IV - Second Tale
It was like any other night, in any given bar, with any costummers, in any city. The same cups, supposedly clean, the same tables with people talking louder than normal, and many drinks been served - in general, the same cheap drinks. The bartender was cleaning the cups and serving the people in the balcony. A man, in his late 30s, sat and asked for a caipirinha¹ with ice and lemon. In the opposite side of the balcony, another man, also in his late 30s, asked a beer. They were both distracted with mundane stuff, eating peanuts from a recipient left over the balcony (what is not really recommended, since lots of people talk over them and serve themself with hands not exactly clean), trying to adjust the height of the seat (also not recommended, remembering that someone, that doesn’t have much respect for others, could have left a bubble gum waiting for someone to glue their hand, and the possibility of falling because the chair is not exactly firm). And that distraction made none of them realize that the bartender served them the wrong beverage until he was long gone and occupied with other clients.
Although there are many not recommended activities that can be realized at a bar, one that is a little more recommended are great doses of kindness (however, in a society of non-recommendations, kindness is not always seem with good eyes, because many ill-intentioned pretend to be kindness their evilness, what is not the case). The kindness was what made the caipirinha man, that here on we will call Alan (not his real name) get up and go to the other side of the bar switch back the drinks. “Thanks”, the beer man, that here on we will call Henrique (or Henri, also not his real name), thanked.
One of the great things about kindness, and that makes us have some faith in humanity, is that it multiplies, and is, in many times, reciprocated. And that feeling of reciprocity made Henri go to Alan and offer to pay for his next drink, not for the need to put a monetary value in kindness, but to make him company while he sees a small smile surge on his frown.
***
It was night again, and, again, the bartender switch up Alan’s and Henri’s drinks. But, this time, it was Henri who got up to switch them back. As we said, kindness is contagious. And, as Henri did, Alan offered to pay Henri a drink, but not his usual beer, because, as he said, it’s always good to try something new.
“I worked as a bartender in college. Leaving alone, family in other state, I need to make ends meet”, Alan said after asking their drinks, “I understand, I also got some random jobs while I was in college, and that had nothing to do with what I was studying”, “Yeah… I worked in a bar that closed after the owners went back to their city. It was really good, but quite expensive. I learned a lot about drinks, and now I know what to ask for. But that was all a long time ago”.
It was so good to have a conversation like that, with unspecific matters, and both of them looked a little lighter that night, in part because of the alcohol, but mostly because they needed that human contact. “And what do you work with now?”, “Accountability”, Alan’s voice tone showed the lack of interest for his current profession”, “You don’t look really happy in comparison”. Alan shrugs and takes a sip of his drink, and looks down, playing with his wedding ring. “Honestly, I don’t think that the work is bad, per se, working with numbers and all that… It is peaceful, with the stability I didn’t have when I was young, working until morning and having to expel the ones that crossed the limits… But I guess when we are growing we raise to mut expectation, trying to hug the world, and after that we end screwing everything when we realize the world is too big, and us too small”.
He makes a brief pause and takes another sip, his eyes red as if containing too much feeling that he needed to let go. “Despite it all, I still have my small fortuitous happiness. Nowaday, I get happy when I avoid that Dona² Edith, that has a small shop, goes bankrupt because she doesn’t understand about accountability, or mathematics. Or when I help Seu³ Francisco with his taxes. Or when Mr. Hashida sends me apples through his daughter to thank me for another year. Or when Seu Manuel e Dona Estela to keep their farm, after a bad harvest. Little things that the others seem to not care about”. Henri laughs, a sad laugh. “I think that any work is like that, or we see the beauty in the little things, or the monotony of the cotidian eats us up, making everyday a calvary, and nothing can satisfact you”, “What do you work with?”. Henri’s eyes get filled with tears, and he speaks slowly, as if he would lose his voice “Honestly? I don’t know. I wake up, get dressed, and stay all day in front a computer. I write reports about profits and losses. But I don’t even know which product the emprise fabrics, or it fabrics any product. It doesn’t matter, it’s only a data in my sheet, a zillion of numbers”. Alan tries to reach his hand, but stops, ashamed. “I don’t know what to say to help you, sorry”, “I don’t need any words to cheer me, I’m already conformed”. Henri smiles a fake smile. “And doesn’t it makes you feel even worse?”, “It’s just a part of life, between childhood and retirement. We survive as we can, without expecting much. If a can work enough to grow old before they make it impossible to retire, I’m satisfied”.
***
That night, in front of the bar, if Alan had a colour it was rage-red, like the lighter he tried to use to light his cigarette. But it didn’t work, and he tossed it, raising the red dust. “This shitty lighter”. That moment, he looked more like a child throwing a tantrum them a grown up man.
Henri picked up the lighter and ignited it, keeping the flame stable and offered to light Alan’s cigarette. Alan became a little less rage-red and more orange-insatisfaction illuminated by the flame. “Thanks”, his voice calmer”, “You’re welcome”. Alan gets another cigarette and offers to Henri, that refuses, “I don’t smoke”. He puts the cigar away. “Aren’t you could? It’s freezing tonight!”, “I can’t smoke inside”. Alan releases the smoke and Henri coughs. Henri gets inside the bar, leaving Alan alone, resting onto the wall whilst observing the stars on the sky and the smoke rising to meet them.
***
Alan finished the first cigar and was trying to light another, again without success. He was about to toss the lighter again when Henri offered him a cup of whisky. “It may not be when of those fancy drinks that you like, but it’s gonna help you warming up. You’re shaking like a bamboo in the wind. Alan gets the drink. “You didn’t need to...”, “I know, but I would rather not see you freezing. Do you want me to light it for you?”, “Nevermind, I think it’s better for me to go inside, it’s really could here”. Henri smiled, for real. “I will make you company”.
***
It wasn’t even 11 p.m., but Henrique seemed to have passed the night drinking. His clothes were wrinkled and the bottles piled up in the table denouncing his drunkenness. The bartender started cleaning the table and taking away the empty bottles. “One more, please”, the bartender heard him ask among many hiccups. “Sir, I think it would be better…”, “One more!”, “I think it’s better to stop…”. Henri could certainly hear him, but obviously he was not listening. His mind was somewhere else, in the world that all drunkers go to when they need to forget that exists a world. Alan touched the bartender shoulder, “It’s okay, I take care of him. Could you bring us a bottle of water, please?, “Sure, sure. Just a second”.
The bartender went away and Alan sit in front of Henrique. As soon as he noted him, Henri got his head down with shame and sorrow. He didn’t want him to see him like that. “Hi, how are you?”. Henri didn’t answer, he didn’t wanna answer. “It’s okay if you wanna stay quiet, I can wait”. Henri felt his shame grow and grow. He wanted to escape, so that Alan would not see that face of him. “I imagine you are not feeling well, but I will be here when you are ready to talk”. Alan didn’t know how to help, if Henri really wanted to talk, but there was no other thing he could do. The bartender brought the water and split it in two cups. Henri stayed a long time looking at it before deciding to drink.
Little by little, the shame was substituted by the need to free the feelings and pain that brought him there. Alan waited for many minutes, in silence, whilst the bottles of alcohol disappeared and the bottle of water emptied.
“Today was not my day, clearly”, he spoke, without taking his eyes of the table, “Do you know when fuck everything at work, and you have no idea how to fix it?”, “Of course”, “I lost the count of how many times I did it. But it seems I can’t learn. It’s a simples job, mechanic, and not even that I can do. I can only think: what the fuck am I doing there? If even in my job I am useless, what to expect?”. His eyes were filled with tears, but he rubbed them to avoid the crying. “Do you remember that plan of keep working to survive ‘till it’s time to retire? I don’t think it’s gonna work, because the work will destroy me before that”. In a mix of pain and anger, he smashes his right hand on the table, while trying to hide his tears with the other hand. Alan reaches his hand and, even though he thinks about stopping, he gets closer, putting his hand over his. Henri finally allows himself to feel, and holds strongly to Alan, as if trying to grab that moment, and keep himself in that whirlwind of feelings. “Do you need a ride home?”, Alan asks, without waiting for a answer.
***
They left the bar when it was almost closing, and now, as Alan drived through the streets, the sun threatened to rise in the horizon. Henrique laid his head on the window, trying to keep himself awake, while his red eyes asked to be closed. “And now?”, woken up from his trance, he realised that he still had to guide Alan to his house, “Take the next right”, his distant voice said much. He rubbed his eyes again. He regretted crying, although a voice, deep inside, suppressed by all his “manhood”, said he needed to cry. He didn’t wanna look Alan directly, because he feared that if he did that, it would start all over again. He would feel again the sadness that made he go to the bar, and the need to speak out. But when he side looked Alan, he felt the safety to go through that all over, and let himself be taken over his emotions.
Alan turn right. “Which building?”, “The second one”. He parked the car right in front of it. Henri looked the building up and down, and faced the car door. He was still a little dizzy from the drinking. “Thank you”, the only words he could whisper, “You are always welcomed, I couldn’t leave you like that”. He felt he couldn’t end that evening like that. Why? Because he helped him in a hard situation? Because he finally found someone whom he could trust? He looked at Alan and, in the briefs seconds of goodbye, the door that had been opened for the feelings, let even more of them in. He got closer to that good samaritan, pressing his lips gently against his, and, in a blink of an eye, four in fact, that moment started and ended and, before anyone could say pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis⁴, Henrique was in his apartment, trying to understand what he had done, and Alan was alone in his car trying to remember if he had drank something or that really had happened.
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