20 março 2007

Idas e Vindas (Departures and Returnings)

( Originally published in http://nvsp.tarjaeditorial.com.br/?p=15 )

São Paulo. He looked through the vehicle's window, and tasted the uniform gray color of the buildings. It looks like everything around was tainted gray, better, everything was fading to this color. José was leaving the town, but this time would be definitive. So many times he went out, only to return again. This time, he tought, this time i get away from you. He used to say that a curse felt upon him. It doesn't matter his dedication to run away, after a time he looked around and once more he was surrounded by buildings, pollution, dirt, chaos.

The first try was frustrated even before it happened. He was nine, following his parents at the bus station, and in a moment of distraction, went up in the first bus he saw with open doors. He sat in the back, quietly. A woman at his side began a conversation, asked him his destination, where his parents were, and was alarmed by the boy's silence. She asked the other passenger who was his responsible, and lacking a response, yelled to the driver to stop the vehicle. With his mother screaming and his father beatings, he went home. Different times, today at least six people would have themselves as tutors of the boy.

As time went on, another plans were created. He decided to take college outside São Paulo. Two years of happiness, of inner peace, that were disturbed by the sudden death of his father. He came back immediatly to the city, for his father burial. His mother was desolated and said, between tears, that only he have lefted. That he couldn't leave her alone. And a college in São Paulo accepted his transference

He concluded the course, with the worst grades of the class. People tought it was caused by the loss of his father, but that wasn't the truth. Here i cannot think, he used to said in a hiss. And started in a mediocre job, just like the city.

He lived with his mother, who recover better than him. She believed that the father's death put him in that state, and was frightened to what could happen to the boy if he leaves, as he confessed was his biggest wish. So, she invented thousand histories, about illnesses, that she needed him, as she was sick. And between all those fake sicknesses one was real. Sudden death, in just one day.

After her burial and a quick mourning, conforted by the idea of the mother's fragile health and the inevitability of the fact, get back to his original dream. He opened the sunday's newspaper, e looked for a job far away that place where he lived. And he got it.

Once more he was happy. He has won this time. And he worked very hard, making impossible turns, assuming responsibilities he was not prepared for. And all that without a scratch. All the region was within a crisis, with unemployed lines in the factories doors, but the way he acted he knew his job was guaranteed. Indeed, he was promoted. But to where he was relocated? Yes, the boy was furious. He asked if he could not stay and be promoted there, where, he worked and lived. The negative was a cold shower. Then, with all his guts, he dismisses his promotion.

His boss went up, closes his office's doors and get to the point: You have two options. São Paulo, or get fired. Going to his desk as one who goes to the gallows, José picked up his stuff and went home, to prepare his return to the Capital.

And in those departures and returnings he realized that the city would not permit that he leaves. He tried a lot of alternatives after those. Even a beach hotel he opened, a piece of heaven in earth which disordened exploration condemned to failure. He conformed. Tought about his retirement, and how it will open doors for his dreams finally come true.

He looked through the window to the gray sky, as the vehicle slowly crawled in the traffic jam. Bikers get by peeling the paint off the cars in the endless lines. The deafening sound of thousand of engines, horns and sirens. The visual pollution from outdoors, bilds, neons. The putrid smell of the city, a mix of sewage, smoke, soot and asphalt. But he was happy. This time, once more he imagined, i will win. You won't hold me here!

He closed his eyes, and visualized how it would be from now on. He was increbidle happy. He smiled, and sighed. The doctor that was with him in the ambulance realized that any effort wouldn't help. He has left.

3 comentários:

MilaF disse...

Congrats! Nice work with the blog, pal. In my short experience I have realized that blogs are a good way to keep readers coming back for more. Do not worry about posting every single day; two times a week or even one time a week will do as well and will probably increase the quality of your texts. Having a bilingual blog should be even better!

That would be "he has left", dear... Yep, I know, it feels easy to speak, but it's harder to translate or write in English. I had my own hard time doing that to my stories too. And sort of gave up, LOL.

I'm testing my own bilingual blog where I'm publishing my drawings. Pay a visit if you please!

www.milaf.blogspot.com

Hugs,

circulodecronicas disse...

Veury xiquis man,
Congratulaicthions with iour blog in inglixi! I donti spiaque inglish véri naice, but ai riadi éveri quipuder!
Inté!
R.

MilaF disse...

Mesmo? Teve gente que preferiu a mulata, ihihih! Brigadinha.
Quer aprender? Vem fazer o meu cursinho de Photoshop na Cadritech... rs!
Brincadeirinha. Precisando de algum toque no Photo, fala comigo!Beijão.