Other Studies in Red and Blue - Part 3

Red...  Blue... Red... Blue... Red... Blue...

The thin, yet slightly viscous stream of a scarlet fluid  flowed slowly through the spaces among the cobblestones of the driveway. A little forward, it joined other ones as tiny branches to the same river, forming, further on, a small enamelled pond tinted of a bright red tone which was slowly growing in size right before her eyes.

Kneeling on the worn grey and dirty granite pavement, she examined the fallen body – slightly sideways, half face down - in the middle of the promenade. A mixture of confusion and deep pain pinched her breast, when she touched the young man’s still warm skin. Driven by a sense of duty, she tried to deprive herself of thinking about her feelings, trying to be strictly scientific as the professional detective she was, by analyzing just the situation and the facts. Being cruelly consumed by a strange stingy pain, however, she was not able to separate reason from emotion. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears which were flooding her eyes and her spirit that, in objection, responded with a sharp twinge piercing the organ pulsing inside her chest.

Control yourself, she thought. Control yourself...

Those eyes of an intense tone of blue sapphire, still open, did not seem to have been entirely surprised by fate. Actually they gave the impression of imperturbably contemplating the empty space ahead. The woman’s body shook slightly as she had the false impression that he just rested awkwardly on the hard floor of the street. She silently asked herself, mystified, what those eyes had seen before life was snatched away from them, sadly, violently and definitely.

Feeling awkwardly uneasy, she looked away from the scene that was lugubrious unfolded there, right before her eyes, in red... and blue...

The experts had arrived to scientifically examine all the details concerning the body and the place, collecting samples of everything they could. Someone deigned to carefully close the dead boy’s pale eyelids. He now seemed to sleep placidly...

Onlookers gathered together on the back, despite the barricade placed by the police around the scene. Her uneasiness grew worse on that situation. She thought of vultures around a dead animal, ready to attack at the first opportunity. That odd thought troubled her greatly, to the point of making her want to be far away from there, away and apart from everything and everyone.

In a normal situation she would consider a lifeless body as an object of study. The analyzed evidences would become irrefutable for the forensic laboratory experts to determine the cause of death and conduct investigations to the police.

That particular case, however, had shaken her nerves up. A sudden nausea was rising in her stomach and she felt the urge to throw up. It was not only some fresh air and a little rest she needed... it was essential to be away from that place immediately.

The intermittent flashing lights hurt her eyes, while the images intermingled in her mind, making it difficult to separate past and present, reality and imagination, memories and facts. Although that kind of 'show' was not new to her, the excess work hours without any rest were quickly bringing her patience to the boiling point.

The investigating policewoman - always tough, cold and impersonal - was beginning to show signs of weakness and stress. The fact of knowing the victim contributed greatly to increase her discomfort and instil a strange sense of guilt, which was beginning to weigh heavily on her tortured conscience. She was awake for longer than 24 hours. She knew she was not sleeping properly for several days and suspected the amount of ingested caffeine started causing hallucinations.

She realized, almost accidentally that on the other side of the small crowd of onlookers, she was being observed by a certain pair of deep blue eyes - like the waters of the Pacific Ocean. He was there, aware of every move she made, as if studying her with great interest. If he was watching her like a prey, preparing to attack at the first opportunity, she was not really sure, but the sight made her somehow restless and uncomfortable. She still did not know what the relationship he had with that context was, but the instinct of a well-trained police officer lit a red light within and alerted her to the fact that he was neither an innocent nor a casual curious spectator.

She frowned, looking in that direction, but a minor distraction made her lose eye contact with the boy. When she looked back for Misha in the crowd, he was already gone. She wondered if she had really seen him or had imagined that scene.

Red...  blue... red... blue...

The spinning lights on the police cars painted the night with almost unreal shades of colours. The woman's eyes began to lose focus, gradually, as she sought, behind the police line, the presence of the character she was not sure to have really seen. The sounds of voices, sirens and traffic were slowly becoming distant... She felt her legs go weak and, luckily, was close enough to the car, so she could keep herself up. She stared at the coloured turning lights in an attempt to stay focused, but her mind began to wander in time...

The cobalt-blue eyes... the red light beam filtered through the stained glass window... other eyes of a different tone of sapphire... the explosion in red within her... the open blue eyes of the boy lying on the ground... the puddle of bright red blood around the dead  body...

  - Stop staring at those lights this way...

She felt a firm tug on the arm, bringing her back to reality...

***

- I really enjoy being here with you... I feel safe and well protected, like every woman should actually feel...

Lying beside him, in a large double bed, she waited for a reaction. The declaration was only followed by a deep sigh. She turned to him and saw a silent tear slowly running down the side of his face.

In a spontaneous gesture of affection, she gently touched his wet face. An uncomfortable feeling enveloped her mind, as if it was the harbinger of a tragedy approaching apace.

He gave another sigh and said:

- Just do not make me suffer, please. I've been through a lot of pain in my life. I do not know how much more I would be able to withstand...

At a time when they should be relaxed and happy, making plans for the future or laughing at silly things, he suddenly seemed to be so distant and so lost... without any perspective in life...

She hugged him tightly, not saying anything. He surrendered to that statement of tenderness and wept with his head on the shoulders of the woman who, at that time, showed up a strong support to him while he collapsed in front of her, letting all his defences fall apart, without the fear of looking ridiculous. How fragile and needy that man seemed to be, while nestled in her arms... His cry was sad... anxious... convulsive...

She kissed his head, with soft and genuine affection.

(Twenty-six years old and already so suffered? Who had done this to you, my child? Who hurt you this much at the point of leaving you so disillusioned... so fragile?)

A whisper in the ear was all she could offer. He sighed and apparently calmed down, still holding her.

- Do not be afraid, my boy, to look weak. You do not have to be strong always. The past that brought you here is left behind. Let it stay where it belongs. It may have made you who you are today, but it doesn’t need to determine who you will be tomorrow. Whatever happened, my dear friend, is past now. The present is here... with me. What comes ahead depends only on you...  and me... but the best is yet to come... believe me... To tell you the truth, I have no nostalgia for the past I lived. I believe in a better future and I want you to be part of it. Trust in your heart... and in mine... Give a chance for both of us for this relationship to work.

He did not answer. He was silent, as if trying to absorb the meaning of those words, digesting them slowly, not before chewing them a large number of times. He knew she was right but had no assurance he was ready to give up completely.  He felt like someone threw in the cold, dark and uncertain ocean, on a stormy night.

She realized that, after all, they were both shipwrecked in a sea of ​​past disappointments and were afraid of having their hearts hurt, as had happened countless times, at least in her case. He also seemed to have experienced deep disappointments - those that make fear overshadow reason and block emotion. Afraid to suffer, either lover restricted the 'allow oneself to face' whatever life could offer them, open and intensely, for as long as the affective relationship could deserve to last...

Although encouraging him, she realized that she was also scared.... In fact, she felt increasingly anxious and scared...

- I need some time... alone... I'm so confused right now...

(Oh, God... what is this now?)

At that moment she seemed to distance herself from those blue eyes and from that naughty boyish smile, which she had inadvertently fallen for. That request had sunk in her heart like a huge rock falling in the calm waters of a lake and raising a massive wave of apprehension... It was hard to believe he said that, like that, then and there...

(How many mistakes can be made until a person is convinced that they are only being repeated indefinitely?)

***

She left her friend, still somewhat suspicious, by the nearest metro station, after guaranteeing she was fine and could drive home safely. She went on alone, anticipating the sensation and comfort of a warm bath and the large and comfortable bed. The night lights passed practically unnoticed by the car windows as she crossed the city streets at limit speed.

Red...

The sudden change in the colour of the traffic light ahead made her hit the brakes hard. A fire truck, followed by an ambulance - both with sirens blaring - passed at high speed by the street cross section she stopped at.

She saw herself among images brought to her active and conscious mind, surrounded by arms, hands, broken glass and voices she heard but could not really understand. Suddenly the lights, voices and people disappeared and she ceased to feel pain, falling into the deep void of an immense and silent black hole...

She remembered, then, when she woke up from the unconsciousness she was for a good and long season. The tragic car accident left her between life and death in a coma for more than a long time. She had lost, definitively and irretrievably, the one she had loved. The husband could not resist the impact of the collision and died instantly. To her, life was restored, but not without a price.

While in the hospital, people who visited brought her gifts and flowers, clumsy attempts - in her view - to alleviate the pain and loneliness of the loss and post-coma recovery. She felt defeated and probably assumed that she had no right to the presents people brought her. The compensation seemed unfair and improper to her. Flowers and gifts have, then, represented a big loss, so she loathed them with all her strength.

From that time on she became disappointed for the rest of her life, feeling aversion to any and every occasion that would have any relation with gifts. Paradigms that repeated themselves over and over again. She continued to be carried away by the pattern behaviour that she had less right than others to those gifts. She wanted to satisfy the desires of others, without thinking on what she really wanted.

(Life, by irony or malice, as a result of the accident, deprived me of the right to procreate. I mistook it with the right to love and assumed I had to be tough, insensitive and almost masculine, even in the way I dressed. My few relationships after that had been fleeting, with no depth at all. In the only two times I had at least hoped to have someone for longer, I had been surprised by the sad and cruel blows of destiny. I seem to have a heavy 'karma' to pay and that is costing me dearly...)

She became a bitter loner who had no expectations on emotions and other immaterial things. She had decided to devote herself entirely to the work, since her life was not much more beyond that. The long hours of hard and obsessive work drove her away from the thoughts of even relating to someone emotionally. What she valued most was some peace, quiet and the comfort of silence, when she returned home at the end of the day, where the faithful Ginger always waited at the door, invariably greeting her arrival and always willing to get a little attention and waiting to be fed properly.

They had a very special and unique relationship. They spent their free time together, whenever possible, in silence or quietly listening to music, clinging to each other, lying on the sofa, on cold days, under a thick blanket. It was he who listened, perhaps without understanding when the woman went into depression mode, but the cat never complained - just looked in her eyes, as if saying: 'I do not know if I quite understand what you say, but I'm here, giving you all the support you need '.

She smiled sadly at the thought of her four-legged fellow and returned to the reality of the present moment.

The traffic light had been in the red for what she took for too long a time. Her head could not stay focused on anything for more than a few fractions of seconds. Her thoughts invariably returned to the scene and to the watching eyes, which were as if analyzing her movements or showing something else: perhaps a sign of retaliation. It was as if, consciously, she was being punished for not having helped him. And what if he were taking revenge by taking something he knew she held dearly, to compensate for the night he had to spend in jail for not being able to pay his bail?

The light changed to green and she went on through the city streets, semi-aware of what she was doing, relying more on instinct than on her alertness. A pang of pain struck her temples and the muscles in her neck tingled. Tension, she thought... She had to stop.

She was already seeing different eyes in every different place. She was not sure she was fascinated or in complete hallucination. She could not stop thinking about those charming and expressive blue eyes, which were part of her recent past and that were so cruel and violently snatched from her.

Getting home was a strange experience, which she could not remember very clearly. There seemed to be a mist in her eyes and in her discernment. She was almost semi-conscious. She just realized where she was, after leaving the car, walking to the lobby door and letting the keys she had in her hand fall onto the ground.

It was like waking up from a strange trance. Her head seemed to be in a turmoil and the thoughts did not fit in anywhere... they were like a sequence of images passing through randomly and quickly.

She was not sure how she arrived at the apartment door. She entered and threw the keys on the table in the lobby, heading for the kitchen to prepare something to eat.

Ginger was waiting, naturally anxious, like every day when she came home and greeted her by hitting her leg with his head: sign that it was time for his food. She fed the pet and prepared herself a cheese sandwich, an easy and convenient meal as it was already quite late at night.

A glass of her favourite red wine soothed her temper and relaxed her tense body. The shower would have to wait. She threw herself on the sofa shortly thereafter, still fully dressed, throwing the shoes to the side, to the despair of the cat, who abhorred any kind of mess. Her little fellow approached, lay down on her chest, purring with satisfaction and looking deep into her eyes, as he often did when he wanted to be cuddled.

She fell asleep right there, too tired to do anything productive.

Blue eyes pursued her through the night, in dreams full of agony and cold sweat - a restless sleep - so often lately. She woke up still too early in the morning, more tired than if she had not slept, mostly because of the little comfort of the couch... She got up feeling cold, took a warm shower, wrapped herself in a bathrobe and went to the kitchen in order to prepare something hot to drink. She was still so tense that would she could not get back to sleep, anyway.

A good cup of strong coffee would leave her awake enough to think more coherently and evaluate the circumstances and events of the last day. She needed to gather the facts logically. She had to try to follow a line of reason that would lead to a proper conclusion, or at least give her a clue how to unravel that mystery. Her instinct was pointing to a direction, but she needed more specific facts and she knew she would have to struggle enough to get them right.

The woman began to take hasty notes, without much order, as in a brainstorming, trying to organize the details still fresh in her memory. The apparent calm in the dead boy’s face still intrigued her. For what reason the frozen look did not show any surprises in the last event of his life, she still could not understand.

But what tormented her most at that moment was to discover the relationship Misha had with that whole scene. It could not be only a twist of fate, his being there, at that specific time. It was a behaviour that she would not accept based on what she knew of him. She tried endlessly, but her head was beginning to show signs of fatigue.

That old and known pain, was back to annoy her, preventing her from thinking clearly. She felt the muscles behind her neck and shoulders tingle. She instinctively passed her fingertips over the sore muscles... To the heat rising up her spine, followed a delightfully comfortable dizziness, as if it was the numbness caused by the ingestion of a large glass of wine, in an empty stomach. She closed her eyes and sank into a smooth and quiet darkness, losing completely all her senses...

Outros Estudos em Vermelho e Azul - Parte 3

Vermelho… Azul… vermelho… Azul… Vermelho… Azul…

O fino veio de fluido escarlate, ainda levemente viscoso, escorria vagarosamente por entre os espaços das pedras do passeio. Mais à frente, juntava-se a outros, como afluentes a um mesmo rio, formando, ainda mais adiante, uma pequena lagoa esmaltada, tinta de um brilhante tom rubro, que ia lentamente aumentando de tamanho, diante de seus olhos. 

Ajoelhada no gasto calçamento de granito cinzento e sujo, ela examinava o corpo caído - meio de lado, meio de bruços - no meio do passeio público. Uma mistura de perturbação e profunda dor comprimiram-lhe o peito, ao tocar a pele - ainda morna - do jovem homem. Impelida pelo senso de dever, tentou privar-se de pensar em seus sentimentos, procurando ser a mais científica e profissional detective, diante da situação e dos factos. Sendo cruelmente consumida pela dor, entretanto, ela não já conseguia separar a razão da emoção. Engoliu em seco, tentando reter as lágrimas que sentia inundarem seus olhos e seu espírito que, em objecção, retribuiu com uma aguda fisgada no principal órgão pulsando em seu peito. 

Controle-se, pensou ela. Controle-se… 

Aqueles olhos, de um tom intenso de safira, ainda abertos, não pareciam haver sido inteiramente surpreendidos pela fatalidade. Na verdade, davam a impressão de contemplar, imperturbavelmente, o espaço vazio à frente. A mulher estremeceu levemente, tendo a falsa impressão que ele apenas descansava, desajeitadamente, sobre o duro piso da rua. Questionou-se, intrigada e em silêncio, o que aqueles olhos teriam visto, antes que a vida fosse arrebatada deles, triste, violenta e definitivamente? 

Desviou a atenção, sentindo um certo mal-estar pela cena daquela peça lúgubre, descortinada ali, diante de si, em vermelho… e azul… Os peritos já chegavam para examinar, detalhada e cientificamente, o corpo e o local, recolhendo amostras de tudo que podiam. Alguém dignou-se a fechar-lhe, com cuidado, as pálidas pálpebras. Ele, agora, parecia serenamente adormecido… 

Curiosos ajuntavam-se à volta, apesar do cordão de isolamento estendido pela polícia em volta da cena do crime. Seu mal-estar cresceu diante daquela situação. Pensou em abutres em torno de um animal morto, prontos a atacar, na primeira oportunidade. Aquele pensamento inquietou-a grandemente, ao ponto de fazê-la querer estar longe dali, alheia a tudo e a todos.

Numa situação normal consideraria um corpo sem vida como um objecto de estudo… um conjunto de provas que se tornariam irrefutáveis para os peritos do laboratório forense determinarem a causa da morte e conduzirem as investigações aos policiais. 

Aquele caso específico, todavia, mexera bastante com seus nervos. Sentiu uma súbita convulsão no estômago. Teve fortes ânsias de vómito. Precisava de ar fresco, distância daquele local e um pouco de descanso.

As luzes a piscar intermitentemente feriam-lhe os olhos, enquanto as imagens misturavam-se em sua mente, tornando difícil separar passado e presente, realidade e imaginação, memórias e factos. Apesar daquele tipo de ‘espectáculo’ não lhe ser nenhuma novidade, o excesso de horas seguidas de trabalho, sem repouso, estava dando cabo de sua paciência, com uma facilidade descomunal. 

A investigadora de polícia – sempre durona, fria e impessoal - começava a mostrar sinais de fraqueza e stress. O facto de conhecer a vítima contribuía grandemente para aumentar o seu incómodo e incutir-lhe uma estranha sensação de culpa, que já começava a aumentar o peso em sua torturada consciência. Ela estava de pé por mais de 24 horas, não dormia direito já por vários dias seguidos e começava a desconfiar que a quantidade de cafeína ingerida causava-lhe delírios. 

Percebeu, quase sem querer, que do outro lado da pequena multidão de curiosos, ela estava sendo observada por um certo par de olhos profundamente azuis – como as águas do Oceano Pacífico. Ele estava lá, atento a cada movimento que fazia, como se a estudasse com grande interesse. Se a vigiava como a uma presa, preparando um futuro bote, ela não tinha realmente certeza, mas aquela visão deixou-a, de alguma forma inquieta e desconfortável. Qual a relação que ele tinha com aquele contexto, ela ainda não sabia, mas o instinto de policial bem treinada acendeu uma luz vermelha dentro de si e alertou-a para o facto de que aquela não era uma curiosidade inocente… nem tampouco casual. 

Franziu o cenho, ao olhar naquela direcção, mas uma distracção qualquer a fez perder o contacto visual com o rapaz. Quando tornou a procurar Misha, no meio da multidão, este já havia desaparecido. Perguntou-se se o havia visto realmente, ou se o havia imaginado naquela cena. 

Vermelho… azul… vermelho… azul…

As luzes acesas em cima das viaturas policiais pintavam a noite com tons quase irreais de cores fortes. Os olhos da mulher, anteriormente atentos, começaram a perder o foco, gradativamente, enquanto ela procurava, na faixa por detrás do cordão de isolamento, a presença do personagem que ela não tinha certeza de haver verdadeiramente visto. Os sons das vozes, sirenes e trânsito foram-se distanciando, lentamente… Sentiu as pernas fraquejarem e, por sorte, estava suficientemente próxima do carro parado, para poder apoiar-se. Fixou-se nas cores a girar, na tentativa de voltar a manter o foco, mas sua mente começou a vaguear no tempo… 

Os olhos azul-cobalto… o facho de luz filtrada pelo vitral vermelho da janela… outros olhos de um distinto tom de safira… a explosão em vermelho dentro de si… os olhos azuis do corpo caído na sarjeta… a poça de sangue vermelho e brilhante à volta do rapaz morto… 

  - Pare de olhar estas luzes assim... 

Sentiu um firme puxão no braço, fazendo-a voltar à realidade…

***

- Eu gosto tanto de estar aqui… Contigo sinto-me segura e bem… protegida, como toda mulher deve, na verdade, sentir-se… 

Deitada ao lado dele, na ampla cama de casal, ela esperou uma reacção. À declaração seguiu-se apenas um profundo suspiro. Ela virou-se para ele e viu que uma lágrima silenciosa e solitária escorria-lhe lentamente pelo lado do rosto.

Num gesto de espontâneo carinho, ela tocou-lhe, com cuidado, a face molhada. Uma sensação desconfortável envolveu-lhe o espírito, como se o prenúncio de uma tragédia se aproximasse a passos largos.

Ele deu outro suspiro e falou, com voz grave e baixa:

- Só não me faça sofrer, por favor. Já passei por muita dor na minha vida. Não sei quanto mais eu iria conseguir suportar...  

Num momento em que deveriam estar relaxados e felizes, fazendo planos para o futuro, ou rindo de coisas bobas, ele, de repente parecia tão distante e tão perdido… tão sem perspectivas… 

Ela puxou-o para si e abraçou-o com força, sem dizer nada. Ele entregou-se àquela demonstração de ternura e chorou, com a cabeça nos ombros da mulher que, naquele momento mostrava-se tão forte a ampará-lo, enquanto ele desabava diante dela, deixando cair todas as suas defesas, sem medo de parecer ridículo. Quão frágil e carente aquele homem se encontrava ali, aninhado em seus braços… Seu choro era triste… angustiado… convulsivo... 

Ela beijou-lhe a cabeça, com suave e autêntica afeição.

(Vinte e seis anos de idade e já assim tão sofrido? Quem fez isso contigo, minha criança? Quem te magoou esse tanto a ponto de deixar-te tão desiludido… tão fragilizado?) 

Um sussurro, ao pé do ouvido, foi o melhor que pode oferecer-lhe. Ele suspirou e, aparentemente, acalmou-se, ainda abraçado a ela.

- Não tenha medo, meu menino, de parecer fraco. Não tens que ser forte sempre. O passado, que te trouxe até aqui, ficou lá atrás. Deixa-o ficar onde ele pertence. Ele pode ter feito quem tu és, hoje, mas não precisa determinar quem tu serás amanhã. O que passou, passou, meu querido amigo. O presente é aqui… comigo. O que vier daqui para frente só depende de ti… de mim… de nós… mas o melhor ainda está por vir… acredita em mim… Para falar bem a verdade, eu não tenho saudades do passado que vivi. Eu acredito num futuro melhor e quero que faças parte dele. Confia no teu coração… e no meu... Dê uma hipótese a nós dois para que essa relação possa dar certo. 

Ele não respondeu. Ficou em silêncio, como se estivesse tentando absorver o sentido daquelas palavras, digerindo-as devagar, depois de mastigá-las um grande número de vezes. Sabia que ela estava correcta, mas não tinha convicção de haver-se convencido a entregar-se totalmente, como quem se jogasse na escuridão fria e incerta do oceano, numa noite de tempestade. 

Ela percebeu que, afinal, eram ambos náufragos, em um mar de decepções passadas e tinham receio de ter o coração machucado, como já havia acontecido vezes sem conta, pelo menos no seu caso. Ele também parecia haver experimentado profundas decepções – daquelas que fazem o medo ofuscar a razão e bloquear a emoção. Para não sofrer, tanto um como o outro, restringiam, assim, o ‘permitir-se enfrentar’ o que a vida pudesse lhes oferecer, aberta e intensamente, por tanto tempo quanto merecesse durar qualquer relação afectiva… 

Apesar de encorajá-lo, ela percebia que também estava assustada…. Na verdade, sentia-se cada vez mais angustiada e assustada… 

- Eu preciso de um tempo… sozinho… Estou tão confuso neste momento…

(Oh, Deus… e essa agora…) 

Naquele momento ela pareceu distanciar-se daqueles olhos azuis e daquele sorriso de menino travesso, pelos quais havia-se deixado, inadvertidamente, apaixonar. Aquele pedido havia-lhe caído como uma grande pedra na água serena de um lago, levantando uma imensa onda… de apreensão… em seu coração. Custava-lhe acreditar que ele dissera aquilo, daquele jeito, ali, naquele momento…

(Quantos erros podem ser cometidos, até uma pessoa se convencer que apenas os repete indefinidamente?) 

***

Assegurou à amiga que estava bem e que podia conduzir, sozinha, para casa. Deixou-a, ainda um tanto desconfiada, numa estação de metro e seguiu adiante, já pensando no conforto de um banho quente e da grande e confortável cama. As luzes da noite passavam, praticamente imperceptíveis, pelas janelas do carro, em velocidade acelerada.

Vermelho… 

A mudança repentina na cor da luz no semáforo à sua frente a fez pisar nos freios com força. Um caminhão de bombeiros, seguido de uma ambulância - ambos com as sirenes ligadas - passou em alta velocidade pela rua transversal à que estava parada. 

Ela se viu, entre imagens trazidas à sua mente activa e consciente, cercada de braços, mãos, estilhaços de vidro e vozes - que ouvia, mas não conseguia compreender. Apagaram-se as luzes, as vozes, as pessoas e ela deixou de sentir dor, caindo no profundo vazio de um imenso e silencioso buraco negro…

Lembrou, então, de quando acordou do coma a que esteve por uma boa temporada. O trágico acidente de viação deixara-a entre a vida e a morte, em coma, por um longo tempo. Perdera, definitiva e irreparavelmente, quem mais havia amado até então. O marido não resistira ao impacto da colisão e morrera instantaneamente. A ela, foi restituída a vida, mas não sem um preço.

Enquanto estava no hospital, pessoas que a visitavam traziam-lhe presentes e flores, em tentativas desastradas – a seu ver - de minorar a dor e a solidão da perda e da convalescença pós-coma. Ela se sentia derrotada e assumia que provavelmente não tinha direito aos presentes que lhe traziam. A compensação parecia-lhe imprópria e injusta. Flores e presentes passaram, então, a representar sua grande perda, portanto ela abominava-os com todas as suas forças.

A partir dali, passava a ficar desiludida para o resto da vida, de modo a sentir aversão a toda e qualquer ocasião que se relacionasse com presentes. Paradigmas que se repetiam. Continuava a deixar-se levar pelo comportamento padrão que tinha menos direito que os outros. Queria satisfazer os desejos dos outros, sem pensar naquilo que realmente queria. 

(A vida, por ironia ou maldade, como resultado do acidente, privou-me do direito de procriar. Eu confundi com o direito de amar ou relacionar-me e assumi que tinha de ser durona, insensível, quase masculina, característica que se acentuava até no modo de vestir-me. Meus poucos relacionamentos, após aquele, haviam sido fugazes, sem nenhuma profundidade. Nas duas únicas vezes em que tivera um mínimo de esperança em ter alguém por mais tempo, fora surpreendida com os tristes e cruéis golpes do destino. Parece que tenho um pesado ‘carma’ a pagar e este está a custar-me bem caro…)

Ela se tornara uma pessoa solitária, amarga e sem expectativas em emoções e outras coisas imateriais, que decidira dedicar-se inteiramente ao trabalho, já que não sobrava muita coisa além daquilo em sua vida. As longas horas de trabalho duro e obsessivo afastavam-na de pensar em sequer relacionar-se com alguém. O que ela mais prezava era aquele pouco de paz, quietude e o conforto do silêncio, quando voltava para casa no fim do dia, onde o fiel Ginger sempre esperava à porta, invariavelmente, saudando sua chegada, sempre disposto a ganhar um pouco de atenção e esperando ser alimentado convenientemente. 

Tinham uma relação bastante especial e única. Passavam o tempo livre dela sempre juntos, muitas vezes em intuitivo silêncio ou ouvindo música baixinho, grudados um no outro, deitados no sofá da sala, em dias frios, debaixo de um espesso cobertor. Era ele quem a ouvia, talvez sem compreender, quando a mulher entrava em modo de depressão, mas o bichinho nunca reclamava – apenas a olhava nos olhos, como quem dissesse: ‘eu não sei se percebo bem o que dizes, mas estou aqui, a dar-te todo o apoio que precisares’. 

Esboçou um sorriso um tanto triste ao pensar no seu companheirinho de quatro patas e voltou à realidade do momento presente. 

O sinaleiro havia estado em vermelho pelo que tomou por tempo demasiadamente longo. Sua cabeça não conseguia manter o foco em nada, por mais que umas fracções de segundos. Seus pensamentos voltavam invariavelmente para aquela cena e para os olhos que a observavam, como se analisassem seus movimentos, por um lado, mas por outro mostravam algo mais: talvez uma espécie de retaliação. E se, conscientemente, ele a estivesse punindo por não havê-lo ajudado? E se ele estivesse a vingar-se, tirando-lhe algo que sabia que ela prezava, para compensar a noite que tivera de passar na cela da cadeia, por não ter como pagar uma fiança? 

O sinal mudou para verde e ela prosseguiu, pelas ruas da cidade, semi-consciente do que fazia, confiando mais no instinto que em seu estado de alerta. Uma pontada de dor atingiu-lhe as têmporas e os músculos em seu pescoço formigaram. Tensão, pensou… Precisava parar. 

Já via diferentes olhos em todos os diferentes lugares. Ela não tinha certeza se estava fascinada ou em completa alucinação. Não conseguia parar de pensar na fascinante cor azul daqueles expressivos olhos, que faziam parte de seu passado recente, tão cruel e violentamente arrebatado de si.

Chegar em casa foi uma experiência estranha, da qual não se recordava de nada muito claramente. Parecia haver uma névoa em seus olhos e em seu discernimento. Estava praticamente semi-consciente. Só deu-se conta de onde estava, depois de sair do carro, caminhar até a porta do saguão e deixar cair as chaves da mão. 

Foi como se acordasse de um estranho transe. Sua cabeça parecia estar em turbilhão e os pensamentos não encaixavam… eram uma sequência recortada de imagens passando completamente sem nexo – aleatória e rapidamente. 

Não sabe ao certo como chegou à porta do apartamento. Entrou e jogou as chaves sobre a mesinha no hall de entrada, seguindo para a cozinha, a fim de preparar algo para comer. 

Ginger a esperava naturalmente ansioso, como todos os dias quando chegava em casa e saudou-a com uma cabeçada na perna: sinal que estava na hora da sua comida. Alimentou o bichinho e preparou para si uma sanduíche de queijo quente, por ser mais prático e rápido e por ser já bastante tarde na noite. 

Uma taça do seu vinho tinto favorito acalmou seus ânimos e relaxou-lhe o corpo demasiadamente tenso. O banho ia ter de esperar. Jogou-se no sofá da sala logo em seguida, ainda completamente vestida, atirando os sapatos para o lado, para o desespero do gato, que abominava desarrumação. Seu pequeno companheiro aproximou-se, deitou-se sobre seu peito, ronronando de satisfação e olhando no fundo de seus olhos, como costumava fazer, quando queria um carinho. 

Adormeceu ali mesmo, cansada que estava para fazer qualquer outra coisa minimamente producente.

Os olhos azuis perseguiram-na pela noite adentro, em sonhos cheios de agonia e suor frio, num sono agitado, como já vinha ocorrendo muitas vezes ultimamente. Acordou-se no meio da madrugada, mais cansada do que se não tivesse dormido ali, devido ao pouco conforto do sofá… Levantou-se sentindo frio, tomou um duche morno, enrolou-se no roupão e foi preparar algo quente para beber. Estava ainda tão tensa que não iria conseguir voltar a dormir, de todo jeito.

Uma boa xícara de café forte iria deixá-la desperta o suficiente para pensar e avaliar mais coerentemente as circunstâncias e os eventos do último dia. Precisava juntar os factos de maneira lógica. Tinha que tentar seguir uma linha de raciocínio que a levasse à uma conclusão acertada, ou pelo menos que desse uma pista de como desvendar aquele mistério. Seu instinto apontava uma direcção, mas precisava de factos concretos e sabia que ia ter que esforçar-se bastante para consegui-los. 

Começou a fazer anotações apressadas, sem muito critério, como se num brainstorming, para tentar organizar os detalhes ainda vivos em sua memória. A aparente tranquilidade na face do rapaz morto ainda a intrigava. Por qual razão não deixara gravada nenhuma surpresa no olhar congelado pelo último acontecimento de sua vida, ela não conseguia ainda perceber. 

O que mais a atormentava, porém, naquele momento, era descobrir qual a relação Misha tinha com aquela cena toda. Não poderia estar apenas por um acaso do destino, naquela hora, naquele lugar. Não era um comportamento que ela aceitaria com base no que conhecia dele. Ela tentava sem parar, mas sua cabeça começava a dar sinais de cansaço. 

A sua velha conhecida dor nas têmporas, voltou a afligi-la, impedindo-a de pensar claramente. Sentiu os músculos atrás do pescoço e ombros a formigarem. Passou, instintivamente, as pontas dos dedos pelos músculos doloridos… A um calor subindo-lhe pela espinha, seguiu-se uma tontura quase deliciosamente confortável, como se fosse o torpor gerado pela ingestão de uma grande taça de vinho, quando se está com o estômago vazio. Ela fechou os olhos e deixou-se cair numa escuridão suave e silenciosa, apagando completamente todos os sentidos… 

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.