JК
Veronika decides to die :: Coelho Paulo
Страница: 100 из 115The city was so well designed (in the architects’ opinion) or so badly designed (in Eduard’s opinion), that there were almost no corners; he just kept straight ondown a high speed lane, looking up at the sky full of rainless clouds, then he felt himself rising up at a tremendous speed toward the sky, only to plummet down again and land on the asphalt. Crash!
I’ve had an accident.
He tried to turn over, because his face was pressed against the asphalt, and realized he had no control over his own body. He heard the noise of cars braking, people talking in alarmed voices, someone approaching and trying to touch him, then a shout: “Don’t move him! If anyone moves him, he could be crippled for life!”
The seconds passed slowly, and Eduard began to feel afraid. Unlike his parents, he believed in God and in the afterlife, but even so, it seemed grossly unfair to die at seventeen, staring at the asphalt, in a land not his own.
“Are you all right?” he heard someone say.
No, he wasn’t all right; he couldn’t move, but he couldn’t say anything either. The worst thing was that he didn’t lose consciousness; he knew exactly what was happening and what his situation was. Why didn’t he faint? At precisely the moment when he was looking for God with such intensity, despite everything and everyone, God had no pity on him.
“The doctors are on their way,” someone whispered to him, clutching his hand. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but keep calm. It’s nothing serious.”
Yes, he could hear, he would have liked that person—a man—to keep on talking, to promise him that it was nothing serious, even though he was old enough to know that people only say that when the situation is very serious indeed. He thought about Maria, about the place where there were mountains of crystals full of positive energy, unlike Brasília, which had the highest concentration of negativity he had ever encountered in his meditations.
The seconds became minutes, people continued trying to comfort him, and for the first time since it all happened, he began to feel pain. A sharp pain that came from the center of his head and seemed to spread throughout his entire body.
“They’re here,” said the man who was holding his hand. “Tomorrow you’ll be riding your bike again.”
But the following day Eduard was in the hospital, with both his legs and one arm in casts, unable to leave for at least a month, and having to listen to his mother’s nonstop sobbing, his father’s anxious phone calls, and the doctors reassurances, reiterated every five minutes, that the crucial twenty-four-hour period had passed, and there was no injury to the brain.
I’ve had an accident.
He tried to turn over, because his face was pressed against the asphalt, and realized he had no control over his own body. He heard the noise of cars braking, people talking in alarmed voices, someone approaching and trying to touch him, then a shout: “Don’t move him! If anyone moves him, he could be crippled for life!”
The seconds passed slowly, and Eduard began to feel afraid. Unlike his parents, he believed in God and in the afterlife, but even so, it seemed grossly unfair to die at seventeen, staring at the asphalt, in a land not his own.
“Are you all right?” he heard someone say.
No, he wasn’t all right; he couldn’t move, but he couldn’t say anything either. The worst thing was that he didn’t lose consciousness; he knew exactly what was happening and what his situation was. Why didn’t he faint? At precisely the moment when he was looking for God with such intensity, despite everything and everyone, God had no pity on him.
“The doctors are on their way,” someone whispered to him, clutching his hand. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but keep calm. It’s nothing serious.”
Yes, he could hear, he would have liked that person—a man—to keep on talking, to promise him that it was nothing serious, even though he was old enough to know that people only say that when the situation is very serious indeed. He thought about Maria, about the place where there were mountains of crystals full of positive energy, unlike Brasília, which had the highest concentration of negativity he had ever encountered in his meditations.
The seconds became minutes, people continued trying to comfort him, and for the first time since it all happened, he began to feel pain. A sharp pain that came from the center of his head and seemed to spread throughout his entire body.
“They’re here,” said the man who was holding his hand. “Tomorrow you’ll be riding your bike again.”
But the following day Eduard was in the hospital, with both his legs and one arm in casts, unable to leave for at least a month, and having to listen to his mother’s nonstop sobbing, his father’s anxious phone calls, and the doctors reassurances, reiterated every five minutes, that the crucial twenty-four-hour period had passed, and there was no injury to the brain.