Souza said of himself:
-I am the world's last romantic!
And he really was a rare breed. A gentleman. Women did not know how to respond to his advances. They were confused when Souza not only kissed their hands but said, "At your feet." Was he kidding?
But they liked it. It was different. They had to try hard not to laugh sometimes when Souza said something particularly clumsy about the color of their eyes, or when he compared their necks to marble towers. But what the hell, a compliment is a compliment, the specifics don't really matter. And many a girl surrended to Souza's old school charm. Then they said of Souza that he wasn't really after anything. He really just wanted to date, see a movie, get some ice cream. He was antique, a respectful young man.
Laura was beyond beautiful, and Souza, as soon as he met her, wrote a sonnet. Laura thought it was funny, made some comment or other, "Nice" or "Sweet," and forgot about it. Also because she did't know what to say to a man with oil in his hair, wearing a zoot suit.
Souza sent Laura flowers. A bouquet a day, everyday, along with an original sonnet. Written in green ink, "like my hope." But Laura would have none of it. She worked, went to school, wanted a degree in psychology; she had other things on her mind. This guy's so annoying, was her only reaction. Until Souza had an idea.
-A serenade!
His friends tried to talk him out of it.
-People don't do that anymore, Souza.
-I know. That's why it's going to work.
In no time Souza had gathered everything he needed: two guitars, a "cavaquinho", a flute and, on vocals, Nosso, a pharmacist.
The serenade was ready to be performed. There was just one problem. Laura lived on the eight floor, in the back. If he performed the serenade in the front of the building, he would wake up everyone in the front part and Laura wouldn't hear a thing. And behind the building, there was a freeway to deal with.
Souza and his group - two guitars, cavaquinho, flute and Nosso - explored the terrain. The freeway had one advantage. It was elevated up to the fourth floor, which would put them nearer to Laura's window, on the eighth. But they ran the risk of getting run over mid-serenade.
-What time are we doing this? asked Nosso.
-It's gotta be after midnight. There's no point otherwise.
-There won't be much traffic then, and if we do see a car, we'll have time to get out of the way.
-No, said Souza.
He couldn't permit Laura to see the group dispersed by some bus in the middle of the second verse. There was only one solution.
-We are going to have to do this from inside the building.
-What?
-Through the door. We go in, go up the elevator, and play in the hall, outside her door.
Nosso didn't like the idea. Hallway serenade; it didn't seem right. But, afterall, this was Souza's plan.
They met at the building's entrance at midnight. Souza noticed that Saraiva, one of the guitar players had a giant bag with him. What was that?
-My guitar is electric!
-Never fails. Where are we going to find an outlet?
The front door was locked. They would have to have someone buzz them in. Until they hit the right buttons, they heard a lot of complaints over the intercom. They finally got the right apartment. Laura asked what they wanted in a groggy, sleepy voice.
-Hit it! yelled Souza.
Over the intercom, Laura heard Nosso's singing, and then screaming.
-It's the cops! Easy there, take it easy... We aren't burgle...
Then shots. Then nothing. She went back to bed and told her boyfriend, a systems analyst, that it was probably a prank.
When she heard what happened, Laura felt she should go visit Souza at the hospital. The cops' bullet had gone right by his lung. When he saw Laura come in the room, Souza jumped up in bed and tripped on an IV while his friends watched in horror. He was taken back to bed. Laura apologized. And Souza, barely able to breathe, said:
-At your feet, at your feet.
He was incorrigible.
5
comments
Sunday, February 15, 2009
