Olhou o rio, lá em baixo, indiferente, quase parado, de água
escura porque o dia ainda mal amanhecera. Dentro em pouco, das sombras que escondiam
agora pedras e arbustos em ambas as margens, sairia alguma cor, apesar do
outono que principiara há quase um mês e que deixava já claras marcas nas árvores que ladeavam
o calmo curso de água, algumas delas tão
velhas e altas que os topos das copas passavam mesmo em altura a velha e
enferrujada treliça metálica onde, imóvel, contemplava, o rio e a dúvida.
E então saltou.
No dia seguinte, quando deram pela sua falta, fizeram-lhe a
cama, e entregaram a mala com os poucos
pertences de viajante efémero no depósito de perdidos e achados da estância de montanha a que há
dois dias chegara, só e sem reserva antecipada.
A polícia ainda o procura.
Na última página do livro, ficou a saber-se que afinal não
morrera e que vivia agora em Londres, noutra história, também ela com fim estranho
e despropositado.
He looked
down onto the river below, flowing indifferent
, almost still, its water dark for the day was still dawning. In a short while,
from the shadows now hiding stones and
brushes in both banks, some colour would emerge, in spite of the autumn that had begun
almost a full month past and that had already left conspicuous marks in the
trees that bordered the quiet water stream, some of them so old and tall that the
canopy tops stood prouder of the old and rusty lattice from where, immobile, he
contemplated both river and doubt.
And then he
jumped.
The next
day, when his absence was finally
noticed, they tidied up his bed and handed
his bag, holding his few ephemeral traveler belongings to the lost and found
depot at the mountain resort where he had arrived two days before, alone and
without previous reservation.
The police is still searching for him.
On the book’s
very last page it came to be known that he didn't really die and that he now lived in London, in another story, also with a strange and unfitting end.
