Dear Amelia
N/A: esse é o capítulo em inglês. Eu, sinceramente, aconselho quem puder a ler o em inglês, que, além de fazer mais sentido, tá muito melhor. (: Não tenho muito o que falar, só que eu realmente chorei escrevendo isso, e que achei triste. E que minha mãe gostou quando eu li pra ela \o HSAUHSAUHA; ... ok, agora não é um momento para isso, tem que ter um clima mórbido, né?
I waited all morning for the postman, and when he finally came, my heart started to pound faster and faster, and I rushed to the front door. I didn’t care that I was still wearing my nightgown; Joseph’s letter was more important than my dignity.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Postman, thank you!” I cried as he handed me that precious piece of paper.
Without waiting an answer, I closed the door on his face and ran upstairs, to my room. I caught a glimpse of the postman’s angry countenance as he got on his bycicle from my window, but didn’t even bother to shout an apology. I was so anxious I was feeling headaches.
I murmured a pray before opening the letter. I wasn’t what you would call a religious person, but that was a crucial moment. When I read the first word, my smile widened.
Dear Amelia,
I know you might be smiling at this very moment. I try to remember your smile and your laughter, but the sounds and images just seem to be locked away somewhere in my mind, together with my old and happy memories. I hope you still remember how it is to feel happiness. I hope you can teach it to me all over again, so we can enjoy all moments together, and create new and better memories. I would enjoy that.
It’s been almost two years since they knocked on our door in a wintery Sunday morning and dragged me to Auschwitz with them. I remember you were drinking hot cocoa and warming your feet by the fireplace. I was eating your delicious homemade pancakes with maple syrup and we were both sad while listening to the news on the radio. Our neighbourhood was empty. Everyone had been taken by Hitler’s men, but we were not concerned. I wasn’t Jewish, so why care? Well, but as we came to know only half an hour later, my grandfather was. And, even though he’s already dead, my blood lineage mattered a lot to them.
Anyway, I don’t want to write about facts that will make you sob. I don’t think I could stand making you shed tears again .I know you must have cried a lot Amelia, darling ,and that is okay. No one is asking you to be brave, or courageous, or good at faking smiles. You just have to be yourself, and everything is going to be fine. Because your true self is beautiful, and as long you stick to your beliefs, everyone will like you, even love you, just like I do. I wish you to know I will be sure to always be by your side.
I’m alright. Things have calmed down a bit. I escaped from them, and though I know they will find me in no time, I write this letter with a smile on my dirty face. Right now, I am watching the sunrise and pretending you, Amelia, are here with me. Probably everyone that comes near me will think I’m crazy, but I don’t care. And while I talk to you, telling tales I heard from other Jewish fellows, I think I feel what happiness is again. Only the wind is here to hear me, but he’s a good listener and doesn’t interrupt even when tears start to fall down my cheeks. If I died now, I would die smiling. Even though I want to see you, and hold you in my arms, and kiss your honey-flavoured lips again, that may not be possible. I’m happy because while I remember our moments together, I know you are safe. And that’s all I need to know to feel safe too.
Maybe this letter won’t even reach you. Who knows, maybe by now you are married again, with a child, and thinking I’m gone forever, that my corpse was buried together with others a long time ago. Though my head tries to trick my heart with these thoughts, I think I feel deep down that I’m writing lies. You are waiting for me, aren’t you, Amelia? You wait every day, and go to sleep frustrated every night. It might be selfish of me, but I can’t help but feel relieved about it. I can be wrong, but I would know if you didn’t love me anymore. Don’t ask me how; I just would, because as a mother breaks down when she loses her child, a person feels a part of him shutting down when he loses his lover. And since I feel alright, I presume you still think of me.
I want to live, Amelia. I want to go back to our little cottage and cuddle up in our bed, then turn off the lights, embrace you and sleep peacefully. I want to eat again your pancakes, drink the teas you liked to make and watch horror movies till dawn. I want to make love with you one more time, to whisper in your ear and kiss your neck, and tell how pretty you look in the dim moonlight that invades our room through the old flowery curtains. I want to, one day, hold our child in my arms and come back home from work knowing he will be there to hug me and shout “Daddy!” with his childish cute little voice.
Now you should know what I don’t want to do. I don’t want to keep writing the things I want, because, as I am crying now, I know you are too. Please, wipe off that sad look from your face and start smiling again. That’s my greatest wish: that you won’t stop being happy, never. All the people deserve to see the dimple on your right cheek when you smile, so don’t deprive anyone from this pleasure, okay?
The remembrance of you is what gets me through the night and keeps my sanity in this doomed place.
Oh, I hear footsteps. I’m sorry, Amelia, but I’m afraid I can’t write anymore. There are so many things I want to tell you, but they are coming for me, and I must say goodbye now. I won’t promise anything, dearest. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I can only hope for better days.
During all my life, the only woman who caught my eye and held my heart was you. And always will be. Our love will last through eternity and, if I don’t ever see you again, we’ll meet in heaven someday. That’s for sure.
I love you, Amelia. Forever.
Joseph.
I laughed through my tears, not knowing why. Joseph was the perfect man, a dreaming husband. I knew I would always hold him close to my heart, didn’t matter the circumstances.
I placed the letter on Joseph’s side of the bed, together with some of his belongings: a pair of trousers, a blue tie and the snow globe he had since he was five. It was a rough piece of paper, and I wondered who had given it to him, but the truth is that details didn’t matter at all.
He loved me, I loved him. And, whatever happened later, I would always have that letter to remember me of his feelings and to make my wounded heart heal a bit from its longing. Even if he left this world, he would never actually leave me.
I sat on my armchair, and kept staring at the street, my eyes full of hope. I wasn’t waiting for the postman anymore; this time, I would wait for Joseph himself. Because deep down, I felt he was coming home. He was coming back. My Joseph.
The end.
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A fic pegou só duas páginas no word, é tão pequena como o meu dedo mindinho. (?)'
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