Saí para a rua e pus-me a pensar nisso em que levo o dia inteiro a pensar. Nas cigarras. Digo a mim própria que as cigarras têm toda a razão e que não sei quem foi o estúpido que um dia disse o contrário, não sei quem se lembrou de propor que as cigarras mudassem. Grande parvoíce. As formigas é que deviam mudar, pois, coitadas, são tão parvas. Dizer que uma cigarra deve trabalhar foi uma imbecilidade repetida durante séculos. As formigas sim, deviam ser cigarras, fazia-lhes bem o ócio, nenhuma formiga devia privar-se de uma sensação tão maravilhosa como a de saber dizer não, mandar ao inferno de uma vez por todas o seu feliz e pesado ninho laborioso.
Enrique Vila-Matas, in Filhos sem Filhos
tradução de José Agostinho Baptista
© Assírio & Alvim
às Madamas Alis e Margaretas :)
a nós, as férias!
recuperamos este post para homenagear Harold Pinter, o Nobel da Literatura 2005.
JAMES: [Confidentially] When you treat my wife like a whore, then I think I'm entitled to know what you've got to say about it.
BILL: But I don't know your wife.
JAMES: You do. You met her at ten o'clock last Friday in the lounge. You fell into conversation, you bought her a couple of drinks, you went upstairs together in the lift. In the lift you never took your eyes from her, you found you were both on the same floor, you helped her out, by her arm. You stood with her in the corridor, looking at her. You touched her shoulder, said goodnight, went to your room, she went to hers, you changed into your yellow pyjamas and black dressing gown, you went down the passage and knocked on her door, you'd left your toothpaste in town. She opened the door, you went in, she was still dressed. You admired the room, it was so feminine, you felt awake, didn't feel like sleeping, you sat down on the bed. She wanted you to go, you wouldn't. She became upset, you sympathized, away from home, on business, horrible life, especially for a woman, You Comforted her, you gave her solace, you stayed.
[Pause]
BiLL: Look, do you mind... just going off now. You're giving me a bit of a headache.
JAMES: You knew she was married... why did you feel it necessary... to do that?
BILL: She must have known she was married too. Why did she feel it necessary... to do that?
excerto de The Collection, de Harold Pinter