Life follows its course: Each one follows their destiny. I am currently going to Portugal at the invitation of my friends Mr. José, Isolda and Dona Laurinda.

I barely sat down on the plane and, while people were looking for their seats, I took my pad of paper, previously sharpened pencil and I’m already writing. I’m happy, because today I have plenty of sheets, where I can write my impressions of this   trip that I’m taking alone for the first time. I often only write on paper napkins, or on some sheet that I find lost in my purse. I’m writing so fast that people might think I might be a little abnormal, because on second thought, I don’t think it’s very normal what I’m doing. But that’s how I like to kill time, and I’m anxious to write down my impressions of that trip.

       

My family is currently following their lives in different ways: Carlos Eduardo, my husband, is in China; Carlos Eduardo, my son, in Campinas; Teresa in Rio, Cláudia and Paula in London and me going to Portugal. We are apart, but more than ever together in thought, and each day loving each other more despite the great longing we feel.

As I said above, today alone I travel to Peroselo. I’m curious to get to know this small village that is an hour away from Porto and, right now, I can feel that this small village will be as welcoming as the friends who will welcome me there.

With Claudia’s help I got to the airport. Thanks to her, I was able to overcome all the obstacles we encountered on our way, like the escalator at Green Park station that was out of order. Poor thing… She had to carry my very heavy bag in her arms and at the speed of hurried Londoners. Only those who live in London know them. If we don’t follow their rhythm, we are capable of being run over.

   

They say I like to make up stories, that I have a fertile imagination and I like to romanticize life, but I often come across certain situations that I like to write and keep in my memories. So I’m going to take advantage and write my adventure today.

As soon as we were called to board, euphoric, passengers got up, naturally thinking they were calling us to start the trip. Unfortunately, after a long wait, we were asked to sit in a room closer to the departure gate. As soon as I sat down, a young couple sat in front of me, getting so close that I accidentally heard what they were talking about. I started to get curious, and little by little I was unraveling the mystery, or some mystery that could exist in their lives. But, as time went by, I became frustrated, as my fertile imagination had already gone beyond what was happening between the two. What I heard didn’t sound very interesting. They were just two unknown young people, who, like me, followedyour destiny. She, a young Portuguese woman, very attractive in her small figure, had green eyes and her long hair was dyed a blonde streaked color. She was very well dressed in long pants, a silk tunic, and her high-heeled shoes were embellished with colored stones. She wore several beautiful bracelets, which made noise when she waved her arms. In her lap, she held a child who was also noisy, and already disturbed people sitting around her. I imagine crying hungry or maybe tired from the long wait . The boy lookeda Russian dancer. He had his brown hair neatly cut, wore blue jeans and a black coat. Together they began to talk. She was always more talkative than he was, who very awkwardly always rocked the child on her lap. They weren’t married as I’d thought, she’d been a careless mother. As she said, she lived in London, and returned to her city twenty minutes away from Porto. While she moved her head with her colorful earrings, she continued to tell some passages of her life. She would have to leave London to care for the child unless she could find someone she could trust with her child. I thought to myself: “Soon you will return to London without your son”. I felt like I wasn’t treating her son like a real mother, appearing to be awkwardly holding a package in her lap.

       

 After more than an hour of waiting to start the trip, as the plane climbed, as usual, I started to feel a little apprehensive. I felt that the plane was too small… And I thought to myself: “I don’t know which is worse, traveling in a small plane or a big one”. Anyway, I had to fly to get to Peroselo, and I decided to forget that I was on top of the clouds and flying higher than the birds. As time went by, I became calmer, and eager to finish dinner and continue writing. My neighbor next door seemed to be friendly and very sad… But, I’d rather write thantalk to a stranger. She wanted to continue writing some more about the memories of that trip. I wanted to put on paper how much I missed my daughters and my home: I feel tears in my eyes when I think of my farewell lunch with Cláudia and Paula. Together, we talked a lot about life, and about dear people who were far away. I miss you so much, don’t you? Cláudia , I just had a delicious coffee and I thought of you. I know how much you love a hot cup of coffee. As I told Paula, when one day I was crying missing Teresa, it was enough to be away from anyone in my family to always feel that longing, which is very intense. I always seem to leave a little piece of myself behind when I’m away.Paula, I can still hear your sweet voice when we once again said goodbye    over the phone from the airport.

After finishing dinner, and having tried not to think about my children and Carlos Eduardo who was so far away from me, my thoughts returned once again to the couple that had so much piqued my curiosity. The moment they both got on the plane, he was holding the child inside a baby seat. I wondered if it was out of politeness, charity or who knows… With ulterior motives. That was already part of my fertile imagination. Poor boy , enteredon the plane looking like a father, but without being. I felt like I was in charge of her life, because only I and the plane’s computer knew her true identity. She was right behind, fumbling with the rest of the stuff she was carrying, her clattering bracelets continuing to clatter against each other. With his help, she found her seat number and settled in with the child. That’s when he had the big surprise, to see that they were next door neighbors. I listened as she said, “What a coincidence! We are sitting together!” I couldn’t tell from the tone of her voice if she was happy or not. From where I was sitting it was hard to see her face. Unfortunately  or fortunately, they weren’t together much, as the baby sat between them. The baby was crying a lot, and the boy looked a little suspiciously from the side, perhaps regretting having approached a stranger. Did he think about having some future encounter with that beautiful person? I am sure, however, that he failed to think about the unintentional consequences that that meeting could cause him. As always very calm, he picked up his newspaper to read it, but even then he was not calm, because the child continued to cry. His mother kept calling him “crazy baby”, which did nothing to calm him down. Fortunately, after some time, for everyone’s peace of mind, the baby fell asleep. The young mother was always talking and smiling. I kept thinking, how could he be so cheerful and talkative in the situation he was in. She was almost sure that waiting for her, she would find a good Portuguese mother, assisted by good maids, to take care of her son, and who knows, she would return to London to continue living the life she used to live. That was the only way I could understand this casual tranquility. As time went by, my curiosity grew, wanting to know a little more about their lives. My ear was sharp, but I heard little. He sometimes smiled, amused by what she said. What is it that she talks about so much! So I decided to stop thinking about them for a while. So far, in the matter of the story I was trying to write, nothing special was happening. I was already feeling tired. I started thinking about my family again. I kept thinking about Teresa, whether she had arrived safely in Campinas. What would she be doing at that moment? I imagine eating a delicious pizza with her brother, as she had planned to spend the weekend with him. I thought about Carlos Eduardo in China, and how she would be running the seminar. And Claudia and Paula in London? What would they be doing?  I slept little during the night, and from the movement around me and the time I feel has passed, we should already be arriving. I decided to talk a little with my neighbor from the bank… I feel that she is a little sad and in need of help. I will end here this first chapter of the events of that trip. Will I ever   finish it, or, who knows, will it remain unfinished like other stories I’ve written…         

After spending two weeks in Peroselo, while waiting for the plane at Porto airport to return to London, I wrote this poem

 

WAITING TIME.

 

 

Waiting time

Time to think.

Thinking about what we’ve been through,

And how we live our life.

 

Experience unforgettable moments

Happy moments

At the invitation of…

Mr. José, Isolda and Dona Laurinda,

 

People with pure and big hearts,

Warm hearted and friendly people.

People who introduced me to Penafiel

And to a beautiful village they called Peroselo.

 

Land where Mr. Joseph,

And also Dona Laurinda.

land where I felt

A great devotion to Mary.

 

Land of little giants,

Portuguese heroes of steep quarries.

Heroes of deformed hands,

Almost granitized by heavy work on the ground.

 

I depart from Portugal,

Land covered by gigantic stone mountains.

Land covered with cornfields, haystacks,

And from vineyards, where the best table wine is extracted.

 

Waiting time, thinking time.

Thinking of thanking Mr. José, Isolda and Dona Laurinda.

Enchanted moments, moments of affection.

Moments I spent in a beautiful little house.

 

Little blue and white house covered in stone,

Little house that smelled like wine.

Inside they burned pine with firewood,

Outside… It was surrounded by red geraniums.

 

things to think about,

Think and remember:

Bell that rings, mass in the church,

Reza do rosario and the noise of the motorbike passing by.

 

So continues the rooster crowing

And life in the village.

Peroselo, a place I went and liked.

Place that there… Friends I left .

London . I had been home for almost a month when I decided to finish this story. I won’t write much, I’ll just write about my next-door neighbor, and finish the second and last chapter of the   story of the couple who weren’t married, and the father who wasn’t a father.

As I had imagined, my traveling companion was a good, needy and sad person. She was an English lady, married to a Portuguese gentleman, with whom she lived happily together for many years, until one day, suddenly, her husband died. She was an English teacher, lived in a small village, and the saddest thing is that not two months ago she had lost her only child to cancer. He was 34 years old, single and a history teacher. They lived together, and this son was her only company. In life certain people   are marked by suffering. I felt sorry for not having paid a little more attention to this person who was suffering so much during the trip. If I had known what she was going through…

As for the young couple, their departure from the plane was very interesting. I found the two by the conveyor belt waiting for the bags. He continued to carry the baby looking really like a loving father. She was beaming. I thought to myself, “Lucky girl”. As Vinícius said: “Forgive the ugly ones, but beauty is fundamental”, and she had it in abundance.

While we waited for our bags, I stayed with my sad neighbor. I was crazy to tell what I knew about the life of the young couple that was in front of us saying that they were not married and that the boy was not the father of the child. But selfishly, and with a strange satisfaction, I kept those moments to myself. My memories of this trip I took alone for the first time.

MARIA LUCIA COSTA

London-Portugal  –   09.31.89