PART 1
BEGINNINGS
"Era ele que erguia casas
onde antes só havia chão."
"It was he who built houses where there had only been the soil."
Vinícius de Morais
1 - THE LONER
I’m writing just to kill time. Time which only exists within our minds in the frequencies of our emotions. Outside, time moves quickly. It runs. It flies. Here, it is only the clock in the patio that keeps me aware of its passage, speaking to me by means of hands that inch and chimes that sound each quarter hour. For me, they drag. At times, I surprise myself, fixing my eyes on the long, thin second hand, escorting its efforts from one mark to the next, slowly plodding, never arriving, something certainly obstructing the sand in the hourglass.
It is terrible to be imprisoned.
The silence is torture.
Since I arrived, I‘ve been tormented by the stillness. I have no one to talk to, no reason to speak. If only Jailer would open his mouth... He’s stubborn in his muteness. Hermit-like, he’s built a private world, inaccessible to me. Sitting in his armchair, eyes closed, ears isolated by headphones, he knows everything that’s going on in the City, but keeps it all to himself. There is no happiness or sadness; there is nothing, in fact, to stir him or make him show any feeling.
He is on the living dead.
Or of the dead living
So, all I can do is to wait.
Wait and wait.
I must control my anxiety and learn to put up with waiting. If not, when the ninth day arrives — the day of my liberation — I will be insane.
Luckily, after Judge and Chief of Police brought me back here, I got the idea of how to save myself and kill time. I asked Jailer for paper and a pencil and began to write before time could bury me in this silent hell called Maximum Security Prison.
Because here, only my thoughts are free.
Unburdened by obstacles, they cross bars, break through prison walls, and go where they want to. Sometimes they are distant, in the City with my friends, sometimes at home with my mom and dad, or at CC, the City’s Sports Club with my teammates and Champion, the coach. My thoughts are also with the fans, those marvelous fans who cheered me on, yelling my name until the bleachers trembled. My thoughts are even free within time — time, which here does not move, though racing on outside. My thoughts have absolute freedom. They can return to my hometown’s past and accompany a man, who alone and lonely, climbed the mountain.
The loner reached the summit, which for him was the top of the world. He stopped to absorb the beauty surrounding him. It was almost night, and the setting sun dazzled him with its final, red rays.
Soon after, it was the moon’s turn.
Charming, goldenly feminine, the moon enchanted the night, overpowering the stars that blanketed the loner. Lying on the ground, amazed by the heavens, inhaling the sweet fragrance of grass, he slept peacefully. He dreamt dreams born of a clean conscience, heavy healing dreams, deep as those of children. His very soul was at rest.
Unfortunately, he missed the dawn. When he awoke, the sun was shining high overhead, illuminating the splendor of the mountainside. Bursting with compassion, he could not accept that this masterpiece of nature had no human audience to admire it. He pitied all who had left this life without having the opportunity to share the view he now contemplated alone. It would be selfish not to share this joy with others — many others — who would thrive living in this place, this gift of God. Others, many others, a city...
The loner was filled with inspiration. “Yes, a city,” he thought. “My friends and I will build a city right here, and the inhabitants will flourish.”
Many generous thoughts spun through the mind of the loner before he began the fatiguing way back down the mountain. Running most of the way, he descended and returned home to invite his friends to help him in a great task: the founding of a city.
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