To be precious...e a morte.

It was one of those mornings that seemed to be suspended in midair...in which come closest to the feeling of misfortune.

The night before they went out to explore the garden. Soon the candles scattered, dancing in the darkness. The garden aroused from a dream, now seemed to expand, and to fade away. - This was her last dream.

Everything dissolved and had to be restored from the beginning. She alone did not continue to look for something...there was nothing to be looked for. When she has been betrayed or ignored, when someone has gone away forever, or she has lost the best of her possessions, or when learned that she's about to die - She does not talk.

"I reject the meat and it's blood"- she said

In her family they always watched her, because they knew, they did not see her. She felt ashamed of not trusting them, as they were, her father also knew and closed his eyes.
At times, while the teacher was speaking, she, intense, nebulous, drew symmetrical lines on her exercise book. If a line, which had to be both strong and delicate, went outside the imaginary circle where it belonged, would collapse: she became self-absorbed and remote, guided by the avidity of her ideal. Her own shadow was a black post. The sun outlined each man around her with a black charcoal. The journey to return home was so full of hunger, that she became impatient. In the empty house, alone with the maid, she no longer walked like a soldier, the whole family out in their business, she shouted at the maid, who did not answer. She shouted at the dog who seemed deeply concentrated in reaching a turtle's head. The afternoon was transformed into something interminable and until they all might return home to dinner and she might become a daughter, she sat down, laid, her head between her hands....feeling desperate.

"I'm well, I'm well, I'm well" - she repeated many times.

She said once more:

"I'm well."

She was no longer to the mercy of anyone. Desperate, because well and free, she had lost her faith. She went to talk with the maid. They recognized each other. The catholic maid was her hope of faith.

"She must know more than I do"

All this, certainly prolonged, there were elements missing, exhausted, the exasperation, she awoke.

No, she was not alone. Her eyes glowering with disbelief, at the far end of her street two man walking towards her, a bottle of medicine in the other side of the room.

"A person is nothing, NO"

She retorted in weak protest. Life assumed a hysterical meaning. Without knowing through which process, to be precious.