Nate Danger (provenate) wrote in remains_freenet, @ 2015-08-04 18:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | # interview, # username: sangue, # username: slapinthefarce |
Interview
V.O: This is Nadia Beatriz Costa. OFF CAMERA: You’ve travelled all this way? How did you get to Austin, Texas and why this city in particular? All the way from Rio de Janeiro, yes. Have you heard of the Pan-American Highway? I think tourists used to take roadtrips on it. [She smiles, a bit crookedly.] We were using it to get to America. We took lots of breaks due to the seasons, yet drove for as long as we could, looping south to avoid the Amazon – but by the time we reached Colombia, the infection was widespread. It came south as we came north. No one was shipping cars anymore, so we had to walk the Darién Gap. Then it became lots of walking, camping, hotwiring cars we found along the way. As for why Texas, I had – have, maybe – a brother waiting for me in Austin. He arranged for the immigration. It was supposed to be much easier to get here, but then… you know. [She spreads her hands.] The outbreak. OFF CAMERA: You were already on your way here when the outbreak happened? Yes. Awful timing and rotten luck, isn’t it? Your brother orchestrated this but you haven’t found him. You said “We”, did all of you make it here? [The voice is somber, soothing. There is a pause before he continues.] What is your brother’s name? Where were you supposed to meet him in Austin? Alejo Costa. So if you hear of him – or, if anyone who eventually sees this knows of him – please let me know. Not all of us made it here, either. I lost track of my guide at the border, and my mother died along the way. [Her voice turns harder, flatter.] I didn’t know of any particular meeting place, since the guide was supposed to escort us. As I said: rotten luck. I am so sorry about your mother, Nadia. [Camera zooms on her face. The corner of her mouth twitches, and she looks away for a moment.] Não é nada. It’s the sort of thing that happens now. OFF CAMERA: That doesn’t make it any less difficult. [She nods, thoughtful but silent.] How long has your brother been in the states? How old is he? Younger… older? A few years older. [She seems to consider this for a while, the answer not coming to her easily.] I think… three years older, I believe. He’s actually been in the states for most of my life. My brother and father immigrated in the hopes of finding a better, richer, existence here, and we could never afford to follow until now. In some ways it is your usual immigrant story. In other ways it isn’t. Most of them do not involve zombies. [Dry humour in her voice.] [Laughter from Nate off camera despite the seriousness of the conversation.] I am not sure that’s true. Have you ever been to a party in L.A? [A moment to compose himself. He shifts in his chair, crosses his legs in the way men do from overseas.] What about your injury. Can you tell me how that happened? How you got here to the LBJ? That one is much less exciting, I promise. It was my first day in Austin, and I went too close to the cemetery – I thought it was a park, how stupid is that? While running away from the small horde, I fell and sprained my ankle. Savannah Posey, the, what do they call her? The first lady of the library. She and her guard heard me shooting, which is what brought them to my aid. I owe them my life. [Nate scratches at his beard. Makes an adjustment to the focus, zooming out wide.] It’s not stupid. It’s human. You wanted peace. You think you asked for that because you wanted a moment? I don’t know if you owe them a thing. [Nadia is hard-pressed to still her hands again: she folds them in her lap, fidgets, seems to chew over that thought.] I think I asked for that because I stopped thinking, stopped questioning. I was alone, so it was the exact wrong time to let down my guard. Traveling alone… you have to be so careful, always, without a shelter. So coming to LBJ has meant some dramatic lifestyle readjustments. It is a good change, though. I can sleep through the night. [She seems on the verge of asking something herself now, but closes her mouth.] Being alone is incredibly tiring. [He swallows back the beginnings of a conversation that could be started, especially after seeing the question flicker and leave her face.] You’re in a new place with strangers, a new country with different customs. I can only imagine how drastic it’s been for you. [A pause as he considers the whole of their conversation.] What was your mother’s name? What would she have thought of the LBJ? Were you close? Her name was Margarita. She would have loved it here, I think— [Nadia pauses, visibly struggling for a moment.] She was very involved in our neighbourhood back in Rocinha, where everything was communal, you know, and everyone like family? The co-op system here reminds me of that a little. Everyone contributes. But it’s still… very much to get used to. So by all means, if anyone speaks Portuguese or Spanish, send them my way. [She rattles off a sentence in Portuguese then: her voice quicker, lighter, less faltering than her English. No translation.] [Nate nods when she speaks. His expression is gentle and all of his attention remains on her, except for when he picks up a notepad with some questions he’d jotted down before the interview.] What did you see on your way up here? You said you camped a lot and while you moved north the infection got worse. Was there any moment where you thought it might be best to turn around and go back? When did you resolve yourself to get here? The Gap. [This is said immediately, without hesitation.] When we decided to cross the Darién on foot was also the point of no return; once we went over into Panama, there was no going back. That jungle was… too difficult, too dangerous, to do it again to return. I am never doing that again. As for what I saw, I wish I could give more information, but I am not sure how far it has fully spread. Border stations in Central America were abandoned and unmanned, there were military everywhere. We stayed clear of cities, as they have the most people, the most infected. Austin seems much better organised than Mexico, I can say that. I do not think they had the resources. If you can, can you tell me your first experience with the infected? Was it after you crossed over the border? [There’s another pause, a fleeting look of ‘do I have to?’ that flickers through her eyes. But then Nadia finally leans off-screen to fetch her glass of water, takes a sip, gathers herself.] No, it was before – it has made it all the way into South America, and was spreading fast. We were at a gas station, filling up. We thought they were just some druggie at first, you know? He was some guy, quite poor, shivering and with sores all over his body. Que pena. But when the hunger kicked in… Outside the, what did the Americans drop? Blistered gas? Without that gas to affect their bodies, the zombies move faster, as I am sure you know. He tried to bite my guide. They fought, and then Antonio ended up shooting him. We thought it was just self-defense at first. But then there were more and more of them, and gas stations were no longer manned. There was some chatter on the radio about it, and then the radios went silent. We decided to keep going, because it’s better to go somewhere you have a place to land, no? Some anchor. [The story is horrifying and not at all different than what Nate’s heard from many people. At least he had known what was coming. The look on his face is a mixture of riveted and fear.] You mentioned earlier, when I asked about your injuries in the parking lot, about scouting. That you can’t scout with your leg the way it is. Have you been scouting all along? Do you know Austin at all? Not yet, but I will. I’m fast, I can get in and find things and get out – if there is any way I’m going to be useful to my shelter, it is that. You make movies, I find supplies. [She tries a smile.] And garden, maybe. You’re fast? What did you do in Rio? [There are so many questions that are still bubbling and he’s trying to edit them, distinguish what and how he should ask. He knows he can edit later but it still makes sense to be discerning. The mention of a garden inadvertently makes his mouth water and he swallows the red and green swash of imagined vegetation with a gulp.] A garden would be brilliant. [Her smile comes broader now, quicker and easier.] I just worked in a textile factory, nothing special. But if you’ve ever played football in the favelas – on a very steep hill, as my neighbourhood was – then you learn to run very well and train your reflexes. And I’m glad you think so. Austin feels too dry, too dusty. Maybe we cannot bring back all the greenery, but even something small to start with would be good. [Laughter comes spitting out with a cough and a big hand covering his mouth.] I’ve played a lot of football but never on a hill. I’m a swimmer. A merman. I’ve never gone cliff diving in Brazil but I’ve wanted to. [He sits up, knowing that he’s drastically changed the trajectory and against his better judgment has moved from interview to conversation. A purse of his lips and he looks back down at the notes he’s written. She notices, nods, but hides her own amusement behind another sip of the water. The woman is looking far more relaxed than she did at the start of the interview, Nadia’s strict right angles loosening into something more like her natural self.] I hope you can get a garden together. Maybe a greenhouse. Something. We may have to go out of Austin to get the soil. [Is he offering to help? Yes. He is.] ‘Challenge accepted’, as I think they say. We could see how far we have to go before getting past the blister boundary, bring back some better earth. |