Incompatible

by Mauricio R B Campos

  “The dearest principles are the biggest lies” she recited.

  The barman, who observed her, completed her statement:

  “Each new way of deliverance is intended to become another form of slavery.”

  She stared at the other side of the counter. He was a handsome guy, descending from Japanese, his long straight hair was in a bun.

  “Peter J. Carroll” they said at the same time.

  “Was it you who put that chaosphere there?” she asked.

  He stared at the drawing as if he was recalling the moment when he drew the symbol on the wall.

  “Yes. Are you a discordian?”

  “No. I don’t like the whole stuff of discordianism.[20] I rather attain to the principles of Carroll”.

  “But there’re a lot of foolish guys around telling us they’re discordians.”

  “I wasn’t born to be a pope.” She kidded, making fun with one of the mottos of discordianism, by which each woman and each child are one pope.

  “If there’s even a Jedi church and a church of the flying spaghetti, nothing is forbidden in the twenty-first century” the barman drank something from a bottle he took from under the counter.

  She took the last drip in her drink and ordered another.

  “By my experience and your look, it seems something is not too good today” he searched.

  “Exactly.”

  “Everything is a shit” she completed after a silent moment. “I think I came to a crossroad”.

  “Has it to do with someone?”

  “Yep. There’s always someone to do with” she replied with her eyelids trembling.

  “You can use a server to obtain what you wish.”

  “You know, I heard a theory once, a talk of quantum physics, that one thing only exists if you look at it, that it only exists while you give it attention. There are some people in my life that aren’t worth wasting power with secrets and servers; my biggest revenge is forgetting about them and thus bringing absolute annihilation for them.”

  The barman kept looking at her for a while thinking of how she became beautiful with that neon light of the bar reflecting on her red hair. That night she drank until she lost consciousness, and he took her home. On the day after, she thanked him with lively orgasms and fleeting tenderness.

  And her life was never the same anymore.

  PART II — FINDING THE WAY

  “Never walk on the traveled path because it only leads where others have been.” (Alexander Graham Bell)

  CHAPTER 7

  The white summit of the office shone under the blue and cloudless sky.

  The building of concrete was clearly inspired on constructions by Oscar Niemeyer. The patriarch of the family admired Brasília and believed there was esotericism in its harmonious and parallel lines. When he decided to build the office, he asked for a clean-lined construction with spacious windows to the campus. Through one of these windows, his son stared at the twilight.

  Looking at the tints of the middle of the afternoon that spread through its domains, he thought about moments of posing for pictures. He felt he was representing when he took some pictures, in which he posed as though he was trying to represent some movie scene, of magazine cover or cheap marketing. It was not something conscious, he felt as if he had been conditioned. He smiled often sincerely: the pose was studied, waiting for the click, for the flash. Then the moment goes, disappears, and is recorded in a JPG image. But now, as he contemplated that picture in the digital photo frame, he felt ridiculous. That’s how

  Arthur looked at the picture of his graduation ceremony in Stanford.

  The same university where years before his father took degree. The cliché picture of a student throwing up the academic cap.

  I graduated in the same university as my father. In the best one, he thought. Since he returned to Brazil, he had thought a lot about that. His father incited him necessary values so that he could assure the future of the family business. He should have returned from California fully confident of his knowledge of the world and the hidden operation of the finances that regulate it. But, despite all the theoretical dungeon he received, he felt there was something wrong, even that everything was entangled with interdependent theories and that consolidated each other, it was like coming across a metaphor of the empty space.

  He looked at the pine trees that formed a live fence separating the administrative department from the other parts of the University. I’m full of knowledge that doesn’t fill me up, I’m loaded with information that leaves me empty, he thought. He felt there was something wrong, but he could not determine what it could be. I’m tracking the way drawn by my father. And the way drawn by my grandfather before him. We follow through a golden road that always leads us to the same place. A safe place.

  The ringing of the phone bothered him and dimmed his thoughts.

  A place where dreams are killed...

  He turned to the set, he wanted to censure it for having rang. He went to the phone and answered it. It was his secretary announcing a visitor about a building project for the new library of the campus.

  “Accompany her up to my room” he asked.

  CHAPTER 8

  When the door opened, Arthur raised his eyebrow and noticed the young woman the Architecture Office had sent. She was as tall as him, of elegant and athletic body. Her golden hair cut in the blunt bob style[21] was elegant, her white and soft skin was a temptation, her lively eyes were of an intense brown shade. Her nose slightly snub formed a dividing line with the symmetric drawing of her face. Her fleshy lips were half-open in hesitation. The tailleur covered her arms and breasts whose volume Arthur could only imagine. And at that moment he imagined all the parts of that amazing woman, who made him forget his philosophical concerns completely.

  They shook hands. At this moment he felt all the softness of her skin, but her hands were cold; would she be nervous? The host smiled to try and make her feel more at ease, at the same time that indicated the chair:

  “Welcome, I’m Arthur”.

  “Lara de Alencar. I came to submit the project for the new Library.”

  The architect sat and put her leather folder on the table and removed an iPad from it. She made some commands on the screen and then turned to the customer. On the screen, an artistic view of a large concrete masonry structure, where the walls of tempered glass gave the transparency to the environment. At the side of the building, a large water mirror was lost in the horizon.

  “It’s an interesting view. They surely told you that my father is very fond of Niemeyer’s work, didn’t they?”

  She smiled.

  “This is our work; while the engineers are interested in costs and practicality, we try to meet our customers’ interests and needs” she said with soft words.

  “Explain me better.”

  While she spoke, he observed the way her lips moved, how they bent and strained. They way her eyes denounced an interest the rest of her body managed to contain. There was something about those eyes that he tried to be defined, but he could not, a mix of desire and curious hesitation. All the details of her so pleasantly perfect completion. The words got out of her mouth, but they said nothing to Arthur, who was only attentive to one kind of stuff: her body language.

  “I think there’re still many questions to be discussed for this project, how about continuing this talk tomorrow, during lunch time?”

  * * *

  The table where lunch was served was at the edge of a golf course. The artificial green and wavy hills were lost in the horizon, serving as a shelter for some small lakes — obstacle for the game. The course was deserted at that time, during the week there was no caddie, player or maintenance employee. Only the afternoon breeze slid through the emerald grass.

  Under the sunlight, Arthur found Lara even more amazing and lively. They discussed the project, and, when they were having dessert, he confirmed he would sign the agreement with the office she represented.

  Lara smiled, and di
d what she was told when she set up the business: changed subjects.

  “I took a degree at your college” she revealed.

  “Not mine, my family’s. By the way, they did a beautiful work. Did you come to the city to study?”

  “No, I was born and raised here in São Carlos.”

  “I don’t believe that, how come I didn’t notice you in this city?”

  She stared at him for a moment, her lips were half-open in hesitation.

  “We’ve been thinking about reforming the Big House of the Farm, would you like to take a look? I think someone with your talent could modernize the project while keeping fidelity with the historic concept.” She was already finishing her dessert and she took a drip of water.

  “I think a project like this would be such a challenge.”

  “You like challenges, then?” He asked the waiter to bring the bill.

  “I think my life is a constant challenge.”

  “How come? Life mustn’t be very hard for such a beautiful woman like you. You know what they say: beauty persuades by itself.”

  “All of us have challenges, Arthur.”

  He received the bill from the hands of the waiter and gave him his credit card. While he paid, she observed the atmosphere of wealth that involved him, his designer clothing, his full and perfectly cropped hair, his thin and virile features of a full-blooded stallion.

  They left the restaurant and got into the car, from where the departed to the family’s farm.

  “You’re an intelligent girl, Lara.”

  “I’m a voracious reader, that’s all.”

  “I also like to read a lot” he smiled. “At last, that’s what distinguishes us from the mass that can only read social networks headlines.”

  “Or follow up Instagram.”

  “Yes” he answered, suddenly involved by the melancholy that touched him the day before.

  Tracking that road leading to the property that had been one of the first farms of the region took him back to those reflections. If he told something about this to his father, he would sure receive sarcasm as a response: Feel the pleasures of life that money can buy, was almost a mantra he repeated. Every existential doubt would be forgotten in the warmth from a woman, in the flavor of a good scotch or in a trip to the Caribbean. However, Arthur did not see things this way. There were questions that took him by surprise in the bottom of some part of his head and, when he was alone, in the darkness of the night, they scared him again.

  He looked at the architect’s thighs at the passenger seat. Muscular and perfectly delineated in the fit pants. He knew that that skin would soon be under his fingers, he would discover her in each detail.

  Lara broke the silence with amenities, and her voice took any philosophical wandering with her. When they arrived at the farm, he showed her all the property, through the dirt pathways that connected the different areas: the old farm, today deactivated, the horse breeding farm, the old settlers’ houses, the dam surrounded by the shadow of portentous eucalyptus trees, the preservation wood perfectly restored to the state of the original Atlantic Rainforest and the Main House, which would be an object of reform.

  In the Big House, they talked about what she could do to update the project without losing the essence, although, only after a more detailed analysis, she could submit some project draft that was worth analyzing by the family. She took many pictures with her mobile to be able to work on the project later on.

  When they arrived at the main room, he leaned the wooden door of almost three meters of height and turned all his attention to her. As her back was turned to him, and she observed the room, he approached and cherished her waist; since he did not find any resistance, he felt the perfume of her golden hair. He did not expect any resistance from her because of the agreeing looks they had changed throughout the afternoon and, when she raised her head offering her neck, he kissed it, softly — first, more strongly — later, as he felt inebriated by the scent of her skin. Then he turned her to himself and they kissed. His hands that were holding her by the waist traveled on the feminine body up to the skin of her neck. Under his fingers, some chemical reaction occurred before the touch of that skin; he tightened her to him so that she felt what he was feeling too. Lost in those sensations, he looked for the buttons of her little suit and began to open it. She interrupted him and, searching for his ear, she whispered:

  “I prefer with the lights off.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Dear passengers, attention for these emergency safety instructions” the steward informed smiling.

  Arthur looked at the window wet by the rain. The airport lane was soaked. The security instructions were repeated in Spanish. He had arrived in Brazil a few months ago and was already leaving the country again. He leaned and closed his eyes, capturing the rain sound on the cowl and wondering if the flight would undergo any delay.

  The airplane began to move slowly through the wet lane. The time had come to track the way. After that afternoon with the architect, while he rested in the Big House bed, this idea gained body and shape. Why not? Until then, his life was a succession of serious and duly prepared commitments, since high school until the little course; then he started North-American college, where he studied as never before. Perhaps he missed this kind of distancing, searching for new air, new cultures, a new notion of spirituality. A friend of his had tracked the Way of Santiago during vacations and said it was very good to discover his place in the world. When he told his father about his decision, the patriarch looked down, but said nothing. On the other day, he said he understood his son.

  There had been many years of dedication to study, and vacations in Spain were more than deserved.

  Arthur said nothing about his doubts concerning the future, which he did not see any meaning in keeping on with the family business like his father and his grandfather had done. His great-grandfather had done the same, somehow, but those were different times; his great-grandfather had been a farmer, a rural man. He felt he would make no difference in the world if he did the work a hired administrator could do with similar results. The family companies were finishing in the world, it was already proven that the exempted and professional administration tends to have much more effective results both for business owners and shareholders. The descents of the founders of Johnson & Johnson are forbidden by the company’s bylaws to take part in the decisions of the group, and they receive their share of profits in their houses.

  Actually, the thing is that his father would hardly agree with this policy. He had inherited from his grandfather the need of interference with the businesses. The eyes of the matter fatten the cattle. This bumpkin saying was the motto of the director of the Corporate Group NM (Nunes de Mendonca), which included Universities, Sugarcane Plants and other agribusinesses ventures.

  He took the folder of the tour package in his backpack and checked the route. There were several packages for Santiago de Compostela, for all tastes and people. He chose a simpler package: departing from Madrid there would be ten days of journey, some passages on foot and others by bus. He analyzed the interest points shown in the handout. Practically all the points had religious attractions. Arthur believed he was a Roman Apostolic Catholic, but not a loyal participant; religion was seldom an object of his thinking.

  Before purchasing the package, he had talked to Anderson, his college friend who had told him about his pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. He took the mobile to reread the talk he had had with him by the application of smartphone messages. When he asked about the importance of that way, the pilgrim answered: ‘There are places that fill us up with peace and an unbeatable faith that have our heart with a greater serenity to go on, be happy and do those around us happier’. It sounds not like a very genuine phrase, but he really felt changes in Anderson after the trip.

  His friend gave him an advice he resolved to follow taking a notebook to work as a travel diary, to write down his perceptions of the tracks, places, people and thoughts and reflections
the visit to those places would cause to him. According to him, keeping these notes would be a way to know what changed in him after the return of the trip.

  The traveler stared at the blue sky through the airplane window and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 10

  When the taxi left him at the hotel door, Arthur was tired: all he needed was to rest in a real bed. As he decided to depart to Spain in a momentum, he did not find any first-class seat and had to fly eleven hours in the economic category. The flight that was arranged for eleven in the morning delayed due to bad weather, what ensured him to remain for twelve hours in the airplane. He looked at his watch and it was one in the morning; he sighed, the difference between the time of Madrid and São Paulo was of four hours, which meant it was five in the morning. He could not sleep too much now, otherwise he would never bet rid of the jet lag. He would sleep until nine in the morning and spend the rest of the day under Red Bull. With such conviction, he went to the counter for the check-in. He greeted the receptionist with his perfect Spanish, informing his name and that there was a reservation for him. The hotel employee was fast, probably realizing his exhaustion, so that he handed him the registration form while already ordering the bellman to provide the luggage to be sent to room 412.

  In the rush to reserve the hotel, everything he searched for was finding a four-star place with a good location, enough to spend from two to three days. Vincci Soma matched these parameters perfectly; and after a quick analysis of the notes and comments, it was the one he chose. He wanted to get around from big hotel chains in which his family would always stay. These hotels were so impersonal that they give the illusion you were always at the same place, and it was not what he was looking for: what he wanted was to stay at a soulful place.