Wanderlino Arruda

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
security and sovereignty. Shouldwe, or shouldn't we alert our family
lawyer to free our Stump from the long arms of the law. Of course, this
procedure would be the logical and correct. João Wlader, our oldest
son is a lawyer, isn't he? It's is a good case for him, if not
lucrative, it would be interesting, for sure: That he should put his
knowledge of the law to the defense of out loved Stump...He should go
and talk to the sheriff immediately, of course! Our country and we are
the victims of a grave and heinous injustice, caused by the
unthoughtful and irresponsible actions of the blond boys in the white
Gol. Now, besides belonging to us, our much loved Stump in a object of
national patrimony!

Joõ Wlader, doctor of law, went, spoke, explained...discource during
several minutes of the affection and estimation we all have for our
dear twelve year old Stump. A serious beginning, as the reighning
authority, the sheriff ended up finding the whole story hilarious.
Everyone at the police station seemed to know one part or another of
the happening but not all. The conclusion was a general glee for all;
the Stump came back to us as a dearly missed companion which it was! A
party, with many smiles, and much laughter, including mine, on my
return home after my work in Brasilia. It was the old Bible story of
the stray lamb...

But can you imagine what happened next? Destiny pulled another trick on
us: When spring came, in another early morning, someone stole our loved
Stump again! The front of our home was now desert, with no furniture,
as in our hearts, a small piece of our lives has gone. It seems like
our luck, or destiny, was to live without our Stump. Patience...