Kabuki Sundays: Dancing on a Big Wave under an August Summer Moon – Act II

(Click here to read Act I)

Esmeralda and Diamante both enter from stage right in a hurry. Esmeralda takes off her blonde wig revealing short brown hair. She slips out of her black gown to reveal a white t-shirt and black and purple shorts underneath. She takes off her high heels and slips into a blue pair of flip-flops.

Esmeralda: My name isn’t really Esmeralda, it’s João.

Diamante: I didn’t ask.

João wanders back over to the bench, sits down, crosses his legs, places his elbow on his thigh and his chin in the palm of his hand and lets out a sigh. Diamante takes off her wig as well, revealing slicked back black hair. She tosses her dress and socks to the side, so that she is now only wearing a snug sunga bathing suit and quickly runs her hands down her body.

Diamante: My real name is Filippe.

João: Grand!

Filippe: I didn’t ask.

João: I was staring at the moon the other night.

Filippe: You shouldn’t do that.

João: Why not?

Filippe: I dunno, the light or something. It’ll make you go blind.

João: I’m pretty sure that’s the sun.

Filippe: If it were the sun, then that’s what I would’ve said.

João: Ok. Well, I was staring at the moon and it got me thinking…

Filippe: This isn’t going to end well.

João: Can I finish?

Filippe: I wish you wouldn’t.

João: Filippe!

Filippe: You’re so sensitive sometimes.

João: I was thinking, well, you know how beautiful the moon is right? I don’t have to say it, do I?

Filippe: No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the moon before. Please tell me what it looks like.

João: You’re a gas, you know that, Filippe?

Filippe: That’s not how I would describe you…

João: So it’s so beautiful, and I was thinking romantic thoughts, and suddenly it hit me: I should get a new job!

Filippe: I told you this wouldn’t end well.

João: I was thinking maybe that’s just what I need. A new career, a new start, a new…

Filippe: Who would hire you?

João: I’m a very talented young man. Want to see what I can do with my tongue?

Filippe: Ewww, pass! Why would I want to see that nasty thing?

João: And you know how passionate I’ve always been about money. This could be the break I need!

Filippe: And what kind of work did you have in mind exactly?

João: Oh, that part doesn’t really matter, does it?

Filippe: Umm…

João: Ohh, I know, a star! I’m going to work as star!

Filippe: Maybe you should think about something that’s a little more in demand at the moment.

João: Good idea! I could be a computer star!

Filippe: Of course…

João: Filippe! Go get out your phone and start filming!

Filippe: You were serious?

João: Hurry up!

Filippe sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

João stands up and turns his back to Filippe. He puts his right hand on his head while extending his left hand outwards, twirling it around his wrist. His hips slowly start rocking back and forth, up and down. Gently he brings his hands back down, brings them up and down, back and forth in waves until his whole body becomes an ocean, moving at the whim of distant lunar objects, moving to the call of a clarinet.

João’s hips thrust forward and then stop. His hips thrust to the left and stop again.

João touches the top of his head with his left hand as his right hand nearly floats away.  First his left than his right leg fly out to the side and come back. His knees contort into fantastic angles and come back. He throws his left shoulder down to his hips and comes back. He throws his right shoulder down to his hips and comes back. Then he lowers both of his hands back down again and stops suddenly. 

His head drops all the way down to his knees, and he sweeps the ground with his hands. The tambourine and drums start, and then he really gets into. He slowly raises himself again grinning, tears off his t-shirt and lets go altogether.

His hips go wild. His arms just barely stay out of the way. This is when his chest and shoulders start: POP-boom-boom, POP-boom-boom! They’re out of control; they’ve got a mind of their own. João is still grinning. 

Doesn’t he notice? Isn’t he at all concerned? What if his hips go this way and his chest goes that way, and they completely detach from each other? But João doesn’t look the slightest bit worried. 

As if this weren’t enough, his legs go flying out from under him again, first one then the other and he starts spinning in circles. Each part of his body seems completely independent from and uninterested in what the other part is doing. His stomach looks like it’s caught in a never ending earthquake; he bends backwards and shakes his short hair so that it almost scrapes the ground, then suddenly he vaults forwards into a front flip and lands in a split raises his arms into the sky and screams out with joy. 

Life is beautiful!

Filippe doesn’t say anything. He turns off the camera and puts it slowly back in his pocket.

They’re both silent for a few minutes.

Filippe: Hey, João! What school did you go to?

João: What do you mean?

Filippe: I mean where did you study?

João: How should I know?

Filippe: Because you went there!

João: It was a long time ago…

Filippe: You’re not that old, João!

João: I’ve had more important things on my mind!

Filippe: I doubt it… Why don’t you check what you put on your resume?

João: My what? I don’t speak French, Filippe!

Filippe: Your resume! Jesus, João, you do have a resume, don’t you?

João: I’m a beautiful young man in my prime, and everybody loves me! What more could I possibly need to get a job? A suit? Do you think I need a suit, Filippe?

Filippe: I don’t think that’s your first priority.

João: I bet I’d look good in a suit, don’t you think? Where’s a mirror when you need one?

João gets up from the bench and starts looking around in bushes, behind trees and in a trashcan.

Filippe: If you find where I left my ouzo, let me know!

João: I know I left it around here somewhere…

Filippe’s phone starts ringing.

João: Don’t answer that! It might be Leon! I can’t talk to him like this.

Filippe: That’s great… Did you find my ouzo though? Try checking if I buried it in the grass behind the water fountain.

Filippe’s phone is still ringing. Filippe looks at it calmly before answering.

Filippe: Hello? Yes? Yes? Uh huh. Really? One minute. Yeah. Sure. Yeah. Ok. Hold on. Yeah. Uh huh. I’ll go get him. He motions to João. It’s for you!

Filippe tosses the phone to João who almost drops it and glares at Filippe before answering.

João: Hello? Yes? Uh huh. This is he! Uh huh. Yes. In five minutes? Uh uh. Yeah. Sure. Where? Yeah. Yeah. What? Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. Thank you! Ok. Ok. Ok. Great! Bye.

Filippe gets up from the bench, crouches down on all fours and starts looking around.

Filippe: This is going to drive me crazy.

João: This is crazy. I don’t know how they found me.

Filippe: I couldn’t have drank it all, could I have?

João: Do you think they saw the video you posted on youtube? Does this mean I’m going to be rich and famous?

Filippe starts digging up dirt with his hands and tossing it aside. João is pacing.

João: I’m kinda hungry… Oh, but I can’t wait! I can’t wait!

Filippe’s head is now buried in the grass and his elbows are pointing out to his sides.

João: Filippe? …FILIPPE!!

Filippe turns his head slightly towards João.

Filippe: Yeah?

João: What are you supposed to say at an interview?

Filippe: How should I know? Just don’t be too honest, ok? Make yourself look good.

João: I can’t lie at my job interview!

Filippe: Look, like the French poet Steve Jobs once said: Earnestness is for books.

João: I don’t get it.

Filippe lifts himself up from the grass, walks over to João and calmly but forcefully slaps him.

João slowly shifts his gaze from Filippe to the sky behind him.

João: Ummm… I gotta go. Bye!

Filippe: Bye!

João starts walking towards stage left. Two green lights appear in the sky and get bigger and bigger. As the lights get closer, it becomes possible to make out what appears to be the dark outline of a spaceship.  

Filippe’s head is back in the grass again. The lights on the stage dim.

Kabuki Sundays: Dancing on a Big Wave under an August Summer Moon – Act I

The curtain opens revealing the figures of Esmeralda and Diamante on stage. They are standing on a stone path holding beautiful umbrellas with intricate colored patterns and images. The artwork on Esmeralda’s umbrella depicts a giant fish leaping out of the water after a smaller fish that’s already in the air. On Diamante’s umbrella there is a purple plum tree in full bloom. Esmeralda is wearing a long elegant black ballroom gown with sequins. Diamante is wearing a short bright red strapless dress and bright blue socks.

Esmeralda is about to speak when a turkey enters stage left gobbling loudly. The animal struts in front of the the two characters, staring them down, before sprinting off stage right. A stage hand appears stage left panting and chases after it off stage right.

A light mist falls from above.

ESMERALDA: This rain is bad for my health.


E: No, I’m serious. I can already feel a cold coming in the back of my throat.

D: Hmmmmm.

E: What do you mean ‘hmmmm’? Do you think I’m making it up?

D: Hmmmmm.

E: Diamante!


E: Sorry?


E: What?

D: You smell bad, Esmeralda.

E: Diamante!

D: Putrid.



Esmeralda yanks on Diamante’s dress and rips a piece off, which she proudly waves in front of the audience. Diamante claws at Esmeralda, but she jumps aside. Diamante slaps her hard in the cheek. Esmeralda giggles and then sits down on a bench. Diamante moans, and then sits down shortly afterwards.

D: I do wish you’d take a bath though.

E: So do I. It sounds nice.

D: Yeah.

E: Yeah.

A phone rings. Esmeralda struggles to locate the phone before yanking it from underneath Diamante’s legs. Diamante sticks her tongue out at her and Esmeralda bats her away. She answers.

E: This is she.

D: I like shoes.

E: Hello?

D: I’m a beautiful woman normally, but with the right pair of shoes… wow, just wow!

E: You bastard, fuck off and die!

D: Esmeralda! That’s no way for a lady to talk.

Esmeralda looks at Diamante with a cold grin.

E: Fuck you, too!

D: What’s the matter with you?

E: It’s a mystery.

D: What do you mean?

E: Some bastard keeps calling me and hanging up before I can answer.

D: Maybe it’s Leon.

E: It’s not Leon.

D: You never know, it could be.

E: It’s not Leon!

D: Maybe you should let me answer next time. You’re probably scaring him away.

E: It’s not… You barely know him anyways.

D: He’s so beautiful!

E: I told you not to fall in love

The phone rings again. Diamante snatches the phone out of Esmeralda’s hand and runs away giggling and hides under a bush.

D: Hello? Hello? You gorgeous devil, are you there?

E: I should buy you your own phone so you stop taking mine.

Diamante, still crouching down, stares at the cellphone and frowns.

E: I told you it wasn’t Leon!

D: Why doesn’t he want to talk to me?

E: It’s not Leon! They probably want my credit card information.

D: So give it to them already! You might win a SmartCooker!

Diamante stands up and paces in front of Esmeralda, who massages her eyelids.

E: I’m not going to ask.

D: Haven’t you seen the videos on Youtube? You can cook an entire chicken and it will come out tasting like a fish!

E: It’s quite a time we live in!

D: It’s quite a time to live!

Inviting brass notes break in from offstage. Calling and responding to each other. Diamante looks at Esmeralda and nods, and they both stand up. Esmeralda sprints to a nearby trashcan, tosses her arm at her side and gallops back with periodic jumps. A drum line sounds. Esmeralda tosses her arm towards Diamante and nods again. Diamante dashes into Esmeralda’s arms, who proceeds to toss Diamante into the air, catch her again and spin around in a circle. An entire orchestra is now playing in the background. The drum is getting louder and louder.

Esmeralda puts Diamante back down at her side, they step apart, Esmeralda raises her right arm and Diamante raises her left, and they gaze off to God only knows where. The orchestra is getting faster and faster: BOOM-bah-bah! BOOM-bah-bah! Esmeralda and Diamante switches places and hold hands. They take two steps to the left and jump in the air, then they take two steps to the right and jump in the air. Then they jump backwards and throw their hands in the air.

Their steps are getting faster and faster. It’s hard to keep track of where their feet are at any one moment. They grab each other around the waist with their right arms and spin in circles. Faster and faster and faster and faster and…

The phone rings again. The music cuts. They stop suddenly and Esmeralda falls to the ground. Diamante hands her the phone.

E: Never mind I’ve got to get to work.

D: Me too!

Esmeralda places the phone on the bench and they both exit off opposite ends of the stage. The phone is still ringing after they’ve left.

(Click here to see Act II)


I was sleeping when Pindock came. Although it can be hard to say sometimes what’s awake or asleep. I was sleeping, and the flames had long been out. I was sleeping, and the bones and scraps were still lying next to me. It must have gone dark before I could put things in their place.

I had a strange dream. The walls were shaking and roaring, but I was not afraid. I said, oh, the walls are shaking, and I went outside. Outside the wind was blowing, but I was not afraid. I grabbed my other arm, closed my eyes, tightened my grip and went further out. The trees were shaking, the bushes were shaking, the waters and rocks below suddenly did not look so far, but I was not afraid. I said, I want to eat a kirxid. I am hungry.

I went to where the kirxid graze. I climbed down on my knees in the tall grass and crawled and crawled and crawled. I did not want the kirxid to hear me. I lay flat on my belly and crawled and crawled and crawled until even roots, sticks and mud gave way. I did not want the kirxid to see me.

The sun was enormous, the size of two richtipods, the size of the gorge beyond the green, the size of the big red hole in the ground at the center of the world. The sun did not seem angry, indeed, quite the opposite. It was overflowing with happiness that would not be contained. This must have been the cause of the winds. This must have been the cause of the roars. I looked at the sun and smiled.

It was time. There was a lone kirxid standing apart from the others, its head sunk into the ground as it searched for roots. I threw my other arm, which the air swallowed whole before it could reach its target.

Then I heard a voice shouting from above the trees and the rocks, the waters and the bushes. I said, who are you shouting like that, but I knew it was Pindock. You always hear Pindock, before you see Pindock, as though thunder came before lightning.

A voice replied, I am the shout of the storm, I am the crack of the wave, I am the cry from the other side.

I smiled, and quickly responded, I know you not. If you were a storm, I could feel your rains. If you were a wave, I could feel your oceans. If you were a side, I could reach over and turn you around. You must be mistaken. Who are you really?

The tall grass quivered, and the voice bellowed, I am the snake that devours. I am the wolf always hunting. I am the lion guarding its den.

I am Pindock, and if you don’t know me yet, you’ll soon tremble in your understanding.

You must be confused, I replied, what you’re saying makes little sense. Show yourself, so I can see with my eyes who you are. I know not your ragged voice.

Then the earths opened up, the fires erupted out and enveloped all in their licking flames. I saw a dark figure taller than the tallest trees emerge momentarily bathing in the burning night of day before disappearing again. I covered my mouth so Pindock would not hear my cry.

Are you then a star? But you are not so bright. Are you then a mountain? But still I must bend down to see you. Are you then an unspeakable name? And yet, I’m sure I could pronounce it if only you would tell me what it really is.

Foolish man, must I wake you from your slumber, must I knock the walls in before you crouch down in recognition?

If you won’t tell me then your truth must not be worth my empty belly. I laughed terribly as though my other arm had struck a kirxid which was now sinking into the mud. I laughed terribly and walked away.

I laughed terribly and woke up.

What a strange dream to have tonight of all nights. What a strange dream to have knowing that in few hours the other arms of other men will be flying to meet me.

And I am hungry, but what could I eat? The kirxids are long gone.

Waiting for Kafka

Nobody reads Kafka. It’s a terrible state of affairs. I must be the last man on Earth that’s read him. Just look at this fellow walking by with his dog. Anyone could plainly see he doesn’t read Kafka with a stupid face like that. Or look at the woman in skates covered head to foot in protective gear. She certainly doesn’t read Kafka. And our big men with square chins in glass houses. Although they proffer the occasional sermon on cockroaches, they haven’t read Kafka either.

There’s no refuge from it anywhere.

Not with the coworker you sometimes get a ride from who inexplicably left early today, not with the bus driver who says you need 15 more cents. Not with the little boy who drops his plastic chew toy on the ground and won’t stop crying — there’s no doubt he would sooner gnaw on a book than read one. Not with the girl sitting next to you who gives you a look like you just slurped up a bowl of feces with a spoon after you smiled at her. You can be sure not one of them has read a solitary word of Kafka.

Would they fight wars in the desert if more people read Kafka? Most assuredly not. What about the rain storms? And the starving children? And the perverts? The worms that live in your intestine? All gone, ciao, adios, if only people would read Kafka.


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Apology of a Dragon Rider

“I like to ride dragons. The breeze in my face. The warm scales below my butt. What can I say? It’s an experience everyone should live at least once.

“Some people might say it’s wrong, but they’ve clearly never been on a winged-beast going 350 kilometers per hour. Or seen a monster breathe fire onto a truck until it burst into flames. Or devour the charred remains of — well, sometimes it’s hard to tell what it was.

“Don’t tell me that dragons belong in the wild. What does that even mean? Is there such a thing as a flying reptile’s natural habit? Or better yet, is there anywhere that isn’t? Who am I to say? Mankind always wants to interfere in nature’s business and for what?

“The truth is the opposite. It’s humanity that belongs in the wild. We could stand to lose the smattering of societal pretensions that hold us down. Our true self can’t be found sitting at a desk or a table or walking a dog or driving past countless indiscernible street-tied banalities.

“But serpentine flight can take us there.

“Haven’t you ever felt that your life could be so much more?

“Lock me up if you must to justify the fear burrowing into your guts, but don’t call it abuse, don’t say I didn’t love and do everything I could for the creatures. Don’t call me a criminal! I let them fly where they wanted, eat what they wanted, kill, mame or burn down the world itself if it pleased them. They were taken care of.

“The feeling was mutual.

“I discovered who I am and what I’m truly capable of? Have you?”

He was led away slowly to await the jury’s decision — they found him guilty of course! Did you expect a different outcome? That poor child was dead after all.

I used to drink rum

I used to drink rum
by an old lady
in a vase in her kitchen

I used to drink rum
while she’d grimace and say

I used to drink rum
good stuff
it’d burn going down
before swimming back up

I used to drink rum
sitting on the station steps
and stare off
with the rumble-rumble at my back

I used to drink rum
and wait
and wait
and wait
and wait

After the sun goes down,
the sun comes back up

I used to drink rum
and ignore
the passing strangers
and my own rumble-rumble

I used to drink rum
eyes closed
fingers massaging a blade
just in case

I used to drink rum
and cry
but just a little
for a man

I used to drink rum
some ten years ago
you know
or was it yesterday

it’s hard to say
it’s hard to say

I used to drink rum
and imagine swift death
metal in the heart
blood staining her breasts

I used to drink rum
that’d spill down my chin
and soak my shirt
and stick to my chest

I used to drink rum
but I wasn’t angry at all
just tired
for the wicked, no rest

I used to drink rum
and imagine an end
maybe over the handrail
or on top of the tracks

I used to drink rum
and inter myself
in questions
with the beast roaring by

I’m not sure why
I’m not sure why
I used to drink rum
while my life went dry

But as a raven once said
Nunca más

Splotches of red on gray

“I wanted to tell you a short story before I placed you in front of the wall and shot you. I wasn’t always such an angry young man. There were flowers and puppies in my past too, like everyone else. I blew on dandelions and dreamed of holding a girl’s hand.

“Life can be beautiful.

“I haven’t lost sight of that. I wouldn’t be here if I’d forgotten. But death can also be beautiful. That’s why we build countless monuments, big and small, in it’s honor. Even when we’re lying in the ground, we still aspire to soar up to the sky. Nobody gives a fuck about whether the pharaoh beat his wife thousands of years ago or treated his people with compassion or cruelty. No, they care about getting a selfie with the pyramids and ogling some lifeless wrapped up remains in a museum in case it springs to life.

“My father died when I was twelve. Or at least I think he died. They arrested him one day, and on the next day he was neither lying in the earth nor soaring in the sky. He was just inexplicably unjustifiably gone. They wouldn’t even speak his name.

“Sometimes I wonder where the girl from my dreams ended up. Is she designing dresses or mending them? Studying in Zurich or stuck in the same hole where we both grew up, now no longer a child but unable to ever quite reach adulthood? It’d be better if she stayed the young, beautiful, shy but still smiling girl with long dark brown hair and infinite freckles from my dreams. Maybe in another world she would have become my wife. Who can say?

“But I chose a different path. Cruel fate knocked me over and fashioned me into a speedy arrow, and now I must fly.

“Do you remember last year? It seemed like it was five straight months of endless protests and snow. Spring couldn’t have come any sooner, and when it did, it was like a flood. I’d never fired a gun before, but you changed all that.

“Maybe now you wish you weren’t such a coward. You wouldn’t be here in this situation now. And if I’m being honest, it could just as easily be me tied up and you with a gun in your hands. But it’s not. I thank God for that!

“I don’t want to die anymore than anybody else. But I’m a piece of shit. I drink too much, I smoke too much, I never shut my fucking mouth. Maybe I’d deserve it. Nevertheless there is the small fact that I’m right.

“You hesitated. I didn’t. You stepped on the tracks. Now the train to the future is bearing me forward shining its great light upon the patches of darkness. May injustice and barbarism be damned!”

It was an inconspicuous concrete wall, ugly and dull, now covered in splotches of red, and nobody could be sure whether the next rain would wash it off.

A falcon in the sky



I dreamed there was a falcon way up in the sky coming after me. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. Some things are just true.

I ran.

It’s hard to know where to hide from winged destruction. It’s not as though you get to ask for a break to figure things out. The claws will come, and they’ll either get you or they won’t.

Can you imagine the stain my remains will leave behind? We’re not much to look at in life. In death we’re disgusting. Blood and tissue and bone. They’re not pretty out of place. Then you’re just somebody else’s problem. Nobody likes to see other people’s guts. They remind us too much of our own.

I could try to talk to the falcon. Ask it why we keep this game up. We both know it’s bullshit, a theater. Can’t it see the absurdity of chasing after me? The absurdity of me running away? Where am I even going?

The falcon wouldn’t understand. It’s too late. It took off and is flying towards me at terrifying speeds.

I squeeze behind a tree. Its gnarly old bark is beautiful. I could cry. I wish I were just a tree trembling in the wind.

But I’m not.

On Being an Artist

goyaSometimes I feel like I’m chasing after my own pain with a butterfly net, so that once or if I catch it, I can put it in a glass box in a zoo for people to come stare and bang at. Am really helping anybody? Or am I just tickling their egos while they jack off mine?

I was fine by myself. I was happy even. You can’t hurt anybody when you’re hiding in a pile of books. Why should I call attention to myself now? There’s too many fucking voices out there already. I despise them. There’s no peace outside. Just pretentious assholes. Do I wanna be another prick contributing to the noise?

What’s the point? I’m not beautiful. Neither are my words. The world is fucking ugly and disgusting. It’s dripping in the green runny mucus of greedy selfish arrogant bastards, who would be happy if some old lady tripped on their secretions and snapped her neck in two, but only as long as they knew it was their snot that’d done her in.

That’s when they tell us that mucus is beautiful. It’s hot. It’s in. It’s trending. Well, fuck me two times! If that’s beauty, I’d rather do something hideous. And anonymous. I’d rather pop my own pimples, thank you very much! NO CAMERAS ALLOWED!!

Everything’s different when I close my eyes. Then I can see. The bastard is tormenting me, wants me dead by 27. The inescapably bright light won’t let me sleep, and I can’t function when I don’t sleep! Is this a muse or my ego in a dress?

Some days all is so beautiful. I just wanna lay on the floor and penetrate my skin with it, rub it in my wounds, shove it up my nose, just get it inside me, burn the pain down to a wisp while the sink overflows and the inside of the fridge rots. Beauty is horrific and delicious. I can easily forget the day still goes by and that there is no one here but me.

Go ahead and laugh! At least my pain is a big fucking joke for somebody. My neuroses must seem adorable. Well, they’re not! They fucking suck! Everything I say sounds different once I’ve said it. My words are like balloons. Either I pop them, or they float away. Everything I create abandons me.

What’s the point? I’m condemned to be clever. This isn’t the 19th century. I can’t die a virgin and moan about unrequited love or die a patriot from tuberculosis. I can merely cry “authentically” while giving you a wink while crying on the inside.

So fuck you very much! I’m an artist.

A chuva

O horror está nos olhos

A lâmina fria arde na mão. Está quase na hora, e começo a estremecer. Não lhe resta muito tempo. Uma piscadinha de luz balança na parede antes das trevas voltarem a reger.

Até o perdoaria se a ofensa não fosse tão grave. Não sou severa por natureza. Quando atrasou por conta da chuva, compreendi. A vida é mesmo imprevisível. Não peço que ele possa controlar o tempo.

Tudo bem, quis esperar passar. Eu mesma não faria diferente. As estradas viram um túmulo nessas horas. Só precisa errar uma vez. Voando no vento, a vida é um fio frágil, impossível de segurar. Sobe e cai ao seu próprio ritmo.

Sabia que minha mãe morreu assim? Um caminhão fechou o carro dela. Pois é! Perdeu controle, Deus guarde a sua alma. Sei quão perigoso pode ser.

Mas um pouco de juízo não faria mal. Precisava sair da van naquele momento? Entendo que a fome não tem hora. Mas tava chovendo! Não seria melhor ficar onde estava?

Encontrou um restaurante duzentos passos para frente, e resolveu parar para comer e trocar uma ideia com a garçonete. Ainda me contou todas as carnes ‘gostosas’ que tinha para escolher: alcatra, lagarto, costela, picanha, coração… Quebro corações por onde ando, me falou rindo.

Acha que sou trouxa?

Vai puxar saco de vagabunda do capeta enquanto a chuva engole tudo e todos? Vou te falar uma coisa, os homens de hoje em dia não valem nem a cutícula do meu pé. É só passar um rabo de saia que esquece o próprio nome. Só Jesus na causa.

E cadê a van?

Não teve como; desapareceu na chuva. Ainda contou do ‘acidente lamentável’ com aquele sorriso idiota. As pessoas não pensam. Será que contratei ele para comer garçonetes na estrada?

Vai aprender logo cedo, que a vida não é uma brincadeira, não. Se cuspir no olho de alguém, vai ter que pagar as consequências. Não ganhei aquela mercadoria toda do Papai Noel, e odeio decepcionar meus clientes.

Só não entrego pessoalmente por causa do médico. Ele acha que não deveria fazer viagens transnacionais com minha idade. Eu mandaria ele calar a boca, mas sou uma mulher de família. Pode perguntar qualquer amigo meu. Sempre trato os outros com respeito. Que nem o Sérgio!

Aquele magrelo ridículo vivia bebendo e fumando na porta da igreja do Pastor Marcelo. Me deixava muito mal. Mas não xinguei ou gritei. Não fiz um escândalo para todo mundo ver, pois não é assim que as coisas funcionam. Só olhei direto na cara dele, disse que tinha que ir embora e se foi. Simples assim. Levo esse negócio de respeito a sério.

Meus filhos nunca entenderam. Preferem curtir. Preferem bagunçar. Não pensam em construir algo que dure. Não percebem que sem o respeito, não somos nada. A vida nos tem pendurados à beira do caos. Um sopro alheio é o suficiente.

Fechei meus olhos e aguardei em silêncio. O moço não parava de falar. Pedia desculpas. Prometia que mesmo se nevar, nenhum outro pacote iria escapar-lhe. Me abraçava e sorria. Aqueles dentes amarelos, aquelas mãos sujas e suadas, aquele fedor… Seria eu capaz de perdoar?

Os faróis do carro iluminam a sua casa. Espero ele descer. Parece que está rindo de uma piada que não tem graça.

Espero mais um pouco. As sombras ressaltam do corpo dele com cada passo, numa fútil ginástica secular.

Chega perto, e desacelero minha respiração. Se ouve um trovão na distância. Quando ele vira, já estou pronta. A faca quase voa fora da minha mão. Está começando a chover. Olho para o céu e sorrio. Não se pode parar a chuva quando Deus manda cair.