Inner Babel / Babel Interior

He followed her from France to Spain. She had been travelling with friends and they met in Montpellier. She fell in love with the place instantly. Students at La Place de la Comedie, sipping coffee, sitting around the fountain, laughing, talking, life bubbling like a glass of Kir Royale. He offered to help with her bags. She walked beside him in silence, her friends giggling behind them, "Oh, why! Oh, why isn't there anyone to carry my suitcase." She kept the best neutral face she could. "Let them joke, in Portuguese he will not understand anyway!"  They stopped at the top of the dorm stairs. She thanked him in French. A shy smile and eyes that said otherwise looked back at her: "Brazilians?", he asked in Portuguese from Portugal. She felt the fire on her cheeks: "Yes", she replied. She tried hiding the surprise in her voice, but his eyes told her he'd caught her. He smiled, "Enjoy your stay!" The friends' voices, dr...

E na janela a gente podia ver um elefante voador. Era verdade! Muito leve, flutuava lentamente, em paz. Contei para ele, mas ele levantou a sobrancelha direita e espremeu o olho esquerdo, entortando o canto da boca para cima. Eu conhecia essa expressão. Ele permaneceu de costas para a janela. Nem por um segundo virou. Nem uma espiadinha de canto de olho! Não insisti. Relaxou a expressão, sorriu, chamou o garçom. Suspirei! O que mais podia fazer? Suspirei, mas mantive os olhos fixos na janela, enquanto ele pedia as bebidas, os pratos, o dele e o meu.  Mantive os olhos na janela, enquanto ele comandava o garçom com aquela voz de dono do mundo. Ele se gabava de saber lidar com as pessoas, de obter delas tudo o que desejava.  Talvez eu tivesse acreditado nisso, um dia. Hoje, só o que via era um sujeito mandão e grosseiro.  Conseguia as coisas porque usava essa sua grosseria com funcionários, serviçais, garçons, isso sim! Fiquei imaginando quantas cinzas de cig...

The little boy did not want to be her friend anymore. That was the thing! He just did not want to play with her. She told her mom. Moms are the only ones who understand those things. "Did he tell you he doesn't want to be your friend?", she asked. "Yes." A big fat tear formed and was dripping from the corner of her eye. "He doesn't want to play with me anymore." The mom caressed her hair. Why doesn't he like me mom?" Tears continued falling, one fat one after the other. It impressed the mom how tears could be so heavy and fat. She was silent. "Well, if he doesn't want to play with you, there is nothing you can do, sweetie!"  The little girl raised her head and her big brown eyes starred at her mom. She could see the despair in them. "Despair... How could that be? So young!" Yet, there it was! She recognized it.  - You can play with your other friends! You have so many friends! You have so many people who love you!  ...

Once upon a time there was a blue man. He was once a little kid, living a simple life in the country. A simple life which he remembered as the happiest time of his life, the only time he felt truly happy. This joyful little boy who would, one day, become the Blue Man, enjoyed running through the fields and looking at the stars. One day, a very mean wizard cast a spell on the little boy's village. Everything that grew in the fields, once ripe, would disappear and reappear on the wizard's table, in the wizard's castle, north of the village.   Many who worked in the fields had to leave the village and find another place to work and live and so did the little boy's family.  No one noticed, but it was right at that moment that the little boy began to turn blue. It started with his left thumb, its skin displayed a light blue shade. He thought he had hit something, a rock, a can, perhaps. But the blue shade remained. It was ok, easily hidden in his socks, though no one...

Era uma vez, há muito tempo, um reino que era sempre quente e ensolarado. Nesse reino, vivia uma princesa que não era apenas bonita, mas também muito inteligente. No mesmo reino, vivia um ogro. Ele morava, como muitos outros ogros, trolls e outras estranhas criaturas de contos de fadas, em uma caverna. Da sua caverna, ele vigiava uma ponte. De um lado da ponte, ficava a bela e ensolarada área do reino. Do lado da ponte do Ogro, tudo era frio e sombrio.   Quando o ogro olhava para a ponte,  podia ver o lado ensolarado de tudo, mas ele nunca atravessava essa ponte. Era suficiente para ele contemplar as flores brotando à distância; as crianças nadando no lago em volta do castelo; e os amantes caminhando de mãos dadas, as mulheres em seus vestidos leves e coloridos, os homens com seus ternos de linho e chapéus. Ele, o Ogro, é claro, imaginava como seria passear com um ser amado como eles faziam, mas para fazer isso, teria que desistir do seu poder e seu poder era a coisa que o Ogr...

A strange creature he was. He talked in rhymes, some clear as water, some the obscure product of his conflicted mind. At times, sweet and kind, he would come at night and caress her skin softly while she dreamed. She would wake up feeling luminous and strong. She would spread her illuminated blue fairy wings and fly high. On days like those, her senses were heightened, she could see the brightest colors, she could hear the faintest sounds, she could feel all the love in the world and heal all the sadness surrounding her.  She would feel reassured of his love and kindness of heart and would look for him in his underground dwelling. She had been there many times, even before he lived there, because, even though she was a fairy, she had a darkness of her own. As a fairy, though, she had learned to hid it behind a smile. "Not to scare the little kids", she'd justify to herself. She'd go see him and listen to his rhymes and riddles. Encouraged by his night tenderness,...

Once upon a time, there was a realm where it was always warm and sunny. There lived a Princess who was not only pretty, but also very smart. In that very same realm lived an ogre. He lived, as many other ogres, trolls, and fairy tale strange creatures, in a cave. From his cave, he guarded a bridge. On one side of the bridge, laid the beautiful sunny part of the realm where the Princess lived. On the Ogre’s side of the bridge, everything was cold and gloomy.  When the Ogre looked at the bridge, he could see the sunny side of it all, but he never crossed that bridge. It was enough for him to contemplate the flowers blooming from a distance; the children swimming in the lake surrounding the castle; and the lovers walking hand in hand, the women in their  colorful l ight  dresses, men wearing elegant linen suits and hats. He, the Ogre, of course, wondered how it would feel to stroll around with a loved one like they did, but to do that he would have to surrender and  his...

Once upon a time there was a fish who wished to live out of the sea. It admired the birds flying in the skies and dreamt. "One should accept what is possible" said the other fish. Still, it dreamt, with its big fish eyes. It spent the days observing the interesting forms of those other creatures to whom it had been offered the greatest prize, the skies. One day, the sun was shining on the water, in thousands of little silver pieces and the fish, almost on the surface, longing for what it did not have, saw one of the creatures cross its limits, diving in high speed and returning fast into the blue sky. "Oh! how unfair!" Why could that creature have so much? Why would I have so little? No, it would no longer conform with that, it would no more accept such limitations.  It thought the whole night, with its fish brain and, in the new morning, it swam to the pier. It used all its strength and leaped. For one second, it contemplated the sky without the distortion of ...

Era uma vez um peixe que desejava viver fora do mar. Admirava os pássaros que voavam no céu e sonhava. "É preciso se conformar com o possível", diziam  os outros peixes. Mesmo assim, ele sonhava, com seus grandes olhos de peixe. Passava os dias a observar as interessantes formas daquelas outras criaturas a quem havia sido oferecido o maior prêmio, os céus.  Um dia, o sol brilhava na água, em mil pedacinhos prateados, e ele,  quase na superfície, desejando o que não tinha, viu uma das criaturas atravessar o seu limite, mergulhando com velocidade e retornando ao azul do céu, com rapidez. "Ah, quão injusto!" Por que podia aquele ser ter tanto? E ele tão pouco? Não, não mais se conformaria, não mais aceitaria tamanha limitação.  Pensou a noite toda, com seu cérebro de peixe, e na nova manhã, nadou até o pier. Usou de todas as suas forças e saltou.  Por um segundo contemplou o céu sem a distorção do meio aquoso: "Realmente belo!" E debateu-se, arfou, s...

Ficou lá, em pé, nas pedras, contemplando o oceano. Esse oceano que tocou tantas praias, onde tantos sonhos foram sonhados, em tantas diferentes línguas. Esse oceano ao qual se sentiu tão ligado, seu parceiro de outras vidas, tão familiar, tão misterioso. Para ele, desconhecido. Lá permaneceu, parado, olhando fixamente, observando as rítmicas idas e vindas. Sentia-se atraído por sua intensidade, pelo movimento das ondas. Tentava entender o porquê. Ouvia atentamente seus sons. Imaginava o prazer de sentir-se coberto por suas águas, sentindo sua temperatura, subermergindo em sua profundidade, deixando seu corpo ser carregado pelas correntes. Podia adivinhar as correntes, profundas correntes. Nadadores enfrentavam tais correntes. Ele já vira. Mergulhando das pedras, eles se jogavam. Com suas primeiras braçadas furiosas, confrontavam as marés, domavam as correntes. Voltavam exaustos, sem fôlego e extasiados. Mas ele não era nadador. Vinha contemplando esse oceano ...

He stood there, o n the rocks, c ontemplating the ocean. This  ocean that had touched so many shores, where so many dreams were dreamt, in so many different languages.  This ocean to which he felt so connected,  his partner from other lives,   so familiar,  y et mysterious.  To him, unknown.  He remained there, standing, staring,  observing the rythmic comings and goings.  He was drawn to it by its intensity, the movement of the waves.  He tried to understand why.  He listened attentively to its sounds. He imagined the pleasure of being covered by its water, feeling  its temperature, s ubmerging in its depth, allowing  his body to be carried by its currents.  He could guess there were currents, d eep  currents. Swimmers faced such currents.  He had seen them. Diving  from the rocks, they took the leap.  With t heir furious first strokes,  they confronted t...

  She got up and went to get a cup of coffee. “Damned headache!” Acute and deep, precise, the day ruined. -        -   As if a long, fine, pointy needle forced itself through my cranium, you know? A Chinese man with long mustache holding one point of the needle, manipulating it, pushing it very slowly. -        -   Why Chinese? Seriously, she could not believe it! A headache from Hell, dripping sweat after the coffee and that was the question? -        -   Why not? Is there a law against the Chinese? -       I was just asking! -        -   It’s my pain, isn’t it? If it’s Chinese, Japanese, Arabic, what is the difference? -        -   Forget it!    She regretted the rude reply, but did not apologize! Apologizing would require time, explanations, facing the Chinese man, pulling him by the mustache, immobilizin...