Eriberto Perreira de Bassos had a beautiful walking stick, with the handle tapered silver rod on a cedar liscissimo. It was not a man who made compromises. That rocked the relatives, was one who loved the idea of \u200b\u200bmaking himself alone. Every morning, day after day, putting on the dress usually modest, elegant and far from his broad-brimmed hat, and then gave a subsidiary onion hanging from the vest and hit the road. Still the same route to the lagoon Faro. A walk in the summer, in those hours of dawn that gave the ultimate cool and bike in the winter. He did not have any kind of affectation or vanity, perhaps the only was to look at all the people with whom he happened to interact, in the eyes, at least for a moment, during his day. Arrived at the marina in the lagoon after a half hour drive shipped, the two secretaries greeted with a friendly smile, resting his hat and then went out to give account. He counted the boats, her boats out for the day fishing, but the census with the greed of those who want to get rich at any cost, simply by the attention of those who wanted things to work the best. In principle, we would say today. Of its seven large sailing boats, had the account at least five should be out every day between the waves of the Atlantic. Of these, always thinking the worst, at least three were fall pregnant "peixe". If they were tuna were octopus, turtles and sharks. Different in nature or genre. With this faithful methodical, business almost always ended up going well. There was, then, the vision of Eriberto brother, Jose. He had climbed most of the first steps of the political hierarchy of the Algarve, Portugal then. Its laws on trade in fish, then they gave place to the economy of the town and Eriberto, which also often had not thought of as his brother, he was grateful for this. Mainly God At least two mornings a week, even ten minutes before he got up and went to "La Fe" to thank him on His way: a few coins in the offering box, a fast and a sign of the cross bow. That's it.
In the late afternoon, then came home Eriberto on the same path. Stop at the tavern of "Dois bois, drinking fast and came home. There was his two daughters waiting for him. The largest Rose was sixteen, the smallest Lita who had 12. His wife Matilda was gone from the day it came to light. A small black sgorbietto black, with two lights for eyes. They felt a bump and highly efficient housekeeper who had already been in the service, someone said "all directions", his brother Jose. That was 23 years Eriberto and had been dead for five. In Faro had dedicated a monument to José Bento de Bassos Perreira, right in the central square. That was a reference to Eriberto, nell'incedere morning from work.
was a frugal life, despite the considerable disposable income, perhaps sparing a life of pleasure for Eriberto, but full of small satisfactions. Giving work to more than fifty people was one of those, the sight of their daughters grow, the absence of the mother, but according to his moral standards it was another. He did everything himself, now well over twenty years before. A loan from the bank, the first sailing vessel on which he had sweated and then a second and third in the early years. Until you get to a real flotilla, in subsequent decades.
Sometimes then, on rare occasions that you went to school, the daughters of wealthy Eriberto followed their "daddy" to the lagoon. The largest and strong-willed Rose to lend a hand to the secretaries, the smallest Lita to play on the docks, taking care not to fall into the water muddy. Barefoot, with his legs dangling towards the gleaming mirror, Lita fantasized about traveling and leaders, of sailing ships swollen with wind and brave pirates Filibusta. Just as in the tales of Women's Madeira, their housekeeper who held good in the afternoon with imaginary stories of these adventures, on hold the return of Eriberto. An attempt to Lita that if he had ever taken on Rosa sortie any effect for a while '. At sixteen, in a slender body and well done, the already burning fire of passion healthier and more natural, a fire that was far off from the muscular arms of his contemporaries, the hub of one of the sixteen vessels in the fleet Perreira de Bassos.
Lita had discovered this secret love of his sister by chance, among the reeds on the edge of the lagoon, in a calm afternoon in summer. While Caracalla, dreaming of pirates and plumed hats, had heard the panting of his sister, and moving a group of reeds taller than her, had seen surrounded by quell'adolescente arms too man, who covered her with his body. He had spied
little understanding of that convulsive movement, flattened like a small and harmless wild animal in the bush. He had seen the boy's agile body swaying convulsively between his sister's legs in a rhythm that coincides had begun to upset without a reason. Finally, among the moans of the two teenagers had watched the face of the young cabin boy. Her green eyes like the water of the lagoon, its perfect feature nell'abbronzatura liscissima of his skin. She had seen him, he had studied how to be different from what he had known before, confused voices of the fishermen in the woods of his father, almost all older him. This time his eyes had settled there as eye falling on the fruit that slowly matures and acquires the color of life, flowing thick and spurts, like milk of life. He had made his body, had made his face, in the imagination of stories of women and Madeira had come to see it decorated with a thousand male earrings and pendants with pirate hat and a knife between his teeth, the last assault galleon with the effigy of Navarra.
saw him get dressed quickly, her face looked sweaty and happy look of his sister, and a cloud seemed to want to give breath to the image of whiteness, a temporary rifolo of coolness. Just to the time of a last kiss on his feet, before Regards and last embrace. This was the day that Lita, the second daughter of master Eriberto, the bank knew of carnal love, what he learned there in ragged whispers of the villagers to the passage of his housekeeper and the sigh of the night sister in her nightgown.
discovery was a small and light as a scent that the wind takes you away. Effluvium dynamic self-awareness that is taken and preserved for the future. That man's face went into the belly of his young girl, disposing stretched in the area between the belly and heart, where you have, and often poorly guarded expected, a love of inexperienced young girl.
A face that, from that day, the company held in the hottest nights of summer long, hot and sunny in the play through the streets of Faro, in the glittering covet the piers in the lagoon. A face and a body that came in, discovering unexplored recesses of his young soul. Lita
So the little woman who struggles to be in the physical, he began to follow his father more and more often in summer evenings without a school, in the frantic days of fishing more fruitful in the slower hours of waiting for the return of sailing ships and fish.
Eriberto was pleasantly surprised by the interest of second-alarm for that job as men and they have dreamed for her a future of rich businesswoman, because the first child, too accustomed to lace, could not that make a woman give her husband.
Lita came with his father in the morning, hoping to touch the hub of the ship that day and even a break did not happen, we lined up ready on the pier to wait for the return. She saw, with the eyes of his imagination, agile and proportionate winches move on, give the command to the older crew, control, manage and dispose of that god as the only profitable surf. Fantasies of teenagers in the first jolts of his heart.
I discovered day by day more beautiful in the morning was back among the scent of fresh fish and the brutal force of sailors watched the elastic and very strong in downloading overflowing coffers of small tuna and sharks and blue sharks, he saw him puff of a different rhythm than the reeds, spiandone every feature from the god of the sea.
had so taken to repeat his name. In the heart and mind, to spell with her voice, as if it were a gift from God, in moments of absolute solitude.
The biggest thrill for her was the day that the improvident hub, jumping off the bridge of the vessel, always the same, he walked toward her, smiled, recognizing its attention and, just as an adult with a child, with the same heart, the same generosity, put his hand smiling and soaked in three tiny pink crabs. Lita closed fist, and blushing, speechless, ran away to look at his gift. Three small hermit crabs from the rough shell that is writhing in search of water in the palm of that little girl.
was the most beautiful gift she had ever received, between the carnal opulence of the father in the most important anniversaries, including detailed gifts for family friends. Those notables of the province, whose ears have already arrived the sounds itchy hidden intrigues.
It happened, in fact, regularly, that Rosa and the young sailor meet less and less attentive to forms, times and places. Far from the eyes of Lita disinterested, but so close to the usual places where maids and rulers of different nature and arrangement of the opposite sex, they met with their lovers and boyfriends. And the rumor, those that disturb the arrangement of the human soul and making you forget that you wrap similar to a personal past, traveling as it is known that decision when they are unhealthy, there's always where it should not come. For the ears of "friends" that the sediment basking in that there is a dark, we play with the whispers in the occasions of gathering more hypocritical and then turn to those directly affected. But even when the game has lost all interest.
The voice of love, soiled from mouth to mouth, from whisper to whisper, soon came to master Eriberto, pragmatic man, but impetuous, intelligent but visceral. That morning in late summer
Eriberto Perreira de Bassos rose half an hour before, having ordered the delivery of maintenance for one of its vessels, from the day before. He went out in the usual way, he walked to the lagoon, greeted the secretary, he counted the vessels and then vanished. He waited for hours in the reeds with his walking stick-handled silver. And finally he saw.
Although most incredible and he was mocking what he saw under the sun of the Algarve, in a tiny clearing where a pine gave a good shade. He saw two teenagers who loved each other, which were filled with deep and long kisses, hugs huddled in endless looks thick as honey. He could not see two inexperienced boys who gave their bodies, as a gift only really important in an age that unawareness can lead to painful joints scornful pride, while in the two turns into a physical love that dirt was not even the grass in her hair or sweat descending abundant on the back of him. Eriberto
Padron, blinded by whispers, driven mad by the wrong sense of morality led to violence by the father's jealousy unprepared for all that, but saw his cabin boy who abused their daughter the same age. He saw his betrayal of the moral coward saw the kidnapping of his older children, so morally innocent. He saw all black as possible, when that color had already gobbled up all the other nuances love that color starting to get into hatred. He saw what his instincts allowed him to see insane.
He acted, therefore, as a man betrayed and hurt in his dearest affections.
knocked the strength of mule kicks, with the cedar of his staff. On the back. Once, twice, thrice. He lifted the boy's weight to her hair, oblivious to the shouts and cries of children that clung to the forearms.
dragged the young man, thrusts, then kicked to the main square in Faro. Here the sailor on his knees bloody face, back and knees, and then broke his stick, knocking one last time on those Terga tortured. He did not hear the tears its hub regressed child, slipping for daring young man's true. Strangled her to ask for forgiveness from the last blow was lost in the swarm of people who had knot soon, but no one dared to stop the hand of a father who went on strike a generous handful.
No one dared, because everyone knew. They knew that offense to the honor of a man who gave food to whole families, a righteous man, right. That was not compromised. That does not basked in their relatives in high places, but under the monument dedicated to them, in a fit of rage typical of the meek, he instinctively thought to wash the shame and insult to the work of father without a wife, a proud man who looked straight at me. Everyone knew, yes. But no one knew or wanted to express that love will inevitably become a disgrace for a man who could not understand. The last football
Eriberto Perreira de Bassos waged the panting alongside youngster bites. Then he went picking his broad-brimmed hat and wiping the dust from her face drenched with the forearm sore from so much beating. People began to flow, while the boy was left lying, crying. Like a child. Like what it was.
like a man from the instincts, from thinking of the young, the agitation of the Child. Unable to react bruised, but able to have unknowing. Owning a woman who was too "daughter" to be such.
remained on the corner that his house was one of the many streets that flowed into the square, a small figure in the head shaking, eyes too big and the small fists clenched. A pretty girl of twelve, now incapable before such a slaughter, to dream of sailing ships, pirates and ladies in love. Unable to see that being returned to its peers, the hero of her dreams, the filibuster of his boarding of a young girl. Unable also plan to repeat his name: "Amancio", adorned in that term of endearment that emerged from a boyish love: "A-man-us-to". He stood alone then
watching his hero laid low, unfairly humiliated, mortified soul before the body. There would be no more for her dreams of "swashbuckling" fantastic journeys face fierce and artificially aged Amancio. He once was fearless pirate captain without blemish, without a doubt the leader. Now crying by his peers, in dirt, his face bruised and his back. Would remain for Lita, second daughter of a man too proud in its certainties, only Amoretti and unhealthy infatuation. Looking for a hero in the face of his first kiss, a pirate in the first few years after lovemaking secrets, a leader in her two husbands.
no doubt about the nature of man as a poor such, the lover as an object of desire, love "real" as drive control. Had the charming face of her first husband, Basque, or the last heavy prowess. The sea captain he would give Andalusian third name, Balaidos.
That day in late summer in the Algarve, between the silent glances of the villagers, under the monument to his uncle, the little Perreira de Estrela Bassos prepared to become a woman with diverted instincts. Able to hold one thousand men, even one incapable of Amarna, without having to imagine the face in the dust, begging forgiveness in the midst of tears as a child. There would be no male figure in a position to raise spirit, to make her feel companion of a hero, a female leader. His legacy, one that took shape in the coming years when his father died, in addition to large capital shared with his sister and an unhealthy freedom was quell'incapacità to see, to accept a partner as a "hero" of that novel dyes strong that had become his life.
There would always be a stick in her soaring, which drops hissing on the back of every potential love. How hiss of thin wood, which splits the air very fast, which becomes whistle and does not allow you any peace. Any emotional abandonment that would lead to true love.
When the "Forat Vermell" that April night, Estrela Balaidos had rested his eyes on Esteban Labruna, before they can cast his eye over the depraved red brick wall, a shiver went up from the legs, through the shaped thighs. The feature of the young architect, his long-limbed prowess, his moves from a cardboard hero, his attitude to be leader of anything, had impressed so much to be wished away, explaining that passion out to a name that was not chosen at random and that came out from inside, from a similarity of skills and features that announced both a culmination of dusty flogging. Amancio. "A-man-us-to".
A name that was a conscious mocked him, of his being; and a bitter note their inability to accept love for what it is. A dream of heroes, captains and pirates, no matter the reality. I just do not care.
Esteban Labruna was, unaware. Like a child playing in the street, heedless of cars whizzing, crouched on her toy. Invisible to the eye of the driver, to self-love, stressing his name was "Amancio", experiencing this bizarre game untamed filly, distracted by his master. Fragile, because leaning on his executioner, as prey to predator. Yet peaceful, as if her feel less heavy and more complex, like a blossoming flower, that's guaranteed confidence in the woman who had long since begun to love. For the first time in his life.
His reason and admit he had arms that could stretch on Estrela, the object of his love, but had deep roots that go down down in search of the naive nature of his feelings. Because of his young heart now pulsating in this strange and strong, because one of the many women who had owned her own, all of which was the rough, he had taken to holding it in one hand down to your heart.
was the question that all men do when they love you so much for the first time and this feeling touches you in more mature, more questions and non-response, sounds like enough, but impetuous and esondanti.
The answer it gave was in the waivers. In all those times that his heart had stopped on the threshold of a second, a gallant third exit, the door to open doors, feminine on the last syllable of a word as simple as "I love you ', on the fear that had always had. No longer master of himself. His flexible body, its brilliant and dissolute life that he preferred to curl up so much land needs to make it unreliable for every noble sentiment.
So as soon as it was voted to the unconditional protection of his master, from the moment this selfishness was trembling began to crumble, the gates of his perceptions were wide open and sticks his heart began to throb. Don's friendship towards infinite happiness, livid hatred towards a silver cross pendant, love for Estrela, whose image on the heights of his feeling it is now the clouds with new hope. This is unique emotions
voted impetuous vortex, stretching the spokes of their order so long ago, finding their "eye" final in the way we live now. E 'as a really splendid "maelstrom" in reverse, where peace and happiness are found only in the tangle of circular waves and driving, when the sea is calm around you speaks only of suffering, fear and mediocrity. Fear to hear. Fear of living.
These emotions that were in the ropes of each, though each had the strength to face a journey of such hardship and courage, seemingly pointless. Because only those who has long been private, so can indulge in the joy of conscious desire, and find a way of getting to their sacrifices.
The sense of the sacrifices of Estrela, I gave that guy that was sleeping next door. A Amancio he knew when he was beaten up again, who knew how to react to their mistakes as a youth and a man, now that fate had requested it, and give reasons. Who could collect the blows of his stick and hissing that disrupt the parched certainties of his deviant femininity. The sense of the sacrifices
Esteban was instead hidden in the force young and clean and that now pervades seemed able, in the heart of quell'ennesima night of love and passion, to plan for the unexpected genius salvations that destiny had given him, and protections for the love that had never really expected to live. An overwhelming love, lived with a young heart that had never spent before.
Two bodies came together on those nights, and they were two bodies with one soul, too long divided.
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