Sinister: Just about italian and brazilian books and desperation... nothing of interest.

[arlequim at xxx.br]

Oh, Sinister... 

Wednesday I was downtown, near the office I work at, and had the almost brilliant 
idea to go to a bookstore spend my time, as I was out of work for at least two hours 
from then on. I went to my favourite one, called "Berinjela" (egg-plant). It's really 
cool. It's in the basement of a business building, and you reach it after descending a 
long spiral ramp, as if you're going to some kind of medieval dungeon. In the end, 
instead of skeletons in chains, you find a pharmacy, a small restaurant and two 
bookstores - one of them being the so called "Berinjela". At first, everybody 
wonders: "how can people have this kind opf commerce underground!?!?". For me 
it's no longer so mysterious...

At "Berinjela" you can find a lot of cool stuff, among books, CDs, LPs, comics and 
bibelots. When I am out of money, that's the place I go to spend a couple of hours 
listening to records I won't buy and reading books without taking them either. Once 
in a while, I freak out and buy lots of stuff, some really desired and some I won't 
remember why are at my house a few weeks later. That's just what I felt when I 
bought three albuns of Lloyd Cole and the Commotions at once. I like Lloyd Cole, 
but not with that...urgency. 

But, this wednesday, as I arrived there, I glanced at the bookcases, as ever, and 
saw something amazing: one of the books I searched more desperatly in my whole 
short and unsufficient life!! It's called "A Pedra do Reino", by a brazilian author 
called Ariano Suassuna. It's sold out. It's rare. It's perfect - and, at that time, it was 
cheap!! But - oh, irony! - I had no credit card in me, no cash, no one to bring me the 
money - I was alone in the office - and no chance to get the book immediately. 

I said to the the atendant, a very sympathetic middle-aged man, with agony in my 
eyes: "Couldn't you make a reservation, keep it out of sale for me until tomorrow?". 
He was so cruel: "sorry, our policy doesn't allow us to this anymore". I stacked. said: 
"so it's better saying goodbye now, because this book is going to disappear from the 
shelf as soon as I turn my back". He agreed: "I don't even know how you've come to 
find him today, as I put it there yesterday. It's a miracle!". I didn't laugh, as he 
probably thought I would, and went away, to try to find someone to lend me the 
money. 

Two hours later I made contact with my elder brother, who was casually nearby, and 
he said he'd come with the money. I was happy, of course, but I decided to go 
check if the book was still there after asking my brother to change his plans for me. 
And my fears were fully confirmed: not a trace of the most awanted book... It was 
gone, took by some other book-adicted as myself... so sad. 

I still hope to find the book someday... wish me luck.

Until then, knowing there's an italian writing for the list (Stefano, I guess...), I must 
congratulate him for the greatness of his country's authors: I am just finishing 
another Alberto Moravia's novel, "Il Conformista", and had already been delighted 
by "Paura Alla Scala", by Dino Buzzati, with delightful short stories. As I see, the 
twentieth century was generous to italian literature. 

Beto (and his boooooooooring messages)

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