Autor: Blog do Professor | Publicado: 2011-08-01T16:45:00-07:00


De uma história contada em&nbsp; Brasília&nbsp; de&nbsp; Minas&nbsp;&nbsp;por&nbsp; um&nbsp; sitiante

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; artefatocultural.com.br


&nbsp; _ Eu&nbsp; tavo&nbsp; chegano&nbsp; do&nbsp; trabaio,&nbsp; mas&nbsp; in&nbsp; antes&nbsp; de&nbsp; í&nbsp; pra&nbsp; casa&nbsp; passeino&nbsp; buteco&nbsp; do&nbsp; Aristide.&nbsp; Entrei&nbsp; cumprimentano&nbsp; todo&nbsp; mundo&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pruque&nbsp; tavo&nbsp; cum&nbsp; pressa:&nbsp; "Boa&nbsp; noite&nbsp; pra&nbsp; todos&nbsp; gente!".&nbsp;&nbsp; Tava&nbsp;&nbsp; lá&nbsp; o Chico,&nbsp; o&nbsp; Mané&nbsp; Zoreia,&nbsp; o&nbsp; Arruda,&nbsp; enfim...&nbsp; u'as&nbsp; pár&nbsp; de&nbsp; gente.&nbsp; Corri no barcão,&nbsp; pedi&nbsp; u'a&nbsp; pinga&nbsp; e&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; virei&nbsp; na&nbsp; guéla&nbsp; ali&nbsp; memo.&nbsp; É&nbsp; que&nbsp; eu&nbsp; tavo&nbsp; cum&nbsp; pressa&nbsp; de&nbsp; chegá&nbsp; em&nbsp; casa,&nbsp;&nbsp; e&nbsp;&nbsp; tamém&nbsp; o&nbsp; fio&nbsp; do&nbsp; Pacheco, meu&nbsp; cumpanhero&nbsp; na&nbsp; lida,&nbsp; tava&nbsp; cumigo&nbsp; e&nbsp; eu&nbsp; num&nbsp; quiria&nbsp; di&nbsp; azucriná&nbsp; muito&nbsp; o&nbsp; menino.&nbsp; Pedi&nbsp; pu&nbsp; Aristide&nbsp; u'a&nbsp; mão&nbsp; de&nbsp; farinha,&nbsp; virei&nbsp; na&nbsp; boca&nbsp; e&nbsp; entornei&nbsp; depressa&nbsp; o&nbsp; resto&nbsp; da&nbsp; pinga.&nbsp; Aí&nbsp; foi&nbsp; só&nbsp; enfiá&nbsp; a&nbsp; mão no&nbsp; borso,&nbsp; pegá&nbsp; uns&nbsp; mi'rréis&nbsp; e&nbsp; pagá&nbsp; o&nbsp; home.&nbsp; Qué&nbsp; dizê,...&nbsp; fiz&nbsp; tudo&nbsp; muito&nbsp; correno&nbsp; pruque&nbsp;&nbsp; tava&nbsp; avexado.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Do&nbsp; jeito&nbsp; que&nbsp; entrei&nbsp; sai.&nbsp; Cumprimentei&nbsp; todo&nbsp; mundo&nbsp; de&nbsp;&nbsp; novo&nbsp; e&nbsp; me&nbsp; arranquei&nbsp; pela&nbsp; porta&nbsp; da frente&nbsp; pruque&nbsp; o&nbsp; menino&nbsp; táva&nbsp; me&nbsp; esperano&nbsp; cá&nbsp; bicicreta&nbsp; na&nbsp; mão,&nbsp; que&nbsp; as&nbsp; veis&nbsp; eu&nbsp; perfiro&nbsp; mais&nbsp; a&nbsp; bicicreta&nbsp; du&nbsp; que&nbsp; o&nbsp; cavalo,&nbsp; se&nbsp; bem&nbsp; que&nbsp; naquele&nbsp; dia&nbsp; eu&nbsp; rependi&nbsp; da&nbsp; escoia&nbsp; pruque&nbsp; o&nbsp; menino&nbsp; era&nbsp; muito dos&nbsp; lerdo.&nbsp; Ia&nbsp; capengano&nbsp; pelos&nbsp; camim,&nbsp; e&nbsp; eu&nbsp; já&nbsp; véio&nbsp; c'as&nbsp; perna&nbsp; milór&nbsp; que&nbsp; as&nbsp; dei.&nbsp; Vai&nbsp; daí&nbsp; que&nbsp; quando&nbsp; tavo&nbsp; montano&nbsp; na&nbsp; bicicreta&nbsp; foi&nbsp; que&nbsp; arreparei&nbsp; no&nbsp; véio&nbsp; Damião&nbsp; que&nbsp; tava&nbsp; assentado&nbsp; num&nbsp; banquinho&nbsp; junto&nbsp; da&nbsp; porta.&nbsp; Apiei&nbsp; depressa&nbsp; e&nbsp; corri&nbsp; a&nbsp; cumprimentá&nbsp; o&nbsp; home&nbsp; já&nbsp; que&nbsp; eu&nbsp; ainda&nbsp; num&nbsp; tinha&nbsp; visto&nbsp; ele&nbsp; encostado&nbsp; ali: "Oi&nbsp; seu&nbsp; Damião,&nbsp; comé&nbsp; que&nbsp; vai&nbsp; o&nbsp; sinhô,&nbsp; tá&nbsp; tomano&nbsp; a&nbsp; fresca?".&nbsp; E&nbsp; fiquei&nbsp; ali&nbsp; proseano&nbsp; um&nbsp; poco&nbsp; inté&nbsp; que&nbsp; me&nbsp; despedi.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Memo&nbsp; assim&nbsp; ele&nbsp; inda&nbsp; me&nbsp; disse&nbsp; quando&nbsp; eu&nbsp; tavo&nbsp; de&nbsp; saida:&nbsp; _ Éeee...&nbsp; seu&nbsp; Joaquim,&nbsp; qué&nbsp; dizê&nbsp; c'ocê&nbsp; num&nbsp; tinha&nbsp; me&nbsp; arreparado&nbsp; hein!...&nbsp; _ É&nbsp; pro&nbsp; módi&nbsp; da&nbsp; pressa&nbsp; seu&nbsp; Damião,&nbsp; mais&nbsp; otro&nbsp; dia&nbsp; a&nbsp; gente&nbsp;&nbsp; cunversa&nbsp;&nbsp; mais,&nbsp;&nbsp; inté&nbsp;&nbsp; logo!&nbsp;&nbsp; Fica&nbsp;&nbsp; c'um Deus.&nbsp; Ispriquei&nbsp; du&nbsp; jeito&nbsp; que&nbsp; pudi,&nbsp; peguei&nbsp; meus&nbsp; trem&nbsp; c'o&nbsp; menino,&nbsp;&nbsp; montei&nbsp; na&nbsp; bicicreta&nbsp; e&nbsp; saí...&nbsp;&nbsp; Mais de&nbsp; longe,&nbsp; inté&nbsp; eu&nbsp; subí&nbsp; a&nbsp; rua&nbsp; intera,&nbsp; reparei&nbsp; que&nbsp; o&nbsp; véio&nbsp; Damião&nbsp; ficô&nbsp; me&nbsp; oiano&nbsp; pela&nbsp; estrada.&nbsp;&nbsp; Inté&nbsp; eu desaparecê&nbsp; por&nbsp; tráis&nbsp; do&nbsp; "morro das coruja"&nbsp; eu&nbsp; assuntei&nbsp; qu'ele&nbsp; que&nbsp; me&nbsp; espiava&nbsp; c'os&nbsp; zóio&nbsp; do&nbsp; tamanho&nbsp; d'umas&nbsp; bola&nbsp; de&nbsp; vrido.&nbsp; Vai&nbsp; que&nbsp; quando&nbsp; eu&nbsp; tavo&nbsp; lá&nbsp; pras&nbsp; banda&nbsp; do&nbsp; riacho&nbsp; doce,&nbsp;&nbsp; que&nbsp;&nbsp; é&nbsp;&nbsp; aquele fio&nbsp; d'água&nbsp; que&nbsp; passa&nbsp; pelas&nbsp; terra&nbsp; do&nbsp; Olivino,&nbsp; comecei&nbsp; a&nbsp; senti&nbsp; u'a&nbsp; cocera&nbsp; disgramada&nbsp; na&nbsp; bunda.&nbsp; Eu coçava&nbsp; coçava&nbsp; e&nbsp; num&nbsp; dava&nbsp; jeito,&nbsp; aí&nbsp; pedi&nbsp; po&nbsp; menino&nbsp; pará&nbsp; um&nbsp; poco&nbsp; e me&nbsp; esperá&nbsp;&nbsp; em&nbsp;&nbsp; quanto&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; eu&nbsp;&nbsp; ia&nbsp; no&nbsp; mato&nbsp; vê&nbsp; o&nbsp; que&nbsp; era.&nbsp; "Deve&nbsp; de&nbsp; sê&nbsp; um&nbsp; rudulêro!",&nbsp; pensei&nbsp; arto.&nbsp; Mais&nbsp; escrafunchei,&nbsp; escrafunchei... e&nbsp; num&nbsp; tive&nbsp; módo&nbsp; de&nbsp; sabê&nbsp; o&nbsp; que&nbsp; que&nbsp; era.&nbsp; Aí&nbsp; amontei de&nbsp; novo&nbsp; na&nbsp; bicicreta&nbsp; e&nbsp; cabei&nbsp; de&nbsp; chegá&nbsp; em&nbsp; casa.&nbsp; Quando&nbsp; pedi&nbsp; pá&nbsp; muié&nbsp; dá&nbsp; u'as&nbsp; oiada&nbsp; o&nbsp; negóço&nbsp; já&nbsp; tava&nbsp; era&nbsp; oiano...&nbsp; tava&nbsp; criano&nbsp; uns&nbsp; oin&nbsp; assim&nbsp; em&nbsp; vorta&nbsp; do&nbsp; "sopradô"&nbsp; e&nbsp; ardeno&nbsp; como&nbsp; se&nbsp; arguém&nbsp; tivesse&nbsp; esfregado&nbsp; sumo &nbsp;de&nbsp; pimenta.&nbsp; Óia,...&nbsp; eu&nbsp; digo&nbsp; proceis&nbsp; que&nbsp; passei&nbsp; foi&nbsp; apurado.&nbsp; As&nbsp; "nascida" tomaro&nbsp; conta&nbsp; das&nbsp; parte&nbsp; que&nbsp; eu&nbsp; passei&nbsp; foi&nbsp; már.&nbsp; Tive&nbsp; que&nbsp; ficá&nbsp; muitos&nbsp; dia&nbsp; c'o&nbsp; trasêro&nbsp; prá&nbsp; riba&nbsp;&nbsp; aí&nbsp; ó...&nbsp; sem&nbsp; podê&nbsp; usa&nbsp; nem&nbsp; cárça&nbsp; pro&nbsp; módi&nbsp; das&nbsp; dô... &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;a&nbsp;&nbsp; muié&nbsp; sózinha&nbsp; contô&nbsp; pra&nbsp; mais&nbsp; de&nbsp; cem&nbsp; "nascida".&nbsp; Ai,&nbsp; dispois&nbsp; de&nbsp; um&nbsp; meis&nbsp; sofreno&nbsp;&nbsp; feito&nbsp;&nbsp; um&nbsp;&nbsp; porco&nbsp;&nbsp; cheio&nbsp; de&nbsp; bicho,&nbsp; foi&nbsp; que&nbsp; as&nbsp; coisa&nbsp; sarô,&nbsp; mais&nbsp; inté&nbsp; hoje&nbsp; tenho&nbsp; as&nbsp; marca&nbsp; cá&nbsp; comigo.&nbsp; Óia,... passei&nbsp; os&nbsp; trem&nbsp; da&nbsp; farmácia, &nbsp;lambusei&nbsp; tudo&nbsp; c'os&nbsp; mato&nbsp; da&nbsp; terra,&nbsp; mais&nbsp; cabô&nbsp; que&nbsp; sarô.&nbsp; Foi&nbsp; ai&nbsp; que&nbsp; me&nbsp; falaro&nbsp; que&nbsp; aquilo&nbsp; só&nbsp; podia&nbsp; de&nbsp; sê&nbsp; coisa&nbsp; feita,&nbsp; e&nbsp; eu&nbsp; comecei&nbsp; ispritá&nbsp; que&nbsp; era&nbsp; memo.&nbsp; Não&nbsp; que&nbsp; eu&nbsp; gostasse&nbsp; de&nbsp;&nbsp; mexê&nbsp;&nbsp; c'esses&nbsp; trem,&nbsp; mais&nbsp; suspeitei&nbsp; memo&nbsp; d'arguma&nbsp; coisa&nbsp; e&nbsp; arresorvi&nbsp; í&nbsp; atrais&nbsp; d'um&nbsp; curadô&nbsp; que&nbsp; tinha&nbsp; aqui&nbsp;&nbsp; p'réssas&nbsp; banda&nbsp; pra&nbsp; vê&nbsp; o&nbsp; que&nbsp; que&nbsp; o&nbsp; home&nbsp; dizia.&nbsp; Cabei&nbsp; ino&nbsp; no&nbsp; tár&nbsp; curadô&nbsp; e&nbsp; mostrei&nbsp; p'rele&nbsp; os&nbsp; arrazo&nbsp; que&nbsp; aquele&nbsp; tróço&nbsp; tinha&nbsp; feito&nbsp; ni&nbsp; mim.&nbsp; O&nbsp; home&nbsp; mexeu&nbsp; u'a&nbsp; vida&nbsp; lá,&nbsp; rivirô&nbsp; uns&nbsp; pó&nbsp; preto&nbsp; que&nbsp; táva&nbsp; lá&nbsp; drento&nbsp;&nbsp; d'um&nbsp; vrido&nbsp; e&nbsp; terminô&nbsp; concordano&nbsp; que&nbsp; tinha&nbsp; sido&nbsp; coisa&nbsp; feita&nbsp; memo.&nbsp; Só&nbsp; dispois&nbsp; de&nbsp; muito&nbsp; azucriná&nbsp;&nbsp; ei&nbsp;&nbsp; foi&nbsp; que&nbsp; ei&nbsp; contô&nbsp; quem&nbsp; tinha&nbsp; sido.&nbsp; Fiquei&nbsp; abobado.&nbsp; É&nbsp; craro&nbsp; qu'eu&nbsp; tinha&nbsp; minhas&nbsp; disconfiança&nbsp; mais&nbsp; num&nbsp; queria&nbsp; er'acreditá&nbsp; nu'a&nbsp; coisa&nbsp; daquela.&nbsp; Peguei&nbsp; e&nbsp; priguntei&nbsp; pr'ele&nbsp; se&nbsp; num&nbsp; tinha&nbsp; jeito&nbsp; de&nbsp; fazê&nbsp;&nbsp; c'o&nbsp;&nbsp; safado&nbsp; daquele&nbsp; véio&nbsp; o&nbsp; que&nbsp; ele&nbsp; tinha&nbsp; feito&nbsp; cumigo:&nbsp; _ Cê&nbsp; acha&nbsp; que&nbsp; dá&nbsp; pra&nbsp; castigá&nbsp; quem&nbsp; já&nbsp; tá &nbsp;fedeno&nbsp; dibacho&nbsp; da&nbsp; terra?&nbsp; Ele me disse.&nbsp; Foi&nbsp; ai&nbsp; que&nbsp; eu&nbsp; entendi&nbsp; que&nbsp; o&nbsp; véio&nbsp; Damião&nbsp; já&nbsp; tava&nbsp; era&nbsp; morto&nbsp; memo.( O&nbsp; narrador&nbsp; tira&nbsp; o&nbsp; chapéu,&nbsp; olha&nbsp; para&nbsp; o&nbsp; alto,&nbsp; e&nbsp; conclui&nbsp; depois&nbsp; de&nbsp; um&nbsp; sorriso&nbsp; escarninho...)&nbsp; _ Agora&nbsp; é&nbsp; c'as&nbsp; justiça&nbsp; de&nbsp; Deus!...
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Sérgio Paulo de Oliveira - 04 maio de 2001