A Rushed Party

by Joao Dias (Brazil)

I didn't expect to find Brazil

One of bus’s tires blows up after passing by Caraguatatuba. The driver tells us that another bus is coming from São Paulo. The passengers call taxis and flee. I join a trio of anxious ladies to see Chico Buarque at Flip and we share a taxi towards Paraty. I arrive around 3 p.m. There are lots of people on the streets. It looks like a Carnival’s Friday afternoon, with that “something is about to happen” mood. The literary fair’s decoration has statues of literary characters, balloons and an enormous whale with its mouth open. Everything seems to match the houses with colored windows. There are also lots of people in costumes. An unsightly Jack Sparrow, an Alice who came from Wonderland. A man in his seventies, who’s selling colorful butterfly shaped hair clips, has his face covered with it. Looking at him is like having a hallucination. There are also children with masks, but coming out of the clinic. The swine flu ghost. The Flip program is tight. Rushing to arrive early and get good seats in the talks, leaving the tents before the endings to run to the next one. I came to see Gay Talese. The line to his talk is a little upsetting and it starts to rain. Because there are a lot of people waiting outside in the open, they release the entrance earlier. Whew! The background music is eclectic: Deborah Blando, Farofa Carioca, Pato Fu. On stage, there are two chairs and next to one of them, there’s a can of Coke, instead of the traditional mineral water. Gay Talese comes up with Mario Sergio Conti, who is doing the mediation. Talese wears and impeccable beige suit with a yellow tie matching his pocket square. He doesn’t look like he’s 77 years old. He looks like of an undefined age typical of anachronistic characters. He sits on the chair with the cola on the side. The theme of the talk is “Fame and Obscurity”, title of one of his books, which is there just for show. A theme is not needed for Gay Talese. Himself is the question. The journalist remembers his childhood, revealing that he learned to listen to people while hearing to what his mother’s clients, who was a dress saleswoman, were saying. He talks about his controversial “The Neighbor’s wife”, written in the sixties, when he visited brothels putting his wife in an awkward position, and talks about his slow and careful process of investigation, which contradicts the paranoia of journalistic fastness. Talese sometimes gets to accompany his interviewees for several days in search of a more honest and profound version of the subject. “It takes curiosity and patience”, he says. He takes advantage of the breaks between the questions to take short sips on his Coke. He looks at his watch. When a little more than an hour had run, Conti announces that there won’t be any further questions from the audience due to the “prolixity” of the author and the moderator. Talese checks his watch again. It’s over. I run to the autograph’s tent with my copy of “Fame and Obscurity” in hand. I’m amongst the first ones in line. Members of the organization hand out Post-its for people to write down their names in order to make the signings easier. Gay Talese arrives under applause and settles behind the counter of the tent. He starts to autograph, but just signs his name. “He’s just signing!”, a lady from the organization team shouts. People get rid of their post- its. Now, I’m second in line. Another lady from the organization team gets my book and hands it to Talese before I even get close. He signs it automatically and hands the book back. Instinctively, I stop in front of him and stare. He looks at me briefly and says “Thank you”. I thank him back in English, satisfied. Gay Talese is in a rush. At night, the writers invited to the literary party can be found in the central park, outdoors, sitting in the tables in bars. If the July’s temperature drops, you just drink a cachaça. Alcohol and literary inspirations relax and break the marathon mood of the Flip.