Vitruvian Man

-          Joe, do you know the song?

-          I don’t think so, my friend, said I, while very quickly searched the net to find a live piano version, which I immediately put on to play and to my own surprise I got so emotional I just started crying.

-          Are you playing our song, my dear man?

-          Yes, Thomas. I am.

We listened to it in silence, until the end of the tune and then he asked me:

-          Did you like it?

I said:

-          No, my friend, I did not like it… I loved it.

-        It is my gift to you, dear Joe. Remember me whenever and wherever you listen to it. Every word in it is exactly what I feel about you…

The track, “The first time ever I saw your face”, played and sung by Roberta Flack, supposedly expressed his emotions and the impressions he felt when we met first time. He used to say he liked my company and could not resist playing his seduction game with me. For all that matters, Thomas thought I was an attractive man, a statement that no one else had ever made when referring to my person before.

I have to confess I kept on listening to that song for a longer than expected time…

The situation was as simple as that. Thomas was the man who made me see myself in a completely different way, for the first time in my life. I was absolutely grateful for the way he introduced me to a new vision of my own self. He was responsible for the awakening of a fiend I never knew existed inside my soul: the appreciation of my physique – an exercise of sheer vanity.

We had a very close relationship – a very intense affair that lasted no longer than a very short time. One day, out of the blue, Thomas told me he was feeling a deep pain in his chest and had to see a doctor. By the end of the day, he was staying in the hospital for a few nights, for some tests the physicians wanted to perform. I got worried, but there was nothing I could do to help.

I still tried to keep contact, but all I had in return was silence. Not a single word, nor news or a single response to my contact attempts.

After some wordless weeks and some more frustrated tries to get in contact with him, I received a very strange message informing me he had died in hospital. For some odd motive he decided to disappear from my life for a second and decisive time. I did not know what to think of that. I was caught in surprise in the middle of a business trip and did not know how to react. The feeling I had flourished for such a short time transformed into a tiny dried seed buried underneath a cold pile of winter snow covering my already torn soul.

Deep inside I knew I had to live my life without him. I was determined not to question the circumstances anymore. In just a few weeks I had grown stronger and harder at the same time. My heart, however, was irretrievably and disappointingly torn apart.

Understanding people is always a very difficult task to me. The whole story did not make much sense, but I was forced to accept it. For good or for bad, he was definitely dead for me… or so he decided to be and I, from my part, decided to let him go off of my life for once and for good.

He had played his part and had woken up a feeling I had not ever had before in my life, but his role in that play was sorrowfully and definitely over.

The song still kept on sadly playing over and over for months, while the grip of my memories of him was going from too tight for me to let it go to an easy but bitter acceptance of an uncontrollable status quo assumed by the passing of the days. Holding on to a recent past and to the man who made me see myself in a different way was gradually turning into a pale, stingy and painful reminiscence slowly healing in my chest, but not without leaving its mark deeply printed in my soul.

But what sort of man does not bear his own scars painfully carved in his life anyway?

I sometimes wondered if he, for some eccentric intent, played with my heart and took some kind of revenge for something totally unknown to me. I mourned for too long and before all my grieving was over, however, life would dare me to be strong again. 

A very few inconsequential mistaken tries followed the subsequent months and to my surprise, I grew too tired of those as well. I am a man who needs some emotional depth and those shallow encounters were not satisfying enough to make my days a bit brighter or at least less lonely. I decided I should stay away from trouble and be quietly alone for the time being.

But life has some funny ways of catching me by surprise and that time was no different.  A kind of another occasional meeting would prove me wrong. 

                                                                                  ***

Brandon was sitting alone with his legs relaxingly crossed, apparently waiting for someone to come. The shirt, unbuttoned on top, letting a portion of hairy chest to sight, was in a pattern of white, blue and red plaid. I could not see his eyes, as the light was intentionally directed otherwise, but I noticed he smiled slightly when I approached him. It was his territory and he felt comfortable in it.

The conversation went on carefully at the beginning, when we tried to fumble through unfamiliar ground, analyzing the way our own words were chosen as if we were patiently fishing from a mutual awareness pond we were circling around. For some weird but amazing reason, it then turned out to be quite easy to find a connection between us a very short time afterwards.

In trying to know and understand each other’s preferences, we found out many similarities either in tastes or the way we liked being teased around. I told him I liked being touched, tasted, smelled, kissed, hugged...

He then called me a sensualist.  It was his first attempt to catch me. He would use that specific word many times after that occasion...

Time flew away so fast without our noticing it. I found it very easy to be comfortable with him and the game he played was a banter novelty to me. I had to recognize he was a very good player.

From my part, I did not analyze the good looks, the shape or the appearance, once I was attracted by the strongest sex appeal to me: his wits. Later on we would laugh about this statement of mine...

                                                                                 ***

The large living room was enlightened with the afternoon sun being filtered through the almost transparent curtain. The music playing had the intention of filling up the gaps between one phrase and the other of our meek attempts of conversation. We were in my comfort terrain that time, but still groping clumsy into intimacy. He sat at my side and seemed a bit uneasy at first. Fortunately Ginger was staring at us and that gave us time to evaluate each other by playing with the purring attention catcher sitting on the carpet by the couch we were on.

A moment of silence brought his eyes to mine and he touched my ear, in a sort of intimate way. I turned a bit around to face him. It was obvious we were both waiting for a chance like that and the opportunity was immediately seized.

Not a full second later we were kissing each other, carefully but tenderly tasting the lips of one another. My legs were still shaking, as were his. He then moved his hands on my back, searching for an opening between the shirt and the still belted jeans. His touch was warm and soft on my bare skin and it felt really good, to say the truth. My body reacted immediately and I have to confess now I felt his response grow quicker and harder than mine.

He played his game with skilled mastery, savouring and testing my senses and my acceptance to his contact, finally leading me to a state of an almost induced trance that culminated with an explosion of welcome pleasure – for both of us, as far as I could noticed.

Silence followed the moment as a taunt in the almost gloomy bedroom.  Lying on my back I closed my eyes as I felt the soft touch of his small, delicate hands over my skin, tenderly caressing my torso.

-          Are you ok?  His voice was an almost inaudible whisper.

-          I am, indeed, more than ok.

I rolled over and kissed his head, his eyes, his face and his lips. His arms clasped warmly around my nude body and held me tightly against his for a long moment. We did not need to say anything else...

                                                                                  ***

My body swayed to the cadence of the music while my arms held his chest closer to mine. The rhythm was compelling and inviting. He let the slight swinging movement of my body and legs lead him slowly and entirely into it, while the somewhat high-pitched male voice filled the living room with the repeating chorus line singing “all I wanna say is that they don’t really care about us”...*

*(Michael Jackson’s “They don’t care about us”).

When the music was over, he said he loved that song. From that moment on it was “our song” and whenever it played it had a remarkable effect on us.

I thought to myself: funny how simple things had a great importance when placed in the right context, at the right time...

A late phone call that day would complete the scene. He told me he had been thinking about the happenings of the day on his way back home and while still smelling the scent of my cologne on his skin, he asked himself: “what is this 'Greek God' doing to me? What does he want from me?”

A loud laugh was my response to his obviously silly remark. “What an exaggeration”, said I, feeling all special and full of myself for the second time in my life. Deep inside I was sure he had gotten me but I did not express my thoughts that loudly.

He laughed back at my response, as if in disbelief... He had no idea of how sweet it was to hear that and how hard it was to accept it, when all my life I was led to think the opposite about myself.

Sometimes his laugh was just a defence to a certain insecurity he felt and to compensate a low self-esteem he occasionally had, consequence of his distressing past at school, when he was a chubby boy, bullied by his so-called “normal” colleagues, as generally happens to school kids on top of their cruelty.

After all, we were so alike, thought I. Silly insecurities have filled our lives in for too long.

That lack of confidence still used to come out every now and then, especially when he was alone and thinking about his life and his relationship with me. He used to say his thoughts were then like a ball of wool entangled in his head.

                                                                                  ***

I was lying lazily on the couch listening to Ginger’s relaxing purring close to my ears when the telephone rang. The cat, which was almost asleep on top of my chest, jumped off but stayed close, looking at me quite awkwardly. He immediately recognized my friendly way of talking and leaped back to the couch, lying comfortably on my chest and looking into my eyes, as he used to do when was at ease with me.

-          There is a very good cook in the neighbouring area where you live.

-          Ah... is it? You have to take me there one day.

-          Maybe I will, if you behave nicely...

And he laughed loudly. His laugh was spontaneously attractive to me. He was in a good mood.

-          Will you come and dine with me? Maybe I try to cook something and if it is not ok, then we still can go to the “good cook” you know around here.

I was just teasing him, obviously, as I knew he was telling one of the private jokes he used to say when we were together. My mind wondered back in time as I reminded the first day I cooked dinner for the two of us.

He was standing in the kitchen, watching my movements closely with sheer attention, while I was dealing with the onion and garlic frying in the pan and still slicing the red chilli pepper and some cherry tomatoes to add into the sauce. Some spices, a pinch of fine herbs and salt and the appealing smell started getting into our nostrils. I wanted to use a simple recipe supposed to be quick but not for any instance far from good to the palate. He served some red wine to both of us in large crystal glasses and we toasted, smiling to another private joke. A toast without a taste was never supposed to be allowed between the two of us.

I finalized adding up a handful of fresh mushrooms and some prawns into the sauce, let the concoction simmer and then added the rice already spiced with some herbs. Two cups of water and then let it cook for some minutes for the risotto to be ready and then we could sit down by the small kitchen table and appreciate it slowly and peacefully.  The real world was definitely left outside...

He looked at me with both attention and affection and mentioned he was surprised by the speed I dealt with the cooking. That made me smile satisfied. Luckily the taste of my simple cooking creation was very good and he truly enjoyed it. I noticed it when he took a second portion as fine as the first one, saying he could not resist it.

A simple dessert prepared with papaya and ice cream, aromatized with a spoon of Greek yoghurt, followed by a strong espresso with a small piece of dark chocolate and dinner was over. All our more than five senses were tested during the time we were in the kitchen.

While I was laying the dirty dishes into the sink, he, in a natural gesture, hugged me affectionately from behind, kissing my neck lightly. I moaned quietly, turned around, kissed the top of his head flippantly and went to the living room with him.

I wanted to take that opportunity and show him a sketch I was working on. It was a sepia study of my torso - very light, with the delicate amber colour of the lines and shades almost fading into the white textured paper.

He said he particularly liked it, then stopped for a while, as if thinking about how to put in right words what he wanted to say next and looked back at me with a funny expression stamped on his face.

-          You are a true man of the Renascence.

-          Why so?

-          Besides other things you do, you can draw, cook and still amaze me with something else like a genuine man of the Renascence. And you still can put your ideas and stories in writing. You know I am not good with words and sometimes I am even afraid of them...

-          A Vitruvian Man?

He giggled loudly and nodded.

-          Yes, an authentic Vitruvian man!

At that moment another code had just been created between us: the Vitruvius Man! He would use it in any opportunity he could, making the two of us laugh at the expression, remembering that occasion.

That night he loved me like no one else had ever done before. He tasted and touched me slowly and tenderly, quietly and carefully, as if studying the reactions of my body to his gentle contact and caresses. I learned how to be touched by him and how to let myself go when touched by his skilled hands. The dim light of the bedroom was witness of the lustful game he played deftly and intensely on my pale body.

In addition to what I received gracefully, I taught him how to let himself be touched by me as well. It was a trade of senses that made the two of us feel like sailing ships drifting along through sometimes still sometimes stormy and wavy waters.

I was lying prone in the large bed, with my eyes intentionally closed and still enjoying the warm touch of his fingertips going from my neck down to my buttocks, where he softly played around and asked me:

-          Joe?

-          Yes, Brandon...

-          Did I say how much I like your body?

His voice was nearly a murmur. I moaned languidly and said:

-          No, not yet.

He came closer to my ears and whispered, as softly as he could:

-          I do. I really do.

This man had undoubtedly initiated me into a world of pleasures I was not used to and that was utterly new to me. He had no idea how good it was to listen to his compliments and how satisfying it was receiving so much attention. That small seed buried underneath the cold snow was slowly blooming again out of my scarred but healed soul.

How could I avoid being thankful or even like him any less for what he was doing to me?

-    Brandon?

-   Yes, Joe...

-   How can I give you more pleasure? 

- Moooooore???!!!??? Is it possible to have more than this, my dear?

I have to admit the obvious: he had caught me... definitely...

                                                                                 ***

Six months after our first encounter, following a naturally growing intimacy process, we were seeing each other every single week, at least once and talking on the phone or “on-line” on a daily basis. Barriers had melted down and away. We were closer than ever. 

His thoughts were expressed in a short, but intense electronic message, where he stated he sometimes caught himself thinking about us and the time we spent together, feeling the complicity and serenity of the moments we filled with laughter and sensuality.

Somehow I felt special every time I noticed a progress in our relationship. An unexpected message in the middle of the day; a phone call telling me he was coming over to spend the whole day Saturday with me; a whisper in my ear saying he missed me; these little things seemed like an immense step forward to what we had in the beginning and to promises we had never made.

At the end of the day we were both sensualists, teasers of a kind, addicted to the presence of each other and with a lot of very good memories to keep.

                                                                              ***

The familiar beep of the cellphone announcing an incoming message was heard loudly from where I was. It was almost late in the evening and I had a vague idea of who it was from. When I picked the small gadget up and pushed the button to open and read the received note, I saw the word “kisses” written repeatedly twenty-three times in the single funny text message.

-          What happened to you? Have you gone crazy? , went the message I sent back.

-          I have gone crazy... yes... for you... That was his quick response...

I felt involved in a situation that was already history and to which I did not have a single moment to regret about. I smiled at myself and sent him another text.

-          When are you coming to see me again, my dear friend? I’ve been missing you quite a lot...

The telephone rang almost immediately after the text message was sent.

-          I was thinking of coming later tonight and staying over. I want to sleep very close to you; embracing you all night long...

His voice was almost a plea. I smiled to myself and said, very seriously:

-          I will love if you stay over, my dear friend. I really will...

                                                                            

                                                                             ***  

Navegante

Quando a porta fecha-se

Às minhas costas

E teus braços

Saúdam, à minha volta,

Um universo à parte,

Além do ruído

De outros mundos

E a meia-luz testemunha

A indistinta correlação

Entre a aflição e o deleite,

Torno-me aquele, que

Em tuas mãos,

Ganha asas

-Imensas-

E em teu corpo,

Aprende a navegar

-Tranquila

E audazmente-…

Em busca da perfeição...

Suavizando...embora pareça-se com o outro, este é uma tentativa de trabalhar o detalhe e abandonar o processo enquanto não perde a suavidade...

A Little Secret

…And when your tiny

And soft hands touched

My bare pale skin

And you held me

In a firm

And tender embrace,

Almost merging my body

Into yours,

I felt as if we knew

Each other so well

And for so long,

That I whispered

-In your ears-

This little and convenient secret,

I rescued from the depth

Of my heart,

And in response,

You just wrapped your arms

Around me,

Silently and so tightly,

As if trying to be

More a part of me

Than you have already been…

Sereno

Não, não clames meu nome

Ao vento.

Não te enganes

A confiar

Que a poderosa voz

Das tormentas

Vai conduzir

Em sigilo

Tuas súplicas

Ou teus lamentos

Até os meus ouvidos

Atentos.

Não chores ao relento

Nas frias e húmidas

Manhãs de inverno.

Não deixes a chuva

Confundir-se com tuas lágrimas

De angústia,

De dor

Ou de paixão...

Mantenha teu espírito sereno…

Confia no que te digo…

Não, não pronuncies meu nome

Em alta voz,

Não te enganes

A pensar

Que as paredes te ouvem

Caladas;

Não murmures teus sentimentos

À escuridão vazia.

Guarda-te,

Enquanto puderes,

Longe da indiscrição

De quem não merece

Conhecer-te os segredos

Da alma.

E quando estiveres em meus braços,

Permita-te, somente,

Abrir as portas desta gaiola,

Deixar-te levar

Pelo momento

E sussurrar, baixinho,

O que não tens coragem

De falar,

Quando estás só

E em silêncio…

Diz-me o que se passa

Dentro de teu peito,

Olha-me, sem temor,

No fundo dos olhos,

Onde a tua imagem

Já se faz reflectir;

Abre tuas asas

E deixa-te voar

Alto...

Mantenha teu espírito sereno…

Sempre

…E confia no que sinto por ti…

Um pequeno segredo

…Foi quando,

Com suas mãos macias

E pequenas,

Tocou-me a pálida

E nua pele

E, envolvendo-me num longo

E terno abraço,

Quase fundiu-nos

Os corpos

Em um,

Que senti-me

Como se nos conhecêssemos

Por tanto tempo,

Que sussurrei-lhe,

Ao ouvido,

Um pequeno

E conveniente segredo

Do meu coração,

Ao qual, em resposta,

Somente enlaçou-me

Com mais força,

Como se tentasse

Ser mais parte de mim

Que já, então,

Havia-se tornado…

Vento Sul

Cingiu-me, inteiramente,

Com seus etéreos braços

E, com seus voláteis dedos,

Provocante,

Desalinhou-me os cabelos,

Sem sequer questionar

O efeito que teria

Em minha

- Tão estimada –

Vaidade.

Seu envolvente sopro

Arrefeceu minha pele

E mostrou uma força

Docemente pujante

A aliciar-me

De repente,

Eriçando-me, do corpo,

Os pêlos,

Num contacto tão lascivo

Quanto impetuoso,

Que fez-me reagir

Por incontrolável instinto,

Ante a volúpia incontestável

Do delicado toque

De seu bem-vindo abraço.

E neste torvelinho

Subtilmente sensual,

Dançou à minha volta

Qual animado diabrete,

Que no ritmo ímpar

De sua dança exótica,

Tentava confundir-me

Os sentidos

-Todos -

Como se,

Em divertido chiste,

Desprovesse-me das vestes,

Propositada e categoricamente,

Para massajar, brincando,

Minha quase tímida nudez.

Rendi-me, sem qualquer luta,

À sedução irresistível

Daquele vento,

Cujo lúbrico ósculo

Me avivou memórias

De tempos pretéritos

E não passou,

Por mim,

-De qualquer maneira -

Indiferente…

12 Anos

Doze anos. Há exactamente doze anos ele entrou definitivamente em minha vida. Ainda lembro do dia em que veio, com menos de três meses de vida, um gatinho de tamanho bastante fora do comum, que me fez desconfiar de sua verdadeira idade e deixou-me meio receoso de aceitá-lo. Era um pequeno sobrevivente, recolhido nas ruas de Johannesburg e entregue aos cuidados da Sociedade Protetora. Depois das dúvidas desfeitas pelo médico veterinário do SPCA em Roodepoort, que mostrou com precisão as características físicas do bichano, resolvi admitir sua presença em minha vida, com um pouco mais de agrado e adotá-lo oficial e definitivamente.

O nome inicialmente dado, Tigger – em homenagem ao meu personagem favorito do desenho animado - foi em seguida alterado pela veterinária da clínica em Sandton City, onde vivíamos na época – que acreditava ser um erro de grafia - para Tiger e acabou ficando até hoje. Hoje reconheço que Tiger é mais apropriado que o nome com o qual queríamos baptizá-lo.

Com a decisão tomada conscientemente, não foi somente a minha rotina que teve que mudar, invariavelmente e para sempre. Abri uma grande janela na minha vida e no meu coração, pela qual ele entrou, encontrou um lugar adequado e onde, já acomodado confortavelmente, instalou-se de vez. Em menos de uma semana já estava apaixonado por ele… e nunca mais me deixei de surpreender.

Ele revelou-se um parceiro exemplar em muito pouco tempo, acompanhando-me desde a hora que levantava, de manhã cedo, até quando saía para trabalhar. Brincalhão, companheiro, trapalhão e estabanado, naturalmente curioso, surpreendentemente inteligente e criativo, revelou uma afinidade tão grande comigo, que nenhuma outra criatura jamais teve ou teria.

Ele derrubou vários pré-conceitos que eu possuía, ensinou-me uma grande porção de coisas relativas às suas preferências e sua maneira própria de se comunicar e conviver, fez-me ver a minha própria vida com outra perspectiva e despertou em mim um carinho invulgar pelos animais em geral, mas em especial e extraordinariamente pelos gatos.

Ele é meu filho, meu irmãozinho, meu guru, meu grande amigo, meu suporte, meu calmante, a rocha na qual minha vida se apoia… Viver sem ele – reconheço, sem receio nenhum - seria intolerável. É o mais genuíno significado de “lar” para mim.

É aquele para quem eu volto no fim do dia, muitas vezes cansado de uma jornada extenuante, mas sempre encontro disposição para deixar-me envolver e dedicar parte do meu tempo para que ele se sinta alimentado, confortável e amado. Sempre me recebe à porta e faz a festinha de costume. Depois de um abraço e um chamego, segue para a varanda, onde se deita de barriga para cima e pede uma massagem... que, invariavelmente, ganha.

Grande parte da minha vida em casa gira em torno dele e de seu bem-estar. Ele traz tranquilidade quando estou agitado, estimula meus dias quando estou sonolento, controla meus horários, quando esqueço deles – especialmente quando se trata das refeições, obviamente.

Ele tinha menos de dois anos de vida, quando me divorciei e, podendo ficar mais tempo com ele, somente, nosso relacionamento foi-se estreitando e nos aproximou ainda mais. Ficamos mais livres para nosso amor incondicional. Nossa relação cresceu em entendimento e tolerância e nossa comunicação entrou em estado adiantado de compreensão, com o passar dos dias. Aprendi a ser mais paciente, a prestar atenção às suas necessidades e desejos, a respeitar não somente as suas rotinas e a deixá-lo em paz quando necessitava de sossego e silêncio, mas também a tê-lo como parte essencial da minha vida.

Lembro que no dia em que o jardim da casa ficou pronto, ele parecia uma criança que havia ganho um presente tão especial, que não cabia em si de felicidade, correndo de um lado para o outro e chamando-me, na sua maneira meio desajeitada, para olhá-lo enquanto pulava de um lado para o outro, por vezes escondendo-se atrás dos arbustos recém-plantados na relva verde, outras subindo na árvore assentada no centro do terreno. Aquela euforia toda me fez ver que o investimento havia sido lucrativo, pelo menos em satisfação pessoal - minha e dele. Também foi nesta ocasião que ele se tornou mais possessivo e territorial.

Já passamos por algumas situações difíceis. Tive um grande medo de perdê-lo, quando tivemos que combater um sério envenenamento. Mas ele lutou como um bravo. Provou mais uma vez que era um sobrevivente… e dos mais fortes – um verdadeiro tigre!

Nunca foi um fardo para mim, nem quando tive que optar por um novo desafio de carreira e sair do meu país de origem pela segunda vez em minha vida. Tivemos que passar por uma necessária separação de alguns meses… longa demais, a meu ver, mas como em ocasiões anteriores, sobrevivemos a tudo que enfrentamos juntos. Fazer a viagem até Portugal havia sido uma preocupação grande, um stress a que nos submeteríamos, tendo o pobre bicho que ficar dentro de uma caixa de transporte, cruzando oceanos e céus por muitas horas, mas tudo acabou bem. Ainda bem que o trouxe, pois sem ele aqui comigo, a vida seria praticamente insuportável.

Estamos cada vez mais unidos. Temos, verdadeiramente, uma relação muito intensa, por assim dizer. Ele é uma parte essencial de quem eu sou hoje, sem dúvida nenhuma. Como disse um amigo psicólogo, somos viciados um no outro – e é a mais legítima realidade. Não tenho vergonha de dizer que sou muito protector e tenho muitos ciúmes de quem chega perto dele, mas a recíproca também é, cada dia que passa, mais verdadeira. Se pensar bem, é ele quem cuida de mim e não o inverso…

Tento fazer a leitura em seu comportamento quando este muda, pois é sinal que algo o incomoda. Ele sabe se comunicar com muita precisão. Basta observar com cuidado e fica fácil perceber sua linguagem. Desconfiado, quando percebe que estou a dar atenção demais a alguém, especialmente “on-line”, usa de seus próprios artifícios para atrair-me às suas brincadeiras. De passar várias vezes por cima do teclado do computador, a correr desgovernado pela casa e atirar-se por baixo de folhas de jornais dispostas no tapete da sala, ou sentar-se em cima do rato, de modo a impedir-me de usar o computador propriamente, ele faz de tudo.

Não dorme sem ganhar um cheiro na cabeça, um chamego, um carinho... Às vezes, acordo-me no meio da noite e vejo que está deitado comigo, com a cabeça no travesseiro e o corpo esticado ao longo do meu, como se fosse uma criança, buscando o calor em baixo da coberta. Se perde o sono, me faz vítima de sua impaciência e de sua disposição para ficar acordado no meio da madrugada. Quando estou em casa, não come sem me pedir para verificar a tigela de ração ou seu pratinho.

Eu o chamo por vários nomes, que ele reconhece, pela forma e entonação que uso quando falo. Néne, Nino, Go’dinho, Filhote, entre outros, fazem parte do repertório carinhoso de alcunhas, porém o nome oficial, dito de maneira clara e firme é, praticamente, o único que o faz obedecer.

Sempre agradeço aos céus por ele estar comigo. E só posso mesmo agradecer pelas alegrias e pelo conforto moral e a companhia sempre presente e solícita que ele tem me proporcionado. Ele exige bastante atenção, sim, mas por que não exigiria, afinal tem direitos adquiridos.

São doze anos de convívio, dos quais dez são de uma exclusiva vida “a dois”. Ele sabe que eu sou apaixonado por ele. Quando o vejo a dormir perto de mim, deitado no sofá da sala ou sobre meu peito, com seu sono tão tranquilo e tão despreocupado, me dou conta que eu já preciso muito pouco para ser feliz. Se para ele basta um cantinho confortável, um prato de comida e um pouco de água limpa e fresca, para mim esses pequenos luxos também tem sido suficientes, se estiverem associados ao carinho e atenção de alguém – ou alguma criatura - que se importe.

Ah… e música... Assim como para mim é essencial, para ele existe uma afinidade especial, que pode ser considerada um capítulo à parte. Quando percebi que ele a tinha, resolvi explorá-la, testando sua reacção às melodias. Descobri que ele tem preferências bem definidas e deixa bem claro quando gosta, aproxima-se e fica a ouvir, quieto. Quanto mais harmoniosas, mais relaxado ele parece, desde que estejam a tocar em volume tolerável para ouvir.

A forma como me observa, às vezes, deitado no sofá ou no tapete, ou fazendo gracinhas para me arrancar um sorriso, faz-me parar o que estou a fazer e me deitar ao seu lado, ou simplesmente olhar e ver como ele parece estar tão confortável e feliz por estar ali, comigo, naquele momento em que desfrutamos a companhia um do outro, sem interferências, sem preocupações e sem quaisquer tipo de promessas ou segundas intenções. Recosto, levemente, minha cabeça sobre seu corpo e ouço seu ronronar tranquilizador, levando-me a crer que não precisa existir muito mais que esta despretensão em nossas vidas.

Do jeito que somos apegados um ao outro, o convívio se tornou uma grande e bem-vinda dependência. Ele minora a possibilidade de sentir solidão e alegra os momentos em que estamos juntos. Eu, por meu lado, faço-lhe as vontades e cuido para que ele tenha o que precisa, que nem é tanto assim, além de sua exigência de atenção.

Sei também que o destino pode me trazer surpresas inesperadas, pela idade que ele já tem, apesar de não a ostentar - nem pela aparência, nem pela actividade e agilidade que ainda possui. A inteligência parece haver aumentado com o tempo, assim como o seu poder manipulativo - o que me diverte, mas não me engana. Sou condescendente quando necessário ou quando quero.

Não tenho medo do futuro, nem temo pela tristeza, nem pelas saudades que com certeza deverei sentir quando ele se for para sempre da minha vida. De todas as formas, tento me preparar emocionalmente para o que vier, sem deixar de prover-lhe o melhor que eu possa e que ele mereça. Vou aproveitar da melhor maneira possível o que tiver, sem restrições emocionais e confiando que podemos ter, ainda, um longo, confortável e salutar tempo juntos. Só posso pensar no melhor, nada mais… e viver com intensidade, enquanto puder… Com toda certeza…

Neste momento, aqui sentado ao meu lado, sobre a mesa, com seus olhos inquisidores e sua presença forte, mas confortante, espera a hora da refeição – que, diga-se de passagem, já passa um pouquinho e ele veio me lembrar da falha no nosso esquema. Como se soubesse que me refiro a ele, o esperto gato se curva e me saúda com a cabeça, ronronando baixinho e esperando que lhe dê um “cheiro”, costume que inventou para ganhar mais atenção e me fazer sorrir...

Ao ouvir-me dizer “vamos lá, então”, salta da mesa com um grunhido de satisfação e se dirige, ligeiro, à cozinha, onde o pratinho vazio sobre o pequeno tapete aguarda uma pequena porção de atum de lata, que ele simplesmente adora.

Esta despretensão é, realmente, uma das coisas mais sublimes que há, concluo, com carinho, enquanto olho-o a deliciar-se, concentrado e em quase silêncio, com as orelhas a se moverem instintivamente, como radares atentos aos mínimos ruídos à sua volta. Ele me ouve aproximar e pára, por um instante, levanta discretamente a cabeça e espera por outro “cheiro”, a ronronar de satisfação, fazendo-me sorrir da percepção extraordinária e controle de ambiente que ele possui…

53 em Imagem

Para bom entendedor, meia palavra basta...

Tentei fazer algo suave, meio clássico...

Pós-momento

O sol, 
Que entra pela janela, 
Desenha luzes no chão… 
O corpo estendido, 

Lânguido,

Sobre o tapete de algodão… 
Os olhos azuis a me olhar… 
Os rubros lábios semi-abertos, 
A sorrir, 
Enigmaticamente, 
Para mim… 
Uma sensação de conforto 
A me subir pela espinha,
E o corpo a relaxar... 
Senti teus braços 
Circundar me
E trazer-me para perto
De ti,
Deixei-me envolver
Pelo contacto
Da tua pele
E pelo calor
Que dele emanava
E fui, vagarosamente,
Caindo no vazio
Aconchegante
Do sono 
E do sonho… 

De Passagem...

Vinhas na minha direcção… 

Borboletas alvoraçaram-se 

Em meu estômago, 

-Para minha surpresa- 

Eclodindo pelos meus nervos… 

Um nó apertou-me a garganta… 

Meu coração batia tão alto, 

Que pensei que a sala toda ouvisse… 

Fui invadido por uma vontade imensa 

E incontrolável 

De chorar… 

Desviei o olhar… 

Passaste, 

Como se fosses um furacão, 

Sacudindo, sem derrubar, 

Completamente, 

Minha estrutura... 

Fingiste não perceber minha covardia… 

Com o canto do olho, 

Vi-te dissimular um sorriso… 

Não tive coragem de acompanhar 

Teus passos… 

Meus olhos entristeceram, 

Como se a vida, 

Antes existente neles, 

Houvesse sido roubada, 

Sem que eu pudesse fazer algo 

Para impedir… 

Um silêncio invadiu-me 

Todo o ser,

A ponto de sentir um vazio

Tão grande 

Na alma, 

Que meu peito estilhaçou-se

Em um milhão de fragmentos… 

Juntei os cacos

Do meu coração despedaçado, 

Porém,

E segui adiante… 

...Mas não te foste para sempre…

...Felizmente...

A Small Candle (Lit in the Darkness)…

In the dark and cold room 

I lit a small candle 

And all the shadows came in 

And surrounded me, 

Keeping me company 

And sharing some of the light 

And heat 

Of the burning fire. 

Some of those shadows were really frightening; 

Some others were just too frightened 

By the obscurity they had been in 

For so long. 

I could have easily gotten rid 

Of all of them 

And be safe and sound, 

By simply blowing the tiny flame off, 

But then

Not only my body, 

But also my heart 

And soul would be alone 

In darkness and cold… 

Once again…

(Uma pequena vela (acesa na escuridão)…

No quarto escuro e frio 

Acendi uma pequenina vela 

E todas as sombras me vieram 

Fazer companhia 

E dividir a luz 

E o calor 

Do fogo comigo. 

Algumas delas eram assustadoras, 

Outras, simplesmente, estavam assustadas demais 

Pela obscuridade em que estiveram 

Por tanto tempo. 

Eu poderia ter facilmente 

Apagado a diminuta chama, 

Para estar livre delas 

E me sentir mais seguro, 

Mas então, 

Não só meu corpo, 

mas também meu coração 

E minha alma estariam sozinhos 

Em escuridão e frio… 

Uma vez mais…)

Shall we dance?

The afternoon wind blows from the sea through and along the shoreline. The warm sun will soon dive slowly and silently into the ocean. Two men walk quietly and serenely side by side on the paved boardwalk by the long and curved beach line, protected from the sea by huge concrete blocks in funny shapes.

The briny scents of iodine and sea salt mixed with the almost sweet wooden fragrance of the “Kenzo” cologne are distinguished by the sensitive nostrils of the older man, bringing him memories of a past life, more than those of past times. He feels as if he was floating on a sea of dark waters before the saving hand of a beloved friend came to rescue and to bring him back into the gleaming light. The man looks at his friend and smiles tenderly, feeling his heart being embraced by the warm sensation of peace and gratitude - something he had not felt in a long time.

His comrade looks back at him and smiles, feeling an affection he had never felt before in his entire life. His hazel eyes are driven to the horizon, where the colours of the sky and the sea merge into one – the same beautiful blue shade of his partner’s eyes - feeling like their souls are entwined in an intricate tress of the destiny goddess. A strange overflowing sensation of mixed emotions runs up his spine, floods up his brain and bursts out from his eyes, leaving two traces of tears marking their way down his face. He inhales the soft saline air, holds it a bit in his lungs and then exhales it slowly, closing his eyes as if to capture that moment in his memory, enjoying the sensation of being then and there, with the one who is able to realize better than anyone else what he was feeling.

Not a sound is exchanged between the two of them. Words are not needed to express what it is going through their more than five senses, as they know how to read each other very well. The rescuer is saved by the affectionate hand of the saved one. Gratitude is turned into understanding when their eyes meet and gaze into each other for the eternity of a brief instant in time.

Somewhere near, the soft, clear and lightly hoarse female voice sings a known tune, loudly enough to blast the words into their ears, making them smile from the natural teasing of the soundtrack the Universe has chosen to award that moment with: “I set fire to the rain, watched it pour as I touched your face; well, it burned while I cried, 'cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name!”* (*Adele: Set Fire to the Rain)

The darker haired man winks to his partner, opens an irresistible and somewhat naughty grin and asks the other man:

“Shall we dance?”

The other man blushes, bends his head lightly downwards, avoiding the look in the eyes of his friend - a tick he was used to, when felt uncomfortable with some uneasy situation - but says, gently:

“Yah… Sure…”

*** 

A view to the sea in a calm and very clean water front brings the two men a sensation of welcome serenity. Two massive dark rocks emerge like islands from the middle of the ocean on the left, as if they were placed randomly but aesthetically in the landscape by the hands of gigantic statured men. The horizon is so far away one can hardly see the pale blue of the sky so far beyond. From where they are they can see a thin line of sallow and fine sand. They are standing on a higher level, on a large patio by the open veranda along the full front length of the house. The floor is a light yellowish polished slate. The blowing breeze is soft, warm and gentle, making the light white voile sheer curtains sway out of the large windowed door of the porch.

Moved by the beauty of the moment, the man with the darker hair then says:

“This is why I like this place so much! It is so close to my idea of paradise on Earth.”

They felt as if they were away from the outside world and protected from anything that could spoil the beauty and peaceful seclusion of the place.

A little ginger cat comes out of the front door and plays with the grey haired man’s toes. Its auburn fur is clean and shiny in the outer sundrenched air. Its playful and confident behaviour contrasts now with the frightened posture of some months before, when it was rescued from the street by the two men. The man throws a small bouncing sponge ball to the ground by the kitten, which runs to fetch the simple coloured toy with a mischievous and somewhat awkward leap. It could play for hours if given attention enough, until its tired tiny body would give in and make it have a rest for an hour or so out on the shiny and warm stony floor of the terrace. Not long afterwards, the undisturbed sleep of the tame little beast melts the hearts of the two men away with a welcome and well deserved peace.

Inside the cosy house there is a big living room stripped of any furniture, except for a few large comfortable cushions piled up on one corner. The floor is made of a light ivory coloured wooden layer, very clean, shiny and neat. A wide windowpane opens to the sea line in the distance. One man is sitting on the cushions on the floor watching the other while he comes into the room from the kitchen. The playing music changes to a loud and inviting beat, almost impossible to resist. The man starts dancing, hitting his bare feet hard on the floor, swinging his body with frantic movements and having fun at the same time. With a loud laugh while the other man stares at him, he says:

“In a moment someone will start complaining about the noise.”

The man sitting on the floor says:

“Someone has already complained. I saw the maid’s head coming out of the kitchen door with a frown... but who cares, anyway?”

They laugh loudly, light-heartedly and free of any guilty. The standing man then moves his hand to the other one’s direction and asks:

“Come... come dance with me“...

They hit the floor smiling and singing, while Rihanna goes on blaring her “We found love (in a hopeless place)”, changing the lyrics to “we found our love in a hopeful place”...

*** 

Books of many different types cover almost entirely one of the walls of the passageway between rooms. The other walls of the minimalist decorated house hung many framed sanguine and sepia drawings and sketches. A large watercolour and sanguine artwork, depicting a man kneeling and being protected by an angel with butterfly wings, covered the centre of the wall, opposite to the main entrance. Below the well known signature it was written in small red lettering: “Fallen Angel”. That was the blond man’s favourite.

The eyes of the darker haired man are filled with gratitude when he looks to the other man’s face and the way he smiles at him. Not so long before those private art studies were hidden in between piles of expensive watercolour and drawing sheets of paper on the shelves of the younger man’s old apartment. According to him, they were not good enough, contrary to the other man’s opinion that insisted on taking them out into the light and almost forced him to frame a group of selected favourite ones.

*** 

The car tires were turning almost noiseless on the old cobblestone streets that Saturday morning. The two men were silently listening to the music playing on the radio, each with their own thoughts, on the way to the beach house, absently minded.

Suddenly a reddish flash crossed the road in front of the car. The driver slammed the brakes mechanically. Fortunately they were in low speed, so that was just an instinctive response from the man in control of the wheels to avoid a disaster.

The two men looked at each other almost asking the obvious “WTF” question, but kept silent, still with frightened eyes. The younger man asked the other one to pull over immediately. He stepped out as soon as the vehicle halted on the side of the pavement.

A little ginger cat was trying to find a way in the narrow space between two buildings, completely terrified and trying to stay away from the reach of a few passersby, who did not really notice or paid any attention to the auburn furry ball. To the man’s hazel eyes it seemed weak and undernourished, but still looked healthy anyway, although in urgent need of some food and loving care. Looking carefully around, the man realized there were no other kittens nor even a protective female cat, so he assumed the poor animal was alone and probably lonely – but it was definitely a survivor.

The man came carefully closer to the small stray kitten, trying not to scare it any more than it was already. To his surprise, the poor animal did not run off from his approximation. He came even closer and waited. Soon he was close enough to touch the somewhat dirty ginger and white fur with fondness. The cat let itself be touched and caressed in an unexpected friendly way.

*** 

“Are you sure you want to take it with us?”

The cat was comfortably sitting on the man’s lap, licking its own hair with skilled energy, as if it was the most natural thing to do, in lieu of the condition it was some minutes before.

“I am absolutely sure. Look at him. He is home now. I already have a name for him. We will call him Ginger – the only name that would fit him properly.”

The other man smiled and not long afterwards stopped the car at a grocery store from where he came off some minutes later carrying a pack of cat food and other small necessities for the comfort and wellbeing of the newcomer. The kitten lifted his nose characteristically, as if enjoying the smell of the food and of what the near future was bringing him.

The car turned right then left again on the bridge over the highway to the beach.

Not far away, some minutes later, they parked behind a white beach house sitting proudly over a small hill, facing the open ocean. It was late in the morning that summer Saturday when the two men came back from the bathroom out to the sundrenched front porch, with the small kitten in hands, looking awfully thin, but bathed clean. It was still dripping water and slightly shaking in cold, but it surely smelt nicer than any time before in its life.

The warm blow of a hairdryer soon kept the cat duly dried out, while a hairbrush cautiously used, caressed the soft fur of the already spoilt animal. Ginger never complained of all that operation and even played with the almost hot air that made an unfamiliar blowing noise over its previously wet body, while heating it up at the same time. The cat food offered in a brand new shiny metal bowl was eagerly devoured by the newbie and not too long afterwards the fluffy rug by the door made a comfortable bed to the weary and tiny feline body.

Looking at the image of the sly animal sleeping cosily in the warm sunlight, the two men felt their hearts peacefully filled with fondness towards the little creature.

“I’m glad you brought him into our lives. Look how calmly and nicely he sleeps and think of the joy he already brings into our hearts. He is part of the family already. Come inside. Let’s organize some food to ourselves. I’m starving...”

*** 

The man was sitting on a deck chair in the veranda looking at the sea with his mind wandering free somewhere in time and space. A young ginger cat rested lazily and comfortably on his lap, almost asleep, being cuddled by the distracted and friendly hand of the dark haired man. Its somewhat loud purring could be heard by the man who, smiling to himself, found it overwhelmingly funny and relaxing.

In the distance another man was coming and carrying two medium sized fish recently captured and purchased from the fisherman on the other side of the bay. He opens a large grin on his bearded face when he sets his sight on the other man at the house terrace. He waves the two fish to the friend, who gets up and comes into his direction with a smile on his face. The cat immediately jumps down from the man’s grasp and follows him at a closer distance, probably anticipating the gift he is about to be given when lunch is ready.

*** 

“You opened a window which allowed light illuminate this soul of mine. You gave me reasons to shine through the misty darkness of unawareness. You are teaching me how to be one with the Universe and how to listen and welcome its messages in my heart. You feed me with a somewhat amazing and delightful knowledge I was searching for so long and although mesmerized by the amount of new and original information you gave me in such a short period of time, I am so happy to taste it, munch it and swallow it with untainted awe”.

The man was seriously looking straight into his friend’s cerulean eyes, who blushed lightly.

“I really mean it. Thank you”.

“Yah”...

That was the shy response of the blue eyed man, who looked down to his hands, as he usually did when felt discomforted by some situation created by the other man’s words.

The man’s hazel eyes were kept on his friend until he looked back into his stare. He was smiling – that bright open grin that made the other one feel so good and so at home - and then raised his glass, toasting cheerfully:

“To the Universe and how it brought our lives together and also for the good things we have achieved. To the future... Cheers...”

The dry red wine, served in large crystal glasses, tasted wonderfully good that night as did the specially prepared dinner, made exceptionally for that occasion – a celebration of one year of a pleasant life together.

Later on the same night, cuddling by the fire set in a fireplace, the hazel eyed man said:

“Do you know why we are good together?”

“Tell me”, said the other.

“Because you stimulate my brain and you teach me so much on how to get the answers to questions I have always had. I have been thinking about some of these questions lately. I just realized Life is nothing but a fragile – too fragile, yet wonderful - thing. We can avoid thinking about it, but cannot help but having to go on our trip through it. We make our choices and live according to them. It is a journey with no right time to end and no right place to stop. We meet many people and they play a role for some time, for as long as life allows them to stay. Some of them go away, but leave their memories deeply marked in our hearts for long. Some other creatures come into our lives and captivate us more than we expect. Some people hurt us. Some people mesmerize us. Some people love us and are not loved by us. Some people are loved by us and do not love us, however. But there will be people who will love us and who will be loved by us – and these are the ones that matter the most. The choice is ours, whether we want to give life a chance or not, but one thing is sure: no one else can make us happy, but ourselves. We are the masters of our destinies and the only ones responsible for our choices, whether they are good or not. We will be stupid sometimes, pathetic other times, wise and bright some other times. We will be used and abused to the length we let others to. We will use and abuse to the length we are allowed to. We will take pleasure and delight from things and people that will give us their best. Some passions will take the sleep away from our nights and love will bring warmth and peace into our hearts. So many things will be unfolded to our eyes; so many things will be hidden from clarity. So many doubts, so many insecurities and yet so many marvelous things are there to amuse us. So many songs will make us cry and so many others will make us laugh, inspire us or remind us of people we care for. So many “hellos” and so many “goodbyes" will make us think of mistakes we made and of things we did right. So much to think about and so many regrets for not thinking enough or clearly. Experiences… that’s what life is all about… and choices.

I choose living a good and healthy life. I choose the search for happiness and for loving care. I choose loving the ones who love me and feeling sorry - but being kind, at the same time - for the ones I won’t be able to love back. The Universe is open to my choices and I want all it can give to me. My life has been surprisingly healthy and fine, in spite of everything I have been through. Although I seek for sanity and stability, I welcome craziness and allow myself going off the tracks every now and then. I am ready to endeavor new things and if I make mistakes, I want to have the opportunity of learning something out from them. I will know I have tried to make them right and I can keep on trying over and over again.

I am a perfectionist and I recognize it. I want to have the things done the best way. Maybe I will never reach the perfection I am looking for or will never be happy with the results, but I will try to be better next time. I won’t give up before I feel I have to. My OCD side will never allow me doing differently and you know why.”

The blue eyed man just smiled and said:

“Yah…”

*** 

Years later, on a cold winter evening, sitting quietly and cosily by the fireplace, listening to music and drinking the same favourite dry and dense red wine, celebrating a lifelong time together, the man with playful hazel eyes asked the man whose blue eyes seemed somewhat distant looking into the flames that were burning nearby:

“Do you remember when we travelled to Scotland?”

“I certainly do, my dear friend. I certainly do”...

“I wonder how you knew about the dream I hid for so long from everyone”...

“You left the window to your soul opened to my spiritual eyes so I could sneak a curious look into it”...

They both laughed. The man knew his friend was being very serious about a thing he did not know in the beginning he could blindly believe in despite of the circumstances he had been shown by his older friend, until he was asked, one day, almost out of the blue:

“Have you ever been to Scotland? I just got a clear image of you next to a river, lots of greenery, rural setting... You were very serious or crying... sitting alone on a big dark rock, looking at the sea”...

“It is an old dream I once had... and it keeps on recurring every now and then... but I have never mentioned it to anyone, so far”...

*** 

The morning sun filled the large bedroom with a welcome light. A twofold open window, covering most of the outer wall allowed a slightly warm summer breeze blow inside the room. The freshly clean bed sheets, being thrown over the king size bed were gauzily light and white linen, decorated with delicate hand-painted red poppies on the folded-over rim. The younger man said: “We need to pack. Scotland awaits us for a very solemn and so long expected encounter with our past lives. It is time for reconciliation. My ghosts – and probably yours too - need a well deserved rest.”

***

When they were close to land in Aberdeen, the view from the small aircraft window made the hearts of the two men leap. The green hills and the dark rock cliffs by the seashore brought a feeling of nostalgia inflaming their souls. The sensation of coming home was, to some extent awkward, but quite comforting at the same time, from the moment they set foot on Scottish ground.

The older man drove all the way throughout the city and to the field by the village close to a somewhat familiar hill facing the sea. A stream of clean running water winding down through the green field around the motorway crossed their path several times. They knew somewhat by heart they were going in the right direction.

Not far away from the main village, an old grey stone building stood close to a bend of the road. The house front wall was almost hidden by a thick rosebush still blossoming, in spite of the summer heat. The two men looked at each other without saying anything - a common sensed connection between the two of them – the language hidden behind their eyesight. They stopped the car. The sound of the stream running freely and freshly not far from the back of the house was clear and rather relaxing.

A lightly chubby and short ginger haired woman in her mid-forties with rosy cheeks came out of the door and greeted the men. Her blue eyes were friendly and her smile welcoming. The front of her simple white and red plaid dress was covered with a white apron brimmed with a delicate and flowery needle lace in shades of light pink, forming a rather harmonious outfit. She was probably working in the kitchen for some time when the men arrived. They felt as if they were just getting home.

“Welcome to the Rosebud Guest House, gentlemen”. Her voice was calm and pleasantly low pitched. “I learned you are staying for a couple of days. You can park the car on the backyard, if you don’t mind.”

*** 

The bedroom door at the end of the small corridor was somewhat familiar to the younger man. His friend was still at his side, knowing he was uneasily anxious to enter that room. The door knob was strangely cold when he touched it.

“I have to let you go in this venture alone, my friend”, said the older man with a fairly serious smile.

“This is your quest and yours alone. Be brave, as you always taught me to...”

He touched his friend’s shoulder, turned around and quietly left him alone. Still holding the cold door handle, the dark haired man took a deep breath, lifted his head and encouraged himself into a voyage to an unknown and unfamiliar past and to a battle against his own ancestor ghosts. He entered the fairly lightened quarters and closed the door behind his back.

He felt as if he was being introduced to a past history that came too quickly against his discomforted being. His knees quivered a bit when he came closer to the bedside and sat in the chair by the neatly arranged bed. His eyes were drawn to the not so distant green hill outside the open window while the smell of fresh lavender filled the space surrounding his body.

***

Sitting on the “maol” [1] and facing the sea, the hazel eyed man stared at the outlying horizon. His eyes were lost in the distance and the burden in his heart was lighter, although a funny feeling embraced his soul for a moment. His eyes watered as if he was missing part of his soul, lost somewhere in time and space, where a window had just opened up. The man stayed in the same place, looking ahead with his mind wandering freely for hours.

The fresh wind blowing over the green field covered with wild red poppies and bushes of lavender scattered all around, comforted him as if a very heavy weight was slowly being taken off his shoulder. He closed his eyes and a vision, as clear and solid as the dark rocks of the cliffs ahead, came immediately to his mind.

*** 

A young boy with fair ginger hair was lying in a heavy wooden home bed, sadly looking out through the window glass. His back was supported by a couple of big and comfortable geese feather filled cushions, placed strategically on the bed head, so he could have a sight of the stream running down the hill close by. The vision and the sound of water used to calm him down and somehow soothe his pain away. His big deep green eyes decorating his pale and freckled skin, used to stare at the running waters for hours, wishing he was finally free from the discomfort he was long suffering due to the serious illness he was dying of. It was just a matter of time until leukaemia corroded completely the blood cells of his already too weak body forever.

His older brother was sitting on the bedside, holding the boy’s incredibly pallid hand in his and portraying a somewhat studied smile which had the intention of trying to hide all the sorrow he was feeling that moment. His brother’s illness was like the heaviest burden he could carry on his broad shoulders. His fraternal attention to the boy was, however, for sheer and pure love. An unrestricted devotion the lad deeply appreciated, knowing he was staying with his brother not for such a long time anymore. He could read the misery in his brother´s eyes and could not avoid feeling sorry himself for the situation he had no control whatsoever.

At that point in time, words did not need to be exchanged, as there was a deep and mutual understanding between them. The small glass vase on the bedside table was filled with recently picked red poppies and lavender blossoms, the boy’s favourite flowers. They kinda brought a scent of freshness and clean air to the small bedroom.

The sick youngster looked into his brother´s eyes in silence - an agonizing and heavy silence - and felt a torrent of warm tears run down his cheeks... The older brother then lay carefully on the bed by the young lad's weak body, passing the arm around his brother’s neck and bringing his ginger head to rest on his chest. He was trying very hard to hide his own fear away from his protégé, although he knew that was almost impossible. The boy took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes, crossing his frail and thin arm peacefully over the other´s comforting body.

Uncontrolled and soundless tears abounded the young man’s hazel eyes. Holding the weak and fragile young boy in his warm embrace was like holding the delicate body of an angel whose wings were deadly broken and did not allow him to fly anymore. To the juvenile lad, however, being held like that by his older brother, feeling unconditionally loved and protected, was like having his wounded angel wings finally healed and ready to let him fly free again... high and away.

He surrendered his weary spirit to the moment. A peaceful feeling invaded his scrawny but young body and soul when he closed his deep green eyes, with a relieved smile on his face. He never opened them back again...

*** 

A flash in the man’s past life veiled memory brought him sometime ahead of the previous scene. The bed was empty and the sheets had a fresh and clean scent of wild lavender. A pair of big cushions was placed over the neat linen. The man looked to the outside through the window glass with a sad emptiness crushing his sore chest. His soul flooded up with painful feelings of melancholy and nostalgia. His eyes wandered around the room for some minutes. The small transparent vase on the bedside was empty this time, as it was his aching heart and soul. The man took a very deep breath and let his distressed tears run down his face. Those tears were yearning too long for finally flowing freely from his sad and tired eyes.

Moments later, he turned around and left the room, closing the door behind his back for more than just a lifetime.

***

A solitary sea-mew flying high above the man’s head seemed almost stuck in the air, moving very lightly, using the instinctive knowledge of the lessons learned from the evolution of times and species. The man’s eyes were attracted by the scene, while his mind wandered back to the present. The wind blowing through the bird’s broad open wings kept its body almost effortless and steadily afloat. It seemed to be enjoying the skilled flight with its head pointing the sea ahead and its strong body hung from the sky by invisible strings.

As if driven by an inaudible warning sign, the apparently forlorn seagull opened his yellowish beak and emitted a loud cry, bending his head and moving his wings, diving through the air into the icy blue ocean.

Seconds later, the sight of the bird coming out from the cold waters woke the man up, as if bringing him back from a long lasting dream. His eyes lightened up a bit as if the shadow covering his spirit for too long was suddenly removed.

The man turned around on his heels and climbed the hilltop, taking a left path and going down to the other side, in the direction of the stone house at the foot of the mountain. A man with grey reddish hair was waiting by the river with anxious blue eyes fixed on the figure coming down the green field into his direction. He could feel somehow, by the way the man walked, that his friend’s soul was absolutely and completely washed down by long kept painful tears. His ghosts were definitely resting in paradise. His heart was finally in peace.

***

The warm and sunny afternoon gives place to orange lines painting the blue shaded sky like a bright and rather light watercolour announcing a starry night to come. The waves coming and going to the beach sand with their repeating uncontrolled movement bring a welcome feeling of peace to the two men walking slowly and barefoot at the shoreline.

Ahead in the distance a fisherman pulls a small net with a few small silver fish still oddly jumping in a useless effort inside the mesh they are imprisoned. The fresh breeze blows against their mature faces and a sensation of completeness fill their souls.

They walk quietly, side by side, bumping each other’s bodies every now and then, almost casually. They feel no need for words when they walk together by the beach every day in the late afternoon.

From not so distant where they are the sound of a known old song comes and fills their ears with nostalgia and a kind of welcome joy. The hazel eyed man smiles and looks at his partner in life and asks:

“Shall we dance?”

The blue eyed man smiles back at his friend and says in his funny way of tease:

“Yah...”

They danced to the sound of music... like friends do... with no worries or bigotry...

The well known words went on and on... “I set fire to the rain, watched it pour as I touched your face; well, it burned while I cried, 'cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name!”* (*Adele: Set Fire to the Rain)

From the veranda of the beach house, an adult male ginger cat observes serenely the two men dancing at the beach and paw fluffs his comfortable cushion, where he lies restfully almost immediately after. The soft and relaxing purring of the feline is not heard by anyone but itself, while the night falls silently on that side of the planet, painting the dark blue sky with small bright spots of silvery light...

[1] Mull; hilltop

Ícaro

Mãos habilidosas de artífice

Me construíram largas asas,

Que vesti

Como se fossem partes de mim

Desde todo o sempre

E pelo límpido ar da tarde

Alcei meu suave voo

De estréia.

O vento me acariciava o rosto

E o sol me aquecia o corpo,

Atraindo minha coragem

E tornando-me audaz,

Como se fosse um invencível super-herói.

Mas como menino que se empolga

- Demasiado -

Com seu brinquedo novo,

Me deixei levar

Pela beleza e pelo prazer de voar

E me permiti subir alto demais…

Perto demais do calor

Que ao mesmo tempo que me encantava,

Me derretia

O compacto suporte de cera

Artesanalmente manuseada que,

A sustentar minhas asas,

Me permitia continuar no ar.

Caí,

Como se fosse um pássaro

Ferido e incapacitado,

Cujas asas já não lhe valem

O verdadeiro intuito,

No meio de um oceano

Azul-escuro,

Que engoliu meu corpo

E meu desejo,

Imediatamente

E com uma frieza

Súbita e desumana.

Um abraço gelado

De morte

Paralisou meu coração

Mas meu medo não teve tempo

De se manifestar

Em meu espírito.

Foi então que tuas mãos

Me resgataram,

Inesperadamente,

Do mar de trevas

Em que estava

Completamente submerso

E embora já sem asas,

Ressurgi

No contacto

Com o calor do teu corpo

E do teu abraço.

Meu sopro de vida

Foi prudentemente

Resgatado

Por tua boca, que

- Colada à minha –

Trouxe-me de volta

À consciência e à realidade.

Não me presenteaste

Novas asas,

É verdade,

Mas, com certeza,

Me restituíste o poder

De voar

Outra vez…

Wings of the Angel

I look at you,

In your placid sleep

And cannot help

But think an Angel

Came down to Earth

To fill my life

With blissful joy

And sweet tenderness.

I look at you,

When you smile

And I feel the sun

Light up my eyes

And my whole life,

Warming my heart up

With such a pleasant feeling

And caress,

My soul is overflowed

With waves of affection

And strong emotions.

Your eyes are blue skies to me

And they shine like stars

At night,

Scaring all the darkness away,

For since you were born

All my own fears have vanished

For good and forever.

Facing you,

I, who am strong and tough,

Become a young boy again,

Staring at the magnificence

Of an Archangel,

Whose wings open up

To embrace my soul,

And I give myself in

To your beauty

And to the light and power

You surround me with.

When I lay my head

On your little chest,

My life turns into

Something so fragile

And vulnerable,

Before the strong gentleness

Of yours,

That I become the part of you

You have inherited from me 

And I finally realize

We are undoubtedly made

Of the same matter

The heavenly Love is.

The Meeting

...And when your chest

Is that close to mine

And your heartbeat

Copy the beat of mine,

My arms will be 

Like a ring

Around your body

And my lips,

Close to your ears,

Trying not to spoil

The magic of the moment

Will only whisper:

Oh, Dear,

How good it is

To be here 

And now!!!