The Black Hand

“Well, listen… Once, when I was very small, I was lying in bed at night. It was very dark and very late. And suddenly I woke up and saw a great big black hand stretching over the bed. I was so frightened I couldn’t even scream. I just drew my legs up under my chin and stared at it. Then, after a minute or two, it disappeared and I yelled out. Mother came running in and I said: ‘Mother, I’ve seen the Hand.’ But she only laughed. She wouldn’t believe it.”
Otto’s innocent face, with its two dimples, like a bun, had become very solemn. He held me with his absurdly small bright eyes, concentrating all his narrative powers: “And then, Christoph, several years later, I had a job as apprentice to an upholsterer. Well, one day–it was in the middle of the morning, in broad daylight–I was sitting working on my stool. And suddenly it seemed to go all dark in the room and I looked up and there was the Hand, as near to me as you are now just closing over me. I felt my arms and legs turn cold and I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t cry out. The master saw how pale I was and he said: ‘Why, Otto, what’s the matter with you? Aren’t you well?’ And as he spoke to me it seemed as if the Hand drew right away from me again, getting smaller and smaller, until it was just a little black speck. And when I looked up again the room was quite light, just as it always was, and where I’d seen the black speck there was a big fly crawling across the ceiling.
But I was so ill the whole day that the master had to send me home.”
Otto’s face had gone quite pale during this recital and, for a moment, a really frightening expression of fear had passed over his features. He was tragic now; his little eyes bright with tears: “One day I shall see the Hand again. And then I shall die.”
“Nonsense,” I said, laughing. “We’ll protect you.”
Otto shook his head very sadly: “Let’s hope so, Christoph. But I’m afraid not. The Hand will get me in the end.”

Goodbye to Berlin – Christopher Isherwood

Um desses me acompanhou da infância até a fase adulta também, mas no meu caso era um arroz que ia crescendo, crescendo, tentando me esmagar, agora há anos isso não me assombra mais. Será que o arroz ainda vai me pegar no final ou, pior, já me pegou?

Nota: Explicando o contexto do livro, a personagem em questão, Otto, é um homossexual na Alemanha nazista, o destino do rapaz que o inspirou foi de que ele conseguiu fugir da Alemanha com Isherwood, mas acabou sendo pego, se não me engano, na Holanda quando invadida, mesmo a mão tendo-o pego, ele sobreviveu e voltou a se encontrar com Isherwood nos anos 50 – mas a marca da mão foi inevitável, havia se casado e se tornado um “pai de família”.

Publicado por Adriana Scarpin

Bibliófila, ailurófila, cinéfila e anarcafeminista. Really. Podem me encontrar também aqui:

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