A Cup of Rage by Raduan Nassar Read Free Book Online Page B

daze ‘you’re
not human’ ‘out! out! you’ll go to the dogs too!’
‘you’re not human, you’re a monster!’ ‘get out, get out of
my life once and for all!’ ‘you’re a monster, you scare me’
‘so fuck off, fraud’ ‘I’m scared’ ‘fuck off’
‘scared scared’ ‘fuck off fuck off’ I screamed almost happily,
as her car slithered crazily in reverse, not finding the way out, although the gate was
open, I hadn’t even noticed, and sticking her head out she was still shouting
‘you’re not human’ and I was there pushing her car further out of
control, kicking her out with a mixture of anger and laughter ‘fuck you, you
little closet fascist’ ‘your mother’s a fat sow’, ‘your
mother loves dick’ ‘you degenerate cum’ ‘you piece of
short-billed pipit shit’ all of that ladled out with true pleasure, not to mention
that Bingo was backing me up fully in the brawl, barking like he never had, carrying out
dangerous leaps and spins, even throwing himself at the wheels, and then there came a
terrible ‘limp dick!’ that she shouted from the road before hunkering down
behind the steering wheel with the usual extras: the wet, red cheeks and the big,
generous tears rolling down them, and the girl that she was, just like most of them, she
wanted me as her son, but (being emancipated) wanted me much more as her man, I only
know that todrown out the fury of her car accelerating away I almost
tore my mouth with a ‘fuck you’ and no longer seeing Antônio’s
legs, but only the bush rustling, I gathered my strength and bellowed a ‘fuck the
whole world!’, ripping my chest open, bursting my jugular, having a grand old time
with my scandalous behaviour, noticing a demure window on the hillside opposite open and
close with a single gust of wind, but I screamed ‘fuck you all! fuck you all! fuck
you all!’ and with this was bringing up offal, pluck and tripe, I was surprised
and touched to see the other side of me, I even felt like turning somersaults on the
lawn (only then realizing that I’d misjudged her size, she wasn’t even a
dwarf, she was an insect, an ant), but instead of abandoning myself to monkeying around
gleefully, I stood there for a while, looking at the ground like a hanged man, my body
tangled in the threads of this swindle, my innards shredded by the acid’s action,
an actor in the raw, in absolute solitude – without an audience, a stage or
lights, under an already glorious and indifferent sun – struggling with a din of
bloods and voices and with more distant gravel, and suddenly my thoughts drifted to her,
and to the forlorn seclusion of her house at this breakfast hour, by now she’d
certainly be sat looking to the side, that was what she always did after her frugal
breakfast, one elbow propped on the table, her head cupped in her hand, her eyes fixed
on the past, her advanced widowhood trickling by for hours on end, reliving day by day
the old times of our unity, ruminating from early in the morning on the remains of the
myth, having silently witnessed, year after year, the noisy destruction of all
principles, and I also remembered the most intense page in her book of wisdom (next to
the sermon against egoism), for even though her offspring had been scattered she was
still the spiritual keeper of a rare heritage, the lesson that she always repeated on
the rare occasions she saw me, a son only abandons his home when he takes a woman as his
wife andraises another house in which to beget children, and his
children more children, and this was nature’s spontaneous course –
procreation and providing for the family through work (‘love is the only meaning
in life’), and from that I passed straight to the old photo, mother and father
sitting down, she’s resting her hands in her lap and has a pious look in her eyes,
one foot crossed behind the other, he looks solemn, his chest thrust out, a kernel of
silver holds his collar closed without a tie, and then