Count the present days until today arrives (ME)
(I had just finished leafing through Antonina's "book" when I got up and went to the sink to empty the rest of the Burgundy that Yerma and I had drunk the night before, when she arrived from Bernarda's hotel with the "order" and we were able to celebrate with one last loveless intercourse the end of that strange and improvised operational phase --- I wondered now to what extent the salty and sweet cuisine of Bahia, with its libertine seafood broths and fiery-colored fish stews, contributed to the fluids and hormones of good censuring, to the mental and bodily centers responsible for the secret and icy atmosphere in which my "Atlantean pervertism" was flourishing. I also wondered what awaited me at that camp of surfing hippies, where an Argentine agent awaited my arrival the next day, with the "book," a veritable dossier from ancient and recent times that exposed embarrassing aspects of the political, economic, and military world of West; a certain impression of Egyptian writings, hieroglyphics, calling the consciousness to the truth of the future of the world --- Often, leafing aimlessly through Antonina's book that night, I got the impression of a movie gypsy speaking through several mouths at once: encrypted stories full of very elegant men getting in and out of the latest cars in all the important cities of the world, changing here and there, by rectifications bought and sold for a fortune, by the greatest "owners of votes and weapons" of the civilized world, until, due to deadly misunderstandings about their positions in this or that country, huge operations of illegal policing and sabotage of vast sectors of society were proudly highlighted, until, THEY SAY THERE IS A NEW REGIME, GOOD, HARD, CRUEL, in which first-world businesses can flourish with security, legal predictability and institutional accountability --- So, what about you, K, a man who has read so much in his life, concentrating to the point where --- --- NO, diplomatic stench that cuts our noses and makes us sick, afraid, our hearts start beating faster in the empty night; any female agent in my bed is nothing more than a cold, curvy ass hired by some corrupt government to expose me to the "danger of duplicity"; and this when I should have already left this whole life behind and gone to celebrate my bachelorhood as a retired soldier from the Service as a petty bourgeois consolation of common carnality, FREE among peaceful and smiling tourists on some beach --- I knew, however, that until I finished this last endeavor, I would continue thinking of my life in these terms and hurrying within myself a recurring apology to myself --- it was not long now, however, before I finally abandoned this life of inhabiting a paranoid sensitivity full-time that advances into the hell of each thing that happens and its dark aspect of threatening looks, sudden intuitions and visions of dirty sex, smells of bloody sweat and hot corridors in decrepit public buildings that guard government secrets and uncontrolled values regarding arms shipments in the holds of ships ---
ResponderExcluir--- the whole game of a whole series of nights yearning for the desperate contact that would increase the odds of success in this or that, within a vast context of shifting scenarios inflamed by violent death and boycott --- the moans that surrounded every town to which one might think of fleeing in the middle of the night while harmless old people pray and watch on television hysterical sex and explosions of war with a glint of evil in their sleepy eyes --- Anyway, perhaps feeling nothing as I let myself be beaten and tortured in my worst moment in life, perhaps being able to avoid the worst just by liking certain women's legs, girls in beachwear chatting in the sand, trying to look them in the eye without being able to --- and I had memories of this kind, right there, in that campsite I was heading to now, in a car driven by Toby, undetected by anyone, for all intents and purposes sleeping in my room in a state of jina, PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB --- a stampede of sports cars to that wild beach remote, miles of coast covered by coconut and cocoa farms --- they certainly had a lot of fun there, no one there was exactly fat and relaxed, although the excess of marijuana spoiled the young people's faces a little ---
ResponderExcluir--- not everything is paradise on the road to paradise: along an avenue, gray-skinned scoundrels, boarding houses, tire shops, tires, old car parts, a local soccer field, donkeys and emaciated street dogs, and booze with cracked women, pot-bellied old women behind cracked doors saying COME, and dirty bars in small rural squares with barrels and gang graffiti on the walls, shot at night --- bums in a coma on the ground, children rummaging through garbage cans, the smell of dead fish and gasoline and truck exhaust --- ONWARDS!, driving to that point on the coast that appears on the billboards of the inns and fancy hotels, a scene from a soap opera, nothing is further from me than the tranquility of the man who kills with impunity, specialized only in holding out on the street until he falls asleep or drunk, flashes, practicing living with his heart in his throat, always fighting little so as not to attract attention and communicating perhaps better than before, just to the right extent of the boisterous operational need, SELLING everything inside ---
--- At the campsite, finally, a strategic spot, packed with people, white and tanned butts, brown butts, the color of rose apple, the smell of sunscreen from their butts filling everything, heading for the river, heading for the sea, the sea filling the tents and tents, the shade of coconut trees on the hot sand; full of young eyes waiting for an orgasm impregnated with carcinogenic solar energy, with the look of someone who was good to be there, good to stay there for a lifetime, in the sun, feeling the sea drops traveling on the wind to their faces, and then, at night, offering mommy and daddy's money to the new moon, puffing on marijuana again --- next to the crack of a camping tent, panties, underwear, flippers, harpoons, surfboards, the remains of eaten fruit, bras and bikinis, hippie bracelets, pocketbooks, packs of cigarettes; no: NO HELICOPTERS OVER US, NOT HERE OR ON THE ROAD, but they could always be playing invisible --- Toby and I drank salt water when we arrived, binoculars in hand, searching for Tereza on the beach for miles --- NO, NO BEACH PATROL, just empty Ruffles potato bags by the gnarled root of a giant coconut tree, the remains of a campfire ---
ResponderExcluir--- Half an hour later, I found Tereza sitting under a distant coconut tree, almost at night, sweating uncomfortably: apparently, the control of the operation had forced her to stay too long at that campsite, without any additional information other than that she would have to wait in the dark indefinitely, waiting for an unlikely surrender, which could take a year or more --- almost four months in advance living like an Argentine hippie grimy from salt and sun until I finally showed up to "free" her --- Evidently, she looked at me disturbed, until she recognized me as an agent, without the need for words; she looked at me anxiously, as if I had appeared there just to rape her: in fact, just in a bikini, she had developed splendid forms living there, and the shadow between her legs immediately invited mental masturbation --- suddenly, the expression on Tereza's face became worried like a monkey's, and her big blue eyes almost jumped out of their sockets, as if my simple thought had traveled like an arrow to hers, and terrified her again: "I wonder if I can get a beer around here, TEREZA?" I said --- "How do you know my name?" she freaked out, and then I saw the book she was holding in her hand, half-open: THE MINISTRY OF FEAR, by Graham Greene ---
ResponderExcluir--- "I don't know if you're familiar with a book by Greene called 'The Spy's Bedside Book,' an essay on spies and espionage of the highest scholarly caliber, where he lists authors of the caliber of Balzac, T.E. Lawrence, Somerset Maughan, S. Zweig, Conrad, Thomas Mann, and Kipling. In this book, Greene says he was accused of espionage in Indochina by a general," I said, and immediately she came to her senses, and her disturbing blue eyes revealed a horizon of pure inner relief, groping in wonder through a world of time long accumulated and interrupted by daily shadows: "Impatient for the coming fight as we wait for the morning light," she said, almost merely to fulfill that formal rite of acknowledging the operation, and soon we began to talk normally, as was the norm, and the "plan" --- "Greene hardly surpasses Le Carré in the field of espionage," she said ---
ResponderExcluir--- "Greene hardly surpasses Le Carré in the field of espionage," she said --- "Greene himself agrees with this, when he said that The Spy Who Came in from the Cold was the best espionage book he had ever read. 'The Spy Who Came in from the Cold,' his third book after two failed debuts, earned Le Carré such a fortune in royalties that he abandoned the diplomatic career that was his cover as an MI6 agent at the time, and we must assume that he remained an agent throughout his life. While he was writing his wonderful books, his later books deliver an 'excessively expanded knowledge of the minutiae of the secret geopolitical tangle and the modus operandi of various agencies and mafias. "How about it!" I said, not wanting to delve too deeply into that old spy-writer conversation. "Anyway, I'm prepared for my last long vigil here in the jungle," Tereza said, rolling her gear to the ground, fed up with all those sun-loving, fun-loving people. Her smile of relief, however, seemed to pierce the air and greet me as welcome, even desired, company, which led me to heap some extra praise on her as we walked back to the campsite;
ResponderExcluirsomething of consent radiated from her and from the silence in her tent, where we were supposed to spend the night together, giving anyone there the impression of spontaneity and immediacy, until we left for Ilhéus airport the next morning --- "Are you a priestly agent, K?" she asked, as we heard some young men outside the tent gathering firewood and dried coconut leaves for a huge bonfire on the beach sand --- her eyes definitely reflected what my body was feeling for hers at that moment --- "It's hard to sustain a priestly paralysis so close to you here, Tereza," I replied, shifting a little closer to her "I bet a lot of guys here have tried their luck with you, all this time." --- "Naturally, and I had a lot of fun flirting a lot. There really were intimacies. Nothing that prohibited the "contract." Anxiety attacks diluted in the arms of the occasional high-society crazy surfer. Everyone here lives a highly concentrated, debauched life in the vapid emptiness of existence, and I didn't come here to bring the Good News. Whole days spent by the beach and bonfires listening to music and staring into space, while you drank and discussed high-class literature in expensive hotels," she said, feigning a certain childish hurt---
Excluir--- cerebral cortex and erector spinae, blood flowing through her veins to the mental chambers where images of crazed sexual desire are projected --- "When you fuck a woman, what kind of things do you usually say, K?" she asked --- cylindrical masses of erectile tissue, dense connective tissue, that smell of fucking between her thighs, an incredible surge of lust at the close sight of those cool, curvy buttocks ensnaring me with their smell of compacted grease in the intestines --- she really was trying to reveal herself sexually to me, but on her own slow terms, which increased my madness quickly --- a biting kiss, tongues full of hot breath and blown hard, just like the little pink, throbbing hole in the middle of her big ass, pink tongue too, my cock entering her still tight, rubbing until it broke the initial internal resistance; big tits too, with hard, pink nipples, which I bit without really seeing --- a beautiful, healthy vagina, thrusting into it strongly, without any qualms after the first few minutes of adjustment ---
ResponderExcluir--- she moaned a muffled moan, and every now and then her pussy would "fart" discreetly, from how much I was putting it in and taking it all out and putting it in again --- then, she turned and offered herself on her back, and I then saw her long, sculpted, rigid body up to where it opened --- an excellent view of her ass and almost everything inside her, in an unusual angle of anal totality, with her keeping her thighs as far apart as possible --- with an alarmed air she grunted at what I was doing behind her --- there was a moment when I thought she was crying, but it was just her way of showing satisfaction with me!)
ResponderExcluir