Granted Time

“Close your eyes.”

His mind was fluid and warm against hers and his thoughts eased restless urges, drawing the tension from the aching muscles of her body as he gently caressed her.

“I will always be here for you. I will never leave you. Remember ?Remember ?”

Coming from him, she knew it was the truth.
It did sound familiar.
Yet...how did she know it?

He rested his finger against her lips to silence her confused and spinning thoughts and reached out to her with his energies drawing her whirling thoughts into the warm cocoon of his own gentle, flowing thoughts.
The frustration in her faded and she relaxed completely under his gentle presence.
Then ever so effortlessly, he drew her into his arms and rose, at least it seemed like it to her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck taking in the smell of his skin, almonds and musk, her eyes barely focussing.

“ I will take you to a calmer place...if you will let me...”

She nodded her head slightly against his shoulder, feeling quite drowsy and drugged by his presence and energy.
For a time, he flew with her in his arms, until they were no longer in her house, or her neighbourhood, but rather, at a place she could not name.
He set her gently upon her feet at the edge of a calm, glassy lake.

“This is the place of wandering souls.It is also the place of guardians.It is my place.”

“It’s...beautiful,” she murmured, her eyes taking everything in.
The lake stretched on, limitless it seemed, and the banks were golden with sun-warmed sand. A path wound through the tall cattails, leading out over an endless sloping plain, each stalk of the cattails blowing in a gentle breeze. Here and there, a shimmering figure composed of light and stardust walked the path.
She sunk down to her knees and touched the golden sand and tried to understand.

“I have brought you here so that we may be together...just you and me”

She looked at him, then, and for the first time saw him as he was.
His skin was familiar but a latticework of scars and old pains covered him. His hair too was familiar, and his eyes...she couldn’t look into them...she felt strangely afraid.
He let her look at him, her eyes touching every part of him, every inch of his body, and her mind searching for the answer to that presence of him.
After a while, she looked up cautiously, still afraid of what she might find in his eyes.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, and his palm touched the side of her face and drew her eyes away from the scars on his body.
His face was lined and wise, but still somehow young, and his eyes were a vibrant darkness, intense, but also unguarded. She felt caught in his eyes, and she knew that for a moment, she was seeing him for everything he was, and everything he had been. He was baring his identity to her in those moments and she could hardly comprehend it, let alone understand why as he looked away, all she could do was look on.

“I know you,” she whispered, and she touched his shoulder, her fingertips gently pressing against the skin of his toned, torn body.

“Once,” he breathed, barely audible, “a long time ago...”

She tried miming his name, looking to his face again, transfixed by the harmony she saw there. Her hand moved of its own accord, cupping the side of his face and turning his penetrating eyes back to her own curious eyes.

“I said I would never leave you...” he told her.

“I remember,” she said, wrapping her arms about his waist and laying her head against the curve of his shoulder. His heartbeat was strong and even.
“I loved you. I lied to you. There was no other way. I loved you since the first time. You know there was no other way. I didn’t think you’d go. And then I never thought that...that you...you wouldn’t make it back...”

He brought her lips to meet his own and her nimble fingers pressed against his bare torso and slid below the hem of his kaki pants as he lowered her back into the tall cattails.
They came together as one.
He was gentle, tender, but passionate and protective.
She felt him to be free.
He cradled her slight body in his arms and made love to her.
Afterwards, she snuggled against his side and they lay beneath the azure sky for a time unknown.

“We cannot stay here...you know that...” he spoke softly, his lips barely moving as he breathed in the scent of her body and the rich earth beneath them.
”This is all the time He’ll grant me. I never stopped asking Him. I’ve wanted you so much...”

“I know...” she whispered, but did not open her eyes as she spoke.

She would lie in his arms and be with him until it came time to leave that lost place, that place of wandering souls, that place of granted time.

This time...yes, this time, the world would have to wait.

Magiamor

A décima primeira badalada abriu-lhe os olhos.
Sacanas ! Não podiam ter esperado até que saísse do escritório ?

Permanecia deitado.
Imóvel.
Agora, só imagens dela percorriam-lhe o pensamento.

Era o fim.
Era mesmo o fim.
Não escaparia àquela bala bem alojada no seu lado esquerdo.
Começava a respirar com dificuldade.
Já não faltava muito.
Esboçou um sorriso ao lembrar-se da manhã, ao lembrar-se dela.

“Tenho estado a pensar.”

“Sobre o quê ?” perguntou-lhe.

“Bem...sobre tantas coisas que temos falado...tu sabes...a vida...aquilo do amor... e tudo mais. Achas que nós também temos hipótese...de um dia...o encontrarmos...de ser felizes ?”

Na verdade ele não sabia como responder-lhe. Não tinha a resposta.
Se calhar tinha medo da resposta.
Sendo o romântico que era, preferiu puxa-la para ele e envolve-la num forte abraço, encostando os lábios à sua testa.
“Olha, no que me diz respeito...não sei, mas, tu és uma mulher muito especial. Um tipo teria de ser muito estúpido para não se apaixonar por ti...”

“Ummm... pois...e tu és o amigo mais especial... que alguém, alguma vez, podia desejar ter...”
E com um enorme sorriso, ela, tinha lhe devolvido o abraço.

Já não conseguia rir.
A dor tornara-se insuportável.
O tempo fugia-lhe.
O raciocínio desagregava-se em nuvens cada vez mais densas mas estranhamente leves.

“Mereceu a pena...o tempo que me dedicaste ? Mesmo que eu seja...o tipo mais estúpido que há ? Mesmo que eu não te tenha dito...como sempre foste especial ?”
O retrato em cima da secretária...olhava-o. A sala sustinha a respiração.

Acabara-se o tempo.

Ísis, testemunha petrificada, relegada para uma prateleira de artefactos e mármores de figuras imortais, na casa dela, podia ter lhe contado;
como ao último sopro, os olhos dele iluminaram-se, espelhos de plena alegria, ao escutarem palavras trazidas por uma aragem familiar;

“Sim...mereceu...porque foste tu que me fizeste feliz.”

Mas, Ísis também sabia que não era preciso contar.
Por vezes acontecia - magia.

Unforgiven

"Hello?...hello...??"

"Hi...it's me."
"My God...I can't...I can’t believe...you're calling."

"It's so good to hear your voice. Can I see you? I... need to see you..."
"I...I can't...I can’t believe...you're calling."

"Why?"
"I'm getting married on Sunday...I...I…won't tell you where."

"What? This Sunday? You serious? You don’t mean it! “
"Yes...I do. I am getting married on Sunday."

"Don't.Don't.Don't do it!!"
"Come on...please...stop it..."

"Don't! Do you love him? Tell me you love him!"
"My mother is driving me crazy to get married and ..."

"Do you love him?"
"...all my friends are married and..."

"Do you love him?"
"...he's going to give me everything..."

"Do you love him?"
"...I have to go..."

"Where? Don't do it. Where? Where are you getting married?"
"I’m sorry...but...I'm not telling you."

"Please...don't do it...don't marry him...don't do it !I beg you!I love you!!"
"I...have to go...I have to...my..."

"What about..."

And, she hung up the phone.

The next time he saw her, she and her husband were walking into the shopping mall. He was sitting on a bench and she walked right past him. Their eyes met, hers out of the corners, as she drifted by wordlessly, in slow motion, the wind blowing a familiar scent out of her dark hair.

Another time, he was on the same bench and the same man passed him with a little boy wearing a cute leather motorcycle jacket, holding a string attached to a green frog balloon. He knew in his gut that it was her child. He knew that she had had a little boy. The man’s eyes met his for an instance then quickly backed down. He could feel that man knew...about the little boy.

What had become of...her ? He´d never seen her again. But he swore, he would.

Then, one day, he saw her.
She was getting out of a big black classy car. He called her name...and...she came to him.
Words flooded the air drowning him.
She told him about her new little girl...and how happy she was, how happy she’d always been.

They spoke. He watched her lips move, he watched her eyes move, he felt his mouth forming words. He couldn't tell for sure if he was standing on solid ground or drifting in a mere but all too real dream, so he shifted his feet...hoping to grasp the moment, trying ever so hard to stand his ground, eager to show no self pity.
But it no longer mattered because there she was right in front of him.
That woman, his women.
The other man’s wife.
The little boy’s mom.
Still, there she was.
Talking to him.
Finally.

He couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s so funny ?"

“How can one so lovely, can be so…”

“What do you mean ?”

“When are you going to stop lying ?”

“I don’t understand...you’re being nasty...why ? Aren’t I talking to you ? Did you think you were ever important to me ? I promised you nothing ! Isn’t this enough, that I go out of my way and speak with you ? Aren’t you ever satisfied ??”

It all ended there and then.
She hit the pavement with a numb thud turning the grey into red.
He slid the sharp blade into an inner jacket pocket.

“Yes dear...now I am...quite satisfied.”

Desejo Inesperado

Lúcia pensava no seu futuro. Não se sentia bem a viver numa cidade pequena do interior, relacionando-se com pessoas medíocres, que preferiam a futilidade da sociedade local à cultura e às artes em geral. Apesar de ter dois empregos, sentia que precisava de alcançar novos voos embora não conseguisse descortinar o caminho a seguir.
O relógio de ponto marcava 08h29 e justificava a pressa dela para a reunião marcada com dois consultores de uma firma da capital.

Ela já os conhecia: Gustavo, com quem tivera um ligeiro affair e Alex, que tinha visto muito pouco e que não lhe despertara qualquer interesse.
A reunião correu tranquilamente e ela teve oportunidade para conversar um pouco mais com o Alex.
Era um pouco tímido, mas começava a intrigá-la pois demonstrava inteligência e um excelente nível cultural, e conseguia isto, sem ser chato.
Nas conversas que se seguiram, a sós, em ocasiões seguintes, ele como que a enfeitiçava. Passava de comentários sobre a pintura impressionista a críticas sobre o urbanismo com a mesma facilidade que opinava sobre problemas da actual administração da empresa. Essa característica de Alex exercia especial fascinação sobre a Lúcia.

Homens como Gustavo despertavam-lhe aquele desejo comum às mulheres, em relação a homens mais fortes, mas reforçavam a posição secundária da mulher.
Com Alex, no entanto, ela sentia uma espécie de masculinidade subtil, ele não a despia com os olhos, mas olhava-lhe directamente, como que a pesquisar o seu ser interior, aquele que ela tanto escondia. Despia-a, de dentro para fora.
Lúcia sentia-se estranha apesar daquele homem, aparentemente, não forçar uma atitude de intimidade. Ele não dava pistas de estar interessado em qualquer contacto e isso desnorteava-a... apesar de a excitar cada vez mais.

De uma forma meio inconsciente, começou a imaginar uma forma de conquistá-lo, sem que parecesse uma mulher fácil ou vulgar. Teria de parecer algo inesperado, sem nenhum propósito prévio.
A oportunidade surgiu pouco tempo depois numa festa promovida pela empresa.
A propriedade era extensa. Haveria por lá, muita gente e era bem provável que pudessem passar despercebidos.

No dia da festa, a pretexto de tirar algumas dúvidas sobre o trabalho, Lúcia tratou logo de convencer Alex a dar um passeio pela extensa herdade. Quando já estavam bastante afastados e quando ambos falavam de uma forma mais descontraída, mais próximos, ela sentiu o seu corpo a exigir que algo acontecesse. Cada olhar cruzado, cada toque despretensioso, ateava-lhe mais fogo nas entranhas, deixando-a tonta.
Ao descer ao riacho que corria ruidosamente junto a uma ravina prisioneira de canas verdes e altas, quase perdeu o equilíbrio fazendo com que ele a segurasse, envolvendo-a nos seus braços. Naquela posição, tão perto dele, sentindo a sua respiração, sentindo-se respeitada e protegida como há muito não sentia, não consegui evitar as lágrimas.

Ele nada dizia, apenas apertava-a cada vez mais enquanto passava a mão pelos seus cabelos. Quando recostou a cabeça no seu ombro, Lúcia manteve o rosto bem próximo do dele, absorvendo o seu cheiro, o seu hálito quente. Tanto desejo era insuportável. Mexeu o corpo levemente, como que procurando uma melhor posição para ajustar-se ao corpo de dele. Mexeu-se outra vez. E outra.
Os movimentos assemelhavam-se à de uma dança ensaiada e bem sensual, ritmada por uma música sensual que se ouvia longe e fraca.
Quando ele espalmou as mãos em torno do seu rosto e olhou-a de forma tão cúmplice e protectora, tão seguro de si e tão disponível, o choro deu lugar a um sorriso maroto desajeitado. Finalmente ela compreendeu o que era sentir-se dependente de alguém, se calhar até necessitada de alguém.
Alex beijou – a.
Mas não foi na boca, foi nos lábios... não, nem sequer fora um beijo, mas sim uma espécie de massagem, toques quentes e macios que eram completados pelo calor exalado da boca dele, provocando um peso tranquilo nos olhos fechados e o entreabrir dos seus lábios. Ela deixou aquela emoção gostosa invadir-lhe a alma, derreter-lhe o bom senso, o domínio, e depressa deu conta de uma humidade quente que a denunciava e a entregava aquele homem.
Afinal, quem era? Sem dizer muitas palavras tinha-lhe roubado toda a razão, com movimentos leves mas precisos, com o corpo em câmara lenta, fazia-a sentir toda a rigidez protegida pela roupa, mas que no entanto, de forma indescritível parecia estar a fazer amor com ela...
Lúcia deixou-se ir.
Na sua real imaginação, ele já deslizava dentro dela.
Momentos depois, atingiu um orgasmo jamais conhecido sem saber diferenciar aquela penetração imaginária da língua que, finalmente, e ainda só, começava a preencher-lhe a boca...