The Spirits of Adultery

Brazil is inescapable. Everything is out in the open, whether it's a guy in the mall wearing shorts with one metal leg or an overweight woman in a bikini thong on the beach. Cigarette packs have warning photos covering the entire back of the package noting impotência as a smoking risk. There's a picture of a naked man looking down at his crotch.

Even the invisible is out and about. Magical realism originated in Latin America for a reason. Spirits of deceased family members are sought for advice. The presence of the unseen is taken for granted. If I tell a Brazilian, “I'm a spiritual person,” she will understand I'm able to converse with spirits. If I say, “I felt the spirit of your mother in your house,” she'll reply, “Oh, thank you. Is my mother okay on the other side?” An American would put her house up for sale.

Should you decide to live in Brazil, you will need to adjust to a cosmos where the hidden is commonplace. It's an exercise in the willing suspension of disbelief.

Accommodating the indiscernible into your life will not be the only alteration. You will need to provide room for the flagrant and audacious. Parents discuss sex and death in front of their kids because it's natural and shameless. Piercing stories typically forbidden to American children arise over rice & beans. Funerals feature an open casket. A scenic train ride for tourists I was enjoying stopped along its route. Five minutes later, an announcement was made that there would be an extensive delay while the track was cleared of a suicide.

Mainstream media isn't shy either. In the US, an article about sexual harassment might read, “When we were alone, he would say dirty things and touch me.” In Brazil, the article will say, “When we were alone, he put his left hand on my right breast. He told me when he was taking showers he would imagine me naked and touch himself.”

I attended a Brazilian wedding with about 200 guests, which is considered modest in size. As my wife patiently explained the interlocking relationships of the guests who were her office colleagues, I discovered (in whispers) that I was the only person in the room unaware of a guest's infidelities. Only me, that is, and her husband. The affair had been going on for years and was common knowledge throughout my wife's office. The co-conspirators in the ghostly silence that surrounded the husband were hundreds of wedding guests.

After revealing this open secret, my wife sat back with a nod to allow her words to marinate. Then she continued. The spirited woman in question was also in the habit of displaying a scandalous amount of cleavage in the office. Bear in mind that for cleavage to be scandalous in Brazil, a woman would have to be practically shirtless. When I questioned my wife on the motives of such a display, Was she trying to add to her stable? my wife explained matter-of-factly that at the ripe age of 35, she was merely celebrating her breast implants.

Willing to test my self-discipline against the seductive temptations of scandal, I scanned the crowd for the woman in question. What does a woman with loose morals and display-worthy silicone look like? I saw no one who fit my imagination's description. Finally my wife identified the vital character for me, and I was disappointed. While her floor-length dress was strapless, it was also cleavage-less. She didn't appear, at least in her shimmery gown, to be particularly busty. If her office couture was based on false modesty, she had a different display in mind tonight with her husband present.

Gestating with covert information, I had no choice but to stare. I watched her dancing with her husband. She was tall in heels and attractive, but not the siren I was expecting. Her movements lacked elegance although her naturally blond hair swept expertly off her face offered a pleasant portrait. Her fair skin glowed while her strapless gown revealed ultra-thin tan lines reaching behind her neck.

As my wife watched me watching, she launched into a diatribe expressing her astonishment. It wasn't the cuckoldry that amazed her, or the fact that everyone in the room knew of the affair, but rather how the adulteress found the energy to take care of her home, her husband, her lover, and her two young sons, not to mention the added time choosing the optimal neckline for her office work.

I felt a curious connection to the husband, who seemed honestly oblivious while he enjoyed the refreshments and dancing. I was a complete stranger, but I knew more about his wife than he did. It was like cheering for the underdog when he doesn't stand a chance of winning.

I understood what it meant when the invisible becomes visible.