Daily routine facts [tale]
Translation | Eder Capobianco
I arrived home already was nine at night. My wife was sitting on the sofa, smoking. The sofa was old, moss green. It has been another green one day. It had a raggeds parts, it was not comfortable to sit on that sofa. She was wearing a tank top that stank of housekeeper. An old shorts, with an old slipper completed the costumes of my lovely wife. I do not know with what intention she passed a cheap lipstick and combing her long broken and oily hair.
I threw my blazer on top of a lot of stuff that had in the living room table. It was not difficult for the plate from which had dinner noodles last night were still there. If it dirty my jacket I had no other to go on my work tomorrow. I put the briefcase on the ground and into the kitchen.
It stank as my meal. I had a dish made with egg, cabbage, beans, rice and potatoes. After so many years I have concluded that my family likes the smell of my fart. I had a lemonade glass (only one glass!), in the refrigerator. Paper napkin was something only when someone had picked up a lot in fast food close to home. That has not happened for a few months.
I pushed the things out carefully on the table. Getting a space to sit and eat. It was muffled and the whole apartment smelled like cigarette. It did not take two forkful until someone would interrupt me. Home sweet home. The burden who accompanied me for ten (long) years stand up with the cigarette in his left hand, and the ashtray on the right, sat on my side and said, “we need to talk.”
A million of answer passed to my mind in this moment. “We need divorce.” “We need to free ourselves each other.” “Take the house and the kids.” “No mess with me!” “Fuck you!”
I did not look for she to avoid any of the answers. I continued eating and she started. “No longer stand this life. The childrens complain all day long that has nothing to do. The telephone is cut off for more than a week. Every day comes a bill collector at the door. You need to do something.”
It is impossible to describe what I felt at that moment. I stopped for a few seconds. I felt I was bending the fork. I took a sip of juice. I took the bent fork and before the food reach my mouth she started screaming. “SAY SOMETHING! YOU DON’T CARE COUSE AREN’T YOU HERE ALL DAY. THESE IMPS NOT STOP TO FIGHT. I CAN NOT TAKE MORE, DO NOT take any more, can not take……”.
After that she fell and began to weep. Feel sorry for her. The two childrens looked scared by the bedroom door and cried. I stand up and went to my room. I opened the wardrobe and the door fell. I sat on the bed. I lit a cigarette. I went to the door and looked out. The scene was all on the floor and a chorus of sobs with television talking about the inflation background.
I put a t-shirt, a shoe and old pants. I took my wallet, my cigarettes and went toward the door. I heard when she asked where I was going. I passed in the pub, took a shot of something and went to the bus station. The first bus to the Acre went out at midnight. I bought a ticket and went to sit in the platform to wait. It was eleven o’clock when she smiles for the first time in at least ten years.
Versão Original | https://antimidiablog.wordpress.com/2007/06/17/fatos-cotidianos