Um conto de natal
Só, de novo, no quarto da velha pensão, recolheu a carteira
no bolso de dentro do grande casaco vermelho, pendurado com cuidado nas costas
da única cadeira.
Nu, enrolou a toalha branca em torno da profissional barriga
e saiu para o corredor que atravessou até à casa de banho, não sem antes se
assegurar que a porta do quarto ficara bem fechada.
Lavou-se, com esmero e sabão, liso, arredondado, polido de
muitas mãos, muitas peles.
Secou-se, breve, e voltou a enrolar-se na branca, mas agora
húmida, toalha.
Saiu para o corredor que atravessou até ao quarto, deixando a
porta da casa de banho entreaberta, sinal de que outros a poderiam utilizar.
Leve, acalmado de corpo e instinto, tornou a vestir-se:
cuecas; camisola interior; calças e camisa.
Olhou-se ao espelho e penteou os ondulados cabelos brancos e
a comprida barba.
Calçou as botas pretas, de meio cano e, a custo, enfiou-se
de novo no grande casaco vermelho; Abotoou-o e cintou-o com o aperto da
reluzente fivela prateada.
Ajeitou, sobre o nariz, os óculos de lentes redondas, sem
graduação, só vidro, “era uma vez”.
Desceu as escadas do segundo andar da velha pensão até ao
rés-do-chão.
Deitou o olhar para trás do balcão de madeira envernizada.
Imersa na revista mundana, a rececionista ignorou-o.
Empurrou o velho batente azul celeste e saiu para a rua.
Sorveu, ávido, o ar frio do fim da tarde.
Dirigiu-se a pé, avenida abaixo, para o centro comercial.
As crianças sentam-se agora ao seu colo e os pais tiram fotografias.
Encostada ao candeeiro no topo da rua, enfeitado com o branco
néon de uma pluma de estrelas, ajeita a
saia curta sobre as coxas cruas, na esperança que mais alguém pare.
Lembra o tempo em que invejava as crianças que, na praça,
entre as vendedeiras de flores, se sentavam ao colo do pai natal, sorrindo para
os pais que lhes tiravam fotografias.
A Christmas Carol
Alone again in the room of the old boarding house, he put the wallet back in the inner pocket of the large red jacket, carefully resting on the back of the only existing chair.
Stark naked, he wrapped the white towel around the belly, came out into the corridor, assured himself with a twist of the knob that the room door was properly closed and walked to the bathroom.
He washed himself up with a smooth and rounded soap bar, polished by many a hand, many a skin.
He quickly dried himself up and again wrapped himself up in the white and now humid towel.
He walked again along the corridor to his room, leaving the bathroom door slightly ajar, a sign that it was now available for others to use it.
Feeling lighter, body and mind soothed, he dressed himself up again: shorts; singlet; trousers and shirt.
He looked in the mirror and combed his wavy white hair and his long beard.
He put on the black wellingtons, and struggled to don the large red jacket.
He buttoned it up and belted it around his waist with its shiny silver buckle.
He put on his round clear lens glasses.
He climbed the stairs from the second floor of the old boarding house down to the ground floor.
He gazed across the hall to the back of the varnished wood counter.
Immersed in the mundane magazine, the receptionist ignored him.
He pushed the old celestial blue wooden door and came out into the street.
He gulped, avid, the cold dusky air.
He walked down the avenue to the shopping mall.
Children now seat on his lap, while their parents shoot photographs.
Leaning against the street lamp, adorned with the white neon of a trail of stars, she arranges the short skirt over her plump thighs, hoping that someone might stop and ask again.
She recalls the days when she envied the children in the square, amidst the flower sellers, seating on Santa’s lap, smiling while their parents snapped their photographs.
A Christmas Carol
Alone again in the room of the old boarding house, he put the wallet back in the inner pocket of the large red jacket, carefully resting on the back of the only existing chair.
Stark naked, he wrapped the white towel around the belly, came out into the corridor, assured himself with a twist of the knob that the room door was properly closed and walked to the bathroom.
He washed himself up with a smooth and rounded soap bar, polished by many a hand, many a skin.
He quickly dried himself up and again wrapped himself up in the white and now humid towel.
He walked again along the corridor to his room, leaving the bathroom door slightly ajar, a sign that it was now available for others to use it.
Feeling lighter, body and mind soothed, he dressed himself up again: shorts; singlet; trousers and shirt.
He looked in the mirror and combed his wavy white hair and his long beard.
He put on the black wellingtons, and struggled to don the large red jacket.
He buttoned it up and belted it around his waist with its shiny silver buckle.
He put on his round clear lens glasses.
He climbed the stairs from the second floor of the old boarding house down to the ground floor.
He gazed across the hall to the back of the varnished wood counter.
Immersed in the mundane magazine, the receptionist ignored him.
He pushed the old celestial blue wooden door and came out into the street.
He gulped, avid, the cold dusky air.
He walked down the avenue to the shopping mall.
Children now seat on his lap, while their parents shoot photographs.
Leaning against the street lamp, adorned with the white neon of a trail of stars, she arranges the short skirt over her plump thighs, hoping that someone might stop and ask again.
She recalls the days when she envied the children in the square, amidst the flower sellers, seating on Santa’s lap, smiling while their parents snapped their photographs.
