Paulo couldn’t tell whether the sun was rising or setting.
Sitting on a bridge looking out onto the river, he could see pillars of beautiful old buildings, fluffy-headed trees and the reflection of the sun wobbling in the water. He could see everything so clearly, illuminated by that big, glowing ball. But he didn’t know where on Earth he was.
Paulo felt sleep deprived, and unsure of how he came to be perched on the big wooden bridge stretching across the river. On one side, people were stood together, talking. He didn’t recognise them. They were standing in front of a large building, and Paulo wondered what was in there. He wondered if he had been in there before, and couldn’t remember.
On the other side of the river was another building, and so many trees and bushes that they merged together, forming a tall, dark green wall. It seemed to symbolise what was going on in Paulo’s mind – something was preventing him from remembering how he had gotten to this remarkably beautiful place, but what? Why didn’t he know where he was, and what was behind that huge wall?
He sighed in despair. He was going to have to get up and go somewhere. Maybe if he walked around for a while he would see somewhere he recognised. But for the moment, he would sit still for a while and drink in the magnificent view for a little longer.
“Paulo!”
A voice behind him snapped him from his reverie, and he turned to see a plump, dark-haired woman looking down at him in amazement. She dropped to the floor and embraced him.
“Paulo, you’re home! It’s a miracle, I thought you were never going to come back! Oh, Paulo, tell me darling, how did you get here?!”
***
Paulo sat in bemusement, swinging his legs back and forth over the edge of the bridge as the woman clung to him. She had thrown her arms over his shoulders and was squeezing hard. She was warm, she felt very soft, but she was unfamiliar. As he tried to comprehend what was happening, he realised she was saying “Paulo, Paulo”, over and over. Was that him?
She finally pulled away, and clutched both of his hands.
“Paulo, dear Paulo,” she said. She looked at him carefully, and he looked at her properly for the first time. Her long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and was beginning to show streaks of grey. Her plump face was tanned and wrinkled, and her brown eyes showed her concern for him. How strange, to feel a person’s worry over you, but not know at all who they are.
“Paulo, you look awful, what happened to you?” She touched his face. “So thin and wiry, and tired looking.”
“I am tired,” he said.
She clamped her lips together. “Never again did I think I would hear you speak!” she exclaimed. “Come.” She rose and pulled Paulo up with her. “Come home, Paulo. You can sleep in your old bedroom – your bedroom! – just like all those years ago.”
Paulo let her lead me across the bridge and down a path, trying to recognise something, but nothing seemed familiar.
“You will rest, then, you will eat!” the woman continued. “Your papa is home from work just now, he will be so happy to see you. Julius will come tomorrow, and you can meet his family. He will not believe his eyes when he sees you back with us!”
“Papa?” Paulo repeated.
“Yes, Papa! He is expecting me home any moment, how shocked he will be to see you come home with me!”
She began to walk faster in excitement. Paulo slowed down, suddenly very worried. He did not remember who his father was, but if this woman lived with him, then surely she was his mother?
The woman turned and looked at him, noticing his pace had slowed.
“Oh, are you very tired, Paulo? You must be exhausted.” She took his arm and he nodded.
“I am very tired, Mama.” Paulo said the last word very quietly, in case he was wrong and could then pass it off as a cough.
“Oh, son!” she cried, and threw her arms around him again. “I thought I would never hear you say those words to me! It isn’t far now. Come.”
She took his hand again and they proceeded down the path.
The house was large, but cosy. Paulo figured that it must have once been where he lived, but the fact that he couldn’t remember it, or his mother at all, was growing increasingly worrying. His mother smiled at him, before pushing the door open and ushering him inside.
“Antonio!” she called. “Antonio, come quick!”
Paulo stepped inside the living room. It was filled with clutter, various ornaments and paintings. A large fireplace sat in the longest wall, and a man of about sixty was crouched down, lighting it.
“What on earth is the matter, Marie, I’m right here,” he muttered, without turning around. His voice was gruff, and Paulo willed himself to recognise him when he turned. The man eventually did turn, and promptly dropped his lighter at the sight of Paulo.
“Paulo!” he exclaimed. “You’re home, son!”
He rushed towards him and gave me a quick hug. Paulo tried not to look disappointed. He didn’t remember his father at all. As his parents chattered excitedly to each other and his mother hugged him once more, he pushed his fists against his eyes and tried not to howl.
