A conspiracy of my instincts and my ancestors: letter to Martina

Dear Martina:

I am leaving for Brazil. Knowing how I am, I guess you won't be surprised if I disappear just like that, without preamble, but I couldn't wait for our next chat and now I'm writing to you from the plane that takes me to Rio de Janeiro.

It turns out that my instincts and my ancestors have conspired to set a trap for me, a mixture too succulent to ignore or procrastinate. I've thrown four things in my suitcase and I'm on my way to meet them.

Do you remember the book I started reading at Sant Jordi about the love story between the Brazilian architect and the American poetess? do you remember the poem "Un arte" that we read together with the team? Well, it turns out that the poetess is Elizabeth Bishop? and what I urgently want to know is why my grandmother knew her and was at the epicenter of that love.

I thought those verses sounded familiar! She constantly recited them from memory, especially when I lost a toy, which was often. Looking through the books I brought from her house when she passed away, I found one of Elizabeth Bishop's, Geography III, her poems underlined and scribbled. My heart was pounding in my chest, as if I knew something was going to happen, until, from between its pages, a snapshot fell to the floor. A photograph of a road, an elegant car, and below, its unmistakable calligraphy tracing a place and a date: "Petrópolis, 1951". Petrópolis is a city near Rio, where the two women in my book lived for more than a decade... starting in 1951. Do you realize that, Martina?

My grandmother was everywhere! What a woman! You don't know how angry I am that I don't have her in front of me to tell me this story (and so many others, of course) I miss her so much!

Anyway, my dear, once again, sorry for the gaps I leave in your schedule, but I promise this escapade will have good consequences. I know it will.

Kisses to all the team.

All my love.