That morning, men, women and children were displayed on a wooden platform, treated like cattle under the gaze of buyers. The auctioneer, a fat man with a curved mustache and a high-pitched voice, announced each lot with the energy of a merchant sure of his merchandise.
When Benedita’s turn came, silence fell. Not out of admiration, but out of unease.
She was about 1.95m tall, maybe more. His shoulders were broad, his hands immense, his bare feet deeply marked the wood of the platform. His torn raw cotton garment barely covered his angular body, scarred by hunger, forced labor and scarring.
Her black hair was shaved very short. His dark eyes didn’t rest on anyone. They seemed to be staring at an invisible horizon, as if it were already elsewhere.
