Do you know anything about this girl who always comes before me? Tell me, will you? Is she having relationship problems? Does she have a band? Is she a hardcore metalhead? Does she have an inverted crucifix like mine? Are you attracted to her?
By Rafael Masini
Waiting room. Adelaide sits at her usual spot – a simple desk and chair, typical of waiting rooms. On the desk, several folders and papers are stacked, along with other common secretary items: pens, pencils, a clipboard, clothespins, tape, paperclips, a diary, a lamp, a telephone, a small battery-powered radio, and the like. Everything is impeccably organized. Next to the desk, a wastebasket. Next to the wastebasket, a water filter. A considerable distance from the desk, a single chair serves those waiting for their appointment. Beside it, a low table holds old magazines and a jar of mints. There's a coat rack with a single coat hanging on it. Rita enters behind Adelaide. Adelaide hears Rita entering but doesn't turn around. Adelaide writes. Only when Rita sits in the chair does Adelaide look at her and greet her with her eyes.
Rita: Don't even say anything, Adelaide. I don't have the patience today. It's always the same old story, "Good afternoon Rita, how are you?" Fine. Do people who are fine need psychologists? Shouldn't I be feeling a little lonely if I have to pay to talk to someone? And doesn't the fact that I arrive ten minutes before my appointment give you the impression that I have nothing better to do? It's always the same thing. I have to stay here, waiting for that other crazy woman who only wears jeans and a black metal band t-shirt and never greets me to come out of that little room over there. Do you think it's normal for someone to go through this at least twice a week? I know that only the most disturbed patients come here twice a week. The norm is once a week.
You know, Adelaide, one of the things Dr. Marta tells me to do is write. She says writing is good for the mind because it helps organize thoughts. So I started writing, but I never show it to her. She'd judge my words. The thing is, lately I haven't been able to write anymore. I bought a notebook just to write down the songs of my life, the songs I compose on Gui's borrowed guitar. Did you know the notebook is blank? Yeah, crazy, isn't it?
Damn, what a heart! It's yours. Who does your heart beat for, Adelaide? Who do you think of when you listen to slow music or when you masturbate? Who do you serve whiskey to before taking off your clothes? Nobody, Soares, right? Maybe you're the type of woman who will only fall in love when she's old, you know, like in French cult films? The bitter old woman because she never had love in her life, suddenly meets an old soulmate, listens to one last record and has sex until she dies. If you want, I can help you. I can write your life in a calligraphy notebook, with biblical illustrations, and a profane cover. I can record your lonely poems on a vinyl record. You can call it the last record of a naked soul.
I've taken nude photos before, you know? Why don't you try it? Take a shower, shave, put on some lotion, and then take pictures of yourself. One day I'll bring you my photos to see. You'll be able to admire my curves, my shape. You'll be able to envy my figure. Ask in your prayers, Adelaide, for Jesus to give you a figure like mine in your next life. Jesus…
See this crucifix here? It's upside down. My grandmother gave it to me for my first communion. I used to pray with it pressed against my chest. But one day my dog got sick, and I asked God, or the crucifix, I don't know, to heal my dog. You know what happened, Adelaide? He died. That's when I turned the crucifix upside down. To punish baby Jesus for stealing my dog. My grandmother was furious! She said a whole lot of nasty things to me and my mother. She was furious. Fuck it. Now she's in paradise with my dog Ozzy.
And I have no idea for a song. I don't know if it's Gui's guitar playing, or if it's this moment in my life..
"See this crucifix here? It's upside down. My grandmother gave it to me for my first communion."
Stupid lies! He whispered in my ear, stroked my hair, kissed the nape of my neck. He took my hand and we went to the park. He always came with a wandering hand and I'd give him a little tap with a smile. A real game of "stop or I'll fall for you… stop or I'll give in." The park was almost always empty, just a few useless people feeding the ducks. I bet you love feeding the ducks, Adelaide, you look so duck-like. That was so long ago, I don't even remember his name anymore. I don't know why I remembered that now. What a strange guy. And you, Adelaide?
Ah, it's so easy for you, isn't it, Adelaide? You just sit there, silent, while that idiot Rita talks nonstop. You spend all day there doodling in that little notebook of yours, I bet Dr. Marta only gives you useless tasks. I don't even want to imagine the kind of low-class things that woman makes you do. And you do everything, don't you, Adelaide? How far will you go for this little job, Adelaide? Are you fulfilling some kind of promise? Going on a silent strike? You know, when I need something I go on a sex strike, that really works. Nobody lives without sex, Adelaide. Now, your silence… Who cares to hear you talk? Is there anyone? Are you married? Oh, I'm sorry, this is getting too personal! At least you talk to your husband? Oh, I get it, he likes the quiet type. You have sex in silence, with that innocent face, and he loves it. I get it all. Is that how you dominate men, Adelaide? Ah, finally a smile!
Do you know anything about this woman who always comes before me? Oh, you do! Tell me, will you? Is she having problems in love? At work? Does she have a band? Is she a heavy metal fan? Does she have an inverted crucifix like mine? Do you two talk before her appointment, like we do? Do you feel any attraction to her? Do your feminine desires get in the way when you see that woman, Adelaide? Or is that just me? I'm just kidding, Adelaide! Tell me about her, go on. I'm sure you must be thinking this is unethical. Silly girl. Do you think I don't know that Dr. Marta tells her, you, or other people what I tell her? Of course she does, she tells her supervisor, her husband, her closest friends, even the neighbors. Dr. Marta probably only talks about those things. Old hag with nothing to say. A real pain in the neck. And besides, she can talk, I don't care, because they don't know me.
But one day they might get to know me. The world is quite small. Imagine meeting someone who knows my secrets, even without me having told them. And your secrets, Adelaide? Who knows? Of course you'll say that…
"The bitter old woman, who never knew love in her life, suddenly meets an old soulmate, listens to one last record, and has sex until she dies."
(The office door opens and a beautiful woman emerges, crying. She's wearing jeans, a black Accept t-shirt, and flip-flops. The psychologist, Marta, shouts from inside the office.)
Marta's voice : Send the next one, Adelaide!
Rita: Don't worry, Adelaide, I know the way. Those 10 minutes flew by. Thanks for the company, don't worry, I won't tell your secret. I'm going in. Next stop… The couch.
