But I never told her anything. And I never mentioned her name to Nelio either.

Up there, beneath the stars, only he and I existed.

When I went up to him on the roof after shoving the first baking pans into the hot oven, I felt that he was lying there waiting for me. Was it still true that he was trying to get better? His wounds had darkened more, and I held my breath as I unwrapped the bandage because the stench was so awful. But could a healing process be under way that was not apparent to me? I felt his forehead. It was hot again. I diluted some of Senhora Muwulene's herbs with water, and he drank the solution but with greater effort. It occurred to me that he had never asked me what kind of herbs I was giving him. From the moment I carried him up to the roof, he never once questioned my ability to take care of him.

Or was it because he already knew, from the moment the shots were fired, that there was no saving him?

I might have wished that I had not been alone with the responsibility. It was too great for me to bear alone, and yet I had no one to share it with. It was quite simply too late.

I helped him on with a clean shirt after I had changed his bandage. Since it was so warm, I took away the blanket and folded it beneath his head as an extra pillow. He was very tired, but his eyes were strangely clear. Again I had the feeling that he could see right through me.

At those moments when he looked at me, he was a ten-year-old boy lying there, with two bullets in his body. But when the fever returned, he was transformed once more into a very old man. I thought that it was not only his consciousness that seemed able to switch unhindered between what had been and what was to come, between the spirit world and the world that we lived in together. His body could also switch between ages, between the child that he was and the old man he would never be.

'Do the spirits of our ancestors have faces?' I asked him. Where that question came from, I didn't know. It was as if I didn't know what I was saying until after I had said it.

'People have faces,' replied Nelio. 'Spirits don't have faces. And yet we recognise them. We know who is who. Spirits don't have eyes or mouths or ears either. And yet they can see and speak and hear.'

'How do you know that?'

'The spirits are all around us,' he said. 'They're right here, but we can't see them. What's important is that we know they can see us.'

I didn't ask any more questions. I wasn't sure whether I had understood what he meant. But I didn't want to tire him unnecessarily.

That night he told me about the arrival of the xidjana.

She was the one who turned up on that morning after they celebrated Alfredo Bomba's birthday in the marques's house. She was wearing a ragged dress, her face was covered with burns from the scorching sun, and she truly was an albino. She heard Nelio approach and quickly turned.

'What are you doing sitting in my place under the tree?' asked Nelio.

'A shadow is not a house that can be owned,' the xidjana said. 'I'm thinking of staying here.'

During all his days on the streets, Nelio had never been as challenged as he was by the xidjana. Yet he sensed that she was uncertain and maybe even weak. He squatted down a short distance away.

'What's your name?'

'Deolinda.'

'Where are you from?'

'The same place as you. Nowhere.'

'What are you doing here?'

'I want to stay here.'

They were interrupted by Nascimento who had caught sight of the girl under the tree from his place on the bed of the rusty lorry which he happened to be guarding. With a howl he came running over.

'What's this xidjana doing here? Don't you know that a xidjana means bad luck?'

'I'm not bad luck,' said the girl, standing up.

'Get away from here,' screamed Nascimento, rushing at her with clenched fists. Nelio didn't have time to intervene. But it wasn't necessary anyway. Reacting swiftly, the xidjana knocked Nascimento to the ground. He lay there, staring in amazement up at Deolinda who stood leaning over him.

'I'm not bad luck,' the girl said. 'I can beat anyone and I want to stay here.'

'We can't have a xidjana around,' Nascimento said, getting to his feet.

'Her name is Deolinda,' Nelio said. 'Go back to the lorry. She's stronger than you are.'

Nascimento left. Nelio watched him summoning the others to the bed of the lorry. None of them would want an albino in the group. He too thought it best if she disappeared. The band of kids should never be allowed to get too big: he would lose control, and the group, in turn, would lose control of itself.

'You're sitting in my place,' Nelio said. 'That's forbidden. Get out of here! We don't want a girl in our group. You can't do anything we can't do.'

'I can read,' Deolinda said. 'I can do lots of things.'

Nelio was sure that she was lying. He pointed at a word that someone had scratched on the side of the building.

'What does this say?'

Deolinda squinted as if the harsh sunlight was hurting her eyes.

'Terrorista.'

Nelio, who couldn't read, realised that he wouldn't be able to tell whether she was right.

'It's just because the letters are so big that you can read them,' he said evasively.

He picked up a piece of newspaper from the street.

'Read this,' he said, handing the paper to Deolinda.

She held it up close to her eyes and started to read.

"'A number of children will be given the chance to live in a big house. Nobody's children will become Everybody's children.'"

'What does that mean? "Nobody's children?" What's that?'

She frowned and thought for a moment. Then her face brightened.

'Maybe that's us.'

She continued to spell her way through the words. '"A European organisation will give money to the project…"'

'"The project"?'

'We're going to be projected. I've been projected once. They gave me clothes and I was supposed to live in a house with lots of other kids. I was supposed to stop living on the street. But I projected myself out as fast as I could.'

Nelio begrudgingly acknowledged that Deolinda actually did know how to read. He realised that she had a good head, even though it was white and covered with permanent burns. And yet he still was not sure whether she should be allowed to stay with the group. Maybe it was true that an albino brought misfortune. But he also reminded himself that he had heard the opposite from his father. A xidjana could never die; a xidjana possessed many extraordinary powers.

But the big problem was something else entirely. She was a girl. Not many girls lived on the streets. Things were often much worse for them than for the boys.

Nelio needed to be alone to think.

'Go away,' he said. 'Get two grilled chickens. Show us what you can do. Then I will decide.'

Deolinda left. Slung over one shoulder she had a little bag made from woven strips of raffia. Her dress was hanging in tatters, but she carried herself as if at any moment she might start dancing. Nelio sat down in his spot in the shade under the tree. What would Cosmos have done? he wondered. He tried to picture Cosmos on board a ship, far away, quite close to the sun. He tried to hear his voice.

'You're crazy if you let her into the group,' he seemed to hear Cosmos saying.

'But she can read,' Nelio protested. 'I've never heard of a street kid who could read. Least of all a girl.'

'Did you see her eyes?' Cosmos said, and Nelio thought his voice sounded annoyed. 'Did you see that they're red and inflamed? That's the kind of eyes you get from reading. And then you go blind.'

'All xidjanas have red eyes,' Nelio said. 'Even the ones who can't read.'

He heard Cosmos sigh. 'Let her stay then. But chase her away as soon as there's a problem.'

Nelio nodded. He would let her stay. But only if she came back with the grilled chickens.