Flowers in Blood Read online

  I remembered the phone that had fallen from my hands and decided to dial the emergency number. I got in the car, finding the cell phone under the passenger seat. I saw the last four digits that I had placed, and then came to mind a face of an unknown woman; I almost lost my life in that terrible crash, in a moment of distraction and neglect, when I wanted to make a call. I'm not superstitious, but I had the impression that things did not start well in relation to street address Antônio Lisboa, number fifty-eight and cell phone number. I called to the emergency and then got in my car. It was a dangerous place at that hour of the night. The local residents were already taking care of the situation. There will always be good people in the world. And so I could continue my destiny towards my house where, more than ever, I needed to get.

  On the way, my hands still are shaking. I'm thinking of bloodied bodies inside the car. The white Fiat Palio with number plate of Rio de Janeiro. Those people were leaving Olinda. Probably they were in some bar or nightclub there, because these places are always filled with people of all parties. Black, blond, American, Brazilian, Argentine, finally, men and women of all tribes in the world are in Olinda. They were also knowing our places, landscapes, women, ethnic foods. It is a cultural center of great movement. The surroundings of this city are no different from any metropolis of our country, where social contrasts appear clearly, showing the vast difference in income distribution existing in our society. The crash site is one of those points where violence is part of everyday life of these people. The worlds differ as well, and the purchasing power is another crucial issue in life. Most likely, they already looted the cars in search of valuables before the police or some authority comes. The bodies they will be a statistical of traffic accident and police news.

  I'm driving slowly stirred with all that has happened. Nobody goes through it without feel the cold in the spine saying that death passed close. I had a feeling of happiness because I am living still.

  I delayed to enter in the street where my residence is. This first pass giving access to the street where I live also has its nefarious stories. But I live here for many years, and I have in this place good memories of my life too, in these streets, with huge trees, where we climbed when as a child. I remember many things here. But today I can not feel happy to be coming, as I'm normally but feel a void. I am remembering the crash, seeing the bodies; I hear their cries, as if still they alive calling by his loved ones, in despair thinking if it was the last moment in their lives. They are powerless and vulnerable waiting for the help of others. May God protect, relieving the pain and the suffering of all them.

  My house is there, white with green windows. That was how my mother liked, and decided to leave it exactly the same way when she still lived here. Many times I arrived from work, and I found her sitting, reading a book or watching television. I gave many kisses on that her forehead wrinkled and beautiful, features of a face of who won many battles in life, and that only time can tell.

  The headlights illuminate the wall of the backyard and I approach the gate. I get out of the car to open the garage, leaving the engine still running. So it was that I lost another car. I was robbed a few years ago. But tonight I do not have nerves or patience to turn off the engine. I just want to be home, in safe.

  The day is almost coming. I worked so much today, but I'm with a tiredness that is not common to me. Maybe it was all the stress I lived in this night. We never thought this could happen to us, until the time comes, as in a nightmare from which you can not escape. We felt like frightened children, wanting protection when an event of this nature happens. I know what those poor victims of the accident are now passing.

  No one is on the street. I'm standing in front of the garage, looking at the cell phone. Her number is already in my memory, as if I knew her. I remembered the napkin that was inside the car. I went to go get it and saw that it was written with her handwriting, it was not the letter of Fabio, the bartender Recanto Solidão, I was sure. I still felt on paper a scent that was familiar, a smooth and woody smell which it exuded of the napkin. That scent was not strange to me. If I was handwriting expert could discover much more in those few words that were written there. To uncover the hidden, what lies behind the face, the tear, which guarded secrets what they don’t want to be revealed, where are the paths of the mind that seeks to show the world through symbols of human behavior, the lines of spirit, I use my other techniques. Does mystery woman is cognizant of this, and purposely left that message with no name? I want to believe it was an oversight. Or she thought I'd call her the same night, leaving our meeting with an air of mystery?

  Now that I'm home with the most tranquil mind, I felt most keenly the scent exuded that piece of paper. Really, it was familiar.

  Inside the room, I sit in bed getting ready to sleep. Today the usual quiet of this house disturbs me. I would not want to be alone at this time. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, walking barefoot, feeling the cold floor. I look at the window, what is showing the first rays of sun. I'll lie down now and let the thoughts ramble in my mind. Maybe she appears in my dreams, but it is easier if I have nightmares about the dead from the accident! The girl who was in the back seat died with his eyes open.

  A little rest will do me good. I am seeking to relax to face the next day, when the routine embraces me with her everyday, leaving their marks. I know that everywhere in the world is this anyway. People work, eat, sleep, and live, anyway. But today, everything is different. The house colors are different. The noise of the clock on the wall seems to talk to me, counting the days of life I have left. I eye to the corners of the room with the same way when I was a kid. I am alone. I'll try to get some sleep. Who knows, tomorrow I discover something more about those letters in the bar napkin Recanto Solidão, and the phone number and address?

  I approach the door to extinguish the light of the room and put the phone to charge the battery. Now, I hear on the street the engine of a car, going at idle and with the volume loud. I hope he doesn’t stand in front of my door, because I need to sleep, or at least try to do so. I'll drink one more glass of water.

  Now, I am staring at the ceiling. I look then to one of the pictures on the wall; the images of the inside of it, appear to move. They are images of ocean waves. It is a picture I bought at Alto da Sé, Olinda. I eye that image and seek comfort in mind. At the bottom of the screen is a name written, Magnolia, and the year nineteen hundred and ninety Eight. I'll leave those memories occupy my mind when sleep comes. The woody scent napkin reminded me of someone. The day broke.

  To be continued…