The great end

The Great End
By Paulo Kellerman

1.

I sit down and let my eyes wonder. Some seats on my right, three old
men talk, in a tired and hopeless tone, without looking at each other,
without looking at anything: as if they were just talking for fear of
silence; worse: as if they were just waiting, wasting the last minutes,
postponing the Great End, the unavoidable Great End.
On my left, a clich?: boy meets girl. He explains something to her,
with eagerness and excitement in his voice: just as if he was in a
hurry, fearing that his time may be sparse and end unexpectedly,
sensing the approach of some kind of Great End; and she listens, eyes
on the ground, hands squeezed, apprehension exhaled in each breath:
sensing the possible end of the relationship, fearing the terrible
Great End? Or maybe seeing herself spending the night alone, when all
she wishes for is to make love and forget the world.
I turn my head, embarrassed. Trying to ignore all these people: sad,
hopeless people. My people.
Time's passing. And the world's spinning. Always spinning.

2.

Spinning around and full of life, several young girls come near me:
showing great legs and shaking better arses, acting like rulers of the
world. (Words that come to mind: beauty, youth, happiness, joy, sex.)
There are five. But one of them stands out: she shows and shakes more
than the others; and talks, laughs, charms more than the others. They
pass in front of me, moving like top models, acting like top models: no
smile, total indifference. Except for one, the one: she looks at me,
first with curiosity, then with surprise, finally with interest. I
notice seduction, challenge and invitation on that glimpse. And I look
back; she, of course, was expecting some kind of embarrassed reaction
and looks a little amazed; maybe confused? But her reaction comes in a
second: a smile. A beautiful smile: the stimulating smile of a woman in
peace with the world; the smile of a totally happy person. She looks at
me, I look at her; she smiles, I smile. Understanding: total,
unconditional, inconsequent understanding . And the moment is gone.
Past. Sweet memory.
I look at her, as she goes away. And I feel sorry for her. I regret
that she's about to loose her life, I regret the coming years that
she'll never get to enjoy. Temptation: I feel an urge to follow her,
grab her shoulder, look deep in her (probably blue) eyes and confess:
you're living your last moments; you' re approaching your Great End,
the Great End.
And explain why.

3.

Why? That is the question. No answer.
Trying to avoid melancholic thoughts, I look all over the park seeking
some kind of rescue: oblivion: unconsciousness: alienation.
Peace.
And I see a dog. Small, ugly dog. It approaches me slowly,
indifferent: and smells me for a long moment, in a delicate, respectful
manner. Frightened bark: and it runs away, scared and nervous. I see it
hidden away behind an enormous tree, I see it spying me with anxious
eyes. I hear it barking, just once. And I understand what that single
bark means: it knows.
Time's passing, and I'm waiting; just waiting. Meanwhile I look at the
trees: undressed of leaves but full of life and strength. Funny how
they are so different and yet so similar; funny how difficult it is to
distinguish two different trees and, at the same time, how difficult it
is to find two identical trees: so different, yet so alike. I look at
them, amazed: and I find myself thinking that some trees, these trees,
probably all trees, must have some kind of personality, revealing their
thought and states of mind (their souls?) in the vigour of their trunk,
in the brightness of their leaves. I look at these trees and I find
myself thinking: funny how they look sad, maybe a little anxious, just
as if they're expecting some king of mysterious event, good or bad,
still confused and blurred in shadows but unavoidable. And for a
moment, a slight suspicion crosses my mind: they're sensing the
approaching Great End, they know who I am.

4.

I'm tired. But, now I have to end this.
The dog, the trees: they know, they all know.
I look for the small dog but I can't find it: and I imagine the poor
condemned thing hidden behind the trees, waiting. I'll never see it
again. And I feel sad. (Goodbye.)
But all of a sudden, the calmness disappears and the park's filled
with life: frantic sounds of birds flying around the trees, excited by
the sunset, or maybe fearing the closeness of one more long, cold
night. Mysterious sounds: like a farewell song. And I wonder: farewell
of what? Are they also sensing some king of Great End? Or simply
saluting the last rays of light? Are they proclaiming their nervous
goodbyes to the ending day? Or to the ending world? (Perhaps these
birds are just smarter than most human beings, maybe tiny stupid birds
know what human super brains ignore, try to ignore, pretend to ignore:
life's a borrowed gift. It's ours, definitely ours, but some day it'll
be taken away, definitely taken away.)
The old men pass by me, eyes lost in inner thoughts, feet scratching
subtle lines on the ground. They walk in silence, sad and tired: and I
lost them in the distance, tangled in shadows. Like ghosts: just a
memory.
The clich? couple are also gone. Like the old men, like the young
girls, like the small dog. I'm alone.

5.

I'm alone: with the trees and the birds and the wind. Far away, the
everlasting drone of cars coming and going: men and women too anxious
to arrive somewhere, everywhere, who-cares-where.
The night is near. I look at the sky in search of stars. Not a cloud
at sight, just an immense curtain of dark blue. And I think to myself:
how sad is the sky without stars, how sad is the world without
people.
I wait a few minutes. And there it is, coming from nowhere, timid and
uncertain: the first star of the night. At that precise moment, all
birds stop their exuberant lullaby.
Blue turns into grey. Light grey. Dark grey. Other stars, invited by
the sudden silence that falls upon the world, slowly appear to occupy
their places. And night begins.
I rise up and walk away, annoyed and doubtful. Unintentionally, the
memory of the girl with the charming smile comes to mind and takes
control of my thoughts. I'm recalling: her eyes, her smile, her body
language: unconditional happiness and confidence. Trust. Hope.
Faith.
And just for a small moment, I feel doubt and hesitation. I think:
it's still possible to postpone, it doesn't have to happen today.
Temptation: for a second I feel inebriated with temptation. But I try
to react and ask myself: if not today, when? How many more delays, how
many more hesitations?
No. There'll always be a tender smile. Birds and dogs begging. Sad,
hopeless people waiting. Can the Great End be stopped by a simple
smile? Can a smile be more powerful than my will?
No.
I walk away, surrounded by nightfall. The last nightfall of this world
(and asking myself: what kind of a God am I, always full of doubt and
hesitation?).

Note: The original Portuguese version was published on the book
"Pequenas nuvens solit?rias&;#8230;" (Sem Editora, 2001); translated
by Paulo Kellerman