O Gebo e a Sombra (Gebo and the Shadow) Page #3

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The fairground tent

does us a disservice.

And the weather doesn't help...

Rain... And a shortage of money.

Everyone's complaining about

the same thing, my friend.

But why don't they put

the show on at night?

Too expensive...

The lighting alone...

- Guess how much the lighting costs?

- I've no idea.

For the oil alone, 820. Imagine!

You see. Torres can't.

Ah!... 8 and 8 makes 16, and 1...

May I?

What a surprise!

Today was the Sousas' day.

But the Sousas are away.

Their uncle's ill...

- So here am I!

- Very good!

Good evening, my dear!

Hello, Candidinha.

Sit down!

Coffee's almost ready.

Do you want a drop?

- Ah, yes! With pleasure.

- Ah! Here's the coffee...

Coffee gives me palpitations.

It'll take me to an early grave.

- The cups, Sofia?

- I've got no illusions.

Only yesterday I said to the Teles:

"My grave is dug...

My burial clothes are all laid out ready.

I don't want to put anyone out."

Ruthless, eh?

Yes, dear, that's a bit ruthless.

Here's your coffee.

It smells so good!

The smell is not bad for you...

Quite the reverse.

It's boiling!

- Do you mind if I drink it like this?

- Go on, drink up, drink up.

Give him a bit more coffee.

So your son's finally arrived?

Coffee always warms me up.

Sorry to be rude,

but before I devoted myself to the arts,

I was a soldier...

Goon... goon...

Who's the lucky fellow

that will receive that, eh?

It's got no owner yet.

And 7 makes 49...

Oh, Chamigo,

such manners!

Madam!

I don't believe it!

In my time, that token

would've been for me.

You wouldn't have got away...

Did you have a secret?

Don't laugh,

I was very successful.

Yes, I had a secret.

I played the flute!

That was how I seduced them!

Playing the flute!

That's right, my dear man. That was

how I won over my dead missus.

There's nothing that expresses love

better than music!

And you didn't whisper

sweet nothings to each other?

And at the end, I'd get up, and I'd say:

"Good night, Serafina".

Nothing more?

I didn't have to. She'd already

taken the bait...

Do you hear? How the rain beats

against the glass!

- There's thunder again...

- The sky was all black when I got here.

Hark how it rumbles!

So long as I'm warm...

But it reminds me...

Of what, my love?

The great flood.

Here's more coffee. Nice and hot,

with this cold weather.

So, my dear,

you're all pleased

now your son's here?

Yes, I am!

Give me some.

Your husband's brought

a lot of money, it seems!

I think so.

Another drop, father?

Yes, fill it up!

What a winter!

Is this how you spend your evenings?

Every night? Always?

We talk, we work...

Yes, we talk and we work.

Do you hear?

A lovely march.

I like it...

What I'd like is to have the time

to invent my own things.

But the rehearsals,

and days busy playing:

Put your little foot here

It's disheartening.

That's all the public wants.

No one has any taste any more.

We're heading towards the abyss.

Oh, art!

When I think about art...

When I think about art...

I suffocate. I've felt a great weight

on me since I came in here.

I start thinking about art

and I get sad.

Who doesn't feel that?

So I start playing all on my own,

any old thing...

In front of my window is a blank wall, a

massive blank wall with no openings in it.

I look at that blank wall

and I play...

and the darkness goes away...

Art is a great consolation.

To me, everyone looks deformed...

- Like different people...

- Different people?

Those with petty useless lives...

There's nothing like art.

I was born for it...

to live from my art.

I feel that, if they let me,

I would create, write...

Write what?

What, my dear friend?

Why, a march!

I'll just say this:

perhaps I'll write a march.

Bravo!

Would you have any biscuits,

by any chance?

I'm feeling a little weak. I think the

palpitations might be coming on.

I'll go and get them.

What a dark night! With all these

crimes you see in the papers...

You must have read about them...

I'm always afraid when I go home.

- And you're just down the road.

- Crimes, eh?

Yes,

Horrible crimes. Sends a

shiver down your spine.

Everyone commits crimes.

Now this!

At least in their thoughts...

Everything you say here is useless.

You don't know what life is!

- Life...

- Shut up!

Not everyone can

live the same life.

You have to be soulless

to commit a crime.

But there are some

that refuse to be trampled on...

Some are like sheep, others rebel...

They see the world in a different way.

Bravo!

Some, like my father,

were born to kiss

the hand that feeds them.

That's what I've always said!

- Others...

- Others?

It was for them that jails were made.

But there's a time before jail!

And in jail you also eat bread.

"Better dead

than be buried alive!"

Son!

Let me talk...

Everyone commits crimes.

Serious crimes are committed

every day,

crimes of lying, servility.

Serious crimes,

and sometimes there's nothing

stopping us from killing.

Shut up!

One night...

a night like this

I was wet through to the bone

and I was hungry.

It was after midnight.

I saw the street all deserted and I decided

that I wasn't going to die of hunger.

Hunger!

A moment of anguish and despair...

Blackness all around me...

Not just the blackness of the night and

of the huge wall next to me...

but bigger, thicker.

It was the blackness of my soul.

I felt there was no one in the world

more wretched than me.

I stuck close to the wall.

I was alone,

or at least I thought I was

that night...

Just me and despair,

just me and the blackness.

The first man that passed, I would

grab him round the neck with my hands...

I heard footsteps

at the end of the deserted street

and I hid in the darkness

ready to attack...

The figure approached.

Then I saw at my side

two huge disembodied hands,

in the lamplight.

And they suddenly clenched in the air,

squeezed, suffocating...

Then there was a thud

as a body fell...

I ran off into the night crying:

It wasn't me! It wasn't me!

How horrible!

How horrible!

Horrible?

That soul

that everyone despised,

that being

that was once a man,

and who had been brought to crime by others,

through their selfishness and indifference,

a man like other men

who was hungry and wanted to live...

A soul... Wasn't it you

that was just talking about a soul?

Something that knows no limits to its pain

and its dreams...

You've no idea what it is!

My Soul!

I don't know what my soul is.

It's very deep!

If I look carefully...

Have you thought about that?

You that live to repeat the

same things over and over again?

If I look carefully, I see in the depths

shadows that scare me...

the soul of a creature

that can't stand life,

this life

that you all put up with so well!

A soul that cries out and dreams

and can't stand this world of terror,

wretchedness and pain!

Don't you know there are

criminals with a soul

and men that don't have one?

You are all buried alive...

I'll tell you something else...

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