Monthly Archives: Janeiro 2013

Play it again, Sam

If there was an expression such as “you’re a sight for sore eyes”, but applied to the ears, he would be the reason for its creation. It was a joy just being there, eyes closed and listening to the music floating. Six-Fingers Sam, they called him, the reason being literal. Not three in each hand, but twelve in total.

But oh, he learnt how to use them. As a child, while the other kids were playing football, he was learning the music notes on dirty sheets of paper. On its teens, instead of wasting time chasing tails and losing virginities, he has decided to work and buy a piano. The pariah pattern was also the talent rocket. It was a life of mockery, when someone noticed the six fingers: the girls holding his hands screamed and the goalkeeper gloves didn’t fit. But now, as an adult, nothing mattered anymore.

Adjusted bench, feet reaching the pedals and arms stretching upwards complete the initiation rite, every day, every time. The six times two then start walking over the ebony and ivory. At first with soft gentle steps, just a smooth cherish on the surface, causing a vibrant intensity on the inside. Inside the piano strings and inside the women’s bodies. Inside that woman’s body. He’s a player alright, and this doesn’t  apply only to the piano. The initial subtle smoothness starts demanding more. Starts demanding vigor. Just like the piano black and white, wherever there is light, there are also shadows, it’s a casual relationship that can’t be avoided. And so, the hands either step graciously and slowly the skin web or jump and press vigorously the flesh mesh, we’re not talking about music anymore. The game is pattes d’araignée, and the trained fingers are not rejected. Quite the opposite, they’re received and pulled and pushed and moaned to. The slow massage goes down from the rib cage to the area that defines the Venus, the palm of the hand pressing hard and the fingers pivoting to the deep forbidden, but desired zone. It was forbidden, but not anymore!

There is a similar expression to the one in the beginning, in fact: the pleasure escaping her lungs is music to his ears, as he keeps using his natural born gift and acquired training to explore her vocal modulations, from Allegro Ma Non Troppo to Molto Vivace. She wants Prestissimo, and they’re already as one, hips against thighs, lips colliding, her music channeling through him, his music channeled inside her. A complete symphony of deliverance.

Back to the piano, Six-Fingers Sam, they called him. The reason being literal. It was a gift that always helped him. But the gloves still don’t fit!


Gonçalo Fortes


Penthouse or On Her Majesty’s Service

This was my first literary attempt in english language.  Error-prone and everything:

Otis was an old elevator. He had one of those rusty accordion doors that squeaked when someone opened or closed them. One had to be careful, though. Otis was old and grumpy, and sometimes he didn’t have manners. Once, he closed the doors on the 2nd floor’s fatty kid’s finger. The doors squeaked, the boy squealed and Otis screamed on top of it all:  Run piglet boy, ruuun!

But Otis wasn’t mean. He was just tired of going up and the down the ladder, carrying everybody.

In the beginning, people talked to him. But they started to slowly forget him and this was his way to try and get attention back. Loneliness is tougher than life. And life isn’t easy to begin with.

Sometimes Otis jammed and refused to work. It‘s my bad knee – he kept saying – I’m not the same boy I once was. Chasing tail up the stairs, pushing rivals down the pit.

But this was only a façade. A mask that Otis wore to ask for some kind, gentle, caring words. Words that never came, and the pit was now Otis favorite place:

8th floor? Go by yourself, I’m fed up of carrying everybody’s globes on my shoulders. If it was only the body weight, I could handle it with no problem. Heck, I even carry the fat piglet boy around. But he’s young, he doesn’t carry the pains yet. The choice. The not being able to choose. Because I’m always carrying the unhappiness, the work cursing, the marriage hating, the neighbor envying…  And that’s far heavier than any group of people exceeding the weight limit sign. It’s four people or 250 kg, by the way, you didn’t ask, but I say it anyway. And although I bounce their emotional weight around, giving them some breath on the way down when I go faster and leave the weight  floating amidst, still nobody asks for my knee.

And right he was. Even worse, there were drunks vomiting, people farting, couples fornicating and dogs pissing. The average guy’s office hazards, between the rusty doors.

But everything changed that day. A little girl came and asked Otis to take her up.

I can’t, little girl.

Why? – she asked – I’m like the fatso kid, still no burdens to bear, with the extra bonus of being thin. I’ll probably be anorexic some day, but today it will be  just a small lift. Why?

It’s my knee – he showed her.

Out of nowhere, the little girl shed a tear. A single tear, light in weight, light in light. The tear touched the rusty accordion doors and, screw the laws of chemistry, they didn’t oxidize.  Next stop, 8th floor!


Gonçalo Fortes


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