Saturday morning. Nearly eleven-forty, usual time to leave for lunch. "But who is going to work downtown on a Saturday morning", his wife asked. He didn't bother to answer. Just turned his back on her, and was already locking the door when his little boy began to pound it from inside, shouting, "Daddy, Daddy!" He opened the door and the kid extended his small arms upward. Bent down, hugged him and said something that made the boy shake his head positively.
The office was empty. Sure. He remembered his jealous wife, thinking that he would meet a lover. "Call me on my desk phone," he said. And reviewed the whole scene of leaving home.
Only the sound of computer keys being stroked opposed to the monotonous noise of the air conditioner. He hadn't taken typing lessons, yet typed as fast as his mistakes would allow him to. And he tried to fix them, whenever noticed.
Hated working Saturdays, because he never understood that working logged hours policy quite right. And with the air conditioner only on the ventilation mode, without cooling anything, he rebelled even more against that situation.
But what could he do? Meet deadlines, make reports, presentations. They called him the day before, saying they needed several changes to the presentations and documents that had been generated. Of course, all for Monday morning. No, it was not possible to extend the deadline. The account is very important. And he, of course, was the only field specialist.
It was then that it happened. Everything went black, and if it weren't for the daytime and sunlight, he would have been in the dark. No more energy. The screen faded. A cry of rage containing two expletives ripped through the air. Luckily, he lost only part of the job, because he usually enabled the autosave feature. Luckily as well, there was no one there.
He got up and went to the window, looking if anyone else had the same problem. Then saw something large falling fast, but could not see it properly: it looked like a large cloth. He couldn't perceive the shape. "If I do not know what it is, how it can be a large cl...". A huge roar interrupted and frightened him. Then the unmistakable noise of a car alarm siren. The uproar came from the street down there. He opened the window, trying to see what it was.
Downstairs, an inert body layed on a car. The hood completely crushed by the shock, and the corpse in a position that resembled a marionette carelessly thrown on the ground. The headlights and indicators flashing furiously, equaling the rhythm of the alarm siren.
People began to gather around. Weird that the alarm was so loud, though the floor where he standed was not low. Also strange was the fact that he could listen to what people said from afar, no matter how loud the siren was. However, he did not understand what they said.
He checked his watch. Eleven forty-three. Decided to go down to have lunch, and give a look at the poor man. Suicide was, for him, an act of great cowardice or courage. Believed in life after death, and suicide was to go against the law of preservation.
The damn door leading to the hall to the elevators did not pry open. Could not be electromagnetic lock: there was no energy! "A crowbar would come in handy," he thought.
He passed through the building's entrance, and a small crowd was already formed around the accident. The car wasn't visible anymore. An ambulance had just arrived, and stopped the traffic on the narrow street. Paramedics jumped off and went to the man; examined him and concluded by death.
He was not able to see the poor devil. A lot of people, and he hated agglomerations. Stopped at the door of the restaurant, feeling confused. He shrugged, and was about to enter, when he heard someone behind him:
— Where do you think you're going — asked a thick, hollow voice. He thought he heard reverberations on the buildings around. Maybe it was because he was stressed, because it was Saturday, because downtown was deserted.
He turned and saw a tall, slim stranger with black pants and coat. The hood was on, and even at that time, his face was blurred. Undaunted, he replied:
— Lunch, of course. Have we met?
— You know me, Paul. I have come for you — those words caused him awkwardness. He prepared himself to fight, but his pulse did not quicken. Neither the blood rose, nor the hair erased. Nothing.
How could the stranger know his name? Thought he had better get into the restaurant, but could not move.
— What are you doing to me — he asked, shouting.
— Shout as long as you want. No one will ...
— Hear me? What a lame sentence, huh? You could say just "shouting will do you no good". I'd understand ...
He saw the paramedics removing the dead. Paul was finally able to see the man's face, but did not recognize. The collision with the car disfigured that poor devil's face. The scene took away all of Paul's appetite.
— Did you know him?
— Yes. Same name as yours.
He found at least intriguing that the man was also called Paul. He didn't even see clothes; blood had spread all over them.
— How do you know my name?
— I already told you: I came to get you.
Paul wondered why someone had come to get him. He insisted that the stranger told him how he knew his name. The man in black told him that everything would be cleared up in time. Paul insisted. He also wanted to know what kind of trick that odd man used to paralyse him. Heard the following response:
— You always thought of youserlf as very clever, is not it? You've told everyone eles otherwise, to try to dominate your own arrogance, but never really believed what you spoke — Paul felt shame invade his soul, however, did not feel blush — If you are that smart, answer me: how did you arrive at entrance of your building? You were struggling with the office door in one moment, and on the next one, yo were downstairs.
— Simple! I. .. Huh! I went down the stairs! There was a power surge.
— Do you have any recollection of having descended the stairs?
Paul changed the triumphant smile on the face for a bewildered doubt. He could not remember. It was like the man in black had spoken: one minute at the office door, and next one at the entrance.
— I see you are no longer so confident. I'll ask you a few more things, then: how did you get to the restaurant? And how did we get back here?
Paul opened his mouth to reply that he had walked, as always, but searched in his mind the images of the walk, and found nothing. He had no recollection of any of the three shifts.
More and more confused, he began rummaging in his brain everything else he had forgotten. He tried to remember the most of the day up till there. Nothing.
— Sometimes you have moments of disturbance, when passing by very strong traumas.
— What strong trauma? Nothing happened to me! I'm fine!
Paul finished his sentence screaming. However, he felt physically unchanged. The man in black asked him what he had told his son before leaving home. Paul did not know. The stranger asked him what he felt for his wife. Paul replied automatically:
— I love her! She is the woman of my life. Not perfect, but excellent mother and companion.
— So why do you cheat on her — he asked, causing immediate discomfort on Paul.
How the stranger knew so much of his life, Paul was unaware. One good thing happened: with all that mixed feeling of hatred and perplexity: he remembered the frequent fights with his wife, how he wanted her to become more involved with him again, and come to him, rather than avoid it.
He remembered the discussions for silly reasons, and the weeks they passed without touching each other, because of them. And began to list more bad times than good ones in the recent years. Finally, he remembered the fight he had with his wife before leaving home in the morning.
Those bad memories rescued other long lost ones. The anger he had for the various doors that were closed on him throughout his life, no matter all the efforts. The small depressions he felt from time to time, all the effort invested and never recognized.
He lowered his head, and shook it. Realized the weight of the grief he carried, and the time spent nurturing feelings of revolt against everything and everyone. He remembered the friends who gave up talking him out of those negative ideas, after trying to do so for years, and felt sad.
His frustration came to mind in waves that made his head throb, and he fell to his knees, remembering how he treated his sons: the older one walked away; and the youngest was afraid of him. He lifted his head and saw no one else around, except that strange man. It was dark. Tears ran down his face, and Paul finally repented for having left his life to get to that point.
He looked at the man in black, still not seeing his face, and asked:
— What about the blackout?
The only answer that Paul received from him was a light touch of that skeletal hand on his forehead. Flashes popped into his mind, and he suffered spasms. He remembered what he told his little son: "Take good care of Mom. You and your brother are the men of the house now".
The reason for coming to the office was made clear, and he realized that there was never any blackout. Neither work. Only the window. The wind. The shock. The darkness.
— It's time to go — Said the stranger.
Paul stood up and followed him.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário