THE REFRIGERATOR DOOR

The hum came down the high street and changed pitch over the bar. Luzia put down the bowl, ran to the yard and counted two passes where she had expected one. The first belonged to the census. The second escorted the vehicles bringing reagents for the separation of the ore, brought forward after a buyer from far away acquired the supplier company. Since then, sealed drums had crossed Buritaçu before dawn, and the tracking cameras learned new routes over the rooftops. The girl pushed the stool under the porch. Ilva, the verifier, held the edge before she could climb. The band on her hand was damp with heat. Above them, the reflective cover rippled a hand's breadth over the roof tiles, ready to turn a child into an aerial incident. It passes twice today, said Luzia. On the second, it catches the yard along with the cargo, answered the man. He remained seated on the grey box, his injured foot raised. He had divided the last of the flour into three portions and left Antônio's untouched. The food was cooling on the plate. The wait for the householder's declaration had already eaten a whole window, and the panel kept his query behind the datacenter's processing contracts. Luzia pulled the stool. I want to show up on the first. If you climb, the Company can call the cover an irregular extension, said Ilva. If you stay underneath, it will only see the film. The girl raised her face. The glare sent back to the sky hid precisely those who had produced it. She passed under the screen and looked for another support by the storeroom. She dragged two empty crates, tried to stack them, gave up when the top one gave way to one side. Then she went into the bar. There was the sound of wood scraping, metal knocking against the counter, a container rolling to the wall. The man got up slowly to help her. Ilva stayed in the yard, watching the drone's shadow grow and shrink over the murici, where half the leaves had dried since the cooling intake began competing with the shallow roots for the Lajes. The two came back carrying a thick refrigerator door. The outer casing had lost its sheen, there was rust on the hinges and a strip without paint where Antônio had rested his foot for years. The copper had been removed to seal the bar's line. What remained was the sheet, the hardened insulation and two deep scratches near the edge. It was the first one, said the man. Luzia knew half the story. Nael had bought that refrigerator with the payment for a route opened for the excavator and had hidden the credit for three nights, afraid Antônio would refuse. When the appliance arrived, the two of them still played football behind the bar. The scratches on the door marked the size of the goalposts they meant to build. The pit advanced before the wood did. He paid, said Luzia. So it holds. The man looked at Ilva. They propped the door between the stool and the porch step. The sheet formed a short ramp, wide enough for Luzia to climb without reaching the tiles. Ilva tested the end with her foot. The old insulation creaked, but held. The panel projected a notice on the wall. The aerial image could add residents to the provisional occupancy, though it would not replace Antônio's bodily declaration. Four silhouettes would be charged to the house if the algorithmic optics mistook Nael's bowl for thermal presence. Three silhouettes would be enough to aggravate the water integration. The Companhia Arco Norte kept offering preferential passage for the datacenter's water through the yard. Ilva turned the flour plate over the empty bowl. The metal disappeared under the larger container. Luzia noticed. Still lives here, asked Luzia. Used to, answered the woman. Luzia touched the tip of her foot to the door. The hum grew again. The first aircraft appeared beyond the ducts fastened to the façades, low enough to lift dust from the brittle leaves. The man steadied the door with both arms. Ilva held Luzia by the waist until her feet found the rough strip of the sheet. The girl climbed one step. Then another. Her head rose above the film, but her body stayed below the tiles. She opened her arms to enlarge the recognisable surface. The drone tilted its lenses and slowed. On the household screen, three outlines lit up. One over Luzia, another over Ilva, the third split between the man and the shadow left by the old door. The machine hesitated. The dead man weighed on the reading through the object he had bought. The drone moved on towards the low street. Antônio's query remained pending, now with an occupancy discrepancy attached. One window was left. Luzia did not come down. She waited for the second hum, while Ilva slowly loosened her hand from her waist and the man shifted the door a hand's breadth closer to the house.