Two days later, on Saturday, Marcelo was dismissed.
His brother continued with them during some more time. And then Marcelo went in Santa Catarina’s countryside where his father was.
F
ive
In Santa Catarina he got a job and worked as bricklayer helper. He helped with the steakhouse construction.
His father was working in another supermarket. He was sub manager. He lived with other men who worked in the market too.
Marcelo rented a room in a pension. In fact it was only an attic, where there was a bed, with a small window.
Soon they joined money and rented a house. Then the family followed them.
But still talking about bricklayer time, or better, the helper. Then, in winter the cold was so much that they could not hold the hoe. The fingers could not close around the hoe. So they lit up a campfire to worm themselves. During these days the sun turned up behind the clouds only at midday, maintaining its light and heat only two hours and then disappeared behind of the existing fog.
Marcelo made friendship with a group of boys, so on some weekends he used to go playing football with them somewhere far away in a place called “Tio Juca beach”, a fun attribution to the Tijuca beach at Rio de Janeiro.
He started to study again. In the class there were some of the boys who played football with him. They became great friends. One of the in particular captivated his heart.
They were simple, direct guys, always happy, contrasting with Marcelo, who in time was still sorrowful. He felt in Luis the a little what missed in himself. They were always together. Marcelo at time must have been in his eighteens or nineteen. Luis as well. The town school was small and the only one. They studied in the evenings
Marcelo needed to study two years more to conclude the second grade. He had to complete the second year and make the third one. Things of timeless changes.
Soon he got a job in a company. He worked until six o’clock p.m. and then he left from there running home, literally running, and then went to school.
In the class Marcelo and his friend Luis, disputed drawing attention of a brunette, chocolate skinned, of wavy hair and fleshy lips girl. In fact many guys in the class spoke many things about her and her life.
But they never cared about that.
That was their challenge.
Marcelo until today he thinks that Luis got always the best, but never wanted to accept this fact, but he unconsciously pretended not to see.
To tell the truth, the boy still brought with him the remembrance of flame of a round face, Sildit. Yes, it’s that Sildith came to be Sandra after a joke made in the class, when they studied in Rosana.
Well, but there, in Santa Catarina, he could not undo those memories which made him to be an inmate of life.
So there turned up the story that the brunette got another boyfriend, who was Marcelo and Luis’ classmate, but not so friendly with them.
Marcelo thought he was petulant and too jerk.
Encouraged him and Luis asked her if that was true, ‘Of course it is, you got courage. What do you want?’ that was a damn good indirect for them two. But Marcelo found more words in it than that.
He found in these words a girl with no qualities for whom he was dreaming for a girlfriend. She was not like Sandra. She really seemed amoral, to see her talking to them in a such way.
As if something which served as a prize for who would arrive first. After this, he definitely fancied less to the brunette. Of course, even so, he still wished her. In fact he was a girl with very beautiful legs, with fatless sign in her body and in addition she used to wear clothes that drew so much attention. But, gradually this interest got decreased.
Soon Marcelo was transferred from the company he worked for to ones of Paraná’s town.
Gal. Mallet, almost on border with Santa Catarina.
As he had already finished the second year, he accepted without any problem.
That could be a new experience.
That was really something new, but also degrading.
He could even be a little ill during the months he stayed there.
It was at the beginning of November.
It pains to see how the human mind is able to demean himself to continue his existence trying to get something more. And this something more was always the power. The power for a charge, the power for possession, of right.
The right gives power, but the power is never always the right, can be direct, but not right.
For, the right it’s not only the human law, but the correct.
The right presupposes power, grants power. For patterns of the elders “making the law” was like “doing what was right”, and it’s a research for power, of this modern right and appalled that the human soul suffers.
The company where Marcelo worked, assigned a contract for work in this city and he went there in charge for stockman.
The salary was good, transferring consequence. But he lived and got along with all kinds of people.
Some came from Northeast, others like him from South. There you could find every type of possible character. Of good worth and of worthless ones. Men with rude faces and living the worst. Young men seeking for a better condition of life and of controversial feelings, that for some reasons were hiding themselves from the justice.
With all of them who were transferred, they were living in an accommodation. During the day he worked in a closed room, far away from the people outside there. But he listened to many stories. Even some macabre ones.
As he was twenty years and living little life experiences, he was considered by everyone as “clean cloth”, like the man of great experience who worked in the farm called the guys who never worked harder in the farm. People who dealt only with pen and papers.
There was someone there who was a motor grader operator or patrol the most common way to be called, 120h model, who drank too much and then to combat the consumed alcohol, he disgracefully ate a great deal of garlic.
My God, dear reader you may believe that even today, Marcelo still feels revulsion of condiment smell. So, this guy used to come up at the warehouse to ask for gloves, boots or even the overall. The boy had to keep quite far away from him so that the smell might not make him get sick. And in this young man’s eyes, yes he was young, he could not be more than 25 years old, his eyes reflected evilness, empties, opaque, without any shining, black. He had an inexpressive face. He was taller than Marcelo and was even more robust.
It happened that he once had to go at the field to check the materials and the tools to make new requests. And he was caught by the rain on his way there. Marcelo hid himself on a stall and this figure was not there, made of alcohol and garlic? In some rounds, joking they were saying that he was Anti-Dracula! But, dear reader, we sometimes get some divine warnings through certain strange feelings that we can never explain.
At that moment, this happened with Marcelo.
Something announced a terrible thing that would happen.
There were some other guys more..
There was an elderly man, who was chubby, short who seemed to be more enlightened. They began talking while the weather had not taken up.
At this instant, "alho", this was his nickname, began to provoke him, thinking that he was from Santa Catarina, for he knew that he was from there and Marcelo was transferred. "Every Catarina are all fagot! Catarinian who hasn’t given his ass, it’s because he’ll soon give, day less day!” and then, in those foul words of cager men who think that foul language is a sign of masculinity, he tried to provoke him all the ways.
At the beginning he did not pay him attention, but with the passing of time, he continued repeating that and he could not stand that any longer.
So, at a certain moment he headed to “Alho”.
It requires now a description of the space where they were.
It was a large house made of wood where they kept some tools and where the radio house worked. It might have been a space of about five, si
x meters square. There was no floor.
The floor was covered of gravel and there was two wooden benches stuck nailed on the wall.
Marcelo was seated on one of those benches, the touchy guy was standing in the middle of the room about meters away from the boy.
When the human being lets the anger to dominate him, there’s no voice that calls him the reason, this was what happened with Marcelo, step by step those provoking words were rising and taking his rational thoughts.
Soon he could not stand them anymore. Not only by himself, but he realized of the ridiculous feeling of the man, outraged and humiliated before other guys of the same tribe.
Quickly like a viper giving a stroke, Marcelo went forward with the two hands in front and caught him on the shirt collar pulling him hard at once against the wall. With the chock the cloak fell and a helmet fell on the floor. He knocked Alho’s head hard on the wall, but he made a mistake.
A great mistake that Marcelo did not know.
For he never adventured fighting with punches with someone of that kind.
No sooner than “Alho" knocked his head on the wall a sharp penknife was close to the boy’s neck. “Go ahead, keep on, son of bitch! I’ll make you a shower! Come on! Come here you bastard!” Marcelo released him all at once and gave two steps aback.
He could see in his eyes a kind of look that he has never seen to anyone else.
His face looked like a stone, his mouth opened mixed with smile and mocking. ‘Aren’t you brave?’ and now? Won’t you say you’re a great fagot? Who never gave your ass to anyone? Come here and say it that it’s not true?!’ then the other guys who were there came to separate them and held him.
Marcelo went out from there running without looking back wetting himself in the rain. Ashamed, humiliated, but what mattered was that he was alive.
As days went by, he planned to avenge that guy, who humiliated him terribly. Thousands and one ideas brainstormed his mind. But this kept on only in his mind.
He lived even more inmate at the company camping and inside his cottage.
Many of them knew of what happened and came to congratulate him for facing him and in the same time tell him to be careful, because they knew that Alho was revengeful person.
Some of these guys said that they were not so sure yet, but there was rumors about him having killed two people in a bar fight.
Into the accommodation Marcelo slept with the eyes open. He feared because the windows and doors were weak and just with one kick anyone would knock them down.
He spent couple of days frightened.
Any cry, noise behind him, awoken his fears.
He went to see the guy only when the one came to give clothes and bed linings, two weeks later.
He’s been dismissed and the police was already waiting for him to give testimonials about the two deaths in S. Paulo’s West side.
Still at this time, this is another narration about terror where he passed through. There were also some people who worked at mineral transportation that sometimes went at the warehouse to get some materials.
One of these guys looked like a bear, all hairy, white skin. Short, stubby, scary voice and scarred face, like someone who came from a horror movie. He liked to talk. He was from S. Paulo’s suburbs and he always liked to talk to Marcelo whenever he went at the warehouse.
This guy seemed to be good person to him, for he never meant judging anybody from their appearance, but with the passing of time he noticed that his judging was distorted.
On one of these camping ride, to check the mineral transportation materials, Marcelo received a lift by RK (Randon Kokun) vehicle that this man maneuvered.
He began talking things that made no sense, totally nonsense and acting like that man who the boy once knew when he went at the warehouse.
He then realized that the man was drunk.
He got scared and jumped from the car, as it was still moving. He rolled himself on the floor and dirtied his clothes.
He went back running up to where the Sector Manager was. He explained the fact. How could they let a drunk driver to drive a vehicle of that size?
And what about the things that would happen? Accidents happen, but wouldn’t this be everybody’s obligation trying to avoid it?
The manager didn’t like of his meddling in the management the way he administrated the local service.
In this very same day, later, when he came from the warehouse, he received the News that an engineer wanted to talk with him.
He told him on a meeting particularly that, people were complaining for Marcelo talking too much.
It was referred of his conversation with the manager of Mine service transportation. He said that the operator was the Manager’ son-in-law, and he could no way talk to him in loud voice that he saw him drunk. The fact is, he said, everyone knew about it, but did not care. They pretended that nothing happened. Fore, despite drinking, the man was a very good guy, treated everyone politely.
Marcelo touched on a matter about accident that somehow would happen. The engineer assured him that nothing would happen and he should forget the conversation they had and the RK operator’s case also.
Then, three days passed and it happened. The boy came to know the other day morning. The fact was said from mouth to mouth.
Very early in the morning, the drunk operator, entered with the RK at the crusher mouth, munching the radio line and even making the crusher manager to jump seven meter high, not to be crushed, fortunately he’d jumped on the gravel ¼.
He’d broken one leg on the fall.
The engineer looked for him right in that afternoon and said he was arranging his return in the town whence he came from. He was afraid of him telling the story he’d prevented in advance. Besides, he advised him not to say anything, for he knew some people who liked to do certain works to please him. Marcelo blinked. Was he threatening? The warning was clear. There was no other thing to think.
There were still four days missing for the boy to travel.
They days of deep anguish and fear.
There were many stories about people who disappeared suddenly in the field, where nobody else had any News. Now he had an idea of what had happened with this disappearances.
S
ix
Well, he went back at Santa Catarina countryside to his parents’ house a week before carnival.
He could still enroll himself for the second third year grade. He still found the same friends in the class.
Even the brunette whom he’s lost interest in dating her and a blonde friend inseparable to her, besides the other ones from the previous years.
His brother, the second, named Carlos had gone for a test in a professional football team and admired the leaders. He stayed there. It was his father who took him there and got back alone.
His friendships in the town, although few, less than five thousand people, included only schoolmates and workmates. At the time he was transferred he began to like writing. He wrote poems without rhymes, without any study, influenced by sertaneja music that he used to listen to. That was one way to run away from loneliness also and from weekend boredom he had whenever he did not work. Home sick, Sandra’s, friend’...
When he came back, he looked for reading more, profound more in subject.
He also started to write more dense texts. Poetry is good but cannot be shared with a dictionary. The child knows that a flower is beautiful and doesn’t need a book to know that.
A Poet cannot write in a well elaborated or studied manner, for the feelings are not studied neither elaborated. The feelings come up and if a poet needs a dictionary to describe them or the reader needs a dictionary to understand what the poet wrote, this is not poetry, that’s science. And poetry is not a science of words, but yes the word which has as an essence of feelings.
In the class during the Portuguese classes, he used to discuss with the former teacher of this subject. He did not accept the traditional mode the way the one used to give his l
essons.
Marcelo wanted to know the true meaning of mesclic and enclise. He did not like accepting the teacher to make simply the grammar exercises, he used to discuss with the teacher why the comma could not be used as a point?
He wanted to make them work harder in Literature than in grammar.
And he really discussed a lot.
The class guys enjoyed with that, some got even irritated because of his stubbornness. That one was the teacher, Marcelo should listen and shut up, the way others did.
They said that he used to make them get confused.
Later, Marcelo came to watch a movie. “The Dead Poet Society”, and laughed as he remembered that, right before the movie, he’s been already a rebel for traditionalism in the class. In fact, not only in Portuguese classes but in most of them, however it was at national language subject in which he was more rooted.
Even the School Principal admonished him saying that, the teacher complained about his position in his classes.
Perhaps what he was looking for was the distinction between him with the other students.
He was poor, his family didn’t even have a property and worked hard every day. He was just one of them, like many others. He was not noticed. He had even become a common student. His mark did not highlight him any longer, like before. He had to find another way to be recognized. The hard criticism, fierce and acerbic was the option he got. This can be understood today, but he did not think like this in the past. Luis came to know that he was writing, then he resolved to dispute with Marcelo. One read what the other wrote.
This friendship intensified in such a way that, they could even miss classes together, to rest on the college grass, sleeping one or two hours in the open. Luis began working also during the day and felt the tiredness of the daily struggling. Waking up at five a.m. and go to sleep every night just before midnight that was an easy job.
Ivair Antonio Gomes Page 7