PART FIVE

 New events led me to start a new chapter.

[Leonardo]

I celebrated my fifty-third birthday on a day that reflected my entire life; it was cold and cloudy. Augusta kept me company until late. Noticing my melancholy, she advised me: go to Anápolis. She was enigmatic. I didn't have the courage to ask her why.

I woke up very early the next day, and before Augusta arrived at the dining area where I had breakfast, I was already in Anápolis. I left the car at a garage and walked all afternoon, I went to church, to college, to the hospital. I felt a taste I hadn't felt in a long time. Yes... it was indeed the taste of youth. How I miss the gaze of the more voluptuous girls who devoured me with their eyes, and of the more reserved ones who looked away when I noticed I was looking at them; of the timid ones who clutched their bags when we stopped to admire their beauty, fearing it might be a mugging.

Everything there brought back a memory. I had never seen that tall building, but I remembered the kiss I gave Fernanda on a bench, in the square that no longer exists. I had lunch at a restaurant frequented by university students from a public college that began construction the year I graduated. After lunch, I returned to the city center and stayed there until late afternoon. In the square, at the intersection of Avenida Brasil with Goiás. I sat and watched some young people who continued to meet there. Everything had changed, but when I closed my eyes for a few seconds, I felt a breeze touch my face. The air was the same, it hadn't changed, not one bit.

A few minutes passed until I felt the urge to stretch my legs. I got up and walked for a few minutes without noticing a young man on rollerblades coming at high speed. Skillfully, the young man stopped abruptly. Too bad he dropped his snack. Before I could apologize, he left, saying a word I don't consider appropriate to write.

I moved away from the spot, and from a distance, I turned to take one last look at the square. My features no longer hid a melancholy that had long been bothering me. I saw a beggar crouched where I had been; he picked up the sandwich that had fallen on the ground and ate it. I say it's not worth living so long and seeing something like this. How much misery I have, we have, for living so long, and never having spent a single day seeking relief for one of the many human miseries.

I am old; if I have a little more than fifty years of life, I say I have ninety of guilt. If I saw myself, I would appear much older than my fifty-three years.

It was an effort to go back to where that old man was. I bent down and got his attention. I gave him some change I had in my pocket. Enough to buy him a good meal for three, four days... perhaps more...

The man took the money without ceremony and stared into my eyes. He stood up and looked at me with wide eyes. I got scared, turned slowly, and walked a few steps, trying not to show what I felt.

— Leo... — said the beggar.

My body trembled; his voice hadn't changed at all. It was the same young, adolescent voice. I turned quickly, and for the third time in my life, I felt my legs falter. The first was when I thought I had lost Alex in the pool, the second was when I was brushing my teeth and realized I had been experiencing amnesia for five, perhaps six years. Today, seeing Alex old:

— How?

— Remembered me, your friend. — the old man said to me, maintaining a cordial and friendly tone.

— You didn't age. — I stated in despair at seeing my friend so old.

— You remembered! So, I see you cherish me. It's good to know that.

— Why are you like this? You could have looked for me. Looked for Maria.

“I used to think that the truth was much greater than Maria, but today I say that the truth is much greater than me.”

— What is the truth? — I asked.

— Truth! Whose? Yours, mine, Maria's?

— My daughter! — I exclaimed — I have to talk to her.

— A daughter? — Alex asked with a twinkle in his eye — Go, Leo.

Alex wouldn't stop me from going. However, this time I wouldn't. I called him to the car, and we went to a hotel.

I put a clean shirt and a jacket on him, and we quickly entered the hotel. I was impressed by his demeanor; he was sober, showing intelligence and calmness. As always, I first focused on my relief; I told him everything I had done. I confessed my mistakes, and he smiled and simply said, "That's life." I told him about his texts found five years later, and how I risked writing a few lines.

As I spoke, he walked to the window and looked at the street. Night was falling. Then he asked me to help him achieve just one of his goals.

— I still want to write The Book.

I called the hotel manager and asked him to get me a laptop. He said it wasn't a hotel service, but that I should speak to his son. A sixteen-year-old boy with unruly hair. He entered the room carrying a bag:

— It's best you don't make trouble, or any kind of crime — said the boy, placing the laptop on the table.

I called Augusta and told her what happened, and believe me, she calmly told me:

— I had no doubt you would find him.

I asked her to send the texts to my email, and she did. I downloaded all the texts to the laptop and then gave them to Alex. He started writing quickly; he knew what to write and had long awaited this opportunity.

I ordered pizza, soda, and a movie that I played softly. Alex didn't pay any attention and had the audacity to say it was bad. I loved it.

I celebrated my fifty-third birthday on a day that reflected my entire life; it was cold and cloudy. Augusta kept me company until late. Noticing my melancholy, she advised me: go to Anápolis. She was enigmatic. I didn't have the courage to ask her why.

I woke up very early the next day, and before Augusta arrived at the dining area where I had breakfast, I was already in Anápolis. I left the car at a garage and walked all afternoon, I went to church, to college, to the hospital. I felt a taste I hadn't felt in a long time. Yes... it was indeed the taste of youth. How I miss the gaze of the more voluptuous girls who devoured me with their eyes, and of the more reserved ones who looked away when I noticed I was looking at them; of the timid ones who clutched their bags when we stopped to admire their beauty, fearing it might be a mugging.

Everything there brought back a memory. I had never seen that tall building, but I remembered the kiss I gave Fernanda on a bench, in the square that no longer exists. I had lunch at a restaurant frequented by university students from a public college that began construction the year I graduated. After lunch, I returned to the city center and stayed there until late afternoon. In the square, at the intersection of Avenida Brasil with Goiás. I sat and watched some young people who continued to meet there. Everything had changed, but when I closed my eyes for a few seconds, I felt a breeze touch my face. The air was the same, it hadn't changed, not one bit.

A few minutes passed until I felt the urge to stretch my legs. I got up and walked for a few minutes without noticing a young man on rollerblades coming at high speed. Skillfully, the young man stopped abruptly. Too bad he dropped his snack. Before I could apologize, he left, saying a word I don't consider appropriate to write.

I moved away from the spot, and from a distance, I turned to take one last look at the square. My features no longer hid a melancholy that had long been bothering me. I saw a beggar crouched where I had been; he picked up the sandwich that had fallen on the ground and ate it. I say it's not worth living so long and seeing something like this. How much misery I have, we have, for living so long, and never having spent a single day seeking relief for one of the many human miseries.

I am old; if I have a little more than fifty years of life, I say I have ninety of guilt. If I saw myself, I would appear much older than my fifty-three years.

It was an effort to go back to where that old man was. I bent down and got his attention. I gave him some change I had in my pocket. Enough to buy him a good meal for three, four days... perhaps more...

The man took the money without ceremony and stared into my eyes. He stood up and looked at me with wide eyes. I got scared, turned slowly, and walked a few steps, trying not to show what I felt.

— Leo... — said the beggar.

My body trembled; his voice hadn't changed at all. It was the same young, adolescent voice. I turned quickly, and for the third time in my life, I felt my legs falter. The first was when I thought I had lost Alex in the pool, the second was when I was brushing my teeth and realized I had been experiencing amnesia for five, perhaps six years. Today, seeing Alex old:

— How?

— Remembered me, your friend. — the old man said to me, maintaining a cordial and friendly tone.

— You didn't age. — I stated in despair at seeing my friend so old.

— You remembered! So, I see you cherish me. It's good to know that.

— Why are you like this? You could have looked for me. Looked for Maria.

“I used to think that the truth was much greater than Maria, but today I say that the truth is much greater than me.”

— What is the truth? — I asked.

— Truth! Whose? Yours, mine, Maria's?

— My daughter! — I exclaimed — I have to talk to her.

— A daughter? — Alex asked with a twinkle in his eye — Go, Leo.

Alex wouldn't stop me from going. However, this time I wouldn't. I called him to the car, and we went to a hotel.

I put a clean shirt and a jacket on him, and we quickly entered the hotel. I was impressed by his demeanor; he was sober, showing intelligence and calmness. As always, I first focused on my relief; I told him everything I had done. I confessed my mistakes, and he smiled and simply said, "That's life." I told him about his texts found five years later, and how I risked writing a few lines.

As I spoke, he walked to the window and looked at the street. Night was falling. Then he asked me to help him achieve just one of his goals.

— I still want to write The Book.

I called the hotel manager and asked him to get me a laptop. He said it wasn't a hotel service, but that I should speak to his son. A sixteen-year-old boy with unruly hair. He entered the room carrying a bag:

— It's best you don't make trouble, or any kind of crime — said the boy, placing the laptop on the table.

I called Augusta and told her what happened, and believe me, she calmly told me:

— I had no doubt you would find him.

I asked her to send the texts to my email, and she did. I downloaded all the texts to the laptop and then gave them to Alex. He started writing quickly; he knew what to write and had long awaited this opportunity.

I ordered pizza, soda, and a movie that I played softly. Alex didn't pay any attention and had the audacity to say it was bad. I loved it.