Winning the Game and Other Stories by Rubem Fonseca Read Free Book Online

said you were in love with another woman. With that hussy, the classical dumb blonde?”
    â€œShe’s a redhead.”
    â€œThe same shit.”
    Negrinha empties and refills the wine glass.
    â€œAnd how could you fall in love with another woman when you were screwing me all the time? Why did you leave me? You liked me; you still like me, don’t you?
    She reaches out her hand, but I move away.
    â€œYou’re afraid, aren’t you? Just wait till you let me grab your dick.”
    She downs another glass of wine, in a single gulp.
    â€œNegrinha, remember Heraclites—”
    â€œFuck Heraclites. You’ve never read a book on philosophy; you read those For Dummies books.”
    â€œI have to go out, Negrinha.”
    â€œDon’t call me Negrinha. My name is Barbara.”
    â€œI have to go.”
    â€œYou’re afraid to go to bed with me.”
    â€œI have an important appointment.”
    â€œCoward.”
    I go to my bedroom and start changing clothes, rapidly. Negrinha invades the room. She seems a little drunk. As I quickly dress, she undresses with the same haste. We finish at practically the same time. Negrinha lies down, nude, on the bed, showing me the tip of her moistened tongue.
    â€œI came here to talk with you,” she says.
    I run out of the room and descend the stairs. In the street I take the first taxi I see.
    Agnes disappears for a couple of days. When we meet again, she seems calm, and different.
    â€œI liked that poem,” Agnes says.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe because it’s only three lines.”
    â€œAnd what does the author say in those three lines?”
    â€œDoes it matter?” Agnes asks. “Or is what’s important what I felt?”
    â€œYes, what you felt.”
    â€œThe poet says that she doesn’t like poetry, but when she reads it, with total disdain, she discovers after all in poetry a place for the truth. I understood something, but I think she means something different. I was overcome by a feeling that I can’t explain. That’s how it should be, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWho was that woman who came here? She’s very pretty.”
    I kiss Agnes, lightly, on the cheek.
    â€œDo you think I could be your girlfriend?” she asks.
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œYou have a handsome face, but you’re a hunchback. How can I be your girlfriend?”
    â€œAfter a time you won’t even notice this physical characteristic of mine.”
    â€œWhat will other people say?”
    â€œOthers won’t know, or suspect, or imagine. We’ll go live somewhere else. We’ll tell the neighbors we’re brother and sister.”
    â€œAnd who was that woman? I have to admit that she’s beautiful.”
    â€œMust be some crazy.”
    â€œI’m speaking seriously.”
    â€œShe’s a woman who has a thing for me.”
    â€œI’m not lazy.”
    I kiss her again, this time on the lips.
    â€œThis is very good,” she says.
    I take her by the arm and lead her gently to the bedroom. We remove our clothes in silence.
    After the surrender, she sighs in exhaustion. Lying beside her, I feel in my mouth the delectable taste of her saliva.
    â€œPromise you’ll always talk to me,” says Agnes, embracing me.
    I’m going to live with Agnes in a different house, in a different area.
    The deafening street howls around me when a woman dressed completely in black, with long black hair, passes by, tall and slim, enhancing by her movements her beautiful alabaster legs. (Life imitates poetry.) I follow her to where she lives. I have to create an elaborate strategy to get close to her and achieve what I need, a difficult task, as women, at first contact, feel repulsion towards me.

the game of dead men
    THEY WOULD MEET EVERY NIGHT in Anísio’s bar. Marinho, who owned the largest pharmacy in town, Fernando and Gonçalves,