A plea

Dear João Gilberto,

As opposed to Caetano Veloso, I’m sure that you’re sure that you’ve never met me. From what I understand, you don’t get out a whole lot. Or at all. But hear me out. Your music got me through one of the most difficult years of my life, including the sudden death of a friend. Even now I have trouble listening to  without crying, which is saying something. When I got to Rio, I was shocked to find that some of my new friends had never heard your 1961 or 1973 albums. Whenever we listened to them, all conversation halted. It was sacred.

When you announced a show in Rio, I was devastated by the absurd price of the tickets, and tried not to think about it. Then I was given a ticket, and I can’t tell you how happy it made me. I walked around for days relishing the knowledge that I was going to see João Gilberto in concert, taking the ticket out every so often to look at it and then reverently putting it back in its envelope. Then, at the last minute, you rescheduled your Rio show. December 21^st, two days after my return flight to the United States. I know it wasn’t intentional, but it felt like a punch to the stomach.

“Reschedule your flight,” said a friend. “Yes, reschedule your flight,” said others. I looked into it. The new flight would have cost more than my first car. I gave up and gave the ticket back. Knowing that I could’ve gone to the show after all made it that much worse. Then, one of the strokes of absurd luck that have characterized my stay here, I got another ticket for your show in São Paulo, the day before my flight back. “Cautious optimism is the watchword,” I joked; but in the weeks that came, I let myself hope, and let myself start listening to your albums again. A legendary show on the eve of my flight: it would have been the perfect goodbye to a country I’ve come to call my own. A pilgrimage.

I almost bought my bus ticket to São Paulo today, João, before I saw that now you’re considering canceling the tour altogether. Now the promise of the show just kind of feels like a mean-spirited prank, one of the ones where the dollar bill is tied to a string and no matter how desperately you grab at it, it’ll be yanked from your fingers. You could show up and just sing one song. That’s all. I just wanted to have heard you before I went into exile, just once.

Have pity on a poor gringa, João.
Lest my life turn into that lovely Ary Barroso song:

Meu sabiá, meu violão
E uma cruel desilusão
Foi tudo que ficou
Ficou
Pra machucar meu coração

Um beijo,

Flora