Ivair Antonio Gomes Read online

  Death in the Camping and Other Non-Death Tales

  Ivair Antonio Gomes

  Translated by Moisés António

  “Death in the Camping and Other Non-Death Tales”

  Written By Ivair Antonio Gomes

  Copyright © 2018 Ivair Antonio Gomes

  All rights reserved

  Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

  www.babelcube.com

  Translated by Moisés António

  Cover Design © 2018 Ivair A. Gomes

  “Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

  DEATH IN THE CAMPING AND OTHER NON-DEATH TALES

  Ivair Antonio Gomes

  Translated by Moisés António

  “DEATH IN THE CAMPING AND OTHER NON-DEATH TALES”

  Written By Ivair Antonio Gomes

  Copyright © 2018 Ivair Antonio Gomes

  All rights reserved

  Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

  www.babelcube.com

  Translated by Moisés António

  Cover Design © 2018 Ivair A. Gomes

  “Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

  DEATH IN THE CAMPING

  AND

  OTHER NON-DEATH TALES

  By: Ivair A. Gomes

  Copyright © 2018 Ivair Antonio Gomes

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 1511660856

  ISBN-13: 9781521031575

  DEDICATION

  To all those people that at a certain time or another, have felt themselves left alone, like a fish out of water. You should know that, the impossible is something which has not been done yet. It doesn’t mean that, it can’t be or will never be done.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To my friends for all the support, to enemies for turning me into a better and stronger man.

  CONTENT

  Mrs. Naná

  Friends

  Vampire

  Death in the Camping

  Mystery on the Mountain

  Don Caramujo

  Mrs. NANÁ

  After sometime, today I could see Mrs. Naná once again.

  It has been almost two years since the last time we met. But all this long, seemed to be just like one day. Surprisingly she seems to me happy and well with her life, as she always was.

  The first time when I met Mrs. Naná, she used to use an all-white uniform and brought a trusty friendly smile upon her face, which I found out later on, to be an everlasting.

  A pair of glasses hung by a string on her neck which gave her more an austere air, but that was just an impression.

  As I first changed conversations with this elderly lady, my impression was left out. Her white hair and calmness contrasted with the overcrowded environment and with the sepulchral silence watching in the corridors of the Municipal Hospital Attendance Center. There, she looked like an Angel who paraded beautifully, without any harsh words or abrupt manners.

  I remember that well. She really looked like someone who parades. In no time her acts seemed to us as if she was just walking, taking into consideration the way she behaved. Different, elegant, high shoulders and haughty look. The way she used to dress was adequate to the very same place and almost forgotten in the present times. Her tone of voice was never faked and in no time was more audible than the necessary. When she talked with a patient, only the one could hear whatever she said. Whenever she talked to everyone, the tone of her voice was strong but could not come up to be thick.

  At a certain point that day, a mother arrived with two children. She had brought the younger in her arms with her diapers on and beside her, holding her free hand, there was a little boy with wide open and lived eyes. The nose was dirty with snot which also besmirched his face when he tried to clean with his arm’s back. The older child was crying in sobs. It was not a desperate crying. But we could notice that, he was trying to control himself. His mother was quickly attended by Mrs. Naná. Even though this was not her duty to attend pediatric cases, she served the orthopedics’ ward, the noble lady approached the child who was crying and with a bright and sincere smile took care of the little one while the mother vaccinated the small baby.

  My backs were burning with pain and even so, I had to wait almost two hours to be attended. In those two hours I could know a little bit about the service developed by the sexagenarian nurse. Besides not wanting to require her retirement of which she already had her rights acquired, both due to the age as well as the time of service. She was still a volunteer on her days off, in another place at the Municipal Hospital. I, myself rebuked mentally. I used to live complaining about my pains, my problems, and there, in a place where could I never expect to find energy but yes sorrow and bitterness. As it usually happens in outpatient clinics or hospitals, I found an example of dedication and devotion to our neighbors.

  I remember that, on the occasion I was waiting for my turn to be attended, I heard the conversation from the other nurse about Mrs. Naná. She said that, one day a team of Television had been at the entity where the old nurse was a volunteer, but she refused to give an interview. She said that, she was not a TV artist. She had asked to this nurse in case who was speaking by my side, to attend the reporters.

  From that moment on, I started looking the Lady in white with other eyes, who with the splendid strength dedicated her life to take care of us, resentful and parched with the kind of life we had. After the first time I saw her, I began looking at the nurses with different eyes. As for doctors... that was another story.

  When Mrs. Naná sat down beside me for a while, I felt an energy running in the black and bright eyes of that kind lady. To start a conversation I told her that I’d forgotten my appointment medical number, and if she couldn’t check that for me. The nurse smiled showing her perfect white teeth to be envied. She told me not to worry about that, at the right moment everything would be alright. I smiled back and thanked her. She said that to me in a very caressing and endearing way that I imagined, and remained in silence for moments thinking if that was not my mother speaking.

  I can’t say that if at that moment I was not too much wide open to my emotions, for at an environment like that where everybody express pain in their faces and try to remain in silence controlling themselves up to the time they’re going to be attended, this is very likely to happen. The truth is that I got moved to see such a beautiful and striking figure. I got more interested talking to this lady but she could not stand for long time and all I could know was through her short and few resting moments when she sat beside me, to avoid lots of varicose veins, according to her, as if those short instants sitting would really give any result.

  She told me that she’s been a widow for more than twenty years and since then she dedicated the art of living and making people to live. She had two daughters, both already married and gave her two granddaughters and one grandson. She could not feel lonely, because she used to arrive home tired and after listening to the radio she could sleep quickly. She used to like the dawn radio program. She lay down at about nine o’clock in the evening and when it was five, she was already up. She never liked Television, she thought that, there were lots of bullshit.

  I increasingly could admire the old lady’s way of life. she really was happy. Anybody could notice that. Her eyes, the way she smiled. The way she lived, to many people was considered a crazy way of living, but to me, it was something which deserved claps of hands. The younger nurses told me where she lived. I wanted to find out where that such a noble person used to get hidden.

  In a world where the image counts more than the character, there was someone who didn’t care about any other thi
ng else, but to please those who did not have pleased images. Yes, it’s very rare to see somebody sick beautiful. Illness is not just something internal or external, it affects us in a such way that at a certain point takes away all our hopes and dreams, mines our souls and spirits and ends up destroying some roads that we’ve barely started following. And even when the illness is only internal affects also our appearances. These were Mrs. Naná’s words as she served me a cup of tea on a late autumn afternoon in South America. She told me that she had this habit of having tea in the afternoons some years ago. Her teas were not the same as the famous English teas of Agatha Christie, whose novels I saw on the huge library that the old lady had in ones of the rooms’ house. There were many glasses with leaves and roots of several more species and flavors in the kitchen, for the most difference causes.

  The old lady pleased me in a such way that, with her gestures and manners I felt back in olden times. As if I were in ones of those epic novel movies or even reading a novel of Somerset Maughan. Many times I felt myself wishing to have lived in other times, to meet Mrs. Naná when she was younger. But our differences make us ambiguous. Thus, as the past can’t be changed, the future can’t be avoided.

  That autumn afternoon that the temperature indicated winter, it looked like the old England had fallen in that old house where the old Mrs. Naná used to live. A sky with no sun and fine mist besides the moisture we threw ourselves into soft and sweet conversations. I have never had any grandmother to talk and I thought if my mother’s mom was like this in her last times. I still went back till three times at the kind nurse’s house. Then, I don’t know why on earth I never visited her anymore.

  But I especially remember that day. Today more than never, believe me, from today on Mariana Damiana will have angels beside her to have tea.

  I wait everybody to leave the graveyard then I approach. I’m not any relative, not even anybody important for her who she knew. Maybe not even in her last times would remember me, because I came up to know that, she never remembered of anything else, unless the Aids Home where she worked as a volunteer. In that unforgettable afternoon I spent with the old lady, I heard her saying that nowadays what she missed more was of a good gentleman to send her flowers.

  I wait another ten minutes, then approach the recently closed grave. The rain drops cease and the weather is now British like the other day. I take a bouquet of flowers under my overcoat and placed it on the cold slab.

  FRIENDS

  It has been sometime. But not enough for me to forget.

  It was summer.

  I was about to complete my first 20 years of life. I was in the prime of my youth, in the times of my great dreams become true and full of ideas. I had completed my studies last December. I was very happy.

  Then in January we made an excursion to Florianopolis. There was I and my classmates, working hard on the parties we promoted to make this trip. It was everyone’s dream that time. Beach, pretty girls, movement, fun, lots of mess, the secret hope of a romance with ones of the girls who went with us. in fact they also were parts of our classroom. On the trip going until Floripa, it was just noisy. We would stay in a Lawyer’s house whose name I don’t remember. The house was on the way to the English beach. I’ve never seen such a magnificent residence. It looked like a countryside. There was a football field, a tennis court, a small gym and pool. For me that was so great! I’d never seen such a beautiful house like that!

  As soon as we arrived, we threw our things, bags and rattletraps, in any corner. We quickly made a lunch and threw ourselves on the beach. That was a discovering day. It was my first time to see the sea. Not only me. Most of our class. We wondered at it for a long time. Contemplating the grandeur and splendor of the sea.

  After sometimes of contemplating, some girls threw themselves into the water. Then the other boys followed them, throwing to meet themselves into the salt waters. I, who didn’t know how to swim, went up to where the water reached my chest. I remained about twenty minutes in the sea. Feeling the force of the waters pulling out the sand under my feet. That was a new and delightful sensation. But I was cautious, the other time, I almost drowned in a river. Then I got away from there and went walking on the beach. I was walking on my own. I fancied the beautiful girls who lay on the ground, whom my eyes lusted. Then at a certain point, I found out that I was all by myself, not that I didn’t like, but remembered that it was party and should have fun as the others. I started getting back running with nothing to worry about, letting my feet kick the water to those who were on the sea edge and laughing to those guys who thought that was bad.

  As I arrived where I had split with others, I saw one of my friend alone, somewhere far on the beach sitting on the sand looking at the horizon.

  ‘Celestino, what’s up boy?’ why are you sad? Let’s have a fun !- I really was happy.

  ‘Ah, it’s nothing man!’ – he said wary.

  ‘Come on man, let that alone, let’s go! You haven’t wet yourself!’ said I looking at his shorts that were dry.

  ‘No, I can’t. I said. Where have you been? Were you gone?’ he said looking up for the first time.

  ‘Don’t change the subject, Celestino. Take this t-shirt out and throw yourself, go! I was trying to encourage him, but I was unsuccessful.

  ‘Shall we run? To which side did you go? From there?’ He said pointing his finger. ‘Then let’s go to this other side!’

  And he left walking with his head down, in short steps.

  I saw when a tanned couple and both of a well-shaped bodies, passed close to him and commented in a low tone of voices about albinos and things like, “what a pity, and he’s a stump of an only arm” “poor fellow!”

  ‘That’s it! Only now I could understand! He felt himself inferior! I got angry at the couple. He was like us. I always considered him as one of us. That’s why I didn’t care about him being sad. I never treated him for pity. He was my friend. He was able to do lots of things. He was not an invalid. And it was me who had insisted him to come along with us and I almost felt myself the blamer for what he was feeling. For, there on the beach, where everybody paraded sculptural bodies, brown, tanned, he was exposed like a scar who everybody looked at.

  I followed him. I walked with Celestino all afternoon. When we got back on the bus, every other guys were already there waiting for us. But they made some fun of us, for both of us being all afternoon long together. This is what always happens with a class that is partying. We stayed at Florianopolis three more days, and during these three days I remained beside him. I sometimes felt like leaving him alone, with his sorrow, but I’ve always been soulful. I knew that he was sad. I tried to do something to make him feel pleased. And from there our friendship deepened. We spoke about our dreams and hopes of a better future. I played with him saying that when I become a lawyer, I’d buy him a mechanical arm, just to hug all the girls who did not want to stay beside him. On our way back home on the bus, someone came up and said:

  ‘Man, I would like to have the courage you have got to stay beside him. Have you seen how the whole class did not care about him? No one would like to be you to remain beside this guy, it is that they just wanted to show them off and have been ashamed to stay by his side’, said one of the boys who was travelling with us.

  ‘Look, I don’t need courage. He’s really my friend. He’s not just a simple classmate. He’s a friend of mine. And for me, friendship requires more than talking only. It means to feel. I don’t care if I missed the party you had in the Shampoo Club, there by the sea, I don’t care if you get blown if I didn’t drink as much as you all did, I’m still alive and so is he’.

  ‘Hey, pal, what’s that? I came here to thank you’ he said frightened by the emphasis that I defended the boy with an only arm.

  To thank?!! What a bullshit! You shit!’ Everyone into the bus just looked at me.

  ‘You often talk about friendship, have parties and parties, but don’t know the real meaning of a friendship. My God, he’s not
someone from a different planet. He’s like us, he studied with us during two years, you remember? So, why do you ignore him? Why did you leave him all by himself during all this time and none of you knew how to invite him and go out for a walk? Or at least sit beside him and talk.

  ‘Hey, hey, what’s that? Now you’re the good Samaritan? You went on walking with him up and down because you wanted, no one asked you to do that!!’ said another boy who I really never got on well with him.

  ‘I know all about it. I really know. And I’m proud of it. And I’m proud even more just not to be from this “group of yours”.

  ‘Hey, leave it man, this people are absolutely right. It is I who should have not come. I knew that this would happen. Said Celestino quietly from the bottom of the bus.

  ‘What’s up Celestino!?’ said I feeling now all anguish that was inside my chest ready to blow up through my throat like a volcano in eruption. ‘Did you see now what you’ve done? You mean that while he helped us there on the party preparation, alright, but he was not supposed to come along with us? Was it that you wanted? My God, how quite mistaken was I about you, guys? what about you Luiz? Won’t you say anything? Don’t you remember when he lent you money to pay your school fees? And you Rojani? You only care about the party and nothing else? I wonder if what you have of beauty, is what of emptiness you got inside your heart? You know what, I’ll get off this bus. I’ll get another one and pay for my ticket. It’s better travelling by myself than going with you.

  ‘Hey dude, what’s that? — Luiz interrupted. ‘you don’t need to overdo that. Calm down man, relax!

  ‘Haa, leave him. If he wants to get off, then let him go. Who do you think you are to give us lessons of morals? Now you’re in love with him, right? Or you’re just jealous of us for having great fun, went out and got some girls, while you kept yourself busy caring the crippled guy?’ said Décio. No sooner than he’s finished pronouncing those words, I let my right fist out to knock his chin off. He unbalanced himself and hit on a chair and when he tried to hit back, the other guys held him back to avoid the fight. Suddenly there was a general controversy on the bus.