A Study in Yellow

By Luke Negreiros

After years of absence, Pedrinho de Oliveira, the character "Pedrinho" from Monteiro Lobato's stories, was surprised by an unexpected invitation that took him back to the farm, causing him to revisit his memories and face the truth that had long been hidden. Now an adult, he could walk around the place recounting his childhood adventures. Despite the pain, he would face his fears and memories, which for years deceived him with distorted memories. The truth surrounding the farm is darker than he remembered, with negative forces and the melancholy of a true "study in yellow."
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The book "A Study in Yellow" is an extension of the original text "Saci," providing a reinterpretation of the events of that night of terror. The notes and memories reveal that Saci was truly a dangerous creature, Cuca was a woman expelled from the community for a scaly skin disease, Narizinho's depression was real, and Grandma Anastácia was wasting away with Alzheimer's. Discover the truth behind Tio Barnabé and the creatures that inhabited the children's imagination in that terrifying forest.
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"A Study in Yellow" is an escape from the atmosphere of playfulness, leaving in its place a deep and dark drama.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luke Negreiros
• Release date: Jun 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215999264

Luke Negreiros

Autor independente, pós-graduado em literatura e artes aplicadas, foi professor universitário de redação e vencedor do III Concurso Cultural de Microcontos no Instituto Federal de Educação, Ciência e Tecnologia de São Paulo - Campus Araraquara. Nascido e criado no interior de São Paulo por quase toda sua vida, cresceu sob forte influência da ficção científica e quando adulto, seguiu cultivando o desejo genuíno em escrever suas próprias histórias.

Book preview

Monteiro Lobato

Monteiro Lobato was a Brazilian writer, editor, and entrepreneur born in Taubaté, São Paulo on April 18, 1882. He is known for being one of the first writers to dedicate himself to children's literature in Brazil, creating characters such as the doll Emília and the Yellow Woodpecker Farm. In addition, Lobato was also a defender of Brazilian education and culture, having been one of the main advocates for the creation of the country's first children's library. His work is marked by social criticism and the use of Brazilian folklore characters, such as Saci-Pererê and Curupira. Monteiro Lobato passed away on July 4, 1948, in São Paulo, leaving an important legacy for Brazilian children's literature.

The importance of Monteiro Lobato in preserving and popularizing Brazilian folklore and indigenous mythology is undeniable. He was one of the pioneers in valuing native culture in his works, using characters and elements present in the popular imagination, such as Saci-Pererê and Iara. Furthermore, Lobato dedicated himself to studying and disseminating the culture of indigenous peoples, contributing to the spread of their traditions and beliefs. His literary work is an important legacy for the appreciation of Brazilian cultural identity.

This book A Study in Yellow retelling of the events originally published in the story Saci, using some of the characters created by Monteiro Lobato, whose works are in the public domain. This retelling is a way to revisit Lobato's work and give new meaning to his creations (now, under the eyes of an adult), bringing a new perspective to the stories that marked Brazilian children's literature.

1

I was getting ready for an exhausting, to be honest, paralyzing trip. One of those trips that defines your life from then on; yours and your family's. It was after I received the news.

I'm at the airport now and need to make a quick stop before heading to the farm. I won't be going back home, I'm going straight there. I better let my wife know I'm running late, despite everything.

I wasn't expecting such a sudden change. Everything became confusing after what happened. It wouldn't be easy to find family members that I haven't heard from in a long time. And that farm, huh?! What am I going to tell Dona Benta? That I encouraged Narizinho to come to the city? That I was the one who opened the doors for her to discover the world? Or was it the world that discovered Narizinho?

Anyway, I have to go. What saves me is that, despite the hurried visit, I no longer have the obligation to reveal our secrets, mine and my cousin's. I don't have to deal with Dona Benta's conscience hammering in our heads, telling us what to do or not to do. The rules of the city are different. Maybe that's what attracts me, the danada Narizinho, as I used to call her. I pretended not to like it, but maybe it was something else. I'll never know.

I lost count of how many times I had to fetch her from dark alleys, unruly parties, and get her out of scrapes that neither Dona Benta nor that crazy doll could predict. They would be surprised at how unruly Narizinho has become. I would like to see Dona Benta's face when she discovers the new connotation that the nickname Narizinho* has out here.

Taxi, taxi! I called the driver and handed over the address I had written down. I held my suitcase tightly so that the package of brown envelopes wouldn't fly out the window. I'm on my way to the place that was once my spiritual retreat, even though children don't think about supernatural things. They just live it, witness things that don't exist and treat them like the coolest thing of the day. Like those lizard months, Barnabé's stories, and playing with the doll. >tsc<

Imagine me, playing with dolls!

I confess that, speaking like this, it may sound crazy, but I feel a chill in my stomach when I touch on this subject. For a long time, I convinced myself that those wanderings through unknown yards and the discoveries of children blooming were inventions of the past. However, the truth is that I still feel the same restlessness and curiosity that drove me at that time. I am still fascinated by the unknown and the stories hidden between the lines of life. Maybe that's my destiny: to search for the mysteries of the world and find answers that many prefer to ignore. Sometimes, it's the mischiefs of the past that leave the deepest scars. And that's exactly what happened when I was nine years old and went to spend another holiday season at Dona Benta's farm...

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** Narizinho is a nickname that can be literally translated to little nose.*

2

At that time of year, the weather was pleasant and I was packing my things to leave. I couldn't help but grab a letter I wrote in childhood, which I still keep with me to this day, I don't know why. Narizinho sent me another letter as a reminder of those days, which I found sad, but kept. I didn't remember childish numbers and calculations... but I kept it. I never imagined that one day I could use it, but heaven seems to have no shortage of ironies, for that day arrived. I kept it with a certain zeal in my suitcase and was ready, or so I thought.

I remember the anxiety of leaving everything behind. There was nothing that could distract me from the attention given to my socks and nylon shorts, nothing, except for another one of those famous notes from Narizinho. At that time, we received letters with small announcements, it wasn't like today where a simple phone call would solve the issue. With Narizinho, nothing was simple, especially when it came to my calculations and almost impossible relationships to create. They were associations that challenged logic and common sense...

I wonder what the calculations would be like today. Dona Benta approaching 100, Narizinho close to my age, me in my 40s, while Emília, Marquês and Visconde don't count age. Maybe they wouldn't even make it through the first year, after all, age was exclusive to us and not to these hallucinations sewn in cloth and wild imagination.

I opened the medicine bottle, swallowed two more pills and said, as soon as I caught my breath. Turn here, taxi driver. I'll be right over there. Thank you!

3

At first glance, the region seemed to have remained unchanged: the curves of the alleys were still lined with pebbles, the majestic trees continued to beautify the landscape and the fences of the neighboring properties remained in the same place as always. The only visible change was the crooked pine poles, now spreading throughout the length of the roads and into the woods. Despite this modernity, everything seemed the same.

With my suitcase beside me, I paid the taxi driver and began moving towards the entrance. Although the entrance was the same, it now seemed older and more dilapidated. The latch was small, just like everything there. Everything seemed smaller, from the path to the wooden entrance with spaced boards.

Strangely, there was no one there. The wide-open doors indicated the way to the back. In the waiting room, there was nothing, not even a murmur or a greeting. I felt uncomfortable and awkward like an unwanted visitor.

Actually, I prefer it this way! This is me... and not...

Anyway, I decided to circumnavigate the old house while observing Dona Benta's poorly maintained gardens. Oh, if she only knew what they were doing to her flowers and leaves. The plants that reminded her of her youth were now withered and colorless.

Just like the house, Dona Benta and her garden, time had passed and the wheel of fate continued to turn.

If only it were like that in my childhood...

Looking at one of the side windows, I noticed that the beads were not hanging. This made me sad, as Dona Benta treated these beads with a sickly affection. She would always fight with Nastácia whenever she moved them after a long day of cleaning. However, at that time, no one imagined that this was just one of the many symptoms that Dona Benta presented. Before judging her, it is necessary to understand that it is difficult to identify the problems she went through when you are inside the storm. Looking from the outside, like someone analyzing the whole picture, is easy! Feeling every tide break in spaced times is sometimes harder to discover than the natural tragedy itself that approaches!

I went back to the back, where the first shadows of people walking through the property were beginning to appear. Beside me was a servant crouched down and motionless like a statue. He stared at me