He hadn’t seen her in years, and meeting her again was messy. So much was lost,
and for that, it was sorrowful; but there was still something about her. The sound
of distant fireworks, invisible, out of grasp, nonetheless.
They greeted casually. Two half strangers, who used to know each other, a long
time ago, and for a portion of time that now looked much dimmer than it really
was. At a coffee table, like they used to do in the day, they tried to catch up - all to
no avail. They were telling each other the stories of the lives that happened while
the other one wasn’t there. Fireworks you never got to see.
Looking back at one’s lives, there is never much to tell, when it comes to
those really important things. Jobs, friends and nightclub stories, all that runs out
really fast. But then they continued on books, movies, ideas, thoughts, feelings;
those things one does not let out lightly. For a moment, they were thrown back ten
years, back to when they could guess the other one’s thoughts, and keep secret
conversations just with an eye glance. And both were smiling.
Suddenly, he says that one of the things he regrets is that, being an amateur
photographer, he never took a photograph of her. “I mean, for real… not a snapshot
with a phone. I mean really photographing you, like… seriously.” He sounded
entangled, hesitating. She looked at him, surprised and a little amused, knowing
there was more to it and trying to guess. “Would you like to?” she asks in a
snap, and now its him, who looks surprised.
They met at his house. He had her seated against a white wall, loaded a B&W
roll of film, and spent it all on her at once. Definitely a child at the 4th of July. But that
wasn’t it… it all lacked that gleeful feel of accomplishment, like when you arrive just
on time at something you thought you’d be so late for, that already gave up on. Then it
came to him: that roll was a poor compensation for all the rolls he ought to have
done with her by then. A blind, old man, describing the memory of light. Trying to
hide the disappointment, he went for a bottle of wine, poured her a glass, loaded
another roll, and shot 36 more, completely out of faith, while they chatted. But after a
silence, she caught his eye. “Now that you finally have me portrayed, you don’t seem
that pleased about it.” She said. “This is not… Its not enough…” He replied,
staring away. The fireworks were over, all that was left was smell of ash. Trying to l
ighten his mood, she put up a faint smile, and went on: “How would you have me,
then? Standing? Dancing?” He gazed straight at her, shocked by the way she said
it. A whole salve of salute shells in his stomach. “How would I have you?
Blissfully, showered in flowers.”
Bernardo de Oliveira
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário