I was even so of the cemetary without route, beyond not having explanations for nothing of what I had happened still I would have that to face my mother, I would kill me to it for having last the night I am, at that time this age well more serious of what nowadays. what I would say pra it? If not even I wise person to the certainty what she had happened in the reality. When I arrived in house all were seated in the sofa having consoled mother who was in prantos, at the moment that turns me the relief took account of its expressions, less of mother who it seemed not to believe that I was well, that she was alive. It: – My son for the love of God, for where you walked? I: – Calm mother I am well, I am that yesterday I was going pra party of the Slvia but in the way I lost the spirit and I was the house of another friend, knot we are talking and we did not see the time to pass then wove late pra very to come back pra house and it he said that I could sleep there and did not give pra to inform nobody, was alone this. It: But my son you had that to have informed, I imagined everything of bad that he could have happened with you, never more I make this please Mother I hugged me fort and I saw that they looked at me to all made an impression. Then I remembered that I had many hanging things in my head that I needed to organize and said: – Mother forgives me for everything I never more will make this again, I promises, but now I am very tired, necessary and a bath, I forgive me all but I go for my room, debtor for being with my mother. I lay down myself in my bed in the intention to close the eyes and to find an explanation for all that one madness, but I did not obtain to find and my head so was weighed that I badly could think right. The days if had passed, the years if they had passed, already it makes much time that everything happened but I remember this every day, I I try to convince that it was a dream but in deep I know that was not, also try to imagine that I had one I occasion in that night, but also know that he was conscientious of my acts, at last, I I do not know what he happened or if really happened, I only know that it is the souvenir marcante of my past and I believe that always he goes to be, I I always live my life waiting for a reply but also I content myself in thinking that perhaps I never know the truth.
A fine fog, followed of wind squalls, makes to raise me the gullet of japona and to more sink in the head the woollen cap. In foot, in the high one of the thick wall that serves of barrier in the entrance of the port contemplates, in the blackout of the night, the dark mass of the revolts waves of the ocean, that with boom beat soon below of me. Everything in return is desert. A little beyond, the dark and disformes countenances of great anchored ships. To far, the lights of some buoys of signalling, indicating the way for the boats. Absorbed in my thoughts, it seems as if it was in another dimension of time and space, and suddenly it comes me it the souvenir the image formed for my mind, of other seas, other distant lands and a man who at night costumava to sit down in a rock bank, in the Island of the Devil. Captain Dreyfus, victim of one of the biggest errors judicial of the history of France.
In this direction, here in this place, I feel myself completely exempts, but at the same time, I ask myself if this will not be only one illusion, perhaps therefore the true freedom is interior, according to Krishnamurti. Exterior, I believe that we are all prisoners of some thing. I am still a good motionless time there, later I follow for the little illuminated streets of the old city, in direction to the center. Soon ahead, some bars still opened. Some women of the night, with the sleepy heads on the tables thinking perhaps about its sad destinations as kept out of society of the life. Some few noctvagos passer-bys pass hasty escaping of the cold, that after some days of heat comes back now with redoubled force.