The Day Jupiter Met Saturn (Another Colorful Story)
for Valdir Zwetsch & Maria Rosa Fonseca
“Everyone, mirrored stars
reflection of radiance”
— Caetano Veloso, “Gente” [“People”]
He was the first person she saw as she walked in. So handsome she lowered her eyes, wanting but not wanting him to notice her too. Someone handed her a plastic cup with vodka, ice, and a lime twist. She ground the peel between her teeth, stirring the ice with the tip of her index finger, not drinking. With activity around her, people getting up all the time to dance to loud rock music or disappearing into bedrooms to snort lines and smoke joints, she slowly managed to get to a rattan chair by the window. The clear night outside stretched over Rua Henrique Schaumann, the avenue of cheap Conga shoes & ponchos, she chuckled to herself. She chuckled to herself almost all the time, a thin young woman trying to control her own madness, subtly unhappy. She wet her lips with vodka, gathering courage to look at him again, a suntanned young man in white pants with unhemmed cuffs. She lowered her gaze again, though her skin was also tan, and sighed, letting go of her shoulders, her tense back pressed against the rattan of the chair. Just because it was a Saturday and she wouldn’t, not this time, sit motionless by the stereo, the TV, the book, watching the phone not ring. She smiled as she looked around, well done, congratulations, here we are.
It’s not that she was sad, more that she couldn’t feel anything anymore.
Slowly, so as not to call too much attention to herself, she shifted in her seat, propping her elbow on the windowsill. She rested her face on the palm of her hand and her sleek hair fell over her face. She raised her head to get it out of her eyes, and then she saw the sky. A sky much brighter than the usual São Paulo sky, with the moon nearly full and Jupiter and Saturn very close. From this angle, she looked less like a living woman than a watercolor painting, frozen as if she were very calm, and in fact she was, only she couldn’t feel anything anymore, she hadn’t for a long while. Maybe because she didn’t pose any threat sitting still like this, distant, the young man in the white pants made his way to her without her noticing. Him standing still next to her, seen from inside, a painting – but seen from outside, from the windows of the cars on their way to bars on the avenue, Chinese shadow carved against the red light. And suddenly the loud rock music was over and John Lennon’s voice sang every day, every way is getting better and better. In her head, a gun went off, five times. The woman’s suddenly hardened eyes moved inside and met the man’s suddenly hardened eyes. The memories they each kept, and there were so many, showed in their eyes so clearly she immediately understood it when he tapped her on the shoulder.
“Do you like stars?”
“I do. You too?”
“Yeah. You’re looking at the moon?”
“Almost full. In Virgo.”
“And Jupiter in conjunction tomorrow.”
“With Saturn as well.”
“Is that good?”
“I’m not sure. It must be.”
“It is. Nice to run into you.”
“Same here.”
(Silence)
“Do you like Jupiter?”
“I do. I actually ‘wish I could live on Jupiter where the souls are pure and the sex is new.’”
“What’s that?”
“A poem by a guy who’ll die soon.”
“How do you know?”
“In February. He’ll kill himself in February.”
“Huh?”
(Silence)
“You got a cigarette?”
“I’m trying to quit.”
“Me too. Just wanted to hold something in my hands right now.”
“You already have something in your hands right now.”
“Me?”
“Me.”
(Silence)
“How do you know?”
“What?”
“That this guy will kill himself?”
“I know a lot of things. Some haven’t even happened yet.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“I can teach how to know, though not how to feel. I don’t feel anything, haven’t for a long while.”
“I only feel, but don’t know what the feeling is. When I do, I don’t understand it.”
“No one understands it.”
“Sometimes you do. I can teach you.”
“Unlikely, I died in December. Five gunshots in the back. You too.”
“Me too, then I left my body. Have you left your body yet?”
(Silence)
“Do you take anything?”
“What?”
“Cocaine, codeine, morphine, mescaline, heroin, psilocybin, Ritalin, methamphetamine.”
“No, nothing. Not anymore.”
“Me neither. I’ve already taken everything.”
“Everything?”
“Shrooms are a deal with the devil.”
“Opium perfects reality.”
“Now I want to get clean. In body and soul. I don’t want to leave this body.”
(Silence)
“I think I’m coming back. I used to wear colorful skirts, flowers in my hair.”
“My braids went all the way down to my waist. Bangles covered my arms.”
“Something got lost.”
“Where did we go? Where did we stay?”
“Something found itself.”
“And those rattles?”
“Those ribbons?”
“The sun is gone.”
“The road got darker. But we know where we’re going.”
“Yes. Which way is north?”
“Find the Southern Cross. Then walk in the opposite direction.”
(Silence)
“Are you a Virgo?”
“Yeah. And you, a Capricorn?”
“Yeah. I knew it.”
“I knew it too.”
“We’re a good match: earth.”
“Yes, a good match.”
(Silence)
“Tomorrow I leave for Paris.”
“Tomorrow I leave for Natal.”
“I’ll send you a postcard from over there.”
“I’ll send you a postcard from over there.”
“My card will have a rock hovering over the sea.”
“Mine won’t have a rock, just the sea. And a palm tree peeking out in the corner.”
(Silence)
“I’ll drink ayahuasca and see you, Egyptian. By my side, looking at me from the corner of your eye.”
“I’ll drink devil’s weed tea and see you, Tuareg. Lost in the desert, standing against the sun.”
“Are we going to see each other?”
“In your tea. In my tea.”
(Silence)
“When nights arrive early and snow covers all the streets, I’ll spend a day in bed thinking of sleeping with you.”
“When it’s so hot I feel sluggish, I’ll slowly sway in a hammock thinking of sleeping with you.”
“I’ll write you a letter that I won’t send.”
“I’ll try to recompose your face from memory and I’ll fail.”
“I’ll see Jupiter and think of you.”
“I’ll see Saturn and think of you.”
“Twenty years from now they’ll meet again.”
“Time doesn’t exist.”
“Time does exist, and it devours.”
“I’ll look for your scent in another woman’s body. And fail, because I’ll have long forgotten it. Lavender?”
“Rosemary. When I look at the immense night from the Equator, I’ll wonder if this was a hello or a goodbye.”
“And what word or gesture, yours or mine, would be enough to change our paths.”
(Silence)
“But that would be unnatural.”
“Natural is people meeting and losing each other.”
“Parallel lines meet at infinity.”
“Infinity is endless. Infinity is never.”
“Or forever.”
(Silence)
“This is all too abstract. ‘Kiss, Kiss, Kiss’ is playing. Why don’t you ask me to sleep with you?”
“Do you want to sleep with me?”
“No.”
“Because it isn’t not necessary?”
“Because it isn’t not necessary.”
(Silence)
“Kiss me.”
“I’ll kiss you.”
She was the last person he saw as he walked out. So pretty he lowered his eyes, not knowing if she noticed him too. He took the elevator to the bottom floor, car keys in hand. He twiddled a key between his fingers, then softly bit the metallic end, bitter. His eyes fixed on the floors passing by, not paying attention to the people blowing their noses or putting in eyedrops. Slowly, he managed to get to a space by the door. Filtered party sounds and nighttime demands in the other apartments, dance at a glance, he chuckled to himself. He chuckled to himself almost all the time, a suntanned young man in white pants with unhemmed cuffs, trying to control his own madness, subtly unhappy. He bit his nail next to the key, thinking of her, a thin young woman with sleek hair sitting by the window. He lowered his gaze again, though he was thin as well. And sighed, letting go of his tense shoulders, unsteady feet pressing on the unstable ground of the elevator. Just because it was a Saturday, and because he was leaving, because he had yet to pack and the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. He smiled as he looked around.
It’s not that he was sad, just that he couldn’t understand what he felt.
Slowly, so as not to call too much attention to himself, he pressed his right hand against the open elevator door and crossed the cold lobby, walking out to the street. He leaned against the lamppost on the corner, the wind blowing his hair, and then he raised his head to avoid it and saw the sky. A sky much brighter than the usual São Paulo sky, with the moon nearly full and Jupiter and Saturn very close. From this angle, he looked less like a living man than an oil painting by Gregório Gruber, his shape so clear it stood out against the avenue in the background, and in fact he’d been unable to understand anything, for a long while. Maybe because he didn’t pose any threat, the woman leaned on the window up there and shouted something he didn’t hear. From far away like this, the woman visible only from the waist up, she looked like a puppet, controlled by a concealed hand, the man by the lamppost shaking his head, a marionette, controlled by a concealed hand.
Suddenly, a car halted behind him, the radio blaring “By God’s will, one day I might fly.” In his head, a gun went off, five times. From where he stood, he couldn’t see the woman’s eyes. From where she sat, she couldn’t see his eyes. But the memories they each kept were so many that he immediately understood and accepted this, as she disappeared from the window at the exact moment he crossed Rua Henrique Schaumann without ever looking back.
/ / / / /
“The Day Jupiter Met Saturn” is one of 18 stories included in Moldy Strawberries by Caio Fernando Abreu, published by Archipelago Books. Click here to acquire the book from the press.