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It was dark on moonless nights in Bom Jesus da Lapa , a town on the Sao
Francisco River in Bahia, Brazil, because there was no electricity for
street lighting, businesses or homes. A city-owned Czech-made diesel
generator was out of order due to poor maintenance and a lack of spare
parts. There were, however, a couple of privately owned generators, one of
which was for a town bar where beer drinkers demanded their beer be "stupidamente
gelado" (stupidly cold). What light shone elsewhere came from dwellings
where kerosene lanterns suspended on thin wires cast out dim shafts of
illumination through open doorways and shutters. The narrow streets, cobbled
with stones from a nearby quarry, reflected none of it. In my two years as a
resident, my eyes never did become adjusted to the darkness; the brown-eyed
townspeople insisting it was so because they were blue and therefore better
suited to daylight.
Enjoying a stroll one particularly dark evening shortly after sunset, an
hour when many people were about, I could only distinguish vague outlines
and shadowy figures in the enclosing gloominess. Even though I had been
there less than a month, I had found a solitary evening walk quite an
adventure and a splendid way to adapt myself to my new surroundings.
Maintaining a purposeful stride and hoping to avoid holes or stumbling over
a child, I exhilarated in the exotic images, sounds and fragrances. Cooking
fires created flickering light from kitchens and the sudden flare on the tip
of a cigarette was like the pulsing glow of a lightening bug. In the
darkness I could not distinguish the difference between men and women but it
really didn’t matter.
The dog I didn’t see at all but it must have been large for it was able to
wrap its jaws around the calf of my left leg with facility, causing an
instant awareness but without the sting of a bite. It had likely passed me
by and then, in a sudden and instinctive reaction to my foreignness, spun
around and lunged, gripping my shinbone in its teeth. But just as quickly as
it grabbed my leg, it just as quickly let go. From the blackness, over the
sound of sandals sweeping across the cobblestones, I heard a woman’s voice
utter a terse apology.
My momentum carried me some distance before it occurred to me I hadn’t
flinched, cried out or even slowed down. But what if I had? My skill in the
language was still fledging and entirely inadequate for a remonstration.
There was nothing I could have said. Anyway, the woman had by now moved off
and I, after going over the incident, concluded the bite hadn’t pierced the
skin. A quick inspection at home later confirmed it.
Had the animal drawn blood, the higher-ups in Rio de Janeiro would have no
doubt compelled me to undergo a series of painful shots injected into the
stomach muscles as a precaution against the possibility of rabies. As a
matter of fact, I had a store of rabies vaccine in the house for just such a
contingency. Unquestionably I would have had to go through with it.
In retrospect it was my demeanor and scent, both daunting, which sparked the
sudden aggressiveness on the part of the dog. I took to carrying a bulky
flashlight for a time but soon left it at home as I became a more confident
and presumably a less threatening figure. I was not ever again bothered by a
dog. |
