Wednesday, May 24, 2023

The Size Switch, by Monteiro Lobato

“The Size Switch” [A Chave do Tamanho] is a children’s book written by Monteiro Lobato and published in 1942. It features Littlenose [Narizinho], Aunt Nastácia, the cook, the Viscount of Corncobia [Visconde de Sabugosa], a wise corn cob, Quindim, a domesticated rhinoceros, Counselor, a talking donkey, and the Marquis de Stub-Tailed [Marquis de Rabicó], the little pig who was married to Emília, the rag doll that evolved into a human-like being. And Emília is the protagonist of this book, where her mischievous act is recounted: the temporary shrinking of human beings.

Chapter 1: Trumpet Sunset

“Today’s sunset is trumpet-like,” said Emília, hands on her hips, leaning on the gate post where, that afternoon, after their walk through the forest, Dona Benta’s group had stopped. They never missed an opportunity to enjoy the spectacles of nature. During heavy rains, Littlenose would stick her nose to the window, watching the rain. If it was windy, Pedrinho would run to the balcony with his binoculars to spy on the dance of the dry leaves – “I want to see if there’s a saci inside.” And Viscount would give scientific explanations of all things.

The sunset of that day was truly beautiful. It was a “trumpet sunset.” Why? Because Emília had invented that on certain days, the Sun “played the trumpet to gather all the reds and golds of the world for the feast of chance.” In the presence of a trumpet sunset, no one had the courage to speak because whatever they said would be nonsense. But Dona Benta couldn’t contain herself.

“What a marvelous phenomenon the sunset is!” she said.

Emília gave a wink to Viscount because of that “phenomenon” and decided to cause trouble.

“Why do we say ‘sunset,’ Dona Benta?” she asked with her famous innocent angelic look. "What does the Sun lay? An egg?"1

Dona Benta realized that it was a trap question, one that forced a certain answer and prepared the ground for Emília’s famous “so” response. “The Sun doesn’t put anything, silly. The Sun puts itself.”

“So it’s an egg of itself. How amusing!”

“‘Sunset’ is a figure of speech. You know very well that the Sun never sets; it’s the Earth and the other planets that move around it. But our impression is that the Sun moves around the Earth – and therefore it ‘rises’ in the morning and ‘sets’ in the afternoon.”

“I’m tired of knowing that,” declared Emília. “My problem is with that ‘put.’ ‘Put’ has always meant placing something in a certain place. The hen puts the egg in the nest. Viscount puts the hat on his head. Pedrinho puts his finger in his nose.”

“Lies!” shouted a disappointed Pedrinho, quickly taking his finger out of his nose.

“But the Sun,” Emília continued, “doesn’t put a hat on its head, nor does it have the bad habit of taking gold out of its nose.”

“It’s a figure of speech, I’ve explained before,” Dona Benta repeated.

“I see that everything grown-ups say is just figures of speech,” the brat continued. "That is, they’re little lies – and yet they keep telling children not to lie! Ah! Ah! Ah!… Those poets, for example. What do they do but lie? Last night you read us that poem by Castro Alves that ends like this:

‘Andrada! Tear down that flag from the skies’

'Colombo! Close the door to your seas!’"

All lies. How can this poet order Andrada, who is already dead, to tear down a flag from the skies, when there is no flag in the skies, and even if there were, a flag is not a tooth that can be pulled out? A flag is lowered from the pole with a string. And how can this poet, a common soldier, dare to give orders to Columbus, an admiral? And how can he order Columbus to close the ‘door’ to ‘his’ seas, when the sea has no door, and Columbus never had seas – it’s the Earth that has seas? Dona Benta sighed.

“Figures of speech, Emília. Without those figures of speech, which we call ‘poetic imagery,’ Castro Alves couldn’t write verses.”

“But is it true or not?”

Dona Benta was about to open her mouth to answer when a man on horseback appeared on the road curve. It was the messenger who, every other day, delivered the mail there. Everyone turned their eyes from the sunset to the messenger.

The man arrived. He said good evening, dismounted with a perpetually disheveled look, and opened the dirty canvas bag to take out Dona Benta’s newspapers.

“There’s also a letter for Mr. Viscount of Corncobia,” he said, handing over the package.

Emília pounced on the letter like a cat pouncing on a sardine head and snatched it from Dona Benta’s hands, just as the poet wanted Andrada to tear down the flag from the skies.

“It must be a response to an inquiry I made about the vitamins in the pyrileen dust,”2 Viscount explained modestly, while Emília prepared to tear open the envelope and Pedrinho longed for his slingshot.

“Don’t open it, Emília!” shouted Littlenose. “Grandma said that the secrecy of correspondence is inviolable. A letter is a sacred thing. Only the addressee can open it.”

Emília made a dismissive gesture and stuck the letter in Viscount’s nose, saying:

"Eat, drink your secrecy. Meanwhile, Pedrinho unfolded the newspaper and read the huge headlines and subheadings about the war.

“New bombing of London, grandma. Hundreds of planes flew over the city. A colossal number of bombs. Whole blocks destroyed. Numerous fires. Dead bodies everywhere.”

Dona Benta’s face darkened. Whenever she thought about the war, she became so sad that Littlenose would rush to sit on her lap to cheer her up.

“Don’t be like that, grandma. It happened in London, far away from here.”

“That’s not true, my dear. Humanity forms one body. Each country is a member of that body, just like each finger, each nail, each hand, each arm or leg is part of our body. A bomb that falls on a house in London and kills a grandmother there, like me, and injures a granddaughter like you or leaves a Pedrinho there crippled, hurts me as much as if it happened here. Bombing innocent people is such a monstrous perversity that I’m afraid I won’t be able to bear the horror of this war for much longer. I feel the urge to die. Since this immense tragedy began, all I can think about is the suffering of so many millions of innocents. My heart is filled with the pain of all distant grandmothers and mothers, who mourn the slaughter of their poor children and grandchildren.”

That sadness of Dona Benta was casting a shadow over Woodpecker Ranch, once so cheerful and happy. And it was precisely this sadness that led Emília to plan and carry out the most tremendous adventure that ever existed in the world. Emília had sworn to herself that she would put an end to the war, and she fulfilled her oath – but she came very close to ending all of humanity as well.

On that night, in her cotton-candy bed, she couldn’t fall asleep. Whoever entered her head would read a thought like this: “This war has been going on for too long, and if I don’t do something, those famous air bombings will continue, going from city to city, and eventually reaching here. Someone opened the war switch. It’s necessary for someone else to turn it off. But where is the war switch? Nobody knows. But if I take a pinch of the super-dust that Viscount is making, I’ll be able to fly to the ends of the world and discover the House of Switches. Because there must be a House of Switches, with switches that control all the things in this world, just like the electricity switches in the hallway control all the lights in a house.”

Indeed, Viscount had been studying a mysterious super-dust capable of even greater wonders than the old pyrileen dust; that’s why he stayed up all night and even received scientific letters from abroad. But that night, Emília heard some snoring. “Is it Viscount?” she said, and went to check. It was Viscount indeed, who, after nights and nights of staying up, slept like Stub-Tailed. “If he’s sound asleep to the point of snoring,” Emília thought, “it means he has solved the problem of the super-dust. The snoring of a wise person means a fresh mind, an already invented invention.”

Thinking like that, Emília tiptoed to Viscount’s little laboratory and rummaged through everything until she found a substance similar to ashes in a small matchbox. She smelled it. It reminded her of the smell of pyrileen dust. “It must be it,” she said boldly, and courageously took a pinch of it.

Chapter 2: The Size Switch

Fiunnn!!!

When Emilia opened her eyes and slowly recovered from the dizziness, she found herself in a hazy place that looked like dawn. She couldn’t see any trees, mountains, or anything else—only in the distance was a mysterious mansion. “This must be the End of the World, and that house can only be the House of Switches. The Viscount’s pyrileen dust worked perfectly!”

Still feeling dizzy, she got up and approached the mansion. Just as expected! There was a big sign on the facade that simply said, “HOUSE OF SWITCHES.” Emilia stood there for a while, looking up at those strange glowing letters. She noticed an open door. Gathering her courage, she entered. There were no objects, no machinery inside—only the same fog from outside. But on a kind of wall, she distinguished a row of switches, like the ones for electricity, all raised up.

“These must be the switches that regulate and control everything in the world,” Emilia thought. “One of them must be the switch that opens and closes wars. But which one?”

Emilia held her chin, thinking deeply. She pondered with all her might. There was no difference between the switches. They all looked the same. No signs or numbers. How could she know which one was the war switch?

“The only solution is to apply the experimental method that the Viscount uses in his laboratory. I have to fiddle with the switches, one by one, until I find the war switch.”

But the switches were in a row, eight spans above the ground, out of reach for a little creature only two spans tall. How could she reach the switches?

Emilia scanned the surroundings. She didn’t see any ladder, chair, or box she could climb on. There wasn’t even a stick. The only solution was to resort to the super-dust again. “If I sniff half of the smallest grain in this box, I’ll float up there and grab onto any of the switches.”

And so she did. She chose the smallest grain of dust, split it in half, and inhaled one portion. It worked. Just the smell of that super-dust was enough to lift her up to the switches, allowing her to cling onto one. She didn’t even need to exert any effort. Just her weight was enough to make the switch descend almost to the end.

But what happened next was the most unexpected thing in the world. Everything transformed before her eyes, and a huge cloth, like a circus tent, collapsed upon her. Emilia found herself surrounded by cloth; the floor was cloth; there was only cloth above her and on the sides, cloth, cloth, and more cloth. With the weight of so much cloth, she couldn’t even stay on her feet. She lay down, flattened. But she had to get out of there or at least make an effort to escape because she was already feeling short of breath. She started crawling beneath the cloth, in a blind attempt to escape. The folds were numerous, so she had to make detours every now and then to be able to advance. She crawled, navigating through the hindering folds; sometimes she even stood up when she found a larger fold that gave her some space. Emilia remembered the Labyrinth of Crete, where the Minotaur lived.

It was dark inside. Not even the dim light of dawn from outside. Emilia felt as if she had spent a century crawling through that labyrinth. Finally, she spotted a brightness in a certain direction. “That must be the hem or the end of this cursed cloth,” she thought, and crawled toward it. It was indeed the hem—and Emilia, almost breathless, covered in sweat, escaped the labyrinth and collapsed on the ground, utterly exhausted, with a sigh!

She lay there for some time, lying on her back, arms outstretched, not thinking about anything. Rest first, then everything else. She looked up at the switches on the wall. She didn’t see any switch on the wall. “What’s going on? Did the switches evaporate?” She focused her gaze and realized that they hadn’t. The switches were still there, but much higher up. The wall had grown tremendously. It seemed endless. Everything had grown prodigiously. And on the ground, she saw something new that wasn’t there before—a pedestal covered in yellow paper.

Emilia found herself lying precisely on that pedestal. Then, looking at her own body, she realized she was naked. “What’s this? Me, naked as a worm, on top of this yellow pedestal covered in black lines, next to a mountain of cloth—and the switches up there—and everything gigantic… Am I dreaming?”

She started thinking with all her might. She examined the paper carpet on the pedestal. She noticed that the lines were letters and had to stand up to read them one by one. The first letter was an F, the second an O, and the third an S. When she reached the last one, she saw that it formed the word “MATCHES.” Then came a D and an E, forming the word “OF.” And the last letters formed the word “SAFETY.” All together, it spelled “SAFETY MATCHES.”3

“Could it be?” Emilia exclaimed to herself. “Am I on top of the biggest matchbox that ever existed in the world? But if that’s the case, then each matchstick must be a real pine beam.” As the box was open, she peeked inside. She didn’t see any beam there—only a kind of coarse sand, the exact color of the Viscount’s super-dust.

At that moment, a ray of light illuminated her brain.

“Ah! I know now. This is the matchbox I brought, and it’s still the same size. I’m the one who has become smaller. I’ve become tiny, and because I’m tiny, everything appears tremendously large to me. I’ve experienced what sometimes happened to Alice in Wonderland.”

Sometimes she became huge and couldn’t fit into houses, and sometimes she became the size of a mosquito. I became tiny. Why?

“There’s only one explanation: it’s because of the lowering of the switch. Therefore, that switch regulates my size. Does it only regulate my size, or does it regulate the size of all living creatures? Does it regulate the size of all living creatures, or only of human beings? So many questions, my God!” she thought, thoughtfully.

“If all creatures have become as small as I am, then the whole world must be in complete chaos, with minds as confused as mine. But the war is over! Ah, it’s over! Tiny like me, humans can no longer kill each other or handle those terrible steel weapons. The most they can do is poke each other with pins or thorns. That’s already a big improvement…”

She pondered, pondered, pondered.

“Yes, I tinkered with the Size Switch, and all living creatures became small because it would be absurd to have a switch just for me. If there were a switch for each person, there should be three and a half billion switches in this room because the world’s population is three and a half billion people. Therefore, the same switch serves everyone. Therefore, all of humanity is ‘reduced’—and prevented from making war. Phew! I put an end to the war! Hooray! Hooray!” she thought, thought, thought.

“The proof that this switch only regulates the size of living creatures is right here in this matchbox. If this matchbox had also become smaller, it would be proportional to my body, and not as huge as it is.”

The situation was so new that her old ideas were no longer applicable. Emilia understood a point that Mrs. Benta had explained—our ideas are the offspring of our experiences. Well, the change in the size of humanity rendered the ideas as useless as a pierced penny. The idea of a matchbox, for example, was the idea of a small thing that people carried in their pockets. But with the creatures reduced to the point where a matchbox became the size of a statue’s pedestal, the “idea of a matchbox” was worth nothing. The “idea of a lion” was that of a terrible and dangerous animal, a man-eater, and the “idea of a chick” was that of a harmless little creature. Now it was the opposite. The chick was dangerous. Emilia felt a chill in her heart. She began to suspect that she had done something tremendous, the most tremendous thing that had ever happened in the world.

She thought, thought, thought. Then she decided to calculate her size.

“I can calculate my size by comparing it to the letters in the word ‘MATCHES.’ Those letters were one-third of a centimeter when I was 40 centimeters tall. Well, if I was 40 centimeters, I was 120 times bigger than one-third of a centimeter. And now? What is my size in relation to those letters?”

To measure it, Emilia lay down on the F and saw that the F was one-third of her height. Therefore, she was precisely one centimeter tall.

“What a thing,” she exclaimed. “Reduced to just one centimeter, me who was 40 centimeters tall! I’ve decreased by 40 times. In that case, Pedrinho, who was 1.40 meters tall—and bragged so much—must be reduced to 3 and a half centimeters. And Colonel Teodorico, who boasted of being 1.80 meters tall, is now reduced to 4 and a half centimeters—the size of a simple grasshopper…”

Emilia thought, thought.

“What should I do now? I have several solutions to choose from. One is to leave everything as it is. Another is to raise the switch again and leave things as they were. This seems to be the best option because if I go back to my normal size, I probably won’t even be able to cross the yard. The rooster is still there. It would devour me as if I were an ant.”

She looked up. The lowered switch seemed very high—forty times taller than before. But that didn’t matter for someone who still had plenty of super-dust. And, inserting her hand into the opening of the box, Emilia picked up a grain and inhaled it. The dust carried her up to the height of the switch, but her diminished strength, reduced by forty times, couldn’t do anything more. She couldn’t even hold onto the switch, which seemed like a huge doorknob, with a diameter equal to the height of her body—the same as a large jequitibá log for an ancient human.

Ancient humans, indeed, because if all people were now as small as she was, anyone who wanted to refer to the people of the previous day had to say “the ancient people.”

Emilia sat on top of that enormous jequitibá log, unsure of how to descend.

“Now what?”

She thought, thought, thought.

“I’ll jump,” she decided. “My weight must be equal to that of an ant, so if I jump, I should fall as lightly as a speck of dust—and besides, there’s that mountain of cloth below.”

And so she did. She jumped onto the mountain of cloth.

And that’s when she discovered something significant: the cloth of that mountain was made of huge branches of red roses—just like the bunches of little roses on her vanished dress. She understood everything. “The enormous cloth that formed the labyrinth around me was my dress. Fortunately, the box of super-dust was in my hand and not in my pocket. If it were in my pocket, how could I now retrieve it from within this huge mountain? What an amazing thing!”

Emilia pondered for a few more moments. She had to leave behind all that precious dust, despite it being the only one in the place. How could she take the pedestal-box back with her? If she were dressed, her pockets could still hold a few pinches. But in her current state, naked as a worm, the most she could carry was what fit in her hands—just one tiny grain in each hand. But better that than nothing—so Emilia took one grain of dust in each hand. Then she inhaled a third grain, and poof! Off she went through the air, back to Mrs. Benta’s place.

Chapter 3: Because of the Tailless Chick

Journeys with the super-dust were instantaneous. A blink of an eye. Emília closed her eyes on the pedestal and opened them at the farm gate. What a colossal gate, my goodness! Two hundred times her height. Far away, she saw an enormous animal grazing: the cow Hornless. And further ahead, a colossal sleeping mountain: Quindim. And the house? Oh, the house, at the end of the extensive courtyard, had the same height for her as the Sugarloaf Mountain for an ancient man. The roof seemed to touch the clouds.

How to cross the hundred meters of the courtyard on foot? A hundred meters used to mean little to Emília when she was “big,” but now, ah, it required 33,353 steps, as her stride had shrunk to 3 millimeters.

She was thinking about it when a horrendous monster appeared in the courtyard: the tailless chick. “It seems unbelievable!” she murmured. “That chick that was just an ordinary chick like all the chicks in the world, the kind you call with a ‘Cheep! Cheep!’ or chase away with a ‘Shoo!’ has turned into a real Roc Bird.” Emília estimated that the chick must be about twenty times her height, that is, the size of an ostrich measuring 70 meters to a man like Colonel Teodorico.

“Is it possible for a creature of this size to see me?” she said, lacking the courage to cross the courtyard.

But the tailless chick had a knack for seeing. It had microscope eyes.

As soon as Emília, step by step, began to walk, it saw her and came with an open beak to devour her. Emília barely had time to use the super-dust she had brought. Hastily, she brought the two grains to her nose and sniffed them.

Fiunn…

She woke up far away, on a huge tree, to which she clung. The leaves were blue like the sky and formed round hills. “Leaves? No. This was never a leaf. It’s a flower. And those hills are just clusters of flowers. But what tree bears blue flowers like this?”

Emília immediately remembered hydrangeas, and with some effort, she realized that she had indeed fallen onto an enormous cluster of hydrangeas. It was difficult for her to stay there because human creatures, equipped with only two feet, need flat surfaces to balance themselves, and on that cluster of hydrangeas, only a few petals were in a horizontal position. Emília tried to climb down. “For a creature-person, there’s nothing like flat ground,” she thought. Before descending, however, she looked around.

"What seemed to me like a forest is nothing but a garden. An immense garden, the largest garden in the world, with rosebushes as tall as trees and that jasmine plant with flowers the size of Victoria lilies, and on the edge of the flowerbeds, grass reminiscent of the banana groves in Cubatão. How everything has become enormous, my God! And what lies ahead? Emília focused her gaze. High up, there was a greenery spreading out over horizontal beams. But Emília quickly learned to “interpret” the immense things she saw.

“Yes, I understand. That greenery is a vine on a balcony, and what appears to be beams are the wires it hangs onto. Balcony? Then that immense white structure that seems to rise up to the clouds is the facade of a mansion.”

Emília fixed her gaze. Huge squares up there: the windows! The cornice was so high that she could barely see it.

"A mansion, yes, much larger than Dona Benta’s house. It will be difficult to get used to the new size of things; for ants, however, this hugeness is natural because they’ve always had it that way. The red ants can’t even comprehend what a house is. They must see houses as parts of the world, or things that have always existed, like hills, quarries, rivers, trees; and that’s why they roam through houses without fear, climbing up and down walls, even making their little holes right next to the sidewalks. When they see a person coming out from inside, they surely don’t understand what a person is; they probably think it’s just a moving enormity, like rivers or the sea. For ants, the world must be divided into stationary enormities and moving enormities. A house or a hill is a stationary enormity; from inside the houses come moving enormities: people, dogs, cats. And in the fields, there are enormities with horns that we call cows or bulls. But despite now having the size of an ant, I possess the same intelligence as before—and I know. I know that these enormities I am seeing are nothing but fleas compared to even larger things, like mountains; and mountains are nothing but fleas compared to something bigger, like the Earth; and the Earth is a flea compared to the Sun; and the Sun is a flea’s sneeze compared to the Infinite. How much I know, my God! Emília started to philosophize, thinking about the strange creatures walking around her, some with wings, others without, some black, others green, others soft—but all with many legs.

“There are so many legs in this world that I used to call the ‘world of little creatures,’ and now it has become my world! For I have become a little creature too. And I see colleagues of all sizes, some smaller than me, others larger. That hand-measure coming this way, for example. To me, it’s a true monster, as it is five times my length—a sucuri snake of 8 meters to an ancient man. And yet, it’s the same little caterpillar I used to place on the palm of my hand.”

Chapter 4: The Journey Through the Garden

The Inchworm was descending along the stem of a hydrangea branch.

It was one of the fuzzy ones. Emília, eager to be on the ground, had an idea.

“And what if I climbed onto it and held on tightly to its fur? Inchworms don’t bite.”

Emília approached and zipped! she mounted it. The Inchworm stopped, surprised by this; it raised its little head and turned it from side to side for a few moments. Finally, it continued its descent.

“First discovery!” shouted Emília. “The living escalator!”

During her trip to New York, as recounted in “Dona Benta’s Geography,” Emília had the opportunity to ride on the escalators of the big stores, escalators that instead of “being climbed” by people, “lifted” people. The customers stood on the steps, motionless, and those steps “carried them up” from one floor to another. Beside each perpetually ascending escalator, there was another perpetually descending one. “Now my Inchworm,” said Emília, “is the descending staircase.”

Upon reaching the ground, under the hydrangea bush, she found the darkness strange. Coming from the top of the flower, where the light was intense, it took her eyes a while to adjust to so much shadow.

It was so cool there! Maybe too much. And damp. If she stayed in that shade for too long, she would catch a cold. The first thing that struck her was the roughness of the ground. It was extremely irregular!

“There are so many stones in the world!” she exclaimed, stumbling and hurting her delicate little feet. “What we used to call soil or ground is not soil at all, it’s stone, stone, and more stone. The planet’s crust is an endless quarry. Huh! That’s why creatures my size have so many legs. Each insect has six. Inchworms have even more. There’s not a single creature with only two legs. Now I understand the reason—it’s because with only two legs, they couldn’t”

“walk through the endless quarries of these grounds.” When we take a step, we fall because if one foot slips, the other is not enough to maintain balance. But with six legs, walking is easy because if one slips, there are still five to support. Moreover— I can see it— all my friends' legs have little claws with which they cling to the roughness of the ground or the bark of trees."

Emília understood why insects climb walls so well. For an ant, a wall is a true staircase with irregular steps that the little claws of its legs can grasp onto.

“But ants can’t climb glass walls because glass is not a staircase, it has no steps. Glass is truly smooth.”

That difficulty in walking began to bother her. It was a hassle to go from here to there—and so many falls! She tried walking on all fours. Much better, but tiring.

“The remedy is to ride on one of my friends.” At that moment, she spotted a huge snail her own height. She realized it was one of those snails so abundant in Dona Benta’s garden. Fearlessly, she climbed onto its shell and crouched down. The snail didn’t seem to notice. It started walking, but it was too slow.

Emília dozed off and fell.

“This horse is no good. It makes you sleepy. I have to find another one.” Her thought was to explore the garden and get closer to the house to see if there were any grown-ups inside. She hadn’t yet obtained conclusive proof that the “size reduction” of human beings had been widespread.

However, the mansion was far away, about ten meters away, and a journey of ten meters through such horribly rocky terrain (a garden covered in gravel) was a feat her bare feet couldn’t handle.

“I’ll never get there this way, and I’ll ruin my nails. Just walking half a meter already left my feet burning. The solution is definitely a little horse.”

She looked around. Besides sluggish snails, there were many pill bugs, or “rolly-pollies” as she called them. They were familiar creatures. She liked playing with them on the estate. “They’re silly. As soon as you touch them, they pretend to be dead.” Emília tried. She mounted one of the larger ones. The little creature, terrified, immediately curled up into a ball—like a bead on a rosary.

“No good. These pill bugs weren’t meant to be horses either.”

A green grasshopper was watching her from within the banana leaves. It was five times her height. Emília approached without it paying any attention. She got very close and, suddenly, zip! she mounted it. But the grasshopper made a tremendous jump, sending her headfirst onto the “stones” of the sand. “That doesn’t work either,” she said, getting up very disappointed.

“I need a creature that doesn’t make you sleepy, pretend to be dead, or jump.”

At a certain distance, a “little cow” was grazing. That was the name Pedrinho gave to a certain beetle with yellow spots, which Viscount called a “beetle.”

The Viscount was always studying the lives of those little animals. He explained that they were called beetles because of the system of “foldable” and “storable” wings inside a case. These wings are membranous, as thin as tissue paper, but they don’t show themselves like those of butterflies, birds, and other less sophisticated creatures. They only appear when the beetle is going to fly. The case is formed by two hard, shell-like “elytra.” They are two true “concave molds” fitted to the shape of the body. They open it in a way that doesn’t hinder the wings inside. They open the case and unfold the wings—and they fly. When they land, they fold their wings again, neatly covering them with the case lids.

The Viscount found the system very amusing; he said it was the most advanced of all. He constantly conducted experiments with beetles of all sizes. It was such a good system that the world was already a huge beetle colony. One hundred and fifty thousand species of beetles had already been studied by scientists, imagine that! If the system wasn’t so good, the “order” of beetles wouldn’t multiply into so many “species.” When a system isn’t perfected, the creatures that use it go down the drain, like those big lizards shown by Walt Disney in “Fantasia.” Why did such monsters disappear? Precisely because the “lizard system” was useless. And why did “beetles increase”? Because the “beetle system” is the top of the line— and Emília, who was talking to herself, pinched the tip of her ear. The Viscount also thought that the future King of Creation would be the beetle, after the current king, Man, completely destroyed himself in the horrendous war he was waging. Emília approached the “little cow” and mounted it. The beetle tried to react—to open its elytra to unfurl its wings and fly—but Emília wouldn’t let it. She kept the case closed. The “little cow” then started walking with her on its back, directly towards the house. Suddenly, though, it changed direction. Emília cursed. She realized she had to discover the “steering of beetles” just as Santos Dumont had discovered the “steering of balloons.” In the beginning, balloons were like beetles—they went wherever they wanted, not where people wanted them to go. Then Santos Dumont came and invented a way to control them. The “steering of animals,” on the other hand, was an old thing. The steering of horses, for example, came about with the invention of the bridle. And what if she put a bridle on that beetle?

Emília got off to assess the situation. But as soon as she found herself without a rider, the “little tailless chick” opened its elytra, unfurled its wings, and off it went into the air—buzz…

“Bother!” exclaimed Emília, scratching her head and looking around. She had only gotten about two meters closer to her goal, which was the house. There were still seven and a half meters to go.

Chapter 5: Adventures

The “little cow” had left Emília in the middle of one of the garden streets. As the sun was heating up the stones, she realized that if she didn’t go to the shade, she would fry. And since there were no horses around within her reach, she had to walk on foot to the nearby flower bed. Oh, how she suffered to cover that enormous distance of one meter, over the horrible rocky ground! The sun burned her skin, and the wind knocked her down twice.

Another great enemy of the new humanity will be the wind, Emília thought. The darn wind knocked me down twice, and yet it must have been a gentle breeze, as it hardly moved the leaves in this garden. The upright walking system, typical of bipeds, only works for creatures that have size, like the ancient humans and birds. For a tiny creature like me, it’s the biggest disaster. That’s why there isn’t a single little creature endowed with two feet that “walks upright.” They’re all horizontal and full of little legs. I’m starting to understand now: “defense against the wind!” If a random breeze knocked me down twice, it means that a real wind would throw me to the ends of the earth, and yet there is no ant that can’t withstand the winds. Why? Because it’s not bipedal and doesn’t walk upright like me. Learn this as well, Lady Emília.

And thus philosophizing, she reached the shade of the parakeets around the flower bed, where she sat on a dry twig to rest and contemplate life.

“What a world this is, dear God!” she murmured, paying close attention to everything that was happening around her. It’s the so-called “biological world” that Viscount spoke so much about, quite different from the “human world.” He says that here, no government with soldiers, judges, and prisons rules. The one who rules is an invisible Natural Law. And what is this Natural Law? Simply the “Law of the Strongest.” Nobody in this little world cares whether the other is right or wrong. The word justice doesn’t exist. Nature only wants to know one thing: who is the strongest. The one who is the strongest gets what they want until someone else comes along who is even stronger and takes everything away from them. And why this wickedness? The Viscount says it’s because of something called Natural Selection, the most heartless thing in the world, but it “always hits the mark” because it forces all creatures to improve themselves. “Ah, you’re standing still, not improving, aren’t you?” says the Selection to a foolish little creature. “Well, then go to ruin.” And in order not to go to ruin, the little creature sets about inventing all sorts of defenses and cunning tricks.

The armadillo invented the defense of curling up into a ball and pretending to be dead. The grasshoppers invented a shade of green that confuses them with the grass. The spiders invented webs to catch flies, stingers and venom to defend themselves. Countless others invented wings.

Others invented thick shells. The flea invented jumping.

I always found it funny to hear people talking about their inventions. What are human inventions compared to the millions of inventions by these little creatures? There is no aphid without several inventions for defense, obtaining food, or shelter—or as Viscount would say, for “surviving” in a world where the Selection only has two words in its mouth: “Bait! Catch!”

Emília looked around and began to understand the new world in which she had to live. To her left, she saw a spider sucking a mosquito caught in its invisible web. To her right, a group of ants clinging to a poor earthworm that wriggled like a living “S.” A baby praying mantis was pretending to pray, hands clasped, but in reality, it was preparing to pounce on some prey.

“Life is a continuous hunt,” Emília philosophized. “It seems that my colleagues only stop hunting when they’re asleep.”

The parakeet’s feet harbored countless permanent residents, in addition to winged guests that arrived, stayed for a while, and then flew away. Emília calculated that for every ground-dwelling creature without wings, there were many aerial creatures with wings, and they spent most of their time flying.

“That’s enough hunting,” she said at last. “I need to find another little horse to continue my journey.”

At that moment, a horsefly landed nearby. Emília thought, “Riding on this horsefly won’t work because of those falls. But what if I hold onto its hind legs? That wouldn’t bother it at all during flight, and it might bring me closer to the palace.” Determined to try the experiment, she approached the horsefly from behind, just like certain wall spiders do, the ones that don’t use webs but rather pounce, and she did as those spiders do: she pounced on the horsefly’s hind legs, holding on with all her might.

Startled by this, the horsefly took flight—a heavy flight burdened with an excessive load—and landed a short distance away. Emília let go of it, very pleased with the idea she had.

“Well done! I’m getting closer, getting closer. I’m only three meters from the curb.”

What place was this? Just a bed of violets, within which Emília felt like a hunter in the heart of a virgin forest. Her reduced size allowed her to see the “abundance of the tiny.” How many lives in the shadow of that forest, especially in the form of worms! Hairy creatures of all kinds, and non-hairy caterpillars, one of them with horns on its nose—like Quindim. And translucent emerald-colored inchworms, greedily devouring leaves or weaving cocoons. And snails, and armadillos. And a multitude of “forms of life” that only the wise know.

Through a crack, Emília saw several butterflies fluttering among the flowers in the heights, so light and beautiful. But a wasp darting to steal the pollen from a violet distracted her—and because of that wasp, poor Emília almost met her demise. While she observed the beautiful wasp in its work, a horrendous hornet approached, its stinger bared.

Emília had a hatred for those big black ants ever since the day Pedrinho found a hummingbird’s nest in the orchard of the farm, with two chicks already half-devoured by them. “Cannibals,” that’s what the Viscount called them. Would she suffer the same fate as the featherless hummingbirds?

In great distress, Emília looked around for shelter. She found an old snail shell and threw herself inside, hiding deep within. The cannibal stationed itself at the entrance, waiting for that “shell-less insect”4 to come out. Finally, disheartened, it went away. When Emília mustered the courage to peek out, the horrendous cannibal was already far away.

“What a scare!” she exclaimed, emerging from the little snail shell and wiping the cold sweat from her forehead with a piece of moss. “I need to find some sort of weapon. There are very dangerous beasts in this forest.”

She found it easy and pleasant to walk within the violet field because the ground was covered with soft, damp, dry leaves beneath her feet. She walked until she reached the edge of the “forest,” where she encountered a gigantic cactus, one of those devil’s paddle-shaped ones. The enormous flat leaves covered in thorns looked like cushions made of pins.

“What if I armed myself with a thorn?”

But how could she pluck one of those thorns? Not even with the strength of a hundred Emílias, let alone with just her own strength. She stood there, looking up at that tremendous arsenal of spears, until an idea came to her. “It’s impossible that there aren’t any old thorns from fallen leaves around here on the ground.” And she began to search. She was successful. She found a paddle-shaped leaf that had decayed, but the thorns were in very good condition. She chose the smallest one, and she was ready.

“I’m like Don Quixote with this tremendous lance,” she said, placing the weapon under her arm, just like Don Quixote did.

Not far away, there was a spider almost her size, crouched in its web, waiting for unsuspecting creatures. Seeing the unknown insect approach, the spider prepared to pounce, but Emília, lance in hand, paid no attention to it—she kept approaching. When she lunged at the spider, it impaled its abdomen on the thorn. It struggled, screamed, but had no choice but to retract its legs and die. Emília’s first victory in the midst of the “biological world” filled her with pride. She was demonstrating to her colleagues the value of intelligence. She had already used several of them as little horses, and now she had defeated a spider in combat.

There was one thing that frightened her more than anything else: birds. She quickly realized that they were the worst enemies of the new little people. The Viscount had told her that a large number of birds were omnivores, meaning they eat everything—and therefore they would eat her and any other little human creatures they found. Fortunately, it was midday, the time when birds, already satiated, rest in the shade of trees. The most dangerous hours must be in the morning, while they have breakfast.

Shortly before reaching the violet field, Emília had witnessed a painful tragedy. A green grasshopper, still a child and naive, made the mistake of venturing away from the grass, with which its green color perfectly blended. It had the idea to play hopscotch on the white sand. But the white sand made it highly visible. A flycatcher spotted it, came down, and gulp! It was gone.

"How horrible the birds' throats are!" Emília philosophized. “True bottomless barrels. They spend their whole lives stuffing little creatures in there, and they never get full.”

The memory of the flycatcher’s lunch reminded her of her stomach. She hadn’t eaten anything yet. What could she eat in that garden? If she were a bird, it would be simple because there was no shortage of insects. But she was a person, and people don’t eat insects—well, they only eat roasted ants and grasshoppers. Dona Benta had said that St. John in the desert fed on grasshoppers and honey.

“Honey, honey, honey,” Emília murmured, remembering the butterflies and bees that live solely on honey. And those flowers must have honey since there were so many butterflies. But the flowers are up high, suitable only for winged insects. Wait! There are also low flowers—like the violets in the violet field. And Emília returned to that virgin forest in search of the low violets. She found three with drooping clusters and petals touching the ground.

There, she had her first snack in her new life, enjoying the honey taken from the three hanging violets—but the strong scent gave her a headache. It was too strong for her.

“And water?”

Honey makes you thirsty, and water in the gardens is only available in the morning, before the sun evaporates the dewdrops. But there is no garden without an irrigation faucet. Emília set out to find the faucet in that garden. If she was lucky enough to find it dripping, the water problem wouldn’t be a problem.

To find the faucet, she had to climb a “tree” from which she could “survey the horizons.” Emília began to search for a “climbable” tree, one with branches close together. The best she found was a fern tree, and she climbed up one of its leaves to the very top. From there, she could easily see the curb two meters away and a tremendous faucet on the palace wall, with a huge watering can underneath.

“Oh, colossal watering can, my God!” exclaimed Emília, doing the calculations. “It should be 40 times its height, which is equivalent to about 72 meters high for Colonel Teodorico.” She always remembered this famous man in Dona Benta’s neighborhood because of his height.

Chapter 6: The Family of Major Apolinário

The faucet was five palm lengths from the ground, which is to say, a hundred Emílias high. It seemed to her like the biggest faucet in the world. “Usually garden faucets aren’t tightly closed,” she thought, “so occasionally a drop falls… Therefore, it’s likely that I’ll find water there.”

Emília descended from the fern leaf and advanced toward the sidewalk. She was fortunate to see a fallen leaf from a Mexican yucca on the ground, which the gardener had pruned the day before and left lying there (perhaps the “size switch” had caught him during his work.) Where could the poor gardener be? In some bird’s stomach, certainly. Emília walked quite comfortably on the yucca leaf and thus reached the edge of the sidewalk without hurting her little feet on the hardness of the stones.

The height of the sidewalk was about 20 centimeters, which represented 20 Emílias high, so she stared at such a barrier as if it were the Great Wall of China. What a colossus! How could she overcome such a steep slope? If she were an ant, with six little legs, it would be quite simple; at that moment, two red ants were climbing up the stone with the same ease they walked on flat ground. But for a biped one centimeter tall, obstacles of a palm’s length were insurmountable walls.

Emília followed along the lower edge of the sidewalk, hoping to find some means of climbing up.

Just ahead, she came across a huge “red snake” coming down from the sidewalk, crossing the pebbles, and burying its “yellow head” in the grass of the nearby flower bed. Emília approached cautiously. She saw that it was the garden hose. She stopped in front of it and measured it with her eyes.

Its diameter was three times her height. If she could climb and walk on that hose, it would be easy for her to overcome the slope and descend onto the cement.

Fortunately, the “snake’s head,” that is, the yellow metal nozzle, was buried in the grass of the flower bed. Emília went there, grabbed onto the blades of grass, and after several maneuvers, managed to climb onto the rubber hose. The rest was easy. She followed the hose until the slope, that is, the point where the hose rose from the pebbles to the sidewalk. She crawled up that steep stretch.

Great. She was once again on a horizontal surface, on top of the sidewalk. With her hands on her waist, Emília surveyed the landscape. What an immense sidewalk, my goodness! It looked like the Sahara Desert.

Sliding down from the hose, she made her way towards the faucet. How delightful it was to walk on the smooth cement! She even took a little run.

Right under the faucet, she looked up. Was there a drop forming at that height? Impossible to tell. Suddenly, without warning, a big drop splashed! right on top of her, drenching her on the cement.

What a shower! Emília was stunned for several seconds. She never imagined that a water droplet could weigh so much.

Rising up, she drank from one of the little puddles formed by the splashes, like animals do, and took the opportunity for a bath.

“How curious!” she exclaimed while scrubbing herself. “I’m naked and I don’t feel the slightest bit ashamed. Does shame depend on the size of creatures? It must, because among humans, shame was only for adults. Little children showed no shame at all, and no one was offended by seeing them naked. I’ve learned one more thing: shame is something that depends on size.”

The faucet was near a huge staircase with five steps—the trellis porch steps. On the fourth step, Emília noticed living creatures. She focused her gaze. They were two pink insects and one black—unknown insects and clearly shell-less. Getting closer, she understood everything.

“Oh my heavens! Those are people!...” They were indeed people—little people like her—the owners of the house, surely. The black insect must be Aunt Nastácia over there—the cook. And Emília thus had the first proven evidence that the shrinking effect had also affected other creatures.

“All right. I’ll climb up there to have a chat with those companions.”

But there were stairs, and each step was twenty times her height. Ah, if only the mutuca would appear!

Emília saw a huge stick fallen on the stairs and understood that it was the broom. The black woman must have been sweeping the porch and at the moment she shrank, the broom slipped down the stairs and now looked like this “enormous stick.” Fortunately, the straw was touching the ground, so Emília was able to climb up using it until she balanced herself on top of the stick—and there she went, crawling. When she reached the desired point, she jumped.

When they saw her crawling over the broom handle, the creatures on the fourth step thought she was a “measuring inch,” but measuring inches don’t jump, so Emília’s little hop made them all retreat in fear.

“Don’t be afraid!” she said, approaching them. “I’m also a person. I’m Emília, from Dona Benta’s farm. I became tiny, and now I’m exploring the world.”

“It’s Emília indeed, Mom!” shouted a boy who was also there, and only then did Emília see him. “I know the books that talk about her. The face is the same, the way is the same. Only the checkered outfit is missing.”

“And who are you?” Emília asked.

“I’m Juquinha. And this is Candoca, my sister,” the boy said, pointing to another child. “What happened around here?”

“I don’t know. It was morning, and we were having lunch at the table. Suddenly, an endless curtain tangled us up, and it was a struggle to get out. And everything became huge—enormous, as you can see. The house grew endlessly. Our clothes vanished into thin air, a mystery.”

Emília realized they didn’t understand the true situation. They believed they were the same size as always. It was the things around them that had grown.

“That man over there, who is he, Juquinha? Your father?”

“Yes, my father. And there’s Mom over there. The maid is Aunt Febrônia, our cook. Poor Dad lost his voice, he was so frightened, and Mom is very sad about Grandma’s disappearance.”

“How did your grandma disappear?”

“She disappeared because she hasn’t appeared,” Juquinha explained. “After we managed to free ourselves from that cloth flood, we all gathered under the table—except Grandma. So far, not a sign of her.”

Emília understood the situation. The poor old lady hadn’t been able to free herself from her own clothes and had surely suffocated. If the shrinking effect affected all of humanity, then millions of creatures must have perished like that boy’s grandmother—unable to get out of their own clothes. Nothing could be clearer.

“What’s your mother’s name?”

“Nonoca.”

Emília approached Mrs. Nonoca, who was crying. She told her many things, about her adventures in the garden, her fight with the spider, the danger from birds, and the honey snack she had made. The woman kept crying.

“Crying won’t help, Mrs. Nonoca. What we have to do is adapt.”

Mrs. Nonoca didn’t understand that scientific word. Emília explained.

“To adapt means to adjust to situations. Either we do that, or we’ll be in trouble. We are in the biological world, where strength or cleverness is what matters. You were lucky that no bird or cat saw you. How did you end up on this step?”

The poor woman recounted that after the disaster, they walked to the porch to see how the world had turned out.

“And we were looking at our old garden, transformed into this endless, gigantic forest, when a terrible gust of wind blew us here.”

Emília found the “terrible gust of wind” amusing. It must have been that insignificant little breeze that had knocked her down twice. She explained the situation as best she could and gave them advice based on her experience. “First,” she said, “be extremely careful with the wind. Any breeze can knock us over. Second, be even more careful with birds and chickens. Just think that I’m here, in this unknown land, precisely because of a little tailless chick that used to run away from me in fear. Third, be cautious with round holes because they usually have inhabitants inside, and those inhabitants defend themselves. Instead of round holes, we have to look for openings, cracks, and other natural shelters, not made by any colleagues.”

“Colleagues?”

“Yes, our colleagues are now the little creatures on the ground and in the air. Fourth advice: everyone should find a cactus thorn because if it weren’t for this one here,” and she showed her spear, “I would have already been sucked dry by a spider.”

“But where can we find such a weapon?” Juquinha wanted to know.

“I found this one near the violet field,5 on the ground. But large creatures like your father, mother, and Aunt Febrônia can use pins. Aren’t there any pins in the house?”

Just then, a cat’s meow startled Emília. However, the boy and the black woman looked happy.

“It’s Manchinha,” both of them said at the same time.

“Who is Manchinha?” Emília asked.

“Our yellow cat.”

Emília was horrified. So they had a cat nearby and they weren’t hiding?

“He’s the gentlest cat there is,” the foolish Febrônia said. “He used to sleep in my bed. I raised him myself. Oh, human stupidity!” Emília thought. “Do these people think the cat will recognize them and continue to be as good-natured as before?” She explained it to them and advised them to seek refuge. But who can contend with the stupidity of certain creatures? No one believed her words. They laughed. Even Major Apolinário laughed—for the first time since the shrinking occurred.

“You say that because you don’t know Manchinha,” observed Mrs. Nonoca. “There isn’t a gentler cat in the world.”

“But does he catch mice?”

“Yes, he does.”

“And grasshoppers?”

“He catches those too. Just yesterday he was chasing a grasshopper in the garden.”

“And do you think he has enough intelligence to distinguish us from a grasshopper or a cockroach?”

The Major laughed again. He still had the “cat idea” characteristic of people who were of normal size. Emília tried to clarify it. She explained about the “idea born from experience.”

“The ‘cat idea,’ Mr. Apolinário, came from our past experience as creatures much larger than cats. It was the idea of an animal dangerous to mice, cockroaches, and grasshoppers but harmless to us. However, now we have to change that idea, just as we have to change all the big ideas, such as the ‘chick idea,’ the ‘lion idea,’ and many others. And whoever doesn’t do that is lost.”

The Major didn’t understand. He was a person of great stupidity. He thought that sermon sounded like “bookish stuff.” At that moment, Manchinha meowed again, closer this time. Emília didn’t want to hear anything else. Grabbing the two children, she rushed to hide in a crack in the cement.

Just in time. The enormous face of a gigantic cat appeared at the porch door. It meowed several times, as if anxiously looking for its owners. Then it approached, moving in that dangerous way cats move when they spot a cockroach.

What a horrible scene! Despite her tough heart, Emília shivered at the sight of the affectionate Manchinha, so nostalgic for its owners, calmly eating the three shell-less insects it had discovered there. But she made sure to cover the children’s eyes with her hands. Juquinha and Candoca never came to know the tragic fate of their parents—victims of “their slowness in adapting to the new living conditions,” as Emília later explained to the Viscount.

Chapter 7: Juquinha Tells His Story

After the cat left, perhaps in search of more tasty insects like those, Emília started to think very seriously. She could leave the hiding place, but she was already without freedom of action. From one moment to another, fate had turned her into the mother of two orphans. Juquinha was nothing; he could even serve as a companion—a sturdy boy, two centimeters tall. Candoca, on the other hand, was just a three-and-a-half-year-old child, completely silly. She would have to hold someone’s hand. Whose hand?

Juquinha or herself, Emília, the “dry nurse”—how amusing!

"I never got married for fear of having children, and now I find myself as the guardian of two grown-ups—one taller than me, but still senseless, and another my size, but who only knows how to cry. It’s going to be a big mess… Emília always had a reputation for not having a heart. That’s a lie. She did have one. Of course, it wasn’t a heart as soft as a banana like many people have. It was a serious little heart that ‘thought like a brain.’ Although she could have left the two children there, considering the world’s situation was every man for himself, she didn’t. Heroically, she decided to save them.

“Alright. And now?” she thought to herself after the danger had passed. “Alone, I was managing quite well. But everything has changed. These two children force me to study defense. What kind of defense should I adopt? Obviously, disguise. I have no other choice but to resort to this form of deception. I have to disguise myself as foliage or something like that—and I also have to disguise these children.”

The idea of foliage disguise was suggested by the memory of an old story from Aunt Nastácia. To get rid of the jaguar, the monkey smeared himself with honey and rolled in a pile of dry leaves, thus transforming into foliage and fooling the jaguar. Emília had to come up with something like that.

“Juquinha,” she said, turning to the boy, “know that your parents have moved to a very distant country and left you in my care.”

“Where did they go?”

Emília took her time to answer. She was thinking. Speaking the truth doesn’t always work. Many times, lying is the better option. “If the lie does less harm than the truth, long live the lie!” It was one of Emília’s ideas. “Adults don’t want children to lie, and yet they spend their lives lying in every way—for the greater good. There is the lie for good, which is good, and there is the lie for evil, which is bad. Therefore, lying depends on the situation. If it’s for the good, long live the lie! If it’s for evil, let the lie die! And if the truth is for good, long live the truth! But if it’s for evil, let the truth die! Juquinha wants to know where his parents went. If I tell the truth, he’ll despair, cry, and become a useless red-eyed and runny-nosed thing behind me. So, I shouldn’t tell him the truth. I could invent a beneficial little lie. Say something that he doesn’t understand well but that will calm him.” And she replied:

“Juquinha, your parents were forced to move to Papoland.”

“Where is that?”

“It’s a land everywhere, where there are only ‘papapospos.’ It’s the land of ‘papapupu-dospos’ that fly or walk on the ground, meowing like cats. And do you know what ‘papapopo’ means? It’s a kind of lap. In the past, mothers used to put their little ones on their laps; now the ‘papapupudospos’ put everyone on their 'papapopo.’”

“And is that ‘papapopo’ a good place?”

“Excellent. Cozy like a bed. Whoever falls asleep on that lap likes it so much that they never wake up.”

The explanation didn’t clarify much for Juquinha, but it calmed him. He felt sorry that his parents would fall into such a long sleep in such a strange land, but if it’s warm, then it’s fine. The phrase “cozy like a bed” pleased the boy, who was naked and cold.

“I don’t know what happened to our clothes,” he said. “I was wearing my red coat, with a cap on my head, ready to go out with Aunt Febrônia after lunch. Suddenly, everything disappeared before me. Darkness! I fell in the middle of fabrics. I ran out of breath. I started to struggle and crawl to get out of there.”

“Out of where?”

“Out of that dark cloth. And where did I go?”

“I don’t know. I wanted to get out, get out—and I kept crawling.”

“Why were you always crawling?”

“Because I couldn’t stand up. The fabric wouldn’t allow it.”

“And then?”

“I kept going, going until I rolled into a huge hole that wasn’t made of fabric anymore. It seemed like leather. It was dark as night inside. Luckily, I saw a light. It was a small bright hole in that dark hole. I headed towards it and got out.”

“And what did you see?”

“I saw this world we’re in now. Everything is so big that you can’t even recognize things. Suddenly, I looked; Mommy was crawling out of another huge pile of fabric. And from a third pile of fabric ahead, I saw Daddy coming out. I ran to them. They were so scared they couldn’t speak.”

Mommy eventually spoke, but Daddy never did. He became completely mute. Grandma, poor thing, disappeared. Zulmira too. I saw the floor covered in huge hairs; walking there was like walking in a dense field of grass. Red, blue, and black hairs."

Emília realized that Juquinha was referring to the dining room carpet.

“And Candoca?” she asked.

“Candoca was about to take a bath at that moment. Zulmira had already taken off her dress…” Emília was horrified. If the little one had already been in the bath when the “reduction” occurred, she would have drowned. And she thought about the millions of creatures around the world who must have been in the bath at that moment and inevitably drowned.

“Who was Zulmira?”

“Candoca’s nanny.”

Emília didn’t understand one part of Juquinha’s story—the dark hole in which he had fallen while escaping from the fabric mountain. But she suspected something.

“Were you wearing shoes, Juquinha?”

“Yes, I was wearing my yellow shoes. I was going to go out with Febrônia to buy new shoes. The one on my right foot had a hole in the big toe.”

Emília laughed.

“I understand now, Juquinha. That huge hole you fell into was the right foot of those old shoes. The little hole in the big hole was the hole in the big toe.”

The boy pondered, with wrinkles on his forehead. “Who knows if that’s what it was?”

Candoca began to whimper from the cold. The stairs' cement wasn’t a good crib. The child’s crying made Emília think of the foliage disguise again. She had to find something to dress herself and the orphans. Fabric?… Impossible. There was plenty of fabric, fabric mountains everywhere, but fabric requires scissors and a needle, and if she happened to have scissors and a needle, they would be proportional to her size, so tiny that she couldn’t cut or sew any of the thick fabrics in the world. But there’s something that can replace fabric: cotton, the material used to make fabrics. If she found a bit of cotton, two major problems would be solved: clothing and defense.

“That’s it! I’m going to disguise myself as a cotton ball, and I’ll do the same for the children. Cotton balls are worth more than the best clothes and can roll around the world without attracting the attention of cats, chicks, or birds. What creature eats cotton? None. So, the problem now is to find a cotton ball.”

And turning to Juquinha:

“Inside your house, is there any cotton?”

“Cotton?”

“Yes, the kind you put in a tooth cavity or in your ear when you have an earache.”

“Yes, there is. In Mommy’s medicine cabinet, there’s a blue package.”

“Great. Know that the most important thing for the three of us now is to go there and get some of that cotton.”

“Are you having an earache?” the silly boy asked. Emília laughed.

“No, my love. I have a ‘papapopo’ ache, and the remedy is cotton.”

“Why do you talk so much about ‘papapopo’?” Juquinha asked again. Emília laughed once more.

"Juquinha, Juquinha. ‘Papapopo’ used to be something that nobody worried about in the past. But now ‘papapopo’ is everything. The great danger of the new humanity, my love, is Mr. Dom Papapopo. Remember that. The boy didn’t understand and wanted explanations. She diverted the question.

"Mr. Dom Papapopo, Juquinha, must be the son of that Bogeyman who used to scare children in the past. But that Bogeyman was a lie. It never existed. It started to exist when someone messed with the Size Switch. Do you understand? Since that moment, ‘papapopo,’ or Mr. Dom Bogeyman—for it’s all the same thing—appeared in the world and roams everywhere around us. Luckily, I’m not foolish. I understand things very well.

“I think about everything and ‘adapt,’ as the Viscount says. That’s why I’m certain that the great remedy against the Bogeyman is Cotton. Juquinha, my friend, go and find Mr. Dom Cotton because of Mr. Dom Bogeyman.”

Juquinha remained puzzled, and Candoca started crying.

“Let’s go!” said Emília, taking the sly girl’s hand and leaving through the crack.

Chapter 8: The Crossing of the Rooms

To reach the balcony, they had to climb the last step of the staircase. How? Through the only existing path, the broomstick. How? Very well. Juquinha would lift her on his shoulders and place her there. Then, from up there, she would help Juquinha climb up by giving him a hand. “No! That won’t work. I might slip and fall. It’s best if I go alone, crawling along the stick to the balcony, and see if there’s any rope there. If there is a rope, Juquinha will climb up using it—and then Candoca. That’s settled.”

After planning the ascent thoroughly, she explained everything to the boy, and they began to put the idea into action. Juquinha, a strong boy, easily lifted her onto his shoulder and pushed her up the broomstick handle. “Very good,” said Emília from above. “Now I’ll climb up to the balcony to search for a rope, and you wait there with Candoca.” She started crawling up the broomstick handle. When she reached balcony level, she jumped.

There, she found a small heap of trash from the morning. Emília understood that the maid was in the middle of the transformation when she became reduced—and the broomstick slid down the stairs. In the dust of a family home, there is never a shortage of “rope.” Emília found several pieces of thread that were suitable for the desired purpose. She dragged one of them to the corner of the step and shouted to the boy down below:

“I found a great rope. I’m going to throw the end down. Make a loop and pass it around Candoca’s waist. Then climb up the rope like sailors climb the rigging of ships. But before throwing the rope, I need to tie the other end to something here. Wait.”

Emília looked around. Where could she tie the end of the “rope”? The balcony floor was made of tiles, without any fuzz or nails. Emília examined the door sill, which was made of wood. She discovered an excellent little chip that was perfect for the task, but it was useless because it was three centimeters high. Useless? With a stick, she could thread a loop made at the end of the “rope” through it. The only thing left was to find the stick.

Emília returned to the heap of dust. What a wealth of materials there! Everything was there. “Cords,” sticks, stones, fabric scraps, and rolls of “dust fluff.”

The stick she found was a straw from the broom. Emília threaded the loop through a notch in the straw and lifted it up to the chip.

“Great! The loop closed and won’t slip.”

"Ready, Juquinha. Tie up Candoca and climb up. From up here, the two of us will hoist her. And so it was done. The boy climbed up with ease because he was an expert at climbing trees. Then the two of them together hoisted Candoca. That’s when she started crying for real, screaming as if it were the end of the world. “It’s natural,” Emília thought, doing the math. “This step is 15 times her height; therefore, it corresponds to a height of 27 meters for Colonel Teodorico. Even he, a big man, would cry if someone suspended him 27 meters from a rope.”

Very well. There they were, the three of them on the balcony. Now they had to enter the house, which was easy because the door sill was only 5 centimeters high, and that precious dust was there to help them. Emília and the boy took two equal-length broom straws, broke another, thinner one into equal pieces, and tied those pieces to the two straws—then they climbed the makeshift ladder. Candoca resisted. She didn’t want to climb. She was scared and crying like a calf. The remedy was to repeat the previous operation. They passed the rope under her arms and forced her up.

Inside the house, Emília admired the vastness of everything. On the floor, she saw a green-cane carpet with pink patterns. It was half a centimeter thick—half her height!

“This carpet looks like a blooming capim-catingueiro pasture that the cows haven’t trampled yet.”

Since it was impossible to cross the room over the carpet, they had to go around near the baseboard. At one point, they saw a huge red bucket: Zulmira’s celluloid thimble, lying there.

“Great!” exclaimed Emília. “Let’s leave Candoca inside this ‘bucket’ while we look for the cotton. This troublemaker is only getting in our way.”

Candoca was forcibly seated inside the thimble and stayed there crying while Emília and Juquinha continued their journey along the baseboard. At a certain point, they found a sleeping flea. How big it was! It was like a piglet to an ordinary person. Juquinha kicked it. The flea opened its eyes, startled, and made a gigantic leap. Then they saw a clothes moth, one of those that look like pumpkin seeds and walk with their little heads sticking out, dragging their “house” along. They stopped to take a good look.

“These little creatures learned the system from snails,” said Emília. “They don’t have the concept of ‘going home’ because their homes go with them.”

She noticed that the moth’s house was made of small pieces of wool, cut from the carpet and connected in a special way. Emília wanted to conduct an experiment.

“I wonder if it will keep moving if I climb on top of it,” she said, and she climbed. However, the moth pulled its head back, like a turtle does, and remained still. Emília came down.

“It doesn’t work. This doesn’t work at all.”

And she told Juquinha about her adventures with the measuring-worm, the snail, the yellow-spotted beetle, and the mutua.

The boy was thrilled at the idea of riding on a beetle.

“Much better than horses,” he said, “because beetles can fly.”

“Horses used to fly too,” Emília said.

“When? I’ve never heard of that.”

“In Greece, there was a horse named Pegasus that flew beautifully. Walt Disney painted his picture, along with Pegasus and the little Pegasuses, in that film ‘Fantasia.’ Haven’t you seen it?” “I really wanted to see it, but Dad didn’t let me. He said it was too expensive.”

“Tightwad!” Emília interrupted. “That’s why he’s ‘papolandia’.”

“What?”

“He’s asleep in 'Papalandia,’” Emília confusedly replied. “But after Greece, horses lost their wings, like herons when they get tired of flying and land. Now we can have as many Pegasuses as we want. We can ride beetles, butterflies, and even dragonflies. Imagine how wonderful it would be to fly on dragonflies at an incredible speed!”

And so, in conversation, they reached Dona Nonoca’s room.

There stood the medicine cabinet, immense, with pill boxes and bottles. There was also the blue package of cotton with a wad sticking out. But it was very high—on the second shelf.

“The cotton is way up there,” observed Emília. “It’s like a kite stuck on a telephone wire. How can we knock it down?”

The only way was to knock it down. Cotton packages are lightweight. If they could reach it with a stick… But where was the stick?

Emília peeked between the cabinet and the wall.

“I found it! I found it! There’s a dark gap here, full of old cobwebs that we can climb up.”

“And what about the spider?” the boy asked.

“I don’t see any. These are old webs, and these threads can perfectly support my weight,” Emília said, testing them. “There’s no way not to have weight or size. Everything becomes easy.” And she started climbing. Juquinha, with his nose in the air, watched the maneuver.

“The cabinet has a ceiling,” he said. “I want to see how you get past it.”

“The ceiling is made of pine,” Emília replied. “Pine boards sometimes have knots that fall out and leave a hole. I’m praying that this ceiling is made of pine boards with a knot hole. If there’s no way through, so be it. I’ll come down and find another way.”

Chapter 9: The Medicine Shelf

The medicine shelf was small, like most medicine shelves usually are, so the second shelf was only two hand spans from the ground. Nevertheless, for creatures of that size, a height of two hand spans was the equivalent of a two-story building. Emília, however, started climbing. She found several dried corpses of flies, butterflies, moths, and even that of a tiny firefly.

“I know why the spider of this web is not here,” she said to herself. “It sucked this firefly and died from poisoning. That little light of the fireflies is phosphorus – a terrible poison.”

Her hypothesis about the pine knot hole was correct. There it was, right at the height of the second shelf. Emília figured out a way, moved from the web to the hole, and with a little jump, landed on the shelf. She landed right on top of a white wheel that looked like milk. It was a Fontol tablet.

“Oh my, God! This place is a real forest of medicines. Endless bottles and enormous boxes of ointments. Gigantic packets of powders. And even a big bottle of iodine.”

She stopped in front of the bottle of iodine and looked at it. The cork made of cork was eaten away by the drug and was on the floor. “The people in this house are so silly,” Emília pondered. “They don’t even know something so trivial – that iodine hates cork stoppers. It wants a rubber or glass stopper, like the one on Dona Benta’s iodine bottle.”

She pushed through the forest of medicines until she spotted a package of cotton. Huge! It must have been ten times her height. She tried to push it, but the monster didn’t budge.

When she reached the edge of the board, she shouted to the boy below:

“My strength isn’t enough, Juquinha. We have to try another way.”

“There’s a strip of gauze here. I’m going to tie one end to the blue package so that you can pull it from below.”

And so she did. Juquinha pulled. The blue package gave way, little by little, until it fell with a “plaf!”

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Emília, radiant, and she immediately started going down the same way.

The web was very old and dusty, so she got dirty all over and even got a speck in her eye.

“Blow,” she said as soon as she got down, widening her eye at the boy.

Juquinha blew – and it seemed to work because Emília forgot about her eye. She only thought about pulling each fiber of cotton one by one to wrap them around her body. In a few minutes, she turned into a real cocoon. Then she helped Juquinha do the same.

“How wonderful!” she exclaimed. “We’re so warm inside here and so well disguised as a wad that no creature will bother us. A cat sees us and doesn’t care. It thinks, ‘It’s cotton,’ with its whiskers. A chick sees us and passes by. A sparrow sees us and flies away.”

“But the first hummingbird we encounter will carry us in its beak,” Juquinha remembered. “I’ve seen them in the garden. They make nests with down and cotton.”

Emília unraveled another wad of fibers for Candoca, and they were ready to go back.

Halfway there, they came across a spider with very long legs that don’t bite people – they only wrap flies in their web. That spider was exactly busy doing that. A poor fly had gotten caught in the web, and the spider was wrapping it up. The two of them stopped to admire the perfection of the job. The spider’s long legs had incredible agility in handling the web, and quickly rendered the fly motionless, turning it into a ball.

“How these little creatures know how to organize themselves in such a big world!”

Emília murmured, “each one discovers a way. That’s why I have so much faith in the future humanity, that is, in the tiny humanity from now on – the small humanity. With our intelligence, we will be able to perform even greater wonders than the insects.”

“But they know and we don’t,” Juquinha said.

“We will know too. They know because they learned. We will learn too, why not? The teacher is a fierce old lady who doesn’t forgive the slow and lazy. Her name is Miss Selection.”

“Who is she?” asked Juquinha, who didn’t understand anything about science. “She’s the Great Whacker,” Emília replied, laughing.

Chapter 10: The Wrecked Ford

They found Candoca in her usual crying spot. Emília had an idea.

“Maybe she’s hungry? Did she already have lunch when it happened? Juquinha said she hadn’t.”

“It was at the beginning of lunch that the ‘thing’ happened. I remember it well. I had just speared a potato. I opened my mouth. The potato was still halfway there when, suddenly! I couldn’t see anything anymore. Just darkness inside the pantry.”

“That must be it. Candoca’s crying because she’s hungry,” Emília decided.

“There must be food on the dining room floor. Let’s go there.”

They went. What an enormous table! It was 80 centimeters from the ground—80 times their height. It was like a 30-story skyscraper for Colonel Teodorico. Up there, there must be food for all the inhabitants of a city—but what good is food on a ‘skyscraper roof’?

The important thing was whatever had fallen on the floor—some grains of rice, flour, or bread crumbs.

They looked. Near the table, they saw a large yellow ball. Juquinha immediately recognized it.

“My potato! I swear it’s my potato. But how it has grown! At that moment, the fork fell from my hand and it slipped and rolled away. That’s it.”

They headed over there. It was a fried potato, something any child would have chewed with ease before. However, the outer crust, hardened in the frying pan, seemed as tough as an orange peel to them. Fortunately, there were four holes made by the fork. Juquinha stuck his hand in one of them and grabbed whatever he could find inside. He gave a handful of the filling to Emília and another to Candoca. The girl ate it voraciously. Poor thing! Her tantrum was indeed hunger and cold. With the warmth of the cotton and that potato lunch, she calmed down.

“Very well,” said Emília, “now we have to take a walk around the city to see what happened.”

And then?

“Afterward, we’ll look for a home, some nook or cranny where we can live.”

“Forever?”

“Why not? This is our life now. I always lived in a beautiful place on Dona Benta’s farm.”

“I know. I’ve read the stories.”

“That’s right. I always lived there. But I was on a big trip when the ‘thing’ happened, and I turned and twisted and ended up in this city, which I don’t know the name of. What is this city called?”

“This is Itaoca.” “Itaoca?” Emília repeated, surprised. “So it’s that little village that was less than half a league from Dona Benta’s farm?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh, how funny! I thought it was at the end of the world. I know the village of Itaoca very well. I’ve been here many times.”

“My father was the mayor of this city,” said Juquinha.

“He took care of the streets, ordered the clearing of the sidewalk grass. He had a very beautiful horse—Pangaré—and just last year, he bought a car—a Ford. When will Dad come back? Is Papolândia far away?”

Emília felt sorry for Juquinha. He would never see his father, mother, Zulmira, Febrônia, or the Ford again.

“Everything is far now, Juquinha. Even Dona Benta’s farm, which used to be very close, has become an endless distance. Half a league! Half a league used to be half a league. Today, half a league is an abyss of distance. Half a league is 3,000 meters. In the past, people would take 5 or 6 thousand steps to cover that distance. Today, do you know how many steps I have to take to cover half a league?” She calculated mentally. “No less than 1,200,000 steps!”

“And what if you ride a beetle?”

“Ah, then it will be closer. But before that, we have to figure out the ‘directability of beetles,’ otherwise, we’ll ride one and end up where it wants, not where we want.”

And so, in that conversation, they reached the porch door. The girl, now calm, held Emília’s hand. There they found the straw ladder of the broom and descended through it. To descend the five steps of the cement staircase, they had to rely on several pieces of string tied together. When Candoca found herself hanging from that rope again, she screamed.

They descended. On the sidewalk, they headed towards the rubber hose, which led them to the garden gravel. Juquinha was surprised by the “horror” of that ground.

“It’s incredible that there were so many stones here, and I never noticed. How many times have I played in this garden! I ran through all the streets and never saw stones, and now there are only stones and more stones.”

Emília remembered the suffering of her little feet on the “irregularities of that ground” and suggested they put on shoes.

“With cotton shoes. Want to see?” She sat down, took some cotton from her stuffing, and wrapped her feet in it, securing it tightly. She did the same for Candoca and Juquinha.

It was delightful. They could walk comfortably without constantly stubbing their toes or scratching themselves on the “glass cuts” of those “sand stones.” And so, they made their way to the iron gate of the garden. They passed underneath, and there they were—the street.

What an enormous street! The other side was 20 meters away, or 2,000 times Emília’s height. The houses looked like endless skyscrapers, with rooftops reaching the clouds—and the length of the street seemed to have no end. “It gets lost on the horizon,” Emília thought.

They walked along the sidewalk. At intervals, they saw mountains of fabric.

Emília explained everything.

“Each pile of fabric corresponds to a man, a woman, or a child who was on the street at the time of the ‘reduction.’ The owners of the clothes were buried by them; the luckier ones managed to get out, like us, but many couldn’t and must be more than dead. And there are also those who, when they got out, fell into the leather pits—boots. Those who fell into a shallow shoe hole could still get out. But what about those who fell into boot holes? They’re still in there, like prisoners in dungeons.”

At a great distance from the gate, they saw an enormous pile of mangled iron next to the wall of a ‘skyscraper.’

“An automobile,” Emília explained. “All the cars that were in motion at the time of the ‘reduction’ went kaput. They lost control and crashed into houses. The same must have happened to all the planes in the air, and all the trains and ships in motion. Everything went haywire.”

Juquinha thought that car could be his father’s Ford—but how could they know?

“By the number. What number did your father’s car have?”

“It was number 7.”

Emília circled the car to find the number. There it was, huge on top. They had to step back a good distance to read it.

“Seven, yes, Juquinha. Your father’s car was this one.”

“And where is the chauffeur, Totó?”

“He must be inside, for sure. With the doors closed, how could he have gotten out?”

Juquinha almost cried. He wanted to save Totó, who was a good friend, but how? “Impossible,” Emília concluded. “A closed car is the most closed thing in the world. Not even rain can get in. Totó, if he’s still alive, should make the most of the remaining days of his life because no one can get him out of there. Let’s go.”

Juquinha stood still for a moment, looking up, trying to find a way. There was none. He sighed.

And so, they continued up the immense street. There were still many birds around—gigantic birds to them, like Rocas. Even though they had eaten many “shell-less insects,” those birds were still looking for more. However, none of them paid any attention to the “moving cotton.”

“I told you,” observed Emília.

“Cotton is the best defense against cold and birds and cats.”

“But what about hummingbirds?” the boy asked. “If one of them sees us, it will take us to its nest.”

“I’d rather go to a nest than end up as bird food. If I’m taken to a hummingbird’s nest, I’ll actually enjoy it because I’ll sleep comfortably for a night.”

Emília gave Juquinha a lesson about their new life.

“Many of those dangers from the past mean very little now,” she said.

“Lions, tigers, crocodiles, pythons—none of these beasts that used to terrify humans pose a threat today. The danger for humanity today, my dear, is the chicken, the chick, the sparrow, and all the birds that love insects. And birds have incredible eyesight. The tailless chick noticed me from afar. Another serious danger is the cat. Not a dog; but a cat—oh, cursed cats, eaters of cockroaches and grasshoppers! And they torment their prey before killing it.” “Manchinha was like that,” the boy recalled. “He wouldn’t spare any cockroach. He tormented them.”

“That’s right. Today, any stray cat can eat a king, a general, a sage, a mayor, just as easily as Manchinha used to eat cockroaches. So we have to defend ourselves.”

“But how, when we’re so small?”

“With intelligence or cunning, like so many insects in this world do. Viscount has explained that to me very well. One of the best defenses, for example, is called mimicry.”

“Mimic what?”

“Ry. Mi-mi-cry. It means imitation. Some insects imitate the color of the places they live in. If they live on rocks, they imitate the color of rocks. If they live in grass, like grasshoppers, they imitate the color of grass. Why? Because that way their enemies confuse them with the surroundings. And there are those that imitate the shape of leaves or dry twigs.”

“I’ve seen one of those,” Juquinha remembered. “Totó came to our house once with a dry twig in his hand. He asked me, ‘What’s this?’ I looked and replied, ‘It’s a dry twig.’ Totó laughed and dropped the twig on the ground—and do you know what happened? The twig started moving! It was a leggy, tough creature that imitated a dry twig.”

“That’s right. It was ‘mimicking’ a dry twig. That’s mimicry. Do you know those gray butterflies that sit on mossy trees and stay still, just like one of those gray mosses? Not mosses. Lichen. Lichen! Viscount doesn’t want us to confuse moss with lichen. Memorize it.”

“I know. I’ve seen many of them in our orchard.” “That’s it. Those disguises are the weapons of those insects. It’s the defense of the weak against the strong—but the clever weak! The gray butterfly, for example, is not capable of sitting with its wings raised, like hands in prayer. It only sits with its wings fully open and pressed against the tree bark, to blend in better with the lichens. Lichens. Repeat.”

“Lichens,” Juquinha repeated. “And who teaches the insects to do that?”

“Ah, that’s the problem that has puzzled Viscount the most. Mysteries of this mysterious world, he says. What I know is that the little creatures learn and pass on their knowledge to their offspring. And those who don’t do that end up doomed. The three of us are using a mimicking strategy. We’re using the ‘cottonism’ method. We’re pretending to be what we’re not.”

“And what if it’s windy?”

Even in that case, cotton is good. If it’s windy, the wind will carry us, just like it carries the fluff, and we’ll land somewhere ahead. It becomes a new way of traveling."

They arrived at an open plot of land with bushes. It seemed like an immense forest to them. Emília led them beneath the “trees” and showed them many things she had already learned in the hydrangea bush and the violet field. Candoca burst into frightened tears at the sight of the monsters—crickets, snails, spiders, caterpillars—that she saw there. No matter how much Emília reassured her that there was no danger because the monsters didn’t eat cotton balls, she couldn’t stop crying. At one point, she was so terrified of a slug the size of a whale that she instinctively escaped from Emília’s hand and threw herself into a nearby round hole. Oh, why did she do that! A “paquinha” emerged from deep inside, furious, with a ferocious face. Juquinha knew these terrifying crickets that bite, and he pulled the girl out of there.

“That was lucky,” said Emília, holding her hand again. “The paquinha was surprised by the cotton ball. It had never seen a ‘cotton creature.’ It came with its mouth wide open to bite, but hesitated. I saw it very well. This is good for you to learn about the danger of round holes. A round hole means it’s a dug hole, and almost every dug hole always has an owner inside or nearby. And these owners defend themselves. It’s much safer to find an opening or crack because those are not shelters made by creatures. They are ‘happened’ shelters. A brick or a piece of tile or wood falls in a certain way and ‘happens’ to create an opening. That’s the kind of shelter we should look for. But round holes, never!”

Candoca trembled with fear. She wanted to leave, go back to the street.

“Wait, girl. We’re going soon. I’m giving you a lesson in the new life because this is our life now. The whole house and bedroom with a bed, Zulmira with her bottle, and Mom with her lap—it’s all over. Now it’s all about survival on a potato! Either you take care of yourself or you perish. Learn.”

Juquinha quickly understood the demands of the new life, but he could only think of one thing: finding a beetle to ride. He had no fear of beetles—he never had. He considered them perfectly harmless and silly. Finally, they left the forest and returned to the cement sidewalk. And there, instead of a beetle, do you know what appeared? A hummingbird. It was buzzing above a huge yellow marigold. When it saw those cotton balls, it remembered its nest under construction. It descended like an arrow, and swoosh! it took Emília into the air.

Candoca burst into terrified tears, while Juquinha widened his eyes, not knowing what to do.

Chapter 11: In the Hummingbird’s Nest

Emília’s flight through the air was short because all distances become short for the swiftness of hummingbirds. The hummingbird had just finished building its nest in a hole by the roadside, on the outskirts of the village. Emília arrived there, released the cotton and arranged it with her beak at a certain point in the nest. Then she moved away. She was certainly going to fetch the other tufts.

Emília stuck her little head out and looked around. An enormous nest with a diameter five times her height. There was no egg, only fluff on all sides. Emília was thinking about what to do when she heard a noise. It was the immense hummingbird returning with another tuft in its beak—it was Juquinha. On the third trip, it brought Candoca. Emília was surprised to see her silent, but that silence came as a warning from Juquinha. “If you keep crying, these monsters will discover our camouflage, and goodbye, Candoca!”

She understood and kept quiet.

The beautiful hummingbird arranged the two cotton tufts in the best way possible and settled in the nest. It was already late, time for birds to retire. Emília remained still, deep in thought. She didn’t even consider talking to her companions. They were too far away, and the hummingbird could notice. She settled down as best she could and fell asleep. And she slept the most pleasant night of her life. What a delightful warmth!

She had a dream. She was in the farm, hidden with Aunt Nastácia in the bamboo tube. Then Dona Benta appeared riding a caterpillar. “What are you looking for, Dona Benta?” “My size,” came the reply. “A thief entered the house and stole my size.” And the dream went on.

When Emília opened her eyes, it was already dawn. The first bird song she heard was from a screech owl. “It sounds like a necklace of bubbling beads,” she thought to herself. The second song was from a couple of wrens, extremely loud, like “a fight between two echoes.” Then came the song of a thrush; “it sounded like a sonorous water drop falling into a bowl.” After that, the canaries, sparrows, tanagers, goldfinches, flycatchers, etc.—a true orchestra without a conductor, where each musician plays their instrument without caring about the neighbor.

Finally, the sun began to illuminate the world; the hummingbird rose from the nest, yawned, and flew. It was time to take care of lunch.

Emília moved, searching for her companions. She immediately bumped into an egg that reached her waist—the first little egg laid by the hummingbird. On the other side of the egg, she found Juquinha already standing. Only Candoca was still asleep.

“How was the night?” she asked the boy.

“Great! I slept like never before—and so did Candoca because I didn’t hear her crying at all. And the hummingbird?”

“He surely went out for lunch.”

“And are we going to stay here forever?”

“No. We’ll have lunch and then descend.”

“Have lunch here? I don’t see anything…”

“And what about the egg?”

“But how can we crack such a big egg?”

Emília never parted with her thorn lance. She took it out from inside the tuft and said:

"I have this excellent egg opener. And the feast began. The two of them grabbed the lance and started pounding with the tip in the same spot. The shell was hard, but it gave way. Suddenly, the lance sank, letting out a drop of egg white.

“Good,” said Emília. “Now I’ll plunge the lance deeper to pierce the yolk—and then we’ll lick the scrambled egg that comes out.”

And so she did. The first dive of the lance brought out enough yolk for the stomachs of two Emilias. Juquinha wasn’t satisfied with just one scoop. He demanded three. They ate with their hands. They ran their hands over the yellow yolk on the tip of the lance and brought it to their mouths.

Then they woke up Candoca and gave her a scoop. The girl got all messy.

“You look like you ate a mango,” Emília said, laughing, while she cleaned the lance and put it back inside the tuft.

She had a great idea.

“What if we wet our cotton boots with egg white?”

“Why?”

“Silly. The egg white is albumen. Repeat! It dries quickly and binds the fibers together. Then we’ll have real boots, perfectly shaped to fit our feet.”

And she set the example. She soaked the cotton wrapped around her feet with egg white and stretched them out in a sunbeam to dry. Juquinha liked the idea and did the same—and then, by force, he also “albuminized” Candoca’s feet.

“And now?” he said after seeing the dried little boots, even better than if they were made of leather. “Now, a parachute jump! We have to throw ourselves down from this nest. With the cotton, there’s no danger of getting hurt.”

They climbed to the edge of the nest and looked down. It was an immense cliff about five meters high, torn in the red earth. Down below was a wide strip of the same color—the road. Emília thought for a moment and made up her mind.

“Let’s throw Candoca first. Then we’ll jump.”

And so they did. The girl screamed like never before when they grabbed her and pushed her into the abyss—and she rolled down. Unfortunately, she didn’t reach the road. She got stuck in the grass on the cliff. Emília and Juquinha were luckier; they fell onto a “black sand.” Rainwater often leaves these small black sand beaches by the roadside. That one must have been about two feet long, but to Emília, it seemed quite large. She tried walking with her albuminized boots.

“Great! Now I’m not afraid of any ground. I will never forget what my feet suffered on the gravel in that garden,” and she took a little run on the Black Beach.

“And Candoca?” Juquinha remembered. They looked up. There was Candoca’s tuft, caught on the grass of the cliff.

“We’ll just have to wait for the wind to blow and make her fall,” Emília decided.

“And if we climbed up there?”

“We could climb, but not like this, wearing ‘clothes’—and if we take off our clothes, we’ll be in danger again. There are many spiders in those 'root holes.’”

The sun hadn’t reached that spot on the road yet, so there was dew. Emília and Juquinha drank the “liquid diamonds” from a fuzzy grass leaf.

“Now what?” Emília asked herself. "What should I do? I have no duties. I have no obligations. I have no home, no spouse. My life will always be like this. Traveling the world, cautious in defense, and taking care of my stomach. The problem of food is easy for those who are content with little. Yesterday, I fed on honey. Today, on egg yolk. That’s why there are so many little creatures in the world— ease of nourishment. Any bait will do; a simple bit of honey from two or three flowers fills a wasp’s belly. And I’m not even afraid of the wind. Let the wind come and take me! It makes no difference if I’m here or there. Our invention of the parachute will be the salvation of the new tiny humanity. But… what if it rains?

Emília thought about rain because the sky was darkening. A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. She pondered. “If the rain wets my cotton, farewell parachute and farewell defense! I’ll be reduced to a naked chick fallen into a mess. Therefore, I have to protect myself from the rain. How? By hiding in places where the rain doesn’t fall. What places are those? It depends on where I am. In cities, there are houses—but in open fields like this?...”

She looked around. The road ran along the slope of a hill, with the red cliff on one side and a ravine on the other, at the bottom of which a stream flowed between rocks. Emília noticed many root holes in the cliff and thought, "It was good that Viscount explained the origin of these holes to me. Many people think they’re snake holes or other creatures' holes, but they’re not. They’re ‘root holes.’ When people open roads, the diggers' shovels cut many roots in the soil. These cut roots rot and eventually turn into powdery decayed wood, leaving behind an empty mold in the soil. So, the holes I’m seeing are root holes, not holes made by creatures. The danger is the creature hole because they all have owners. Who are the owners? The creatures that made these holes. But a root hole has no owner because its owner was the root, and the root rotted and turned into powdery decayed wood. Therefore, even though it’s round, it’s also a ‘happened’ hole like the gaps between bricks or shards of tiles."

“Juquinha,” she said, “the rain is coming. And when the rain comes, this beach will turn into an Amazon that will carry us away.”

“Great!” exclaimed the silly boy. “We can fish for pirarucu.” Emília felt sorry for him. What a lack of common sense! Fishing!… Cotton fishing!…

And she said they would be the ones caught.

“Rain forms streams on the roads, those streams flow into rivers, the rivers flow into the sea, the sea flows into the clouds—”

“And the clouds 'flow back here again.’”

Juquinha laughed like an ignorant person.

“I understand a river flowing into the sea, but I’ve never seen the sea flowing into the clouds.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Juquinha. If you read the poet Castro Alves, you’d understand. Actually, the sea doesn’t flow into the clouds; but the water from the sea evaporates and rises to the sky, where it forms clouds, and then those clouds turn into rain, and the rainwater flows through the roads again. Do you understand?”

At that moment, thunder rumbled, and soon a strong gust of wind followed. Emília barely had time to cling to a blade of grass; Juquinha dawdled—and was dragged away. Emília looked up at the cliff. Candoca’s cotton had come loose from the hook and was floating in the air like fluff! “I bet she’s crying and calling for mommy…”

Emília examined the cliff. At a certain height, she saw a very convenient root hole. It was easy to climb up there, even with the cotton. She forgot about Juquinha, forgot about Candoca, and started climbing because it was one of those “every man for himself” moments. The rain was coming. The green of the hill ahead turned hazy, like the window glass that Pedrinho fogged up to write with his finger. Real rain was coming. Emília climbed, grabbing onto whatever she could. The root hole was four times her height. She entered.

What bad luck! It was a hole already occupied by someone: an enormous and hairy tarantula! Emília’s heart raced. She felt like the Miner from the River of Herons when he found himself between the Jaguar and the Alligator. But she thought quickly. “Between the spider and the rain, I’d rather choose the spider. Rain is a thousand times worse because rain has no remedy, and with a spider, many things can happen. It may not notice my cotton. It may be asleep. It might even feel sorry for me. Spiders are ‘deceivable’—but who can deceive the rain?” And Emília remained still, burying her head in the cotton, peering through the fibers. As it was a very dark hole, she could barely make out the spider’s shape. Only after her eyes adjusted to the darkness could she distinguish the red stinger.

The spider didn’t make the slightest movement. It was like the Cuca from Saci, motionless—alive. Those creatures like to live, just to keep on living, alone, without anything else. It wasn’t a web-building spider. It was a burrowing spider.

The rain arrived—shhhhh… Everything grew dark. Emília could no longer see the red of the stinger. She only saw darkness. Her head was at one-third the height of the spider, and in a movement she made to adjust herself, she touched one of the spider’s hairs. Emília remembered Dona Benta’s incident when she sat on the Finger Bird’s finger, mistaking it for a tree root. The spider’s hair felt like a cactus spine.

The rain outside was an endless shhhhh…

That sound of rain, always the same, started making her sleepy. Her little eyes closed—and Emília found herself back at the Yellow Woodpecker’s Ranch. They were all on the porch, their original size, eating popcorn. Suddenly, Manchinha’s face appeared on the stairs. “Looks like Felix the Cat, Grandma,” said Littlenose—but then her eyes widened, as if crazy, because the cat started growing, growing, until it was bigger than the house. And from that point on, Emília’s sleep turned into a nightmare.

When she woke up, the downpour had passed. A patch of blue appeared in the sky, and the sun soon emerged. The spider’s red stinger was now clearly visible. Tomato red. The spider made a movement to leave. Emília shrank back, staying completely still. The spider moved one leg, then another, and began to exit. At the entrance of the hole, it stopped and basked in the sun for a long time. “Will it stay there forever?” No, it didn’t. After sunning itself, it left, climbing up the cliff. It was going to hunt in the bushes up there.

Chapter 12: The Giant With a Top Hat

Emília went to the entrance of the hole. The red road seemed to be moving due to the countless streams of water flowing down. Every branch was dripping. The world seemed sprinkled with shimmering pyrileen dust.

“Where could Juquinha and Candoca be?” she wondered. “Most likely drowned and dead. Silly as they are, how could they withstand such rain?”

She descended through the damp earth. Fortunately, water flows quickly on the slopes and doesn’t accumulate. When she reached the little black beach, she saw no beach at all. It was covered in red water.

Resigned, Emília sat down. “I have to wait for whatever happens, as Aunt Nastácia would say.”

She watched the last red waters follow their downward paths. Initially, those waters had been like the Amazon River, then they turned into regular rivers, then streams, and now they were reduced to tiny trickles. The currents had ceased. Only puddles and lakes remained. The black sand of the beach began to appear. Emília descended the rest of the slope and stepped onto that beautiful but very damp sand. Her little boots were capable of melting. Emília didn’t mind. “Do you want to melt? Then melt. Later, you’ll have the trouble of drying again.”

Something appeared in the distance. A moving something coming closer.

Emília focused her gaze. A tremendously tall figure with a top hat.

“Could it be Benedito?”

Indeed it was. It was Viscount Corncobia! It was the Viscount coming towards her—but my God, what a Viscount! The biggest Viscount in the world! A gigantic giant.

Emília opened her mouth in astonishment.

“That’s right!” she murmured to herself. He didn’t shrink because a “talking vegetable” is not a person. How wonderful! With him being so huge, the Viscount will be my salvation.

The Viscount measured exactly 44 centimeters in height, including his new top hat, which was as tall as President Lincoln’s. He was 44 times taller than Emília—a true skyscraper of a top hat.

Emília’s joy was immense. She clapped her hands. She jumped. She danced. And when she approached the Black Beach, she shouted:

"Viscount, it’s me! Emília!… But the Viscount kept walking as if he hadn’t heard. “Did he go deaf, or can’t my voice reach the immense height of those ears?”

It must be that, and in great distress, Emília didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t find a way to attract the Viscount’s attention. “Shouting won’t help. I’ll have to follow him and see.” And she began following the Viscount.

But the Viscount took steps of 10 centimeters in length, while Emília’s steps were only 3 millimeters long, so there was no greater nonsense than trying to follow him. In her despair, however, Emília paid no attention to the nonsense and planted her foot in the mud, trailing behind the Viscount. Oh, the difficulties, my God! There were large puddles she had to go around—the little muddy water pools formed by the horse’s hoofprints. And there were hills and mountains to climb—the irregularities of the road. And now there was a large tree trunk or a big rock—the little pieces of wood or pebbles that are found on every road. These tremendous obstacles horribly delayed her progress, not to mention that her wet boots began to fray. She stopped several times to tie the ends of the cotton fibers. And the Viscount got further and further away with his gigantic strides! “It’s as if he’s wearing the seven-league boots of Tom Thumb!”

Fortunately, the Viscount was a wise man, and wise men don’t walk at a steady and continuous pace like ignorant people do. The Viscount would walk a little, then stop to observe something. Here, it was a new beetle he saw for the first time, and he would crouch down to examine the little creature and take notes in his notebook. Then, it was any small stone—or a “mineral,” as he called it. Or it was an “optical effect” on a spiderweb. And every time he stopped, Emília would catch up to him. But as soon as she caught up, he started walking again, until a new “natural curiosity” stopped him. It was as if he were one of those nightjars that fly and land on the roads in front of travelers at dusk.

At a certain point, a little spring among the rocks on the slope stopped him. The Viscount stopped there to examine a reflection in the water. Then he sat down. Then, with his head resting on one hand and his eyes fixed on the reflection. “It’s time!” Emília said, quickening her pace. “In that position, his left ear is within reach of my voice. I just need to reach him before he stands up again.” Emília walked steadily, taking advantage of the sandy patches to run—and finally, she caught up. However, she was so tired that, at first, her voice failed her. She stood in front of the Viscount’s elbow, gasping for breath.

The enormous sage didn’t notice her. He was engrossed in his scientific contemplation.

After resting well, Emília took a deep breath and shouted with all her might:

“Viscount! It’s me, Emília! I’m here below, near your elbow.”

The sage awakened from his scientific contemplation. He tilted his head. He had heard a sound of speech, but since his mind was preoccupied with something else, he didn’t grasp the meaning of the words. Emília shouted again, even louder.

“Viscount! It’s really me—Emília!”

“Emília? Where?...”

“Down here, near your elbow.”

The Viscount lowered his gaze to his elbow, his face illuminated by curiosity.

“I hear a voice, but I don’t see anything. There’s only a tiny cotton ball near my elbow.”

“Well, that cotton ball is me—I’m inside. It’s my defense. Grab me and lift me up.”

The Viscount lifted the cotton—and with some effort, he discerned a tiny head the size of an ant’s head and two little feet underneath, the size of pinheads.

Chapter 13: Revelations

The sun was hot. Emília, flushed from the exercise, couldn’t bear the heat of the cotton anymore. She undressed and stood completely naked in the palm of Viscount’s hand, wearing only boots. He raised her up to his nose and said:

— You can speak. Tell me everything that happened.

Emília told everything — her journey to the House of Switches, pulling down the Size Switch, and the “downsizing.” The Viscount was horrified.

— Is it possible? So it was you, Emília, the cause of the tremendous disaster that befell “classical humanity?”

— Yes, it was me, but it wasn’t intentional. I only wanted to discover the War Switch, that’s all. But the switches had no labels. So I decided to fiddle with all of them until I got it right. The first one I grabbed was the Size Switch — and I was the first one to become small. And since I lost my size, I couldn’t lift that switch again — and that’s it.

The Viscount couldn’t believe his ears.

— It’s astonishing what you’ve done, Emília! This is no longer a prank. This is a catastrophe! Based on what I observed on the farm, I can only imagine what happened worldwide — and I was just about to go to the city to investigate, to see if the downsizing affected all creatures.

— I’ve been there already, and I saw it — Emília replied. — It did affect everyone. The size of all people went haywire. Now the chickens, the birds, and the cats are in charge of the cities — and she told the story of the tailless chick. If it weren’t for that mean one, I would be very well on the farm. He’s the one who messed everything up for me. — Well, what you’ve done goes beyond measure, Emília! If people find out, they won’t forgive you. They’ll grab you and burn you at the stake. Unbelievable! Destroying the size of creatures!… You know that means destroying all of human civilization? Since the beginning of time, people, with great difficulties, have been building this civilization made up of houses, machines, roads, vehicles, ideas. Everything was related to the natural size of human beings. But now, with the size reduction, nothing works anymore, and therefore, what you’ve done, Emília, is to destroy civilization! De-stroy ci-vi-li-za-tion!… Considering how small people have become, they’ll have to create a whole new civilization — that is, if they survive. The Viscount really liked the word “survive.”

— Well, they can survive just fine — Emília decided. — I’m surviving perfectly well. I’ve escaped from various dangers — from a ferocious hen, from Manchinha, from the tarantula, from the hummingbird, from the wind, from the storm — and I can keep escaping from a thousand others. I swear I’ll survive. I’ve applied the mimicry of cotton to my body, and that’s it.

— But, Emília, remember that you are you, and the others are others.

How many people have already perished? Only those who couldn’t get out of their clothes, many of them, Emília!… And the millions of soldiers at war in Russia during the winter, what happened to them?

— Ah, they turned into popsicles — I swear!…

— And you’re not horrified by that? You’re making fun of it?

— Why should I be horrified? Weren’t they killing each other? I even spared them the horrible work of cannon fire.

— And in cities and fields all over the world! When I imagine what must have happened in the cities and in the countryside, it makes my hair stand on end. — And now I find out that you, Emília, the Emilinha from Dona Benta’s farm, were the cause of it all! Clearly, you went too far, Emília.

The Viscount was so overwhelmed by the events and so angry with her that Emília stood her ground and defended what she had done.

— Well, I got rid of Size, and I did well! — she said. — Why do we need that cumbersome Size? Aren’t there millions and millions of beings that live without size? Size is backwardness. Is there anything more backward than a brontosaurus or a mastodon? So backward that they became extinct, they couldn’t withstand the “ice age,” as Walt Disney showed in Fantasia.

Compare the stupidity of those huge monsters with the intelligent lightness of a bee or an ant — and that’s why brontosaurs and mastodons only exist in museums today, while bees and ants are everywhere in billions. I eliminated Size among human beings, and I did well. One day, the new humanity will thank me for the gift, once the new race of “little humans” adapts. The Viscount sighed.

— Adapt! You use scientific words, but you don’t understand them. You repeat them like a parrot. Adaptation is a process that takes thousands and millions of years, Emília. So, do you think that overnight this huge human population, which you made small and is in great trouble, will have time to adapt? Everyone will die before that, like a fish out of water — and farewell, Homo sapiens!

— Homo sapiens, my foot! Many will die, I know. Millions will die, but as long as there is a couple of Adam and Eve left, everything will start again. The world was already overcrowded with people. The true cause of wars was that — too many people, as Dona Benta used to say. What I did was a cleansing. I lightened the world. Life will begin anew now — and much more interesting. No more cannons, tanks, gunpowder, incendiary bombs. We’ll have much superior things — beetles for flying, ant troops for transportation, the problem of food solved because with any bait, a stomach gets filled, et cetera, and so on.

— But…

The Viscount, being the wise man that he was, choked and began to find some reason in Emília’s ideas.

— Think about it, Viscount. That so-called “classical civilization” was coming to an end. People couldn’t see any other solution besides war — that is, killing, killing, killing, destroying everything created by civilization itself — cities, factories, ships, everything. Think about it, Viscount. That civilization had failed. It had reached a dead end — and what was the solution it found? Committing suicide with cannon fire. Come on! I’m even amazed to see a wise man like you defending a world of dictators, each worse than the other.

The Viscount started to agree.

— Moreover — Emília continued — if people want to return to that stupidity of Size, it’s easy. Your soul, your palm.

— How?

— Very simple. I can go back to the House of Switches. I know how. We’ll go together. Since I don’t have the strength to lift the switch, you’ll do it, and that’s it — everything will be big again — and let them foster — let them kill each other as much as they want — let them devour each other. I don’t care. I wanted the good of humanity. I got rid of the biggest stupidity of all, which was Size. But don’t want it? Aren’t they happy? They insist on living as bipedal mastodons? Well, your soul, your cabbage! Let Size return. But don’t come complaining to me afterward… The Viscount was thinking. Yes, Emília was right. They could consult the little people. If they wanted to return to the old size, fine. If they didn’t want to, even better. Deep down in his heart, the Viscount preferred things to stay as they were because he had become a giant instead of remaining a simple ear of corn. And Emília was right indeed. Insects are the most perfected beings that exist, and they have no size. Well, with their intelligence, the tiny humans could control insects, use thousands of them for a thousand purposes, and build a new civilization much more interesting than the old one. And he decided:

— Well, Emília, we’ll consult the people of the Yellow Woodpecker Ranch. If the majority wants to return to Size, we’ll go together to that House and put the switch back in the position where you found it. And if the majority wants this New Order, then let everything stay as it is.

— Well said! — Emília agreed. — The remedy now is a good “plebiscite tea.” But just in case, Viscount, don’t tell anyone that I was the one who messed with the switch. Nobody needs to know — not Dona Benta, nor Littlenose. Promise you won’t tell?

— Of course, I promise. If I did, you would be lost…

With those points settled, Emília told the story of Major Apolinário, Dona Nonoca, and Aunt Febrônia, and how she had become the guardian of the two orphans.

— The wind blew Candoca away, and Juquinha surely drowned in the flood. But to ease our conscience, we can look for them.

Then they resolved various aspects of their new life.

— I’ll travel just fine inside your top hat, Viscount. You just need to open a little window for me there. The Viscount approved the idea. He put Emília on the ground, took off his hat, and with a piece of quartz, he cut a small window in the cardboard of the hat, measuring 3 by 3 millimeters.

— Bigger, Viscount. Make a window of 3 by 9.

— Why?

— Because if we find Juquinha and Candoca, they’ll have to come with me inside here — and they’ll need a window too.

The Viscount opened a large window measuring 3 by 10. — Better bigger than smaller. That way, no one will fight over my head due to lack of living space…

Chapter 14: On the Way to Woodpecker Ranch

Emília was not satisfied with the little window open on Viscount’s top hat. She demanded more.

“I want a front door and a little staircase that goes from the brim to that door. And also a floor, because I won’t step on your head,” she said.

Viscount sighed. Emília was still as bossy as ever. She wanted, and that was that. Looking around for construction materials, the obedient Viscount saw an orange peel. He picked it up and used a piece of quartz to cut out a nickel-sized disk that fit inside the top hat. That was the floor. Then he made a seven-step staircase from the brim of the top hat to the front door. Emília demanded a railing for the staircase and a fence around the brim.

Viscount built a fence with two wires and thorny posts. “Is that enough?” he asked when he finished.

“Not yet,” Emília replied. “I want a rope ladder that descends from the brim to the ground, like the ones used on ships, and also a doorbell.”

“A doorbell? How?”

“Just tie a string to one of the straws in your beard. When I need to urgently call you, I pull the string, and you’re ready.”

“I don’t see the need for such a thing,” Viscount grumbled. “When you want to talk to me, you just come to the window and shout. The window is right next to my ear.”

Emília laughed.

“Viscount, you don’t know yourself. Wise beings are the most absent-minded creatures in the world. When Viscount is pondering an idea, he doesn’t hear a cannon shot, let alone my little call. But with the string attached to your beard, everything changes. I give it a pull. The pain ‘wakes up’ Viscount.”

Everything was done as she wished, and after Emília settled inside, she even demanded a chimney for ventilation. Viscount had to stick a little straw on top of the top hat.

Very well. They could continue the journey. But where to? Viscount had left the farm to “check out,” that is, to see if all human beings had been reduced in size or if the shrinkage had only occurred at Dona Benta’s house. But meeting Emília made the trip to the city unnecessary. All the creatures had indeed been reduced, and the author of the great transformation was the little creature that had settled in Viscount’s top hat! “I think we can go back,” he said. “My trip to the city is no longer necessary.”

“Yes,” Emília agreed, “but only after we find my orphans. It’s impossible that they have escaped from the rain—but who knows? We have to look for them.”

“Where did they get lost?”

“Candoca was right in that patch of grass when the wind carried her away,” Emília replied from her window, pointing to a spot on the slope. “And Juquinha was with me at Praia Preta.”

“What is Praia Preta?”

Emília explained everything, and Viscount began searching for little white things, as apparently the two orphans were nothing more than two tufts of cotton.

He found nothing. He didn’t see any whiteness of any kind on the red road.

Emília pondered all imaginable possibilities. The certain thing was that they were dead, reduced to mud, or drowned in the ponds that the rain had formed in the marsh. That was certain. But there was the uncertain—and it was in the uncertain that Emília raised her hypotheses.

"They could very well be in another nest. Hummingbirds now have this obsession with eggs and collecting as much down or cotton as they find. Viscount walked along, his eyes scanning the slope for hummingbird nests. He found one, climbed up, and peeked inside. No tufts, only two little eggs—and upon Emília’s orders, he stole one for the hat’s supplies. Further ahead, he found another nest—and inside it were the two tufts.

“Hurray! Hurray!” Emília shouted, clapping her hands. “As the saying goes, seek and you shall find.” Viscount picked up the two tufts with his fingertips and placed them on the brim.

“Go up the little staircase,” Emília said from the window—and the two orphans climbed up and entered.

Emília showed them their new home and explained who the “Colossus of Rhodes” was, in whose head they would be living. Juquinha was delighted. He went to the window and started making plans. “We can catch a beetle and tie it to one of the thorny posts of the fence. I won’t rest until I fly.” Candoca had entered with a crying beak but didn’t shed a tear. Why cry when she was well sheltered in that little house with a door, window, and egg?

By Emília’s order, Juquinha pierced a hole in the eggshell with his lance. “And leave the thorn there. Whoever is hungry can poke the yolk and enjoy it.”

“Well,” said Viscount outside, his voice sounding to them like a voice from the street. “I think I can go back to the farm.”

Emília rushed to lean out the window.

“Yes, we can go back—and tell me all about the tragedy at home.” Viscount set off with his giant half-palm-sized strides, recounting the story.

"I was in the laboratory, busy making more super-dust because someone had stolen my supply. Suddenly Pedrinho came in and said, ‘Viscount, Emília has disappeared, and Grandma is worried.’ I replied that my box of superpowder had also disappeared. Pedrinho’s face lit up, and he exclaimed, ‘Hmm! I understand!’ I was staring at Pedrinho when, at that very moment, I mean the moment he finished saying the word ‘understand,’ his head disappeared, and his clothes fell in a pile on the floor as if there were no body inside. I was extremely impressed. It was a phenomenon beyond comprehension. I looked at the pile with wide eyes. What was that? What had happened to the boy? Everything was a mystery. Then I sat in front of the pile of clothes and started speculating. But no matter how much I speculated, I couldn’t come up with a suitable hypothesis. It seemed to me to be the ultimate mystery.

Emília, from the little window, reveled in the story. Viscount continued:

“I simply couldn’t understand anything. I even thought it might be a dream. Then I noticed a head the size of a peppercorn emerging from the leg of the fallen pants. Obviously, it was an insect’s head. Then a neck emerged—and shoulders, arms, torso, legs—and I had the impression of a completely unknown insect, shell-less. I ran to get my magnifying glass. That insect was the most astonishing of all, because all insects have six legs, but I could only see two on it—and besides, it stood upright, like bipeds, something insects don’t do. The laboratory was dimly lit. I opened the window again. I adjusted the magnifying glass once more, and then I saw that it was a miniature boy. And finally, I recognized him: Pedrinho himself, but without size!”

“How small did he become?”

“You’ll see when we get there. But my astonishment knew no bounds. Science couldn’t explain this prodigious phenomenon. I noticed that Pedrinho had lost his ability to speak. Only minutes later did he manage to speak, whispering in a mosquito-like voice, ‘What happened? Everything is so different and big…’ It took him a while to convince himself that nothing was big—it was he who had become small.”

“Just like the people in Major Apolinário’s story,” Emília said. “They thought things had grown larger—and I even had trouble proving otherwise.”

Viscount continued: "Pedrinho was completely bewildered, which was natural because such a transformation disrupts a creature’s mind.

“No one can resist.”

“I resisted!” Emília shouted.

“Yes, but you’re you—a sui generis creature,” Viscount liked to apply that Latin phrase to Emília’s case.

“And then?”

“Afterwards, I carried Pedrinho in the palm of my hand to show him to Dona Benta. When we arrived in the dining room, I didn’t see anyone. I only saw piles of clothes on the floor—and I recognized those clothes. One of the piles was made up of that yellow fustian dress with green spots that you know—Dona Benta’s dress she wore that day. Near that pile, I saw another one, and I recognized Aunt Nastácia’s clothes. And in a smaller pile, I recognized Littlenose’s black-and-white striped dress. An idea came to me. ‘Could it be that the same thing happened to them too?’ And to verify, I shook the girl’s dress. You know what happened? Another shell-less insect rolled out of the sleeve—she was Littlenose herself, as small in size as Pedrinho!… And I was about to shake the other piles of clothes when I saw a black spider: Aunt Nastácia! And then, another white insect: Dona Benta! Both had managed to get out of the clothes.”

“How funny!”

“You have no idea what happened next! No one understood anything. Aunt Nastácia kept crossing herself and saying ‘My goodness!’ Dona Benta and Littlenose clung tightly to each other, like mothers and daughters during shipwrecks at sea. What a scene, my God!”

“And they were all naked?”

“Yes, all naked,” Viscount replied.

“Weren’t they ashamed?”

“It seems not. They didn’t even realize they were naked.”

“So it’s exactly as I thought. Being ashamed of one’s body is a matter of size. And then?”

“I lay down on the floor to have a better conversation with them, and there was no end to what we said. Each of them had a different hypothesis. Littlenose was the first to think it possible that the same thing had happened to all of humanity. That idea impressed me. ‘I need to verify this point,’ I said—and that’s when I came up with the idea of going to the village.”

“So you had the courage to leave them there alone?” Emília asked, indignant.

“It was necessary—but I took all precautions.”

“What precautions?”

“I placed them on Dona Benta’s dresser, with some food to keep them occupied.”

“What food, Viscount?”

“Sugar and breadcrumbs. And water.”

“What did you put the water in?”

"A bottle cap. And then I left. I went to the pasture to find the Councilor. ‘Look,’ I said to him, ‘something tremendously mysterious and absurd happened at the house: everyone has become as small as insects.’ The Talking Donkey widened his eyes. Then he laughed, thinking it was a joke. ‘It’s true, Councilor. You know I don’t joke’—and since he doesn’t joke either, he believed my words and pouted. I then told him I was leaving—I was going to the city to see if the phenomenon affected all human beings. ‘Therefore, please stay in the yard, near the veranda, and don’t let any cats or birds come near. They’re on Dona Benta’s dresser.’ I gave him that instruction and hit the road.

“Did you also inform Quindim?”

“He was far away. I asked the Councilor to inform him.”

Juquinha had read about the rhinoceros in the Yellow Woodpecker books, so when he heard the mention of Quindim, he got excited. His dream had always been to ride the tremendous pachyderm. “That used to be great,” Emília explained. “When we were big. Now, at this size, a rhinoceros is to us what the Himalayas are to Colonel Teodorico. Riding on it won’t give us any sensation anymore—we won’t even notice its movements.” Juquinha didn’t want to believe it.

“It’s true,” Emília affirmed. “Just like the Earth. Our planet spins through space at incredible speeds, but we don’t perceive anything. Why? Because we’re too tiny compared to the Earth.”

Juquinha sighed.

Chapter 15: Colonel Teodorico

After walking for an hour along the deserted road, Viscount spotted Colonel Teodorico’s farm. Cows and donkeys roamed freely in the fields, eating abundantly. There was no one to chase them away.

“I want to spend a few minutes in that house, Viscount!” Emilia shouted from her little window.

The Viscount, who was pondering an idea, didn’t hear her. Emilia resorted to the “doorbell”. With a strong pull on the rope, she made the pain in the beard wake up the distracted giant.

“What’s up there?” he asked.

Emilia repeated the order to spend some time in the immense white mansion they could see from there, and Juquinha couldn’t believe it was just an old farmhouse. Despite being transformed into the world’s largest giant, the Viscount, out of habit, obeyed Emilia just as he used to. She had now become his true brain, the one who manipulated his will. It seemed incredible that this tiny person inside the top hat was leading him wherever she wanted.

As they entered the farmyard, they heard the sad moos of a hungry cow. The Viscount headed towards the stable. Colonel’s milking cow, sister of Hornless from Dona Benta, was locked in the stall without any grass in the manger. Nearby, her calf cried from hunger.

“Poor animal,” murmured the Viscount. “It’s trapped and will die of starvation if I don’t help it. How many beings around the world find themselves in the same situation!”

He unlocked the stall and hid to avoid being devoured in passing by Hornless’s sister, who went there very nimbly. He was the greatest giant ever among men, the only hope for the salvation of humanity, but he was also a corn cob, and cows “love” corn cobs. Then he released the calf. Emilia made remarks about the old cruelty of men who kept calves locked up to steal milk from their cow mothers. “Let’s see if they continue to commit such cruelty now.”

Colonel’s house had wide-open doors. It had been invaded by half a dozen piglets, which feasted in the kitchen and pantry. As a precaution, the Viscount climbed onto a chair and from there onto the dining table, still with the plates from the previous day’s lunch. He looked around.

“I don’t smell anything,” he said. “It seems like the piglets have devoured all the inhabitants.”

But at that moment, a tiny voice caught his attention.

“I’m here, I’m here!”

“Here where?”

“Here, in this horrible cave.”

Looking in the direction of the sound, the Viscount could see, in a crack in the rotting skirting board of the room, a kind of pea kernel. It was the head of Colonel Teodorico, the owner of Barro Branco Farm.

“I’m hiding here,” the tiny voice continued, “because of the hippos that invaded the house after everything became huge. They’ve already devoured Quinota and Aunt Ambrosia. I managed to escape by hiding in this cave that didn’t exist until yesterday. Judging by the top hat and the corn straw beard, I recognize the little Viscount from Dona Benta’s farm, but enormously big, like everything else. I don’t understand anything. The world has grown in an incredible way. Am I dreaming?”

The Viscount examined the situation. To save the Colonel, he would have to get off the table, which was dangerous in a house invaded by piglets. What to do? The Viscount wasn’t a resourceful creature.

He got confused easily. Fortunately, he had Emilia in his head.

“Viscount,” she shouted, “I see a rope on the table. Throw it to the Colonel.”

The Viscount looked and saw a long string on the table. To throw it to the “cave,” he would have to tie a weight to the end. What weight? “This little spoon here,” Emilia remembered.

It was a tiny coffee spoon. The Viscount tied it to the end of the string and threw it.

“Grab onto this, Colonel!”

The Colonel, very scared and looking in all directions, came out of the cave and held onto the tiny spoon. The Viscount pulled the string.

“Phew…” exclaimed the Colonel, seeing himself on the table and free from the piglets. The Viscount placed him comfortably in the palm of his hand.

“I have suffered so much!” sighed the poor stripped insect. “All this time, in that horrible cave, a monster in the shape of a cockroach was poking me with the tips of two bamboo sticks—and I had to endure it all, fearing being eaten by the hippos.”

A little chuckle sounded from the Viscount’s top hat. The Colonel looked up, astonished.

“They weren’t bamboo sticks, fool!” Emilia shouted from the window. “They were antennae. And the monster didn’t have ‘the shape of a cockroach,’ because it was a cockroach itself.”

“Who’s talking?” the Colonel asked. “This voice is not unfamiliar to me.” “Of course, it’s not,” Emilia replied, coming out of the top hat and leaning on the window sill. “I’m Emilia from your comrade Dona Benta’s farm.”

The Colonel was amazed.

“I do recognize you. And how is our comrade doing? Did things also grow over there?”

“Everything is the same; it’s the people who have diminished.”

To facilitate the conversation, the Viscount took off his top hat and placed it on the table, where he also left the Colonel.

“I live here now,” explained Emilia. “This is my farm. I won’t let you in because a big man like you can’t fit through our door.”

“Who are those children over there at the window?”

Emilia told the children to go inside. They couldn’t hear the conversation.

“They are two orphans I’m taking care of, the children of the late Major Apolinario,” she explained, lowering her voice.

“Late? So, Apolinario died?” muttered the Colonel, paling.

“Were you that good of friends with him?”

The Colonel choked on his response. Then he said, “Well, not exactly friends, because Apolinario was a Republican,6 and I’ve always been Democratic. But that man owed my mother-in-law 15 contos. If he died and left only these orphans, who will pay that debt?” "There are no more debts, Colonel. There’s no more money, no more anything from the big world. Now everything is tiny; human life will be the same as insects'."

“Tiny?” repeated the Colonel, not understanding. “I think the opposite has happened: everything has become enormous. This table where I used to sit and barely fit eight people now looks like a battalion’s table. Everything has become monstrously big.”

“I see the opposite, Colonel. Everything is the same size as always. We human creatures have become smaller. What you think is a herd of hippos is nothing more than piglets from your farm. The cave where you were hiding is a simple crack in the rotten skirting board of your room. Your mother-in-law’s 15 contos are gone. Don’t think about them anymore. In the new life, money doesn’t exist.”

The Colonel lived off lending money, and those 15 contos of his mother-in-law were not from his mother-in-law but from himself. That’s why he paled so much when he heard about the debtor’s death. Even though he was so tiny, his biggest concern was money.

“But how can we live without money?” he asked. “As long as there are men in the world, there will be money.”

Emilia felt sorry for his ignorance. She showed that money was just one of the many consequences of size, like everything else that humans called civilization. With the disappearance of size, money and the entire old civilization disappeared. She argued that even in the ancient world, many people lived without money, like Viscount Corncobia, who never had a penny. Insects also lived perfectly well without money.

“But we’re not insects,” protested the Colonel, still proud of the time when he was six feet tall. “We are less than that, Colonel. Insects have three pairs of legs, and we have only one pair. Many insects have wings to fly, while we only have the wings of our noses, which don’t fly. They also have antennae, which are organs of touch, some of them equipped with ears—to feel and hear at the same time, a highly developed feature. Those ‘bamboo sticks’ that the monster in the ‘cave’ was poking you with were the antennae of an insect. Today, we are nothing more than stripped insects, with only one pair of legs and no little claws on our feet like ants. It is with those little claws that they cling to the ground and withstand the wind—and climb walls.”

The Viscount nodded in approval, and the Colonel, being very ignorant, was amazed that a giant of that size would approve of Emilia’s “foolishness.” The idea that he had become smaller, instead of everything else growing, didn’t enter his head.

“If all creatures have diminished,” he said, “how did the Viscount become so big?”

“The Viscount didn’t change because he’s a corn cob.”

“But he speaks, thinks, he’s a perfect person…”

“Yes, and that’s one of the mysteries of the world. The Viscount thinks, speaks, and obeys me. He behaves in every way like a person—but he doesn’t eat. Have you ever seen a person who doesn’t eat, Colonel?”

“And you, Emilia? If you have also become smaller, then you are a person—but I’ve always heard that you were a doll. How do you explain this mystery?”

“Very simple. I used to be a rag doll, that’s true. But I evolved and became a person.”

The Colonel didn’t know what evolution was. Emilia explained, “To evolve is to transition from one thing to something very different. A corn grain starts as a corn grain; it evolves and becomes a cornstalk, cornbread, or Viscount Corncobia. That’s me. From a simple cloth witch, I evolved and became a little person, and today I am the brain and will of the Viscount. I live in his head and direct him just like Totó used to drive Major Apolinario’s car.”

“Oh, how I wish I could also be the brain of a giant and live in a house made of a top hat!” sighed the poor farmer. “I don’t know what to think anymore. If I have to stay this small, without money, lost in a world of such big things and animals, I’d rather be devoured by these hippos a thousand times. This is not life. And, on top of that, I’m naked like an Indian. I don’t know what happened to my clothes. There was a ‘cloth collapse’ on top of me, and when I got rid of it, I was left with nothing. Is there anything more purposeless than this? What if a lady appears here, how will it be?”

“Well, I think the opposite,” Emilia replied. "This is life—the question is for us to adapt. I’ve even invented a camouflage system that has worked wonders. I turned into a cotton ball, so I could go everywhere without the slightest fear of cats or birds. Because today, Colonel, a chick is a million times more dangerous than a tiger. Chicks mistake us for water spiders or stripped cockroaches—and there come the pecks and gulp. Here in your house, I’ve convinced myself that piglets are also dangerous. I already knew about cats, those cat eaters of cockroaches, because with my own eyes I saw Manchinha eat Dona Nonoca, the Major, and Aunt Febronia. Despite these new dangers, I’m delighted with the tiny life. And as for food, it’s wonderful! Any bait fills our stomachs. And we don’t have to work to earn a living. Life is always provided. But we have to imitate insects; we have to learn a thousand things from them, like the system of living in little burrows and crevices. I’ve learned that holes made by us are dangerous. The good ones are the ‘happened’ ones. Root holes are great—even if there’s a tarantula inside—but that’s only when we’re in the cotton ball. Spiders pay no attention to cotton. The Colonel didn’t understand anything she said, and in his distress, he didn’t even try to understand. What was the point? It was better to throw himself into the midst of the hippos and end such an insignificant little life. Nonetheless, he remembered that he was hungry.

“It’s incredible,” he said, “that even in a situation like this, our stomachs speak! I’m ashamed to admit that I’m hungry.”

“Well, indulge yourself, Colonel,” Emilia replied. “There’s hummingbird egg over there in the top hat—but it’s not even necessary. You’re on the largest table in the world. This food is enough to feed an entire army. Just look at the bean tureen.”

The Viscount had placed the top hat on the table and set the Colonel near the bean tureen. What a huge tureen it was! It was three times the Colonel’s height. The rice plate was more accessible. Raising his little hand, the Colonel fished out two grains from the top and ate one, offering the other to Emilia.

“Juquinha, when you finish your stroll, take this gift to my farm,” she said, handing him the grain of rice.

The boy and his sister had come out of the top hat and were walking among the colossal plates of food. In front of a Minas cheese, Juquinha stopped and asked what kind of wagon wheel it was. The Viscount explained and gave him a small piece of cheese.

“I want cheese in my farm too!” shouted Emilia.

The Viscount cut a half-cubic-centimeter block for her—but it was too big for Juquinha’s strength. It had to be divided into three parts so that he could carry so much cheese into the top hat.

“Is there any water around here?” the Colonel asked. The water jug was on the table, but even the Viscount, despite being the world’s largest giant, couldn’t lift the weight of the jug. Emilia went to the top hat and brought a piece of cotton.

“Tie this to the end of the string and fish for water.”

The Viscount did as instructed. He dipped the string into the jug and pulled it up. The cotton rose, heavy with water. They all drank with delight. Juquinha wanted to take a drop of water to the farm, but he couldn’t find anything to put it in.

“And now?” asked the Colonel. “What will you do with me?”

“I’m going to take you to your comrade Dona Benta’s house. It’s not good for you to stay here alone, in the midst of these cannibal piglets.”

“And how will I go?”

“On the brim of my farm,” Emilia suggested.

Colonel Teodorico settled on the brim of the Viscount’s top hat, with his legs hanging out and leaning on the fence.

“Off we go, Viscount!” Emilia shouted.

Carefully, the Viscount put the top hat on his head. He glanced around to see if there were any piglets around. Not seeing any, he got off the table and, step by step, made his way to the front door. In passing, Emilia caught a glimpse of the piglets' movement in the kitchen and became anxious.

“Stub-Tailed! I think I saw Stub-Tailed in the group. And if it really is him, I swear he ate Aunt Ambrosia and Quinota…”

Chapter 16: “The Terror of the Lake”

The Viscount, with “Emília’s Farm” in mind, marched with great pomp towards Yellow Woodpecker. Standing at her window between the two orphans, the owner of the property was telling the Colonel about her plans.

“I’m going to introduce several improvements. I want half of the veranda covered with moss, the kind that grows on damp slopes and produces stems with little urns at the ends. On the other half, I want a vegetable garden.”

The Colonel thought the vegetables were too big to fit there.

"I’ll plant mushrooms, just like the leafcutter ants do inside their anthills. Despite being the eternal victim of leafcutter ants on his farm, the Colonel was unaware that ants cultivate the fungi they feed on. As for the moss, he remembered that it was a shade-loving plant.

“Well, then I’ll plant a toadstool hat that will give them shade,” Emília decided. “And a monkey’s ear to shade this window. It gets a lot of sun. And another toadstool hat on top of the hat, so that on rainy days water won’t drip in here through the ventilation pipe.”

Juquinha’s plans were different. He wanted to tie two saddle beetles to the fence, one for himself and one for Candoca, and also a green grasshopper for jumping. Candoca, who was already getting rid of her speech impediment, declared that she wanted a green beetle, not a black one.

When Emília’s craziness took hold, there was no idea that wouldn’t occur to her. She even mentioned hanging a birdcage from the window. “And where do you find a bird that fits in that cage?” the Colonel asked.

There are mosquitoes that sing the fiun song. And I want furniture. Three little beds, a table, a hanger to hang our cotton. I don’t need chairs. These little pieces of cheese serve as stools. I’m already using one to sit by the window.

The Viscount had to pause along the way to find moss, toadstool hats, little beetles, mushrooms, and to arrange the hat the way Emília wanted. The only thing missing was the mosquito cage. And it was with that “botanical garden” in his mind that he arrived at Yellow Woodpecker.

There stood the loyal Counselor standing guard by the veranda. The cow Hornless, with her head over the fence, longed for her usual corn feed. Quindim snored under the fig tree. And Stub-Tailed? No sign of Stub-Tailed around.

“I know exactly where that cannibal is!” said Emília.

The Viscount entered and headed for the bedroom. Everything was in order on top of the dresser. Dona Benta was sitting on a matchbox so big that her feet didn’t touch the ground. Nearby, Aunt Nastácia sprawled out. Pedrinho and Littlenose were busy with a fishing net between the sewing basket and the matchbox.

Emília found it strange to see them dressed up. It was because the sewing basket was on top of the dresser, Dona Benta’s famous sewing basket where there was everything imaginable—buttons, hooks, pins, needles, threads of various sizes, embroidery wool threads, silk threads, an artificial darning egg, Littlenose’s famous corn remover Gillette blade, hairpins, and a dozen other tiny things. After the “reduction,” when the Viscount placed them on top of the dresser, the two children found it extremely useful. Through a straw hole, the two boys managed to enter the basket and performed wonders in there. Using the blade’s wire, they cut pieces of embroidery wool, with which Dona Benta and Aunt Nastácia had dressed themselves like cocoons—very elaborately. The two old ladies had spent the night in warmth. The boys, not minding the cold, were content with silk loincloths—small fringe threads tied around their waists. They became perfect “luxury Indians.” Then they had the idea of weaving a net out of thread and setting it up between the basket and the matchbox. They were busy with it when the Viscount arrived.

Seeing him enter the room, huge, with his Lincoln President’s top hat transformed into a farm, Dona Benta’s grandchildren shouted like savages: "Ale guá, guá, guá! Abati pocanga!"

The shouting made the two beetles fly away. What a pity!

The Viscount climbed the staircase of books he had prepared before leaving. He stopped on the last step. His corn husk feet were at floor level.

“I have some big news to tell you,” he said.

“I already know, Emília has appeared!” Littlenose shouted, “and in doing so, she ruined half of the ‘surprise’.”

Indeed, it was a surprise. Emília had planned a surprise and had hidden herself with the two orphans inside the top hat, and she made the Viscount put Colonel Teodorico in his pocket.

“Where is she?” Pedrinho shouted. The Viscount’s response was to take off the enormous top hat and place it on top of the dresser. The children approached with curiosity. That little window, that door, the seven orange peel steps, the plantations, the rope ladder, the bell cord that the Viscount took care to untie from his straw beard, the toadstool hats, the straw pipe up high—everything was the most unexpected thing they could imagine. And on a daisy petal stuck to the hat was the sign: “Emília’s Farm.” “What’s this all about?” exclaimed Pedrinho, intrigued. At that moment, Emília appeared at the window and went, “Boo!”

It was an event. Even Dona Benta stood up from her matchbox and approached to see.

“Well, it’s true!” started Emília. “I met the Viscount on the road and settled in his top hat. Inside here is turning into a real hodgepodge room. We have cotton balls, cheese stools, a grain of rice, a lance—and we’ll have many more things.”

“And that rope ladder?”

“It’s for coming down to the ground without bothering the Viscount. The floor is made of orange peel. I had the brim enclosed and planted edible moss and fungi, like the leafcutter ants. The toadstool hats on the brim shade the moss, and the one on top prevents rain from dripping through the chimney.”

Pedrinho and Littlenose jumped over the fence and went to peek through the window.

“It’s true, grandma!” shouted Littlenose. “Everything just as she says. And these children?” she exclaimed, amazed, seeing Candoca and her brother, sitting there.

“Oh, they’re my orphans,” Emília said, and she told the story of the tragedy of Major Apolinário and Dona Nonoca, eaten by Manchinha. Dona Benta was very sorry because she was acquainted with those people. A few days earlier, she had gone to town and had coffee at Dona Nonoca’s house.

“So the same thing happened there as here?”

“Exactly the same, Dona Benta. Everyone has shrunk. Chickens and birds roam the streets in agreat frenzy, as if it were a day when fireflies fall. It’s horrifying!”

“Only the clever ones survive,” and Emília went on recounting her own cleverness, the cotton disguise, spending the night in the hummingbird’s nest, the story of the crab spider and the horsefly’s flight.

At that point, Pedrinho got excited. He also wanted to fly. He wanted the Viscount to go to the yard and find more beetles—and that shared love for aviation made him and Juquinha inseparable.

Dona Benta called Candoca and sat her on her lap, recounting that she had attended the baptism of that child.

“And Aunt Nastácia?” Emília asked. “What is she doing, sprawled out and silent over there?”

Dona Benta explained that the black woman could not accept the New Order and had lost interest in everything. She lived like that, sprawled out on the ground, chin in hand, thinking about the mysterious disorder of the world. So dejected that she didn’t even respond to questions.

Pedrinho liked the rope ladder very much and wanted to climb down, but he saw that it was too short. It was the Viscount’s height—two palms. It only reached the second drawer of the dresser, which was slightly open. “Well, if I can’t go down to the ground, maybe I can get into that drawer,” and he climbed down with Juquinha. It was the drawer where Dona Benta kept the bed linens, sheets, bedspreads, and pillowcases.

“This is a great dwelling!” he shouted from inside. “All in white. It looks like a snowfield.”

Emília went to sit on Dona Benta’s matchbox, surrounded by everyone else, and began to tell everything that had happened to her. The story of Manchinha’s ingratitude horrified Aunt Nastácia, who, thanks to Emília’s liveliness, began to come out of her stupor. “Eating his own owners! Have you ever seen such an evil cat?” she said.

“Manchinha didn’t know, and couldn’t have known,” Emília defended. “He saw those three insects on the stair step, all shell-less, and it’s clear that he ate them. If you were a cat, you would do the same.”

“Three insects? Was it not just Major and Dona Nonoca?”

“Manchinha also ate Aunt Febrônia, the cook who was here that day.”

“Goodness gracious!” poor Aunt Nastácia shouted, crossing herself.

While they were talking, the Viscount went to the yard to exchange impressions with the Talking Donkey.

“Well, it’s true,” he said. “All the creatures in the world have shrunk. The village is gone. There’s no one left in the streets—only broken-down cars, loose animals, and birds. Along the way, the straw huts of the country folk are empty. The chicken flock ate all the inhabitants. We stopped by Colonel Teodorico’s house—by the way, he’s here,” he said, taking Colonel out of his pocket and placing him in the palm of his hand.

The Talking Donkey had belonged to the Colonel, and he was born on his farm. Seeing his former owner reduced to the size of a grasshopper, he shook his head philosophically. That big man who had ridden him so many times and spurred him with his spurs and whip was now a tiny thing on a corn kernel!

“What will life be like for men from now on?” the donkey asked. “I don’t know yet. It depends on Emília. There are two possibilities: everything stays as it is or everything returns to how it was. Emília believes that with my help, the Size Switch can be raised again.”

The Talking Donkey didn’t understand that story of the Size Switch, but he didn’t insist. His extreme sensitivity prevented him from being indiscreet.

“Well,” said the Viscount, “keep watch over the yard. And Stub-Tailed?”

“He hasn’t shown up this morning. He’s probably roaming around the world looking for worms.”

“I know what the worms are now!” said the Viscount, putting Colonel back in his pocket and returning inside.

He found Emília telling the story of her adventures in the dining room of the farmhouse.

“And then he was pulled by the rope,” she said, “and he came onto the table and told us that in the ‘cave,’ a ‘monster’ had been poking him with two ‘bamboo’ sticks (she explained that they weren’t sticks but the antennae of a huge cockroach).”

“Goodness gracious!” Aunt Nastácia exclaimed, crossing herself.

“And where is the godfather?” Dona Benta asked.

The last part of Emília’s surprise was about to be revealed. The little devil looked at the Viscount and said quite naturally, “Where is Colonel Teodorico, Mr. Viscount? Maybe he’s in your pocket. Take a look.”

The Viscount put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a shell-less insect, which he placed on the dresser. But everyone there was dressed, so the nakedness of Dona Benta’s godfather caused a scandal.

Aunt Nastácia protested, “Good heavens! 7 Where have you ever seen a family man appear in Adam’s costume in the presence of a respectable lady?”

In his distress, the Colonel had forgotten that he was naked, so the black woman’s warning made him shrink, utterly disappointed.

“Get a loincloth, man!” the black woman continued. “Do as we did. Get that indecency out of here, Viscount!”

The Viscount took Colonel to the garden. What loincloth would he find for him? He looked, looked. Finally, he settled on an angelica flower, after cutting it in a certain way. It made for a great loincloth, but it made the farmer look like a dancer in a skirt.

“That black woman is full of stories, Colonel, but she has a good heart. She will get you better clothes, made of silk, like the children’s.”

When he returned to the dresser dressed that way, the Colonel was received with applause.

“Now, yes,” said Aunt Nastácia. “You look more presentable. And now all that’s missing is dancing…”

The Viscount had already left some sugar and other provisions for eating there. But as the population on the dresser increased, he went to the pantry to get a new supply—some quince jelly, more bread crumbs, a bit of butter. He also brought a cup of water. “We have a pool!” Emília shouted when the Viscount poured the water into the saucer, and she ran over there, dragging Candoca by the hand. She was going to give the little girl a bath. Poor Candoca made a scene. Faced with that enormous cold water pool, she started screaming. Nonetheless, she was scrubbed with a cotton sponge.

“Don’t go too close to the water’s edge!” Dona Benta shouted. “Enough disasters. I don’t want any drowning here.”

At that moment, Pedrinho and Juquinha appeared at the top of the rope ladder, having come from the second drawer where they had killed a moth. When they saw the pool, they ran towards it—and bathed and swam joyfully.

Emília wanted a boat in the pool.

“In Dona Benta’s matchbox, there are excellent sticks. Make a raft, Viscount.”

The Viscount took a matchstick from the box and broke it into three pieces, connecting them with a thread. It made an excellent raft. Emília started “sailing the seas.” Then she wanted a sail and a sign: “The Terror of the Lake.” And since there was no wind, the poor Viscount had to stand there blowing.

Pedrinho and Juquinha, sitting on the edge of the saucer, watched that navigation with great envy. Finally, they decided to make a much larger and more beautiful raft.

And so, the New Order of the Sizeless Humanity began on top of Dona Benta’s dresser.

Chapter 17: Stub-Tailed, the Cannibal

While the children were building the New Order, Dona Benta was talking to Viscount about the situation.

“Everything has changed,” he said. “Today, nothing is worth what it used to be. Money is gone. Vehicles are gone. Civilization is gone. But from what I’ve seen, humans can perfectly subsist within the minimum proportions to which they have been reduced.”

“Do you sincerely believe, Viscount, that we can subsist and create a new civilization?”

“I do. I even believe that humans can create a civilization much more interesting and happy than the ‘bulky civilization,’ as Emília says. Over there, in that lake, you can see a marvelous example of the new possibilities. Never has a saucer of water given so much pleasure to so many creatures. Insects, for example, live perfectly adapted to the planet—and they don’t possess the intelligence of human beings. The current adult generation will suffer, that’s clear, because they are too attached to bulky ideas. Children will suffer less because they accept new things better. Notice how your grandchildren, Juquinha and Candoca, are quickly adapting, while Aunt Nastácia and the Colonel resist.”

“But do you think our old ideas will become useless in this new world?”

“Not exactly useless. But they need to be reviewed and reformed. They are ideas born from bulky experience. With the new tiny experience, it’s clear that the old ideas must undergo adaptation.”

They philosophized at length. Colonel occasionally interjected, only serving to show how he was stuck in old ideas—especially the idea of money. Suddenly, a “lockout” formed on the saucer.

“I don’t want anyone to enter my ship!” Emília shouted when Juquinha tried to invade those three little pieces of matchstick tied with a string. “This is mine!”

“Ownership is already forming,” the Viscount philosophized. “Emília is already full of ‘mine’ and ‘my’.” My ship, my cheese, my estate…"

“And how do you explain this extraordinary phenomenon of creatures shrinking in size?”

The Viscount knew very well that it was all just Emília’s nonsense, but since he had sworn not to tell anyone, he pretended ignorance.

“I don’t know, Dona Benta. I can’t explain the mystery,” he stammered.

After indulging in navigation on the saucer, Emília “rented” her raft to Juquinha and asked the Viscount to take her to the courtyard. She wanted to talk to the Talking Donkey and Quindim.

To talk to the donkey, Emília’s mosquito voice was insufficient, so she asked the Viscount to ask the questions and he repeated them like a loudspeaker.

“I want to know about Stub-Tailed, Mr. Counselor.”

The donkey said that since the day before, Stub-Tailed had disappeared. The last time he saw him, he was heading towards the Colonel’s farm.

“Ah, so it was him who was in the kitchen devouring everything—and I swear he ate Quinota and Aunt Ambrosia! Stub-Tailed’s hunger is one of those things that cannot be explained.” At that moment, a “ron, ron, ron” sound came from near the gate. Stub-Tailed was coming in a hurry, with a snout covered in dirt, as fat as a pig. Emília had the Viscount call him over and scolded him.

“There are so many delicious things in the orchard,” she said through the loudspeaker. “So many mangoes, oranges, cashews, guavas, figs, tender sea grapes, and you always have your snout dirty from digging up earthworms! But tell me something: do you know what happened in the world?”

“Do I know what happened? Of course I do! Suddenly, a new race of upright worms appeared everywhere, some pink, some brown sugar-colored, some black—and very tasty. At Uncle Barnabé’s house, I ate a dozen black ones. At Elias’s shop, I ate over twenty of all colors. And even at Colonel Teodorico’s house—which is deserted, I don’t know where those people disappeared to—I ate two, one brown sugar-colored and one black. Much better than the worms that don’t walk upright.”

Emília was horrified. Stub-Tailed, her former husband Marquis of Stub-Tailed, had turned into a cannibal, devouring people! And would he have done to Dona Benta’s estate what Manchinha did to Major Apolinário’s family, if it weren’t for the providential idea of the Viscount putting them all on top of the dresser?

“Oh, Stub-Tailed!” she said in a tragic tone. “What you’re doing is the worst of horrors because those ‘upright worms’ are not worms, but human beings of reduced proportions. The entire humanity has shrunk. Dona Benta and the children are inside, transformed into bait for people. For God’s sake, stop these feasts, as they constitute true crimes. Do you know who those black worms you ate at Uncle Barnabé’s house were? They were the poor old black man and his whole family. And do you know who the two you ate at Colonel Teodorico’s house were? They were Quinota and Aunt Ambrosia, that good black woman who always welcomed us with coffee and cakes.” Stub-Tailed was greatly disappointed. But how could he have known? He had always been a big eater of worms and any kind of worm he found. Then those new, plump worms appeared. It was only natural for him to eat them too.

“I know that. It’s not your fault. But you’re warned now. And if you find any more of them wandering around, bring them here instead of eating them.”

Deeply impressed by his cannibalism, Stub-Tailed promised to do so. Then the Viscount went in search of the rhinoceros, down under the big fig tree. He told him the whole human tragedy. However, Quindim didn’t care at all. He was already too old to pay attention to such insignificant things as the disappearance of humanity. As long as there were vegetables, trees with tasty leaves, soft grass, and shoots, everything would be fine. With age, Quindim had become cynical. Emília scolded him and went back home.

“Very well, Viscount,” she said. “Finish making the superpowder. I want to take a great trip around the world—to Europe, Asia, North America—to see how things are going there. Then we’ll decide about going to the House of Switches.”

The Viscount went to the little laboratory and continued making the marvelous powder, which had been interrupted by the downsizing disaster. Emília wanted to know the secret of the drug. The old sage laughed and declared that the superpowder was a “sublimation of the vitamins from cricket jumps”—which left Emília just as puzzled. After working in the laboratory for a while, the Viscount went to check on the people on the dresser.

He found the children playing, building a little house with the “beams” taken from Dona Benta’s matchbox. Colonel Teodorico looked at the work with lifeless eyes. “What’s the matter, Colonel?” asked the Viscount.

“The matter is that I can’t come to terms with what has happened,” replied the poor man, without even lifting his head. “I used to be somebody in the world. Tall, strong, rich, owner of a beautiful farm—and now I find myself with nothing, reduced to a mere insect on top of this dresser. Well, I’m too old to get used to such a game. If I’m going to remain like this for the rest of my life, then I’d rather put an end to it all at once—and I ask you to take me and leave me in front of the tailless chick’s beak.”

“Don’t be so extreme, Colonel,” said the Viscount. “I’m preparing a dose of superpowder, and with that ingredient, Emília and I… Ouch!”

A strong tug on the bell cord warned him that he was saying too much. The Viscount swallowed the end of the sentence. However, Littlenose, who had been listening to the conversation, grew suspicious and whispered in Dona Benta’s ear:

“I’m almost believing, Grandma, that everything that happened is just one of Emília’s pranks. The Viscount knows, but he can’t say. This time, he got distracted and was about to tell us. Suddenly, ‘Ouch!’ he let out a little scream and didn’t finish the sentence. Why? Because Emília, from inside the hat, pulled his beard. Emília is so clever, Grandma. She invented that ‘bell’ precisely for that—to stop the Viscount whenever he becomes indiscreet.”

“Anything is possible in this world of wonders,” sighed Dona Benta. “But we have to remain very quiet because today the one who truly holds the power is Emília, now that she lives inside the head of the most powerful giant in the world. We’re in the hands of both of them—we and all of humanity. Losing our size has made us as weak and useless as aphids on a rosebud. Well, I’ll stay alert,” said Littlenose, “and I’ll fish out the whole truth.”

The Viscount asked the people on the dresser if they wanted anything. Juquinha asked for beetles, and Pedrinho wanted a book. He was interested in finding out if reading books was still possible.

The Viscount randomly picked one from his staircase of books and placed it on the dresser. Pedrinho climbed onto the open page to try reading. It was difficult, yes. He had to move like a crab, under each line, reading each letter one by one. He read two or three sentences like that and got tired. Then he wanted to turn the page. He saw that it required the effort of two people: one to lift the book page by hand, like a carpenter lifting a plank, and another to push it up with a long stick. The book page would then stand vertically. To make it lay on the other side, a series of maneuvers was necessary.

Dona Benta, who was watching the game, said philosophically, “I can see that all of human culture stored in libraries is lost. Taking the books off the shelves will be almost impossible. Opening them is a task, and reading them, letter by letter, walking upright under the lines, is a slow and tiring effort. Reading a whole book will be a Herculean feat.”

Meanwhile, the Viscount and Emília whispered quietly nearby. The superpowder was ready. They could travel the world. The best thing was to go straight to the House of Switches, lift the Size Switch, and be done with it. Everything would return to normal. However, Emília was indecisive. She wanted and didn’t want, and didn’t want more than she wanted. Finally, she came up with the idea of a plebiscite.

“I think, Viscount, that we can’t decide for ourselves on such an important matter. We’re not dictators who can do as they please. We have to consult the opinion of the people and do only what the majority wants. We have to take a trip around the world, at least to Europe and the United States. How can we decide anything without knowing the real state of humanity?”

Once that point was settled, the Viscount went to inform the Counselor.

“We’re going to leave again,” he said. “And you’ll stay on guard. Don’t let any birds or Stub-Tailed enter the house. He promised to behave, but I doubt he can resist the temptation of eating a naked insect.”

The donkey promised to faithfully follow the instructions.

Chapter 18: The Chinese Philosopher

Over at the dresser, Dona Benta and the children were studying the situation.

“For me, Grandma, it’s all just Emilia’s doing,” said the girl. “I’m more convinced of it every time. Remember that on the morning of the disaster, she disappeared from here, and shortly after, Viscount came to tell us that his box of superpowder had been stolen. I swear it was her! She took a pinch of it and sank into the infinite, and there she tampered with something. I’m absolutely certain of it. Can’t you see how self-assured and conceited she is, full of ‘vous’ and ‘faços’? Everyone in the world is bewildered like us, not knowing what to think—except Emilia. I guarantee that it’s all her doing.”

“Well, if it’s her doing, my dear, only she can fix it.”

Let’s wait and see. It’s not the first time we’ve found ourselves in a very peculiar situation. So many things have happened in this house! You’ve even traveled through the sky, playing on Saturn’s rings. And I’ve sat on the finger of the Bird Roc, thinking it was a tree root. But in the end, everything turned out fine."

“Now it’s different, Grandma. In those adventures, things happened only to us. What has happened now has affected all of humanity. What do you think, Aunt Nastácia?”

The good black woman, busy mending cotton fibers, answered as if she were no longer of this world.

“Oh, I think the world has ended—the old world. We all died without knowing it, and now we’re in heaven. We are souls from the other world, and this is the other world—the dresser, Colonel so small, there in his flowery loincloth, Emilia up in Viscount’s top hat. Or maybe it’s a dream. If it’s a dream, everything will end when we wake up, and life as it used to be will start again. And if it’s death, then it’s death, and that’s it. So, should I believe that I’ve turned into a tanga fish? I’m not a fool. Either I’ve already died and I’m in heaven, or all of this is just a dream.”

Littlenose was impressed by the black woman’s idea.

“Is it like that, Grandma?”

“How can I know, child? Our way of life in this house has always made me dizzy and uncertain about the reality of things. It even reminds me of that story about the Chinese philosopher.”

“Which one?”

“That philosopher or poet from China, I don’t remember exactly, who spent the night dreaming that he was a butterfly. And throughout the dream, he lived the life of a butterfly, with butterfly thoughts, butterfly food, everything butterfly, with absolute clarity and perfection. When he woke up and saw himself as a man again, he fell into doubt. ‘Am I a butterfly dreaming that I’m a man, or am I a man who dreamed that he was a butterfly?’ No matter how much he thought about it, he could never be certain if he was really a butterfly dreaming of being a man or a man who had dreamed of being a butterfly.”

“How funny!” exclaimed the girl. “Well, I’m just like that Chinese poet,” Dona Benta concluded. “I don’t know if I’m a grown-up dreaming of being a little person, or if I’ve always been a little person who dreamed for a long time of being a grown-up.”

“What’s your opinion, Colonel?” the boy asked.

Colonel Teodorico’s brain was emptier than a gourd. He didn’t have the energy to think, and he even feared the ideas that came to him. Pedrinho had to insist a lot for him to speak up.

“I agree with Aunt Nastácia. This is a nightmare. It can’t be true. Where have you ever seen a man who was never afraid of anything, who lived in abundance, end up hiding in a crack in the baseboard, trembling in fear of his own piglets running loose in the room? Can such a thing be possible? What it seems to me is that I’m going crazy—or that everyone else is. I read a story once about a madman who stood in a corner with a cup on his head—and he stayed that way for years, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because he was convinced that he was a water pitcher. He didn’t speak because pitchers don’t speak. He didn’t take the cup off his head because pitchers don’t take the cup off the lid. No matter how much the doctors at the asylum explained to him that he wasn’t a pitcher but a man like everyone else, poor thing, he didn’t believe them. He had convinced himself that he was a pitcher, and that was the end of it. Who knows if we haven’t gone mad and we’re just like the man with the pitcher? Who knows if none of this is real and it’s all our illusion?”

At that moment, Viscount appeared with Emilia leaning on the windowsill. He announced that the new superpowder was ready, and they were going to travel the world to assess the actual state of humanity. Dona Benta protested—but what could she do? If Emilia wanted that trip to Europe, then so be it. Emilia was the one in charge. They would go. Then Viscount was informed of the discussion taking place at the dresser.

“Colonel thinks we’re all mad,” Dona Benta said, repeating the story of the pitcher.

“Not at all!” shouted Emilia from the window. “That madman with the pitcher was just one person, but in our current case, everyone feels so tiny. A madness that affects everyone can’t be madness—madness is something that affects only a few.”

“And Aunt Nastácia thinks it’s a dream,” Dona Benta continued.

“Her nose thinks that!” yelled Emilia. “It’s unbelievable that they don’t understand what happened. The world is a machine with a thousand parts. Surely, one part got out of place—that’s it.”

Littlenose, always attentive to Emilia’s words, approached.

“A part got out of place?” she repeated. “If a part got out of place, it didn’t do so on its own—someone must have touched it.”

“No!” protested Emilia vehemently. “Why did José Batata’s car stop that time when we went to the city? Because the wire in the accelerator broke—and who was messing around in there for the wire to break? It broke on its own. These things happen.”

But the heat with which she denied the idea that someone had touched the part only increased the girl’s suspicions. She whispered in Dona Benta’s ear:

“I swear, Grandma, it was her who touched the part! Emilia, you haven’t told us yet what you did that morning after stealing Viscount’s superpowder.”

“What did I do? Well, well. I went for a walk among the stars—to see if the powder was really what Viscount claimed it to be.”

“And you hopped from star to star, didn’t you?”

Littlenose’s ironic tone made Emilia reveal everything. She was already annoyed with that secret.

“And what if it was me? If I touched the Size Switch, I didn’t do it on purpose. Without intent, there’s no guilt, as Dona Benta said the other day. That’s why I hold my head high, ready to face all the courts in the world. Let them try to condemn me. And if they start bothering me, you know what I’ll do? I won’t do anything! I’ll let go of everything, and let humanity fend for itself. Popcorn!”

“Calm down, Emilia!” said Dona Benta. “There’s no need to get worked up. No one here thinks that you want to destroy humanity, and if by chance you caused harm, it was unintentional—and you’ll fix it and restore everything to how it was.”

“Not that either!” protested Emilia. “So, do you want me to leave the world as it was, divided into two parts, one killing the other, bombing cities, destroying everything? Oh, no. Either I put an end to the war and to those hatreds that ruin life, or I put an end to the human species. I won’t stand for it!”

The arrogance in her words was incredible. Dona Benta trembled for the fate of the world and signaled to Littlenose to stay quiet. It was necessary not to provoke the little creature on whom the fate of the Human Species depended.

Chapter 19: A Journey Around the World

Everything was ready for the journey. At the last moment, Viscount decided it was best to give up on the plebiscite and instead of traveling around the world, they should head directly to the House of Switches. He argued that every minute of delay meant millions of human beings perishing in every continent.

“And not much is lost,” replied Emília. “The universe is colossal, Viscount. There are millions and millions of stars in the sky that are many times larger than this tiny Earth. And on this tiny Earth, humanity is a wicked speck of dust. To the Universe, it doesn’t matter whether this speck of dust exists or not.”

Emília’s indifference towards humanity didn’t impress Viscount. He saw that deep down it wasn’t indifference, but quite the opposite. Emília was revolted by wars and other forms of cruelty committed by human beings. The diminishment caused by her use of the switch was evidently not intentional. When Emília flipped the switch, her intention wasn’t to harm anyone but to do good: to put an end to wars. There had to be a switch for war, and her thought was to try all the switchs until she found the right one. But as soon as she turned the first switch, the shrinking happened, and she couldn’t even release the switch again, let alone try the others. “Emília is a philosopher,” thought Viscount, “and when she starts philosophizing, it seems like she has a hard heart, but she doesn’t. Emília is philosophically good.”

After everything was settled and all the necessary preparations were made, they set off. The “fiun” was formidable because the younger the super-dust, the stronger it was. Poor Emília completely lost consciousness, and Viscount felt even more dizzy than before.

Finally, they arrived. Viscount sat for a few minutes with his legs stretched out, looking without seeing, hearing without hearing. When he stood up, he almost fell due to dizziness. “Emília!” he called, repeating the call three times.

As he received no response, he took off his top hat and looked through the window. Poor Emília was unconscious. Viscount carefully poured her onto the palm of his hand and gently blew on her. Nothing. He blew harder. Nothing.

“It seems incredible,” he murmured, “that this great thing called humanity depends on this unconscious little ant I have in the palm of my hand! If Emília wakes up, everything can be saved, but if she dies, it’s very likely that these defenseless insects will also die, and only I, the Counselor, and Quindim will remain in the world—the only speaking and writing beings—and what good will it do to write the ‘History of the Great Disaster’ in my memoirs? There will be no one to read it. And the curious thing is that the world will continue to rotate as if nothing had happened. The donkey, Quindim, and all the other rhinoceroses, hippos, lions, tigers, and all the animals from tailless chicks to microbes will continue to exist as they did before—and they will even be very happy with the disappearance of Homo sapiens. Because Homo sapiens was the one that most disrupted the natural life of animals. Even Stub-Tailed, that scoundrel, will continue to dig around the marshes in search of worms—and without any fear of Pedrinho’s slingshot or Emília’s threats.”

While having this conversation with himself, the “unconscious ant” made a slight movement and then another. Viscount breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re waking up. Emília, you’ve awakened.” Emília sat up and rubbed her still blurry eyes.

“Where am I?”

“Here with me, in the palm of my hand, somewhere in Europe,” said Viscount. Emília smiled and stood up, still a bit dizzy. However, she quickly regained her balance and asked for the top hat.

“Lift me up to the hat, Viscount. Your hand is very hot and sweaty.”

And so he did.

“I wonder where we are,” she asked as soon as she reappeared in her little window. “This place looks like a wheat field without wheat, but which country is it?”

Wheat fields without wheat all look the same, so no one can identify a country just by them. Only the cities can do that.

“Let’s take that path, Viscount,” she said, referring to the road visible from there. “Every road leads to a city.”

Viscount headed towards the road and started walking. It was a wide deserted road with traffic signs on curves and dangerous spots. Those signs also didn’t allow the identification of the country since they are the same everywhere. Only when they reached an intersection could they read the sign indicating the direction. There was an arrow with a name below it on each side. Viscount immediately saw that the super-dust had left them in Germany.

“Very well. This name Furstenwalde shows that we’re near Berlin. It’s best to go straight there.”

“Great,” Emília agreed. “With a sniff of some grains of super-dust, we’ll be in Berlin in half a second.”

“But don’t lose consciousness again,” said Viscount, giving her only half a grain of super-dust and inhaling a whole one. The journey of Viscount and Emília through the city of Berlin could fill an entire book with topics of discussion. How much they observed! The capital of Germany seemed perfectly lifeless to them. The enormous amount of piles of clothing in the streets revealed its large population. Most of them were piles of uniforms with a helmet or cap on top. Numerous broken-down automobiles, mostly military ones. The shrinking had occurred at 4 o’clock, which corresponds to 10 in the morning at the farm. The population was active in the streets when suddenly it disappeared. In fact, that was what had happened to the entire humanity—a disappearance. At the same instant, on every continent, in every city, in every house and street, on every ship and train, human beings melted away like ice cream inside their clothes, but instantly, and the clothes remained in their place, as “abandoned piles,” almost always with a hat on top. And in place of each creature, a bipedal insect of various colors appeared inside each pile of clothing—some pink, others yellow, others copper-colored, others black as coal.

That’s what happened: the complete extinction of humanity because the insects with two legs that replaced them were no longer truly human—they were the Animality, as Emília classified them. And thus, she, Emília, the Emilinha from Dona Benta’s farm, had accomplished an unprecedented miracle: the elimination of humanity! What the ice ages couldn’t achieve, and what volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, floods, plagues, and great wars couldn’t achieve, the little marquise of Stub-Tailed had achieved in the simplest way—with a turn of the switch! It was truly the Himalayas of astonishments.

All the houses in Berlin were open and deserted. No one, from anyone, from anyone. Only dogs and cats. These new anthropophaguses roamed freely everywhere; the dogs had learned to rummage through the piles of clothing, and the cats fished out the insects hidden in the crevices with their paws. Many birds from the fields had also come to hunt in Berlin. Emília recalled the time of the migratory birds' departure from the farm in October, something that always excited the birds and domestic fowl.

“Look!” exclaimed Viscount philosophically. “These people, who were the most terrible and bellicose in the world and were engaged in a war to conquer the planet, are still mentally the same—that is, they still feel and think the same way. And they still know everything they learned. Chemists know how to perform wonders with the combination of atoms. Physicists and mechanics know all the secrets of matter. The military knows all the secrets of the art of killing. But since they’ve lost their size, they can’t do anything anymore. They know, but they can’t. What a terrible situation for them!”

“I can see that the great power of men resided in their size,” said Emília. “Size was like Samson’s hair. When Delilah cut Samson’s hair, poor Samson lost all his strength.”

“Exactly,” agreed Viscount. “Size was everything, meaning all the mechanical apparatus of humanity was made for men of that size. As soon as that size changed, farewell to everything! Everything became absolutely useless. Even inventions depend on size. Now I understand why ants don’t invent anything. They can’t, due to their lack of size. Size is such an enormous thing! That’s an idea that never crossed my mind.”

And indeed it was true. That great city, with all its machines and vehicles and organizations, was worth less to the new blond insects than a tiny hole in the ground (of ownerless ones) or a crack at the baseboard.

Viscount stopped in front of the government palace and shook his head philosophically.

“Here lived the dictator who led the whole world into the greatest of wars, who destroyed cities upon cities with his airplanes, who sank ships with his submarines, and who killed thousands and thousands of men with his cannons and machine guns—the most powerful man who ever existed. Why did all that happen? Because he was eight and a half feet tall. As soon as he was reduced to four centimeters, all his power evaporated. He, if he hasn’t already been eaten by some tailless chick, remains the same, with the same mental energy, the same destructive disposition, and the same iron will—but he can’t do anything anymore.”

“Ah, if only we could find him!” sighed Emília.

“Who knows? It’s possible that he’s still hiding in this palace.”

Viscount climbed the stairs and entered. Huge deserted halls with the floor covered in piles of uniforms. Here and there, a stray cat or dog. The silence was impressive. Viscount remembered to shake one of the piles of clothing and saw a blond insect, naked and dead, fall from the sleeve. The cloth had piled up on top of it, and the insect, unable to escape, had suffocated. While examining the pockets of the blouse, Viscount found the deceased’s identification card. He was a high-ranking general, famous for the destruction he caused in Poland. Emília stared at the little piece that Viscount held up by one leg.

“Extraordinary!” she exclaimed. “This little piece of flesh was one of the world’s terrors, only because it had size. I see, Viscount, that the size of men was truly the worst thing there was—and I did well to put an end to it. It would be best for us to go to the House of Switches and also eliminate the size of all other animals. What’s the use of size? A microbe lives perfectly fine—and it’s so tiny that it’s invisible.”

Other piles of uniforms were shaken, but nothing fell out.

“The insects in these clothes managed to escape,” said Emília, “but where are they?” They didn’t take long to find them. Under the furniture, in the darkest corners, in the crevices—everywhere there were tiny natural shelters—Viscount discovered fearful gatherings of blond insects. Many of them had already ended up in the mouths of the invading cats and dogs. Dogs don’t eat insects, but insects made of human flesh are a different and rare delicacy. Moreover, the cats and dogs in Germany had very limited rations, so they took advantage of this unexpected opportunity.

Viscount walked from room to room. One of them seemed to be the Great Dictator’s.

“This was it,” said Emília, “where HE ruled. Now, surely, he’s hiding in some little hole.”

“But how will we recognize him?”

“By his mustache. Nothing easier.”

With a small stick, Viscount started removing the hidden Aryans from the crevices or from under the furniture.

Several of them came out from under the dictator’s desk, obviously generals and government officials. One of them had a mustache. The interview between Emília and the Great Dictator could fill a thousand-page book, but we must summarize. At Emília’s request, Viscount lifted him up to the window so he could hear his speech.

“My lord,” she said, “I have the honor to introduce to Your Excellency Viscount Corncobia, the talking corn from Dona Benta’s farm. And I present myself—Frau Emília, Marquise von Stub-Tailed. We came to have a look around Europe, and fate has left us here in Your Excellency’s Germany. But I’m astonished by what I see. I expected to find the great arsenal of dictatorships shooting cannons and spewing fire, and what I see in the very palace of the Great Dictator are empty piles of uniforms and insectiform Aryans, timid, naked, hiding in corners and crevices. What happened, Excellency?”

For a four-centimeter creature, a “corn” like Viscount, measuring two feet tall, was equivalent to a formidable giant. It was only natural, then, that the Great Dictator shrank away, without the courage to utter a single word. But Emília reassured him.

“Don’t be scared, Excellency. Viscount is the biggest giant in the world, but he’s also corn—a highly peaceful vegetable. Moreover, he’s a great sage—the greatest sage in the world today. And he’s not Jewish, no, Excellency. Don’t be afraid. Viscount is as Aryan as can be.”

When he was in the cornfield that was his birthplace, the wind blew through his beautiful platinum blond hair. Today he’s old and bald and always has my farm on his mind. Don’t you understand? My farm is this top hat. Well, Excellency, I came here to say just one thing—that Size is dead. And I know who put an end to Size, and I also know that this person is the only one who can restore to men their old and beloved size—that wicked size, because if it weren’t for it, men wouldn’t have been as bad as they were, makers of wars, arsonists of cities, sinkers of ships, tormentors of Jews. But this mysterious someone will only restore the lost size if he is certain that Your Excellency will make peace, get rid of all the horrendous weapons you have amassed, and from that moment onwards, live in the same peace and harmony with the world in which ants and bees live. If Size returns and everything goes back to how it was, I want a new life without wars, without hatred, without killings, without weapons, do you understand? And if by any chance any of the future powerful ones break the agreement, the punishment will be terrible. Do you know what the punishment will be? That “someone” will turn the switch all at once, and Size will be reduced to zero. Instead of being 4 centimeters tall, like Your Excellency is today, you will be reduced to 4 millimeters, or even less, and you will be devoured by flies and fleas. Do you understand? Of course, he understood. Who wouldn’t understand such straightforward language like that?"

The Great Dictator became hopeful and wanted to speak. Emília stopped him with a gesture.

“Don’t say anything, my lord. There has been enough talking. It’s my turn to speak now. I want everyone to be obedient and humble. This week of ‘reduction’ is just a warning that the ‘someone’ is giving to the world. Do you understand?”

That’s how Emília concluded her sermon to the Axis leader. Then she ordered Viscount:

“Put him back in the little hole where he was, and let’s see the other one.”

Viscount squeezed the Great Dictator into the crack in the baseboard, where his staff peered out with wide eyes.

One of the most interesting aspects of the new world was the enormous amount of broken airplanes. All the aircraft that were in flight at the time of the shrinking were left without control and crashed here and there. The same fate befell trains and ships. Moving trains derailed after their engineers turned into insects. The same disaster happened on the oceans. The ships became “ghost ships,” drifting at the mercy of the winds without a crew to guide them. With every step, the waves washed one of them onto the shore.

That’s what Viscount observed on his trip to Germany—and in Germany, he took another pinch of pyrileen dust and ended up in Japan.

The appearance of the Japanese cities was the same as the European ones. Piles of clothes everywhere, uniforms, and also kimonos. Broken-down cars, wrecked trains, shattered airplanes. It was easy in Tokyo to find the Emperor’s palace, and by mere chance, they discovered the yellow sovereign. In one of the rooms, Viscount saw a cat playing with a fallen pen cap on the floor. It was the Imperial Cat—the Emperor’s pet cat. Evidently, there was something inside the cap that interested him. Unable to make that something come out, the cat sat still, just like cats all over the world do when they find a mouse hole.

Viscount startled the Imperial Cat and, taking the pen cap, turned it upside down, shaking it. A tiny piece fell out, the color of a gourd. It was the Emperor of Japan, the Son of the Sun…

The trip to Russia was the most tragic of all. Viscount stopped in the war zone and was amazed. The cold was terrible, many degrees below zero, and those millions of men that the Dictators had sent to the icy lands were all dead. Next to the tanks and cannons, one could see piles of uniforms in incredible quantities, in many places already completely covered in snow. No bellicose insect could escape after the shrinking. They didn’t even attempt to leave the collapsed clothes because they would die even faster in the freezing cold. They stayed inside the clothes and overcoats, savoring the last bit of warmth. But in a matter of minutes, the German and Soviet armies became popsicles.

It seems incredible, but nobody survived, not even those who were inside the still-standing houses, because as soon as the fires went out, the freezing was universal.

The government palace was the famous Kremlin, where so many czars of old Russia had resided.

The number of insects in that place must have been significant, not only because of the immensity of the palace but also because of the good shelters provided by the numerous piles of fur for the Russian insects. The Russians always defended themselves against the cold with fur clothing and coats—and the hair they let grow on their faces—the formidable beards and mustaches.

Every pile of fur that Viscount touched, lifting a lapel or a coat sleeve, revealed several terrified insects that scurried to hide.

Emília remembered the “pill millipedes” or woodlice that live under stone or brick crevices: as soon as you lift the brick, they scurry to hide in the nearest darkness.

What Emília saw in Russia was frightening. She realized that the shrinking had caused more deaths there than in any other country due to the intensity of the winter cold. And as she began to feel stiff, she ordered Viscount to go to a warm climate.

“Africa?” Viscount asked.

“No. California,” Emília replied, with Hollywood in mind.

Viscount took a pinch of pyrileen dust, calculated carefully, and brought it to his nose—fizz!

Chapter 20: The Bucket City

They woke up in a garden. Viscount looked around. It was an old and neglected garden, with weeds growing in the streets and grass resembling the hair of a countryman who hadn’t visited the barber in three months.

“I see a huge upside-down bucket,” said Emilia from her little window. Yes, it was an old bucket on the edge of the sidewalk. Noticing the human insects bustling around it, Viscount approached cautiously. He peered from behind a clump of forget-me-nots.

What a marvelous spectacle! A true nucleus of a new civilization was forming—a beginning of a tribe. Those insects had settled under the bucket and were building things.

On the handle of the bucket, which was resting on the pavement, they saw a clothesline with some little strings hanging. Clothes? No. Worms drying in the sun.

“Is it possible they eat worms?” exclaimed Emilia.

“And why not?” said Viscount. “It’s meat like any other, and easy to obtain because the abundance of worms in the earth is incredible. In the past, in order to have meat, people had to raise cattle, sheep, pigs, and poultry, which required vast pastures, in addition to planting many fields of corn, oats, cassava, alfalfa, and so on. There was also the hassle of capturing those animals, fattening them up, taking them to slaughterhouses, killing them, removing their skin, cutting them into pieces, salting the meat, cooking it, canning it—thousand things. Not anymore. Meat now comes out of the earth by itself, without skin or bones, and in great abundance. Oh, how many worms there are in the world! At the farm, when we went fishing, every shovel Pedrinho dug up would expose half a dozen worms. And they’re great for jerky. The sun dries a worm in an instant.”

“But it’s disgusting to eat worms!” said Emilia, making a disgusted face.

“Why? If the meat is healthy, I don’t see any reasonable objection. Strictly speaking, it was disgusting to eat pork—and you yourself used to praise Aunt Nastácia’s pork loin with stuffing and lemon slices.” “And it was delicious.”

“So, it’s all a matter of habit. The Chinese have always eaten things that Westerners considered disgusting—and I don’t think those foods harmed China.”

There was a lot of activity around the bucket. Some went in, others came out, carrying things. A little man passed by with an empty snail shell on his back—he was taking it inside the bucket, surely to break it and make little plates. Soon after, two more appeared, carrying a pole on their shoulders with a wiggling worm hanging from it. They climbed up a slope and went towards the drying racks for jerky. The slope was a beautiful work of engineering. They piled up dirt next to the edge of the pavement and thus built an inclined plane that widened as it descended. On top of the pavement, there was a small staircase leading to a small hole in the old bucket. It was the entrance.

“Look, Viscount!” shouted Emilia, pointing. “They had the same idea as me.”

Viscount looked and saw two little men tugging a beetle—one was pulling it by the reins, the other was pushing it.

“That might be the first step towards domesticating insects,” observed Viscount. “They’re going to experiment with a beetle. The system of foldable wings stored within the elytra has already caught their attention. It’s quite natural for them to start with beetles.”

At the edge of the sidewalk, a little man in a loincloth, with an air of leadership, was directing the work. His parasol was a four-leaf clover.

“At the farm, Dona Benta used to curse this garden clover we call ‘sourgrass.’ She said it was a nuisance. Now they’re precious parasols. Let’s talk to that man.”

“I’m getting the idea of Robinson Crusoe on his island.”

Viscount stepped out from behind the clump and approached the bucket. Panic ensued. Everyone dropped what they were doing and ran to hide. The beetle with reins spread its wings and flew away. The worm, freed from the clothesline, slithered away on the ground like a little snake. The leader threw away the parasol and ran as well.

Viscount caught him before he reached the slope and placed him on the brim of his hat, in front of Emilia’s little window.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “We come in peace.”

The frightened Robinson remained speechless for a while, as he had been startled. Emilia’s words, however, calmed him down, and he finally asked in a low voice who that giant was.

Emilia laughed and replied, “The best and biggest creature in the world, my dear insect sir. He means no harm to anyone. He is Corn. And me? Ah, ah, ah! I’m the 'mother of the child.’”

The little man remained puzzled. Emilia wanted to say that she was the author of the prodigious transformation of humanity.

After some conversation, Emilia asked Viscount to place the hat on the sidewalk so she could get a closer look at the life of the bucket’s inhabitants.

Viscount did as asked. He placed the hat on the sidewalk. Emilia stepped out through the entrance, holding hands with the leader, and headed towards the slope.

“And who are you?” she asked along the way. “I used to be Dr. Barnes, professor of anthropology at Princeton University; today, I am the leader of this human group. They elected me because they believe I have a good head.”

“And do you?”

Dr. Barnes laughed. “I know my head is in the right place, and I’m managing to lead this curious work of adapting a highly civilized group of people. We lost our size and…”

" You lost your size? Fantastic!" exclaimed Emilia with enthusiasm.

“I’m delighted to hear a wise man like you say that because ignorant people think the opposite. They believe they have remained big as always and that the things around them have grown.”

“Absurd!” exclaimed the Princeton scholar after laughing at the word “big.” “The idea of everything growing is one that science cannot accept, but science can certainly accept the idea of the size reduction of a species of animals.”

“I know that,” declared Emilia, “but when I tried to prove that to Aunt Febrônia, Major Apolinário’s aunt, I must confess I choked.”

“That’s because you’re not very scientific, my girl. Any wise person knows that animal species have varied in size throughout evolution. Horses used to be the size of dogs and grew bigger. Armadillos used to be enormous and now they’re tiny.”

“I saw a fossilized armadillo shell in the museum that the whole farm could hide from the rain in.” “Exactly. That means that the size reduction of a species is not an unknown phenomenon—it’s quite common. However, in the cases of size reduction that science has observed, the phenomenon occurred gradually over thousands of years. But in this case of humanity, the phenomenon happened from one moment to another. All the evolutionary theories I know did not predict this hypothesis of instant reduction.”

“Neither did I, let alone the theories! When I turned the switch, I thought of everything except that.”

The doctor didn’t understand that story about a switch.

When they reached the hole in the bucket, they entered.

Everything was neatly arranged inside. Dr. Barnes was indeed a worthy leader. He had overseen the construction of the slope and the sealing of the gap between the bucket’s rim and the sidewalk. Emilia observed the work.

“What’s this material?”

“It’s paper mache,” replied Dr. Barnes. “We found an old newspaper in the garden. It’s one of the best construction materials we have. Notice that everything here is made of paper or paper mache.”

Emilia saw that the cement floor was carpeted with newspaper, and there were benches made of overlapping and glued squares of paper. The large center table was made in the same way, as were the beds and many other things.

“And how do you join the paper sheets together?” “It’s quite simple. After cutting them to the same size (we cut them with a shard of glass), we stack them on top of each other and glue them with our all-purpose glue, which is made from the resin of a tree in the garden.”

“And the material you used to seal the gaps?”

“It’s paper mache. We soak pieces of paper in water until they almost dissolve. Then we knead it with the resin, like kneading dough for bread. We obtain a substance that is excellent for many things—an excellent plastic material. It’s somewhat similar to what wasps use to build their nests.”

Light streamed in through a hole in the bucket.

“That there,” said Dr. Barnes, pointing, “has been one of my biggest concerns. It was fortunate that there was a hole because otherwise we wouldn’t have light inside. But what about when it rains?”

“Hasn’t it rained here since the day of the size reduction? There has already been a downpour on the road to the farm.”

“Not yet—but it could rain at any moment, and how will we manage? If only we could put glass in that hole, it would be a marvel. Glass, glass! Who are we today to handle glass?”

“And there’s also the height,” Emilia reminded him.

“The height isn’t the worst part. Didn’t you see a long wooden ladder outside? I had it made precisely so that I could personally assess the situation with the hole.”

Emilia had an idea. “Plant a fungus on top of the hole, just like I did on my window in the Viscount’s hat.”

Dr. Barnes laughed. “Impossible, little girl. The bucket is made of metal. Mushrooms don’t grow on metals.”

“They don’t need to grow. Just glue one with your all-purpose glue. I’ll have the Viscount solve this problem. Don’t worry.”

Dr. Barnes introduced Emilia to the residents of Pail City, or the Bucket City. There were about twenty people there, including men, women, and children, all wearing loincloths—some made of paper, others made of moss.

“I’m conducting a series of experiments to determine the best material for loincloths,” said Dr. Barnes. “All the ones currently in use are temporary and experimental. One of my companions, who is a chemist, is considering a synthetic loincloth.”

“That’s nonsense,” said Emilia. “Cotton solved everything,” and she recounted her adventures during the time of the cotton ball. "And I still have the cotton boots hardened with hummingbird egg white.

Chapter 21: The New Order

They left the bucket. Viscount wanted to talk to the Doctor about certain points that concerned him. To do so, he lay down on the sidewalk, with his face in his hand and his elbow on the cement.

“I’m pleased with your ‘adaptive activity,’ Doctor. Doing so much in such a short time almost seems like a miracle to me. Do you think humans can survive, being reduced in size like this?”

“Absolutely. Not only can they survive, but they can even create a new civilization that is much more pleasant than the old one—without the horrors of social inequality, hunger, blitzkriegs, and the useless complications created by mechanical inventions.”

“That’s what I think,” shouted Emilia.

“My conclusions,” continued the wise man, “can be summed up in a few words. The type of civilization we had achieved was a simple consequence of fire. While humans had not discovered fire, they lived quite well within the biological law, slowly civilizing themselves. Then fire came, and everything changed—it started the endless gallop. What were those monstrous skyscrapers in this country? What was the German blitzkrieg? What were our hurry in transportation and communication through trains, planes, ships, telegraphs, telephones, and radios, if not a consequence of fire? Extinguish the fire, and everything disappears.”

“Not everything,” protested Emilia. “Radio didn’t depend on fire.” “That’s a mistake, my daughter. Radio depended on electricity, and to produce electricity, we had to use turbines and dynamos, things made of iron—and who is the father of iron? Fire.”

Emilia was speechless.

“Everything in that civilization was a product of iron,” continued the wise man, “and iron was the child of fire. Fortunately, we are free from fire, as I was saying when the messenger interrupted us. We are free from fire and its child, iron, and from the thousand machinations that the two brought upon the world, such as the great wars where everything was iron and fire. We are even free from the tremendous overpopulation of humans on the planet.”

“How so?”

“Fire allowed humans to live in all climates, not just in those that naturally suited them. Without fire, humans would only live in temperate zones, the good ones, and never in cold zones. And therefore, there would be fewer people on Earth—an enormous advantage for both humans and animals. There is another very important aspect of fire: its effects on human nutrition. Thanks to fire, humans were able to make many things edible that were not, and that further increased the human population on the planet because it greatly expanded the possibilities of food. So, the calamitous increase in the human population came from fire, not only by allowing the invasion of cold regions but also by making things that were naturally inedible edible. The more living space and food, the more people. And then came iron, which was leading humanity to the most disastrous end. What was the last war if not the collapse of all civilization based on iron, in the form of tanks, cannons, rifles, machine guns, aerial bombs, and so on? Always iron and its cursed father fire! One or the other, often both together, did nothing but torture humans. In an aerial bomb that airplanes dropped on London, fire slept inside the iron. When the iron bomb hit the ground, its father woke up inside it, and Boom! It exploded and destroyed everything—there were deaths upon deaths, shattered children, it was horrifying! In fires, fire worked alone, dancing its horrible dance of flames on houses upon houses, on entire streets, sometimes on entire cities.”

“And in bayonets, swords, daggers, knives, spears, spurs, skewers, it was only iron that tormented humans, horses, and chickens,” added Emilia.

“That’s right,” continued the wise man. “I am convinced that the misfortune of the old civilization came from the social consequences of fire. I always thought so because I always lived in the land most tormented by the machinations of fire and iron: the multitude of machines here in America that kept us in an endless gallop—for what, my God, to reach what? Imagine my joy when this sudden phenomenon of size reduction came about—the marvelous remedy for the wrong path that Homo sapiens had taken since the discovery of fire.”

Emilia wriggled with contentment, delighted to have been the discoverer of the “marvelous remedy.”

“Yes,” agreed Viscount. “All other animal species live quite well in this world without resorting to fire. Homo sapiens was the only one to go down that path.”

“A wrong path,” insisted Doctor. “Free from fire, we will now build a much more natural and advantageous civilization for ourselves—without wars, without machines, without the madness of inventions that were leading us to disaster.” “They were not leading, they led! That civilization is now in ruins—ruins of cars, ruins of planes, ruins of trains, ruins of ships, ruins of ideas—like the old idea of a lion or the idea of a chick. And the machines in all the factories will soon rust away. And cities will turn into overgrown ruins. But we can continue to live perfectly well, eating worms instead of beef, flower honey instead of sweets, and flying on beetles instead of running in automobiles.”

“That’s right,” agreed Doctor. “We will be returning to the period of human evolution before the discovery of fire, but with all our beautiful science in our heads—and we can be much happier than our ancestors from that time.” He pointed to the little men who were building a fence for beetles near the sidewalk. “Look,” he said. “One of them is holding the thorn stake, another is hitting it with a mallet. What is that mallet? An old tool from the period of the Stone Age—a pebble from this garden that they tied to a handle.”

“But what about science? It will fall apart because science is in books, and books can no longer be used,” observed Emilia. “Pedrinho tested it on the dresser. He read a couple of sentences from a book and got tired.”

“There will be solutions for everything. Before books existed, there was still culture. We have our minds, and within them, we have memory. We will transmit knowledge from one mind to another. And we can write many things on straws or dried petals.”

“Little papers!”

“Yes,” he said, and went inside to fetch his notebook. “Here it is,” he said, showing a ten-page notebook made of rose petals. “I cut the petals into rectangles and left them pressed between two pieces of glass on the ground to dry in the sun. They dried without wrinkling.” “And to write?”

“I used an extremely fine thorn from a Barbary fig. The ink was made from the juice of a small black fruit that is abundant around here.”

Emilia admired that book made of rose petals, which might be the number one book of the new humanity.

“What do you think of domesticating beetles?” she asked.

“I think it’s an excellent idea, and I’ve already had one caught for study. There is an enormous variety of insects. I am convinced that we will find many useful and precious ones, not only for flying but also for carrying loads.”

“For carrying loads, there is no need for study,” said Emilia. “Ants were born to carry. And how strong they are! I saw leaf-cutter ants carrying whole corn kernels at the farm, which is much heavier than them. And Pedrinho harnessed beetles to matchboxes with many things inside—and they pulled. The strength of beetles is incredible. And for high speeds, we will have dragonflies.”

“We won’t need speed or hurry,” replied Doctor Barnes. “Thank God, we are already free from those two horrors. What’s the rush? What’s the need for speed? All that immense speed achieved by the giant-sized humans, as you say, only served to plunge them into the abyss of mass slaughter. Our possibilities for domesticating insects seem endless.”

Emilia burst out excitedly:

“That’s right! We’ll domesticate sawbugs to saw wood. And the citrus borers to use as awls. And the stick insects for measurements. And the mosquitoes for the ‘fiun’ music. And the grasshoppers to replace bridges—we’ll jump over little rivers riding on them! And the crabs to dig tunnels. And the caterpillars to weave silk threads. And the wasps to guard our little houses like bulldogs. With a good wasp tied up in the backyard, let’s see who dares to enter! And aphids to have cow’s milk.”

“Yes,” agreed the wise man. “The ants are showing us the way. They treat aphids just like humans treated cows. Aphids suck the sweet sap of certain plants and seem to get too full. They become swollen—and they even like it when an ant comes and takes that honey from them, just like milkmen used to take milk from cows. In winter, ants bring aphids back to the anthills, just as humans used to bring cows into stables. They stay there, well protected from the cold. If it’s a beautiful sunny day, ants take them outside, near those sweet sap plants—and they fill themselves with that milk that ants enjoy.”

“We can use those aphids as baby bottles for our children,” Emilia suggested.

Doctor Barnes agreed. That wise man was a true male Emilia. His imagination also ran wild. Then he mentioned termites.

“With termites, which are white ants,” he said, “we have much to learn. These insects build marvelous cities of clay—termite mounds—where they live by the thousands. They mix the clay in such a way that these cities withstand all rain for years and years. Inside, they construct galleries with a black substance, which is plant cellulose chewed and mixed with some sticky liquid that I don’t know. What I do know is that it is a marvelous building material, resistant, flexible, a poor conductor of heat, and hygienic. They also show great skill in constructing galleries, nests, rooms, and everything else. The cleanliness and hygiene of termites were among the wonders that amazed entomologists.” “I know what an entomologist is!” shouted Emilia. “It’s a wise person who studies insects.”

Doctor Barnes laughed.

“And we can also cultivate those fungi that ants feed on. My God! What won’t we be able to do with our intelligence, immersed in the infinite abundance of materials that we will now have at our disposal?”

“That’s right,” concluded Viscount. “Size was the problem. It caused scarcity. Abundance lies in being unsized.”

The idea of having Emilia on top of his head was “Emilia-izing” Viscount. “‘Unsized’! That’s a good one.”

Chapter 22: In the White House

Life in Pail City was enchanting. Nobody was in a hurry. They built things for pleasure, not out of necessity, like in the sizeable time, when men who didn’t die from work died of hunger and misery. That immense garden provided them with everything they needed for free—air, water, food, and building materials.

In addition to the beetle enclosure, they had built a playground where they enjoyed life during pleasant temperature hours. Emília was delighted with Pail City’s park, a true delight of graceful little plants. There were several mushroom seats, where the ladies in loincloths sat to mend and twist the cotton fibers that Emília had given them. Among one toadstool and another, Emília saw a hammock with a movie star inside, swinging with a little star in her lap. Pail City was near Los Angeles. Next to the garden, there was an orange orchard. They had managed to roll an orange found on the ground over there. They opened it, peeled a segment, and took the “little bottles” of juice to the park bar. There they were, on a pebble counter. Whoever was thirsty would take one of those small transparent jugs, cut off the tip, and drink it like the Spanish, pouring it down their throat.

Emília took several orange bottles to her trinket room in Viscount’s hat.

Dr. Barnes took advantage of the kind giant for several urgent matters, such as putting glass in the bucket’s hole. There was an issue with choosing the glue. What glue could be used to stick the glass?

Emília solved the problem.

“Take a walk through the city streets and look for chewed gum wads under piles of clothes. I swear you’ll find many. There’s no better glue.”

That’s what Viscount did. He left the garden and walked along the nearby street, lifting the piles of clothes without people inside—and he returned with a handful of chewed gum wads.

The inhabitants of Pail City gathered on the sidewalk to witness the glorious event of the glass being put in place by the providential giant—and Dr. Barnes wrote in his petal notebook the name of Viscount Corncobia as the great benefactor of the city.

Having nothing more to do there, they bid farewell. Dr. Barnes declared that this visit would remain engraved in everyone’s hearts. Emília felt a lump in her throat. She would willingly live there forever. One of the consequences of knowing Pail City was the resolution she made to “sabotage the Size” on the day of the plebiscite because, among other misfortunes, the Size would ruin that beautiful beginning of the city. Finally, after many hugs, kisses, and exchange of gifts, Viscount sniffed a grain of superpowder and—fiunnn!.. Washington.

They ended up exactly on the street of the palace where American presidents always resided. Everything deserted, as everywhere else. Piles and piles of clothes, with hats on top, umbrellas, glasses, and dentures.

Upon entering the White House garden, Viscount remembered President Lincoln, from whom he had inherited the hat. Dona Benta was his greatest admirer. She always said, “After Jesus Christ, the being I most revere is Abraham Lincoln.”

Looking at the palace windows, Viscount murmured as if talking to himself:

“There were the two enormous feet of old Abe seated there…”

“What’s that story?” shouted Emília from the little window.

“It’s a historical case written in books. A priest had come looking for the President. When he entered this garden, he saw through one of those windows two pairs of feet with soles facing outward. ‘What is that?’ he asked the gardener trimming the plants. ‘It’s a cabinet meeting,’ the man replied. ‘The two big feet are old Abe’s.’ Abe was the popular nickname for Abraham.”

Emília was moved by the story.

They entered. All the doors were open. Here and there, the eternal piles of clothes they were tired of seeing everywhere. They walked through the corridors and rooms. In one room, which must have been the government meeting room, Viscount stopped and peeked, hidden behind the curtain. On the carpet, among the piled clothes, a small group of bare insects was discussing the situation. It was the American government. One of the ministers had the floor. “The government no longer exists,” he said, "simply because there is no longer anything to govern. The extraordinary phenomenon that destroyed the size of the men in this great nation has completely altered the old living conditions—and made the existence of the government impossible. The American government, which was the most powerful in the world, is now naked, cold, without even a loincloth for its kidneys, without a shadow of people, without strength, without the slightest idea in its head. What are the problems of the American government today? I ask, and he looked at the President.

“He’s a good speaker,” whispered Emília. “That’s a speech.”

“Yes,” the minister continued, “I ask the President, what are the problems of the American government? What is the number one problem we must address before all others?”

The President replied that they had already decided on that point. The number one problem of the American government, the problem that had replaced the struggle against Japan and Germany, was to close the window of the room and keep the fireplace fire burning.

“For now, the palace is still heated,” he said, "but as soon as the heating furnaces in the basements go out, and the embers in the fireplace extinguish, we will be inexorably condemned to freezing. These are the problems. Another minister requested the floor.

“Gentlemen, I don’t think we can predict anything. The situation is the most absurd and illogical. I feel completely incapable of reasoning. However, the President’s remarks about the embers seem to me the most sensible. It’s winter. If the fireplace embers go out, the American government will be lost. There’s also the matter of the window. How can we withstand the cold if the embers go out and the cursed window remains wide open?” It was at this moment that Viscount emerged from behind the curtain and stepped forward onto the carpet.

The unexpected appearance of that formidable giant left the ministers speechless. All eyes widened, and all mouths opened.

Emília asked Viscount to lower her. Viscount placed his hat-site on the carpet near the American government. Emília exited through the little door, approached, shook the President’s hand, and said:

“Don’t be alarmed, for we come in peace and are old acquaintances. Both Viscount Corncobia and I have been here in this palace about five years ago, accompanied by Dona Benta and her grandchildren.”

“Don’t you remember, Mr. President?” The President frowned.

He began to remember.

“Yes, I remember Dona Benta’s visit with her grandchildren. There was also a talking doll and a hatful of corn. But that Viscount was a corncob with legs, not this tremendous giant now before us.”

“Well, know that it is the same. Viscount, who is a vegetable, didn’t shrink like us, who are people—and that’s why he now looks like a true giant. And I am the ‘genial evolution’ of that conceited little doll.”

“How?”

“Mystery’s tricks. I turned into a little person and became a human; I pinch myself and feel the pain of flesh. And I eat too. Viscount, on the other hand, remained corn. He talks, thinks, reasons very well, knows everything, but doesn’t eat or feel the pain of a pinch.”

Chapter 23: Still There

The American government couldn’t recover from astonishment. It was a miracle even greater than the sudden shrinking. Emília recounted what she had seen in Europe and Asia, her encounter with the Great Dictator and the Son of the Sun on the pen cap; she spoke of the destruction by cold of the fighting armies in Russia and then unraveled the entire story of Doctor Barnes, the founder of Pail City.

Even the Minister of Posts was unaware of the name of that city.

Emília explained.

— Ah, it’s a charming new city that is forming around an old bucket — no hurry, no gallops, no iron, no fire. Since the immense cities of the giant-sized civilization are doomed to disappear, invaded by the bush, the new civilization has already begun to create cities of a new type — and among the many that must already be under construction, I doubt there is one better than Pail City. I even saw umbrella trees there. Whoever needs one doesn’t go to any store to buy it. They go to the tree, choose one of the desired size, and pick it.

The ministers exchanged glances. If the city of Washington was destined to disappear, invaded by the bush, it was only reasonable to consider the possibility of moving the government to Pail City, the marvelous emerging center where umbrella trees even existed.

The Minister of Public Works had an idea.

— Mr. President! The unexpected visit of this formidable and peaceful giant allows for the solution of the American government’s two major problems. I have no doubt that he can close the window and also obtain firewood for the fireplace. I take the liberty of suggesting to Mr. President a consultation with the noble visitor regarding these two points. — Nothing simpler — Emília replied. — X) Viscount will close the window and bring firewood for the fireplace — and he will do many other valuable things for the American government. He can bring a multitude of useful materials from a corner store, such as cotton for loincloths. I find it highly inconvenient that the American government still doesn’t have any loincloths — something that is already in fashion in Pail City and in Dona Benta’s dresser. Besides serving as a loincloth, cotton, in the form of a wad, provides excellent protection against the cold — and she recounted her adventures with wads. And for sustenance, the government could organize a service of dried earthworms.

— Earthworms? — exclaimed the President, furrowing his brow.

Emília repeated Doctor Barnes' words about the value of earthworms as a substitute for old beef-producing cattle.

— But that’s for later — she explained — for when the common food that still exists in the corner grocery stores runs out — sugar, cheese, bread, etc. These foods will still last a few days; after they disappear, spoiled by mold or devoured by dogs and stray cats, you can start thinking about earthworms. Doctor Barnes shows that it will be the staple food of the reduced humanity.

The conference between Emília and the American government lasted for an hour. The ministers' air of despair changed. They appeared happier and more content. The possibilities of the new civilization were truly enchanting.

While she spoke, Viscount went out to fetch the cotton and other things. He appeared a few minutes later with a basket of treasures — pins, buttons, hairpins, a spool of thread, a Gillette blade, a little flashlight, toy cars, and other small toys, a roll of adhesive tape, and more. And from a grocery store, he brought a packet of sugar, a slice of cheese, a small piece of bread, and a bottle of Coca-Cola.

That formidable supply put the American government in a position to endure a month without resorting to earthworms. Then Emília sent Viscount to fetch some baskets of people.

— Yes, because I can’t comprehend a government of the people, by the people, and for the people without any people — she said. — I’m going to give people to the American government.

Viscount went out and used a stick to collect people from every crack and crevice he found. In this way, he managed to provide the American government with a group of 120 individuals — 60 men and 60 women.

Emília took the opportunity to reveal her knowledge of American history.

— The ship Mayflower — she said — brought a cargo of 120 English pilgrims to this country, from whom this great republic arose. The Mayflower now is Viscount’s basket. I hope the American government can achieve with the 120 pilgrims from Viscount the same miracles achieved with the pilgrims from the Mayflower.

The ministers were delighted with Emília and the giant’s ingenious solutions. They whispered among themselves; one of them stepped forward and said:

— I have the President’s authorization to propose a great deal to Viscount Corncobia: to stay here in the service of the American government. We won’t discuss the price. Mr. Corncobia will earn as many dollars as he wants.

This minister hadn’t yet gotten used to the New Order. He still had old ideas in his head. Dollars! It was amusing. Emília laughed.

— What are dollars worth, Minister? Everything has changed. That gold which used to be so valuable is now worth less than a wisp of cotton. Viscount would be delighted to stay here if he weren’t so necessary in Dona Benta’s dresser. But we can make an arrangement. He will come every week, for an hour or two, to perform services for the American government. And if there are tasks that require great physical strength, I can also send Counselor and Quindim.

No one knew who those characters were. Emília explained.

— Counselor is our speaking donkey, an excellent creature, the most discreet thinker we have from those parts. And Quindim is a true tank of meat.

— Tank of meat? — the President repeated.

— Yes. It’s an extremely gentle and strong rhinoceros that lives in the Yellow Woodpecker Ranch. When it comes to brute force, there’s no second to him.

With a single charge, he can even break down the door of the Treasury.

That story about Quindim and the talking donkey confused the government.

— Yes — Emília continued, reading the perplexity on everyone’s faces. Quindim is astonishing when it comes to transportation. He can effortlessly carry on his back twenty thousand shell-less insects. If the American government borrows this vehicle, it will be served for the rest of its life. Who wouldn’t obey a government equipped with a rhinoceros?

The hypothesis thrilled the Minister of War. A tank of meat!

What a marvel!

— Well — Emília finally said. — I have to return to the dresser in order to carry out the plebiscite. I thank the American government for the warm welcome it has given us. I take the liberty of offering Mr. President a pinch of superpowder. When you want to rest from the government’s troubles, inhale three grains and come to the Yellow Woodpecker Ranch.

— So it’s like the magic carpet from “One Thousand and One Nights”? — the President asked.

— Ah, it’s much better! That carpet is like an ox cart compared to this. Now, for example, to return to the Yellow Woodpecker Ranch, we only need three grains. To go to the House of Switches, it takes six grains, though that place must be the end of the world.

— What’s this story about the House of Switches? Emília sighed.

— It’s a secret I can’t reveal, Mr. President.

— Why not?

— Because I would risk being lynched.

At the moment of farewell, the American government was so overwhelmed with emotion that they were speechless. How could they thank Emília and Viscount for the services they had rendered?

— Don’t speak, Mr. President! — Emília said, entering the top hat and appearing in the little window. — Great gratitude is silent. Be happy and enjoy the shrinking because if the plebiscite decides to give the Elephant, I will feel very sorry, but I will make the Elephant leave.

Everyone’s face was a true question mark. Those statesmen understood less and less.

— Giving the Elephant, Mr. President, means giving up Size. But the plebiscite on top of the dresser will decide that point. I’m democratic. I don’t decide anything without counting noses. Goodbye! Goodbye! Everyone remained in the same state. Viscount took the box of superpowder out of his pocket, gave half a grain to Emília, and kept three for himself. They both inhaled the powder at the same time while saying mentally, “Yellow Woodpecker Ranch.”

Chapter 24: The Plebiscite

Fiunnn… n… n… n… n… Plaft! The Viscount fell sitting on the porch of the Yellow Woodpecker Ranch. The Counselor neighed with joy and trotted over very delicately.

“Anything interesting happen around here?” asked Emilia through her loudspeaker.

“A tailless chick tried to come in, but I shooed it away,” replied the donkey.

“And Stub-Tailed?”

“He didn’t show up.”

The Viscount headed towards the chest of drawers room. As they saw him emerge, the children’s cheers of “Ale guá” rang out from upstairs. Everyone rushed to gather around the top hat that the Viscount placed on the chest of drawers. Emilia appeared at the door, hands on her hips. Each had something to say. Juquinha came with the story of the fly that he and Pedrinho “almost” caught by its legs. “It was one of the gusts.”

Emilia went to Dona Benta’s matchbox, followed by the boys. She was eager to tell the tales of her journey around the world.

“Oh, I wish you could see the President’s face when the Viscount emerged from behind the curtain and entered! It was hard to believe that the great Viscount now was the same little Viscount from before.”

Pedrinho was enchanted by the story of Pail City and insisted on getting off the chest of drawers to immediately establish a city in the garden like that one—the Watering Can City. Tia Nastácia was disgusted with the dried worm meat.

“Yuck! Living so many years to end up like this, eating dry worms and without salt!”

“And the Colonel?” Emilia asked.

“He’s hiding around here, wearing the cotton tanga I made,” replied the black woman. “That angelic outfit had such a strong smell that it gave poor Colonel a headache.”

The Colonel appeared from behind the sewing basket, still tying his new tanga. He was greeted with applause from the children.

“And when will the plebiscite be, Emilia?” asked Littlenose.

“Now. I hastened my return journey precisely because of the plebiscite. I am a democrat. I want things to be done according to the majority’s will. If the majority wants the return of the Size, I will feel very sad, but I will bring back the Size. I will take the Viscount to the House of Switches, and he will position the Size Switch as it was.”

“Well, then, let’s get started.”

Emilia had the Viscount place her on top of the top hat, and from there, under the frog hat, she shouted:

“Plebiscite! Plebiscite! Everyone, come closer to vote.” Everyone gathered around the top hat. “Raise your hand if you want the return of the Size.”

The adults present raised their hands. They were conservatives, with fixed ideas in their heads, and they preferred everything to go back to the way it was before. Emilia counted the votes. Dona Benta, Tia Nastácia, the Colonel. Three size-loving votes.

“And now,” Emilia continued, “if you don’t want the Size, raise your foot!”

All the children raised their feet. They were radicals. They didn’t have fixed ideas in their heads. They liked changes. Emilia counted the votes. Littlenose, Pedrinho, and Juquinha. Three size-opposing votes.

“It’s a tie! It’s a tie! Hooray! Hooray!...”

“We’re missing Candoca’s vote,” said Littlenose, but Emilia, who was afraid of Candoca’s vote because her longing for her mother might make her vote in favor of the Size, declared immediately:

“Candoca is not old enough to vote. It’s a tie! And now, with ‘my’ votes, Size loses.”

The “my” votes were hers and the Viscount’s. But Dona Benta objected:

“We still need to vote from the yard.”

It was true. They were missing the votes of the Talking Donkey, Quindim, Hornless, and Stub-Tailed. Emilia instructed the Viscount to put on the top hat, and off they went to the yard. After explaining the plebiscite story to the Talking Donkey, she asked for his vote.

“I vote for the Size,” the donkey replied firmly, without twitching his ears.

Emilia went mad. “Why?”

The Counselor explained that he couldn’t accept the idea of such a distinguished lady like Dona Benta spending her whole life in that tiny insect situation. Gratitude compelled him to vote for the return of the Size.

“Fine. If it’s out of gratitude, so be it. Let’s now see that lazy Quindim.”

The rhinoceros, down under the fig tree, cast a blank vote and didn’t give any explanations. Quindim had become very moody and neurasthenic.

The cow Hornless also voted for the Size, which was natural since without a big Tia Nastácia, she wouldn’t have her usual corn cob rations.

“And Stub-Tailed?” Emilia asked.

“He’s not here,” replied the donkey.

“That’s alright. I know Stub-Tailed, and I know he’s against the Size,” and Emilia took hold of Stub-Tailed’s vote. Even so, the Size was winning. There were 5 votes in favor of the Size and only 4 against. But with the two final votes, hers and the Viscount’s, the Size would be defeated by one.

Emilia returned to the chest of drawers very pleased. A smile of victory shone on her face.

“The votes from the yard,” she said, “increased the count in favor of the Size, but there are still ours, my vote and the Viscount’s, and we vote against the Size. So we have 6 votes against and 5 in favor. Size has lost. Hooray, hooray for the children!”

Dona Benta intervened. “Since the Viscount is present,” she said, “I don’t see a reason for someone else to vote for him. What is your vote, Viscount?”

Emilia was more than certain that the Viscount’s vote would be the same as hers, not only because the Viscount was her property, a true slave, but also because, after being shrunk, he had become a gigantic giant and, therefore, much more important than the poor cob with legs that he had always been. But she was mistaken. The Viscount was afraid of his tremendous new responsibilities and tired of being directed here and there by Emilia, even subjected to being loaned to governments as if he were an umbrella. Ah, his calm former life was much better, when he was small among the great. The calm life of a modest cob with little legs was much better than the busy life of the world’s largest giant. Furthermore, that “farm” in his top hat had been giving him headaches. It started with a simple little window in the hat. Then came the door, the balconies, the moss and frog hat plantation, the orphans, Juquinha’s beetles, and it had turned into a room full of trinkets and a museum. Emilia would bring all sorts of curious things she found along the way—dried flies, broken pieces of china, butterfly eggs, and even dried hearts and kidneys of worms from Pail City’s charqueada. It was too much. And the Viscount had no doubt about the “improvements” she would eventually introduce in his top hat—perhaps even a fireplace like the one at the White House, with a great risk of setting his head on fire. It was best to deal a deadly blow to the New Order. And that’s how, when Dona Benta asked him for his vote, the Viscount bravely replied:

“I vote for the Size!”

“Wretched!” Emilia shouted, and in her despair, she fell from the top of the top hat, hurting her nose. The children also protested:

“His vote doesn’t count! He’s corn! Corn doesn’t vote!”

However, Dona Benta upheld the decisive vote of the Viscount. Seeing that there was no remedy but to conform to the opinion of the majority, Emilia sniffled, sniffled, and with the noblest humility—a great example for all the dictators of the world—she said to the Viscount:

“Well, then, let’s go to the House of Switches, monkey!”

Chapter 25: The Return of Size

They went. At the House of Switches, the Viscount easily returned the Size Switch to its old position, and the phenomenon that occurred was the reverse of shrinking—it was an instantaneous enlargement. All the tiny, shell-less insects in every country suddenly returned to their previous size—and what happened would provide material for a book even larger than this one.

The insects that were in crevices or cracks suffered terribly because the tightness prevented them from getting out. It is assumed that thousands of creatures died that way. Those who were restored to their previous size first felt a sense of shame. Extremely embarrassed to find themselves naked, they hurriedly grabbed the nearest piles of clothes and dressed themselves. It was quite comical to see this newly restored humanity, given the inevitable exchange of clothing—men dressed as women, women dressed as men, some with very short pants and others with sleeves that were too long—it was a real carnival. The fury with which shame returned proved Emilia right—shame is simply a matter of size.

There was a big commotion in the chest of drawers room. That huge rectangular piece of varnished wood, which could easily accommodate hundreds of shrunken creatures, couldn’t handle the volume of seven suddenly enlarged people—and people fell from all sides. And as the cotton garments and rags burst, everyone felt terribly naked—and the rush for clothes began again. Tia Nastácia didn’t even remember to curse Colonel Teodorico; she was so flustered trying to put on her skirts in the small room. Within seconds, everyone was dressed as usual—except for Juquinha, Candoca, and the Colonel, whose clothes remained in their respective homes. Pedrinho took the new friend to his room, where he gave him an old suit; Littlenose took care of Candoca. But who would take care of the Colonel?

When Emilia and the Viscount reappeared, having returned from the House of Switches, both equal in size at 40 centimeters, the situation was as follows: everyone restored to their natural size, everyone dressed, and everyone present, except for one—the Colonel.

“What happened to the Colonel?”

“No one knew.”

Searching and searching, they found him hiding in Dona Benta’s wardrobe.

“I’m disheveled,” he said from inside. “Send someone to fetch my clothes from home.”

“Goodness!” exclaimed Tia Nastácia, crossing herself. “Just imagine the state of Sinhá’s clothes with that big horse walking all over everything there…”

  1. This made more sense in Portuguese, where sunset is “pôr-do-sol”, and the verb “pôr” is the same verb used for laying an egg.↩

  2. Originally “pó de pirlimpimpim”, which was almost rendered literally as “pirlimpimpim powder”. The word “pirlimpimpim” is an onomatopeia for something shiny, like “bling-bling” or whatever, and in the story context it is a kind of fairy dust. I almost went with just “fairy dust” – or even “pixie dust”, like in Peter Pan – but then decided to replace the iconic name with something after all. I went with “pyrileen” by interpreting the “pir” from the original as coming from the “pyr-” prefix in fire-related words, and filling out the rest with an appropriate sound.↩

  3. Portuguese: FÓSFOROS DE SEGURANÇA.↩

  4. Originally “inseto descascado”, which could literally be rendered “peeled insect”, because the same word “casca” is used for a vegetable’s peel and an insect’s protective shell (exoskeleton).↩

  5. Emília refers to the violet field as a “violetal”, a made-up word that affixes “-al” to “violeta”. The AI had this as “violethal”, which does show how jarring the coinage sounds, but is otherwise too confusing in English, since the T becomes a different sound. All uses of “violet field” in this translation originally said “violetal”, with quotation marks to signal the novel coinage.↩

  6. Originally “perrepista”, referring to the followers or members of the Partido Republicano Paulista (Paulista Republican Party), or PRP. (“Paulista” means someone from the state of São Paulo.) Of course, it has no obvious relation to the correspondingly named parties in the United States, but it seems clear that at that time and place in Brazil there was also a “Republican Party” which was opposed to a “Democratic Party” (Partido Democrático). The word “perrepista” derives from how you would pronounce the acronym PRP in Portuguese, as if GOP supporters were caled “gee-oh-peeists”.↩

  7. Originally “T’esconjuro!”, roughly “I adjure you” or “I exorcise you”, but that doesn’t ring the same in English.↩

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