quarta-feira, 10 de fevereiro de 2010

A Morte de Baleia


A Morte de Baleia, upload feito originalmente por Guzma.

Vidas Secas, de Graciliano Ramos, é um dos melhores livros que já li. Quero chamar atenção para um capítulo em especial, A Morte de Baleia. Sempre que leio esse capítulo as lágrimas me vêm. Para quem nunca o leu, Baleia é a cadela de Fabiano, o protagonista da estória. Nesse capítulo o autor retrata a morte da pequena cadela como se a mesma fosse uma pessoa, em toda a sua ingenuidade de animal. Abaixo alguns trechos do capítulo, uma vez que não foi possível postá-lo por inteiro devido ao tamanho.

"A cachorra Baleia estava para morrer. Tinha emagrecido, o pêlo caíra-lhe em vários pontos, as costelas avultavam num fundo róseo, onde manchas escuras supuravam e sangravam cobertas de moscas. As chagas da boca e a inchação dos beiços dificultavam-lhe a comida e a bebida. Por isso Fabiano imaginava que ela estivesse com um princípio de hidrofobia e amarrara-lhe no pescoço um rosário de sabugos de milho queimados. (...) Então Fabiano resolveu matá-la. Foi buscar a espingarda de pederneira, lixou-a, limpou-a com o saca-trapo e fez tenção de carregá-la bem para a cachorra não sofrer muito. (...) Pobre Baleia. Escutou, ouviu o rumor do chumbo que se derramava no cano da arma, as pancadas surdas da vareta na bucha. Suspirou. Coitadinha da Baleia. Os meninos começaram a gritar e espernear (...) Como o animal estivesse de frente e não apresenta-se bom alvo, adiantou-se mais alguns passos. Ao chegar às catingueiras, modificou a pontaria e puxou o gatilho. A carga alcançou os quartos traseiros e inutilizou uma perna de Baleia, que se pôs a latir desesperadamente. (...) E Baleia fugiu precipitada, rodeou o barreiro, entrou no quintalzinho da esquerda, passou rente aos craveiros e às panelas de rosna, meteu-se por um buraco da cerca e ganhou o pátio, correndo em três pés. Dirigiu-se ao copiar, mas temeu encontrar Fabiano e afastou-se para o chiqueiro das cabras. Demorou-se aí um instante, meio desorientada, saiu depois sem destino, aos pulos. Defronte do carro de bois faltou-lhe a perna traseira. E, perdendo muito sangue, em dois pés, arrastando com dificuldade a parte posterior do corpo. Quis recuar e esconder-se debaixo do carro, mas teve medo da roda. Encaminhou-se aos juazeiros. Sob a raiz de um deles havia uma barroca macia e funda. Gostava de espojar-se ali: cobria-se de poeira, evitando as moscas e os mosquitos, e quando se levantava, tinha folhas secas e gravetos colados às feridas, era um bicho diferente dos outros. Caiu antes de alcançar esta nova arredada. Tentou erguer-se, endireitou a cabeça e estirou as pernas dianteiras, mas o resto do corpo ficou deitado de banda. Nesta posição torcida, mexeu-se a custo, ralando as patas, cravando as unhas no chão, agarrando-se nos seixos miúdos. Afinal esmoreceu e aquietou-se junto às pedras onde os meninos jogavam cobras mortas. Uma sede horrível queimava-lhe a garganta. Procurou ver as pernas e não as distinguiu: um nevoeiro impedia-lhe a visão. Pôs-se a latir e desejou morder Fabiano. Realmente não latia: uivava baixinho, e os uivos iam diminuindo, tornavam-se quase imperceptíveis. (...) Passou a língua pelos beiços torrados e não experimentou nenhum prazer. O olfato cada vez mais se embotava: certamente os preás tinham fugido. Esqueceu-os e de novo veio o desejo de morder Fabiano, que lhe apareceu diante dos olhos meio vidrados, com um objeto esquisito na mão. Não conhecia o objeto, mas pôs-se a tremer, convencida de que ele encerrava surpresas desagradáveis. Fez um esforço para desviar-se daquilo e encolher o rabo. Cerrou as pálpebras pesadas e julgou que o rabo estava encolhido. Não poderia morder Fabiano: tinha nascido perto dele, numa camarinha, sob a cama de varas, e consumira a existência em submissão, ladrando para juntar o gado quando o vaqueiro batia palmas. O objeto desconhecido continuava a ameaçá-la. Conteve a respiração, cobriu os dentes, espiou o inimigo por baixo das pestanas caídas. (...) Não se lembrava de Fabiano. Tinha havido um desastre, mas Baleia não atribuía a esse desastre a impotência em que se achava nem percebia que estava livre de responsabilidades. Uma angústia apertou-lhe o pequeno coração. Precisava vigiar as cabras: àquela hora cheiros de suçuarana deviam andar pelas ribanceiras, rondar as moitas afastadas. (...) Agora parecia que a fazenda se tinha despovoado. Baleia respirava depressa, a boca aberta, os queixos desgovernados, a língua pendente e insensível. Não sabia o que tinha sucedido. O estrondo, a pancada que recebera no quarto e a viagem difícil do barreiro ao fim do pátio desvaneciam-se no seu espírito. (...) A tremura subia, deixava a barriga e chegava ao peito de Baleia. Do peito para trás era tudo insensibilidade e esquecimento. Mas o resto do corpo se arrepiava, espinhos de mandacaru penetravam na carne meio comida pela doença. Baleia encostava a cabecinha fatigada na pedra. A pedra estava fria, certamente Sinhá Vitória tinha deixado o fogo apagar-se muito cedo. Baleia queria dormir. Acordaria feliz, num mundo cheio de preás. E lamberia as mãos de Fabiano, um Fabiano enorme. As crianças se esponjariam com ela, rolariam com ela num pátio enorme, num chiqueiro enorme. O mundo ficaria todo cheio de preás, gordos, enormes."

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Vidas Secas (Barren Lives), from Graciliano Ramos, is one of the best books that I ever read. I want to ask for attention for a special chapter, indeed, Baleia's Death. Every time I read this chapter the tears come to my face. For those that had never read the book, Baleia is the Fabiano's dog, the main character of the book. On this chapter the author shows the death of the poor dog as if it was a person, inside its total naivety of an animal. Below I wrote a piece of the chapter. Not the entire because it's too large for a post.

"The dog Baleia was about to die. She had lost weight; the hair was lost on several parts, the ribs appearing into a rose background, where dark spots suppurated and bleed, covered of flies. The wounds of the mouth and the swelling of the edges made it hard to eat and drink. Because of that Fabiano thought that she was with a "hydrophobia" beginning and tied a rosary of burned corn pith on her neck. (...) So Fabiano resolved to kill her. He took his old gun flint rifle, sanded, cleaned with a wad remover and loaded it well, to be sure that the dog would not suffer very much. (...) Poor Baleia. She heard, listened the lead noise into the gun barrel, the deaf hit of the staff into the wad. Breath. Poor Baleia. The kids started to cry and complain. (...) As the animal was not in front of him and than was not a good target, he advanced a few more steps. When arrived to the vegetation, he changed the aim and pulled the trigger. The charge hit the back legs and made useless one of Baleia's leg, and started to cry despairing. (...) And Baleia run abrupt, surrounded the clay pit, entered into the left yard, passed through near the horseshoe trees, got through a hole in the fence and arrived to the field, running into three paws. She gone to the front of the house, but was afraid to meet Fabiano there and gone away to the goat's filthy place. Stood there for a moment, a little disoriented, gone out without direction, jumping. In front of the oxcart, her back legs failed. And, loosing a lot of blood, into only two feet, dragging with difficult the front part of her body. She wanted to go back and hide herself under the oxcart, but was afraid about the wheel. She went to the jujube trees. Under the raw of one of them was a smooth and deep ravine. She used to swipe there: covering with the dust, avoiding the flies and mosquitoes, and when she stood up there was dry leafs and kindling pasted on her wounds, it was a different bug from the others. She felt down before arrive to this place. Tried to stand up, straight the head and the front legs, but the rest of her body was stretched-out beside. At this twisted position, she moved hard, vexing the paws, riveting the nails on the ground, tightening the small pebbles. So she dispirited and got quiet near the stones where the boys used to place the dead goats. A terrible thirst burned her troth. She looked for her legs but couldn't distinguish it: a fog blocked her vision. She started to bark and wished to bit Fabiano. I fact she wasn't barking: she was yelping low, and they were going lower time to time, making almost imperceptible. (...) She passed the tong to the toasted mouth edges but there was no pleasure. The olfaction was becoming more and more blunted: for sure the restless cavies run away. She forgot them and again came the desire to bit Fabiano, which appeared in front of her little opaque eyes, with a strange object on his hand. She didn't know the object, but started to tremble, convinced that it brought displeasured surprises. She made a effort to avoid that thing and shrunk the tail. She closed the heavy eyelids and found that her tail was shrunk. She couldn't bit Fabiano: was born near him, at a little bed, under the rod bed, and consumed her existence on submission, barking to join the cows when the cowboy clapped his hands. The unknown object was still threatening her. She held the breath, covered the teeth, and looked the enemy under the fallen eyelashes. (...) She couldn't remember Fabiano anymore. There was some disaster, but Baleia didn't attribute her impotence to this, neither noticed that were free from her duties. The anguish squeezed her little heart. She must watch the goats: that time smells of pumas should be walking by the bank, rounding at the far thickets. (...) Now it looked like that the farm was empty. Baleia was breathing fast, mouth opened, the ungoverned chin, the tong suspended and insensible. She didn't know what was happened. The noise, the hit received on her back and the hard travel to the bank in the end of the field were dissipating on her spirit. (...) The trembling grew, leaving her belly getting to Baleia's chest. From her chest to behind everything was numbness and forgetfulness. But the rest of her body was ruffling, cereus thorns penetrating her flesh, still little consumed by the sickness. Baleia lie down her little tired head on the stone. The stone was cold; certainly Mrs. Vitória had left the fire out too early. Baleia whished to sleep. She would wake up happy, at a full of restless cavies world. And she will lick the Fabiano's hands, a big Fabinao. The kids will swipe with her, rolling with she on a large field, an enormous filthy. The world would be full of restless cavies, fat, enormous."

Um comentário:

  1. Our dogs have all been lucky, we took them to the vet when they got to that stage. It is better that way. You have reminded me of Gary Paulsen's books about his dogs and his exploits with them.

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