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I remember how the color changed in Passos’s face when a fully naked mulher came to the door. It was a door like the dozens of others we’d knocked that day. It was a faded pastel blue and made of cheap, thin metal, and all at once it opened to a mulher wearing nothing but her nakedness. She wore it well. I looked her up and down—quickly. Then I studied the door frame above her head and felt the blood going to my face, and elsewhere.
      “Ma’am,” Elder Passos said. He stopped and turned away.
      “Ma’am,” I said, “we’re missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We have a message for you. Would you like to hear it?”
      “What kind of message?” she said.
      “A message of hope,” I said.