What's Up In The Room Next Door?

When I lived in my current apartment (Quartinho, little), I did not imagine what could find there. In fact the interest in change was not mine but of my girlfriend, who incidentally was right in my old address ace things were strange.At least three times someone "opened" my window "looking for" someone, then I put the pillow with a knife, on the shelf a smaller knife and in his pocket a knife, somehow they would help me tell the guys that this guy who lived looking for did not live there.At that time worked in a well-known market in the city (I will not name why are not paying me for it), morning house 4:30 skirt to get driving from 5:00 to 5:45 is that deposit ace to finally begin work 6:00 sharp. But ... I always had the morning prayer. I never closed my eyes, as if he did not make sure to open before eleven. Break this routine for a year from Monday to Saturday with my university, who was also from Monday to Saturday. So you can imagine how I was.Well ... Let's get to it before I forget. My new place of residence has the appearance of a small village with a big red gate with driveway, the landlady made his residence above the small rooms and two at the bottom (divided in half became two), one of them is my, there is no plot of land, everything is tiled. Currently I miss land to land, the backyard dust smell of pecking chickens and stuff.My girlfriend said she would move in with me and did so, and the first thing he did in the new house: Paint the wall with drawings that like, just think it's cool and beautiful, but I have no ability to do so. When we moved it was a heat bludgeon and even then the neighbor next room arrived, looked at us and went locking the door behind him.Each with their problems, but it was hot, very hot and certainly that room had no air conditioning and no fan could meet the need of cooler air. To our surprise we had a door in our room that connected the neighboring room "strange". The first joke we did was: Imagine if we are asleep and someone opens the door and ... My girlfriend did not like the joke. Then I stopped. After lots of storage space, erase.After a few days of tranquility in the small village of foreign residents, the front of the neighboring working with salon, the daughter in a store and the son was a teacher of martial arts, as her husband always saw him with a beer can in hand I think it was taster of beer. Had you bonbons, sold candy and front bullets of the church that is next door. The lady who worked in the market at night and slept during the day. And finally my mysterious neighbor, the only thing I knew it was working in a liquor store to lose weight. Our communication is only summarize the good morning and good night.It took months and my girlfriend decided to go back to the family home, no, we did not finish, but she has allergies and the environment was not collaborating with their health. So it was necessary to go "away."I never hear anything coming out of that room, even having a door as division between my world and the world next to her husband. Yes, she is married, amigada, the guy appears every two weeks, it seems that always traveling, but when he is where it gets interesting, it seems that silence comes alive. It is dark smooth hair, protruding corners, large eyes, full breasts and full mouth, have him a scrawny, big-headed and strange. But what happens in the next room?I come home after a hard day's work, step a distributor and buy a drink to swallow daily frogs, otherwise holds up. I have no bed, clothes shot, put the drinks in the fridge, grab a bottle and sit on the mattress, grab one of the ten books I'm reading at the same time and start to kill the chapter, I silent, but there awake daydreaming my life when I hear.
- Holy shit gets right!

 Holy shit, these two are fucking and I sleepless will be required to participated as voyeur ear, I decide to get another beer when I threaten up to go get another beer ...
- Does silence ... You hear me? (She says)
- What?
- The neighbor!
- We're not doing anything, we are in our house.
Are ... are messing up my thoughts, polluting the good ideas, I wanted to write something about what happened on the day and now thanks to the two climbers lost the thread. I left and went to get another beer. When I come back I hear the guy saying he would get some beers in the distributor, I thought: What a quick fuck, rabbit loses.The guy goes out and the woman is complaining, saying that the guy did not hit right, that shit was not going to pay, bag she calls someone and tells the whole story. I think the pitch was very bad for her out telling her friends. Burned face.Listening to someone having sex once is interesting, now listen to someone not having sex is frustrating. The following days were a real battle between him and her.
- You're not getting it. (She said)
- If you do not speak so we could get (he spoke)
- You're not working out between us!
Yikes love was ending. She agreed, but still continued to live together and soon realized that the move was all facade, not ended shit. They sat in silence, listening, each leading stirred in my bags, bags, dirty clothes who played corner of the wall, was discussed in the next room. The door! I ran to the door that divided the room, put the ear, I thought: What's going on shit that room? I hear something very close to the door, hitting a fear, I'll get out of here, get a beer and desencanar. When I'm relaxing the woman says: It's quiet there. Does he sleep? - Answer a female voice. FUCK. Do you hear my footsteps. I purpose of noise, I move on books, shake clothes, Talk intensified over there. Until I got tired and blacked out. In the morning I was leaving when I come across their door wide open, panties (used) extended a chair bra on the floor, I see a shadow coming down and his head and start to close my door. A very strong sneeze. She's allergic. Good morning - I say shamelessly with the look saying - I know I was behind the door listening. She responds with a crumpled face, puffy eyes link the effect of the problem with allergy - Good morning.I give a homemade recipe that can help you with your problem. I was soñado and had not noticed that the woman was only bra and panties and short - being honest - only strip. And transparent. I prefer to believe it was the allergy effect.I'm going out into the big red gate and hear a question.
- Neighbor can I ask you a question? (She says)
- Of course!
- What happens in your room at night? It seems that you do not sleep.
I think a little, also wanted to know what is going on in her room at night, I answer:
- I love to read and I until dawn in the book.
- Ah! Got it.
I did not hold ...
- And in yours? I heard you fighting with her husband.
- Not quite my husband ... A namorido ... My sister is coming here with his son, then asked him to put together a small bed for my nephew to sleep on the floor. But the guy can not stick a right screw. I knew he would listen so told him to be quiet so as not to bother sleep. Bothered?
- No!
Dei-bye and left ... The guy did not know put the screw? So that meant that ...
- Shove it - (Her).Okay!

Old Cicero

The Young Francisco ran from the small airport, wanted to tell everything to his father. What was in the syringe road. I ran fast. Leaving her tears almost turn mud by the dust of your body.He did not stop at home ... He went into the woods and cried for her father, hoping to still make the plane return. Undaunted ounces or other animals, screaming. Safe Cicero abruptly the boy with both hands, calling her attention. When he saw the boy full of dust, with tears in his eyes, he calmed down, left Francisco breathe and when he was calmer said SANTA WAS AWAY! Father decried the "fib" and gave him almost a spanking when he got home Santa would have it. The boy insisted taking father to the city airport. There was confirmed the story of Francisco.Cicero blanched! The still dirty hands of the syringe milk, letting his gaze fall toward the ground. He turned away, walked a few meters, called Francisco, working day that was lost, went home silent. In his head just spent the words of his father. Of said curse. Words that weighed on the weary shoulders Cicero.When younger working with parents in the syringe cut and few opportunities visiting the city to buy groceries. It was when Cicero discovered the taste for rum. Once the young man left home to visit the city and promised to father a new shirt. Arriving in the city Cicero bought the groceries, he decided to stop at a watering hole. It was so named sites that sold drinks. There was still the shirt, but Cicero decided to make a short stop to wet his throat. The time has passed, he had forgotten his father's gift. Arriving back home drunk father asks just the shirt ... When Cicero says forgotten, but early return in the city and buy a shirt. The old man looked in the eyes of Cicero and spat fury of words, hatred and rancor: TU IS A BASTARD! NEVER WILL HAVE NOTHING IN LIFE. YOUR CHILDREN WILL YOU LEAVE ONE BY ONE. WILL DIE ALONE. ABANDONED! NOW HANDLE YOUR THINGS AND GO AWAY FROM MY HOUSE.Cicero in a hidden corner cried like a child. Words hurt and deeply hurt Cicero. Fight for life that his father's curse did not materialize. He held the hand of Francis as he had never held before. The boy could have sworn I saw a father's eye tear, but chose to believe still be his wet eyes. They came home and all came to the door to know flocked because never saw his father come so early at home. Francisco entered the small house and the brothers went back to see the small news. Cicero cried: BLACK! He was so called Rosalina woman. She sat beside him. Noted. He waited for the conversation ... He swallowed, looked at the sky. It was clean, with no cloud. He broke the news to his wife: SANTA WAS THOUGH. The woman questioned him about what he would do. Cicero looked all around. House, land, land, looked at the children and said: STARTS THINGS OUR CUPBOARD. THESE DAYS WE THOUGH FOR WHITE RIVER.He decided to leave all the family office. passed from father to son. It was time to go back to Santa. The family would not break as his father had said. He would not be abandoned by their children. The father's curse will not materialize. And as Cicero says: NOT CHORA MILK SHED.And they all went into the unknown. The state capital. White River.

Old Cicero

If you stop here to remember I was a child, I would have forgotten, but actually prefer to keep. Deep down, deep. So I find myself today in the morning reading and suddenly stop, not that reading was bad, not that he was tired, being tired is already a condition to continue living my watch not to, seems to run.It was the memory ... The memory tiring stopped me. I went back in time, slipping through the curtain of the past. I not sought the first kiss, the first transaction, nor the time that he was naked in the bathroom and got me, but falls into the weirdest memory you can have. And just today. a second - hot fair any day.I was there he and I ... We both sat in front of the house that was half wood and half in masonry. Fruit of the old Cicero sweat. As a child I remember that we lived in the New Town neighborhood. Every family in a house that had room, living room and kitchen. The bathroom was in the backyard. At bedtime was the confusion for those who would pick the best place to sleep ... In the house of the Old Cicero was so, but he was always honest man, working and kept almost all of his expensive brave sweat.Was tapper, cut syringe, leave home before the sun came up and made the way the road back and forth. Custom wake up early led to life. What did the old man out of the interior and risk in the city was one of her daughters, she had the nickname Santa, santinha to friends. Santa never had doll and play was a risk. The old Cicero did not like to find their offspring away.One day a little friend of Santa won a rag doll and called him to play. Girl distracted by the doll she had never seen and probably never would have equal, forgot the time to return home. When the old man came and found Santa, she went nuts and went out on the small trail. Santa caught, caught, caught, caught both his mother Rosalina had to wash the girl's wounds with salt water.Santa screamed so loud that it would be better to have picked up a couple more days ... The pain would be lower. The tears gave way to anger and she swore. A DAY WILL ALTHOUGH PRA WELL AWAY. And he began to put his plan into practice. The old sin was that Cicero had an almost inseparable lover. Cachaça. If that day had not been so drunk perhaps. Just maybe, the small Santa had not been so marked.For the Santa grew and one day one of Rio Branco city girl arrived in the land of Feijó. There also met Santa girl. We made a proposal: GO TO WHITE RIVER. THERE YOU STUDYING. THERE WILL BE BETTER FOR YOU. Santa did not think much and accepted the invitation. It was time to honor what they promised. The younger brother Francisco noted everything. He did not believe that Santa had such courage to go home though. DOUBT! HAS COURAGE. Then she told him to wait the next day would go away never to return.At dawn the old Cicero left to cut syringe. Santa took his only calico dress and placed in a small cardboard suitcase. Francisco watched all silent. Incredulously. Santa went to the airport with dirt track, he was back. Still incredulous. She arrived and found a new friend, kissed Francisco and said: GOODBYE MY BROTHER.It was toward the twin-engine plane parked on the tarmac ... It by far was still looking at the innocence of being just a joke of Santa. Unbelief was filling his eyes with tears. In the background wanted to believe is not true. She sends the window goodbye. The pilot starts the engine in the aircraft puts into takeoff position. The plane is gaining speed. He runs after desperate. Grita. Cry compulsively. Santa does not listen, but also cries. Francisco loses his balance and falls kicking up dust with his body. And the distance will see the small plane gaining altitude.

Choking

The water continues to rise. The river is rising. And that suffocates me ... Not that I do not know how to swim, but the water rising suffocates me. Today was an extremely rainy day, very rainy, three hours of water falling on the roofs, the roofs of the cars, on the streets, in people's heads. I can swim enough to keep my body floating, but I think if someone else depend on my help to help him, he will die. Keep my body floating is one thing ... keeping me and another floating is certain death.These thoughts come into my head every time the water starts to rise. I see on TV and hear on the radio that one of the bridges that connect one side of town to the other is forbidden, because not for climbing. The water. Do not cause despair nor shame, smothers me, when I lived across the city, the river came to my house, was invading the yard slowly, centimeter by centimeter, then stood in the doorway of the house. Where looked she was there for the first time felt is lost, smothered, dead, she would swallow us.The elders came out with water by the waist and small to her on the chest, at a glance it looked like the swallow to your stomach muddy brown color. Since then not come back as a resident of that area.The house was fading slowly as if being swallowed by a trap of quicksand, the next morning where there was our house was now ... River. It continues rising.Awakened these thoughts faraway childhood with another commercial that told people not to go to the city center. Now another bridge was closed.I lie on the pillow and try to pretend it's not me, but I know that shit was going to hit the pocket of everyone, including my own. Of them they have lost everything and have to work to rebuild their lives and mine that I do not have anything yet, rent paid, which depend on the currency of working to earn bread. For those who govern any hour is an excuse, then you know what was the excuse used for the delay of payment, right? I knew it. You need not make this stupid guy. In your head you should be going: But my party did more than the previous one, in the other that it has done more than others and one that is also more than others and had the military move that did more than all .The question friend is the key word ... PARTY ... We are all parties, of all shapes and every way. Then lie close my eyes and finally erase.Six-thirty the alarm notifies you that I have an obligation to take my heavy body guts, slowly open your eyes and is ... Raining. I turn on the TV and has a regional tabloid trying to win some brownie points for his morning show with his face mashed to be very awake earlier than me to be there. Talking a lot of shit on the screen. One could say that the water was still rising.Enough to be pathetic, but the images via some acquaintances who won home on social programs and returned to the river. I thought: This pest deserves to die drowned. It's my money, my tax served to build the fucking that cage for what ... For this ... Calo mind as dryness of the throat at dawn. Cage. I just wanted to drink water.
Levanto with my face crumpled pastel, when I go toward the refrigerator hear voice gringo in the courtyard. Who was out of the room in a rain that? It was a blended family ... Type half braziers, half Peruvian. They had rented one of the rooms while provisionally normalized the situation of the city. Then I drowned in my glass of water. And I liked.

Sufocando - 2012

A água continua subindo. O rio está subindo. E isso me sufoca... Não que eu não saiba nadar, mas a água subindo me sufoca. Hoje foi um dia extremamente chuvoso, muito chuvoso, três horas de água caindo nos telhados, nos tetos dos carros, nas ruas, nas cabeças das pessoas. Sei nadar o suficiente para manter meu corpo flutuando, mas creio se outra pessoa depender de minha ajuda para lhe socorrer, morrerá. Manter meu corpo flutuando é uma coisa... Manter eu e um outro flutuando é morte na certa.

Esses pensamentos passam em minha cabeça toda vez que a água começa a subir. Vejo na TV e ouço no rádio que uma das pontes que ligam um lado da cidade ao outro está interditada, pois não para de subir.  A água. Não me causa desespero e nem pena, me sufoca, quando morava do outro lado da cidade, o rio chegou até minha casa, foi invadindo o quintal aos poucos, centímetro por centímetro, logo estava na porta da casa. Para onde olhava ela estava lá e pela primeira vez senti está perdido, sufocado, morto, ela iria nos engolir.

Os mais velhos saíram com água pela cintura e os pequenos com ela pelo peito, em um piscar de olhos parecia que nos tragaria para o seu estomago barrento de cor marrom. Desde de então não volto como morador daquela região.

A casa foi sumindo lentamente como se estivesse sendo engolida por um armadilha da areia movediça, na manhã seguinte onde existia nossa casa agora era... Rio. Continua subindo.

Desperto desses pensamentos longínquos da infância com mais um comercial que dizia para as pessoas não irem ao centro da cidade. Agora mais uma ponte estava fechada.

Deito a cabeça no travesseiro e tento fingir que não é comigo, mas sei que aquela merda toda ia atingir o bolso de todo mundo, inclusive o meu. Deles que perderam tudo e teriam que trabalhar para reconstruir suas vidas e o meu que ainda não tenho nada, pago aluguel, que dependo do giro de moeda para ganhar o pão. Para os que governam qualquer hora é hora de desculpa, então vocês sabem qual foi a desculpa usada para a demora dos pagamentos, né? Eu sabia. Não precisa fazer essa cara de babaca. Na tua cabeça deve estar passando: Mas o meu partido fez mais do que o anterior, na do outro que o dele fez mais do que outro e outro que faz também mais do que outros e teve o lance dos militares que fizeram mais do que todos.

A questão amigo está na palavra chave... PARTIDO... Nós estamos todos partidos, de todas as formas e todos os sentidos. Então deito fecho os olhos e finalmente apago.

Seis e trinta o despertador avisa que tenho a obrigação de tirar meu corpo pesado do colhão, lentamente abro os olhos e está... Chovendo. Ligo a TV e tem um sensacionalista regional que tenta ganhar alguns pontinhos para seu programa matinal com sua cara amassada de ter acordado muito mais cedo que eu para estar ali. Falando um monte de merda na tela. Só sabia dizer que a água continuava subindo.

Chega ser patético, mas nas imagens via alguns conhecidos que ganharam casa em programas sociais e voltavam para beira do rio. Pensava: Essa praga merece morrer afogado. É meu dinheiro, meu imposto, serviu para construir a porra daquela gaiola pra quê... Pra esse... Calo a mente como a secura da garganta ao amanhecer. Gaiola. Só queria beber água.

Levanto com minha cara de pastel amassado, quando vou em direção da geladeira escuto voz de gringo no pátio. Quem estava fora do quarto numa chuva daquela? Era uma família misturada... Tipo meio braseiros, meio peruanos. Tinham alugado um dos quartos provisoriamente enquanto normalizava a situação da cidade. Então me afoguei no meu copo d’água. E gostei.

Velho Cicero II

O Jovem Francisco saiu correndo do pequeno aeroporto, queria contar tudo para o pai. Que estava na estrada de seringa. Corria rápido. Deixando suas lágrimas quase virarem lama junto à poeira do seu corpo.

Não parou em casa... Entrou na mata e gritava pelo pai, na esperança de ainda fazer o avião retornar. Sem temer onças ou outros animais, gritava. De supetão Cícero segura o menino com as duas mãos, lhe chamando atenção. Quando viu o garoto cheio de poeira, com lágrimas nos olhos, acalmou, deixou Francisco respirar e quando estava mais calmo disse: A SANTA FOI EMBORA! O pai desacreditou da "lorota" e quase lhe deu umas palmadas, quando chegasse em casa Santa iria ter o dela. O menino insistiu levando pai até o aeroporto da cidade. Lá foi confirmada a história de Francisco.

Cícero empalideceu! As mãos ainda sujas do leite da seringa, deixando o olhar cair em direção ao chão. Virou de costas, andou alguns metros, chamou Francisco, aquele dia de trabalho estava perdido, foi pra casa calado. Em sua cabeça só passava as palavras de seu pai. Da maldição dita. Palavras que pesavam nos ombros do cansado Cícero.

Quando mais novo trabalhava com o pais no corte da seringa e em poucas oportunidades visitavam a cidade para comprar mantimentos. Foi quando Cicero descobriu o gosto pela cachaça. Certa vez o jovem saiu de casa para visitar a cidade e prometera ao pai uma camisa nova. Chegando na cidade Cicero comprou os mantimentos, decidiu parar em um boteco. Era assim chamado os locais que vendiam bebidas. Ainda faltava a camisa, mas Cícero decidiu fazer uma pequena parada para molhar a garganta. A hora passou, passou, ele esquecera o presente do pai. Chegando de volta em casa bêbado o pai pergunta logo pela camisa... Ao que Cícero diz que esquecera, mas logo cedo voltaria na cidade e compraria a camisa. O velho olhou bem nos olhos de Cícero e cuspiu palavras de fúria, ódio e rancor: TU É UM DESGRAÇADO! NUNCA VAI TER NADA NA VIDA. TEUS FILHOS VÃO TE ABANDONAR UM A UM. VAI MORRER SOZINHO. ABANDONADO! AGORA PEGA TUAS COISAS E VAI EMBORA DA MINHA CASA.

Cícero em um canto escondido chorou como uma criança. Palavras machucam e machucou profundamente Cícero. Lutaria toda vida para que a maldição do pai não se concretizasse. Segurou a mão de Francisco como nunca tinha segurado antes. O garoto poderia jurar que vira uma lágrima do olho do pai, mas preferiu acreditar ainda ser seus olhos molhados. Chegaram em casa e todos vieram para porta saber o acorrido, pois nunca viram o pai chegar tão cedo em casa. Francisco entrou na pequena casa e os irmãos foram atrás para saber do pequeno as novidades. Cícero gritou: PRETA! Era assim que chamava a mulher Rosalina. Ela sentou do lado dele. Observou. Esperou a conversa... Ele engoliu em seco, olhou para o céu. Que estava limpo, sem nenhuma nuvem. Deu a notícia para a mulher: SANTA FOI EMBORA. A mulher questionou ele sobre o que iria fazer. Cícero olhou tudo em volta. Casa, terreno, terras, olhou as crianças e disse: COMEÇA A ARRUMAR NOSSAS COISAS. NESSES DIAS VAMOS EMBORA PARA RIO BRANCO.

Decidiu deixar todo o oficio da família. Passada de pai para filho. Estava na hora de ir atrás de Santa. A família não iria se desfazer como dissera seu pai. Ele não iria ser abandonado pelos filhos. A maldição do pai não vai se concretizar. E como diz Cícero: NÃO SE CHORA O LEITE DERRAMADO.

E todos eles foram rumo ao desconhecido. A capital do estado. Rio Branco.

 

CONTINUA...

O Velho Cicero

Se parasse aqui para recordar meu tempo de criança, diria que esqueci, mas na verdade prefiro guardar. Lá no fundo, bem no fundo. Então me pego hoje na madrugada lendo e de repente paro, não por que a leitura estava ruim, não que estivesse cansado, ser cansado já é uma condição para continuar vivendo, meu relógio não para, parece correr.
Foi a lembrança... A cansativa lembrança me parou. Fui voltando no tempo, escorregando por entre a cortina do passado. Não busquei o primeiro beijo, a primeira transa, nem a vez que estava nu no banheiro e me pegaram, mas sim cai na lembrança mais estranha que se pode ter. E logo hoje. numa segunda - feira quente de um dia qualquer.
Estava lá ele e eu... Nós dois sentados na frente da casa que era metade de madeira e metade em alvenaria. Fruto do suor do velho Cicero. Quando criança lembro que morávamos no bairro Cidade Nova. Toda família em uma casa que tinha quarto, sala e cozinha. O banheiro ficava no fundo do quintal. Na hora de dormir era aquela confusão para quem iria pegar o melhor lugar para dormir... Na casa do Velho Cicero era assim, mas ele sempre foi homem honesto, trabalhava e mantinha quase todos com seu suor caro, valente.
Foi seringueiro, cortou seringa, saia de casa antes do sol aparecer e fazia o caminho da estrada de ida e volta. Costume de acordar cedo levou pra vida. O que fez o velho sair do interior e se arriscar na cidade foi uma de suas filhas, ela tinha por apelido Santa, santinha para os amigos. Santa nunca teve boneca e brincar era um risco. O velho Cicero não gostava de encontrar suas crias fora de casa.
Certo dia uma amiguinha de Santa ganhou uma boneca de pano e lhe chamou para brincar. A menina distraída com a boneca que nunca vira e que provavelmente nunca teria igual, se esqueceu da hora de voltar pra casa. Quando o velho chegou e não encontrou a Santa, endoideceu e saiu no rastro da pequena. Santa apanhou, apanhou, apanhou, apanhou tanto que sua mãe Rosalina teve que lavar os machucados da menina com água de sal.
Santa gritava tão alto que seria melhor ter apanhado mais umas duas horas... A dor seria menor. As lágrimas deram lugar a raiva e ela jurou. UM DIA VOU EMBORA PRA BEM LONGE. E começou a colocar seu plano em prática. O pecado do velho Cicero era que tinha uma amante quase inseparável. A cachaça. Se naquele dia não estivesse tão bêbado talvez. Só talvez, a pequena Santa não tivesse ficado tão marcada.
Pois a Santa cresceu e um dia uma moça da cidade de Rio Branco chegou nas terras de Feijó. Lá conheceu a também moça Santa. Lhe fez uma proposta: VAMOS PARA RIO BRANCO. LÁ VOCÊ ESTUDA. LÁ VAI SER MELHOR PARA VOCÊ. Santa não pensou muito e aceitou o convite. Era hora de honrar aquilo que prometera. O irmão mais novo Francisco observou tudo. Não acreditou que Santa tivesse tamanha coragem para ir embora de casa. DUVIDO! NÃO TEM CORAGEM. Então ela disse à ele que aguardasse que no dia seguinte iria embora para não voltar mais.
De madrugada o velho Cicero saiu para cortar seringa. Santa pegou seu único vestido de chita e colocou em uma pequena mala de papelão. Francisco observou tudo calado. Incrédulo. Santa correu para o aeroporto, com pista de terra, ele foi atrás. Ainda incrédulo. Ela chegou e encontrou a nova amiga, beijou Francisco e disse: ADEUS MEU IRMÃO.
Foi em direção ao avião bimotor estacionado na pista... Ele de longe olhava ainda na inocência de ser apenas mais uma brincadeira da Santa. A incredulidade foi enchendo seus olhos de lágrimas. No fundo queria acreditar não ser verdade. Ela da janela manda um tchau. O piloto liga o motor na aeronave, coloca em posição de decolagem. O avião vai ganhando velocidade. Ele corre atrás desesperado. Grita. Chora compulsivamente. Santa não escuta, mas também chora. Francisco perde o equilíbrio e cai levantando poeira com seu corpo. E ao longe vai vendo o pequeno avião ganhando altitude.


CONTINUA...