A Major Change

The unexpected always happens. It should be called "expected" instead. Marco, my husband, wasn't happy. He was returning very early from fairs on Tursdays and Sundays. But not only this. He was taking longer to get back from fairs outside the city. So, if on Sundays he had to come back like 9 PM, then he was back about 1 PM. But if the fair was in another town and he had to go on Friday to come back on Monday, then he was back only on Tuesday or even Wednesday.

His behavior was different. We talked a lot about it. He wanted to live in another place. He wanted to live outside of Rio de Janeiro. He told me that he couldn't live in a place like Rio anymore. I like the countryside, but I didn't know how it could work out. We had to be close to the downtown to sell the miniatures.

However, I was wrong. Marco didn't want simply to live in the countryside as I thought. He wanted to live outside any city, which means in some remote area. In the jungle! Yes! I got it! I told him what seemed obvious for me. We had 2 children and we couldn't do it to them. There are not schools or hospitals in the jungle. Marco agreed and we stopped talking about this subject during some months.

He was staying there for me and the kids, but he wasn't happy. I could tell it. I guess he also wanted to do his thing. The miniatures were my idea and he wanted to get his dreams done. I had never dreamt about making miniatures. I did it because we needed. The miniatures ended being our job. But he had his personal dreams, and he dreamt about going to the jungle, and work as artisan. He would like to work sculpting wood.

He was becoming depressed. So, I told him: "Go! Just go!" And he did. I stayed alone with the children and soon I learnt that I couldn't make all that by myself. I had no one to take care of my kids. I couldn't go to the fairs with them and the bags full of miniatures. They were 4 and 3 years old. I didn't drive yet in that time.

I had to go back to my parents home. They had a kind of wooden house in the backyard where my dad kept his tools. I tried to make a place for me to keep working with the miniatures.

Marco went to live in another state. First he lived in a farm with some friends. Later he got what he really wanted. He went to live alone in the jungle (it is called "Mata Atlântica" - means "Atlantic jungle"). I didn't see him during years. Sometimes I even didn't know if he was still alive.

He lived as a hermit. Few years ago, after more than 20 years apart, he came to my home several times because he needed go to see the doctor in the downtown and he had no place to stay in Rio. He seemed older than his real age.

Two years ago, he told me that he was sick by depression. He had an employee that was doing all the job. Maybe a month later, I got a phone call. Marco was died. So, I went to his place for the first time. The car couldn't go there. I had to walk a lot. The nature was wonderful, but there was no neighbors, nothing, only the forest. That loneliness was not good to anyone. His death was noticed by the newspaper because he was a naturalist and lastly he became a defender of the forest.

Above, a picture of Marco selling his wooden toys in the fair and down the house he built in the forest.