The Cristiano's rose

Cristiano was leaving the Santo Antonio cookie factory, at 27 travessa do forno, in Funchal. The weather was still good on this November evening, but the young man was cautious. In the factory, the ovens gave the impression of working all year round in the tropical jungle, and Cristiano had more than once caught a cold when he went out in the evening humidity. So he closed his jacket and crossed the bridge in front of the factory. 

He spotted Yamila Martins coming out of the Cristalia building, just across from the factory, and turned his head as if he hadn't seen her. He felt Yamila's gaze on the back of his neck. The two had been on the outs since she discovered that Cristiano was also having a relationship with Zelinda da Oliveira, a waitress at the Churrascaria Bom sucesso. Cristiano had taken the trouble to flirt with a girl who didn't live in Funchal, but the island was too small, so everything came out. As a result, he was single, because Zelinda had learned, through Yamila, that he was not a faithful boy. Yamila had come to make a scene at the exit of the factory and he had had to flee from her blows, under the ironic glance, even frankly laughing, of his workmates. 

Cristiano could not help it, he was a pretty boy and he liked women. He had flirted with several girls in the factory. Fortunately, none of them had held his flighty nature against him. They had had a one-night stand with the pretty boy from the cookie factory. That was all and it suited Cristiano.

But Yamila hadn't taken things the same way. She must have thought they would get married. It was a pity, Cristiano had liked his relationship with Yamila. She had a fiery temperament and it was convenient, he would meet her at her house, every night, just in front of the Fabrica, after work. Every night she would wait for him in bed, ready to give him her best. It was amazing what a woman in love could do. Now he was single. He had been scouring the potential conquests at his factory and in the neighborhood. As we entered winter, there were fewer tourists to seduce.

But maybe it was better that way. He had been diagnosed with a heart condition and needed to have tests done. His heart was racing from time to time. With his way of life in love, he was in danger of dying a little quickly. Dying in the arms of a girl was an enviable death, but he was not yet forty. It was necessary that he calmed down.

Cristiano greeted the owner of the Alma Grande Funeral Home on 31 de Janeiro Street. The guy had been good to Cristiano's family when the father, Jose, had died. The mortician had agreed to be paid in installments. Cristiano did not drink, like his father. His father had been a good man, a funny man and a good guy. But he spent his time in bars, drinking with his friends. Many men of his generation drank too much. Young people had fewer problems with alcoholism, but they were affected by drug addiction. Cristiano's older brother, Hugo, had drunk a little, like his father. But Hugo had mostly had problems with drugs. It had taken him years to get out, but now he was with a girl. The trouble seemed to be behind him.

Further on, he turned right into Bom Jesus Street and continued straight ahead. He passed the medical analysis laboratory, trying to forget that they would soon have to give him the results of his blood test from the previous week. As he continued, he passed the Mindu bar, a place he had frequented a lot with Maria-Vitalina, a conquest he had had several years before. She had passed her law exams and become a lawyer in Coimbra. Christiano, on the other hand, had not studied. He had stopped after high school and had started working in the cookie factory. 

He was not unhappy, but the years passed. The girls he had dated were almost all married, with children. He was the nice boy of their young years, a flirt without consequence. His mother, Maria-Dolores and his older sisters kept telling him to think about getting married, to choose a girl. Cristiano was starting to think about it. 

But he had a problem: the girl he really liked, now that he thought about it, was... Yamila. But it was, of course, difficult to reconnect with her after what he had done to her. He didn't know what had gotten into him. Nothing had really happened with Zelinda, the daughter of the Churrascaria. He had met her, she was easy to talk to. He had tried his luck, he had kissed her. Zelinda and Cristiano had seen each other a few times. But the latter was not hooked by the young waitress, not more than Zelinda for that matter.

Thinking, Cristiano continued his way down the street. He saw Yamila. He regretted having turned his head a few minutes earlier. 

Suddenly he turned around. He walked down Bom Jesus Street and turned right onto 31 de Janeiro Street. He knew where he wanted to go. He passed the offices of the JM, the island's newspaper. He had a childhood friend who worked there. Together with Yamila, they had talked about renting the store next door and opening a food store. 

Cristiano was almost running now. He reached Floriolo, the florist on Dificuldades Street. He had come to buy a beautiful red rose, the red rose that he regularly gave to Yamila when they were together. He had never given these roses to anyone but Yamila Martins. Cristiano couldn't write letters, which would have been useful. He would like to tell Yamila that he was sorry, that he wished he could go back. 

He entered the store. Yamila was there, surprised. 

"I came to buy you a rose" Cristiano heard him say...