O menino do pombo e o pombo ou O abismo das paixões

Na vila onde nascera era costume entre as meninas e mulheres solteiras escrever as características do homem desejado num pedaço bem pequeno de pano, amarrá-lo no pé direito de um pombo e então soltar a ave num dos bosques da região. Se aquele pombo sobrevivesse aos próximos três dias, o desejo seria atendido e o amor de sua vida apareceria no dia da morte da ave. Caso contrário (se a ave morresse antes de três dias ou fosse imortal), era melhor entrar para um convento. O grande problema detectado pelas gerações mais novas era que um pombo podia viver por até vinte anos e a maioria das mulheres não queria esperar todo aquele tempo para se casar. Foi então que o prefeito teve uma ideia brilhante: decidiu que o dia de soltar o pombo aconteceria sempre na segunda quinta-feira do mês de julho, ao invés de cada pessoa soltar o pombo no dia que preferisse. E ainda mais, no domingo subsequente seriam liberados falcões ferozes e enormes e famintos e devoradores de pombos, com o intuito de ajudar suas eleitoras encalhadas a arrumar maridos de forma mais rápida e eficiente.

Oportunistas escreveram livros sobre como escolher o pombo correto e as palavras a serem escritas no pano: “Nada de escrever palavras grandes e rebuscadas, seja lá quem for que lê os pedidos e os atende prefere palavras curtas e claras, como: rico, fiel, mantenedor. Evite expressões, como bom pai, grande amante, taludo, pois essas podem gerar confusões, e reclamações posteriores nunca são aceitas”. O tipo de pano utilizado era importante, “nada de juta ou algodão, escreva num pedaço de cetim ou seda pura, que podem ser encontradas no armazém do Seu Agamenon”. Os pet-shops das cidades vizinhas se especializaram em vender o que prometiam ser pombos de subespécies exóticas, alguns gordos e pouco velozes, boas presas para os falcões; outros que exalavam um cheiro forte que atraía predadores a quilômetros de distância.

Às vésperas do Primeiro Dia Oficial da Soltura do Pombo o menino sentia-se confuso: sua mãe soltou seu pombo aos 13 anos e conheceu seu pai aos 18. Sua avó soltara o pombo aos nove e aos 12 já estava casada com seu avô. Não haviam registros de que homens já haviam participado do ritual e ele acreditava que seu pedido seria aceito como o de qualquer outra pessoa pois vivia em tempos em que se dizia que amor era tudo igual. E ideia de ter seu pombo estraçalhado por um falcão três dias após sua soltura o deixava desesperado.

Esperava que o pombo alçasse voo bem alto, viajasse por outros vilarejos, experimentasse todos os tipos de sementes disponíveis nessas terras e em outras, antes de se deitar a noite num ninho quentinho e morrer de velho. O pombo que ele escolhera tinha nascido no quintal de sua casa, ele o resgatara alguns meses antes, ainda filhote, quase sem penas caído do telhado. Cuidou do bicho e acreditava que a mãe do despenado havia sido capturada para ser vendida no mercado negro.

Decidiu soltar sua ave em outro local. O motorista do ônibus para a Capital estranhou aquele menino sair sozinho da vila justo naquele dia, de celebrações e festejos. Mas dirigiu pelas ruas sinuosas rumo a cidade grande, com seu único passageiro a bordo carregando uma caixa de sapatos cuja tampa não queria ficar no lugar.

Desceu do ônibus no meio do caminho, no ultimo ponto antes do veículo abandonar os limites geográficos de seu vilarejo. Ele frequentava aquela região com seu avô quando o velho ainda fazia comercio de queijos com moradores da zona rural, mas agora ele estava muito velho e cansado e os queijos daquele lugar nao eram bons como antigamente. Distraído com essas memórias, andou até a beira de um grande desfiladeiro, chamado de Abismo das Paixões.

Seu avô nunca o deixara chegar tão perto do enorme vão que se estendia por quilômetros, até quase se perder de vista. Lá no fundo se viam algumas árvores tortuosas, distantes, desinteressadas no que acontecia fora do buraco onde viviam. Seu avô dizia que a vista era extasiante, apaixonante, e que era perigosa pois muita gente havia se apaixonado pela vista e se perdido nas profundidades do abismo em tempos de desespero.

Pegou seu amigo de penas com muito cuidado e deixou a caixa de lado. Hesitou antes de abrir as mãos e deixá-lo livre, O mundo lá fora era tão hostil, seria melhor mantê-lo seguro em casa, no galinheiro com cerca de tela de metal feita por seu pai. O pombo já estava aprendendo a se comportar como as galinhas e elas já não o bicavam de forma feroz como outrora. Mas algo dentro dele dizia que era a hora de deixar seu companheiro ir. Liberou um dedo de cada vez, relaxando a pressão que fazia sobre o corpo da ave. A mesma não voou logo de cara, num primeiro momento parecia estar com medo da ventania que se abatia sobre eles ali na beirada daquele precipício. Olhou ao redor, olhou para o menino, ergueu a cabeça, estufou o peito e se lançou no vazio.

Sete anos se passaram, ele viu seus amigos e amigas crescerem, se apaixonarem e se casarem; se divorciarem e não saberem lidar com a solidão. As pessoas perderam interesse no ritual com os pombos no dia em que a Apple lançou um pombo eletrônico que tinha painel de LCD sensível ao toque e se conectava a qualquer rede wi-fi sem muita dificuldade. Todos preferiam ficar com o pombo e utilizá-lo para acessar uma das trezes indispensáveis redes sociais disponiveis naquela época.

Num dia besta como outro qualquer, ele voltava do seu trabalho como balconista na mercearia da rua principal quando viu seu pombo descansando sobre a caixa de correio de uma casa na qual ele nunca tinha reparado até então. O não mais menino, o agora jovem rapaz, se aproximou do animal acreditando que também seria reconhecido, mas quando estava a dois passos de tocá-lo, a ave bateu asas e voou para longe. Ele ficou ali, decepcionado com tamanha indiferença, esperava pelo menos uma arrulhadinha de alegria (sim, os pombos arrulham; eles não miam, nem cacarejam).

Quando passou por aquele sentimento e voltou a si, encontrou um rapaz parado ao seu lado, olhando para o céu na mesma direção que ele, em direção ao nada. Os dois se entreolharam e riram da situação. Um deles ofereceu um café para o outro, não se sabe se o café foi aceito ou não, mas o que dizem é que os dois viveram a mais engrandecedora história de amor daquelas bandas do continente. Até que um dia chegou a notícia de que um pombo ardiloso havia mergulhado para a morte numa panela fervilhante de frango ao molho pardo no restaurante da dona Quinzinha. Não se sabe se o amor resistiu àquele molho.

FIM

 

Luck and chance will play on me

In bed last night, for the first time in months, I tried to remember my former boyfriend mobile number and could not. There had been a time when his entry in my address book had extra “a”s to make it easier to find in my phone. And times when I would dial his number out of habit when I had been intending to order pizza. I didn’t realize I had forgotten his number until I tried and failed to recall it. It was eerie to think that somebody could be so much a part of my life – occupy so much of my time and thoughts, inhabit even my dreams – for a time, and then, some time afterwards, be almost wholly absent.

Kundera wrote that, for a love to be unforgettable, fortuities must immediately start fluttering down to it “like birds to Francis of Assissi’s shoulders”. What’s being acknowledged here is that a love is a chance occurrence, something that depends upon a myriad of variables and can be thwarted by something as insignificant as a poorly-considered joke. It’s no surprise then, that along the pathway of my life are strewn false hopes and unrealized dreams. A ‘love’ can spring into being as fluidly as co-dancing to Benny Goodman’s ‘Sing Sing Sing’. Sustaining such a love, on the other hand, against what Shakespeare calls, “reckoning Time, whose million’d accidents / Creep in ‘twixt vows, and change decrees of kings” is a feat indeed. Gosh, Shakespeare makes my head spin.

I am living my most asexual period of life, it begun few months ago and I fell kind of pressured by my closets friends. It’s great not worrying about sex and using my energy to other stuff, as reading, watching True Blood and studying cardiology. Sex used to be a kind of obsession few years ago, then it became a pleasure and now it’s kind of a goal, which I’ll reach when I find someone that really revives that spark inside of me. I guess I found the one, just waiting for the right moment for things to happen. And if it takes two, three months, I don’t really care, as long as we’re connected somehow. I am pretty sure he needs sometime to deal with his issues, though I’m not aware of them I know they exist and if it’s important for him I’ll be at his side, waiting, patiently.

And for those who keep asking me for my marital status, yes, I am single, but I’m not available. I have this commitment, we don’t call ourselves boyfriend and boyfriend yet, maybe we’ll never be (hope we do) , but as long as I consider the possibility, I am out of the market. I’m in love, I am, if I wasn’t I wouldn’t dream about him every night over and over, and wish I get a new SMS or Whatsapp message every two hours. I even catch myself wondering if he will ever come to visit me at my parent’s home and if he’ll fell awkward, as my parents are very welcoming and he seems to be kind of shy sometimes. Will he help me to choose my apartment when I get to leave my parents home again? Will we ever raise a kid? God, I said I wouldn’t write about love again until the end of the year, and It’s not about love, but my expectancies, my priorities, my wishes.

Hope I can soon dial his number without accessing the address book. Hope soon I’ll not be ashamed of showing my friends that I have his picture as my screensaver. Hope soon he’ll learn that I am very disorganized but I am honest, clean and I have a great heart. Hope he see the worst on me and still want to be by my side. Hope he doesn’t read this.

I hope I’ll know is number by heart. Or better, I hope I’ll don’t need to know he’s number ‘coz whenever I try to reach him he reaches me first. Love don’t cost a thing, and dreaming neither. I’ll count on me, my qualities and also on luck. I usually don’t believe on luck, chance or that even God interferes on these matters, love matters, I mean. Yes, God, luck, it will all interfere this time. Hope on my favor 🙂 And if it doesn’t happen, hope I survive.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Fábio Oliveira

PS: I tried to recall my ex because it was an important date for us, the day we lost our baby, Apolo. Sad day 😦

Concrete jungle where dreams are made of, maybe

Once upon a time this stupid little boy went to USA with the biggest illusion one’s heart can live with: getting married to his soul mate. He was deeply in love, got the engagement rings and the attitude. As he was lucky as hell, the marriage never happened, he was kind of rejected at the airport and his world felt apart. But destiny had another plans; he was about to know the place that would change his life forever. He wasn’t in honeymoon as he foreseen, but he would have the time of his life with his ex-future-mother-in-law.

It started as an English lesson and at a drop of a hat he was in love with one of his pen pals. From ordinary paragraphs about the weather and world economy, they started exchanging long letters about the sweetest promises of eternal love. Gifts, pictures and even flowers crossed the continent for almost one year before they planned a meeting in real life. Our hero decided he would go for his dreams and take the risks; he was so sure everything would work out so perfectly that he never got a plan B.

When they finally met at the airport the worse happened: nothing. Nothing happened, he wasn’t even hugged, and he wasn’t even asked how he was or how the trip went! From that moment he knew that happiness doesn’t come that easy, that he would have a long way until he could live happily ever after. When shit can happen, it will! At that night he had his first couple crisis and the relationship did not resisted, typical case of unborn love. Apparently he wasn’t exactly what the other guy had ordered. His so-called mother-in-law offered him some comfort and decided she’d take him to a trip around New England. He was so devastated, in a foreign country; he accepted her offer without any hesitation.

It was a sunny spring but early in the morning when they were leaving, the boy was blessed with the first snow of his life. It wasn’t even enough to cover the cars but enough to allow him and his new friend, Mer, to throw some snowballs against each other. He laughed for his first time in USA.

Their first stop would be downtown Boston, then a casino in Connecticut. All the way he could only think of how naive he was and wonder how his parents would react with the news, that what they said back there in Brazil, that it was irresponsible/crazy of him to travel eight thousand kilometers to meet and marry someone he never saw before, end up so bad and that he did not have the money to anticipate his travel back home. He decided not to tell them and spend time with Mer.

Casinos, small towns, national parks and then the climax: New York City. After one week traveling they finally got the world’s capital and it’s lights lightened up the guy’s soul. Mer spent two days with him and when she felt he was ready she left to Boston and let him explore the city by himself. She knew he was ready. He was so grateful for everything that that old lady had made for him that they are still in touch nowadays.Image

Well, I thought I wouldn’t make it through that May. I was really in love and the reception I received was far away from the one I was expecting. I’m not sure I deal with the rejection the best way then, at least I took the best from that tragedy and came back home much more mature than the boy who left Brazil with a pack of dreams in his pocket. In New York I felt free for the first time in my live. Free to go everywhere I wanted, feel everything I wanted and even be whoever I wanted to be, as I was far from home and my reality that no one would be able to judge me. I decided being myself and had fantastic ten days walking around and getting to know people from all over the world at the hostel I was in.

Whenever I go back to NY I get this feeling, of freedom, of releasing from some chains, from my misery, my mortality. I believe I could never live in NY because it represents a lot of things to me, like an idol, I could not deal with my idol by my side all time, idols are made to be kept distant.

I came back from that city few weeks ago, had perfect 11 days, and went to the opera, ballet, Broadway musicals, museums, parks, outlets and theater. I was in love there, with someone here in Brazil, I am always far from love and that keeps me safe somehow. Twice I went to NY and took my boyfriend with me, it was nice, but New York did not recognize me. To feel NY and let it fill me I have to be living a platonic love or just be single. That’s the way it works for me. Don’t ask me how. And I hope soon someone come to brake this spell, NY is much more romantic than Paris in my point of view, and I’d live to try loving in NY, again.