Brazil's Three Bananas September 21, 2020 It was a Sunday, much like yesterday. Still sleepy, Mouro came downstairs for coffee, but right off the bat, he was asked who had eaten the three bananas from the fruit bowl; he replied that it wasn't him. They retorted that it could only have been him—after all, he was the loafer who didn't work but certainly ate. He insisted it wasn't him, and so the day began with a heated exchange over who had or hadn't eaten the three bananas—bananas that were meant for his mother, who was sitting there having coffee with her other children, her son-in-law, and the maid. A shouting match ensued: he was told that if he wanted bananas, he should work and buy them; that he was a bum who deserved nothing. He fired back at every accusation. A fight broke out, and his mother, already in tears, begged them to stop; yet, minutes later, the commotion resumed with verbal aggression flying back and forth. They were being pushed out toward the vera...
