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O pudim de Albertina (7Letras)

O pudim de Albertina (7Letras)
Short stories

“He held the remote control and switched the talk show off. It was already dawn and there was no more time: he had to die. He looked around and felt lazy. Cutting his wrists would be hard work; he didn’t own a gun, had forgotten to buy some kind of poison and, unfortunately, his grandmother was not around anymore to cook the beef tripe stew, which – according to some tasteless family gossip – had been the cause of the unintentional food poisoning that killed his grandfather.
Waiting was all he could do. He allowed his obese body to spend that last night on the couch; he wouldn’t brush his teeth or take a shower – no one would worry about that in the afterlife. Later he reflected: even dead he might give off bad smells through his pajamas. He pictured Albertina covering her nose at the funeral and got scrupulous. The final sacrifice was necessary: he stood up with difficulty – for, besides being fat, he was drunk – and dragged himself to the bathroom in zigzag through the corridor sprinkled with crumbs and leftovers.”

(“O pudim de Albertina”, p.19)

O contorno do sol (Rocco)

O contorno do sol (Rocco)

“The night. I would have to cross it over, just like I had, on my own, crossed the bridge between the maternal bell jar and being born. This could be another birth: being thrown out by the night and find myself alive, above all new, after all the pain. Or I could simply shut the portals, stop halfway through the bridge, surrender to the lack of air and close my eyes, to let them be opened later, by angel, fire or worm.”


Escritores escritos (Flâneur)

Escritores escritos (Flâneur)

Anthology - various authors
Compiled by Victoria Saramago
Preface by Italo Moriconi

“But yesterday. The power went out in her house just when she was going to start telling me about the poem. She said the silly things I’d written reminded her of somebody’s text, she mentioned the name, maybe more than one, and I was going to pretend that I’d already heard of them, but she noticed. “Don’t disguise it, Elaine, I know you’ve never heard of Dickinson”. She repeated it so many times that I memorized it, Dickinson; I just don’t remember the first name, but it was female. “Is my brother picking you up here?”, I asked, feeling like going to the movies with them, by car, but feeling more like changing the subject. I was getting a little nervous, I always got nervous when Silvia wore the sleeveless dress, the yellow one; it’s nothing really, it’s just because I like that dress and I know that it wouldn’t suit me. Hardly anything suits me. But it wasn’t exactly the dress.”

(“Tarde de pedra”, p.135)

A menina de véu (Rocco)


“Vítor, please, fall in love with me, I suggested in a whisper, crying and laughing at the same time, so much turbulence in the ocean which unraveled in this hemisphere. And the waves on the other side, so smooth. I also remember he poured more whisky for me and suddenly asked: Why do you keep running away? I stared at the glistening glass and decided to think that I was not running away from anything because nothing had happened! If they stole my face, they might as well steal the facts, just as if they hadn’t happened!
And maybe they hadn’t, I thought, painfully happy, I went on to hold him, changing the subjects, in ecstasy I grabbed his face almost scratching it with my nails, I kissed him and tasted the whisky, the tobacco, I breathed heavily, pulled his shirt collar, but the fabric went slack, my hands slid, and when he said goodbye I headed for the toilet mirror, to break it.”