When I turned 36, the neighbors in Santa Luzia do Vale, a small town in the interior of Minas Gerais, used to whisper behind my back:
— At that age and still without a wife? He’ll end up an old bachelor.
The truth is, I had a few relationships, but nothing worked out. Fate never seemed to be in my favor. So I dedicated myself to my little piece of land: I tended the vegetable garden, raised chickens and a few pigs, and lived a simple and peaceful life.
On a cold late winter afternoon, at the market in the central square, I saw a very thin girl, dressed in old and worn clothes, sitting on the sidewalk with her hand outstretched, begging for something to eat. It wasn’t her appearance that struck me most, but her eyes: clear, sweet, but filled with a deep sadness.
