The Titís Snoop Around Someone Else's Home

Carlos saw them arrive together, as they always do: all seven. The group of tití monkeys appeared this morning among the branches of the rubber tree growing beside the casa Paraíso, moving with that restless agility so particular to them, their black-and-white coats flashing through the dense green of the vegetation. What stood out wasn't the number of them, nor the commotion — that much one comes to expect — but rather the moment one of them peered into the opening of a wooden nest box installed in the area. The little curious head appeared through the circular hole like someone peeking through a half-open door. Inside, there were no parrots. Only the tití, exploring a space built for others. There were no encounters with the rightful tenants. Perhaps the parrots had wandered far off, perhaps they never came that day at all. But the image remains: a tití leaning out of a home that isn't its own, gazing outward with the expression of one who didn't find what it was looking for — or perhaps of one who wasn't looking for anything in particular.