The Day Chiquinho Disappeared

By Wanderlino Arruda

The Day Chiquinho Disappeared is a delicate and moving story by Wanderlino Arruda about the deep bond between a young girl and her beloved cat. When Chiquinho mysteriously vanishes, an emotional journey begins—filled with memories, longing, hope, and the pain of absence. Written with great sensitivity, this tale speaks to readers of all ages, capturing the beauty of our connection with animals and the powerful impact they have on our lives. A touching and unforgettable read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Millenium
• Release date: May 4, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230847533

Wanderlino Arruda

Wanderlino Arruda (São João do Paraíso, September 3, 1934) is a Brazilian writer, speaker, lawyer, politician and professor, based in the city of Montes Claros, having been the creator and first president of the Historical and Geographical Institute and the Masonic Academy of Letters of Northern Minas.[1] His poetic work has gained international recognition with verses of his authorship recited by Romain Duris in the film L'Arnacœur, by Pascal Chaumeil.[2]. He is a speaker in several areas of knowledge, with a constant presence in auditoriums and in almost all social media.

Book preview

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THE DAY CHIQUINHO DISAPPEARED – BOOK

PRESENTATION

This is the third title published by Wanderlino Arruda.

Previously, he had already published two volumes of chronicles, both of which were well received by critics and the public. His first book was

Tempos de Montes Claros, a collection of writings published in the press about people and things from our city, which is his adopted homeland.

I think it is worth remembering that the author, given his perennial intellectual production, took a long time to make his first book debut, as he was already in his forties when he published his first title.

Soon after, after a brief pause for meditation, he published the second volume, Jornal de Domingo, a collection of chronicles published in the literary supplement of O Jornal de Montes Claros, in which he writes a permanent column, covering his personal observations on everyday events. If he continues at this editorial pace, which already foresees the fourth and fifth titles coming out very soon, Wanderlino Arruda will end up being the most prolific of our authors.

Currently, the record holder for publications is historian Geraldo Tito da Silveira. On the other hand, it is clear that other good writers from Montes Claros, such as Hermenegildo (Monzeca) Chaves and Caio Lafetá, produced marvels and collections of old newspapers, all of which are archived. João Chaves, the bard, also died without publishing the long-awaited book of poems, which was published posthumously by his family.

Now, the brilliant novelist Yvonne de Oliveira Silveira, who is the standard-bearer of our literature, only has half of O Velho Brejo das Almas, written in partnership with her husband Olyntho da Silveira, author of several books.

And Luiz de Paula, with his refined style, published only one pamphlet on economic themes, and owes us the unpublished work that should be a reflection of his lyrical and bohemian side.

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Well, Wanderlino Arruda, who masters the vernacular and sees everything, has behaved, in his work as an assiduous chronicler, with the same obstinacy as the archaeologist who digs underground in search of buried civilizations, so that they do not disappear into oblivion. What one perceives, reading him, is his concern to photograph the moment for eternity.

For this reason, historians of the future will consult their books a lot, which for them will be like those bottles carried by the waves of the ocean, containing messages sent from unknown places.

The Author has been working as a photojournalist of the general panorama of the city and the world, of this vast world that begins in São João do Paraíso and has nowhere to end, and he works skillfully to capture the snapshots of everyday life, with the luminosity, sharpness and angle recommended by the manuals on the art of good photography.

In this book, he gave up his right to select the material and gave the task to readers, innovating. He opened his archive of clippings to his teaching colleagues, who teach at the Banco do Brasil University, the Department of Selection and Development (DESED), and asked them to sort the chronicles. Strictly speaking, I sincerely believe that the honor of writing the preface should fall to the members of the illustrious team. However, the Author, who is given to attitudes that deviate from convention, chose one of the many characters from the previous book to preface the work.

The thing is, this is not a preface, in the traditional sense, meaning merely a presentation of the work, devoid of the ambition to analyze it in depth and erudition. In this volume, the columnist edits what is considered to be the most valuable in his (unpublished) work as a contributor to the press, and he does it very well, because he fears that all this production will be lost in the ephemerality of the newspaper, which, after being read, will go to the pile of used paper and be forgotten.

Regarding the disposable nature of what appears in newspapers, I remind the reader of an episode that occurred in the youth of the novelist Ernest

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Hemingway. Advised by the American writer Gertrud Stein, he abandoned journalism and embraced a literary career. She simply convinced him that journalism is like writing in chalk on a blackboard.

You just have to wipe it with a sponge and it will disappear.

disappear while the book is made to stay, to be read, kept, reread, kept...

If in this volume the columnist was not very demanding regarding the preface and even considered leaving the space reserved for the preface writer blank, in other details he revealed himself to be vain and refined.

Starting with the publisher, which is the press of the Federal University of Minas Gerais, whose seal confers prestige. Vanity spoke louder when choosing the illustrator, who fell on the exquisite artist Samuel Figueira, whose pen and ink drawings will attract attention and frame the whimsical text. Added to this vanity is the invitation made to Professor Eduardo Luppi, head of the team of artists at UFMG, to be responsible for the final art of the work.

This book, so well written and edited (with computer-generated typesetting), if it were the last, would complete a trilogy by Wanderlino Arruda about what is called the enchanting soul of the streets, but there will be others. The source of inspiration will continue to flow...

Regarding the title The Day Chiquinho Disappeared, I would like to clarify that it is not children's literature, although it may seem that way, and it deserves to be read by children and adults alike, because it is of interest to everyone who likes to read.

Enjoy!

HAROLDO LIVIO

Grand Mogol, carnival of 1987.

THE DAY IN

THAT CHIQUINHO IS GONE

On the day in November that Chiquinho disappeared, I wasn't in Brasília. I had traveled weeks before and hadn't seen the little animal either when I arrived or when I left, during a long stay.

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While staying at the St. Paul Hotel, I never once went to Setecentos e Três Sul, I don't know if out of convenience or ingratitude, although many of my colleagues and friends were there, as well as Chiquinho. It was a shame. Now that Chiquinho has disappeared, I see the loss, the pain of an absence, even if not deliberate. I only passed by there twice: once at night, going to the house of Nelson Pereira de Souza, the Brazilian president of Esperanto, and another, on a Sunday morning, on a circular walk around the city to visit Walkíria and Nabiran.

But I didn't go to Concessa and Chiquinho's house.

I learned of Chiquinho's disappearance from a news story from my colleague Geraldo Eustáquio, who had stayed there for a month at my suggestion. He told me about Concessa's tears, the guests' anguish, Neide's sadness, everyone's sense of loss, at coffee time, at dinner time, and especially when watching television, when the memory of Chiquinho lying on the fine silk pillow, enthusiastic about the widow Porcina's Globo programs, was strongest. Eustáquio also told me that Concessa became intolerable, nervous, full of complaints, far from the normal kindness that she is the greatest bearer of in the world. Even the joy