A HAND IN THE FOG

V

They walked together to that some he found for her. She trusted he was right.

And – in fact – he was right.

He took her hand, soft but strong touch, driving in a small alley. People were forced to pass on another way. They didn’t separate the hands.

Before a hedge, there was a building a little bit old but with elegance. A main door, wooden, decorated. Stately. He rang a bell.

She looked at him – she was waiting the surprise and this strange city, with big roads and small alley was becoming to be host.

The main door opened but nobody was. He lead inside a little garden, pushed the brown door. A few steps later and appeared a library, no, a bookshop, full of old books, right clean. No dust – he said.

Absolutely, said a thin voice, coming from the inner part of the room. An old man, oldest than him, come out and asks what do you wish, please?

She was mute – just observing. She knew that when he decided to do a surprise for her – he was happy to be the boss in a good sense.

I wish to show the last antique bookstore of the city, maybe madam likes some book and I will buy it.

What do you prefer madam?

I prefer a romantic one – not too pop.

Between Petrarca and Goethe? Prévert or Garcia Lorca? I have the first edition, obvious. 

The silence was around her but inside her. She was with big eyes looking at the books in shelving 4 meters high, up to the ceiling.

Let me think about, please. I know now, Pessoa.

Sure, madam, I have this small book of poems by Pessoa. Don’t open, don’t read the tittle, only at home, please.

He asked for the price but the bookseller said: nothing, it’ the last day for this last antique bookstore and I will be happy if you read this poems with love in your heart.

They looked to him, did a curtsy and without a word they went out. 

She held the small book, maybe for fear that it disappeared. Her heart beat wildly in her breast.

She was so surprised as happy. And a positive emotion invaded her – maybe for the first time in her life someone was really interested in make her feel not so lonely.

Before left the bookstore she looked behind – so fast because the man was closing the big door – just to say bye for the books. Like an adoption – when only one will have a home.

Holding the small book – she looked at him while crossed the streets and couldn’t say one word. It was really too much emotion. They went together to a Cafeteria – there were much places to sit but at that moment just them. Or maybe not – they were so closer and inside themselves that maybe they didn’t pay attention around them.

He offered so kind a sit to her. His soft hand touched her arms and hair. She said several thanks for him and he smiled back the same several times.

She caressed the cover of the book before open. The book had a cover of brown leather. Inside – the paper was so fine and delicate. She felt the pages with the fingers. After she felt with the open hand. For a while he couldn’t moderate himself – he smiled. She smelt the book with closed eyes. She smiled also.

She opened her eyes so big. Another surprise. In the first page – so fine page – there was a dedication wrote with a beautiful letter by pen – at black ink.

For you: with the Life for partner you dance a beautiful pas-de-deux.

Someone that she – probably – would never know and that had the Life for partner touched the book before her.

Maybe a woman wrote for a man – or a man wrote for a woman. No signature. No names. No dated. Maybe one of them was sad or wounded. Maybe feel melancholic or the words made company. Or the opposite – could be a celebration – a birthday.

She would go on to fantasy about the man or the woman – but desisted. Another moment could be – not on that so special instant.

She read the first poem: tobacco shop. She really admired Pessoa and in special that poem. How could him know.

 

I made myself who I did not know

And what I could make for myself I did not.

The domino costume that I wore was wrong.

Someone met myself as I was not and I did not deny, and I got lost.

When I wanted to take off the mask,

Was stuck to my face.

When took off and I saw myself in the mirror,

I had aged.

 

She repeated in low voice. He seemed be touched but said nothing.

She remembered their first meeting.

There – they were involved by musical instrument.

Now they were involved by musical words.

There they were separated for an empty chair.

A funny and surreal scene seemed to be created after her thinking. She was surprised.

A girl came with coffee and some biscuit and looked at him and ask so polite – if you don’t need this empty chair I will give it to that man. There is no seat for him. At this time – most of the people want to drink coffee.

They looked each other and he said to the girl – please we don’t need this empty chair. No more.

She touched his hand and the small book close to the breast. Maybe for fear that disappeared.

The night became.

Sit on the park many years after – she could remember each detail from that meeting – from that evening.

She kept the book all over the years with so much care. The book it was the only proof she had that once she was so passionate and that the feelings were real and absolutely not a fantasy.

In that night they went together to his home and during almost the dawn – they talked about themselves. It was so many stories.

She looked at him and tried to understand his thoughts. Sometimes seems that he liked her truthfully. Other times she felt that she was just a company. And that he could be without her and didn’t miss her. But in the next second after this conclusion – he touched her with so much care and she decided she was just insecure. And thanked because he couldn’t read her fools thoughts.

The life put them together for some reason – or for some emotion. And she believed that – when facts like this happen – it is important live the situation until the end. And she wanted to do it.

But nothing is so clear when two persons look at each other. The truth is inside the eye and in the hand – not inside the mouth. Words are free to be false. Life is calm if a person just walks in the way of the years. In the opposite – if a person stops and looks for details of the landscape – life is like a storm.

He looked at her and became to talk.

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