12 million. More people than any other city in the Americas. Imagine: New York and Los Angeles combined. And here I am in a cab with one man. He is apprehensive. “Não português?” he asks, eyeing me in his rearview mirror. I reply in yankee Portuguese, “Eu não falo português, desculpa.” I don’t speak Portuguese, sorry. “Solo inglés y español,” I say, switching to Spanish. He responds that he speaks a little Spanish. “Well, we can try,” I say. “Why not?” It begins as a negotiation. How long have I been in Brazil? What sort of work brings me here? We tread lightly. Does he live in São Paulo? Is traffic usually this heavy? Small talk as we figure each other out. It is only 50 kilometers to the airport, he tells me, but we have 90 minutes together. I settle in. It is safe to talk about the tangible, so I ask about the beaches, about Rio de Janeiro, about the Amazon. He asks me about the places I have seen. We do not ask about opinions. Soon we are no longer asking questions. We are just talking. He asks he if he can smoke. I wave my hand and tell him of course, it doesn’t bother me. I notice they are Canadian cigarettes, so I ask about that. His niece brought them back, he says. We have moved beyond ourselves. Our families are now here, right beside us in the cab. They are glowing and rickety. Brazil gives way to the places he has seen: New York, Portugal, France. He was a banker, filled with unbearable stress. He loves having this cab now, his own business. “The dream,” I say, and he laughs. We have lifted off from the tangible. Religion, politics, military, ancestry, society. He interrupts himself. “We can communicate! We understand each other!” he exclaims with joy. 20 million people plus our families plus me plus four countries plus all of the problems in this city and country he loves. He calls me a good guy, and I don’t know how to respond, even in English. In the silence, a kind gaze and shared laugh are enough to say that we are both good guys. We finally arrive at the airport, and I want to hug him. Instead I call him by his name: Carlos Roberto. We shake hands with everything we’ve got. And his cab empties of the universe as he pulls away and disappears.
