By VINÍCIUS SÃO PEDRO*
“The mysterious vocalizations kept everyone awake, filled with a kind of indignation, restless and feverish”
“The other door of pleasure, \ the door that is knocked on gently, \ its invitation is a pleasure wounded by fire \ and, with that, much more pleasure.” (Carlos Drummond de Andrade).
It was already late at night and the small condominium—two small buildings, four floors—was fast asleep. It was curious how that noisy neighborhood, full of cars, motorcycles, dogs, mothers and loudspeakers, gradually fell into a torpor at dusk until reaching complete silence at dawn. A silence so silent that you could hear the sounds of your own body. Not that night.
In the small condominium — two small buildings, four floors — violations of the bylaws were constant, as occurs in any residential complex. Cigarette butts decorating the garden, a car parked in the wrong space, the damn gate left open, the filthy bathroom in the barbecue area, were common signs of community life.
But nothing defiled the calm of the early mornings. They were respected above any convention, as if some kind of fantastic pact imposed the greatest consensus there. Even the drunks and the babies seemed to respect it. That night, however, things were different.
Virtually all residents woke up to the sound of outrageous vocalizations. Not even benzodiazepines were able to filter out the whimpers, groans, screams and howls — a whole bizarre repertoire dominated by monosyllables and guttural sounds. The sounds came in waves that lasted from 5 to 10 minutes and, after brief intervals, they would rend the peace. Frightened, some residents imagined a torture session, as cruel as it was careless. For others, it was simply cats in heat. But as they came out of their early morning trances, the connection between the sounds and heat became increasingly clear, although their connection to felines became less and less likely.
As they regained consciousness, their astonishment and disbelief grew proportionally. It was clear that such sounds could only come from some animal. Not so much because of their acoustic characteristics, but because of the realization that only a being devoid of shame would be capable of defying the collective dawn with such detachment.
And for the more (d)aware residents — or just more experienced ones — the sounds gradually lost their mystery. They logically concluded that some pervert had lost track of the volume on his computer, allowing the melody of his depravities to propagate through cracks and windows.
The fact is that that morning the small condominium—two small buildings, four floors—did not sleep. The mysterious vocalizations kept everyone awake, filled with a kind of indignation, disturbing and feverish. The next day, no one dared to bring up the subject. Looks of curiosity or inquiry were exchanged in the hallways. They looked for any sign of guilt, but only found deep circles under their eyes and tired eyelids. The exceptions were the two girls who had recently moved into 403B, with wide smiles and light expressions, like no one else in that condominium.
*Vinícius São Pedro is a professor of biology at the Federal University of São Carlos — Lagoa do Sino campus.
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