Maria
- Miguel Fernández
- Jul 3
- 3 min read
They met around 1977. She was about 27, the secretary of a professional colleague of his. He was about 30. Both single.
She had culture and beauty well above average, green-honey eyes, light brown hair, a beautiful body, the manner of an experienced and insinuating woman, even daring. He was dark-haired, wearing a mustache to look older, about 5 to 10 cm taller than her, thin, discovering the world, insecure for his age, but also daring.
They began to go out, hidden from her boss and his colleague. Why? He does not remember. But they liked going to fashionable places, one showing off the other and each one showing off. Once, at Chico’s Bar, in Lagoa, I saw them come in, and the regulars even stopped to pay attention.
Since she was not always available to go out, he supposed she might have another. A lover? Married? In a way, it was convenient, because neither of them seemed interested in taking on commitments. It also justified and/or eased the conscience for going out with others.
When they were together, it was an event, a lot of grabbing, a succession of challenges, emotions, fantasies. If she went out in a skirt, she would take off her panties during the night, in the restaurant, in the cinema, for sex and/or mutual masturbation, in the car at the traffic light, in the parking lot, at the apartment window, on the building stairs.
What enchanted them both the most was when, in bed, in his apartment or at the motel, he lying down looking upward, she rode him, facing him and looking at him, or with her back turned, looking toward his feet, at her discretion. From behind then, with the, let us say, little back hole blinking at him, it was almost an act of cruelty. An exhibitionist, a provocateur. Those were the moments when the two felt that one did good to the other. And together.
She had poetic outbursts. One verse marked him: “I will climb your body against the grain”. She showed it to him on paper. And then, she began to interpret it.
They liked the same subjects, the same songs, the same composers (hello Gonzaguinha), the same foods. They were friends. Confidants? A little.
And so they went on with life for about 3 years. Why did they drift apart? Did she want something better? Did he want something better? A mystery. It just happened.
After a year without seeing each other, one day, she called to say that she had become pregnant by a dentist of Japanese ancestry. She seemed happy on the phone. And he remembered that, in one of those moments of confidant-talk, she had said that she would like to have a child with a Japanese man. And that the child would be hers alone.
He thought: To take on such a burden alone? Why eugenics? How strange! He thought it was a delirium, a fantasy.
She called 25 years later to say that she was well, that her son had passed the entrance exam for dentistry, that she heard about him now and then and knew he was well, that she sent a kiss. She did not leave a phone number. He never heard from her again. Better that way? Perhaps.
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