Sweethearts

No sonho, éramos desconhecidos e namorados. Ela era baixa, tinha cabelos pretos e dentes muito brancos. Tinha um sorriso tímido e brilhante nos olhos e me olhava com alguma desconfiança, mas não com uma desconfiança hostil; era como se fosse uma criança que via alguém pela primeira vez e, como sempre acontece, trazia no olhar ao mesmo tempo uma curiosidade, um receio e um convite. Eu a amava como nunca pude amar ninguém que existiu.

Estávamos ora caminhando por um condomínio, ora em um apartamento. Tínhamos medo. Por causa desse medo, como em geral ocorre entre desconhecidos, estávamos muito unidos e tínhamos sobre o que falar. Não parávamos de andar.

O motivo do medo era uma cobra coral que nos perseguia. Era uma cobra coral com o corpo grosso, muito diferente de como elas são de fato. Eu sabia que assim que a matassem eu acordaria. Estava preso e queria estar, ao mesmo tempo em que uma angústia me apertava porque sempre que parecíamos a salvo, a cobra ressurgia.

Alguém matou a cobra com uma faca. Suspirei. Voltei-me para a menina e a beijei. Tenho quase certeza de que foi o nosso primeiro beijo. Foi certamente o último.

Anúncios

So God made a farmer

And on the 8th day, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, “I need a caretaker.” So God made a farmer.

God said, “I need somebody willing to get up before dawn, milk cows, work all day in the fields, milk cows again, eat supper and then go to town and stay past midnight at a meeting of the school board.” So God made a farmer.

“I need somebody with arms strong enough to rustle a calf and yet gentle enough to deliver his own grandchild. Somebody to call hogs, tame cantankerous machinery, come home hungry, have to wait lunch until his wife’s done feeding visiting ladies and tell the ladies to be sure and come back real soon — and mean it.” So God made a farmer.

God said, “I need somebody willing to sit up all night with a newborn colt. And watch it die. Then dry his eyes and say, ‘Maybe next year.’ I need somebody who can shape an ax handle from a persimmon sprout, shoe a horse with a hunk of car tire, who can make harness out of haywire, feed sacks and shoe scraps. And who, planting time and harvest season, will finish his forty-hour week by Tuesday noon, then, pain’n from ‘tractor back,’ put in another seventy-two hours.” So God made a farmer.

God had to have somebody willing to ride the ruts at double speed to get the hay in ahead of the rain clouds and yet stop in mid-field and race to help when he sees the first smoke from a neighbor’s place. So God made a farmer.

God said, “I need somebody strong enough to clear trees and heave bails, yet gentle enough to tame lambs and wean pigs and tend the pink-combed pullets, who will stop his mower for an hour to splint the broken leg of a meadow lark. It had to be somebody who’d plow deep and straight and not cut corners. Somebody to seed, weed, feed, breed and rake and disc and plow and plant and tie the fleece and strain the milk and replenish the self-feeder and finish a hard week’s work with a five-mile drive to church.

“Somebody who’d bale a family together with the soft strong bonds of sharing, who would laugh and then sigh, and then reply, with smiling eyes, when his son says he wants to spend his life ‘doing what dad does.'” So God made a farmer.