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father christmas

I only got the shock at 2pm. I heard, opened my mouth and my thoughts flashed to the program Divino Maravilhoso (Divine, Marvelous) of Christmas ‘68, a few days before, on TV Tupi. I’d never seen such a violent scene in my life. It was simply Caetano, with a gun in his hand, his voice quiet and musical, calm and sweet, singing.

“Anoiteceu/o sino gemeu

A gente ficou/feliz a rezar…”

“Night has fallen, the bell has struck

We were happy to be praying…”

The gun was held without emphasis. Forgotten in his hand, the black barrel pointing at the audience, not focused on anyone, pointing at nothing:

“Eu pensei que todo mundo

fosse filho de Papai Noel…”

“I thought that everyone

was a child of Father Christmas…”

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Três trópicos da tropicália