"Andrea, pass me the salt."
The child, with eyes still swollen pouting expression for response receipt, he stretched his hand towards the plump and pink salt. It is fun to imagine that a white soldier strutting, neatly aligned in the center of the large sunflower drawn on the tablecloth.
"I know that tomorrow is your birthday - I went with Alex soft voice, her father - and you want a gift, a wonderful gift. The mother did not tell you that you will not, in fact. You just said that if you want your gift - his voice took on a different register of Alexander, an octave higher - not You can make more tantrums like today, you know?. By now you're an adult child, you should get busy too and help us when we ask you something. " The round face
Andrea showed no signs of changing expression. The small bright eyes of the child, however, reveals the first rays of peace with her parents, soon to burst. Viola, an expert in deciphering the terms of her child, jumped at the opportunity to penetrate into the breach that was slowly opening.
"Love, you know we love you. When you do that make us suffer. I do not want to see you cry. "
"Yes mom, but I ..."
"Let's do this: hurry up and finish the chicken your plate, so even after you take the cake. "
"Really?" The baby's face broke into a beaming smile.
"And tonight you will receive the first gift: you can stay up with mom and dad to watch television. Do you want? "
" Yes ". The child let out a cry enthusiastic, hands raised to heaven in triumph and tears shortly before forgotten, dry in the sun enthusiasm. Sbrana the rest of the chicken in front of him, and proud mother showed him the empty plate.
"Can I take the cake?"
"It is love."
"Two slices
" A. Do not overdo it, you'll be sick. "
After the generous portion of chocolate cake, Andrea felt much better. The dismay of a moment before was only a dim memory. The excitement and joy for the day was going to be shaking it all up Angles secret corners of her tiny little body lilac.
It almost did not believe it, despite the late hour and the barn owls who already sang the lullaby to the moon, was seated at her favorite place in the midst of mom and dad, to watch TV. The program that was on TV was a bit 'boring, with a fair-haired lady who spoke to men who, from what he could understand, were locked inside a house in another place, and received money to be there, and complained that he did not want to be there. Who knows who we had them locked up. Too bad they can not change the channel. But was fine. It was late, was still up, was in the midst of his parents, and tomorrow would be his birthday. Who knows what would have been present. He hoped that his parents had understood. Had told her a million times, in all possible ways, until exasperated. She cried and screamed, pleaded, quarreled with them, just like this afternoon. He wanted the shirt that Brazilian footballer. That shirt pretty, shiny, striped red and black, the number and the name of his idol behind printed with golden letters. That shirt, once worn, would made strong, and his friends could not have been more tease. Gliel'avrebbe made to see him. He was sure. He showed them what was true. He wanted that shirt so much. And perhaps tomorrow would be his. But now there was the gentle warmth of the breast of his mother, whom he had placed on his head. And the caresses of her father, the soft touch on the skinny legs resting in the lap of daddy. And the sweet feeling of letting go of the off slowly passing away, to zero in that heat. Women
Nilde always got up early in the morning, when the first rays caressing her eyes, whispering that a new day had come and she was going to receive, from a large ceremonies. Nilde then threw his feet off the bed, always the right first, and he took off his bonnet with flowers, a gift from her deceased husband. She was a widow for the past twenty years, and loneliness does not weigh much. He knew how to deal with it. He had found other men, or perhaps wanted to find. Had few true friends of which he considered as sisters. He knew, however, many people. It's not that she liked the people, nor that he loved her too. She was a pious woman, God-fearing, who spent much of his time working on small items that sold at local market. The poor were then recessed for the poor of the parish. He loved to read, and often did so on the small balcony of his house, with the radio on. She liked that position. Every now and then stop reading and just moved his gaze to the small square that was opposite the house. It was nice to have tabs on everything that happened across the street. Nilde observe and record, with his eye and his memory iron. Could mention the passers-by, one by one. There was the fat lady with curls, every morning at eight o'clock brought his grandson to school. There was the seller of sweets, with the small banquet and colored popcorn machine. There was a couple of old people walking hand in hand every night. Old people, yes. They must have had at least ten years older than her, this was safe. There was the plumber, with his white van. I wonder if they were true stories about plumbers. His had never made advances. Humanity's most colorful looked under her balcony, laboring in the rhythms of modern life. Snorted, ran, talked, talked, loved each other and hated each other, laughing and laughing. It worked. Not everyone. There was a family that did not respect the unwritten rules that are used to living in modern society.
Mother, father and son. A family of vagrants.
Last night went to dinner at the soup kitchen, in the palace at the bottom of the square. Nilde had seen them for a moment removing his eyes from the novel she was reading, a story of Allende. About hour after they went out and sat on the bench in front of the appliance store. The adults at the sides and the child in their midst. He seemed excited about the baby. She moved, got up, sat down and came up shooting. In the end he was lying between his parents until a couple of hours later, he was not asleep. Nilde, interrupting the reading again, he had occasion to note that the parents had the baby lying on the big board on which the family slept. He had been lying in their midst.
slept on the ground, like cattle.
This morning, at eight, father, mother and son were already begging on the road. They must be able to convince the child to give them a hand. Yesterday he refused, making noisy tantrums that they had almost stopped reading. I wonder what they had done to convince him. Surely they had beaten. Indecency that was like two parents could keep a young child in the middle of a street, denying even the most ordinary care. They had a nice little saying all those distinguished gentlemen of charities engaged in social work just to show off themselves.
"It is the fault of the state - had once said a man handing out rags of the homeless - will not ensure that everyone can live a dignified life. It is the fault of those who govern - he had weighed in - which is not affected in any way the lives of these people. "
"The fault lies with those who find themselves in this situation - she had responded angrily - who chooses not wanting to do anything in his life. If they want to work would not be so shabby. "
"But ma'am, excuse me, I really think that those who have nothing to eat and sleep in the open is not a victim of circumstances? Do you really think that the problem is only of will? Do you think these people are happy with their life? "
" I told him I certainly did not end up like this. "
was still this idea, and the words in defense of the homeless man had done nothing but confirm his thoughts. Each chose his path. Who lived a life as homeless if it was sought. People who did not want to do nothing but get drunk and live off of someone else.
Nilde appeared again on the balcony, to water the little jasmine decorating the air with its pungent smell. Beyond the road, in the square, a scene so absurd as to seem unreal, almost grotesque. The father of that family was homeless at the banquet at the end of the square, and was buying a shirt. One of those hanging out of the football teams. Unbelievable. They do not have money or to feed to their child or to send him to school. They had no money to dress or to make him sleep in a place repaired. They had nothing. And the only money he had managed somehow to scrape together throw them away like that? The woman did not see us more, it was time to say enough. She would go to the police, to report to parents. Child abuse. Basta. There was nothing else to do. But how was it possible? It was an insult to every human right. That child could not grow well. Who knows what would have to. He put a coat
quickly, and descended the stairs quickly. He opened the front door, and headed towards the road. But all of a sudden the earth disappeared beneath his feet, and the world began to turn them around. It fell into ruin on the floor. My God, help. People after her, ignoring her. Everyone was so concerned with their own thoughts. Did not see her. Or did not want to see it. Help, please. The items, heavy and could not get out of the mouth. He was too weak. Somebody, somebody help me. I beseech you. Nothing. It was there, on the ground, with entire humanity around pretending not to notice. The eyes, slowly, were closing. The buzzing in my ears grew louder. The last memory, before passing out, were the excited voices of a man and a woman who is nearer and nearer. And the hand of a child. A child sheathed in a striped shirt. Red and black. Bastards. They would steal the necklace around his neck. It was safe. The chain that had given her husband the day after they met. That chain around his neck for a lifetime. The hand closer and closer to his neck. Her eyes were veiled. And the copious tears fell when the gap with a quick little hand, gently, he began to caress her forehead.
The child, with eyes still swollen pouting expression for response receipt, he stretched his hand towards the plump and pink salt. It is fun to imagine that a white soldier strutting, neatly aligned in the center of the large sunflower drawn on the tablecloth.
"I know that tomorrow is your birthday - I went with Alex soft voice, her father - and you want a gift, a wonderful gift. The mother did not tell you that you will not, in fact. You just said that if you want your gift - his voice took on a different register of Alexander, an octave higher - not You can make more tantrums like today, you know?. By now you're an adult child, you should get busy too and help us when we ask you something. " The round face
Andrea showed no signs of changing expression. The small bright eyes of the child, however, reveals the first rays of peace with her parents, soon to burst. Viola, an expert in deciphering the terms of her child, jumped at the opportunity to penetrate into the breach that was slowly opening.
"Love, you know we love you. When you do that make us suffer. I do not want to see you cry. "
"Yes mom, but I ..."
"Let's do this: hurry up and finish the chicken your plate, so even after you take the cake. "
"Really?" The baby's face broke into a beaming smile.
"And tonight you will receive the first gift: you can stay up with mom and dad to watch television. Do you want? "
" Yes ". The child let out a cry enthusiastic, hands raised to heaven in triumph and tears shortly before forgotten, dry in the sun enthusiasm. Sbrana the rest of the chicken in front of him, and proud mother showed him the empty plate.
"Can I take the cake?"
"It is love."
"Two slices
" A. Do not overdo it, you'll be sick. "
After the generous portion of chocolate cake, Andrea felt much better. The dismay of a moment before was only a dim memory. The excitement and joy for the day was going to be shaking it all up Angles secret corners of her tiny little body lilac.
It almost did not believe it, despite the late hour and the barn owls who already sang the lullaby to the moon, was seated at her favorite place in the midst of mom and dad, to watch TV. The program that was on TV was a bit 'boring, with a fair-haired lady who spoke to men who, from what he could understand, were locked inside a house in another place, and received money to be there, and complained that he did not want to be there. Who knows who we had them locked up. Too bad they can not change the channel. But was fine. It was late, was still up, was in the midst of his parents, and tomorrow would be his birthday. Who knows what would have been present. He hoped that his parents had understood. Had told her a million times, in all possible ways, until exasperated. She cried and screamed, pleaded, quarreled with them, just like this afternoon. He wanted the shirt that Brazilian footballer. That shirt pretty, shiny, striped red and black, the number and the name of his idol behind printed with golden letters. That shirt, once worn, would made strong, and his friends could not have been more tease. Gliel'avrebbe made to see him. He was sure. He showed them what was true. He wanted that shirt so much. And perhaps tomorrow would be his. But now there was the gentle warmth of the breast of his mother, whom he had placed on his head. And the caresses of her father, the soft touch on the skinny legs resting in the lap of daddy. And the sweet feeling of letting go of the off slowly passing away, to zero in that heat. Women
Nilde always got up early in the morning, when the first rays caressing her eyes, whispering that a new day had come and she was going to receive, from a large ceremonies. Nilde then threw his feet off the bed, always the right first, and he took off his bonnet with flowers, a gift from her deceased husband. She was a widow for the past twenty years, and loneliness does not weigh much. He knew how to deal with it. He had found other men, or perhaps wanted to find. Had few true friends of which he considered as sisters. He knew, however, many people. It's not that she liked the people, nor that he loved her too. She was a pious woman, God-fearing, who spent much of his time working on small items that sold at local market. The poor were then recessed for the poor of the parish. He loved to read, and often did so on the small balcony of his house, with the radio on. She liked that position. Every now and then stop reading and just moved his gaze to the small square that was opposite the house. It was nice to have tabs on everything that happened across the street. Nilde observe and record, with his eye and his memory iron. Could mention the passers-by, one by one. There was the fat lady with curls, every morning at eight o'clock brought his grandson to school. There was the seller of sweets, with the small banquet and colored popcorn machine. There was a couple of old people walking hand in hand every night. Old people, yes. They must have had at least ten years older than her, this was safe. There was the plumber, with his white van. I wonder if they were true stories about plumbers. His had never made advances. Humanity's most colorful looked under her balcony, laboring in the rhythms of modern life. Snorted, ran, talked, talked, loved each other and hated each other, laughing and laughing. It worked. Not everyone. There was a family that did not respect the unwritten rules that are used to living in modern society.
Mother, father and son. A family of vagrants.
Last night went to dinner at the soup kitchen, in the palace at the bottom of the square. Nilde had seen them for a moment removing his eyes from the novel she was reading, a story of Allende. About hour after they went out and sat on the bench in front of the appliance store. The adults at the sides and the child in their midst. He seemed excited about the baby. She moved, got up, sat down and came up shooting. In the end he was lying between his parents until a couple of hours later, he was not asleep. Nilde, interrupting the reading again, he had occasion to note that the parents had the baby lying on the big board on which the family slept. He had been lying in their midst.
slept on the ground, like cattle.
This morning, at eight, father, mother and son were already begging on the road. They must be able to convince the child to give them a hand. Yesterday he refused, making noisy tantrums that they had almost stopped reading. I wonder what they had done to convince him. Surely they had beaten. Indecency that was like two parents could keep a young child in the middle of a street, denying even the most ordinary care. They had a nice little saying all those distinguished gentlemen of charities engaged in social work just to show off themselves.
"It is the fault of the state - had once said a man handing out rags of the homeless - will not ensure that everyone can live a dignified life. It is the fault of those who govern - he had weighed in - which is not affected in any way the lives of these people. "
"The fault lies with those who find themselves in this situation - she had responded angrily - who chooses not wanting to do anything in his life. If they want to work would not be so shabby. "
"But ma'am, excuse me, I really think that those who have nothing to eat and sleep in the open is not a victim of circumstances? Do you really think that the problem is only of will? Do you think these people are happy with their life? "
" I told him I certainly did not end up like this. "
was still this idea, and the words in defense of the homeless man had done nothing but confirm his thoughts. Each chose his path. Who lived a life as homeless if it was sought. People who did not want to do nothing but get drunk and live off of someone else.
Nilde appeared again on the balcony, to water the little jasmine decorating the air with its pungent smell. Beyond the road, in the square, a scene so absurd as to seem unreal, almost grotesque. The father of that family was homeless at the banquet at the end of the square, and was buying a shirt. One of those hanging out of the football teams. Unbelievable. They do not have money or to feed to their child or to send him to school. They had no money to dress or to make him sleep in a place repaired. They had nothing. And the only money he had managed somehow to scrape together throw them away like that? The woman did not see us more, it was time to say enough. She would go to the police, to report to parents. Child abuse. Basta. There was nothing else to do. But how was it possible? It was an insult to every human right. That child could not grow well. Who knows what would have to. He put a coat
quickly, and descended the stairs quickly. He opened the front door, and headed towards the road. But all of a sudden the earth disappeared beneath his feet, and the world began to turn them around. It fell into ruin on the floor. My God, help. People after her, ignoring her. Everyone was so concerned with their own thoughts. Did not see her. Or did not want to see it. Help, please. The items, heavy and could not get out of the mouth. He was too weak. Somebody, somebody help me. I beseech you. Nothing. It was there, on the ground, with entire humanity around pretending not to notice. The eyes, slowly, were closing. The buzzing in my ears grew louder. The last memory, before passing out, were the excited voices of a man and a woman who is nearer and nearer. And the hand of a child. A child sheathed in a striped shirt. Red and black. Bastards. They would steal the necklace around his neck. It was safe. The chain that had given her husband the day after they met. That chain around his neck for a lifetime. The hand closer and closer to his neck. Her eyes were veiled. And the copious tears fell when the gap with a quick little hand, gently, he began to caress her forehead.
0 comments:
Post a Comment