The saint of the Bay knows her from below. He dives at night, alone, breaking the golden rule (“never dive alone”). At 12 meters depth, at the feet of the Sugar Loaf mountain, he had an eureka. He turned off his lamp and was suddenly in complete darkness; he couldn’t see his own hand before his face. That night he felt he was no longer a drop in the ocean, but had the force of the ocean within him. A spark among millions and millions that have migrated through the universe for millions and millions of years. In that moment he felt time change. There was now a before and an after.
Before he had a team to record weddings for a million bucks. He guaranteed his employees, at these parties for white people, that they would also eat like kings in the Copacabana Palace. He bought an apartment, and earned like a judge. But this was little. That night he learned that, with the utmost humility, he was more ambitious than ever. The man who practices sainthood in the ocean, wants to leave the Bay clean for his daughter, so that one day she might look at him and say, Daddy, you’re my hero.