Other Studies in Red and Blue - Part 2

- And what if I fall for you?

She did not really expect that... The message flashing on the computer screen in front of her, for some long seconds, caught her in surprise and caused her some alarm. In her mind, it was like a warning red light immediately lit in reaction to those words.

(Oh, God, what if I'm already in love with you, my dear blue-eyed boy?)

How to answer that question without showing all her apprehensions and doubts, added to her desires - so carefully concealed - and her fear of losing him?

And what if she was not prepared to tell him or even become more involved than she really was? Would have it been too early? Relationships are always so complicated, pondered the woman before trying to express what was really going on in her head...

Luckily, they were just 'cyber-chatting', with no camera connected, so she was not really exposing the emotions shown on her face at that moment. She typed a message and added an 'emoticon' representing a hug. She had decided to save some time...

- What are you afraid of, my friend? Of being hurt?

- I do not know actually what I'm afraid of...

She was silent... That statement was almost obvious. A new experience with a mature and apparently confident and brave woman could be the only reason he could have any fear to endeavour into. But ultimately, what would he lose if he, by any chance, ventured to stay with her, facing so many fears and so many insecurities? She would be there for him all the time, anyway... or at least as long as that relationship would last...

Knowing the effect that the next message would have, she typed it, pressed the "Enter" key and waited.

- Only an OK? You know how I hate it when you send only an "OK"... I have the impression that you do not mind... that it makes no difference at all...

She laughed and said to herself, aloud: I do mind… I surely do...

She had great affection for that boy that made her feel feminine and alive after a long time. He was already a great part of her story, she acknowledged. And that part of her, which became gradually more involved in that relationship, confirmed the words she had spoken aloud. It made a difference, yes... and that was quite a big difference...

She wondered how that situation could have resulted from a casual diversion strategy, to avoid contact with an inconvenient character, who used to show up at a pub recently opened by the riverside...

Her eyes lost focus automatically when the memories started surfacing as if they were coming from an uncontrolled flood of reminiscences which were then filling her mind up.

***

Red...

The late summer afternoon sun coming in through the stained glass windows – which stood lofty along the whole extension of the building - caused quite a charming impression to those who entered the pub at that time of the day.  The large Gothic arched windows placed at about one meter above the standing head line, were each one decorated with a fine and delicate brim of floral details entangled around a red background.

There was an oval shaped bar counter, strategically placed in the central part of the large hall thus allowing access from all sides, without causing inconvenient queues of service to the pub users. Two very discreet crystal chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, just below the rows of decorated windows above, some meters away from the central bar.

'The Temple' was the most fashionable local pub in town. Its windows resembled those of ancient churches and the lovely effect of the fine ornamented stained glasses, filtering the incidence of daylight, diminish the need for light bulbs and lamps, colouring the atmosphere with various shades of different colours.

The acoustics were well designed, so as not to create reverberations due to the high ceiling of the building. There was a line of speakers distributed above the head of the sitting clients, around the large hall, still allowing people to talk in reasonably low tone, in spite of the music playing on uninterruptedly. Everything had been carefully calculated in order to properly make the place a warm and inviting ambience.

The 'happy hour' was quite an event. 'Vintage' Music carefully selected to play for a quieter group of regulars, would changed considerably from a certain time in the evening. On Thursdays, especially, the place turned into a big party with electronic music and dance in a contiguous environment. It was the night of youth and thus avoided by the more traditional clientele.

A long and tiring shift had ended and the police investigator decided to try that new establishment, opened by the edge of the river mouth. She needed a drink... maybe a single soda, maybe a stronger thing.

When she entered the building, the environment seemed somewhat surreal. The atmosphere was charmingly creative and innovative playing unusual music quite to her liking in a delightfully relaxing volume at that hour of the afternoon. A beam of coloured light - coming from above, at an acute angle with the heavy dark wooden floor - almost turned the guy leaning on the counter, in a character of a strange fairy tale, painted in bright shades of red.

He was facing the entrance door, playing with a glass of beer in his hand. He moved forward, staying away from the beam of light filtered through the stained glass. She realized her most fascinating feature, as soon as she first set her eyes on them...

Blue... like the waters of the Pacific Ocean...

That's how he referred to his own eyes. Those were of a so intense and so brilliant cobalt hue that attracted the attention of the woman almost immediately. Above them, frames of almost invisible eyebrows, decorated his mischievous look.

The auburn beard - strategically left undone for a few days - adorned the attractive and harmonious face - manly and angelic at the same time. The smile was wide and lovely, with well proportioned and neat white teeth. The lips were too well designed. Every time the door opened, the early evening wind played with his hair, challenging her to look away. She was already completely mesmerized by the unique beauty of the young man, however.

She lost track of time contemplating the impossible - or unattainable - in what seemed like an infinitely long time. The eyes that stare at the sun for too long can be irreparably burned. She would take notice of that right away.

Misha was fully aware of having caused a surprising effect on the woman who had just come in and who did not seem to be capable of looking away from him. He knew he was being observed with great interest and was performing his private show while listening and humming at the same time, the song that served them as soundtrack for that moment - a fusion of modern jazz and ‘Bossa Nova’ - slightly danceable and highly sensual.

"When loving me is so easy, then why do I feel twisted, Cupid?" (From 'Twisted Cupid' - by Slow Train Soul)...

That young man knew very well how to use his charm in an extremely provocative and quite natural way. When their eyes met, he showed her his best smile, knowing that his move was masterful and the woman was already entirely fascinated by watching his stunningly seductive figure.

In fact, however, his presence there was not as harmless as it seemed at first sight. Before long, her well trained eyes realized more than just ulterior motives for that stop for a not so innocent drink in the early evening. There were some hidden mysteries in his presence in the premises, so she decided to try to unravel whatever it was without let him realize her intentions. Under a facade of a professional model, he hid the somewhat darker side of his personality. Being an 'escort' was not definitely a less well-sight occupation...

She started visiting the 'Temple' assiduously. She would go sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend who was a photographer and reporter.

In a short time she was able to assess his behaviour and realize the kind of person that young man was. Approaching him and inciting conversation had been a natural act, since his presence in that place had a purpose that became clearer as time went by.

As they talked for the first time, the image she had of him decayed considerably, but it worsened in the following occasions. She was used to people who have a bloated ego, but Misha exceeded everyone she had ever met. He soon proved to be a great manipulator too. That characteristic of his, however, she could detect in time to avoid herself being used or fooled by him.

His charming personality withered quickly, as soon as she realized who was behind that attractive - but empty - physical beauty. He was nothing more than a bitter and somewhat petulant man - quite pathetic and rather dull. He was a person that she would never trust, as she detected in him a very clear tendency to take advantage of the weaknesses of other people.

He did not welcome her refusal to help him in his schemes to raise money or believe his tragic stories, which would always show up, due to his bad temper and natural arrogance of youth, combined with a superbly gigantic narcissism.

She decided to be cautious when dealing with him, for her own safety.

As time went by, she became more and more disappointed in him.

In a street fight, the rioters were taken to the police station where the detective worked. By an unfortunate coincidence, she crossed the room, at the time Misha waited his turn to give statement. He soon realized her presence. His keen eyes were curiously intrigued. He frowned, as if he had never expected to see her in that place. She turned away without giving any sign of recognizing him. He even tried to call her attention, but she disappeared from view before showing any reaction. The young man, realizing that she had avoided him, took note of her behaviour in his surprised mind and welcomed that new information like a gift. An opportunity to use that news would eventually appear. All he needed was enough patience... And he would not lose anything by waiting. Despite being registered at the police station for assault and disturbance of public order, the boy with blond hair and blue eyes smiled. He had just gotten a useful card to keep hidden in the sleeve until it was the right time for him to play.

She decided to avoid her usual visits to ‘The Temple'. She did not want to expose herself so soon. Perhaps the incident would be forgotten in a short time, but she was afraid that he would demand an explanation for her behaviour the other day.

The 'Cafe' at the corner, near her home, seemed to be the most viable alternative to unwind at the end of the day... at least while she tried to avoid facing the beautiful, but dangerous, Misha again.

***

Red... Blue... Red... White... Red... Blue...

- Stop staring at those lights this way. You cannot change what happened. There's nothing else you can do now... Let's get out of here. Get in the car. It's too late now...

She would not stop talking... and that speech was torture in my head already quite tired and completely tormented. Why do women always insist they know everything? I am one and I do not think so... There must be something very wrong with me...

She tightly grabbed my arm and looked at me with a noticeably intimidating firmness, taking my undivided attention apart from the flashing lights. If she was not the person I trusted most - one of the few friends I still had, I would certainly tell her to shut up and free me from her hands with a jerk - if I had the strength to do so at that time.

Although I did not really have to hide my emotions from anyone or anything, I must admit that she was right after all. Although bothering me, my friend, a brilliant photographer and reporter, merely intended to protect me.

I was exhausted, pale and about to lose my balance and control. I needed to focus and recompose myself before doing something stupid. All I wanted, however, was scream... and shout out loud... really loud!

(Oh, God... Why haven’t I just got there some minutes before? Why? So many things could be so different then... why, God, why?)

Consistency, however, forced me to swallow my pain, my pride and my weakness, in order not to collapse right there in front of so many people. I got into the car, but could not start the engine immediately. She also came in and sat beside me - this time quietly - but attentive to any movement, like a wary cat, lurking all activity around her and attentive enough not to let anything pass around her without seeing or interfering instinctively.

The attention of the curious, technicians and police officers were still all focused on the scene unfolding just a few meters away from the car. I felt like I was out of that context, seeing everything from the outside, like a movie, in a very surreal atmosphere. I almost did not believe that was really happening.

The lights on the top of police cars, forming a wall of isolation from one side of the street, continued to spin and paint the scenery, alternately in red... and blue... and red... and blue...

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath... When I opened them again, my vision was still blurred by the tears that I retained, but I decided to be stronger than my grief. I'm a trained cop conditioned to control my emotions and be consistent and cold, especially in situations considered strong by most people... I knew I had to be stronger than I ever was before. That scene, however, had sensibly shaken my structure, showing that, although well trained, I was also human, after all...

She knew me very well and decided not to say another word, as she waited for me to regain some self-balance. I lifted my head, loudly cleared up my throat - with forced energy - and turned the car ignition on...

***

Feeling strangely uncomfortable in the soft couch of the therapist office, the woman told the restless anguish that she passed in the recent days. At the same time, she felt her pain relived in detail, with every word she used to describe what she had seen and felt and that brought her there. The room was soberly decorated in shades of sepia and amber and she was supposed to talk about herself - one of the toughest situations she ventured to face.

Therapy had been referred by the doctor on duty, who rescued her, after the beginning of a nervous breakdown due to excessive working hours and probably highly compulsive work. Little did he know that the real reason for the crack-up was directly linked to the mystery surrounding the murder she had to unveil... and its causes and the consequences were taking her night’s sleep away...

The psychotherapist, a woman of unidentifiable age - a matron of over forty years old, for sure - those who you can imagine, but will certainly fail to determine exactly how many years she had lived, induced her to go on a painfully trodden path, applying pressure to specific points on the soles of the well pedicured feet  of the detective. Her techniques of shiatsu and reflexology, associated with a planned mental exercise, where a well-defined conductive line was given as a guide, had a very specific purpose: understand the mechanisms of the mind to dissociate and recover the memory details of certain traumatic events. The intention was to provide the patient with conditions to find solutions for the therapeutic process inside her own mind.

The woman slowly closed her eyes. In her head, a sequence of flashing colours continued insistently, relentlessly, hypnotically... like spinning blades of light alternately cutting the memories and perceptions... sometimes in blue... sometimes red... blue... red... blue... red...

The distressing sight of the deep blue eyes staring nowhere ahead and a large red puddle forming slowly around the body, tormented her without inducing a single trace of how to find a way out...

Trapped in a psyche greatly disturbed by the sense of loss, her musings came in and out, mixing reality and imagination, in a process ably led by a therapist who was giving inputs for one and another line of thought, in order to find a way out of the maze where she was. It was important to bring to mind the facts and try to capture the more hidden details of the events. Her biggest concern, however, was to unravel the mystery surrounding the event recently experienced that had so greatly shaken her. Each one with a distinct purpose, both women worked to find the right answers to a mystery to solve.

How I wish I could amend things. If I could relive the last day of my life, I would change everything... how many mistakes can be made on the same day? How many times can the same mistake be made, before one realizes it is really a blunder? How many times can one insist on an error, until life shows - with shocking evidence - how stupid we can be?

- You'll have to get used to living with your own mistakes, said the therapist. They are part of the learning process of life...

- But that one cost the life of an innocent man, woman... is it so hard to realize this? And do not treat me as a teenager. I know the extent of my faults and I know – very well - these psychology theories...

She bit her lip, so not to drop an expletive, which was about to come out of her mouth. Sometimes it was even hard to control herself, especially when her anger was crossing a line beyond the ethically acceptable behaviour.

- You’re not the one to blame for what happened. You are not responsible for the acts of others... especially of maniacs and murderers...

- But it was I who provoked the wrath "of others," she said, adding a good dose of irony and a certain mockery in her voice, as she repeated the words recently spoken by the other woman. And besides, I feel responsible...

The therapist shook her head - a gesture the other woman learned how to interpret very well. There was no further point to argue, because no argument would be strong enough to make her accept or change her opinion.

There was nothing else that could be done, it was true, but it was not - in any way - too late.

Instead, the investigation - and perhaps much more than a simple police procedure – had just begun. It was her personal matter of honour going deep to the bottom of the case and discover not only the reasons why but also severely punish the culprit.

Outros Estudos em Vermelho e Azul - Parte 2

- E se eu me apaixonar por ti?

Ela não esperava por aquilo… A mensagem a piscar no espaço digital à sua frente, naqueles longos segundos, causou-lhe surpresa e um certo alarme. Em sua mente, foi como se uma luz vermelha acendesse, imediatamente, em reacção àquelas palavras.

(Oh, Deus! E se eu já estiver apaixonada por ti, meu menino?)

Como responder àquela pergunta, sem demonstrar todas as suas apreensões e suas dúvidas, somadas aos seus desejos tão cuidadosamente dissimulados e ao seu receio de perdê-lo?

E se ela não estivesse preparada para dizer-lhe, ou mesmo envolver-se mais que já realmente estava? Teria sido cedo demais? Relacionamentos são sempre tão complicados, ponderou a mulher, antes de tentar expressar o que realmente se passava na sua cabeça…

Por sorte, estavam apenas a conversar no ‘cyber-chat’, sem câmera ligada, por isso não precisava demonstrar as emoções expostas claramente em seu rosto naquele momento. Ela digitou a mensagem e acrescentou um ‘emoticon’, representando um abraço. Decidira ganhar tempo…

- Do que tens medo, meu amigo? De te machucar?

- Eu, na verdade, não sei do que tenho medo…

Ela ficou em silêncio… Aquela declaração havia sido quase óbvia. A nova experiência, com uma mulher madura e aparentemente mais experiente e destemida, podia ser a única razão pela qual ele pudesse ter algum receio de arriscar-se. Mas, afinal, o que ele perderia se, por acaso, se aventurasse a ficar com ela, enfrentando tantos temores e tantas inseguranças? Ela estaria lá, para ele, o tempo todo… ou, pelo menos, enquanto a eternidade do relacionamento durasse…

Sabendo o efeito que a próxima mensagem ia ter, ela digitou-a, premiu a tecla “Enter” e esperou.

- Só um OK? Tu sabes como eu odeio quando envias somente um “OK”… dás-me a impressão que não te importas… que não faz nenhuma diferença…

Ela riu e disse a si mesma, em voz alta: Faz diferença, sim. Claro que faz…

Ela sentia um enorme carinho por aquele rapaz que a fizera sentir-se feminina e viva, depois de um longo tempo. Ele já fazia parte de sua história, ela reconhecia. E aquela parte de si, que envolvia-se cada vez mais naquele relacionamento, confirmava as palavras que ela havia pronunciado em alta voz. Fazia uma diferença, sim… e esta diferença era bem grande…

E pensar que todo aquele envolvimento começara a partir de um desvio casual de estratégia, para evitar o contacto com outro personagem, inconveniente, que costumava fazer suas investidas num bar recentemente inaugurado, à beira do rio…

Seus olhos perderam o foco, automaticamente, quando as lembranças preencheram sua mente, como numa avalanche incontrolada de memórias.

***

Vermelho…

A luz do sol de fim de tarde de verão, que infiltrava-se pela parte de cima do vitral em arco - decorado com pequenos detalhes florais um tanto ‘sui generis’, à volta de um fundo vermelho, acima da linha de luminárias penduradas no teto abobadado - causava um efeito luminoso bastante encantador a quem entrava. Na parte central do grande salão, um bar fora construído em forma ovalada, de modo a ter-se acesso por todos os lados, sem causar filas de atendimento aos usuários.

‘O Templo’ era o lugar da moda. Os vitrais coloridos nas janelas em arco gótico lembravam antigas igrejas, fazendo com que a incidência da luz do dia diminuísse a necessidade de lâmpadas e luminárias acesas e tingisse o ambiente com vários matizes de cores intensas.

A acústica era bem projectada, de maneira a não criar reverberações devido ao alto pé direito do edifício e aproveitar a distribuição dos altifalantes no grande salão, ainda assim permitindo que se conversasse em tom razoavelmente baixo, sem poluir o ambiente, devido ao volume da música ambiente. Tudo havia sido cuidadosamente calculado, de modo a tornar o lugar devidamente aconchegante e convidativo.

O ‘happy hour’ era um acontecimento à parte. Música ‘Vintage’ para um grupo mais tranquilo de frequentadores, que mudava consideravelmente à partir de um certo horário mais adiantado da noite. Às quintas-feiras, especialmente, transformava-se em uma grande festa com música electrónica e dança num ambiente paralelo. Era noite da juventude e, assim, evitada pelos mais tradicionais.

Um longo e cansativo expediente havia terminado e a investigadora de polícia decidira conhecer aquele novo estabelecimento, do qual já muito ouvira falar, construído à beira da foz do rio. Precisava beber algo… talvez um refresco, talvez uma bebida mais forte.

Quando entrou, a atmosfera pareceu-lhe um tanto surreal. O ambiente era encantadoramente criativo e inovador, tocando música bastante a seu gosto - incomum, até - em um volume deliciosamente relaxante, àquela hora da tarde. Um facho de luz colorida - que vinha de cima, em um ângulo agudo com o piso de madeira pesada e escura - quase transformava o rapaz recostado no balcão, em personagem de um estranho conto de fadas, pintado em matizes luminosos de vermelho.

Ele estava virado para a entrada, brincando com um copo de cerveja à mão. Moveu-se para frente, saindo do facho de luz filtrada pelo vitral. Ela percebeu sua mais fascinante característica, assim que os viu pela primeira vez…

Azuis… como as águas do Oceano Pacífico…

Era assim que ele se referia aos seus próprios olhos. Estes eram de um tom de cobalto tão intenso e tão brilhante, que atraíram a atenção da investigadora quase de imediato. Acima deles, molduras de sobrancelhas quase invisíveis, decoravam-lhe o olhar maroto.

A barba de pelos aloirados – estrategicamente deixada por fazer já havia alguns dias -, adornava a atraente e harmoniosa face - masculina e angelical, ao mesmo tempo. O sorriso era largo e adorável, com dentes bem proporcionados e asseadamente brancos. Os lábios eram demasiadamente bem desenhados. Os cabelos claros, com os quais o vento de fim da tarde brincava, todas as vezes que a porta se abria, desafiava-a a desviar o olhar, que já se encontrava magnetizado pela beleza ímpar do rapaz.

Ela perdeu a noção do tempo a contemplar o impossível – ou inatingível -, no que pareceu-lhe um momento infinitamente longo. Os olhos que miram o sol por muito tempo podem ficar irremediavelmente queimados, foi o que pode perceber logo em seguida.

Misha tinha plena ciência de haver causado um efeito surpreendente na mulher que acabara de entrar e que não desviava os olhos de si. Sabia que era observado com grande interesse e fazia seu show particular a provocar, enquanto ouvia e cantarolava, ao mesmo tempo, a canção que lhes servia de trilha sonora para aquele momento – uma fusão de jazz moderno com bossa nova – levemente dançante e altamente sensual.

“When loving me is so easy, then why do I feel twisted, Cupid?” (from ‘Twisted Cupid’ – by Slow Train Soul)

Aquele jovem homem sabia usar seu charme de uma maneira extremamente provocante e com a maior naturalidade. Quando cruzou o olhar com o dela, mostrou-lhe seu melhor sorriso, sabendo que sua jogada era magistral e a mulher que o observava estava fascinada pela sua figura imponentemente sedutora.

Na verdade, porém, sua presença ali não era tão inofensiva quanto pareceu-lhe à primeira vista. Em pouco tempo, seus olhos treinados perceberam mais que segundas intenções naquela parada para um nem tão inocente drink ao final da tarde. Ali havia mais mistérios encobertos, que ela decidira tentar desvendar, sem que deixasse ele perceber suas reais intenções. Sob uma fachada de modelo profissional, ele escondia o lado um tanto mais obscuro de sua personalidade. Ser um ‘escort’ não era, definitivamente, sua menos bem-vista ocupação…

Passou a visitar o ‘Templo’ assiduamente. Às vezes ia sozinha, às vezes encontrava-se com uma amiga, que era fotógrafa e repórter.

Em pouco tempo conseguiu avaliar o seu comportamento e perceber o tipo de pessoa que o rapaz era. Aproximar-se dele e incitar conversa havia sido um acto natural, já que sua presença naquele lugar tinha um objectivo que tornou-se claro com o passar do tempo.

Assim que conversaram pela primeira vez, a imagem que ela tinha dele decaiu muito, mas piorou bastante nas ocasiões seguintes. Ela já estava acostumada com pessoas que não sabiam ouvir, por terem o ego demasiadamente inchado, mas Misha ultrapassava todas as expectativas. Não demorou a revelar-se um grande manipulador. Esta característica dele, porém, ela conseguiu detectar a tempo de não se permitir ser usada ou de fazer alguma grande tolice.

Aquele encanto inicial fenecera rapidamente, tão logo compreendera quem ele era, por trás daquela atraente - porém vazia - beleza física. Por dentro não passava de um homem um tanto amargo e muitíssimo petulante - bastante patético e, até certo ponto, tocando as raias do pedantismo. Uma pessoa que deixava muito a desejar em termos de confiança e com uma tendência muito clara a se aproveitar das fragilidades das pessoas. Ele não recebeu bem sua recusa em ajudá-lo em seus esquemas para levantar dinheiro ou em acreditar em suas histórias trágicas, que sempre apareciam, devido ao seu sangue quente e arrogância natural da juventude, aliados a um narcisismo soberbamente agigantado.

Decidiu ter cautela ao tratar com ele, para sua própria segurança.

Como já seria de esperar, foi fácil decepcionar-se mais, com o passar do tempo. Numa briga de rua, os envolvidos foram parar na delegacia onde a investigadora trabalhava. Por um infeliz acaso, ela cruzou a sala, no momento em que Misha esperava sua vez de dar declaração. Ele logo percebeu sua presença. Seus perspicazes olhos pousaram sobre ela, com curiosidade intrigante. Franziu o cenho, como se estranhasse vê-la naquele lugar, tão à vontade. Ela desviou-se sem dar nenhum sinal de reconhecê-lo. Ele ainda tentou chamar-lhe a atenção, mas ela desapareceu da vista, antes de demonstrar qualquer reacção. O rapaz, percebendo que ela o evitara, registou o comportamento da mulher no seu subconsciente, assim como aquela nova informação que acabara de obter, como se fosse um bem-vindo presente do destino. Haveria de aparecer uma oportunidade para utilizar aquela novidade. Bastava ter paciência…. E ele não ia perder nada por esperar. Apesar de estar sendo registado na delegacia de polícia por atentado à ordem pública, o rapaz de cabelos loiros e olhos azuis sorriu. Acabara de arranjar uma carta útil, para manter escondida na manga, até a hora certa de jogar. 

Ela resolveu evitar sua frequência habitual ao ‘Templo’. Não queria expor-se tão cedo. Talvez o incidente pudesse ser esquecido em pouco tempo, mas ela tinha receio que ele fosse cobrar uma explicação para sua atitude do outro dia.

O ‘Café’ da esquina, próximo à sua morada, pareceu-lhe ser a alternativa mais viável, para desestressar no final do dia… pelo menos enquanto ela tentasse evitar encontrar-se com o belo, porém perigoso, Misha.

***

Vermelho… Azul... Vermelho… Azul… Vermelho... Azul…

- Pare de olhar estas luzes assim. Tu não podes mudar o que aconteceu. Não há mais nada que se possa fazer agora… Vamos embora daqui. Entre no carro. É tarde demais...

Ela não parava de falar… e aquela falácia era uma tortura sem igual na minha cabeça, já bastante fatigada e completamente atormentada. Por que as mulheres insistem tanto em pensar que sempre sabem tudo? Eu sou uma e não penso assim… Deve ter algo muito errado comigo…

Ela agarrou-me o braço com força e olhou-me com uma firmeza perceptivelmente intimidadora, abstraindo-me da atenção fixa às luzes a girar. Se não fosse a pessoa em quem eu mais confiasse - uma das poucas amigas que ainda tinha, certamente a teria mandado calar-se e teria me desvencilhado de suas mãos com um puxão – se tivesse encontrado forças para tal, naquela hora.

Embora não tivesse que esconder minhas emoções, devo admitir que ela estava certa, afinal. Minha amiga, uma brilhante fotógrafa e repórter, embora tomando uma atitude que me incomodava, naquele exacto momento, tencionava tão-somente proteger-me.

Eu estava esgotada, pálida e prestes a perder o equilíbrio e o controlo. Precisava concentrar-me e recompor-me antes que fizesse alguma asneira. Minha vontade, porém, era somente de gritar... e gritar alto… bem alto!

(Por que eu não cheguei apenas uns míseros minutos antes, meu Deus, por que? Tanta coisa podia ser diferente… por que, meu Deus, por que?)

A coerência, porém, forçava-me a engolir minha dor, meu orgulho e minha fraqueza, para não desabar ali mesmo, na frente de tanta gente. Entrei no carro, mas não consegui dar a partida de imediato. Ela também entrou e sentou-se ao meu lado - desta vez calada - mas atenta aos meus mínimos movimentos, como uma desconfiada gata, à espreita de toda actividade à sua volta e pronta a não deixar passar nada, sem que visse ou interferisse instintivamente.

As atenções dos curiosos, técnicos e policiais ainda estavam todas voltadas para a cena a desenrolar-se a poucos metros do carro. Eu sentia como se estivesse fora daquele contexto, vendo tudo de fora, como num filme, numa atmosfera bastante surreal. Quase não acreditava o que via diante dos meus olhos cansados. Aquilo não podia estar, realmente, acontecendo.

As luzes acesas no topo das viaturas policiais, que formavam um paredão de isolamento de um lado da rua, continuavam a girar e a pintar o cenário, alternadamente, de vermelho… e azul… e vermelho… e azul…

Fechei os olhos e respirei fundo… Quando os abri, minha visão ainda estava turva pelas lágrimas que retive, mas decidi ser mais forte que meu sofrimento. Eu sou uma policial condicionada a controlar minhas emoções e ser coerente e fria, especialmente diante de situações consideradas fortes pela maioria das pessoas… Eu sabia que tinha de ser mais que forte, diante daquela cena, que me abalara, sensível e consideravelmente, as estruturas, mostrando que, apesar de bem treinada, eu era humana, afinal de contas…

Ela me conhecia muito bem e decidira não dizer uma palavra a mais, felizmente, enquanto aguardava que eu me recompusesse. Levantei a cabeça, decidida, pigarreei alto e com energia forçada e girei a chave na ignição…

***

Deitada, sentindo-se estranhamente desconfortável no macio divã da analista, a inquieta mulher contava a angústia que passara nos últimos dias. Ao mesmo tempo, sentia sua dor revivida em detalhes, em cada palavra que usava para descrever o que vira e sentira e que a fizera estar ali, naquele consultório, sobriamente decorado em tons de sépia e âmbar, a falar de si – uma das situações mais difíceis que se aventurara a enfrentar.

A terapia havia sido encaminhada pelo médico de plantão, que a socorrera, após o princípio de colapso por stress e excesso de horas em vigília e, provavelmente, trabalho compulsivo. Mal sabia ele, que a verdadeira razão do ataque de depressão, estava directamente ligada ao mistério à volta do crime que ela tinha que resolver… tanto as causas, quanto as consequências, a tirar-lhe noites de sono…

A psicoterapeuta, uma mulher de idade indefinida – uma matrona de mais de quarenta anos, com certeza - daquelas que imagina-se, mas não consegue-se precisar exactamente quantos anos já vivera, induziu-a a percorrer um caminho dolorosamente trilhado, enquanto aplicava pressão em pontos específicos nas plantas dos bem cuidados pés da investigadora de polícia. Suas técnicas de shiatsu e reflexologia, associadas a um planeado exercício mental, onde uma bem definida linha condutora era dada como guia, tinham um objectivo muito específico no tratamento: perceber os mecanismos da mente em dissociar e recompor os detalhes da memória dos acontecimentos e apresentar saídas propostas pela própria paciente.

A mulher fechou, lentamente, os olhos. Tanto na sua cabeça, como diante de si, uma sequência de cores continuava a piscar insistentemente, incessantemente, hipnoticamente, … como se lâminas giratórias de luz fossem alternadamente recortando as memórias e suas percepções, … ora em azul… ora em vermelho… azul… vermelho…azul… vermelho…

A triste visão dos olhos azuis a mirar o nada e uma grande poça vermelha formando-se, lentamente, à sua volta, atormentavam-na sem lançar um simples vestígio de como encontrar uma saída…

Encurralados na mente grandemente perturbada pelo sentimento de perda, seus devaneios iam e vinham, misturando realidade e imaginação, num processo habilmente conduzido pela terapeuta, que ia dando inputs para uma e outra linha de reflexão, a fim de encontrar uma forma de escapar do labirinto em que se encontrava. Era importante trazer à memória os factos e tentar captar mais detalhes escondidos nos acontecimentos. Sua maior preocupação, porém, era desvendar o mistério que envolvia o evento recentemente vivenciado e que a abalara tão grandemente. Cada uma com um objectivo distinto, ambas trabalhavam para encontrar as respostas certas.

Quem me dera não haver estado naquele lugar, nem naquele momento difícil de suportar. Se pudesse reviver este último dia da minha vida, eu mudaria tudo… quantos equívocos podem-se fazer no mesmo dia? Quantas vezes o mesmo erro pode ser cometido, até se perceber que é um erro? Quantas vezes pode-se insistir, até que a vida canse e mostre, com tratamento de choque, que tudo não passa de uma grande estupidez e que desta forma tem ser reconhecida e assumida?

- Vais ter que te acostumar a viver com teus erros, disse a terapeuta. Eles fazem parte do aprendizado…

- Mas este custou a vida de um inocente, mulher… será que é tão difícil perceber isto? E não me trate como uma adolescente. Eu sei a extensão dos meus erros e conheço estas teorias de psicologia...

Ela mordeu o lábio, para não soltar um palavrão, que estava a ponto de sair. Às vezes era mesmo difícil controlar-se, especialmente quando sua irritação fugia das raias do aceitável eticamente.

- A culpa pelo que ocorreu não é tua. Tu não és responsável pelos actos de outros… especialmente, de maníacos e assassinos…

- Mas fui eu que provoquei a ira ”de outros”, disse ela, colocando uma boa dose de ironia e um certo deboche na voz, ao pronunciar a expressão recentemente dita pela outra. E eu me sinto responsável…

A terapeuta abanou a cabeça, num gesto conhecido, que ela já sabia interpretar e que significava que não adiantava discutir, pois nenhum argumento seria suficientemente forte para fazê-la aceitar ou mudar de opinião.

Não havia nada mais que pudesse ser feito, era verdade, mas não era - de maneira alguma - tarde demais.

Ao contrário, a investigação – e talvez muito mais que um simples processo policial - apenas começava. Era sua questão pessoal de honra ir ao fundo do caso e descobrir não somente as razões, mas também punir severamente o culpado.

Other Studies in Red and Blue - Part 1

- You come here every day, always at the same time. I don’t know why ... yet ... but I wonder if there is a particular reason...

He was right. It had been some time since she did the same thing every morning on her way to work and in the evening, on her way back home: stopping at that particular Cafe at the corner.

After a very few times, she realized the waiter who used to serve her was always the same - a young man of big, melancholy blue eyes, strategically misaligned light-brown hair, with a very pleasant face to look at. He seemed to be younger than her - at least ten years. He was tall and rather stout, a bit far from the purely athletic shaped body, although he was not even close to being fat. That young man was actually quite attractive to the eyes – at least to her eyes.

He invariably saluted her with a broad smile when she walked in and headed to the same table by the window. As soon as she sat, he hastened to serve her the strong plain 'espresso' she used to order and which was freshly prepared as soon as she walked in.

The same routine was repeated every day for weeks and it was the first time she was addressed by the young man for anything else than the coffee she used to order. Maybe the little contact they have had on their hands when he put the cup on the table caused that unusual reaction.

She looked at him with some curiosity, on what would look like a boldness act from an employee to a regular customer.

In a fraction of seconds she realized the reason she kept on attending the same place every day.

How could she tell him that among so many choices of Cafes, that specific one was where she felt most alive, for the simple pleasure of looking momentarily to those magnetizing blue eyes, which never seemed to smile?

The statement, almost a question, however, left her uncomfortable as a teenager caught peeking at a prohibited man.

Why don’t you say what you think? He gave the line for you to grab and you just let it go. What are you waiting for?

She did not know how to react. That little demon installed in his brain was asking the question she did not know or would not ever answer.

And how could she say that the simple fact of looking at those big, sad and brilliant sapphires, made her days brighter and less dull?

Although she did not answer him with more than an awkward smile, that question had given her food for thought. She needed to do something, she knew... and the sooner the better... or she would lose the opportunity he opened with that simple question.

She opened her mouth to speak, but something stronger - perhaps a survival instinct - prevented her from doing so.

She merely stood up, left the money to pay the bill on the table and left the place without looking back. As she passed outside the window, she still saw the boy with an embarrassed expression and a slight flushing on the cheeks, still collecting the scattered coins from the top of the white table cloth.

***

- Why don’t you invite me in? How long will we keep this conversation here on the outside? I feel a little cold and my little break will be over in a short time...

The woman looked at that young man with a mixture of affection and respect and invited him, then, to enter the corner Cafe near her home, where she used to go every day for a strong and sugarless 'espresso' in the morning and a 'cappuccino' late in the afternoon.

After a certain incident a few weeks before, she had decided to reconsider what she regarded initially as a defiant approach. After some thinking and reconsidering, it then turned out to be a kind of seduction with words...

She came back the following morning, but it was not the same young man who brought her the daily espresso. She noticed he stayed at a corner, just pretending not to watch her, while the other man served her coffee.

Somewhat worried, even more than disappointed, the woman asked the waiter to ask his colleague to bring her a cream pastry, which always goes well with strong and dense coffee, in spite of her not being used to eating sweet things that time in the morning.

He came and placed the dish on the table without looking at her directly. Knowing that she had hurt the pride of the young man, the woman said:

- I’m sorry.

- Lady, I am a servant here, nothing else. Please forgive my impudence of yesterday. I am so sorry and I promise I will not repeat this inappropriate behaviour anymore.

He spoke with studied formal speech, which he passed in his head many times that morning before she came in the premises. Fearing that she noticed how nervous he was, he put both hands in the pockets of his work apron.

She detected his uneasiness and said:

- I'd rather we were at least friends...

- OK, he told her, still without looking up, but she realized he blushed and smiled a shy and somewhat weird smile. He said a polite 'excuse me', turned around and left.

Only the other day, when she returned to the Cafe, like on a normal day, she was greeted with a smile, although still a bit shy. She sighed with relief. The strain had apparently dissipated between the two of them.

***

He was not dressed for a date. He wore an already-worn leather jacket over a blue sweater. Faded blue jeans and brown heavy boots completed the attractively casual look, which suited him so well... at least to her eyes. Without the apron over the ordinary clothes, he would pass by a regular customer of the Cafe.

She still had her work clothes - a quilted coat and a cashmere scarf with stripes in various tones of gray - simple but comfortable. It was not exactly the outfit for a meeting either. Despite working for the police, it was not in an area where uniforms were ever to be used, for obvious reasons. She often had to go through her working days, like an ordinary person - not a police officer in uniform - to investigate and get information.

A pause for an "espresso" or "cappuccino"... that was the only thing they had agreed to. The cool late winter evening was perfect for a hot large cup of cappuccino - and that was what she ordered. He chose an espresso – strong and with no sugar at all.

They sat facing each other, like two long-time acquaintances. In fact, they were only analyzing each other. They needed time to assess how far they could get. She knew she had to have patience. They both needed a bit of security and confidence to be able to feel more comfortable in the presence of each other...

As he spoke, she listened to him in silence, trying to understand his reasons, expectations and concerns. It was the first time they chatted that long. When they parted, however, she felt a pang of disappointment. Just a handshake and a 'see you later' broke her expectations in small portions, like a crystal 'bibelot' falling down on a hard, polished and cold granite floor.

Minutes later, when she got home, she decided it was too late for anything but to prepare herself for bed. She was already on her way the bedroom when she heard the characteristic "beep" of the phone indicating an income message. She turned around and went back to the table where she left the phone and picked it up. She read the message and gave a loud laugh. Well, all was not lost, after all...

***

The small break meetings every day turned out to be more and more common as time went by. She was getting fascinated by slowly discovering things about that character so different from her.

One day, in an outburst of alleged boldness, he decided to invite her to dinner. That would be the first time they would be in a real date. A week had passed since she had told him the cause of always stopping at the Café twice a day. He was flattered, but blushed slightly when heard her reason being finally expressed out. It was his cue to leave shyness behind and be, once again, daring.

The woman had played her best cards, knowing she might lose the game, but unlike her fears, the boy told her he had to take an audacious action, especially from the absence of response the other day. His apparent insecurity made his shy smile even more appealing and utterly charming. She comforted him, saying that she also felt insecure, but was willing to give it a try.

- You’re such a seductive woman... I'd love to see you dressed in a more feminine way, out of the context before and after work, with these usual work clothes. They give you a very... uhm... serious look...

He had been well educated and polite. That hesitation made her think that he might have meant that the work clothes made her manly... too masculine. She laughed at his proposal, anticipating her discomfort in dressing like a 'lady', after a long time, but accepting the challenge. It could be a fun experience, at least.

- Your body is so attractive... you should show it a little more... more times, maybe...

He was beginning to cross the line... She decided it was best to stop the conversation immediately ... before she would lose her composure ... and kiss him right there in front of everyone...

She got up and left, quite hastily, when he laughed at the blush that suddenly appeared decorating her pale face...

***

Lost or hidden in a forgotten corner of her wardrobe she found a 'basic black dress', as it used to be called, in her past days. Her only decent dress, wore but a few times, was a single piece of knitted cotton with Lycra, which clung to the body in a way that left little to the imagination. Two very thin shoulder straps made her feel almost naked - which was not exactly the truth - but it made her feel like that anyway. On top of the bare shoulders, she wore a short black laced bolero intended to disguise the sensation of being extremely uncomfortable.

In front of the mirror, she carefully analyzed herself from head to toe. She felt like she was inside the body of a person who was not really her – someone else, in fact. She thought it was not a good idea, after all, to accept that challenge. She should call it off...

False modesty?

That voice in her head again... She laughed at the irony.

Although very little used to makeup, she put a bit of a transparent lip ‘gloss’ on and with a dark pencil she outlined a very subtle touch around her hazel eyes. She could not go beyond that and did not want to show what she was not.

Still having the sensation she was not at ease in a dress like that, she saw the boy's eyes smiled for the first time, even before his lips, as soon as he set his sight on her. Her doubts immediately dissipated. After so long, she was feeling attractive... and what a devious sensation it was...

- Today we will cook together.

His voice was low and serious, but not too serious.

- I know who will have to wash the dirty dishes, she said, smiling.

He winked, mischievously, and laughed loudly. She immediately fell in love with his laughter - so loose and spontaneous - as if he was that young man who had nothing to fear and nothing to lose... full of life and hope in the future... or at least that was the impression he passed on to her at that very moment.

He led her to the kitchen. While chopping some vegetables for a soup he was preparing, as a starter, he talked animatedly about music and the life he lived, before they met, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Fascinated by his conversation, the woman carefully came closer to the young man and touched his hand slightly. He stopped doing the task and, with studied spontaneity, joined the chopped vegetables with his two cupped hands and placed them in the water which was already boiling in a pot. He seasoned the soup with a cube of vegetable broth, stirred it well and tasted it. He, then, turned to face her.

That man looked at her in a way that no one else had ever done before. He had not only his eyes fixed on her, but his interest went far beyond his simply observing... it was as if he could see through her... and she thought that thing was eerily sexy.

He stepped forward and took her bolero off, placing it carefully on the back of a chair. He kissed her one shoulder, then the other, as he slowly pushed the delicate dress straps to the sides with his fingers. As he opened the zipper down, he continued slowly kissing her back from her neck downwards. When he released the black fabric of her pale body, he uncovered a large tattoo printed on her left side, which extended up to a spot close to her groin. He asked her if there was any special meaning to it.

- 'Victory' - she said.

He kissed the image - painted in black only - an elongated Japanese dragon, indelibly stamped on her skin. He stopped there for a while and then went back to caressing her body, tasting it with his lips.

His attention to every detail of her body caused her chills, in spite of the gentle warmth that came from his mouth. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried away by his touch... so warm and so welcome. When his mouth was close to her breasts, she held his face firmly and tenderly with both hands and brought it to the height of her face, looking at him deeply in those amazing blue eyes.

She kissed him fondly... slightly... carefully. He closed his eyes and gave himself in to the woman as a true lover.

They played right there in the kitchen while the soup was boiling up in the stove behind them. He lifted her off the ground with a big hug, as he kissed her with a passion which she was not used to and sat her on the counter. He kissed her neck, her breasts and her stomach and went down. She closed her eyes when he touched the most sensitive spot of her body and moaned softly.

That boy had become an experienced and fully grown up man and lover and made her the most special woman she ever had been. His body was all she needed. His touch, everything she wanted - even without having a firm awareness of it.

She seethed around him, like a volcano in full activity, blasting repeatedly, by the heat emanating from all the recesses of her body.

When they had passed the fire to lower flame, he looked into her eyes and said softly:

-The moments spent with you are, for me, the most beautiful ones.

The woman, who was asleep inside her for so long, felt that inside that man there was a great strength and a unique sweetness, albeit in a very innocent and spontaneous way.

He added:

- I like your 'tattoo'... and I love your body. It is so perfect...

The woman asked him why he said that and he told her he felt he had to express what he was feeling at that moment. He, who had always cautiously studied the terrain on which he ventured to tread, become brave enough to face his own fears, based on what had happened between them, a few minutes before.

It was only when he asked her how she felt when she saw him that she said... not only everything she felt, but also everything she thought of. He realized that she was not afraid to expose herself.

He opened a half bashful and refreshingly provocative boyish smile, putting a song to play on, right then. He used to change the subject when felt uncomfortable or intimidated to answer something he did not want to.

"I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky, I think about it every night and day, spread my wings and fly away ..." (R. Kelly)
 

He took that moment to say something without talking. For a brief moment, she had the feeling those melancholy blue eyes smiled at her again, but that impression faded away very quickly.

The words sung messed up with her reactions, making her look at him with a unique affection, but he looked away, blushing a little, almost shyly. Amazing how, in just a matter of minutes, he had completely changed, from a daring and experienced lover who knew how to explore all her senses, to that shy little boy again. The image she visualized immediately was of an animal that hid inside its protective shell.

He decided to choose another song, as if that one was not expressing whatever he wanted to.

He pretended to be busy and hid his beautifully blue eyes from her, when the hoarse voice of Bryan Adams began: "Look into my eyes, you will see what you mean to me... and continued: Everything I do, I do it for you"...

She wrote those words on a piece of paper and showed it to him, who smiled, amused, looking down and away again.

She walked towards him and kissed him, lightly, on a specific spot of his neck in the area behind the ear... Her whole body shuddered when she saw the goose bumps growing up his skin, as if a load of electricity had switched a reaction on in her lover’s body.

He turned around and kissed her again... starting by the eyes and going down, while listening to the moaning of the woman, who already felt a volcano about to enter into a new eruption, exploding in all shades of red inside her.

Those eyes, of the most stunning shade of sapphire blue, flashed when they reconnected with hers.

Tightly clinched to his body, like a castaway who clasps to a lifeline never to let it go away ever again, she let herself lose control one more time... and another one... and another one...