segunda-feira, 24 de agosto de 2009

Vampires * english



Silvio Piresh

Men make scarecrows to protect the wheat.
And, to protect the bread,
God made the Scarecrow of Corcovado.
But sometimes the Vampire
still opens the wings on us.

"Between midnight and dawn, when past is just a fraud."

T.S. Eliot


:

— Ohs and ahs woman, naked, like a
star: crime
— On the wall, blood digitals
— On the neck, colon:
— And on the left buttock,
a cross-shaped dagger
— More to the right, small tattoo
and nail slivers
— The wrist-wacth still ticking
— The bedside-table slavering a
pearl necklace
— And on the floor, two teeth
— A picture hanged on curious walls
— Lipstick besmeared calendar lips
— Panties, next to the body, had
aproximately 35 cm of Paris
— The Vivre, on the floor, sweetening another
— Shoes stepped on the night silk
— Birth-control pill tablet brought up to date
desire and day: Tuesday
— Freckles were counted
— Flies recognized the atom, insisted
— The carpet was marked, chalk star
— Just called Murilo, Boss.
— Meanwhile, Helena takes off her blouse
as if peeling her own skin
— She shouldn’t be there
— Not with that guy
— But not everything in life could be solved
in a laugh
— Sooner or later she would have to go
— And open more than just her mouth
— Now was forget pride
and go to the end
— More: pretend it was good!
— Helena has her body inspected
— Measured: his hand pans
check the wheight of Siamese breasts
— Gipsies foresee known futures
— Mustache and legs
— Her body opens, multifoliated
— And, in sex fencing, Helena
gives in at last
— The night runs away, the bed squeaks
— The chain she carries on the neck hangging
a small crucifix seems to hypnotize
the man
— Who still gasps and fights
like a wounded animal
— Human condition: love hurts
non—stop.
— Helena, then, turns her back to the moment:
thoughts like tadpole galaxies
— Late in the night, at latent sleep,
felt like she was turning into an
hermaphrodite being
— From her pubis grew,
huge penis, bigger and bigger
where the legs bifurcate
— Not believing that, in finger labyrinth,
tried to touch it
— But the strange bulk had disappeared
among five finger—nail—polish darts.
— A sloopy caress now
from the breasts down to the lap, going to the
hymen, and then visiting the buttocks
— Helena woke up with her own scream
— Too late: the jerk’s thing was already in
between the parentheses of her buttocks, cruel.
— Dawn breaks wiping the clouds away
— Guilty thoughts peep through
water rails
— A tear runs away.



— 12 o’cloch: sparrow parable. And already
the last sounds in pentagons of
eletric wires
— Time to go now
— At the motel entrance door, the telegram
of her personality:
— I.D. card back into
the small black leather purse
— She remenbered the sunglasses. And she
was taken the same way she came
— A few yards from home, the car door
licked her ass.
— Nothing missing in the purse
— Money?
— 38 reals,780 dollars, and three Picasso bills
— Picasso? From what country, Spain?
— Never mind: it ain’t money paper. Doesn’t even
have numbers on
— Take that to the Station, too
— It looks like a typewritter
— With all those drawings?
— Mariana: far—away—look
— Describe her better
— Niemayer—nose: Brasília
— Better
— Delicate outline, severe architecture
and the freckle braille
— Wait ‘till the clerk changes the tape
— Coffee
— No, thanks
— Ready?
— Oh, not a very realistic look
Abulic, dull
— Go on
— Quiet as if posing for pictures. Or
as if she was the news under the paper...
Very close friend of mine, you know
— Yeah, it’s right here in the file
— All right. Well. The hotel... it was a
São Paulo sky—star—hotel
— So...
— A compensation: the bathtub
where we mixed unmoved waters
— ?
— Teeth morses, utopias



— Tell me some more
— Sleepy, soaked and wet, Hegel gained
weight and volume. Her and I in password
of bodies. Amongst the library of
questions, suspended
— Go back to the point
— Memory then. Which
greets tips before serving
— You talking ‘bout the room service?
— No.
— How to look for a thief: check
night and looks and drawers
— Inês, that night, between the
Sugar—Loaf and the lamp posts,
looks like she was hangin’ posters
— Suddenly a coin, like thoughts,
slipped away from her fingers and
started tinkling on the side walk



— The change soon came: a look, in men’s suit,
a little suspicious, went by faster.
— Inside, couch, newspaper, radiophotographs:
umbilical cords in space
and men day—dreaming,
— When did you last look at
the moon?
— What?!
— What do you see, Murilo?
— What the fuck you want now?!
— The moon, Murilo
— To me, it’s just hangging there
on tree branches, like fruit
— Not to mention in crescent smile
— How ‘bout yours?
— How ‘bout Jesus Christ ass
— You’ve changed, man. You ain’t
the same since
— Go on
— Since that woman...
— Mariana at 11: boys had a really
bad crunch on her
— At 16: were the men
— At 18: ideal atom on the streets
— At 21: vane rose. Receptive family
on Sundays. Mother, atom.
Spaghetti and hapiness
— At 22: lightining—rod for obnoxious men
— Her childhood?
Word pillow
— Is that all?
— Father, lip—resting—place
— Go on
— Star—spangled air of feathers, words
— What does he do?
— What does he do?
— Collects things
— Pictures, carpets, stamps, butterflies?
— No
— Then what?
— Airplanes, jeeps, tanks
lead soldiers
— How many parts has a poem?
— Who said that?
— Stalin, I guess
— Coffee?
— No, water, please
— Did he get a picture of you?
— No.
— Tell me about Mariana
— Pretty, sensible
— But didn’t like men
— Prefered women
— Ok
— She was a sort of
feeling archeologist
— What do you mean?
— She would keep on digging memories
— Her own?
— Hers, vases. Deep collapse of feelings, really!
— Then she found you?
— We were very good friends
— I know
— May I go?
— At snail speed, in the room,
time passed by
— In each house, some kind of
retina numismatics
— From the drawer, sepia—paper tongues. Like
chrysalis and notes
— And the assurance that nothing would be
published
— Birdlime on trails.
molecule laceworks in saliva
— Country, dark room
— The morning flash did not convince. Our
story was just tiny quotation
at bottom page
— And freedom, negative
— What else?
— Now was forget utopia. And live
life as if someby gently
tapped our backs.
— Took in many men, acording to the doorman
— Liked women, friends say
— Was calm, nervous
— Was kind, cruel
— Liked children, didn’t like
— Was liberal, comunist
— Dressed neatly, wore jeans
— Liked Mike Jagger, listened to jazz
— Always in a hurry, never
— No family, square peg parents
— From São Paulo, from Rio
— Talkative, shy
— Student, graduated
— Worked, didn’t work
— Beautiful, beautiful
— Garland of contradiction, flower pen
on the table
— Were you there?
— And Goethe
— Maybe describing the fine outline
traced by the lips?
— Maybe
— Another coffee?
— Me and her, like compass—look
— I’m listening
— She was my north
— Ok
— Like Alice in Eyeland, you know
— Be a little more precise
— She didn’t care for me
— I said, more precise
— She had another girl
— Life, this chain of moments
— Wich ones?
— Kiss, look, body, night, caress,
word, sweetness, gesture, hand, sex
— Everything in memory line?
— !
— And we either use them
— Or scatter them on the floor.
— Tell me more
— Him and I: black market, light exchange
— More
— My tears falling into his eyes
— Then?
— Hands, tailors of measured calm
— Go on
— Day, like a picture flash
— And you?
— Shame
— ?
— That made us, with the hands,
cover our faces.
— The day was pregnate with valleys and bushes
— Go straight to the facts
— At noon, God’N’fries
— Please
— What else do you wanna know?
— Tuesday, April 29
— I was in Angra
— Who else?
— Grieg
— Grieg what?
— Edvard
— Grieg Edvard?
— No, Edvard Grieg
— Who’s that?
— Never heard of?
— So famous? Where did you meet him?
— At Angela’s
— What does he do?
— Music
— Address?
— Norway
— What number on Norway
— It ain’t the street
— Wanna know?
— Gonna write that in the report
— Side a: I’m ok at dawn. Side b:
easy going
— Was there anybody else?
— Peer Gynt
— Another gringo?
— Somebody who finds out too late
he could’ve been happy
if he only had not dreamt
— Not like a very pleasant company for
a weekend, huh
— You don’t get it
— Well, then I don’t know who Solveig was?
— ...
— Figures
— Can you be clearer?
— Stiched light dots
— Clearer
— Made drawings out of the stars
— Hope some of them show up
tomorrow at the Station.
— Murilo looks for Inês. Sex laugh, vertical
— Hands, semibreve. On string staves
— Love, exceptional pugilist
— Each kiss a lipstick punch.
— Monologue with the door: shows
Murilo the metalic tongue
— In pairs, windows flipped wings
— On the short line outside
a shirt fought the wind
— In the bedroom, the same wind read Marx
in a hurry
— A sleeping—net laughed at the corner
of the livingroom
— And, in one of the plates on the table, life in dust
— Murilo decides to wait for Elifas. Embraced
by the couch’s arms
— And one single drink imbibed the rest of afternoon
— Factories sawing crepuscles
— Through the window, Murilo realizes its time
to leave. Elifas didn’t show up
— In a few minutes, synopsis and report and
some beer with Moraes
— At nine staggered to Julia.
— Date and leg—slingshots:
Murilo fired tension and pleasured
in gothic roses
— To, once more, die as man
and rise from death as vampire
— The same ol’story: also loved someone
who loved somebody else who loved
who—knows—else
— Fleas get drunk far from there.
They mix veins and lives, under
flour—bag sheets.
— X—ray reality: misery shows
Murilo bones in the slums
— Boys play ball, memories
of prizes get buckets of water on the head
— Clenched fist morses at door
— Flies machine—gun solid wooden walls
— A woman holding a baby
fish Pietà Murilo’s eyes
which straggle bothersome
through the small room where everything
is found: pans, diaper line,
old mattress, newspaper
left overs, lives
— Where is Santos
— Don’t know,gone two days
— Murilo still cocked other questions,
but a guilty feeling backfired
— Twenty bucks tipped curious eyes
in between breasts



— She was in preventive arrestment for many months,
II Army prison cell
— You know: life there was passed on
at 119 volt rate
— After that, she couldn’t hold
piss right anymore
— Was under constant care. Confined
in her own self for many months
— In some health center in the country
— Don’t know what city
— Bragança? Maybe. As I said,
I don’t know
— To Mariana, past was not like
oil and water
— That’s right: it blended with the present
— The solstice clarified, leaving clues
far from there
— Zest on table, what tongue’d be better?
— Angela stripped herself of clothes and
of shame. Of winter and of
cold blue look
— Slow, yeah, be slow...
— Face downwards at last, snail like she turned,
pitanguy face. She called the maitre
— Who soon came to check on the meat. And
salivate hollows
— Angela soon wanted to touch herself
— But the maitre’s hands
shaclked her wrists
— Angela: moans of pleasure
— Epileptic: Suck me good, yeah, suck it, suck me
— His maleness, holding waters back,
did not sign other contracts
— Though eager to fuck that beautiful
little redeye
— One day. One day, he thought
— Mistress of herself, Angela thanked,
self—reliant, following rules of etiquette:
preferencial client check
— I’ll be back next week
— !
— In o nly 15 minutes, telephone rings... and maid
— Mimic, tell the maid to say she’s not
in Murilo
— A clod!
— Two mumps breasts: sad, Night
takes off her blouse
— Murilo walks aimlessly in between hookers
and transies
— Nonsense: it’s been long since on duty
started solving crimes, but never ever searched
what goes on in his own life
— Right on Gal Jardin, Murilo thinks
he’s the feeling dealer himself
— Somebody said that ‘bout poets
— Julia, must’ve been her
— Yes, life cought him in the very act
— But it’s never cought him red—handed with any
of that drug that
keep us going on
— Trapping eyes, never
to himself?
— The more he tried to open himself to life,
the more he could’nt. Why?
— What’s the reason for all that shit?
— Go back and see what that
bicth took?
— No, the poet and the goddamn
fucking duty always came before himself
— Then, at his back, a gun
stethoscoped what in the chest fires
— The money, idiot!
— A thousand two hundred and five stars:
Murilo looks for the poet in scaffolds
of corneas and umbrella chorus
— The building is old but nice,
some varandas bending a little
toward the visitor
— Leaving questions suspended like
gardens, Murilo decides to get in at once
and meet such poet
— Would he be envolved?
— The door opens in a laugh
to show, prominent in the hall,
a scowl: adipose structure, sweat
and clammy skin, Spanish pimples, big
handcuff—like glasses, dull look
— Thin mustaches lay over
lazy lips
— A what—do—you—want pushed him back into
the living—room as answer
— Let’s talk, he said
— What is it, man?
— Sit
— The man was reluctant, but
Murilo’s elected voice prorogued
— He knew people like that:
grapes when stepped on. They soon imagine punches,
clubs, cudgels and kicks,
etc
— Say now
— What?
— ‘Bout Mariana, dammit
— Her? A force to open doors
— I don't get it
— The force of open ports, life
— What about it?
— Word catapult, blitzkrieg—kisses
— Yeah, yeah
— Rembrant—realit,
Gestapo rustic
— Go on
— Men holocaust on the floor
like stars holding hands
— Ok
— Like newspaper clipping, multiplied
— Talk my language, would you
— Gesturing with their arms like
bayonet and florin mills. And in the edge
of night they looked not for
star lights
— But...
— For open hands like stars, friends
— Go on
— Know nothing more
— Look here now you goddamn turd poet:
forget that stinking poetry
and just tell me what you know
— Know nothing
— ‘d rather go down to the Station?
— Look: she was a short—legged woman
— What do you mean?
— That thing every night. Men,
irresistable. Shotting wad in her mouth
— Nobody like that goes too far
— What else?
— Politically talking, a shit. Used to read Althusser
but helped a fascist from the Brazilian Workers’ Party
in his campaign
— Anything else?
— She would cite Rimbaud every time she saw me
— Exactly what?
— A piece of Une Saison en Efer
— Something else?
— Je vis que tous les êtres ont une
fatalité de bonheur: L’action n’est pas
la vie, mais une façon de gâcher quelque force,
un énervement. La morale est la faiblesse
de la cervelle
— Good at French, huh?
— Me?
— Mariana
— No, not her. She would murder Rimbaud
with the Andrades
— Then?
— Then she would translate it afterwards,
a pain in the ass!
— Please
— I realized every human being suffers from
happiness fatality: action is not life,
but a way to spoil one’s strength
— E la morale est la faiblesse...
— No, not that
— But you just cited it
— Could’t help
— Why would she keep on saying that?
— How am I supposed to know?
— At the Ritz, you two met there
— No. At a country cottage
— In Piracicaba?
— That’s it
— What about Angela Prado?
— There, too
— Why do you think I’m here?
— Don’t you know?
— Your book was in her room
— Angela’s?
— Mariana’s
— There are many copies everywhere
— No copies with that kind of personal dedicatory
— She didn’t even like poetry
— And the poet?
— Vice—verse
— Are you only good with boys?
— ...
— Why did she hit you?
— Who told you that?
— Her shoes
— That’s another story
— Tell me
— There are some things we just don’t talk about
— Not even to professionals?
— You?!
— Other guys
— Look, not even then
— Maybe. But, anyway,
we’ll keep on trying down at the Station, just in case
— I ain’t got nothing to hide anyway
— You said you’d kill her
— Look, I was down, it wasn’t really me
— Maybe you were not really you
also on that Tuesday night
— I’m not into heteronymic business
— Do you make sonets?
— Me?! Nor perfect murderets
— After getting rhyme—answers,
Murilo decides to let the poet in
free verses.
— Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz. The bags sleep
at the bus station
— Elifas sweaps, with his eyes, the place.
And some of the manuscript lines
— Few minutes, he hands the ticket
to the driver. And gets confortable
on the seat
— On the window, for instants, signs
of his breathing. And of a name
his finger writes: Mariana
— Thinkless thoghts. And, already on the road,
his hand erasers the picture
— Star—chalk messes the other
board, black
— Elifas try not to sleep, this
chemistry of shadows
— Some nights he takes several pills
— Some days his nervous system is
nervous. And his heart,
out of tune
— Just yesterday when typewriting,
the motionless fingers seemed to be
just flabby ruber on the keys
— No drugs now, Elifas tryied his best
to postpone the arrival of this web.
— Inevitable: there he was at the table
with silverware, plates, napkins,
empty glasses
— In front of him, the same
rusty tool. And a tuna fish can
— His eys obsessively stare
at this cold object. hands obey
— And the same content inside: five
female fingers in different nail polish
colors: green, brown, blue, purple, beige
— Elifas wakes up yet sleeping
— The dreams of moviola designs are still
for instants in the real life
— Kidnapped roads far away
in crimson dawn
— The bus stops at a restaurant
— His seat mate, who talked
with the hands, tries some conversation
— But Elifas did not like talking. The more he
tried to open himself, the smaller he got.
In endless repetition, like a cabage
— He’d rather remain seated, thinking
— Closed his eyes: visions and epilepsy,
sluggush frog on bed sheets
— Mariana was still there
— Remembered then of the time they were
kept apart in the Army headquarter
— Of those slodiers, standing like iis, vertical
with no horizons (as she always said) and,
of her bowling—ideology, targets
— Of all reality boomerang effects,
striking questions and doubts back.
— Also remembered those archaic arms
here and there, whenever he got back home from
overseas: quick move of friends in the airport lodge
— Remembered that nothing, or almost nothing,
had changed
— That people, like clothes,
held on to ideas
— That he could smell the naphtalene
on every skin
— That mimesis to new times was
doubtful
— That there were still shoes with the flu
gnashing their teeth to democracy
— That, him and Mariana, if impossible living
together, impossible apart: how many
times they tried
— Extension one of the other, always got back
like extended elastic band
— And the pain, in stabbing kisses.
— Kamikaze messages over
skyscrapers
— Down to Elifas’s feet, torn papers.
Interrupting, every once in a while,
trails left by military jipes
— He crosses Ipiranga with no conviction
— Looks up for the number, enters the building
— What...
— ... Happened?
— The elevator from the fifth to the sixth
suddently stopped; the lights went out. And
the strings of this marionette started to
manipulate dozens of hands
— Emotion ring, walls assimilating
blows and scream chorus
— Nothing more: few seconds, lights
gave the news like instant flashs
agony bunch
— The old man, older, got out as if scatching
ants with the umbrella
— Halls eating fast,
doors swallowing people
— Helena?
— Yeah
— Gone
— Any messages?
— Elifas?
— Yes
— Here:
— Sorry had to leave in a hurry. Come
over in the evening. Love ya
— This time Elifas took the stairs,
going down in circles, holding on to
questions and stair rails
— Helena’s apt., note on the door:
— Got home and Fausta was leaving
with her boyfriend to Posto 6. Take your bags
and everything. See you there. Love you
— Not too long after the taxi stops
and drops Elifas near Posto 6
— Musical note lines,
pocket note:
— It was boring here: some of Fausta’s friends
came up with a party don’t really know where.
We’re drivin’ after them.
Call you later.
— Mário Lamartine?
— The poet?
— Exactly
— A freak
— Wow
— Somebody who kicks pregnant dog
can only be disgusting
— Did he do that?
— At Mariana’s cottage
— Why?
— I don’t know. The dog was just lying there on the porch,
not bothering anyone
— Sometimes people do
weird things
— Didn’t picture poets like that
— Rimbaud used to smuggle weapons and guns
— I don’t like Rimbaud
— Back to the minor poet
— ‘Bout three months ago, Mariana really beat
the shit out of him
— Tell me about it
— Well, first she took off his pants
— In the car?
— No. In her apartment
— Did she tell you that?
— I was there
— You?!
— She called me. Tought she was in trouble
and the dummy here rushed over there
— Well, then?
— She opened the door, naked,
on high heels. And with artificial penis
— ?
— Those plastic ones, tied up
on her waist
— Poet false penis
— Really hard—on
— Then
— I walked in the room and saw Lamartine
with the hands tied up with the blow drier wire
And the legs with stockings
— Was he on the bed?
— Like an X
— How in the hell did she do that?
— Drugs, liquor, I guess
— And what happen then?
— Take a look at this bastard, thought
was gonna fuck me, she said
— And?
— She asked me for water, towel, soap, lotion,
toilet—paper
— Oh, and also my perfum
— What for?
— Then Mariana started washing
his ass— I see
— Want more?
— !
— Angel—ass, started turnin’im on.
Kissed and licked. Licked and hoovered him
— When he was ‘bout to come, Mariana
took off her shoe and beat the hell out of him
— Thought she was gonna break the bed
— After that
— She was sweat from beatin’im so hard
— Lamartine motionless, Mariana said:
now you’ll see how to fuck
a man’s butt
— She wanted revenge
— ?!
— On men, on her father, I don’t know
— Look, I saw everything and didn’t help him
He well deserved that
— What happened after that?


— Mariana gave him her underwear
to wear and leave
— And Lamartine?
— Looked like a dalmatian, so many bruises
and hematomas all over the body
— Didn’t he react?
— He did try, but she pointed a gun
right to his cock!
— Then it was panties running...
— He ran down the hall swearing.
That the war wasn’t over. That he would come back.
That he would kill her, etc
— Elevator or stairs?
— Elevator. And it was full of people... (laughs)



— People get lost when they find
themseves alone
— They turn on videos, radios, read books, do
something. Anything
— Silence, silences
— Elifas still tried to solve some crossword—
puzzles, but soon gave up
— He missed the warmth, the light
of her eyes, the charm of her beauty. And, of course,
that cute little red—eye
— Got a beer, went to the bathroom:
white flowers in the vase.


— Woman, Taurean drawing, from memory
we bring her to our hands. Closed in the form
of sex.


— Elifas plays now with the
typewriter keys, sound like
clapping hands
— Zhhfstrruvzzaa
— If love rots, it will live
— Nãããooeiss
— Wheat
— Zhhfstrrrzzzaa
— There is not another wing per acre, flaxes
or words
— Ghhzztss
— Bee me, bad honey and
finger coreogragraphy
— Blood on tiles,
anphibian sex
— Shitzsthzz
— And that bitch won’t call!



— Next day: display caravele in the wind
— Still a little lost, Elifas found
São Paulo, Tordesilhas of power. And
bromelia—women crying on every corner
at Mariana’s funeral
— A wall separated death from whom gave
life for the life on the streets
— What to do in between coffee and jokes,
tears and tear gas?
— What to do about this fuckin life. And about
this bunch of questions, locked on themselves
like roses?
— So reality pretended
to be dead to fuck the grave—digger’s ass?


— Tombstone caraveles in the wind.
Mariana’s pale body went down the ground
— However, the dog—world would come back
once more in strange arqueology.




— You and Mariana?
— The very sex. Kiss, quick stamp.
And negative caresses, so many
— Why together?
— We shared the same bed because loliness
bound us together
— Hutz!!
— Maybe everything lasted exactly
because of the lack of love
— Two years?
— Yes. One married
— The first one:?
— There was the book, the tooth—brush,
underwear hangging in the bathroom
— And the secon...
— Taking dust off furniture, moving pictures,
making webs, inhabiting corners
— And the second?
— Me: hand octopus all over the body.
Her: side kisses. Me: pain in
amnesia room and sleeping targets. Her:
self—reliant
— Tell me some more
— Mariana used to make love only when
her hymen was itching
— More
— Used to take off her clothes as one who loses
ears in a body Autumn
— And you?
— Sometimes declined. But Mariana
would close her eyes, invade her
panties and then, with the finger,
avidly rub her clitoris
— Why are you here?
— Clear out a debt
— Dead people don’t charge
— I wouldn’t believe so!
— Tell me about that
— Some other time
— Do what over at Mariana’s?
— You’ll see.


— Key and hand. The chest shows
paper tongues
— Bills, pay checks, letters, calendar, pictures.
A revealing one.
— Do you know the other girl?
— Face downwards like that, how?
— How long?
— What?
— Since you last came here?
— First time
— C’mon!
— I mean it. After we split, we took different paths
— You even moved cities
— Took a job offer to work
in Rio. Just that
— By the way, what do you do?
— Advertising on working days and
writing in the days useless
— What do you write?
— Short stories
— Know Mário Lamartine?
— I’ve heard of. Not that I’ve read anything he wrote
— What about Mariana’s tooth?
— Oh, the jade one
— Yeah, the blue one
— Guess she just wanted to shock,
be different
— Just that?
— It was cool over in NewYork.
Guys drinking like crazy, loosing teeth...
— And then, blue tooth
— Or some big animal tooth
— Drugs?
— Couldn’t stand it
— Couldn’t she have changed?
— Her? Anyway, the blue part of her life
was before me
— At the Station tomorrow, at eight?



— Seducing Helena at last. Finally
— Her hands, that Saturday night,
were taking the form of a bra
— And the mouth, wordless, but with keys
opened secrets and legs
— Enough: the party, boring, of the
elected Commissioner
— And, above all, the pouring of wisky
in the veins
— Kisses, tonges, hands: a woman
could understand another
— A vibrator. In that room and
evening, made men of no need and use
— Who needs them?


— Precociously, the morning light winked
eyes. Targets
— And yet a kiss stamped
correspondence. Quick:
— Gotta go...
— If you can’t tame a man,
you failed as a woman.



— That night, Elifas’s eyes look
(like insects) for the light in Helena’s eyes
— Everything was hard: manage words,
gestures, small caresses
— That web of shyness made tenant of him
— His face, sunflower, following
movements of another face. Or
of a sun named Helena
— What’s wrong
— Nothing
— You’re acting weird
— Been thinking on many things
— Concentrate on just one
— It’s pretty easy when I’m close to you
— Get closer, then
— !
— Not so close!
— ...
— Sorry about last night, my life is
kinda messed up
— Still?
— If life doesn’t kill us, it makes us
stronger
— Nietzsche. That sounds like Nietzsche
— I don’t know. Somebody said that in a movie
I saw
— You look better now, maybe
a little tired
— Really? Woman, the crucified one
— Another Campari
— On every bed, on every bone—cross,
in meat nails
— ...
— Open the arms every day,
feel lesbian lips. And be betrayed,
betrayed
— I know how you feel
— You do?! Don’t be ridiculous
— Can’t you get over it?
— I still distill days. And squeeze
eyes, like lemons
— Wanna go some place else?
— Life, scar laugh for two long years.
Terrible to think about. Me, more and more
insecure. Cried for just anything.
A ventriloquial being in my womb.
wanting to live, live
— Shouldn’t you try to forg...
— What is gone lives in me. I can’t take it out,
no man can possibly know how it feels
— I can try
— Sorry, but Idon’t think so
— What if I was a woman?
— Look, it’s been nice talking to you, but I’ve got to go
— And she left


— Elifas ordered another wisky, soon mixing
coming tears
in the glass, already dirty
with jazz flats at botton and back
— Later, crossing the air with his fingers,
he asked for the check
— His steps, sometimes tottering, sometimes
playing chess on street pave stones
— His thoughts were kicking cans,
and a werwolf—heart sang in chorus with dogs
— And, from Bopp on, the night got stuck
with a load of stars


— Little men, following Guliver’s example,
tied up the History of
sleeping possibilities
— Looms of day: industrialized fear in
every corner
— And in every barren ground...
— Look, I don’t care about 64
— That was in 68
— I don’t care, either
— Don’t you wanna know ‘bout Mariana’s life
— Yeah, not Brazilian History
— She was always opening her legs
— A whore, you mean
— A woman trying to be woman
— Another one that changed
for lipstick?


— Happy holocaust of bodies lying
on the beach. Eunuch palm trees bowing/fanning
the afternoon
— Murilo takes the day off to
watch the sea
— He reads the comic strips, solves puzzles,
reads the classifieds
— Tinsmith’s or get another car?
— And as if helped him decide,
gets his bic and draws arrows and mustaches
here and there
— And, how stupid, black marks on the
President’s eyes
— It’s better not to think about it now,
he thought. Besides, he could not afford it
either way
— And get into that business with Moraes,
no way
— After so many years trying to keep
straight
— Oh, that was harder each coming day!


— If you can’t tame a man,
you failed as a woman.
— Murilo starts, then, reading some few
police articles in Estadão
— And find a small one on
grave—yard robbers
— Just one day away and
already seven palms behind
— He calls Moraes, listens to details
and gets back on Anchieta.


— Why would someone violate a tomb
for a stupid tooth?
— Would jade be worth such
trouble and risk?
— What to say about Angela now?


— Everything. Nothing: it could have been her
— Kind of woman who can commit a
crime and not do it
— She would never suspect herself
— That happens only to the ones faithfull
in God and those who have the cross as their anchor
— Now her, she would open her arms
to the winds
— Never to the feeling of guilty
— And, if the human kind was made of memory,
Angela had the antidote
— Left no clues whatsoever.
Not even in the subconcious
— Nothing or nobody could get from her
anything different than that
— And, besides, there were signs. Not
proofs
— Now, something new
— Angela would never go back there
— She, of all people? So supertitious
she was!
— Mariana’s tooth bit Murilo’s
thoughts. And day was getting even shorter.




— At six p.m., the detective finds
the dentist
— Fernando Murilo, just called a while ago
— Come on in. What is it about, anyway?
— Mariana Mattos
— Mariana, yes, she’s my client
— I’m sorry. She was your client
— ...
— What kind of treatment did she get here?
— Just a second
— Dr. Pellegrine walked to a small
acrilic file box on the
desk.
— Look: X—ray of the superior arcade
— What did you do, Doc?
on this one here
— Is that the molar?
— Precisely, the onix tooth
— Jade, Doctor
— No: jade is green
and her tooth was in a
profound blue color
— ...
— Gems is my hobby. And I’ve studied that
particular tooth very carefully
— How come?
— The very idea of having such a tooth
was a complete non—sense
but that was a perfect job, done by a especialist.
A small master—piece
— And who did it?
— I have no idea
— Didn’t you ask, I mean, a professional question?
— I sure did
— And what did she say?
— She would change subjects.
— What’s the reason of having such a tooth?
I can’t understand.
— Don’t ask me
— Well, I can’t ask her
— ...
— Do you think there could be something inside it?
— I don’t think so
— Would the X—ray show it?
— Can’t really tell.


— The elevator, sanfonado, grrr, movia—se
radinho of the stack
— Murilo watches questions shackled
by cigarett smoke:
— Minimum wage, black, broke as a rat,
well dressed?
— Right at the Station a slap released
the man’s tied—tongue, easy:
— I didn’t pay much, Sir
— Dead people need? Some people buy
rings, chains...
— Who?
— I don’t buy women’s stuff
— Religious wife. Jehovah’s Witness
— ‘d rather wear rags then get
dead people sweat
— Not even God’s soap can wash it, she says
— Murilo holds the man’s head in range,
fingers in the eyes, bowling
— The address
— All right. Ok, ok.


— Microfilm, password, money—box combination,
industrial drawing, bank accont #
— What the hell was in that tooth?
— Eight o’clock, decides to take a cab:
Chess Club
— At a table, Angela repeated some
expert’s trick
— Nice trick that one. Casablanca, right?
— Oh, a detective into chess business
— Oh, a woman playing good chess
— Own my father that
— And I learned something during
high school
— Something? Some experts today
don’t remember this trick anymore
— But the thing is, that was one of
my favorites
— Wanna play?
— I don’t wanna mess up your game
— Nor I anny investigation
— I’m off today
— You’re not following me, then?
— I’m surprised to see you here
— Angela moved her hands, clenched fists,
towards Murilo
— Arrest me!
— Murilo smiled while
lightening a Marlboro
— Pointed to Angela’s left hand:
black pawn
— The white ones play and win, joked
Angela once more



— Fortunately, Elifas has another dream.
Finger labyrinth in cans, no more?
— He was a collector now. Not of stamps,
coins. Or of caresses, kisses,
memories
— A collector. Of ears!
— His room, Galery
— On the wall, frames of these
weird fragments
— Pinned like butterflies on
light—gray felt. Side
by side.
— Then, consciousness epileptic lightning
wakes Elifas up.


— What does it mean?
— How do you know they belonged to women?
— I just do
— Explain me
— They were small, soft
— Did you touch them?
— I know they were soft
— Could belong to children
— Belonged to women
— What do you think about it?
— Came here to find out
— The answer is you
— Maybe. But I don’t know what I know
— ? When do you yell
— Why?
— Do you yell, scream at all?
— No
— Why not?
— Suppose I never felt like it
— What about the women?
— Yes
— All of them?
— Yeah, I think so
— You never wanted to?
— ?!
— To yell or scream with them
— They always do it first. Then I just grunt
— As a child, could you hear your father
and mother?
— They used to do it in silence
— Was your room close to theirs?
— It was possible to hear something
— Never spied on them?
— Sometimes I stayed up watching TV
in the living room. I knew they were doing it
but there was no sound whatsoever
— And silence is exactly the reason you
know they were doing it, right?
— Is that the connection?
— I still don’t know. Do you?

— Queen of king pin three: what the hell
he want?
— Castle four from the king: why is a woman
like her here?
— Queen three from the castle: question me in silence
— Castle two from the queen: beautiful, rich,
was she perverted, too?
— Pawn three from the queen: wonder what he has
found out?
— Bishop three from the king: is it worth going on?
— Knight four from the king: nonsense, he woudn’t
be here if he had a single clue
— Castle five from the queen: check
— Can I ask you a favor?
— What is it?
— Continue this some other time?
— Fine with me
— Since you’re losing and I don’t think it’s fair,
what ‘bout some beer?
— Great idea
— Not today. Some other time, ok?


— Murilo got the elevator, opened the door:
note and bill autumn all over the floor
— He picked the mail up, misled some
other thoughts
— As if already suffering from
just thinking of what he had ahead,
tomorrow
— Took off his shoes. And his gun
was his only bed company
that night.

— A tape recorder looks down
the room, simple and objective:
— Two couches, many plants and paintings
— One Volpi
— From the ceiling, two light tits
and loosen wires
— Life was serious, but the clock
on the wall disagreed:
— Kept on laughing for many seconds announcing
ten to two
— A record shows 8 p.m.
— Another one sticks its tongue out to the
dry mustaches of a bromelia
— Wisky?
— Got Vodca?
— Ice and lemon?
— Yes and no
— She walks away, Murilo throws a quick
— Vodca on table two
— Can I have more ice?
— About your theory
— Makes sense, huh?
— Maybe
— Then, Murilo’s hands slips
over to Julia’s
— Angela and Mariana used to have an affair.
And Angela could be the blonde who rented
the next door room, weeks before
— A wig, you know
— Different clothes, make up,
contact lenses
— Mariana would’ve notice it, Murilo
— Maybe not
— Face to face? C’mon!
— Well, Angela used to be an actress
— Didn’t she make love that night?
— That’s the point. Angela could have
got in after that
— You just have a feelin’ bout all that
— I can’t proove anything, yet
— Would she be so cold blooded?
— You can bet on that. Every move she makes
is as cold as in chess
— If you say so
— ...
— How did it happened?
— What?
— You two, the game
— Oh, I found out Angela frequently goes
to the Chess Club and started going, too
— A lot of trouble, huh?
— Well, that’s a case I wanna solve
— Just that?
— What else could it be?
— I don’t know, Angela is an
Interesting woman
— A murderer, you mean
— You can’t proove that
— Who knows?
— Then what are you going to do?
— With her, nothing for now. But
with you...
— No, Murilo
— I thought...
— I’m in the red
— ...
— I want it, too, but I fell
— Embrassed?
— Yes
— I want you anyway
— Wait.

— Julia came back, just panties on.
The three pontas star came to light
the dark room
— Another vodca?
— Yeah. And you, Contreau?
— While she drank, Murilo helped himself
from the goblet:
— Small breast where a heart seemed
to pump even more desire into his mouth
— Mad, he bit her lips. Touched,
with the tip of his tongue, her neck, ear.
It was felt the fragrance
of the deodorant close


— Soon, the jasmin essence was
pure female nature:
— A salt rose, getting sour
and making Murilo a little dizzy
— Her: use your finger
— ...
— Behind
— Murilo’s right hand envolved
— the buttock, and the pointing—finger sliped
inside Julia
— There, just like that
— At the same time his thumb penetrated
her vagina, showing the multifoliated laugh,
and tried to find the other finger:
— Different delicate tissues kept apart,
by milimeters, the touch of
two digitals
— Julia, then, hands back,
oppened the fat parenthesis of her buttocks
— Too bad, said Murilo
— Aãhh
— Uh
— Too bad
— ...
— Wish I had two cocks now
— ... (laughs)


— Elifas looked up:
a serviço e fimose
— He imagines frankenstein—sex.
— The hipodermic bee hasn’t yet finished
her job. He could feel it:
he opium industry



— Mummy—sex just after that
under the head. Cab and home
— From dawn, in the form of a labyrinth,
the picks of thought: Helena

— Hips and legs: two question marks,
outlines. There in the
of bedroom light
— Fears and ideas of
struggling skin: she wouldn’t understand it
— Eight hours later, ouch, the night erection
streched the stiches out
— Terror dripping in red: pain


— Not even the torturers of March 31,
he thinks, were so perfect, complete.
— Don’t know if I can
— Try
— Pentagram of barbed wire, ears
— Go on
— There were some birds
— On the wire?
— No. On the ears
— Pecking
— No. On the guy’s shouder
— What ‘bout him?
— Railroad tracks and legs and dorment pianos
— Explain it
— Scared the hell out of me
— Ok, and then?
— He grabbed my neck
— Hit you?
— Right here
— And then?
— I fell
— Can’t remember anything else?
— ...
— Nothing, realy?
— I deamt he got a needle, some thread
and stiched my inferior lips
— It wasn’t a dream
— ?!


— Walls, gates, dogs, alarm systems.
broken mouth: Volkswagen soon as gargoyle
— José dos Santos?
— No.
— Where is he?
— Who wants to know?
— Me. Doesn’t he work here?
— Here is just me. And the dogs
— Who covers the other shift?
— The Namesake
— And what is the dogs’ shift
— ...


— What’s his name?
— Whose?
— The Namesake’s
— I know him by Namesake
— What’s your name, then?
— He’s somebody else’s namesake
— Who else knows him?
— The dogs
— ...



— Jewel: 4 rooms, fireplace,
— Jewel—box: lindenberg facede
— What can’t a good pussy get,
Murilo thinks
— Everything, young man
— Ahh?!
— What?!
— A woman like Ms. Angela can get evberything she wants
— Is she in?
— She left
— Long ago?
— Two hours or so.


— Braziliam flag: Blue eyes,
diamond to dusk


— How did you find me?
— A detective’s got his secrets
— Went to my place first?
— Yes
— Look at that building: the light—dark of
windows makes a
chessboard
— And your eyes go from window
to window?
— What do you want?
— Came to apologize
— ‘Bout what?
— I did think you were
the murderer
— Not anymore?
— I followed the wrong trail. And all this
tooth crap...
— Any news?
— This case is a box, envolving a
box, envolving another box, and
another box
— Why don’t you hire a detective?
— ...
— I couldn’t miss that
— And a dinner?
— With you?
— Think I liked you better when you thought I was
a murderer
— No way?
— Maybe on a rainny day
— What if it’s just summer rain, we’ll have
a quickie?
— Jerk!
— Would have to be maitre?
— Been following me?
— Followed the wrong trail, remember?
— Details?
— Every one of them?
— And still wanna a date?

— Key and door. Green unsuccessful, pull up the grass.
— What did you say?
— Was just thinking
— It’s beautiful here. Green triggers,
shooting sparrows in between buildinds
— What a parable!
— Go straight. Just go
— Eliot, by any chance?
— Did he say that, too?
— You’re like someone who collects
silk glass windows
— Like someone who brings memory on the back
— Every woman is equal, every woman
is different
— And is every man like that?
— Like what?
— Tough, so he can hide his fragility
— And the woman, you?
— Romantic, so to hide dialetic?
— You ain’t like that
— Wanna bet?
— Campari?
— Contreau. In the rocks
— In
— I am
— Most up


— Do you carry handcuffs?
— Why do you ask?
— Can’t I?
— They’re in the
— Can I see them?
— Why?
— Just curiosity
— C’mon!
— All right. They say it’s cool
— ?
— When you’re doing’it
— What if I don’t let you go?
— I keep the keys. And I say when
the party is over
— Well, if you want it, i’ll go get them
— Relax. Drink some whisky first.

— Is that how it works?
— Simple, huh?
— Here, one more glass of whisky and give me the keys
— As you wish
— No doubts about it
— ... What the hell did you put in this whisky?!
— Sun can not push all the horizons
anymore. Buildings weight over the
scenary
— From the bedroom window Elifas sees words
— Words, words, words
— In the name of life, words
— Write for what?
— For what?


— Murilo wakes up and he can not see his hands,
shacked behind him
— Oh, there you are
— Give me the key, c’mon
— Will you do everything I say?
— What the fuck?
— Will you?
— Quit that and let me out
— You really gonna have to fuck a lot
— You didn’t have to shackle me to say that
— And miss the chance?
— Now, I don’t get it
— You would be too equal, Murilo. You would
repeat yourself in me.
— And I still don’t get it
— Besides, I was afraid
— Afraid?
— Yeah, afraid you’d beat me
— I’ve never beaten a woman
— How could I know?
— Well, now that you know, the hands are here
— No way
— I promise
— Being able to promise is what
distinguish men from animals
— Then?
— I want you animal
— How am I gonna do you
with my hands here?
— Who said you’d do me?
— I don’t like this
— But you will
— What do you want, anyway?
— That good tongue of yours
— The maitre gave up on you?
— Did you?
— What if I arrest you later
— You won’t
— And why not?
— ‘Cause you gonna love the juice in your mouth
and the piss on your face!
— What if I don’t buy it?
— Try it
— Yeah. What happens then?
— See this coke bottle here?
I stick it right into your ass. Plus:
you stay there shackled. And with the
TV wire tied to your feet. That’s it, man
— You broke the TV?
— I just pulled the wire. You can fix it later
— Why don’t you use stockings, like Mariana?
— I’m not wearing it, look
— You’re not wearing anything, you mean
— Well, did you make up your mind, yet?
— Can I have some more whisky first?
— Sure
— No drugs in it, please
— ...
— It’s definately not my day
— Maybe it is
— Bull crap! Here, like this?!
— Well, really you don’t look that good
— The woman I want
the way nobody wants
— Just can’t have everything, right?
— One more drink
— Pull the string
— Tampax?!
— Do it now, I say
— That’s the way I like it. Don’t stop. Oh, yeah
— Look: your cock says hello


— 9 a.m: the piano fingers,
intertwined. Valise of lips,
the handkerchief of words



— I see you later
— I’ll call you
— See?
— What?
— You didn’t arrest me
— Not for that
— It wasn’t that bad, was it?
— I lied to you, you know
— What a coincidence
— You did, too?
— ...
— When did you lie?
— You first
— When I said I didn’t think you were
guilty
— I got it. Wanna see me in jail?
— No
— ...
— Not you in jail
— If you think it was me, don’t you wanna
arrest me?
— Not you. You do know a lot
— Do I?
— And you’ll tell me one day
Now it’s your turn
— Really wanna know?
— Yeah, I’m curious
— You’re better in chess
than in bed.

— Where before kiss today, between teeth,
Corsican word for knife


— You’ve spread too many words in between
us, you know
— ...
— Word mines
— ...
— I walked to you very scared. I don’t know
where to step on anymore
— ...
— Can’t go on anymore
— ...
— We touched each other and spoil it
— ...
— I feel it, you know
— ...
— Whenever you touch me, I fell the mould
— ...
— Orange among oranges, understand?
Do you understand?
— ...
— Are you listening to me?
— ...

— Elifas creates ficction by heart. All the
words were still there, written on the carbon
of the mind. In brain brain
— Was he looking in the mirror:
the back of life, life
— Mariana was not dead,
she was still alive on the next page
— Bitch, he says
— Why hasn’t she turned into grass, yet?
— No, not even in the book that bitch dies
— That butt gained life from every
word
— Those open arms, redeeming,
force me back like a cross.
— Hello
— Murilo?
— Yeah
— Moraes
— What’s up, Moraes
— Helena Coelho, the actress. Just
found dead
— What happened?
— Nobody knows for sure. Anonymous phone call, as usual
— And the body?
— Sítio Dá Na Vista, Piracicaba
— The sheriff there is
— Saraiva. He called the Boss
— ? He did?
— He’s been following Mariana’s case
through the press. Thinks there migh be some connection
— Which one?
— Didn’t say
— Any driver on duty?
— Who’s that?
— Tall and really skinny guy. Very close to the Boss
— Another relative?
— I don’t know
— Tell him to come here, and you come with him
— Do you really need me, too, Murilo?
— 15 minutes?


— So fast?
— Slowgators are transformed into lady’s purse.
How did it happened, Saraiva?
— Drugs. She either
or somebody put it in her drink
— Any suspects?
— We still don’t have anything
— Nothing really?
— Few digitals on the phone,
nothing more.
— Digitals of the doo who called?
— I don’t think so. He called the Station
from a pay phone
— What did he say
— Few things. Told the place and said she
had some kind of weird attack
— Nothing else?
— Tried to help, Tried to call the
doctor. Was inocent
— Then you found out it was
Mariana’s cottage?
— That’s it.


— Two: wonder if he’s still in
— Two six: of if he already left to see
that bitch
— Two six three: I shouldn’t be
doing this
— Two six three — four: he’ll think, I don’t know
what he’ll think
— Two six three — four two:



— Two six three — four two five: well,
if he answers
— Two six three — four two five five:
if he answers, I hang up
— Busy!?


— Julia still tried to call once more
before going out, by herself
— Soon she was back, to get the purse,
cigaretts, lighter, and some thoughts.


— Empty men, like floor scratched the chalk
without the body. It was thus that hour,
the streets of the Bladder
— Lives and stubble
— Feelings open like wounds,
legs and faces
— Marks of unresourced liberty,
she thought
— Took the hands to the eyes as someone who wants
to erase the board of instant,
though only rubing on memory
— Of a lover, oh



— Murilo for her felt had only sex desire
— Feelings, which ones?
— The only one was the one that sometimes
grew bigger in his body
— No more
— No more words, gestures,caresses
— Their relationship lied on sex
— What now?
— So, what did you get?
— A girl, 2 km from the cottage.


— Married? Live where? Like Picasso? Who else?
— Single. Perdizes. Yes. Van Gogh
— Knew Helena? Went out with her? To where?
— A little. Sometimes. Victória
— Did you smoke? At the cottage? How did
you get it? First time? Who else did it?
— Half carreirinha. Yes. She had some. First
and last. A guy named Nigro
— Who’s that? Was with you? Qual a dele?
What else did you all take?
— Never seen. Been. Was to all.
Marijuana.
— What happened then? Did you have sex?
— Nothing. No
— Did you see her die? Why didn’t you help?
Why did you run away?
— No. Was sleeping. Am innocent.
— Did you two run away together? Where is he now?
Where does he live? You’re in the mess with him, you know that?
— No. I don’t know. Have no idea. Yes.


— Murilo and Júlia, two strawberries. Wet,
leaned against each other and mouldy
— A woman needs more, Murilo
— What do you mean?
— You only come here to fuck me. And nowadays
you can’t even do that right
— Why now?
— Caresses, how long?
— Hummm.‘bout three minutes ago
— Murder
— What?!
— A man killing a woman
— Naked, crude and bitter
— Sex and knife, Murilo. No man
can deny feeling the very same pleasure
— PMT or what?
— Tired. Think I’m tired.
— It can’t be just that
— It can be anything, Murilo.


— Love, water. And it’s best not to dam it up
and try to get some energy from it:
light to the eye


— It expires
— What?
— It expires
— What do you mean it expires?
— Love. It spoils
— Ok, say it
— Anything made by men
spoils
— Go on
— Ecce homo, Murilo
— I knew it, it had to be my fault
— Salty waters. Sex ain’t
good anymore
— Is it over, then?


— Murilo starts packing at the first rays
in the morning. Sees his face on the mirror. Looks
at Júlia: she sleeps
— Or pretends she does: from the window, Júlia sees Murilo
leaving, getting smaller and smaller on the
streets. Actually, she was the one
getting smaller and smaller
— Weird thing, love on one’s back


— At the station, Murilo was greeted
with poetry:
— “Of gems or words, Midas
we try to be
— “So many things encrusted on our chests
— “Like diamonds, so many
— What is it?
— Poetry. Want else could it be?
— If you could say it right
— Didn’t like it?
— Sounds like something read
during Hora do Brasil
— That bad?
— No. It’s just that you sound like
Paulo Francis
— Well, back to the poem
— No, you?
— Me? Oh, no. I can’t even write on those
flower cards
— And have you ever sent flowers to anyone,
Moraes?
— May I continue?
— Excuse me, please
— “And present seems to be loosing
all its meaning
— Through this summer and
entropy door”
— What does entropy mean?
— I don’t know
— Who the heck wrote that, anyway?
— Guess
— Hell with that, how am I suppose to know?
— Helena
— Saraiva brought us that?
— No: the guy that was
with her at the cottage
— Oh, he came over?

— Picture, where digital saliva
is identified: Julia closes eyes


— But tries to fight back: cleans up the house,
moves the couch, changes sheets,
wipes off digitals
— She cries: the digitals on her body
were still too fresh.


— Oh, he came over?
— Left ‘bout an hour ago
— You let him go?!
— What else could I do? I follow the
Constitution
— Bull shit
— The boss told me to do so
— I knew it. Got a statement,
at least?
— All written up
— Let me see it
— The boss was right: the man is clean.
He ran away ‘cause he was scared with
that shit. And was afraid to be
on the news
— Married?



— The wife thinks he’s gone on a business trip
— But now she’ll know the truth, right?
— You do whatever you want. But the Boss will
get mad
— How mad?
— I don’t know
— Is he a drug addicted?
— Looks like he’s a whisky addicted
— Go get the file
— There are some other news
— Get the file first
— Death reports are in
— Cocaine in the stomach?
— And in the lungs
— Means the drug was ingested
— That’s what they say
— Is this his addres?
— Rua Aracaju, near Higienópolis
— He lives in a nice place
— Works
— It’s not his home addres?
C’mon Moraes!
— It’s on the back


— It’s not my fault
— What else the reports say?


— Júlia: I look to the world, I look to
myself. Colors, the same. Precarious
desires, just the same
— Elifas: you, a chameleon in this house.
You adapted yourself according to the surroundings
— Of you. It belonged to the color you
— I wasn’t being myself?
— You were, though not the same
— Is that it, then?
— Salamander is where you are. You were
messed up
— You and Mariana, how was it?
— You know it, then?
— I dated a detective, remember?
— What did he tell you?
— Nothing. Just thought you had a funny name
— Then you found me
— Two Elifas in the same town?
— Did you tell him about us?
— No, of course not



— Well, so? How was it?
— She and I, the neck of the years,
the feeling that everything to say and
nothing to agree, by ventriloquist
power were dubbed



— Not like that
— Like what?
— Like the way you write
— ...
— Please go on
— We lived on small
clandestine pleasures
— You and her?
— I loved the way she was, her body
— Even her blue tooth
— That was after the trip
— Where did she go?
— I don’t really know
— You didn’t lie in your testimony, did you?
— I said New York
— So?!
— It could have been Brazil, too
— I don’t understand
— She could have left the country without
leaving it
— Now I really don’t understand
— Somehow, Mariana travelled to some other
time and came back
— And who believes that?
— There are proofs
— A bill?
C’mon Elifas!
— You know about it, then?
— Murilo let me see it. But how do you know
it is money? It dosn’t have numbers nor the
country nor anything
— Money from another country, another future
another monetary system
— Ok, so she got into some kind of time
machine or into some espiritual vehicle
and brought money from the future
— It is possible, isn’t it?
— Now you gonna tell me you were with her
since you didn’t look for me anymore
— I thought of you all the time
— Why didn’t you call?
— You were so mad!
— So what?
— You’d tell me to go to hell
— Maybe
— How ‘bout today?
— I was the one to call you, wasn’t I?
— Because you were hurt
— I’ve been inspected by a cop,
just that


— Old man, jaw comunicating in
Morse code and fake teeth:
— Saw—only—two—couples—walking
in—the—woods
— Near—the—waterfall—sir...
— Onlyt—the—blond—girl—and—the—man—with—
glasses...
— No—sir—I—didn’t—see—the—other—couple—sir...
— I—found—the—glasses—the—next—day...
— Near—there—sir...
— Near—the—waterfall...
— I—was—gonna—give—them—glasses—back—at—the—cottage
and—saw—the—woman...
— No—not—on—the—couch...
— On—the—floor...
— Somebody—must—’ve—put—her—there—then...
— After—I—left...
— No—I—didn’t—see— anyone—else...
—Just— ran—away...
— My—boss—would—not—like—it...
— Dr.Lindolfo...
— Dr.Lindolfo—Reis
— Doctor...
— Been—a—year—since—he—last—came—from—São—Paulo...
— He—makes—a—deposit—in—Banespa...
— No—I—didn’t—see—her—smoking...
— It—is—not—necessary—sir—I—can—walk—back
I—am—used—to—it...
— No—I—don’t—want—ride—please—that—is—ok...
— ...—...




— Trying to be polite, I was not happy
— And I did not love.
— May I be unpolite?
— Plese
— Oral sucsex. What do you say?
— Now?
— And why not?
— It’s just that
— ...?
— Bath towel, on the drawer
— Tired
— C’mon, get up
— I forgot, you think it’s nasty!
— No, I don’t
— What is it, then? She smells good
and wanna kiss your mouth.


— Do it good
— More, I want more
— Don’t stop, suck it
— Faster, faster
— Yeah... swallow it, you son of a bitch
— Swallow it!


— You weren’t polite at all with
my ears
— Sorry
— It hurts, did you have to pull it like that?
— Was too excited
— You mean mad, not excited
— And mad at whom?
— At Murilo, weren’t you?
— It’s been so long and I fell so great now
— He wouldn’t do it?
— Forget about him, ok, I’ve forgotten him
— It’s bleeding, dammit
— Are you gonna complain all night?
— Wow, look at that!
— Oh no, not the butt
— You don’t like it?
— No, no way
— Don’t you think an injured ear deserves that?
— Don’t make me fell guilty
— It’s been so long, please
— You really want it, huh?
— Two years, it’s been two years watching
this Sugar Loaf
— What?!
— M like in McDonald’s, delicious!
— I bet you say that to every man
— No, just to your sister
— Wanna hear a theory?
— What?
— Never mind, stupid thing
— That’s ok, just say it
— Men do not like women, men like men
— Bullshit
— Better: men like fuckin’ butts
— It is not really like that
— You, for exemple
— I knew it
— You acepted everything, even to be humiliated
just to see if you could fuck my ass
— Me, humiliated? How?
— You did everything, everything I told you to,
you kneeled down and swallow my juice
and your self—respect
— I wanted it
— No, I wanted it. Her, the mistress of men
— Now, that’s a contradiction
— What contradiction?
— Din’t you just say men
want ass?
— And you do: if she is the mistress of
waters, he is our lord
— You’re crazy
— I know
— And then love, amoral
— You won’t give up, will you
— C’mon, it won’t hurt
— I’ll think about it
— While you think, can I touch it?
— With your mouth, the mouth is ok
— What ‘bout Junior here?
— Must lick it well first
— Tongue again?
— You decide
— Ok, ok. Turn arround
— Deep down there, five minutes
— Five minutes!
— Give me your watch
— Go wash it and put some perfum on
— If you want it, it’s like that
— Like that?
— Paradise smells bad, don’t you know?



— Julia’s dream: ants, ants, and
insect. Men and men and her.
— “Clouds in paragraphs, the interview the blue:
morse and the fall of a star
— “Word licence in hand,
dirtier dedalous star
— “True: gun is not heart this
instant
— “Nor instantaneous is passion, if crystallized
— “Permanent, passport of
wanted thoughts
— “And confiscated, by the customs,
is the opium of life
— “Strength now is taken from pale sheets
of words”
— Another of Helena’s poems?
— To a boyfriend who killed himself
— When was it?
— Three months ago
— The woman suffered. That’s why
she writes so damn well
— Probably so
— What else do you got?
— Just his name. Want further
invertigation?


— Julia’s dream: ants, ants, ants,
ants, and more ants. And her.




— Did he call?
— No. Said he had to leave
— And left?
— In a hurry. Even forgot his gun
— And you?
— Saw a movie on TV
— What movie?
— One that a man was married for several years
to this picky woman. And then one day he
decides to kill her
— And then?
— There is this inspector who doesn’t take
the story of acident at all
and starts following the guy
— Go on
— He asks. Gets on the man’s nerves. Watches. Asks.
Gives a ride. Asks
— Ok,ok
— Well, the detective wants
the guy to confess
— And the guy?
— Well, then there is a turn arround in the movie.
And the murderer starts investigating
the police detective and finds out that he,
the detective, had also killed his wife
— Interesting
— Thought so, too
— But it sounds like a boring movie,
no action
— Yeah. But the game between the two of them
really gets on you
— What’s the name of the movie again?
— I didn’t tell you
— How does it end?
— They become friends. And go together
to an island in the Pacific
— The End. End Murilo?
— What about him?
— Did hecome back?
— Why so many questions?
— He went to see Angela, didn’t he?
— How am I suppose to know?
— Another woman?
— Look, it’s time for you to go.


— Julia’s dream: legs, and more legs,
torn. Men walking away


— Elifas still did not inhabit Julia. He lived
just on the suburbs of
her heart
— A town first conquered
in the battering of sex
— And that night had not yet been
enough: she resisted
— A certain investigator still
ruled over it
— Some women are like that: after a love
disappointment, they become so quiet in their own
world that mould may occur
— Men feel it and run away, spoiling
the good part
— Elifas brought back and polished her pride.
He segregated saliva and passed
kaol on it
— He didn’t have the keys to the
water house, anyway
— But who does have it if all want to inhabit
her body just for some minutes?
— Julia was still hurt
— No amphibian key would be able to open
her innermost doors.


— Breast, Sesame. Julia did in herself and to herself
the love she would not take from men. And screams.


— What you found out on the suicide man?
— Stupid or dumb: used to steal gas from
cars in the garage of the building he lived in
— Broken lids, many evidences,
little style
— What else?
— Robbed the shoe company
his brother used to work for
— Yeah



— Volver details, revolver: from the company
he took payment money
— The brother, only one not threaten,
only one to testify
— Broken ribs, vulnerable heart:
turned Lico in
— What Morruga handed over to
Arnaldo, who handed Saraiva
— Surname, a man of good gun
— So that is it?
— What?
— Saraiva, volley of bullets
— How is today's scholar
— Lico killed himself in jail?
— With the glass lenses
— How?
— Cut the wrists



— Fuck and stick—to—Papagaio
— I don’t get it
— Tarela, Murilo. He never
changes
— You mean, besides torturing
— Any one




— And the xeriffe there?
— Scum—sucker
— You serious?
— That’s what the boss says
— How does he know?
— This mass?
— I know, you don't know a third
— Want more?
— Ok
— Lico died and Helena never had
a date again
— What about the one in the cottage?
— Just company, I guess
— Bullshit, Moraes.
— And where does Fausta come in all this shit?
— Who’s that?
— Ex—roommate
— What else?
— Good girl, a friend. And bald
— Bald?!
— The shopwindow dummy in person. Neither
hair nor eyelashes
— Cancer?!
— Not even chemo and radiotherapy together
could save her
— Go on
— One day she showed the wig and
it was a big mess
— What happened?
— The whole dorm was messed up and Helena
didn’t care for her anymore
— Just like that?
— But someone did care
— Who?
— The doctor
— And her?
— Not. And she was losing her
uterus and ovaries
— Eliot was right
— ...
— He used to say the whole world was only worthy
a hospital
— Yeah, but not even him would act differently
— What do you mean?
— The other girls in the dorm wanted
her to leave
— Afraid they’d get sick, too, off course
— The doctor distributes here and there, doses
homoeopathic of tranquility: nobody
worry, corrimento simple,
soon passes, etecetra
— Then?
— Not even God believed
— And Helena?
— Thought it was disgusting, took many
baths in a day
— Who was this woman, anyway?
— In my opinion or in the boss’s
— All right, go on
— After Fausta
she left the dorm
— To where?
— Looked for the elephants way,
I don’t know
— I suppose it was then, Moraes, that Helena
started seeing men again
— Not
— Suddenly, women became repulsive
— ...
— Drugs in the stomach, man in
the gut.


— Far from there,
— “On that same day, Mariana
packed
— At the hotel, she realized that memory
had taken the place of the panties
in her lugagge
— She left to buy two pairs”

— Sounds bell, keys stop beating
for some minutes


— “A blue tooth bites the afternoon and small
italian pieces
— A cab eats the streetas like spaghetti
— The snow still caresses the green in that
end of season
— Jealous ivy stuck together to that
house, which was also the scientist’s
working place
— And in the end of afternoon the barking
of a small dog”


— Telephone
— Who is this?
— Woman
— Hello
— Hello to you, too
— Angela?!
— Are you still better in chess
than in bed?


— Tought you didn’t wanna see me anymore
— You were right
— So?
— I’ve got something
— What is it?
— I asure you it’s no president’s tooth
in weading dress
— Go on
— But it didn’t last much. I left my house on
my bithday
— Are women always essa lagartixa?
— What do you mean?

— What kind of life is this?
— You know, also makes the love grow
— If hungry, at least, had
magic eye
— No magic eye, nor port



— That’s sad
— Why are you laughing then?
— And the book?
— It’s going all right, I suppose
— When do you think we can take
a look at it?
— Pretty soon
— Real characters?
— They even have dandruffs in the eyebrows
— What part are you in?
— A blue tooth bites the afternoon


— 15 years—old and the first impossibility:
women, could not even think about

— Mother of the Holy land. By framework
of Our Lady of Fatima hanging
on the door of the bathroom
— Prior to the church mouse
— Then ...
— 15 years and the mother by punching
in the same door,
and shaking the table
— The only way he could get his kicks
— Go on
— At 17, guess who he raped?
— Who?
— No idea?
— No, who?
— Mariana.



— Buildings and more buildings: domino
words and pigeon domino
— Elifas writes one more page: shit
completed
— Who was or was abstract metaphors
or surreal, those times were
of entresafra
— What to say about light?
— Reveal what?
— If you doubt the freedom is too clear
to small poets,
— Night was made for Elifas.
— Generating little glow—worm light and shining
from time to time
— Imagination and talent?
— Every conversation had been heard a
written down. And every word was linked to
another word like railway cars
— Train crossing lines, paragraphs, lives
— And it even had to kill to
know what death was.


— The white gun was not white:
copper, both use
— Another of our friend?
— Who else could it be?
— There is no hold on Christ who, Moraes


— Experts have ended
— Tell them to take out the scarecrow, then
— All right, Murilo
— Another favor
— Ok, I’ll call Julia and tell her
about the sister.
— The room is a mess. Except for her life,
there was nothing missing
— There were traces of love. Falses?
— In that same afternoon, Julia asks Murilo to
help her find out more about
her sister’s death
— Murilo does more than that: he investigates
possible feelings Julia might still have.


— Side—by—side, contidos continentes
— Lips orange. Slices of smiles sometimes
— A hug. And the purest waters
fall from high lands.



— Daybreak, mountains, horizon
low neck, the breasts, the sun
— Love or sweat still keeps
the bodies together.
— Murilo thinks she was the real target
— She thinks that’s ridiculous
— Her twin sister had hardly made any friends in two
weeks in São Paulo
— And Julia thinks she did not make any enemies.


— Firs hypothesis: the murderer had
gloves on. Second: wiped all fingerprints.
Third: did not touch anything.
— Fourth: has no fingers
— Fith: has no fiingerprints
— Is that possible?
— A rare genetic phenomenon
— That would explain these
and on the phone.
— So, more than perfec hands
for crime?
— Or carress.
— Another door monologue: forced,
shows Murilo its metalic tongue

— In addition to par, windows beating wings
— In small clothesline in the service area
a bullfight wind shirt
— In the fourth, the same wind read Marx
the haste
— And, from time to time, the manuscript
of Elifas:

— "In a strange country, a few years here,
a painter takes power. E opens
a new order:
— The street signs are painted with
flowers and bugs
— The paper lost money and other zeros
numbers. And start to move
notes of Van Gogh, Picasso, Degas, Dali,
and Delacroix


— I.D. cards were now holograms
— In banks, visual passwords
— No names nor dates on tumbstones,
but drawings
— Books, picture to picture stories
— Newspaper, news pictures
— TV only colors, shapes,
animals, landscapes, faces, smiles
— Radio, Wagner, Bach, Bethoven,
Mozart, or just plain music. No lirics
— Os letreiros de ônibus: stars,
lightings, or rainbows
— Car platea: signs
— In the outdoors, nature—dead. Or
Coca—cola only the waves. And the
Marlboro only the pennon of Leo Burnet
— Big screen, cinema—mute
— Real life, the extermination of
parots: espécie nociva, according to the
New National Geographic
— In the Bible, the newest pictures
— In churches, the Christ crucified
without the copyright (c) INRI
— And instead of typewriters,
machine design. with keys of the moon,
sun, waves, clouds, lightning, smiles,
eyes, cross, star, etecetra "



— What am I doing here,
wonders Murilo?
— No action, but ficction. What is the
boss planning?


— Back to the station, 30 minutes later
— The boss just called
— What is it now?
— He’s pissed off çause you didn’t finish
the reading on the manuscript
— Fuck him!
— Gonna get your ass suspended again
— Just a few pages?
— Many things happen in seven,
Murilo
— What am I supposed to do
— If you miss the next ones, the writer
fucks your woman
— I fuck the man
— You mean if the boss doesn’t take you out from
the book first
— He ain’t crazy
— Him? Someone with Parker ink in the veins
— How?
— You ask me?
— I’m askin’
— C’mon, Murilo
— Answer me, How?
— You’re just paper cop. Just
nothing out of this story.
— He wouldn’t do such thing
— There you go again
— You’re telling me he’s got nothing to do
with this shit
— Never mind. Just scat back there and
do what you were told
— Believe me, man: esse manuscrito
não tem nada a ver
— The boss think it’s important
— Plain fiction, shitty little writer’s
diarrhea
— To see who will remain
— And why is that?
— Either you go or I go, there’s
no other way
— Wanna play my roll?




— “Old tyewriters were taken to the
Word Cemitery
— Old books were taken. And
recycled into toilet paper
— The evil speech, fought. By washing
brain and the vaccination campaigns
— And to the Braille alphabet, the painter
took the letter ... "


— Trimmm...
— Murilo? it’s Moraes
— Big deal
— The boss just called a while ago
— So what?
— Told you to stop reading
the manuscript
— Page ago he threatened
with suspension
— He said the story is over
— What?!
— The End, Murilo
— I can’t believe that.
I can’t believe
— He said you
o Lamartine
— ?
— Either him or Elifas, you pick
— Why?
— Lamartine had a reason, you know,
humiliated like that
— Yeah, but it doesn’t proove anything
— Arrest Elifas, then



— Oh, bull shit! The dude has
weird dreams. Ears,
fingers. Plus, he wanna fuck
your woman, forgot that?
— What else did he say?
— Nothing I can remember
— No more clues on the name
of the book?
— No. I think he forgot ‘bout that
— You think?
— Don’t worry, Murilo. The reader’ll figure something out
— And what do you think about it?
— I don’t get payed for thinking
— What about Angela?
— What about her?
— The bitch won’t get anything?
— the boss!
— ?!
— They’re having an affair
— I should’ve known
— She is the one who found
the teeth
— By the way, what were the results on that?
— You won’t believe it
— What?
— It doesn’t make any sense
— ...
— Now, for the boss
— C’mon, quit the bullshit
— There was a microfilm in that tooth
— And what was in the microfilm
— Well, that’s the point: nothing but the letters a, b,c, d
e, f, all the alphabet.
Isn’t that weird?


— No, no fucking way. No one can
end the story like that, thinks Murilo.
Who, upset, finishes drinking half a glass
of beer and leaves the bar


— And in his room, with all his clothes
on, gets the sheets pregnant.


:


Copyright(c)1999 by Silvio Piresh
All rights reserved.
(11) 8258—4147 email: silviopiresh@folha.com.br
Book written and transcribed by hand by the
author between 1990 and 1997. Quink ink, pen Crown.
Edition of 120 copies.
Covers (differentiated from each other,
Oil 14x21): Silvio Piresh