Nine Is the Roof

A mango does not climb 20 floors by itself.

"Birds," Beto said, and tapped camera nine on the monitor.

"Birds can't lift a mango, Pai. It's bigger than a pigeon."

"Then a big bird. Or the boys on 14, throwing things again."

"Why is nine the only one in colour?"

"Because it's new. The manager put it in on Tuesday, and he never said where."

"Didn't you ask him?"

"He left a note, nine, roof, so I typed ROOF. Nine is the roof."

"Which roof?"

"The roof, Bia. There's only one."

"It's 27 degrees," she said. "At midnight. This booth is a bus with the windows shut."

"So go home."

"Mãe's on till seven, and you said I'm not staying in the flat alone." She grinned. "And if the manager comes, I go under the desk. I know, Pai."

The intercom buzzed. The little light said 20.

"Beto, my love. Are you eating?"

"Dona Lu, it's midnight."

"I made feijoada for Sunday, for my grandson from Lisbon," the old woman said. "I made too much. It's in the lift."

"There's a pot! In a tea towel, with two spoons on top."

"Two spoons," Beto said. "She knows you're here."

"Everybody knows I'm here except the manager."

"Dona Lu," Bia called. "Can I do the gate tonight? Pai says if somebody comes after midnight, I can press it."

"If you're awake," Beto said.

"I'll be awake till Mãe comes home. I've got news, and she gets it first."

"Eat it all, both of you, every bean," said Dona Lu. "And then sit up. Don't lie down full on a hot night."

"Why not?" said Bia.

"Because she walks on hot nights. The Pisadeira. The Treader."

"What does she look like?"

"Thin as a broom, with nails like old corn. She lives up on the roofs."

"And then what?"

"Eat a big meal and sleep on your back, and she comes down into the room right under her. She stands on your chest."

"Does it hurt?"

"You're awake and you see her," said Dona Lu, "and you can't lift one finger."

"My vó says that," said Bia. "My gran, in Minas. She says sleep on your side and she can't get a foot on you."

"Your vó is clever. I've slept on my side since 1961." Dona Lu laughed. "And I'm the only one under that roof, Beto, 20 floors up, like the lid on a pot."

"Goodnight, Dona Lu."

"Eat it all! The big spoon is yours, Beto."

"Beans, pork, orange slices," Bia said, lifting the lid. "Pai, there's a mountain of rice."

"You have it. I ate before."

"You had a coffee. I watched you."

"I'm minding my belly. Doctor's orders. What news?"

"Mãe first. It's good, though. It's about spelling."

"Done," she said, and held up the empty pot. "Wake me for the gate."

"On your side," he said, and folded his jacket behind her back.

"Side, side, side. You sound like Vó."

At five past one a horn went at the gate.

"The gate! Pai, can I? Please?"

"Go on, then."

She pressed the green button. The orange light on the gate post began to spin.

"Look," she said. "Nine's gone orange too. On, off. Like a disco."

"Light off the water tank," said Beto.

"Don't write me down, Beto," said Rafa, from his car window. "My mother reads the book."

"I never saw you."

"You're a saint. I'm 34 and she still waits up. If she asks, I was in by midnight."

"By midnight," said Beto.

"Hi, Rafa," said Bia.

Something hit the booth roof, hard, right over their heads.

"What was that?" Bia said, and grabbed his arm.

"The tree. All October it drops things on us. Lie down."

"Side," she mumbled, and rolled straight onto her back. He turned her again and tucked the jacket tight.

"Is she asleep?" said Lia, his wife, on her break. "Tell me she's asleep. I have 12 beds and two of them are shouting."

"She's asleep. She ate Dona Lu's whole pot."

"On her side?"

"Jacket behind her back, like your mother did."

"My mother wedged all seven of us with pillows, in a row, like loaves." Lia yawned. "Nobody in Minas sleeps on their back after beans."

"Lia, there's something on the roof camera."

"A pigeon."

"A mango, and next to it a long pale thing like a rolled-up carpet." He zoomed in. "It's not a carpet. It's an arm."

"Beto."

"It's thin like a broom handle, with long fingers over the edge. The nails are yellow."

"Is it moving?"

"No. I've watched it a full minute. It's some idiot's tarp and a shadow."

"Then stop staring at it," Lia said. "I've got 10 minutes to close my eyes, love."

He laughed. "Sorry. Go. Close them."

Then the head turned and looked straight up into the camera.

His chair went back so hard it hit the glass.

"Beto? What was that? Beto!"

"It looked at me. Now it's looking down again, over the far edge. Like it's waiting for something under it."

"Who's under the roof?"

"Dona Lu."

"The lady with the beans? Then ring her. Tell her not to close her eyes."

The intercom buzzed. 20.

"Beto, did you eat it all? Both of you?"

"Bia did. Every bean."

There was a long quiet on the line. "Beto, I can hear it. On my ceiling. Walking."

"Don't go to sleep, Dona Lu."

"I ate the feijoada too, like a fool, and my hip is knives tonight. I can't lie on my side."

"Then sit up."

"If I close my eyes in this chair, I'm on my back. Please come up, Beto. I'm 84."

"Lia," Beto said. "The arm's coming over the edge. An inch at a time."

"Is the booth locked?" said Lia.

"It's always locked."

"Then she's safe as a bank. Go."

"Safest room in the building," he said. "Thick glass, one key. I'll call you back."

"Call me the second you're back in that booth," said Lia.

He locked it behind him and took the key.

"There," Dona Lu said at her door, pointing up. "Hear it? Thud, thud."

"That's the water pump, Dona Lu. It does that. Stay here."

"Rui lands on Saturday, and his sheets are ironed. Don't leave me alone down here," she said, and followed him up.

"It's empty," Beto said. "Two tanks and nothing. Where's the mango? Where's the camera?"

"What camera?"

"Nine. The manager's new one. It should be on a pole up here, looking at all this."

"Nobody's been up here since Easter," said Dona Lu. "The roof key lives in my kitchen drawer, on a string."

"There's no pole, no box, no cable. There's nothing up here."

He went to the edge and looked down.

"What do you see?" said Dona Lu. "Beto, you're scaring me. Tell me."

"The booth, all lit up. There's a little white camera on the lamp post, pointing down at the booth roof. There's a mango on it."

"And?"

"And her, flat on her front at the back edge. Her arms are hanging down the back wall, right behind the bench."

"Whose roof is she on?" said Dona Lu. "Beto, whose?"

"Nine is the roof," Beto said. "I typed it. I typed it myself."

He was already running.

"Pick up," he said on the stairs, to Bia's phone. "Bia, pick up. Pick up, pick up."

It rang out. He called Rafa on seven.

"Beto? I swear I wasn't out."

"Booth, now. Bia's in there. Run!"

"19," Beto said. "18. 17."

"I'm out," Rafa panted. "I'm at the booth. Door's locked."

"Is anything on the booth roof?"

"No. Nothing. A mango."

"Where's Bia?"

"On the bench. She's on her back, Beto."

"I put her on her side!"

"Your jacket's on the floor, and her eyes are open. She's looking at me, and she's not blinking."

"Is she saying anything?"

"Her lips are moving, no sound. I think it's Pai."

"Rafa, what's that noise?"

"It's in there with her." Rafa's voice shook. "It's like a kettle. Beto, it's laughing."

"Bang on the glass! Wake her up!"

"I'm banging, she can't... Beto! The bench is bending in the middle."

"Nine. Eight." He missed a step and hit the wall. "Talk to her, say her name."

"Bia! Bia, it's Rafa! Your dad's coming!"

"Bia!" Beto shouted across the yard. "Bia, I'm here!"

"She's not breathing," Rafa said. "Look at her chest. It's flat, like a board."

"There's nothing on her," said Beto. "There's nothing there."

The bench creaked under a weight that was not hers.

He got the door open and pulled her onto her side.

Something light and dry slid off her. It went across the back of his hand, and long nails dragged over his knuckles, slowly.

Then it was gone.

Bia dragged in one huge breath. Then she was screaming into his neck.

"Is she okay?" Rafa said. "Beto, is she okay?"

"Breathe," Beto told her. "Just breathe. I've got you."

"Nine," Rafa said. "Look at nine. The roof's empty. Just the mango."

"I couldn't move, Pai," Bia said. "I could see her, and every time the phone rang, she laughed."

"I know. I'm here."

"I came first in spelling. Out of the whole year. I was saving it for Mãe."

"Then save it. I didn't hear a thing."

"I rolled over in my sleep. I always roll." She was shaking. "She was so patient, Pai."

Across the front of her yellow school T-shirt, in grey roof dust, were two long, narrow feet, side by side, with the toes at her throat.