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.How did a triangle come to exist? Was it an idea to begin with? or did that come after it had found its form? Was a triangle fated to exist? things were beautiful.— She would have liked to linger over the question.But love invaded her.Triangle, circle, straight lines.as harmonious and mysterious as a harp.Where is music stored when it isn't playing? — she asked herself.And lost in thought, she replied: let them make a harp from my nerves when I die.The last of Joana's lucidity merged with the crooked ship moving over the waves.She only had to nod her head for the waves to accompany it.But she had had something, oh yes she had.A husband, breasts, a lover, a house, books, bobbed hair, an aunt, a teacher.Auntie, listen to me, I've met Joana, the one I'm telling you about.She was a weak woman in relation to things.At times, everything seemed to her to be too precise, untouchable.And, sometimes, what others used as air for breathing, became a burden and death for her.See if you can understand my heroine, Auntie, listen.She's vague and bold.She doesn't love, no one loves her.You would end up noticing it just as LÃdia, another woman — a young woman full of her own destiny — noticed it.However what's inside Joana is something stronger than the love one gives and what's inside her demands more than the love one receives.Do you see what I mean, Auntie?I wouldn't call her a hero like the one I promised Daddy.For in her there was a terrible fear.A fear preceding any judgement or understanding.— This has just occurred to me: who knows, perhaps faith in future survival comes from noticing that life always leaves us untouched.— Do you understand, Auntie? — I forget the interruption of future life — do you understand? I can see your open eyes watching me with fear, with mistrust, yet wanting, nevertheless, as an affectionate old woman — now dead, it's true, now dead — to love me, overlooking my cruelty.Poor thing! the worst rebellion I ever sensed in you, apart from the ones I provoked, can be summed up in that saying you repeated nearly every day, and which I can still hear, mingled with your scent which I shall never forget: 'If only we could go out in the clothes we're wearing!' What more can I tell you? I've had my hair cut short, tinted brown, sometimes I wear it in a fringe.I'm going to die one day.I've also been born.There was the room with the two of them.He was good-looking.The room went round a little.It became transparent and warm, a veil that kept coming closer and closer.The three of them formed a couple, but to whom could she tell this? She would be able to sleep because the man never slept and he would keep watch like the falling rain.Otávio was also good-looking, with those eyes of his.This was a child an insect flowers whiteness warmth as sleep is for the moment time for the moment life itself that later.Everything like the earth a child LÃdia a child Otávio earth De profundis.The ViperIt's as if I were gently penetrating something.Otávio read while the clock ticked away the seconds and broke the night's silence with eleven strokes.It's as if I were gently penetrating something.There's the impression.This lightness comes from who knows where.Curtains droop languidly over their own cords.But there is also the black march, at a standstill, two eyes staring, unable to say anything.God perched on a tree and twittering, and straight lines running, unfinished, horizontal and cold.That's the impression.Mature moments go on dripping and no sooner does one fall than another surfaces, softly, its face pallid and minute.Suddenly the moments too come to an end.The without-time runs down my walls, tortuous and blind.Little by little, it accumulates in a dark and tranquil lake and I call out: I have lived!Night silenced the things outside, some toad or other croaked intermittently.Each shrub was an unmoving, recoiling face.In the distance, there glimmered and flickered tiny reddish lights, sleepless eyes.In the darkness like that of water.The tall, slender sunflowers lit up the garden by stages.What was one to think at that moment? She was so pure and free that she could choose and didn't know
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