He Will Come Back
Leônidas had returned home alone. Phillipe had insisted on accompanying him, but Leônidas didn’t allow him to go beyond the park and, unable to argue, Phillipe accepted the request. For lacking the strength to prepare his spirit for confrontation, Leônidas had built the image that, upon returning, he would inevitably face Bartolomeu. Driven by the fear of an explosive reaction, if Phillipe were nearby, he would have to suppress his feelings.
The darkness of the path came in whispers to his ears, in an intrusive way. Escaping far from there was what he needed to do — as fast as his legs could carry him, without leaving a trace. He had no strength to return. Phillipe moved away until he could no longer be seen and sat, distressed, on a bench he found. Unprepared, he wanted to admit he lacked the strength, but cowardice, nonetheless, was consistent with comfort. No matter how fast he moved, the troubles would catch up to him. His lungs emptied of breath, and he thought death might be the quickest escape.
It had been expected that this would happen sooner or later. Being able to foresee it didn’t make it any less cruel — whether by one method or another — this was a dispute in which Bartolomeu held the upper hand. He didn’t distrust Bartolomeu’s words out of spite, but as a precaution. For all he had done against him, Leônidas was incapable of forgiveness. He would hate Bartolomeu until his last day. He was a man unworthy of his recognition. Any suffering that touched his skin was not enough when compared to the harm he was capable of causing.
He understood, that day when Phillipe disappeared among the hills, claiming he had gotten lost — he had only wanted to be alone because he no longer believed anyone could pull him out of the desolate state he was in. It seemed sensible to do the same, with the difference that this time the flashlight wouldn’t be in his hands. Where was the light? The cold bit at his skin. His throat hurt from holding back tears.
He was facing that wall — the hardest one to climb. He needed to peek at what had happened, to hear some explanation, because he, too, needed to be convinced of what had taken place. He needed to believe in the arguments or cry out for some alternative. And if weakness was intrinsic to his essence, then he needed to discover himself just as much as he needed to resign himself to the fact that there was no time to lose and that somehow, he had to adapt to acceptance. This, in turn, was the hardest part, for in his hope and expectation, he had built a pleasant home.
Bartolomeu was not home, just as his mother had promised. When they met, he immediately jumped into her arms, overtaken by the relief of that anguish. She was well, and he was convinced of that — but what they needed to talk about would be the hardest part. She first wanted to know about what had happened while he was away. She also told him the details of what had taken place after he left. Out of curiosity, Bartolomeu had left shortly after Leônidas had also gone.
They agreed to meet in town the next day so they could talk. That was the first strange thing: Bartolomeu was never a man of dialogue; he was too impulsive when it came to matters of his interest. That was a bad sign.
She said, then, that she had found the strength to condemn all the things he did that bothered her. She made it clear that the way he treated her made living together unacceptable. Despite that, before she even mentioned the reasons for her frustration, Bartolomeu had already listed each one, as he understood what he had done and wanted to make amends. He had never wanted to take harsh action against them because his goal had been to win them back.
He needed her to see in him the man he was trying to become; his eyes filled with tears as he insisted that it was too hard to admit — sober and without her — that it wouldn’t be possible. He practically begged her to take him back. If not, she would be condemning him to a life of disgrace. He had never been honest enough to admit his mistakes, much less tried to act differently. One might suppose the reality check he had received had altered the gears of his behavior, adjusting him to understand the essence of things. She saw a reflection of spirituality in him that made her feel she should have given him a chance. But that wouldn’t be possible without Leônidas’s consent — the one most hurt in the whole process.
For that reason, Rachel said that Bartolomeu had asked to meet with him, so they could talk about what had happened, and Leônidas could then know another perspective on the matter.
Rachel took his hand, looked deep into his eyes, and urged him to open his heart, to try to weigh his fears and find the courage to do so. It was too late; the boy had already burst into tears. He knew that regardless of what he wanted, her decision was to go back to Bartolomeu. Before she went on, she tried to argue that she had made it clear to Bartolomeu that she didn’t intend to leave that city and that he should understand that the time granted to him would be no more than a test to prove what he was claiming. Still, he needed to know she would not submit to what had happened in the past.
Leônidas went to sleep deeply saddened, knowing that this was a battle he had lost — but he had not given up. That was a decision he would try to reverse.