Selected Cronicas

RETURN TO NATURE (EXTRACT)

In Rio there was a place with an open hearth. And when she saw that it was not only cold but raining in the trees, she could not believe she had been given so much. The world awakening with something she did not even realize she needed, as if she were suffering from hunger. It was raining, raining. The flames wink at her and her man. He takes care of the things she takes for granted. He pokes the fire in the hearth as if it were his duty from birth. While she — who is ever restless and busying herself trying out this and that — never so much as remembers to poke the fire. That is not her job. After all, what does she have a man for? If he is a man, then let him carry out his mission. All she is prepared to do is to coax him: ‘That piece of wood,’ she tells him, ‘still hasn’t caught fire.’ And before she can finish saying what she has to say, the man has seen the piece of wood for himself and is already poking at it. Not because she ordered him to, for she is the man’s wife and he would lose his authority if she were to start giving him orders. His other hand, which is free, is within reach. She knows but does not take it. His hand is there for the taking if she so desires and that is all she asks.

Ah, to think all this will end! For it cannot last by itself. No, no, she is not referring to the fire, she is referring to what she feels. What she feels never lasts, what she feels always comes to an end, perhaps never to return. So she savours this moment, consumes its fire, and the sweet fire burns, burns and glows. Then she who knows that everything must end, reaches out and, as she takes the man’s free hand in hers, she sweetly burns, burns and glows.