After dinner, while I was clearing the plates from the table so we could play our little game of crapaud, Nick was scanning the books on my shelf.
“I wish I were like you, he said, and read so many books. Have you read them all?”
“No. On that shelf are the ones waiting for my love-struck eyes.”
“But why keep all these you've already read?”
“Because I love them. I like knowing they’re there, within reach of my hands. Even to read them again.”
“Seriously?”
“Of course. I’ve read Stephen King’s The Shining four times. I adore the story. Wuthering Heights about five times. And mind you, those aren’t even my bedtime books.”
“Want to tell me a story?”
“Excuse me?”
“You read so much, there must be a story you could tell me.”
“Ok, let me think... In a tiny house on a small road lived three girls, very different from one another. Early in the morning, Arabela would open the window, Carolina would lift the curtain, and Maria would look out and smile: “Good morning!” she would say to the passersby.
“Arabela was always the most beautiful; Carolina, the wisest, and Maria looked out and smiled, saying ‘Good morning!’”
“The passersby would look and see the beautiful one, and the wise one, but of all, the one who lingered in everyone’s memory with deep longing was Maria, Maria, Maria, who said with a voice full of smiles: ‘Good morning!’”
“That’s not a story!”
“No, but it’s beautiful and true, like everything Cecília Meireles ever wrote. It’s a pity she wrote “As Meninas (The Girls),” a small poem, in Portuguese, which means I had to retell it in English.”
“There is a story in that poem, but we are the ones who have to make it. It’s like an invitation to live.
“Nice analysis, yours.”
“Too bad it doesn’t work like that. Maria’s smile only seems to attract bad people.”
“Only?”
“Almost always.”
“So, not always. I don’t see myself as bad, though I know I can conceive terrible evils, maybe even act on them; it’s my personal choice not to give room to those inclinations. But what if I gave in to the evil within me, instead of the good that resides there? Does that happen to you?”
He was silent.
“I understand what you mean. Is this poem also your friend?”
“A childhood friend. I met him when I was still a boy, at school. Ready for the game?”
“Always! And, looking at me he said: You’re a Carolina!”
“You’re an Arabela!”
“And we’re Marias!”
As Meninas
Arabela abria a janela.
Carolina erguia a cortina.
E Maria olhava e sorria:
"Bom dia!"
.
Arabela foi sempre a mais bela.
Carolina a mais sábia menina.
E Maria apenas sorria:
"Bom dia!"
.
Pensaremos em cada menina
Que vivia naquela janela;
Uma que se chamava Arabela,
Outra que se chamou Carolina.
.
Mas a nossa profunda saudade
É Maria, Maria, Maria,
Que dizia com voz de amizade:
"Bom dia!”
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