ON FRIDAY'S CHRONICS: THE REBELLION OF THE SOUNDS

Clap. This is the sound he makes when he was walking the floor. Clap clap. A hollow sound as if he was walking on a walnut swollen by humidity and drought. Clap clap clap as he approached. And then clap decreased of intensity until they almost disappeared, a sign that he walked away again, and again he returned and sounds like a fizzy tone. This immateriality of steps made him a ghost wandering through the night, an alien soul teasing others down-to-earth and sleepy. There were times that she didn’t hear the clap but a blip. Blip, blip, blip ... it dripped like a tap through the silent night, and this was the most annoying sound in the world, and the most stunning, or at least as intense as a steam train or even more, because it was continuous and unremitting. Blip. Again and again, and more blip blip that came up and stopped as a long bliiiiiiiip, a hemorrhage of blips in a row without interruption.
The sounds usually have a logic and meaning. The morning sounds are completely different from the sounds of the night, and different from the afternoon’s sounds. In the morning you can hear the chlap-chlap for breakfast to be done, psiiiiiiiiiii the kettle to heat water, the wind which reeessstttttttt to enter through the open windows, and the Vrum vrum-vrum of the car’s engines caught. Piiiiiiing the afternoon tea falling in the cup, and the pssssstttttttt’s from the gossip magazine belonging to Aunt Naomi.



But, at night the sounds that He did haven’t any logic and were often indecipherable. Brrrrrum was the only sound she could identify when he crashed into a deep sleep early morning, and his breathing was growing thicker as the wind to pass through the mountains’ bum. In fact, The clap clap clap was the most characteristic sound of the frequent insomnia that plagued him.

That night however was a whole array of sounds that she could not
attribute to anything. There was catrapum-pum-plof-plooooof that could well be something to fall on steep wooden stairs. Prrrrrrrrrrrrrr prrrrrrrrrrrrrrprrrrrrrrrrr or what looked like a conversation between bored birds in a cage. And yet the Tassssssss-tasssssssssss-sssssssss a choking and very old cough. But the sound that frightened her most was the triiiiiiiiiiiiiiim-triiiiiiiiiiiim-terrrim a shrill bell that could be an alarm or something like that. When the sound came, the clap clap clap began to run, the prrrrrrrrrr remained silent and the prr-plooooof was heard at least 3 times. Then came the zuuuuuuuuuum and nothing more than the scary silence. The zuuuuuuuum, she discovered later, was her own snoring when she felt half-asleep.

But that night she was far from falling asleep! Can you sleep when you fear for your life? That night the sounds were more crazy than usual and he was up there, kept inventing new increasingly bizarre sounds, grisly as the ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-vruuuuuuuuuuuu , which could well be that kind of chainsaw that she had seen on TV as psychopaths used to dismember their victims. And she was sure he was one of these cold-blooded killers that robbed their victims through the night, and at the day light they might be reputable a doctor or something so honorable than that!


Theses sounds could be also her deceased angry husband who had returned to pick her maybe because he had discovered that she had betrayed him once when she flirted with Gervásio who was her husband’s best friend. So these weird sounds may be the psychopath or the soul of her deceased husband to come, the devil was free to choose! At least she had the hope that these sounds could be made by her beloved Gervásio. Yes, she hope so!


Holus-bolus, the clap clap clap was approaching dangerously from her room... clap, clap, CLAP ... followed by a short clip and a sinister RrrrrrEeeeGgggggggg. Suddenly, a door was opened...


- So, Grandma, did you turn off your hearing aid, again?
- Eih? What? Oh are you Peter ... what did you say?
- Please, connect your hearing device grandmother?
- He's mad; he doesn’t stop making hideous sounds,Peter!
- Who, Grandma?
-Him, up there ...
- But there's nobody up there, Grandma! If you turned off the hearing aid you can’t hear a single thing!
- Tonight will be the rebellion of the sounds, Peter! He already was announced that! So I hung up the hearing device because I need to pay attention to the outbreak of claps and blips? And, if they will catch me for real?


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Este é o som que ele fazia a andar pelo soalho. Clap clap. Um som oco como se caminhasse sobre uma noz seca e entumecida pela humidade. Clap clap clap enquanto ele se aproximava. E depois o clap diminuía de intensidade até quase desaparecer, sinal que ele se afastava de novo, para regressar um som mais gasoso e impalpável. Essa imaterialidade dos passos, fazia dele um fantasma vagueando através da madrugada, alma alienígena a importunar as outras mais terra-a-terra e sonolentas. Havia horas que ela não ouvia o clap mas antes um blip. Blip, blip, blip… como uma torneira que pingasse no silêncio da noite, e esse é som mais irritante do mundo e, por isso, o mais estrondoso, ou pelo menos tão intenso quanto um comboio a passar ou, mais ainda, porque é contínuo e incessante. Blip. Outra e outra vez, e mais blip blip e parava, até que vinha um bliiiiiiiip, uma hemorragia de blips seguidos sem interrupção. Os sons costumam ter uma lógica e um significado. Os sons matinais são completamente diferentes dos sons da tarde e estes dos nocturnos. De manhã ouve-se o chlap-chlap do pequeno-almoço a ser feito, o psiiiiiiiiiii da chaleira para aquecer a água, o reeeessssstttttt do vento a entrar nas janelas abertas para arejar e o Vrum-vrum-vrum dos motores a pegarem. À tarde o piiiiing do chá a cair na chávena e o leve pssssttttttt do passar das folhas da revista de fofocas da tia Noémia. Mas, à noite os sons que ele fazia não tinham qualquer lógica e muitas das vezes eram indecifráveis. Brrrrrum era o único som que ela conseguia identificar quando já de manhã ele caía estoirado num sono profundo e a sua respiração engrossava como a ventania a passar pelo cu das montanhas. O clap das passadas era contudo o som mais característico das insónias frequentes que o assolavam a ele.





Havia, contudo, toda uma panóplia de sons que ela não conseguia atribuir a alguma coisa. Era o catrapum-pum- plof- plooooof que podia bem ser algo a cair de umas escadas íngremes de madeira, ou o prrrrrrrrrrrrrr prrrrrrrrrrrrrrprrrrrrrrrrr que se parecia com uma conversa entre pássaros de gaiola entediados. E ainda o Tassssssss-tasssssssssss-sssssssss de uma tosse engasgada e muito velha. Mas, o som que mais a assustava era o triiiiiiiiiiiiiiim-triiiiiiiiiiiim-terrrim estridente de uma campainha que podia ser de um despertador ou de um alarme qualquer. Quando esse som chegava, o clap clap clap desatava a correr, o prrrrrrrrrr calava-se e prr- plooooof fazia-se ouvir no mínimo 3 vezes. Depois vinha o zuuuuuuuuuum e mais nada, silêncio. O zuuuuuuuum era dela própria, quando já meio adormecida ouvia o seu próprio ressonar.


Mas, nessa noite ela estava longe de adormecer, pois, quem consegue dormir quando se teme pela própria vida? Os indecifráveis sons estavam mais loucos do que o costume e ele, lá em cima, não parava de inventar novos sons e cada vez mais esquisitos e medonhos como o ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-vruuuuuuuuuuuu do princípio da noite, que podia bem ser aquele tipo de serra eléctrica que como ela vira na TV os psicopatas utilizavam para esquartejar as suas vítimas. E ela estava certa de que ele era um desses assassinos a sangue frio que de noite assaltava as suas vitimas e à luz do dia era um respeitável médico ou um gestor da bolsa. Ela ouvira o seu neto afirmar um dia que a Bolsa enlouquecia de verdade, sobretudo, em épocas de incerteza e crise. Ou isso ou o falecido marido que voltara para a azucrinar porque descobrira que ela uma vez o traíra na fase do namoro com o Gervásio que era o melhor amigo dele. Entre o psicopata e a alma do defunto marido venha o diabo e escolha. Livra! Ao menos se fosse o Gervásio... De repente, ela alimentou uma súbita esperança de que fosse o Gervásio... ai se fosse!


O clap clap clap aproximava-se, perigosamente, do quarto dela clap, clap, CLAP… seguiu-se um curto cliiip e o RrrrrrEeeeGgggggggg de uma porta a abrir-se…


- Então, avó desligou outra vez o aparelho dos ouvidos?
- Eih? O quê? Ah és tu Pedro… o que é que disseste?
- Ligue o aparelho avó?
- ELE está louco, não pára de fazer sons  medonhos, Pedrito!
- Quem, avó?
- Ele, lá em cima...
- Mas, não há ninguém lá em cima, avó! Que mania é essa de desligar o aparelho?
- Mas, esta noite é a revolta dos sons, Pedro! Ele bem que me avisou  Por isso desliguei o aparelho, preciso estar atenta à revolta dos CLAPS e dos BLIPS? E se eles me apanham?