![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
An anonymous reader sent us this cool thing:
I found a historic Brazilian example of plurality and wanted to share it with you. In the nonfiction book "Samba" by Alma Guillermoprieto, she describes Seu Malandrino, a dead man who sometimes possessed a favela-dwelling woman. Here's an excerpt from pp. 110 — 111:
-
On Mondays, Celina’s body was often on loan to a scoundrel by the name of Seu Malandrino, who wore her chunky, comfortable flesh with a menacing swagger, spit obscene words out of the corner of his mouth, straddled her only chair horseback-style, and kept his face wreathed in a halo of cigarette smoke.
The first time I saw him, while poking my head in Celina’s door and running directly into the stare from his dirty yellow eyes, I found him very frightening indeed. It took a couple of seconds before I recognized a face under the white boater hat with red trim and babbled an apology for the intrusion. “I’m sorry, Celina,” I began, and was cut short. “Celina isn’t here. My name is Seu Malandrino.” The voice was gravelly and sinuous… “Let the gringa come in!” he said to a frightened young couple sitting on the sofa, and to me, “Sit in that corner and shut up!”
I found a historic Brazilian example of plurality and wanted to share it with you. In the nonfiction book "Samba" by Alma Guillermoprieto, she describes Seu Malandrino, a dead man who sometimes possessed a favela-dwelling woman. Here's an excerpt from pp. 110 — 111:
-
On Mondays, Celina’s body was often on loan to a scoundrel by the name of Seu Malandrino, who wore her chunky, comfortable flesh with a menacing swagger, spit obscene words out of the corner of his mouth, straddled her only chair horseback-style, and kept his face wreathed in a halo of cigarette smoke.
The first time I saw him, while poking my head in Celina’s door and running directly into the stare from his dirty yellow eyes, I found him very frightening indeed. It took a couple of seconds before I recognized a face under the white boater hat with red trim and babbled an apology for the intrusion. “I’m sorry, Celina,” I began, and was cut short. “Celina isn’t here. My name is Seu Malandrino.” The voice was gravelly and sinuous… “Let the gringa come in!” he said to a frightened young couple sitting on the sofa, and to me, “Sit in that corner and shut up!”
