David Arioch – Jornalismo Cultural

The announcement was made by two half-blooded dogs (Painting: Jonelle Summerfield)

A lady who lived on my street died. The announcement was made by two half-blooded dogs attempting to invade the house. They howled and left claw marks on the kitchen door. In a few minutes, they carved a tangle of risks, syncretism of sadness and despair. They felt her absence before witnessing her dead, fallen in the kitchen, victim of a stroke.

Together, they dug a hole in the yard, a naive attempt to reach her. They did not let themselves down. They just left the pit when they heard someone opening the gate. It was her son. “Mother … mother … I have arrived!” Lorenzo and Matino approached the boy. With muzzles full of dirt, they barked simultaneously.

Tuneless by their fatigue and disarticulation of surprise, they lamented as orphaned children who have not yet learned to speak. Tears streamed down, as did the long, fragile howl that floated like water wires drifting uncertainly through the mouths of the wolf. The son opened the door and the dogs moved forward into the kitchen. They licked the hands of the woman who no longer existed.

The boy covered his mouth and screamed, suppressing the sound and swallowing the hot breath like a burst of fire. He wiped the tears from his T-shirt and called the Fire Department. “There is nothing more to be done.” Circling the body, Lorenzo and Matino howled again. With a husky voice, the son shouted: “Sorry, mother! Forgive me!” Without making a sound, the dogs approached and licked the boy’s hands.

With the arrival of funeral workers, they packed the body in a PVC bag and left. The son went behind, in his car, accompanied by Lorenzo and Matino. With their heads through the window, they kept howling at nothing, or at all, since life celebrates death as much as death celebrates life.

I just stayed in the hallway (Photo: Copy)

Some time ago, I was dating a girl who lived in a very small apartment. So, whenever I picked her up, when she was in the bath, we had the habit of talking through the door. I did not come in, just stood in the hallway. One day, an elderly woman, who lived in the apartment next door, opened the door and appeared wrapped in a towel, asking me to keep my voice down, because she felt vulnerable at the sound of my voice. I apologized and she replied:

“Don’t you realize that I’m naked? Only with this towel over my body? I don’t want to hear your voice, it brings me uncomfortable memories. I just don’t want to hear it! Don’t you understand?” I was confused, but I answered that I understood. She didn’t believe me, and told me that I should not speak in the hallway, because she felt uncomfortable. She claimed that I was interfering with her privacy of feeling naked and free. She said that my voice was invading her body.

I was scared and worried. I started knocking on the door and my girl said she would come out soon. The elderly woman continued watching me from afar, with a questioning look, very weird and challenging. Dissatisfied, she opened the door a little more and her eyes widened. Even faltering, I stated:

“Look, lady, I’m just waiting for my girl here. Please, I don’t want confusion. Perhaps, you are very sensitive. Forgive me if I did something wrong.” Startled, she frowned and shouted: “What? How dare you, motherfucker!” Then, she dropped the towel, opened the door, took two steps completely naked and stared at me fixedly.

Embarrassed, not knowing how to react, I observed the right wall and kept my eyes on a fixed point. Before closing the door, the lady scowled and shouted, “You pig!” several times. Seconds later, my girl came out and we got out of there as quickly as possible.