He was black, black as a daw, even his irises were black, and his sweating skin glistened under the heat of the powerful stage lights. He bulked immense as he cradled the monstrous custom four string across his torso which made it look almost too small for him. It was much bigger than the off the shelf instruments others seemed tiny against as they played. The off the shelf instruments that others used to provide a background rhythm, or maybe the odd harmony to slide under the melody provided by others, were no more like the beast he played than he was like their players.

For him it was an instrument that provided the melody for others to harmonise with and provide rhythm for. He could coax sound of it in any number of ways, he plucked the strings, he strummed them, thumbed them, tapped and double tapped them, stroked them, struck them with the length of the huge fingers of his shovel like hands and banged his entire hands from wrists to finger tips at every imaginable angle on them, and that was before he lovingly caressed, rattled, knocked, rapped and tapped sounds out the instrument’s body itself.

Most of the time he used a combination of techniques, his hands blurring over his instrument. He was a phenomenon, and to the girl watching patiently awaiting her turn to play he, his instrument and his music were the most beautiful things she had ever laid her eyes on and heard. She was mesmerized by his talent and equally by his looks, and her gaze was locked on the player whilst her mind focussed on the music which had a plaintive fado like quality about it that wove its way in to the heavier African sound disappearing to reëmerge reinforced by it a few bars later only to do it all over again gaining in intensity with each cycle. The piece finally finished almost too soon leaving a heightened sense of anticipation as if it required just one more note for completion.

His curly afro hair was tightly braided over his entire head. The dozens of braids stopped just short of his collar. The applause after his piece took six minutes to fade sufficiently for the next performer to sing. The competition rules were simple, a performance had to have a Portuguese connection be it however tenuous. The colossus of a musician originated in Moçambique, an old Portuguese colony. He looked to be thirty, but the competition literature listed him as forty-one, gave his name as Vasco da Gama and profession as engineer. Marília thought anyone with his name must have been the butt of jokes his entire life and felt an instant affinity with the man, but he seemed big enough, and not just in the literal sense, to bear that and any other crosses placed on his back.

Marília had felt confident right up to the point when it was her turn to take the stage. She played a very old, full sized, five row, button accordion that she was still paying for, and was to sing and play ‘La Cumpacita’, probably the best known tango piece in the world. The music that would forever be associated with Montevideo. She was good, but after Vasco’s performance she felt inadequate, like a fumble fingered novice. “Calm. I need calm,” she told herself. It mattered to her. She’d been found at a few hours old abandoned in a slum in Brazilia and the church had her taken to Lisbon under a ‘special’ orphans’ program, a program for those whose souls would especially need the guidance of the church if they were to avoid damnation.

Neither the church, nor life had been kind to her, and she wanted the prize money, third prize would do, then she’d have enough to pay for the treatment she needed to be able to live with some dignity once she was free of the church’s control. She dreamt of owning a Roland FR 8xb which to her was the ultimate in virtual accordions, but at pushing seven thousand US dollars that’s all it was, a dream. Far better she considered to dream about a possible reality, her surgery.

Marília was six feet two and felt very conspicuous in the four inch heels that all female contestants were expected to wear. She had been a big girl in every sense since the age of eight. She’d also been driven to by some inner need to music. Now seventeen, she was massively bosomed, which was the reason she originally chose to play the accordion, she could hide her chest behind it. She’d huge thighs and a bottom to match, yet her long legs were elegant with small feet and her long lightly muscled arms ended in small hands with long slender tapering fingers that danced over the buttons faster than the eye could follow. She was in perfect proportion for a big boned girl of her height and carried not a trace of fat other than what an attractive female of her size and shape should carry. She was not quite eighteen, and in a matter of a few weeks would be cast upon her own resources, but she would be free and mistress of her own destiny. College was a financial impossibility, so since she already met the educational entrance requirements she was going to apply for nursing where she would be paid and housed whilst training.

Marília had a long thin face face that would have looked androgynous but for her make up and hair which was dark and long, half way down her back, and in tight ringlets that owed nothing to artificial help. Her flawless café au lait skin and features meant she was beautiful rather than pretty, and she would age well.

She had all the requisite parts of a woman, but she was self conscious and would never let any, least of all a man, see her naked self, because she had more than the requisite parts of a woman. If she could but pay for the surgery she could live as a woman, marry and have a family. She believed she would have no more difficulty than any other woman giving birth, but to get pregnant a man would need to see and touch her and in addition she’d no intention of letting a midwife or doctor see her as she was if and when she gave birth. She wanted the surgery so badly it tormented her and the only people she intended to allow to see her would be those who were going to do something about it

After she’d been playing for a few seconds her mouth felt full of ash. She was not, she knew, playing anywhere near her best, but she knew she had to continue. She heard the audience gasp and wanted to die, then she heard it behind her. She didn’t need to turn, it was him. The gentle deep tones of the bass from behind supported her playing, in no way did they compete with or even augment her, it was her performance. As her voice soared she knew she was now playing and singing at her best and had her audience in the palm of her hand. As her nerves left her she knew she was no longer at her best, she’d never been this good before. She finished not having been aware of playing, the finger memory took her to the end, and the applause was thunderous. She’d no idea how to deal with it, for she’d never played in front of this size an audience before, nor received such a response, but Vasco plucked the opening notes of La Cumpacita and indicated she was to play.

This time it wasn’t her performance or his, it wasn’t even theirs, she’d felt emboldened to wave the audience to join in for all would know the words. It was twenty minutes of pure magic and the applause lasted so long the organisers knew the competition would seriously over run, but the publicity would be free, so they’d live with it because they could double the ticket price next year. They called for the break, and three competitors would have to take their turn after the break rather than before.

Marília knew she’d done more than her best, and it was all up to the judges now. All she had to do was face Vasco. “I was not playing well. Why did you—”

“I did nothing other than settle your nerves. You are the one who sang and played the box, not I. And the encore is not part of the competition, so that doesn’t count, and you must admit it was fun.” He hesitated a little then as if he’d made a decision continued, “I felt your eyes on me the entire time I was playing. I am sensitive to such, and never have I felt such an intensity of gaze. It pushed me to greater heights, and my playing was better as a result, so I repaid your aid. But what was your intensity about. Tell me truly, for I will know if you are prevaricating, Marília child.”

As he addressed her two things occurred, Marília wondered how he knew her name then realised the same way she knew his, from the competition literature, and the shock of being called child by someone who meant it with no trace of condescension, unlike the priests and the orphanage staff, triggered a sense of longing and if only it could be true in her she’d never experienced before.

Vasco felt the latter like a hammer blow. He’d taken to engineering as a poverty stricken young man in order to eat, but never given up his true love, the deep toned melodic music of his people. The big custom four string was the ideal modern instrument for him to reproduce his cultural music with in front of large audiences and he was hoping to be able to give up engineering to pursue a musical career. The last two decades had exposed him to musics other than his own and fado, which he enjoyed, and enhanced some of the older forms he played too.

Marília blushed and admitted, “I thought you and you instrument and your music were the most exquisitely beautiful things I had ever seen and heard. You were so amazing I felt inadequate. I had no idea a bass could do that. The raw power of the sound and the effect it had on the audience was beyond anything I had ever imagined possible.”

“You clearly need to listen to the recording of your encore then. But why did you react to my use of the word child the way you did? It must surely be a common place experience for you from someone over twice your age?”

“I am an orphan in the charge of the church and their appointees till I’m eighteen. There’s precious little care or love there. It was such a shock because it was the first time I had been so addressed.”

“How are you still in care? There must have been hundreds of childless couple desperate to adopt such a beautiful little girl as you were.”

Marília didn’t understand why, unless it was the calm compelling look in his eyes, she answered Vasco truly. “No. None. I am not like other girls on the outside. It’s not where anyone can see. That’s why I want the competition prize money so badly, to pay for the surgery. It’s not a life threatening matter, and it’s not a great deal of money I need for I have most of it already saved. Third prize is enough. Then I shall be like other girls. And I shall be able to marry and have a family. I shall be eighteen in six weeks and shall be free of the church’s accusations that I must be evil to have been so cursed, and their insistence that I have to be doubly grateful for their care. Well it’s been poor care, and it must be true what the priests say about me because I’m not in the least bit grateful.” She smiled as she said the last indicating she didn’t believe what she’d been told about herself.

Vasco was competing for the exposure, and did not smile, for though to him the first prize was not a great deal of money clearly to Marília it was a fortune. “What will you do when you are eighteen for a home and money? Do you have plans?”

“Nursing. It provides accommodation and pay with the training, not much, but I shan’t starve.”

“I see. Is your heart set on that or are you open to suggestions?”

“It’s the only thing I could find other than walking the streets that would enable me to survive. Why?”

“I was drawn to you the moment I felt your gaze on me. Right from then I thought I’d love to have you as a daughter. Music is my first love and yours too. I can tell.” Vasco was speaking slowly and Marília’s heart was pounding, but he continued, “You’d not have to find a home and could go to college if you wanted. But if not I believe we could make a good living playing together. It would be a unique sound.”

“You serious, Vasco? We don’t even know each other.”

“I love the sound of my name on your lips. Yes I’m serious, and we probably know more about each other than some couples who’ve been together for half a century, for one’s character comes through in the music. Don’t you agree?”

It was a nervous Marília who replied, “Probably yes. Yes, and I think I know you well enough to know you are prevaricating. What is it you are not telling me?”

“Touché, Marília. Would you allow me to court you with a view to becoming your husband rather than your father, for that way I would hear my name on your lips regularly?”

Marília, had rapidly reëstimated their relationship in seconds and no longer nervous but mischievous she asked, “Why the haste? And is that the only reason you wish me to consider you as a husband?”

“At an event such as this one meets a lot of people one never sees again. I don’t want that to happen, so I expressed interest whilst I had the opportunity. As to hearing my name on your lips it’s the only reason I’m prepared to admit to in public. Though next to you I don’t feel so conspicuously big. Privately, no it’s definitely not the only reason, but this is hardly the place to discuss those reasons, and you have not answered me yet, have you?”

“I have not. Yes, I’ll allow it. I’ll be brutally honest. You are likely the best offer I’ll ever get. I have always wished to marry and have a family and I more than like you. The music makes your proposal impossible to not consider, but…,” Marília hesitated, and Vasco was certain it was not from nervousness. Rather she was trying to formulate her thoughts rather than risk articulating them poorly, so he knew what was to follow was important to her. “On one condition. You never see me as I am. I want the surgery first. I’ve never been prepared to have dealings with any man as other than a normal woman. That’s non-negotiable, Vasco. And if you ever lay a hand on me in anger, big as you are, I promise I’ll kill you. I’m not a toy, and you’d have to sleep eventually. And I want time to get to know you before I do anything that can’t be undone easily.”

Vasco was shocked at her promise, but realising it came out of a life so brutal he could scarce envision it he nodded. “I’ll never intentionally hurt you, or indeed any other. If your life is still so poor you need to make that sort of a promise I suggest you leave with me and go into hiding till you are eighteen, and take as much time as you need. I accept your condition, but whether you win the money or not, may I pay for the surgery as soon as you are eighteen?”

“You in a hurry to bed me, Vasco?” As soon as she’d said it Marília realised it was a mistake. She reached for Vasco, kissed his cheek and said, “I’m sorry. That was meant as a joke, but it was in very poor taste. Yes, as soon as I’m eighteen, and I’m in a hurry even if you aren’t, for I’m not only a virgin, I’ve never been seen by anyone since the age of eight, and I wish to go to my marriage bed a virgin and remain unseen by any other than medical people till then.”

“I meant no matter what happens between us. Even if we decide we can’t make it work may I pay for your surgery as soon as you are eighteen? You would owe me nothing. Consider it an act of kindness from one musician to another. Let things develop between us or not, but be the person you wish to be as soon as possible.”

“You are a charitable man, Vasco. Like I told you, you’re likely the best offer I’ll ever get. I like you, and then there’s the music. I’d like to get to know you better before either of us make any decision, and since I’m already evil and cursed according to the church I can’t see that sleeping with you without church sanction is going to make much difference to my soul. I’ll hide with you till I’m eighteen when I’ll accept your offer to pay for the surgery. Once I’m well enough I’ll share a bed with you, and if things are still fine I’ll marry you when I’m nineteen. By then we’ll both know if it’s what we want. I know that’s brutally pragmatic, but life has taught me to be careful. How does that sound?”

Vasco brightened and said, “It sounds well. Cautious, but there’s nothing wrong with caution. I think we just came joint first. Come, let’s get something to eat.” Hand in hand the couple went to find some food.

Vasco took the first prize, and Marília to her great delight the third. Second place was taken by a female fado singer singing the always popular ‘Casa da Mariquinhas’. It was the first time in years the first prize hadn’t been taken by a fado singer.

That night Marília was aware that her period was due imminently, possibly tomorrow but more likely the day after. As she readied for bed Marília checked her hand bag for tampons and satisfied she had enough she looked in the mirror. As she pulled her dress over her head and removed her bra she smiled and then chuckled. At least Vasco’s hands would be able to handle her similarly sized breasts and that did not need to wait on her surgery. Perhaps life was getting better already. She nodded in agreement with herself, the competition had been a very good idea.

As she looked down and saw herself hanging down out of the side of her knickers she despised Father Perez and his minions anew. He’d always looked at her with a sickening lust in his bloodshot, rheumy, old eyes, and she knew he was just a lying old pervert.

No one of any intelligence believed in succubi. And to try to convince a little girl that what occasionally fell out at the side of her knickers reaching half way down to her knees marked her as a succubus, a spawn of Satan who was I need of constant priestly attention, no doubt using the God given instrument of redemption she’d seen straining to poke a hole in his cassock any number of times, was nothing short of criminal, and, if the rest of the nonsense they’d tried to make her believe were true, a mortal sin into the bargain. Barely a day had gone by when she’d been a child but he’d have her strip completely naked in his office. He’d fondle her between her legs and take a grip on her with one hand squeezing and pulling whilst the other did something under his cassock.

Older children who’d suffered at his hands had explained to her what was happening. That came to an abrupt end when she was eight. With hindsight she put it all together. There had been a number of high profile paedophilia cases involving Catholic clergy at the time and the Jesuits were involved in an internal investigation. Two of them arrived at the orphanage and they spoke to every child over ten days. They’d been clever with their questions and though fearful and reluctant in the end she’d told them all. Other children had too. Father Perez was still running the orphanage, but he no longer abused children. They’d learnt that if they uttered the word Jesuit they could see fear in his eyes, and he would say he had something urgent to do elsewhere. But still the lust was in his eyes and he would say inappropriate things.

As she dressed in her night things she put herself back in her knickers and knew she was just a girl in need of a surgery. A surgery that if the church’s ‘special’ orphan’s program hadn’t interfered would have been provided free when she was a baby by the charity hospital. She couldn’t possibly be the only girl born with large labia.

*Daw, a corvid, member of the corvidae family, in some parts a daw exclusively refers to a jackdaw (jack originally meant small) but in other places it could refer to any of the black members of the family of crow, rook, raven, magpie, so not the coloured ones like jays &c.