Of Sea and Men (Part 3)

Lying silently on the couch and staring at a non-existent spot on the ceiling, the young man tried to organize his thoughts, after all he had seen, heard and, of course, read. Despite the stillness of the night, his mind was working boisterously, like the teeth of dry and rusty gears, grinding against each other, in a fertile field of conflicting ideas. It was quite late, but he could not sleep, try as he might.

According to what was written in the police report, a witness had seen him being assaulted and thrown into the back seat of a car, which took off at high speed, many hundreds of kilometres away from that place. What happened after then was still unknown.

He was trying hard to remember something, once that Police Report and the information contained in it did not ring any bell in his tired head. In fact, it all seemed very surreal to be true. Despite having the thoughts so uneasy and restless, he kept on trying to rescue anything that he could from his long-term memory. All he could do, however, was to imagine alternative possibilities of what had happened, but without any real basis. The thin, fragile thread of memory was inexplicably broken at some point and he could not find the parts to tie them together again.

In fact, he did not even know who he was. He could be either good or bad. He could have been a victim or he could have had a very bad luck and been on the wrong place at the wrong time. He could have clashed with someone stronger than him. He could have been really assaulted by robbers. Or he could not be any of that, as bizarre as it might be...

The fatigue and fruitless effort made him finally fall asleep and dream...

***

In the only room of the small and modest house, built on the beachfront, the fisherman rolled from one side to the other in its simple, old dark and tough wooden bed, unable to fall asleep. His mind was also distressed, especially after the more informal conversation they had with the doctor. The investigation continued, based on the report issued by the police, but he had a feeling that something was not right. By default, he did not use to trust his intuition, but that time he felt something very strong and could not help but hear that voice in his head telling him to sift through the facts more thoroughly and not rely firmly on all he had read so far.

Of course a possible witness was better than nothing, but he preferred to rely on what his guest could remember in his own time, to make sure they were not mistaken. That situation was increasingly harrowing.

He had developed a wholehearted affection for the boy and find out the truth and regaining his memory, once and for all, become his priorities. He felt that the most likely to happen, once it was recovered, was that the young man would go back to his own life and leave the island, perhaps forever, and that almost certainty also afflicted him.

But he had to think with his reason and not with his heart. As silly as it seemed, however, assess the heart was exactly what he had been doing lately, every time he was alone with his own thoughts. From an elusive fisherman with only the almost imperceptible company of his old silent feline friend, he now had a welcome partner, either to chat with or to help him at work and it seemed fun to both. Although he liked the boy's assistance, he could not be selfish and think about what he liked or wanted for himself only. He felt he would lose his buddy, sooner or later, as soon as things would go back to normal. But he could not help wishing they would keep the friendship, at least for a while.

Like everything else in life, the distance would invariably cool that relationship down and ward off gradually until their contacts disappear for once and for good. He admitted he would really miss the guy, who would probably go back to his previous life, as soon as he recovered his memory. Perhaps he had a girlfriend, a family and possibly a dog or two.

He, on the other hand, had only his hut, his cat and his old fishing boat... and absolutely no other life to go back to. He decided his fate and was living with it. He had learned to survive with very little and did not need more, living just one day after another, without thinking of a very distant future.

He, however, was no longer so sure if that simple and dull life was enough for him anymore. He knew only that before knowing the tenant who was fast asleep on the sofa, he had given up many ambitions and did not crave more than what he presently owned.

But now he wanted to know more about the other man, maybe see him succeed in life, witness his success and perhaps meet his girlfriend, witness his getting married and having children with funny and unruly hair like their father. Perhaps he could even be a dear and welcome friend to that new family...

What a stupid nonsense! He was just an old and thick fisherman with almost nothing to do with the boy’s life. What would be the use of deceiving himself and thinking he could be, in the future, part of his life?

Had he changed so much in those last days? An incident like that should not tinker that much with his routine and his life. He had better face the harsh reality: he would soon go back to his lonely, sullen and distant man’s life with almost no expectations regarding his own future.

The man mocked himself. He was getting old and corny. That withered and hardened heart should not have softened so much, in just a few weeks. He had been so used to his old solitude that he had forgotten the pleasures of a good company. Now, he felt - or rather resented – he would have to go back to being alone when the other's presence, although so recent in his routine, brought more colour to his existence...

He suddenly felt sad. He was tired of thinking. Actually, he was tired of so many things... He closed his eyes, which were getting, for what he considered a silly reason, as damp as the delicate petals of the flowers, which become moist with dew in the autumn mornings. He fell asleep... and soon began to dream...

***

- The water is so good and fresh... Come swim to me.

- You’re crazy! It is too cold!

- It is not cold at all. It is good... Come to me.

The boy was calmly swimming around the boat, challenging his girlfriend to dive and swim with him in that immense and quiet ocean. Although the sun was high, he knew that the water temperature was too cool for her. For him, however, it was perfect. She did not believe him, anyway. She just waved, threw him an inflatable mattress and his sunglasses and lay on a towel on the deck, to sunbathe. He took the mattress and lay down on it, floating serenely between the intensity of the almost cobalt blue sky and the emerald-green ocean, letting himself be pleasantly rocked by the waves and with his thoughts wandering far away. He felt drowsy and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

Suddenly, that comfy swaying of his sleep seemed to change to a more agitated and violent state. The boy turned involuntarily around, lost his balance and fell overboard. The clash with the water made him fully awake and in a complete state of confusion. He felt he was sinking in the cold, salty waters and that his breath escaped him quickly. He tried to swim, but the movement of the waves was very violent. He swallowed water and felt weak. A pain in the back of his head caused him some discomfort and when he ran his fingers over it, he saw that he was bleeding. He tried to stay on the surface, but the effort was too much. He knew that if he stayed with his face in the water he would drown, so he tried to float on his back. The cold water would help ease the pain in the head. He closed his eyes and let himself go for a few minutes, struggling to swim, but the waves were cruel. One of them splashed over him and, swallowing water, he felt he was sinking. He struggled, but it seemed to be in vain. His lungs were flooded and he felt he was too tired to hold on. He felt his forces were waning. He had finally accepted his fate and let himself sink slowly...

He thought, as he sank, he was too young to die... The air failed him. It was death encircling him in a cold embrace, with more affection than he expected. The boy still thought before fainting, that the idea he had of death was of a much harder agony than that...

A flash of light lit up above him, in a sudden and his only thought was that the popular legend that there was a very bright light when passing from life to death, was true. That light, so intense and very strong, hit his eyes in full. At that moment he felt an unexpected peace and a comfortable warmth...

He opened his eyes and saw, through the sun rays coming through the living room window, the familiar silhouette of the tabby, sitting quietly on the faded moss-green window frame. The cat looked out, enjoying the morning sun that was rising above the horizon, on a very clean and intense blue, as only the winter sky could be. That would be a beautiful day after all... and also quite cold.

The young man realized that he had had only a very vivid and detailed dream after all. He smiled, got up, dressed quickly and went to the kitchen, followed by the cat, who rubbed into his legs, almost making him lose his balance and trying to get some cuddling or food.

***

The man got up as usual and passing through the room, he did not see the boy lying on the couch. Surprised and intrigued that the balcony door was unlocked, he put on a coat and went out. The boy was walking slowly, a few meters from the shore, more and more into the ocean. He watched, for a moment, to see what would happen. Despite the temperature of the water, he went on as if it were high summer. He never looked back or hesitate. He seemed intent on something that the other man did not notice at first. He went as far as the water hit him over his chest, took a few more steps and submerged in silence.

A bad feeling went through the fisherman's spine. His instinct shouted, louder than his reason. He got rid of his jacket, took off his shirt and shoes and ran into the icy sea waters. The adrenaline that ran intensely through his body did not allow to feel the cold tensing his muscles. Unable to spot the boy, he dipped into the freezing waters of the ocean. He saw a shadow ahead, looking like the body sinking slowly and swam in that direction, emerging for breath and diving again in order to rescue his protégé.

The man did not think at all. He just acted, moved by despair and the fear of losing his friend to an enemy whose weapons he was unable to fight against. He approached and tried to reach the other's arms, which were stretched upward, already unresponsive. He clutched his fingers around the other's wrists and pulled him up with energy, so that the body would emerge and enable the rescue and also to allow some air get into his lungs. He pushed the boy upwards so he reached the water's surface.

Emerging himself, he put his arm around the unconscious young man's chest, keeping his mouth and nose above the water line. He straightened up and began to swim, taking his friend along back to the beach, almost without difficulty. He laid the man on his back and started the cardiopulmonary resuscitation, immediately, in a desperate attempt to bring him back to life.

- Why did you do that? Where were you thinking?

The man did not understand the reason for such mindless action... And now he could not bring him back to life. He held his nose, opened his mouth and blew some air into, going back to massage the boy’s chest.

- Come on! Come on! Wake up, man. Don’t you die on me! Please!

He repeated the procedure, this time blowing harder in. By pushing his chest with both hands, he noticed a sort of convulsion and the boy coughed, expelling the water he had swallowed. The man shook him and saw that he opened his eyes, confused, as if unsure of what had just happened.

The fisherman raised him, hugging him and, without saying anything, just cried, feeling a mixture of relief and joy. Just below the breast line, a strange twinge of pain indicated that something was wrong.

He closed his eyes and loosened his embrace, feeling a kind of a faint. The effort could have been perhaps too much for him to bear. The twinge became more piercing and seemed to move with a pressure up his chest.

A cold sensation on his nose and a slight and continuous snoring, made him open his eyes and notice the deep green eyes of the cat staring at his eyes and pressing a nail at his chest. He laughed and stood up, realizing he had just had an absolutely unusual dream.

***

 - I had a very strange and detailed dream.

- Is that the reason why you are up so early?

- It's not so early. It's almost time to get out to sea. I have made some coffee...

- I also had an unusual dream. I think we were impressed by the report that the doctor brought us...

- Most likely…

- Do you want to talk about it?

- No, not yet...

***

When they came back from the morning chores at the sea, on a sunny Thursday, a few weeks later, they noticed a different movement on the pier routine. There was a greater buzz than in normal days. The matron was coming by with heavy steps on the wooden pier. Her flushed rosy face, severely hit by the sun and wind of winter, showed evident signs of anxiety. As she approached the two, she said, half breathless:

- I'm glad you came. The doctor wants to see you both immediately.

- What happened?

- The doctor told me to bring you two urgently. Do not ask me more than I know...

But they knew her well and realized that she avoided looking at them directly. She was hiding something, for sure, but she had been instructed not to tell them anything other than the absolutely necessary. The two men nodded at each other and quickened their pace behind the panting woman toward the office in the small health centre of the island.

When they arrived, they were received by the doctor, who was accompanied by an unknown man, dressed in a very formal way for the island routine. The visitor greeted them with a handshake and by turning his attention to the boy, asked him:

- Do you know who I am?

- Nope. I do NOT know you. Should I?

The man smiled, in a weird way. The boy and the fisherman tried to hide the concern that had passed down their faces, when they looked at each other.

The stranger cleared his throat and spoke up...

***

Homens do Mar (Parte 3)

Deitado, em silêncio, no sofá da sala e a olhar, fixamente, para um ponto inexistente no teto, o rapaz tentava organizar os pensamentos, depois de tudo o que já vira, ouvira e, obviamente, lera. Apesar da quietude da noite, sua cabeça estava a trabalhar ruidosamente, como os dentes de engrenagens secas e enferrujadas, a ranger uns contra os outros, num campo fértil em ideias conflituantes. Era bastante tarde, mas ele não conseguia dormir, por mais que tentasse.

Segundo constava no relatório da Polícia, uma testemunha vira-o ser assaltado, espancado e jogado dentro de um carro, que arrancou em alta velocidade, a muitas centenas de quilômetros dali. O que acontecera depois era, ainda, uma incógnita.

Ele tentava lembrar de algo, mas aquele relatório e aquela informação, nele contida, não batia muito dentro de sua mente, fazendo com que tudo parecesse muito surreal, para ser verdade. Apesar de estar com o pensamento assim, tão inquieto e de tentar resgatar qualquer coisa que pudesse, de sua memória de longo prazo, entretanto, tudo o que ele conseguia era imaginar alternativas… possibilidades, apenas… do que acontecera, mas sem quaisquer fundamentos. O fino e frágil fio da memória havia-se rompido em algum ponto e, inexplicavelmente, ele não conseguia encontrar as partes, para juntá-las novamente.

Na verdade, ele nem sabia quem era. Podia ser tanta coisa… tanto boa, quanto má. Podia ter sido uma vítima ou ter tido muito azar. Podia ter entrado em confronto com alguém mais forte que ele. Podia ter sido, realmente, atacado por assaltantes. Podia não ser nada daquilo, por mais bizarro que pudesse ser…

O cansaço e o esforço infrutífero fizeram-no, finalmente, adormecer e sonhar…

***

No único quarto da pequena e modesta habitação, construída à beira da praia, o pescador rolava de um lado para o outro em sua simples e antiga cama de madeira escura e resistente, sem conseguir pregar sono. Sua mente também estava perturbada, especialmente depois da conversa mais informal, que tiveram com o doutor. A investigação continuava, baseada no relatório emitido pela Polícia, mas ele tinha um pressentimento de que algo não estava certo. Como padrão, não costumava confiar na sua intuição, mas daquela vez, sentia algo muito forte e não podia deixar de ouvir aquela voz na sua cabeça, a dizer para vasculhar os factos mais a fundo e não confiar piamente em tudo que lera.

Claro que um testemunho era melhor que nada, mas ele preferia contar com o que seu hóspede conseguisse lembrar, em seu próprio tempo, para certificar-se que não estavam enganados. Aquela situação estava cada vez mais angustiante.

Ele havia desenvolvido uma grande afeição pelo rapaz e, descobrir a verdade, bem como recobrar sua memória, de uma vez por todas, tornaram-se suas prioridades. Ele sentia que o mais provável que acontecesse, assim que estivesse recuperado, era que o outro voltasse a viver sua própria vida e deixasse a ilha, talvez para sempre e, aquela quase certeza, também, o afligia. 

Mas, ele tinha que pensar com a razão e não com o coração. Por mais tolo que pudesse parecer, porém, avaliar com o coração era exatamente o que ele vinha fazendo, ultimamente, cada vez que ficava sozinho, com seus próprios pensamentos. De esquivo pescador com, somente, a quase impercetível companhia de seu velho e silencioso amigo felino, ele agora tinha um bem-vindo parceiro, tanto para conversar, quanto para ajudá-lo no trabalho e aquilo parecia divertir a ambos. Embora gostasse da assistência do rapaz, não podia ser egoísta e pensar no que ele gostava ou queria para si, somente. Sentia que ia perder seu camarada, mais cedo ou mais tarde, assim que as coisas voltassem ao seu normal. Mas não podia deixar de desejar que mantivessem a amizade, pelo menos por algum tempo.

Como tudo na vida, a distância iria, invariavelmente, arrefecer aquela relação e os afastar, aos poucos, até que seus contactos desaparecessem de vez. Admitia que iria sentir muita falta do rapaz. Aquele devia ter sua vida e, talvez, uma namorada, uma família e possivelmente, até, um cão ou dois.

Ele, por sua vez, tinha somente seu casebre, seu gato e seu velho barco de pesca... e, absolutamente, nenhuma outra vida para a qual pudesse voltar. Decidira seu destino e tinha que viver com aquilo. Aprendera a viver com muito pouco e de mais não necessitava. Vivia apenas um dia após o outro, sem pensar em um futuro muito longínquo.

Se aquela vidinha era-lhe suficiente, ele já não tinha mais tanta certeza. Sabia somente que, até conhecer o inquilino, que dormia profundamente no sofá da sala, ele havia abdicado de muitas ambições e que não almejava muito mais que aquilo que presentemente possuía.

Agora queria saber mais do outro, vê-lo vencer na vida, testemunhar seu sucesso e, talvez, conhecer sua namorada, vê-lo casar e ter filhos de cabelos rebeldes como do pai. Talvez até pudesse participar de alguma atividade com eles, como um caro e bem-vindo amigo…

Que bobagem! Ele era apenas um velho casca grossa e sem nenhuma relação com o rapaz. Não adiantava iludir-se e achar que poderia ter, no futuro, alguma parte na vida dele.

Havia mudado tanto assim naqueles últimos dias? Um incidente daqueles não devia mexer tanto com sua rotina e sua vida. Era melhor enfrentar a dura realidade: ele iria, em breve, voltar a ser aquele homem solitário, carrancudo e distante, com tão poucas expectativas em relação ao seu próprio futuro.

O homem escarneceu de si mesmo. Estava ficando velho e piegas. Aquele coração ressecado e endurecido não deveria ter-se deixado amolecer tanto, em tão poucas semanas Esteve tão acostumado com sua velha amiga solidão, que esquecera os prazeres de uma boa companhia. Agora, sentia - ou melhor, ressentia – ter que voltar a ficar sozinho, quando a presença do outro, embora tão recente em sua rotina, trouxera mais cor à sua própria existência…

Sentiu-se triste, de repente. Estava cansado de pensar. Na verdade, estava cansado de muita coisa… Fechou os olhos, que começavam a ficar, por aquilo que considerava uma tola razão, tão húmidos quanto as delicadas pétalas das flores, que amanhecem róscidas de orvalho, nas manhãs de outono. Adormeceu… e logo começou a sonhar…

***

- A água está tão boa… Vem ter comigo. 

- Tu és louco! Está frio!

- Não está nada frio. Está bom… Vem.

 O rapaz nadava, tranquilamente, à volta do barco, divertindo-se a desafiar a namorada a mergulhar e nadar com ele, naquele imenso e quieto oceano. Embora o sol estivesse alto, sabia que a temperatura da água estava fresca demais para ela. Para ele, entretanto, estava perfeita. Ela não caiu na conversa dele. Apenas acenou-lhe, jogou-lhe um colchão insuflável e os óculos de sol e deitou-se sobre uma toalha, no convés, a tomar sol. Ele aproveitou e deitou-se no colchão, que flutuava serenamente, entre a intensidade do azul quase cobalto do céu e do verde-esmeralda do oceano, deixando-se levar pelo agradável balanço das ondas e com o pensamento a vagar muito longe dali. Sentiu um peso nas pálpebras e fechou os olhos, adormecendo logo em seguida.

De repente, aquele balanço confortável de seu sono pareceu mudar para um estado mais agitado e violento. O rapaz virou-se, involuntariamente, perdeu o equilíbrio e caiu ao mar. O choque com a água fez com que acordasse totalmente e em estado de confusão total. Ele sentiu que afundava na água fria e salgada do oceano e que seu fôlego fugia-lhe rapidamente. Tentou bater os braços e nadar, mas o movimento das ondas era muito violento. Ele engolia água e sentia-se enfraquecer. Uma dor na parte de trás da cabeça causava-lhe desconforto e ao passar os dedos, viu que estava a sangrar. Ele tentou manter-se na superfície, mas o esforço era muito grande. Sabia que se ficasse com o rosto na água, ia afogar-se, por isso tentou ficar de costas. A água fria ajudaria a aliviar a dor na cabeça. Ele fechou os olhos e deixou-se levar por uns minutos, esforçando-se por boiar, mas as ondas eram cruéis. Uma delas passou por cima dele e, engolindo água, sentiu-se afundar. Ele debateu-se, mas parecia em vão. Seus pulmões estavam inundados, seu corpo cansado e ele sentiu que as forças faltavam-lhe. Aceitou, finalmente, seu destino e deixou-se submergir, lentamente…

Pensou, enquanto afundava, que era muito jovem para morrer… O ar faltou-lhe de vez. Era a morte a envolver-lhe, num frio abraço, com mais afeição que ele esperava. O rapaz ainda pensou, antes de deixar-se desfalecer, que a ideia que tinha de morte era de uma agonia muito maior que aquela…

Um clarão acendeu-se por cima dele, num repente, fazendo-o crer que a lenda popular de que havia uma luz, que todos falavam e que ele nunca acreditou, quando se passa da vida para a morte, era mesmo verdadeira. Aquela luz, tão intensa e muito forte, bateu, em cheio, sobre seus olhos. Naquele momento, ele sentiu uma paz enorme e confortavelmente morna...

Abriu os olhos e viu, entre os raios de sol que entravam pela janela da sala, a familiar silhueta do gato malhado, sentado tranquilamente sobre o descanso da esquadria de madeira pintada de um já-fora-verde-musgo-algum-dia e que agora estava muito desbotada. O animalzinho olhava para fora, aproveitando o sol da manhã, que começava a elevar-se horizonte acima, num azul muito limpo e intenso, como somente o céu de inverno podia ser. Aquele ia ser um dia bonito, afinal… e, também, bastante frio.

O rapaz percebeu que havia tido, apenas, um sonho bastante vívido e pormenorizado, afinal. Sorriu, levantou-se, vestiu-se rapidamente e foi para a cozinha, seguido pelo gato, que esfregava-se em suas pernas, quase fazendo-o perder o equilíbrio, na sua faina de ganhar algum afago ou comida.

***

O homem levantou-se, como de costume e ao passar pela sala, não viu o rapaz deitado no sofá. Estranhou que a porta da varanda estivesse destrancada. Intrigado, vestiu um casaco e saiu. O rapaz estava a alguns metros da margem, caminhando lentamente, cada vez mais para dentro do mar. Ele ficou a observar, por uns instantes, o que acontecia. Apesar da temperatura da água, ele avançava, como se fosse alto verão. Não olhava para trás, nem hesitava. Parecia determinado a algo, que o outro não percebeu, a princípio. Prosseguiu, até onde a água batia-lhe, à altura do peito, deu mais alguns passos e submergiu, em silêncio.

Uma má sensação percorreu a espinha do pescador. O instinto gritou-lhe, mais alto que a razão, dentro de si. Ele livrou-se do casaco, tirou a camisa e os calçados e atirou-se ao mar. A adrenalina, que corria-lhe intensamente pelo corpo, não permitia que sentisse o frio a enrijecer-lhe os músculos. Sem conseguir avistar o rapaz, mergulhou, à procura do corpo, nas águas geladas do oceano. Viu uma sombra à frente, parecendo ser o corpo a afundar e nadou naquela direção, emergindo para tomar fôlego e mergulhando novamente, de modo a resgatar seu protegido.

O homem não pensava; apenas agia, movido pelo desespero e pelo medo de perder o amigo, para um inimigo cujas armas desconhecia completamente. Ele aproximou-se e tentou alcançar os braços do outro, que estavam esticados para cima, já sem movimento algum. Ele fechou os dedos à volta dos pulsos do outro e puxou-o para cima, com energia, para que emergisse, facilitando o resgate e permitindo-lhe, também, encher os pulmões de ar. Ainda deu um impulso no corpo, enquanto via-o subir, antes de alcançar a superfície da água.

Ao emergir, passou o braço à volta do peito do rapaz, que estava inconsciente, mantendo a boca e o nariz acima da linha da água. Ele aprumou-se e começou a nadar, arrastando-o para a praia, quase sem dificuldade e deitando-o, de costas, na areia, iniciando a massagem cardíaca, logo em seguida, na tentativa desesperada de trazê-lo de volta à vida.

- Por que fizeste isso? Onde é que estavas com a cabeça?

O homem não compreendia a atitude descabeçada do rapaz... E agora não conseguia fazê-lo respirar e despertar do estado inconsciente. Segurou-lhe o nariz, abriu-lhe a boca e soprou ar para dentro, voltando a massajar o peito do rapaz.

- Vamos lá! Vamos lá! Acorda, por favor!

Repetiu o procedimento, desta vez, soprando com mais força. Ao apertar-lhe o peito, com as duas mãos, percebeu uma espécie de convulsão e o rapaz tossiu, expelindo a água que havia engolido. O homem sacudiu-o e viu que ele abriu os olhos, confuso, como se não soubesse o que acabara de acontecer.

O pescador levantou-o, abraçando-o e, sem dizer nada, simplesmente chorou, sentindo um misto de alívio e alegria.  Um pouco abaixo da linha do peito, uma estranha pontada de dor sinalizou que algo estava errado.

Fechou os olhos e afrouxou o abraço, sentindo-se cair, numa espécie de desmaio. O esforço que fizera, até aquele momento, talvez houvesse sido demasiado para ele. A pontada ficou mais perfurante e pareceu mover-se com uma pressão a subir-lhe o peito.

Uma sensação fria na ponta do nariz e um leve e contínuo ronco, fê-lo abrir os olhos e deparar com o gato a mirar-lhe nos olhos e pressionar-lhe uma unha na altura do peito. Deu uma risada e levantou-se, percebendo que havia tido um sonho absolutamente invulgar.

***

 - Tive um sonho muito estranho e detalhado.

- Por isso estás levantado tão cedo?

- Já não é tão cedo assim. É quase hora de sairmos para o mar. Já preparei o café…

- Também tive um sonho pouco comum. Acho que ficamos impressionados pelo relatório que o médico nos trouxe…

- Provavelmente…

- Queres falar sobre isso?

- Não. Não, ainda…

***

Quando voltaram da lida matutina, numa ensolarada quinta-feira, algumas semanas depois, notaram um movimento diferente na rotina do cais. Havia um burburinho maior que nos dias normais. A matrona vinha pelo madeirame, com seus passos pesados e sua face rosada, castigada pelo sol e vento do inverno. Ao aproximar-se dos dois, disse-lhes, meio ofegante:

- Ainda bem que chegaram. O doutor quer vê-los imediatamente.

- Aconteceu alguma coisa?

- O doutor disse para trazê-los com urgência. Não me perguntem mais do que eu sei…

Mas eles já a conheciam e perceberam que ela evitava olhar-lhes diretamente. Escondia algo, com certeza, mas havia sido instruída para não dizer-lhes nada, além do necessário. Os dois homens trocaram olhares preocupados e apressaram o passo, atrás da esbaforida mulher, na direção do consultório, no pequeno Posto de Saúde da ilhota.

Quando chegaram, foram recebidos pelo médico, que estava acompanhado de um desconhecido, vestido de maneira muito formal para a rotina insular. O visitante cumprimentou-os com um firme aperto de mãos e, concentrando sua atenção no rapaz, perguntou-lhe:

- Sabes quem eu sou?

- Não. Não sei. Deveria?

O homem sorriu, de uma maneira estranha. O rapaz e o pescador tentaram esconder a preocupação que passou-lhes pelas faces, quando entreolharam-se.

O estranho limpou a garganta, com um típico ‘hahn-hahn’ e começou a falar…

 ***

Of Sea and Men (Part 2)

- Are you feeling well? Do you have any sign of pain?

The frown and the blank stare showed evidence that the boy was quite confused and making a huge effort to realize what was happening in the small hospital room, surrounded by people dressed in white, who were absolute strangers to him.

There was also a more mature man, wearing normal clothes, watching the whole scene, with very sharp attentive eyes, but without uttering any word. He had a somewhat friendly face, auburn beard and light brown hair thinned at the top of the head. For some reason he could not explain, he felt an immediate sympathy for the man leaning against the immaculately white wall of the hospital room.

The doctor had tested all his vital signs, auscultated his body and was now examining him with a small flashlight. They had already made all possible tests, including X-rays and ultrasound, to check how healthy his organs were. Physically, the young man was in good shape. They still needed to ascertain whether the head injury brought any side effects to his mental or cognitive response… or both…

- Can you understand what I say? Are you able to remember your name, where you come from, who you are... anything at all?

The boy showed no change in that faraway look, just a quick, almost unnoticeable eyebrow frown. He was probably trying hard to adjust the brain work and understand the message expressed by the words of the doctor, who had just examined him completely and insisted on knowing anything about him.

- Can you understand what I say?

- I understand the words, but it's all so confusing...

The pressure that was being placed on him, with those questions, did not seem to help much. It was better to leave the boy alone for some time. He needed some rest. The doctor called the older man out of the room with a nod.

***

- You were found by me on the beach, unconscious, completely naked and with a rather dreadful wound on the back of your head. We were expecting that the memory would be affected by a concussion. Can you understand what I mean?

The boy nodded.

- As much as I try, I cannot recall anything. My mind is just completely blank...

The ferry cruised toward the island, bringing those two men so different from each other, sitting side by side, each one with his own history. In each head, a different intention in relation to their complex pasts: one trying to rescue what had been forgotten and the other trying to forget what had never failed to be painfully reminded...

***

The fisherman felt he had some responsibility for the boy, for having found him and, in agreement with the hospital administration, decided to bring him back to the island to try and help him recover the lost memory.

They walked along the beach, heading for the place where he was found by the fisherman, after the stormy night. The boy slowed his pace down and looked at the man, as if he knew him well and said:

- Why do you hide yourself in this island, far from everything and everyone and with this profession that is not yours?

- How do you know that?

- I do not know how to explain. I just feel it. And I also feel that there is much more to say, but you keep on avoiding it...

- I do not avoid anything...

The older man smirked, avoiding the direct staring from the young man, who was walking beside him. He thought to himself that he did not have to give any satisfaction to him, but a strange feeling that he could trust the other man and open his heart up, crossed his mind flippantly.

Messing with the past, after all that time, did not seem to be a good thing anyway. Some skeletons ought to be kept in the cupboard forever. Best to leave the past where it well belonged in: far away in the most possible distant and untouched bygone times...

The boy carefully looked back at the man and smiled, more to himself than to be noticed, at that response, triggered, almost impatiently and without any eye contact.

- I have to respect you, not only for what you are doing to me, but for wanting to keep your secrets away from everyone. If that's what you prefer, there is nothing I can say or do. I hope you know what you're doing.

- I do know what I’m doing. Trust me... This is the place. It was here where I found you, almost dead. Do you want to be alone?

The boy looked around. Although he acknowledged the place was quiet and its natural beauty was almost untouched and wild, bringing him a sense of serenity, it did not evoke any true recollection in his mind.

- I don’t know. This place does not mean anything to me. The fact that I was found here, does not imply that the accident... or incident… took place around here, anyway.

He was right. So much could have happened: an accident, an assault, an unfortunate coincidence... The site might not have anything to do with what really happened to him.

The man looked at the boy. He did not seem to be worried about finding out where he came from or where he would go, who he had been or what he might come to find out, when he recovered his memory. Apparently, the only thing that mattered to him was being alive. He did not need to carry the unnecessary burden of a past to remember. That seemed to be enough for a man who knew so little about himself that far.

What a strange feeling! He made a quick trip inside himself and wondered how different they were. Not having a past to remember seemed to be so much easier to live with than struggling to conceal or bury one...

They were both standing side by side, looking at the horizon, each man absorbed in his own thoughts... so close and yet so far at the same time. The boy closed his eyes and felt the wind messing with his fair hair, touching his pale skin, bringing the pleasant aromas of the ocean and the seaweed and filling him with a gust of life.

Life. That was an unusually strong and weak concept at the same time. It was a reality or an illusion that we always carry along with us? How unpredictable can it be? How unreasonable it is to remain physically healthy and mentally sane? Why did those thoughts fill his mind like the air filled his chest? Why did he feel good, knowing there was nothing dearly to him in that place? Why there were so many questions and no answers at all?

He sighed, breathing the ocean air in. That place had become his all: his present and his future... and perhaps his only refuge, until now...

- Let's go back, shall we? I'm hungry. I will prepare something to eat. If you want to be left alone here for a while, it's up to you...

- I'd like just to stay here just a little longer, if it is not a problem... I enjoy this peace and this sense of silence in my soul.

- No problem, of course. Stay as long as you wish. I’ll be home anyway.

***

The older man stood up and collected the plates from the table. They had dined without exchanging many words. Although they appreciated each other's company, they did not extend the conversation long, as the issues would tend to turn around a very limited sphere of subjects which were avoided by both.

The boy picked the rest of the crockery and cutlery up and put them carefully in the sink. He turned around, walked out to the veranda and leant on the deck rail, looking at the empty darkness and listening, not far away, the soft, monotonous song of the sea. The air was cold, but he did not care much. He liked the mild fresh air of the autumn and the typical sounds of the night on the island.

The other man was watching, from inside the house, that man so much younger than him, with so much life still ahead and no memory to relive at all. At least, he thought, he had no reason to feel any nostalgia...

How many plans might have been made at some point in his short life, and were abandoned without any completion? How many possibilities would also be opened for him in the future? Probably many of them would be regarded as if they had never been planned, although they had been... A page... or many, yet all blank and with so much still to be written by the hands of fate. It was as if the previous pages had been torn apart from that precious book, leaving it almost like new and ready to be used as if it were the first time. All he had to do was to start from that point on and rewrite many interesting new stories...

The fisherman thought of himself and how he wished he could have a chance, too, to rewrite his own life story. He sadly laughed at himself, thinking that there, in the same house, there were two human beings so different from each other and with such opposite intentions in relation to their pasts. Funny thing, however, they had yet so much future ahead of them.

He walked into the porch with a mug of hot coffee in his hands and offered the other man, who accepted it, smiling. He leaned on the railing next to the boy. They were both looking at the immense open darkness around them, with their thoughts flying free with the night wind and listening to the monotonous lapping of the ocean continuously caressing the island coastline.

- You already paid for your mistakes. You could have already forgiven yourself and moved on with your life.

- How do you know if I’ve already paid? How can you tell me to get on with my life? Am I not living another life already?

- It's not what your eyes show... They always have such a great aloofness and this sadness is so touching...

The man closed himself in his shell. He did not want to relive the anguish and the sense of guilt he once felt. Yes, he had already paid that painful punishment.

A surgical procedure, where the patient had not survived the intervention, was a severe enough reason to stay live in his memory for long. Yes, he had operated drunk, but what choice did he have? Anyway, he had been tried and convicted. The verdict was manslaughter and he was incarcerated for three years for the crime, without any right for bail, due to his act of negligence. He had duly paid his guilt in its entirety, despite the reduction attempts, made by an expensive lawyer known by his expertise. The process culminated with the loss of the license and the right to exercise the medical profession, definitely.

Between the feelings of remorse and indignation, he had buried everything inside his heart and restarted, on that island, away from everyone he had known one day and that had abandoned him completely, while he was imprisoned. There, in the island, he was a total stranger and his past did not matter to anyone. What he liked in the community, was that he could have his own private life and no one seemed interested in knowing more than what he wanted to show. He had no interest in knowing about the lives of others either. He had no time or curiosity about their histories anyway.

But towards the young man with no past, he felt a genuine interest. Somewhere inside his soul and for a reason he did not really care about, he felt he should help him out of that situation. In his heart, he felt responsible for that boy, at least until he recovered his memory and moved on with his own life.

***

 The doctor came, as usual, on a pale cold Thursday and called them to his office. He examined the boy and asked how he was feeling. Then he asked him to sit down. By the way he started the conversation, he seemed set to make a serious statement. He picked up a brown envelope from inside his briefcase, cleared his throat out and said:

- I just received this Police Report. I believe you will find it pretty interesting...

He handed the envelope in to the boy and waited for his reaction. He opened it, read the report and handed it in to the fisherman, so he could read it too. The doctor acknowledged that was a clear demonstration of trust. The older man flipped through the few pages and returned the report to its rightful owner.

- It does make sense. Do you think that helps?

- I don’t know yet. For now, there is nothing much I can say. It seems my memory is not instantly restored simply by reading the report, after all. It does not work that way, no matter how hard I try to do so.

The doctor finished a complete check-up and dismissed himself from work, since there was no one else to be seen that day. He invited the two men to go along with him to the Coffee Shop and chat a little more relaxed.

The doctor knew that the heads of the two... and his also... were working briskly. The coffee was just a subtle excuse to discuss what they had just read and, besides that, he still had some time before going back to the mainland that night…

***