Treasure Island

Felipe Gastão

(Goiânia - Brazil)

Vesuvio


Que verão escaldante, todas as vias de Roma fediam, as fezes e os dejetos do povo, nos fizeram a minha e à minha patrícia família, como de costume, retirarmos-nos para o balneário mais paradisíaco do Vasto Império. Roma estava realmente insuportável. No caminho, embora as cortinas do tílburi estivessem fechadas, o dodor era nauseabundo e, pela frestra da janela, vi o corpo e um velho sendo devorado sem nenhuma etiquetapor um bando de abutres, pássaros que são os guardiões do verão romano, Eu, filha de um general, era jovem, pele de alabastro que puxei de minha mãe, legítima romana, e feições exóticas herdados de meu pai que vinha de uma rebelda província setentrional, conquistada pelo maior general roamano. Apesar de desejar luxuriosamente os homens, com eles não tinha o que conversar, não entendia de guerra, política, nem de filosofia. Vênus era minha madrinha. Pedia a ela que minha virgindade fosse tirada por algum charmoso poeta do inferno de Virgílio. Sabia que meu casamento seria arranjado e rogava a ela que me dessa a dádiva de amar os guerreiros, que, segundo ela, não era difícil. Chegamos à Pompéia, que maravilha! ! ! . O dia estava lindo, como de costume, o mar, com aquele azul que nunca soube descrever em palavras, acho que nem Homero soube. Maso verão estava tão abafado quanto em Roma, estranhei. No alto tive a impressão de avistar um abutre. Fiquei apreensiva, mas percebi rapidamente que se tratava de uma andorinha. Fiquei com medo de estar enlouquecendo. Fiquei estranha o verão inteiro. Pompéia também estava estranha. O calor silenciou a cidade, as ruas estavam vazias, as pessoas cansadas. O calor não deixava dormir. O estoque das caves acabou rapidamente, o pão sobrou e apodreceu. To dos estavam se entupindo de vinho para dormir. Ao final estávamos famintos e insones. Não foi um verão, foi um inferno. Mas todos preferimos ficar a voltar a Roma. Estávamos horríveis, nosso bronzeado estranho. Pela primeira vez o pessimismo tomou conta de Pompéia. Meu pai chorando e se contorcendo de medo dizia ser o prenúncio do fim do Grande Império, guerras perdidas, soldados mercenários mercenários e traidores comandariam, uma ideologia nova e exótica poria abaixo nossos Deuses, nosso panteão seria profanado. Nunca havia visto meu pai com medo. Depois de semanas sem dormir, dormimos apesar da fome e da sobriedade.. Na madrugada, a montanha mais linda do Império ini ciou seu cruel espetáculo. Um forte trovão foi ouvido, mas só as mulheres acordaram. A bela montanha vomitava fogo, como se estivese cansada de tanto calor.Acordamos os homens desesperadas e encantadas com aquele espetáculo de tão magnífico acabaria por matar sua platéia. Os homens se desesperarar e se puseram a chorar. AS mulheres, em vão, tentaram conseguir seles derradeiro sexo. Forma chamadas de prostitutas, indecentes, diabólicas. A maioria se resignou, mas as virgens, como eu percorremos com sensuais decotes as ruas à cata de algum homem que deixássemos morrercom a cabeça deitadaem algum peito masculino e a mão em fortes ombros. Não se achavam homens nas ruas e, desesperada, eu segui por ruas sombrias quase toamadas pela lava. Encontrei um triste violeiro espanhos, que cantava consoladora música consoladora, dizendo da poesia dos genocídios da natureza. Aproximei-me chorando e e pedi a ele que tirasse minha virgindade. Ele disse-me que não haveria tempo, pois a lava estava quase a nos lamber, mas que teria prazer em contar-me de sua triste vida cheia de malentendidos de amor.. Disse que seria todo meu e que recostasse minha cabeço no seu moreno e peludo peito. Consegui ouvir seu último suspiro, seus gritos contidos, mas sofridos. Não senti a lava me queimar. Só me lembro do seu rosto embriagado de tanto canto e dos gritos assustadoramente feios que maldiziam a natureza chamando-a assassina.


English version:


That hot summer, all roads in Rome stinked, the feces and manure of the people, have in my and my family Patricia, as usual, draw us to the most paradisiacal resort of Vasto Empire. Rome was really unbearable. On the way, but the curtains were closed cab of the the ododr was nauseous and by the window, I saw the body of an old man being eaten without any etiqueta by a bunch of vultures, birds that are the guardians of the Roman summer, Me, daughter of a general, was young, alabaster skin from my mother, legitimate Roman, and exotic features inherited from my father who came from a northern rebel province, conquered by greatest Roman general. Despite my lust for men, with them I had nothing to talk, did not know about war, politics, or philosophy. Venus was my godmother. Asked her that my virginity was taken by a charming poet Virgil in the inferno. I knew that my marriage was arranged and praised her to me the gift to love the warriors, which it was not difficult. We arrived to Pompeii, how wonderful! . The day was beautiful, as usual, the sea, with that blue never knew to describe in words, I knew that neither Homer. But it was so stuffy in summer in Rome, surprised. At the top I had the impression see a vulture. I was concerned, but quickly realized that it was a swallow. I was scared to be going crazy. I reamined strange all summer. Pompeii was also strange. The eat silented the city, the streets were empty, people tired. The heat does not let sleep. The stock of finished basements quickly, left the bread and rotted. We were drinking bottles and bottles of wine to sleep. At the end we were hungry and insomniacs. There was one summer, was a hell. But all would be to return to Rome. We were horrible, our weird tan. For the first time took account of the pessimism Pompéia. My father was crying and was afraid of squirmy be the harbinger of the end of the Great Empire, lost wars, soldiers and mercenaries mercenary traitors command, a new ideology and exotic below would our Gods, our pantheon would be desecrated. I had never seen my father with fear. After weeks without sleep, we could sleep despite hunger and sobriety.. At dawn, the most beautiful mountains of the Empire ciou its initial cruel spectacle. A strong thunder was heard, but only the women agreed. The beautiful mountain spew fire, as if it was tired of both men and desperate heat.We woke up enchanted with this wonderful spectacle of so beautifullness would kill its audience. Men were desperate and cried. Women, in vain, tried to achieve ultimate Selex sex. So called prostitutes, indecent, diabolical. Most are resigned, but the virgin, as I traveled with sensual cleavages to weather the streets of some man who would invite us to die with the head on a male breast and hands on strong shoulders. There were no men in the streets, and desperate, I followed along almost taken by the dark lava. I found a sad violist Spain, who sang consoling consoling music, saying of the poetry of the nature genocides. I approached them crying ee asked him to bear my virginity. He told me that there would be time, because the lava was about to lick us, but it would nice to tell me about his sad life full of misunderstandings of love.. Said it would be all mine and reclined my head in his dark and hairy chest. I could hear his last breath, his screams out, and suffered. I did not feel the burning lava. Just remember his face drunk so much singing and screaming frightfully ugly that cursing the nature calling it murder.

Submitted: Monday, February 09, 2009
Edited: Monday, February 09, 2009

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