,
an
eternal
bank
at
the
end
of
the
street,
but
it
is
mine,
of
my
family,
including
the
maids
that
live
in
our
home,
almost
an
heirloom.
I
will
explain
more:
when
we
moved
to
the
new
house,
also
on
St.
Sebastian
street,
next
to
Corridor
of
Pequi
street
(forgive
me,
Yara,
Col.
Francisco
José
Souto
street),
at
the
end
of
making
of
two
tables,
there
was
left
a
circular
piece
of
wood,
not
used
because
it
wasn’t
of
the
best
quality
and
also
because
it
was
a
little
damaged.
Out
of
use,
it
was
put
out
on
the
sidewalk
in
front
of
the
house,
right
next
to
the
wall,
like
a
bank
to
sit
on
or
a
log,
lying
there.
It
was
wonderful,
useful
all
these
years,
a
great
place
for
late
afternoon
conversations
with
the
neighbors,
a
place
for
the
maids
to
romance,
an
advanced
reception
post
of
the
kids
and
their
friends.
During
twelve
years,
our
stump
remained
there
like
a
fortress
or
safe
port,
a
guarantee
of
welcome
encounters,
a
mark
of
much
domestic
happiness.
The
neighbors
got
used
to
it.
It
ever
was
useful
in
giving
directions
to
taxi
drivers:
“Stop
at
that
door
behind
the
stump”.
And
the
drivers
always
understood
immediately.
Then
one
day
the
worst
happrned,
our
stump
disappeared.
While
I
was
traveling
from
Brasilia
to
Montes
Claros
on
the
night
from
the
sixth
to
the
seventh
of
September,
when
I
came
home
to
celebrate
my
hard
won
fifty
year
birthday,
and
it
was
also
independence
day
here
in
Brazil,
already
early
morning,
I
discovered
that
it
was
no
longer
there
waiting
for
me,
like
a
patient
dog,
It
was
a
disaster!
When
the
rest
of
the
family
woke
up,
even
so
busy
with
independence
day
preparations,
they
felt
the
same
despair,
a
lack
important
and
constrictive:
Our
stump
has
disappeared,
disappeared…mysteriously.
Already
over
ther
shock
of
the
loss
of
our
dear
stump,
all
now
consoled,
acostumed
to
the
material
absence,
my
wife,
Olimpia,
goes
to
Belo
Horizonte,
our
state
capital,
and
there,
receives
a
call
from
our
daughter
Wladênia,
who
gave
her
the
dire
news
that
our
dear
stump
had
been
kidnapped
and
was
now
in
the
power
of
the
army.
It
was
detained,
retained
or
deposited
at
the
police
station,
as
the
object
of
a
possible
terrorist
conspiracy,
a
sabotage
for
the
Independence
Day
parade,
It
was
because
some
boys,
I
think
it
was
two,
median
height,
blond
median
length
hair,
apparently
around
22
years
old,
with
glasses
and
driving
a
white
Gol,
had
taken
our
Stump
to
the
avenue
in
front
of
the
Immaculate
College,
exactly
where
the
parade
would
pass,
more
or
less
a
mile
from
where
it
was
taken.
And,
since
the
security
forces
needed
the
street
clear
for
the
parade,
they
almost
caught
the
playful
terrorist
sabatores,
(who
knows
what
the
hearts
hides)
Actually
they
chased
the
boys
away
and
conducted
our
dear
Stump
to
the
public
jail
on
Dr.
Veloso
street,
registering
the
event,
to
be
officially
explained.
It
was
this…or
almost
so,
that
Wladênia
had
read
in
the
newspaper.
Of
course,
back
in
Montes
Claros,
I
still
working
in
Brasilia,
Olimpia
told
me
the
story
by
phone.
Our
dear
Stump
was
detained
by
the
military
authorities
and
needed
to
be
released.
It
was
a
very
touchy
case
in
the
justice,
or
better
yet,
at
the
police,
involving
questions
of
national
