Lagoa da Italianinha, 11 p.m.
A bright moon, and the river slowly cutting through the town.
Sayonara appeared on the riverbank.
The "clean homeless woman." A folded sheet in her bag, a bar of soap, a towel.
Even at night, her hair was tied back and her clothes were clean, however tattered.
The heat was unbearable. The shelter was stifling.
She looked at the river, listened to the flowing water, and made up her mind.
She waded in, clothes and all.
The icy water rose up her legs, soaking through her trousers and shirt.
Sayonara closed her eyes and floated for a while.
Not a soul on the street. Just the crickets and the sound of the water.
She washed her face, washed her arms, and washed away the weariness her soul had gathered throughout the day.
Ten minutes later, she emerged dripping wet. She hung her clothes on an improvised wire line, lay down on the sheet, and fell asleep gazing at the moon.
Dona Deinha saw her from a distance the next morning and remarked:
"That Sayonara... she has no home, but she has dignity. Even at night, she bathes like a decent human being."
In Lagoa da Italianinha, there are people who shy away from the river at night.
And then there is Sayonara. She uses the night to cleanse herself and to remember that she deserves care.
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