The Day I Found You Read online

  I like to love with my fingers,

  to find the centimetre where the orgasm is born

  in you, understand the extent of how you are startled,

  and bring my ear to your mouth to hear the voice of God.

  and I like to love with my eyes,

  to waste the possibility of sleeping and watch you fall asleep,

  the dark night and the silence of an embrace,

  and if you want me to tell you

  I only chose you by mistake, I wanted the love of books

  and I became a writer, whole days waiting for your body

  for the metaphors to happen.

  and I like to love with my tears,

  to practise the abyss, the narrow breadth of your lips,

  the sense of too much sea in your tongue,

  even the way you move up my sex

  with the extremity of your ragged breathing,

  and above all to surrender myself to the punishment of the emotion

  of loving you even after the pleasure has ended,

  the little death is over

  and all life about to start again.

  and I like to love with what remains of me,

  and all I know is that what remains for me is to love you.

  Don’t worry, son, I’ll sort it out,

  a father is, at the very worst, a hero, a superman, and I’m here for whatever you need, I’ve already got you on my lap, you’re crying but these things pass, a kiss here, a hug there, your mother, just let me give her a quick hug with you on my lap, she’ll be breastfeeding you soon and you’ll be fine, you’re so beautiful, you know that?, people say you’ve got my eyes and I like that, of course, but what I want is for you to have yours, for you to see everything and to see only good things, I have to go now because the nurse wants to take you off to your crib, it’s not the kind of thing one should say but you’re the most beautiful baby of all, to hell with half-hearted language, because I love my son completely,

  don’t worry, son, I’ll sort it out,

  it hurts a lot but that’s the way it’s got to be, you’ll love learning to read, when you know how to write do you promise to write that you adore me?, one day you could even be a writer like your uncle, you have so many things to learn, doing sums and knowing the names of rivers, we knew all that stuff in my day, the rivers, the seasons, the district capitals, I don’t know any of it now but you’ll like it, there now, there now, don’t cry so, I can’t bear it, it hurts so much when good things are hurting so badly, please don’t cling on to my neck like that, look at all those children, and the teacher seems nice, she’ll help you, I promise, and now that I look more closely I can see you’re clearly the smartest kid in the class, I know it’s not the kind of thing one should say but I’ve said it, to hell with half-hearted language, because I love my son completely,

  don’t worry, son, I’ll sort it out,

  of course I’ll sign, I do like your wife, you’ve chosen well, you clever little swine, in that respect you’ve taken after your father since your mother is still unquestionably the most alluring woman in the neighbourhood, and I’m sure you’ll be happy, there must be something that can make me happier than seeing you happy but honestly I’ve not found it yet, I trust you completely, the lady from the bank is an old acquaintance of mine, Dona Emília, who worked with me in the shoe store, a saint, and the house is a wonder, space for a family and in no time at all I want grandchildren jumping around, oh but I do, here’s my signature, forty years’ savings couldn’t be put to better use than this, I’m so proud of myself and of you, my big boy starting a new life, it’s hard to lose you but deep down I’m winning you again in another way, you’re a good pal, my big lad, I know it’s not the kind of thing one should say but when I look at the two of you I can clearly see that you’re the best-looking couple that has ever asked for a loan in this bank, to hell with half-hearted language, because I love my son completely,

  don’t worry, son, I’ll sort it out,

  it’s just a tiny little pain, don’t worry about it, an old carcass doesn’t split, the doctor said it’ll pass soon enough and that I’m fine, you didn’t need to come with me, you have your own life, I really don’t like messing up your plans, shouldn’t we be talking about the current Sporting line-up instead?, that new reinforcement of their defence doesn’t look like it’s up to much, does it?, I’d love to go with you to the stadium tomorrow but I’m still having trouble walking, no it’s not too bad, don’t give me that look, there’s nothing in the world that can make a man cry like the pitiful expression on his son’s face, don’t look at me like that, love, come and give me a hug and tell me about your life, is it true what your mother told me, that you’re already shift foreman in your factory?, I always knew you’d go far, before you know it you’ll be ordering that whole rabble around, dammit, it was just a slip, sorry, I’m fine, really I am, I’ll be back on my feet in a moment, let me just find something to hold on to, what could hurt more than needing to be carried by one’s own child to get to bed?, I’m better here, just let me rest a bit and I’ll go to the living room with you, turn on the TV and put on the recording of that programme you were on the other day, I know it’s not the kind of thing one should say but you were by far the best participant that competition has ever had, to hell with half-hearted language, because I love my son completely,

  don’t worry, son, I’ll sort it out,

  you have your mother’s mouth, that’s the truth and I can’t deny it, but your eyes are mine, can there ever be a happier tear than the one that falls when you see your own eyes in the eyes of your son?, I have you in my arms and I’m so happy, I only wish my old man were still here, I’m sure he’d say that before you know it you’ll be picking up girls in high school and that you’ll be the best student in the class, then he’d tell you about the new Sporting reinforcement, when I leave here I’m going straight to the stadium to make you a member, if we can get you his number wouldn’t that be the best, I know it’s not the kind of thing one should say but you are by far the most beautiful Sporting supporter of all, to hell with half-hearted language, because I love my son completely.

  I claim the indignation of the marvellous, the trees turned over with the strength of the wind, the old lady in the window happy with life down there, that smile of hers that’s so childlike,

  the ingenuousness and the emotional understanding,

  the boats docking with their men with long beards and a lot of life,

  the stories they’ll have to tell you, isn’t that right?,

  and the peace of your kiss as you lie on top of me.

  I claim the engineering of flight, to understand how planes rise into the air carrying so many people who don’t know how to fly, to understand how love began,

  who was the first person to love and how did they know how good it was?,

  to discover where the sea ends and where the waves come from, to cry when my father asks me for a hug, and I give it and only receive,

  who invented magical creatures like parents?,

  spending the evening tasting chocolates,

  and the riot of your sweat as you lie on top of me.

  I claim also the formula of the poem, which is at the origin of a finished verse,

  from what territory are geniuses born?,

  it’s the genius and not Jesus who’s at God’s right hand, or otherwise Jesus is a genius himself, what the hell do I know?,

  I’d like to unveil whatever it is that the look in a cat’s eyes is hiding,

  how many masterpieces would you find there?,

  the substance of art is tears and everything else they bring with them, up to happiness, of course,

  but I want to lay out the possibility of everyone being Picasso and just not knowing it, no one is immune to fascination, I’m sure of that,

  and I claim at last the canonisation of pleasure,

  and your unbuttoned shirt as you lie on top of me.

  I claim above all the u
seless object of temptation, which makes me cry when I fall in love, the exemplary ergonomics of your body on mine,

  who has understood that there are new meanings for living?,

  I refuse to think when there are your lips, the twenty years forever of my loving you, the cocaine of your fingers on my skin,

  whoever invented drugs didn’t know about love, that seems quite clear to me,

  and the indecision over whether I should love you for ever or for ever as you lie on top of me.

  What noise does the rain make when I embrace you like this?,

  there’s a piece to write, a writer’s drama is that there’s always something to write, and that’s also his good fortune, I’m not making sense but you know,

  yesterday your hair smelled of an embrace,

  I remember a nose never being so happy, the things I write, my God, I could expound on the crisis, the markets and rise of the credit rating or whatever, but I prefer to devote myself to the mixing of the raindrops on the window with the light thread of sweat that runs down the middle of your chest,

  when you sleep God wakes up to watch you sleeping,

  the Catholics don’t know it but the real miracle is loving you, suddenly you turned this way, there’s so much that needs writing and all I can write is you,

  what a wretch are you who makes me happy?,

  perhaps there was a need to explain the existence of sovereign debt, to slag off two or three politicians, or even more or all of them, I’m well aware how they deserve it, but when I come back all I write is the poem you show me,

  all those who love are poets,

  at least those who love like this, with their verses constantly interrupted, everything to say and so few words to show for it,

  how many dictionaries does your body demand?,

  and that’s not even mentioning your voice, the disgraceful way you tell me you love me and I believe you, it’s already nine at night and I have to file a piece at ten, stop looking at me, and you stop, you turn to face the other way but it won’t come, I begin some line or other about something, I think this time it was about sport, would you believe, but then your back,

  your back is enough to create a genius,

  before you know it the deadline has passed but to hell with it, let me in an instant write the desire for my tongue on you, the absolute importance of your hands, or even the calm of being in your arms when it hurts, it’s five minutes to ten and I’ve already got an email from the editor, now’s the time, I’m going to write about a solution to the sadness in the country, knock out two or three banalities, quote a few famous authors so everyone will respect me, and then it’s done, wait a moment I’ll be right back, here goes, a line is done, now another, but there you still are and when I realise where I am I’ve already written four or five lines about how much I miss you when you’re not there, the absurd vastness of the sofa without you, I look at my watch and it’s ten,

  what do I do to write something not you?,

  I press the send button and it’s all gone, an entire column about you, I hope they don’t find it strange, after all it’s the first time I’ve devoted a whole one to you, today at least, of course, I have an idea that yesterday and the day before it was the same,

  will I have to wait too long before you’ll give me my congratulatory hug?

  I like it when you’re a man, you know?,

  the way you show me the extent of your strength and hold me tight and small when I’m hurting,

  there’s so much to hurt about, isn’t there?,

  the rain and the homeless man with no way of escaping it, the people forgotten in the corner of the bus,

  what is all this crap they’ve invented in the world?,

  and then I get home, the whole day on my shoulders, and there’s your strength, and you tell me it’ll all pass, and it does, when you ask me to let myself be protected,

  love might well just be somebody asking us to let ourselves be protected, and then really protecting us.

  I like it when you’re a man, you know?,

  the way after the calm you manage to awaken all the fire I have in me, you don’t need much, you talk to me about the space between poetry and your loving me, you tell me the story of the invention of our kiss,

  it takes so little to love someone, doesn’t it?,

  and after the storm comes the storm, love comes not from opposing poles but from the same pole in different places,

  I’m so addicted to your skin,

  we mingle smells and movements, we know it’s only pleasure and that it’s going to be so short-lived, which is why we insist,

  love might well just be the frequent occurrence of pleasure, and its respective insistence.

  I like it when you’re a man, you know?,

  the way you bravely shrink and show me how big you are, a vast giant who is hurting,

  there are so many people who aren’t big enough to be small, have you noticed that?,

  sometimes there are unsustainable roofs within us, days that ask us to give up, and that’s when you lie down and give over to the hope that someone is coming to fetch you,

  the world needs periodic givings-up to keep going, that’s what you taught me,

  you’re as much of a coward as a hero and that’s how I love you, the little boy who makes himself big to be able to defend me,

  I so like the heroism of your fragility,

  when we lie down and hold each other in our neediness we know that something is passing through us that has no solution, the ill that we suffer has no cure, and still we cure each other,

  love might well just be the impossibility of curing an ill, and then obviously curing it.

  An orgasm is a perfect trap,

  I use anonymous hands on my body, there’s one on top of me now but there’s so much missing, an unbearable abyss between each man’s body and you, strangers’ hands to stop me remembering you,

  what country am I from when I feel like this?,

  every place recognises you, at midday on the dot I open my legs to you for whoever it might be, this guy’s tall and strong, if the soul were reasonable he’d be so much better than you, but the thing is I’m stupid and I still want you, because all beds are a preamble to you, and your mouth is an ancient gesture,

  and now I remember what I didn’t experience with you,

  missing somebody is made up of learnings, of noises that are there to prevent hearing,

  either the whole day exists for living or the whole day exists for dying, letting the hours go by, remembering to forget you for good, I need to not need you if I’m to be happy,

  everyone who isn’t you is just Joe,

  we’ve got to forget about what doesn’t fulfil us, I get by without knowing whom I love when I love only you, I call the surrounding world Joe and I use whatever I can, the skin, the flesh, even the potential words,

  how many men will I have to sacrifice to keep going and not forget you?,

  I tell him give it to me hard, I close my eyes and try to go towards the geography of pleasure, but when they leave I’m left behind and there’s the literature of the empty bed, I take two or three letters you wrote me once and finally I strip down so that you can touch me,

  whenever I read you I must be absolutely naked,

  one more Joe who’s left, there was the orgasm and I moaned as best I could, two or three seconds oblivious to you, I swear, probably that’s as much as I can aspire to, I’ve got to be realistic,

  I’d like to be the woman who bears it and I’m just the woman who puts up with it,

  and I say goodbye to him, a cold see you later and a cigarette, window open, the doorbell ringing, must be another Joe, no doubt, I open the downstairs door without asking who it is,

  exactly what fragility does giving-up come from?,

  I have no interest in the mystery of death, only of your life in me, the door’s already open, I don’t look and just let him come, hands first, then the kiss, finally the words,

&
nbsp; hi, I’m Joe,

  and that’s all I need to know it’s you, I don’t ask anything or want to know anything, there’s the chance for a few minutes of just us and I’m ready to make the most of it, show me patiently what you learned far away from me, give me bliss first and silence afterwards, but most of all promise me that you’ll never promise me anything again,

  and keep it, please.

  Two kilos of rice, four of frozen onions, a large carton of milk and a love for ever after,

  a shopping list stuck to the fridge, the stove on, pans on the fire, a house as normal as every other and then us,

  there ought to be a limit to being somebody’s just so we could exceed it as we ought to, right?,

  I like holding you tight as we invent a possible fiction, when the rim of the kitchen counter is enough to love you, I lean you against it and tell you I love you, and the worst thing of all is I really do,