Lady Josephine, a Brazilian woman, daughter of French parents, has
always been a very communicative person. Indeed, she is gassy, so gassy she can
go anywhere the metaphor allows her to. She’s a widow, eats very selectively –
in order not to gain weight nor dote -, does jogging regularly and has at home
an astounding armory of vitamin and mineral bottles, laxatives, anti-laxatives
(if there is such a term), amino acid and all the substances potentially useful
to retard the aging. Most of this armory was bought in the United States of
America.
With the intention of shielding this biological Pentagon – or Maginot
Line, which goes better with her nostalgic French complexion – from the
curiosity of Josephine’s grandsons, she uses a big cabinet, heavy, which
drawers can provoke bulging ruptures, giving the considerable strength they
require in order to be open. Which is a good thing, because the content of a
certain flask, kept at the bottom of the highest drawer, if gulped by mistake,
would bring serious problems to Josephine.
Every time she arrives in Miami or New York, or any other big city – she
goes out of the country usually every couple of years – the first thing she
does, after unpacking, is to find a big supermarket or a mall nearby. Josephine
knows she will find there that wonderful vitamin department; the unmistakable
section, colorful and composed of flashy bottles, usually brown. After finding
these shelves, Josephine stands face to face to them, for over an hour,
dazzled, delighted, examining small gallons, almost sensing the beneficial
effects of the ingestion of such divine products by anticipation; products
that, according to the producers, broach a foil into the very heart of cancer,
of osteoporosis, and all the degeneracies of the advanced age.
Because she has read so many drug description leaflets, Josephine
doesn’t have any issues in this section of the English language. When she
doesn’t know the meaning of some technical word, she consults her dictionary of
medical terms, an enviable collection to any professional. She knows all the
updates, including when the scientists take a step back or turn around and
begin to lynch what they once worshipped. Meaning that once praised substance
or dose becomes lethal - killing or mutilating the poor enthusiasts or their
sons, who didn’t have the caution or wisdom to listen to the wonders of the
pharmaceutical art with a wary foot behind.
Lady Josephine – she was actually registered as Josephine, but to avoid
constant corrections, she adopted the Brazilian spelling, “Josefina” – is sixty
three years old, but if she said she was ten years younger, no one would find it
strange. Especially because her vivacity is that of a much younger woman. If
she is quite conserved on the outside, her head is even more, on the inside,
because she is devilish sly. This addictive habit of caring too much about the
health is simply an idiosyncrasy that also infects many young people, not
necessarily meaning the advent of a null and void head. I notice, as a partial
justification of this craze, that Lady Josephine, when once a young girl,
contracted an incipient tuberculosis. She was completely cured, but this
episode made her obsessively concerned with her health.
Anyway, to close this topic, if this prodigious amount of fortifying
flasks existent in her cabinet causes any amazement, I must say it’s nobody’s
business but her own. Each one spends its money the way one finds it more
appropriate. If it wasn’t for the crazy health enthusiasts, many people would
be unemployed. And the tax revenues would be way lower; which demonstrates that
tame madness redounds in national wealth.
Mistress Josephine has never had any financial problems. She has never
worked outside her home, except for a few months, when she ministered French
lessons – a language she mastered because her parents spoke it all the time at
home. She gave up such a task once she noticed her students were too
accommodated or even dull, stuck at the “c’est”
and “qu’est-ce que c’est” that to
Josephine seemed so natural and obvious, but that just simply could not
penetrate in the coriaceous linguistic neurons of some students. Besides, they
were too lazy to use a dictionary. And once she was doing that more to have a
distraction, because the remuneration was minimal, she concluded that she could
distract herself with more interesting activities elsewhere.
Josephine has always had a servant-maid, of whom she’s a friend, but
also the “mistress”, namely, she has never allowed an excessive nearness. “If you allow too much familiarity, my
darling, she steps in. Starts missing work, asks for advance money, and cries
over her misfortunes at you. And then she makes you feel embarrassed, petty,
when you discount what you gave her in advance”, is her advice to her friends.
Josephine’s father has been a successful tradesman. Her husband, a gerontologist
– this contributed to increase her focus on health and wellbeing – was an
appealing man, laughing, and knew not only how to stretch his client’s life,
but also how to legally snap the heart and the wallet of those cheerful old
ladies that, in packs, flied to his office, twitting, edacious for a
drop of biological eternity. What no one understands is how he could not
foresee his own heart attack, thundering, fulminant and somewhat mysterious –
his electrocardiogram of the previous month said everything was perfectly fine,
100%. He was dragged directly to the grave with less than sixty years old, just
a few hours after having an intimate conference after hours with his gorgeous
secretary, attendant, massagist, etc.
This relationship – especially in the “etc.” – of Josephine’s husband seemed
ignored only by her, what caused admiration, because Lady Josephine not only
had lynx eyes, but also a reputation of cannily vengeful. “Mysteries of the heart”, said her friends about the
absent-mindness of the wife and the abrupt and unforeseen death of the husband.
Only they did not know how much craftiness and chemistry were present in these
words. In the fatidic night, arriving home tired, he was greeted by Lady
Josephine. Since it was very hot, she kindly prepared him an orange juice,
which he promptly drank, to please her. Half an hour later, he felt terribly
ill and died.
Apparently, his death came with no pain to her and since then Lady
Josephine has been even happier. She has already made her calculations, on the
tiny calculating machine she always carries along in her purse: even if she
lives in her current standard of living in Brazil until she is a hundred years
old, she will never need to appeal to any kind of “charity”, from relatives, or
government – “I won’t climb the harsh
alien’s stairs”, she likes to repeat. Her only fear is going well past
beyond the hundreds, which is quite possible.
She has been a widow for five years and the solitude - relative in her
case - apparently does not weigh because, when she isn’t outdoors, she watches
movies on television or reads – an activity she does on a large scale –
especially histories and stories of crimes. She keeps in her company a doctor
niece, nearly on her forties and divorced, who is hardly ever at home because
she’s often on duty, and who has a boyfriend, a stealthy or timid individual
with a tired face, but who has never been caught with a compromise ring on his
finger.
Lady Josephine chose not live with her only daughter, who is married.
She even tried it out for a month but gave up because she could not accept
certain habits of her son-in-law, a tall and corpulent man, with a frown,
averse to subtlety and who gave himself the luxury of emitting farts during her
presence in the living room. He only respected visitors - the special ones of
course. To him, the mother-in-law was not a guest. Because he was too lazy to
leave the room when such nefarious inspiration emerged, the gloomy giant
remained lolled in the couch, devouring packets of salt peanuts and tiny cubes
of cheese. Not being able to hold in any longer the malefic gas, he would lean
to his side, just like the threatening Tower of Pisa, and would alleviate
himself with healthy – to him only, may I clarify it – loudness, sometimes “à
la Al Capone”, strafing the ears and the sensibility of Lady Josephine, the
estimated mother-in-law. He would then beam an incongruent “Excuse-me…”. If the deed was indeed more
polite, chastely gaseous, sparing the tympanum, he would not even excuse
himself, as if it could be that he was not the author of the horrifying
pollution which made Lady Josephine jump from the armchair like a spring and
run to the kitchen, warning she was “dying
of thirst”. And this happened with such regularity in the month of their living
together, that the atrocious human cylinder, apparently with no irony intended,
seriously suggested to Josephine if she should not do a blood test to check her
glucose levels, once “diabetes makes one
very thirsty, you know?”.
In Lady Josephine’s opinion, once she is a fine woman, with a sense of
smell, when he emitted the “inaudible” ones is when he should, more than ever –
and fairly - fall on his knees, executing a solemn “hara-kiri” on the rug. A good
opportunity, moreover – she thought, very imaginative – to a collect of tissue,
with the purpose of an explicative study of the prodigious entrails. During
moments such as these, Lady Josephine would feel globally disgusted, and unable
to comprehend why her daughter could accept as a husband that organic mill. All
his positive qualities – hard working, homey, and apparently faithful – could
not make up for the effect of this bad habit, according to Josephine’s
perception. That is the reason why she decided to continue living on her own
place after her husband’s death.
Lady Josephine does frequent timed joggings, read a lot, as I’ve said,
and frequents a variety of courses – from learning foreign languages to the
confection of cakes. And she quite appreciates the mysterious side of
chemistry. She visits her friends, plays cards – she is a master on the art of
bluffing – goes shopping and attends the Sunday mass. She is as well a clever
woman concerning money – which seems to be a French characteristic – making it
impossible for her to be harmed. She decides for herself how to invest her
money in the stock market. When she is not using her logic, she calls on her
“financial instinct”, something she doesn’t even try to define because it would
be impossible. Therefore, if she was to work, due to a momentary necessity, for
her own sustenance, she would turn out to be successful in the world of
finances. Howsoever she is happy for being able to manage her idleness with
notable competence.
This morning, Lady Josephine has gone outdoors to take a walk and buy a
gift to her grandson.
After taking the bus nearby her apartment, she was happy to find that
the vehicles had two empty seats – one right at the back, near the turnstile
and another one, close to the exit door, on the right side. She chose the
latest, for the advantage it had to be close to the window, meaning she could
watch the view.
Her seat mate is a boy- tall, slender, pale and with black hair. His
figure quite resembles Collor’s, a Brazilian ex-president.
The young man, noticing Josephine’s presence standing next to him,
instead of simply moving away and handing over his space, stood up, kindly,
allowing her to pass and seat by the window. She thanked him for the niceness;
he smiled at her and sat back again.
The bus continued its journey and Lady Josephine kept observing the
street hustle. It was ten in the morning and there was no hurry on her hand.
The ride would take about thirty minutes until she was close to the mall where
she was to buy the present.
After ten minutes of silence – a torture to the active throat of Lady
Josephine – she was already mentally sketching three phrases that could
initiate a “natural” conversation with the boy next to her.
Why could not she simply talk, without any planning? Because in matters
of talking to strangers, Lady Josephine had a tremendous curriculum and this
very experience had taught her some heed. A certain time she perpetrated the
imprudence of being too effusive with a young boy next to her, innocently
touching her forearm, as she often does, when interrupting a dialogue. But she
soon realized that the boy, with a crook smile – missing a tooth – was offering
her sexual services over the counter. He was certainly presuming a cozy conversation
with an attractive “mistress”, fragrant and well dressed, reinforced by two or
three touches in his arm, could only have one meaning: the old lady was
naughty, flirtatious and was recovering with an urge all the time lost when she
used to be a honest woman. And most of all she was willing to pay for this.
Josephine, aghast, descended from the bus immediately.
Lady Josephine, this time impressed by the distinct appearance of the
young man beside her, selected two possible topics to strike a normal conversation.
But it was not necessary to plan any phrase whatsoever. She noticed that the
young man, after unzipping his coat, took from his pocket an envelope with two
pills inside it; pills of a medicine widely used for contention of diarrhea.
And to her joy – for she was an expert in this area – she knew these pills
brought serious risks to health.
The young man ripped the envelope and put the two pills inside his
mouth; he gathered saliva and swallowed then, remarkably moving his Adam’s
apple.
Lady Josephine could not contain herself:
“Excuse me…but you should not do this!”
“This what?”, the boy asked, gazing at her.
“This pill you took is harmful for your health.”
“Hum, up to this moment I have never had any problems with it…”
“Well, it does not mean it will kill you instantly…but it was on TV that
the government has prohibited its sale. I don’t understand how people still
sell it on drugstores!
“I have at home a batch of these envelopes. I bought it months ago.”
“Well, you should throw them all away, in this case!” Josephine
insisted, caring to moderate, with her best smile, this cheeky intromission in
the life of others.
He only looked ahead, raising his elbows. He made a vague gesture with
his hand and pondered: “I will think about it…” Next, he observed, glaring at
her with some insistence and smiling: “Congratulations! You’re quite observant!
As I can imagine, nothing goes unnoticed for you on the roundabout.
The compliment quite pleased her. Her day was saved. She was in the
presence of someone smart, maybe even cultured. This “roundabout” was
symptomatic. Happy for being able to chat, Josephine advanced:
“It’s because I’ve always been curious on health issues. I was married
with a doctor, you know? But back to the pill, you can substitute it for any
other medicine that, as they say, has no contraindication. If you want, sir, I
can write down the name of one as soon as the bus stops for a second.”
“If you’d be so kind..! I use it quite often. I can see I was very lucky
to have you sitting next me, madam…”
“Instead of taking these medicines for “holding in”, wouldn’t it be
wiser to look for a doctor?”
“I don’t see why. This has an emotional background, only. Or, should I
say, it has an emotional “bottom” itself….An
emotion I share with others”. Saying this, he smiled, thoughtful, as if
he had realized something new.
Josephine did not quite comprehend, but didn’t want to insist either.
Deciphering charades about “bottoms” or diarrhea, in a lovely Spring morning,
did not appear to her as good perspective. This being, she changed the subject,
chinning on various themes. The young man told her he was a bank clerk and an
Economy student, and that he was, at the moment, unemployed and with
difficulties to maintain himself. He also said that his father was a man with
means, but rude and overbearing, what averted him from asking any help to his
father. He avowed being too proud. So snobbish that he once ended an “affair” –
a new word that enchanted Josephine – with a rich and pretty lady, way older
than him, only due to her insistence in offering him presents of high value –
expensive clothing and other goods – a behavior that braved his amour-propre. He considered, with a
half-smile, sweetly regretful, that maybe he had been fussy with this excess of
ethics, because he was now arrears on rent. He stressed, with an abashed voice,
that he had sincerely loved that lady and still missed her, albeit their large
age difference. He took a pause and, dreamy, emphatic, cried: “I think love is
a wonderful thing! It does not obey any rule! Age difference, social condition,
none of it matters! One loves, and that’s all! … Don’t you think so?”
Lady Josephine, at this point, with her ears up, such as a female Doberman
who sees a thief leg passing through the fence, suddenly did not “find”
anything any longer. She only felt the dog catching lace flying toward her. She
even thought of getting up, but restrained herself. She never forgave those
friends, colleagues, or famous celebrities, senile – married or spinster – when
close to the grave, instead of holding the chaplet to save the soul, would prefer
to clasp warm pieces, well less holy. She would never ever sustain any big boy
decades younger than her. Despite of living, it all indicates, in chastity for
many years, it would not be a problem to continue this way. Her fire was never
too great and now it was almost inexistent. She knew how to direct her
energies. Maybe, only maybe, she could even marry one day with a man of her
age, or even slightly younger – preferably - but only due to a necessity of
fellowship; provided that the candidate was absolutely loyal and would not
proclaim himself as a master of her life. Especially regarding the financial
section.
With a few phrases and especially silences, Lady Josephine made it
comprehensible to the lax Romeo that topics on love – weaved in dollar signs
and wrinkles - did neither thrill nor enthuse her. But she only “said” such
words implicitly. She steered the conversation on her little grandsons, as if
interposing between them the innocence of the children and her condition of
grandmother.
The young man felt the hostile reaction. But, not to spoil everything,
did not insist, at least for the time being. Thus, maybe through an effect of
the unconsciousness, he conducted the conversation to the topic of criminality
and drugs, which threaten even the children upon the school gates. “Warn your grandson very well!” was his
advice, foolish, as if Josephine needed such admonition.
At some point, the boy provided an ostensible glare at Lady Josephine’s
hands, observing them with studied indifference:
“Nowadays, all social classes feel very intimidated. Nevertheless, I see
that you, madam, are wearing three rings that appear to be of tremendous value…
Aren’t you afraid of robbery, ma’am? I say this because one can briefly notice
these are authentic jewelry… Aren’t they?
“They’re fake”, she partly lied. Two rings were authentic. Only one of
them was a reproduction. She found the height of cowardice to keep all her
jewelry always locked in her vault. What was the use of owning jewelry if you
could not wear them?
“They look pretty genuine to me, made of gold and diamond”, the young
man insisted.
“Yes, this people from Taiwan trick people with mastery…”
“Whence you shouldn’t wear them… you can be robbed by mistake, even
hurt, which would be a pity, for such a charming lady…Really, I cannot quite
contain myself, I found you, ma’am, so attractive…”
“Thank you…But I think it’s time for me to get down…”, saying this, she
started.
“Why, already? Have a seat!”, he moved his hands, holding the
backboard of the front seat, with one
hand, blocking her way out, inasmuch with the other holding her arm, preventing
her of getting up. “Didn’t you say you were going to the mall?”. During their
chat, Josephine informed the boy she was off to buy a gift to her grandson,
mentioning the name of the establishment.
“But I just remembered I need to stop by a friend’s house...”
“Well, oldie, if it doesn’t go “per well”, love-based, it goes by evil…
This is a robbery! Do you get it?”, he opened his coat slightly and put his
left hand in, as if grabbing a gun. A volume, similar to the one of a revolver,
outlined, pointed in her direction. If it was really a revolver, or just a
finger, or a large pen, she did not know, but found better not to confer. He
added, in a low voice, close to her ear, as if making a confidence: “Madam, you
descend when I tell you to! Take off your rings and give them to me. If you
give the slightest hoot, you die!”
“But they are fake!”, she murmured.
“Small talk”, he smiled, convict. “Well, I love fake jewelry! I’ll take
the risk….Come on, take ‘em off and give ‘em to me, without showing jitters.”
Frightened, but not in panic, mentally calculating her loss, Lady
Josephine started to take off her rings. First she took off the fake one and
gave him. The boy simply took it and swallowed it, just like he did earlier
with the two pills. The second ring – worth between three and four thousand
dollars – seemed impossible to come off. Actually it was a ruse of her, making
a grimace. “It’s hard! I never take it off! It doesn’t want to come off…””, she
mourned.
“It will! If it doesn’t now, I can make it easier for you, cutting your
finger along it, you smarty old woman. I carry a knife for this kind of
emergency…”
“But it doesn’t want to come off!”, she insisted again, always in a
undertone.
“With dribble, it comes off…”, saying this, he put two fingers inside his
mouth, wetting them with saliva, and placed them on the finger of his victim.
She shivered with disgust when touched by the spittle, one more injury – not to
mention the “you smarty old woman”.
The young man himself manipulated the ring removal, which came out without much
effort and was likewise engulfed by the pale face ostrich.
The third ring had an equal stomachic fate, with no further problems.
After the golden meal, the lad told Lady Josephine to open her purse. He
took the money, but undervalued the checkbook and the magnetic card. His
technique – she later inferred – was, if immediately grabbed by the police, not
having any belongings in his hands. They would not inspect his stomach. A
laxative later would do the rest.
“Now you stay quiet, old lady. I’ll get down and you will not give a
tu-whoo…If you hoot, I’ll shoot your head from the street… Do you doubt?”
“No….”
The next time the bus stopped, the young man quickly stood up and
descended by the front door, a second before it closed, as if he was
distracted, aloof. On the sidewalk, he stood staring at his victim with a
stated air, keeping his left hand under his coat. And the wise lady did not
emit any sound. How to be certain that he would not shoot?
She got down near the shopping center, without roughhouse. Her hands
were shaking. She calculated the sum of her damage and concluded, with wrath,
that the bandit probably was not holding any gun altogether, because that would
be compromising. If detained, it would be one’s word against the other’s, with
the risk of the scoundrel alleging that the accusation was a revenge of an old
and disdained lover.
The next day, Josephine stayed in bed all morning, still weak, feeling a
cold rage. Even knowing that a lightning does not fall twice at the same spot,
she promised herself that she would find a way of crossing again with that
Romeo whose intestines would certainly be tainted, due to the successive
medicinal orders of advance and retreat, according to the necessity of opening
or closing the intestinal dower-chest. Maybe she could attract him through a
newspaper ad that only he would understand, pretending to be in love with
delay. She still held secure that rare book – bought a month before her
husband’s death – about poisons, the common ones and the sophisticated;
including that liquid treasure which provokes heart attack without neither
leaving any clue nor raising suspicions.
A week later, Lady Josephine’s head was still simmering with complicated
revenge plans, all of them still incomplete, but that would soon become as
perfect as those crimes engineered by Agatha Christie, her favorite writer.
A new challenge freshened her soul.
The End.
Author: Francisco Cesar Pinheiro Rodrigues.
Translator into English: Marianna Perna
