What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel by António Lobo Antunes Read Free Book Online

Rosendo, cheeks that were too rosy, long hair that was too black, the ring finger arched
    —You shitty fag
    elegantly kissing the forehead of the lady inside his heart of flowers or my mother’s forehead in Bico da Areia excusing the lipstick
    remnants or the traces of eyebrow pencil and she followed him over to the refrigerator
    the dwarf from Snow White wobbled and was silent
    —Don’t you even dream that I’m going to forgive you Carlos hurry up and pack your bag
    the horses were trotting in the pine grove and with the pounding of their hooves you couldn’t hear the sea, you heard the person who wasn’t me
    was
    me blowing his nose on his sleeve by the doorway and in order to stop being me blowing his nose I tore Dona Aurorinha’s doll just the way I’d smashed the car with wooden wheels flinging it onto the floor, the doll’s stuffing was straw and sawdust, let me have the inlaid cigarette case, the silver medallion, the gold, last night my temperature went down and I didn’t have any sweats, as soon as I’m cured, two three weeks at most, they assured me we’ll get engaged, please accept my greetings with indul ence Rosendo, Dona Aurorinha at the bedroom door with the can smelling of soup
    of cat
    of soup
    of her mouth
    —Paulo
    without saying
    —Paulo
    her blouse more frayed than my mother’s apron in Bico da Areia
    —I’m not forgiving you Carlos
    I was hanging from my perch on her shoulders as we watched him leave on the Lisbon bus, the trace of eyebrow pencil, the pink cheeks, what looked like a woman’s jacket over his arm
    —Why Carlos?
    smashing the car with wooden wheels, tearing the doll with the fork and finally straw and sawdust that crumbled in my hands, where do you keep your money old woman, confess to me where you keep your money, don’t invent things like it’s only trash, a clay whistle, don’t stay silent, don’t forgive me, don’t touch me
    do stay silent I mean, do forgive, do touch your puppet, your clown, your dead faggot, feel this cold in me, this heat, these cramps
    Miss Auro inha if I’m lucky and with God’s intervention my lungs
    I mean Dona Aurorinha I can’t handle it, help me
    I mean Dona Aurorinha even old the way you are, even sick the way you are, even incapable of moving the way you are, let me sit down on this broken-down wall for a while, sit down on the ground for a while, light the lamp, find the needle, help me tighten the rubber hose on my arm, push the plunger, and then if it’s all right with you, stay with me for a while until I
    I’m sorry
    fall asleep.

CHAPTER
     
     
    I LIKED GOING
      to Príncipe Real on Sundays because of the hats and the headgear, top hats with satin ribbons hanging down the back, headpieces that looked like metal but were made of felt and had blue feathers on them, at Bico da Areia the mirror on the wardrobe where the image became deformed right before our eyes, feeling no pain we’d examine our knees because the image was examining one and we’d put some tincture on it because it was putting some on it, the wardrobe was almost empty, a few rags, a few belts, a few woolen jackets while at my father’s place women’s clothes filled up the kitchen, the pantry, were spread out on the couch with their sleeves sprawling, Dona Helena would push away the perfume the way you push away cobwebs and put me down appalled, Rui
    not yet Rui at that time, Luciano, Tadeu
    would retreat to the rear
    naked I think
    without a good morning or a hello, in my memory I can see a man with graying hair slipping a banknote under the lamp, glancing at the telephone, my father, saying
    —Are you sure your wife doesn’t know? the billfold coming out of the jacket, two bills, three bills, my father calming him down covering the telephone with his hand
    —She doesn’t know
    Mr. Couceiro bothered about something or other picked me up on the way back to Anjos, lifted me up an inch or two and Dona Helena
    Jaime
    the man with graying hair,