Fernando Sabino is definitely my favorite writer. I will not prolong this entry by discoursing over his prose or memorable humour; fear not, there is a reason for me to mention this. In the need to kill some time, I entered a local bookstore to browse a Sabino book I’ve been interested in (which I won’t buy until I manage to reduce my to-read pile).
After making my way to the national literature shelves (considerably smaller than the international literature shelves, fact which would account for an entire post), I remove precisely the book I craved from a modest collection of his other works: there were two, three, maybe four. Lucky to find an empty seat (having to read standing up is an atrocity nobody should be punished with), I opened the book and prepared my mind to be blown over his constant genius.
After a while, sat before me a woman, her male company soon following. She had two books in her hands, trying to decide which one to take.
“This one obviously goes over more things, obviously” – she says, pointing to the larger book – “but this one may explain things more clearly.”
“Then take this one” – the man picked up the smaller book and headed for cashier.
“But then I won’t have the additional things this one mentions.”
The man swapped books: “Then take this one”.
“Wait.”
While the women browsed the index, I kept my attention divided: half to Sabino, half to the couple. Sabino was delving into an occasion related to him by fellow writer Rubem Braga (whose work I’m ashamed to be unfamiliar with), but the man was impatient:
“I’ll give you 15 seconds and then leave.”
The woman insisted. Handing over the larger book, she inquires:
“Read this passage and see if you understand exactly how it must be done.”
As she passes the book, I get a chance to examine the cover and notice the drawing of a dog. The man, to my surprise, takes his time to read it carefully. After what seemed like a minute or two, he returns it:
“Uh huh. I loved the idea. Come on, let’s go.”
Unshaken, the woman takes it back and continues her careful inspection. By now, Sabino addressed air conditioners through the eyes of a fictional husband and wife. My attention is divided in three: the couple, Sabino, and the thought of writing this exact piece.
The reader will excuse me, but the specific outcome of this event escapes me. Eventually the woman decided for one of the books, which I conjecture was the bigger (she was leaning towards it). The man finally parted the prison that held him. As for Sabino’s blablabla, it went right back to the shelf.
“Whoever drinks must remember to always keep a coconut at home”, Rubem Braga concluded.
Let me burn it all.