Noite de Inverno

“Se eu não achar cama, virei para a tua, disse o mendigo à morte.”
                             Cláudio Feldman
            Fecha a porta do banheiro e o basculante. Aquece o ambiente trancando o ar entre as quatro paredes e obedece ao ritual de todas as noites que, hoje, se faz muito fria. Despe-se, rapidamente, enquanto a água do chuveiro desce farta e quente inundando o ambiente com uma nebulosa de fumaça. Deixa o corpo sorver desta maravilha alguns segundos, antes de iniciar a higiene diária. Fecha os olhos para que o seu interior também absorva os benfazejos do banho, quando vê o mendigo seminu encolhido sob o jornal, na vã tentativa de dominar o frio que o invade. Tenta, desesperadamente, abrir os olhos para fugir da imagem que o atormenta. Qual o quê! A imagem insiste e persiste dentro da sua retina como se o acusasse do prazer, ora, desfrutado. Repentinamente, a água esfria, gela. Sente um arrepio de dor e horror percorrer-lhe o corpo. Ergue a mão e puxa a felpuda e macia toalha para agasalhar o corpo. Fecha a torneira imediatamente, ao mesmo tempo em que vislumbra, finalmente, duas gotas de lágrimas descendo pelo rosto do homem roto. Sofregamente, leva a toalha aos olhos tentando afastar a imagem que o alucina, mas ela não se desfaz. Impera. Um homem só, numa esquina qualquer, debaixo de uma marquise tenta se proteger do frio que invade seu frágil corpo. A imagem é constante, instigante, penetrante.
            Enxuga-se numa fração de segundos e vai, paulatinamente, colocando as peças sobre o corpo. Finalmente, o sobretudo. Dirige-se à janela e, do 12o andar, seus olhos se encontram aos do outro lá embaixo e sente a hierarquia da diferença. Ele no alto e o outro embaixo, em todos os sentidos.
            Fecha a cortina abruptamente.
            Dirige-se ao seu trono de repouso. Sob uma claridade leve e suave está a larga cama coberta por grosso cobertor à sua espera. Repousa o corpo e o aquece. Fecha os olhos e adormece. Sonha pesadelos. Sente frio. Acorda sobressaltado com o corpo à mostra. Puxa novamente o cobertor e se aquece. A imagem do mendigo revirando-se no chão tentando aplacar o frio, o incomoda. Desperta e volta à janela. A cena se desenrola sob os seus olhos. O homem está encolhido e inerte. Volta para a cama e adormece.
            Na manhã seguinte, acorda com o despertar de sirenes e buzinas. Após abastecer o estômago desce até a rua e chega no momento em que o corpo gélido é retirado da calçada. Sob o jornal nada macio, o homem tentava proteger o corpo, acreditando que driblava a morte.

30.697 thoughts on “Noite de Inverno

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