The first time I visited the Liberdade fair, I spent a lot of time at the newsstand, which is right in the center of the square, to choose an origami book.

At that time, my grandfather had taught me how to do the tsuru – a sacred bird in Japan –, so I was dying to learn other foldings. So I chose the coolest little book ever!

Its leaves were light green, in a pastel tone. And, in each of them there were instructions made with drawings in dark blue, to assemble the origami of the various animals that were in their catalogue.

The instructions were written in Japanese, but it was easy to understand them: the folds were all indicated with arrows and dashed lines, and the drawing of a cute pencil figure was always there to point out where we should paint the pet's nose and eyes. .

I filled the headboard of my bed with origami : whales, birds, cats, dogs and, most importantly, lions. This was what I liked doing the most – it was easy to put together and it looked very similar to the real animal.

Until, one day, in the school yard, my teacher saw me playing with an origami turtle and became curious. I had never seen or heard of this “business” – we were in the interior of São Paulo, Matão; 60 thousand inhabitants; 300 km away from the capital; first half of the eighties.

I had no doubts, I unfolded the turtle and folded a little lion, right there – like magic! – so she could understand how it worked.

The woman was delighted. He clapped his hands and praised me a lot. Several children surrounded us.

I explained to them that, you know?, that it was easy to do... And that, you know?, and that I had learned... This, this “business”, made of paper, with a little book there... that I had it at home, you know?

Then the teacher had an idea: if I brought this book to school we could use it in an activity that involved all the students in the class. It would be really cool! In fact, it would be incredible!

The next day, with great care, the teacher passed the book from desk to desk so that everyone could leaf through it. At the end of the class, she informed me that she would take it home to decide which origami we would make.

The following week, eager for news, I asked him about him. She just told me – in her softest voice – that she was in doubt between the elephant and the monkey. He passed his hand over my head.

The following month, still without news, I asked her again. And, in the same soft voice, she told me that, right that weekend, look what a thing!, a nephew of hers, very naughty, took the book, without her noticing, and took it to his house; and that his house was very far away, in another state in Brazil.

I was stunned by the boy's naughtiness.

And the teacher, with wide eyes, even told me that she had already called his mother and asked her to send the book back to him by mail as quickly as possible. And that I could rest assured that, soon, I would have him back.

From that day on, I realized: the teacher started avoiding me.

And, worst of all, dear reader: he avoided me until the end of the year.

In the following decade, I moved to the Liberdade neighborhood. And, in the more than ten years that I've lived in this region – it's automatic – I always avoid looking at that newspaper stand.

I know, I know: I could very well go there, look, find and buy a little book the same or similar to the one I once had and, finally, put an end to this trauma once and for all.

But I also know – and you also know: I can fold and unfold, fold and unfold, this memory; that, for sure, I will never reach the little lion again.

“Was it her? The teacher? No, no, it can't be... It was the nephew... Yes! It was definitely her nephew! Naughty kid... Or was it his mother? Hmmm, yes, she was too lazy to go to... the... Aaah, I know... It was the post office... Of course! And that! The postman forgot my book at... at... at... But... Could it be? The teacher? No, no, it can't be..."

© 2018 Hudson Okada