26/10/2015 14h27 - Updated 26/10/2015 14h27

And if God's calligraphy are a scrawl?

"Márcio Souza Tale reflects on human callousness in the modern gears"
Illustration: Eric Lima
Illustration: Eric Lima

On his birthday, I feel that Manaus is really in need of congratulations. It has not been an easy year, for this or that reason, but especially the days literally clouded by which the city passes. We feel every morning there is a step back in the routine of manauara, but we are a strong people, this is not our first crisis and probably will not be the last. This is what in part led me to the subject of this week's column.

Celebrating a city like Manaus is not only look at the surroundings of the Teatro Amazonas while strolling through Largo San Sebastian or go to Ponta Negra in the day and see the sun gather in Rio Negro. Celebrate Manaus is honor her with our memory, always bring to mind about what the city was built, remember the cost that the Paris of the Tropics required for it to become what it is today, of which are lost in the process and of those figures that have the potential to lead to further town. And today celebrate one of Márcio Souza jobs, a writer who is dedicated to denounce our forgetfulness and indifference, author of works such as Galvez, Emperor of Acre (1976) e Mad Maria (1980).

One of the writing characteristics of Márcio Souza is the development of plots from the historical context of the Northern region, but not glamourizando green jungle or the Indian customs: Souza brings what is beneath the label, pulls the roots that the flower hides, if dirty ground, and recalls that those parts of Brazil, more than a forest paradise, It is also tainted by human malice, breaking the illusion of exotic with which the North was bewitched. That's what caught my attention in the calligraphy of God, tale that makes up a namesake of the author (2008).

Described as a film by Adriana Santelli, the Federal University of Acre, the fact tale has the successful effect of taking a decadent space, the muddy terrain and suspected brothels, almost transmitting stinks a bad acid crowded alleyway. More than that, we see and the world through the eyes of who gets it down, and perhaps it is this perspective that leaves the crudest narrative, nearest the flies hovering over two bodies that serve to treat a small crowd.

This is the first scenario raised by the tale, a curious crowd to enjoy the most macabre spectacle of all. Result of a police operation, named Great area almost as an author joke, the bodies of a man sprawled in his own urine and a woman wearing nothing but a lime green panties stop the Japiim neighborhood, what, the narrative space, still in training. And training, meant homes being built in an improvised way, the ground moving in mud by recent deforestation, the curiosity of several locals mixed with stifling heat and complaints Commissioner Fleet, responsible for the operation, it starts to get bored with so many people.

retrospectively, We know the story of each victim, and which led to the sights of Commissioner Fleet. It is Izabel Pimentel, born in Iaureté Cachoeira mission, where everyone seemed to be born with the same last name, who left all the teeth to have an artificial smile. Rejected by the mission boys and afraid of domestic violence naturalized women there suffered, she came to Manaus, e, trying to get a job in the effervescence of the Free Zone, just as a prostitute. The man is Alfredo Silva, one is-seen-as-can you just by getting involved in shady services and so often the scapegoat for every theft in the city of Manaus. No stranger to brothels, ends up winning the affection and Izabel, being the thief was known that, both saw the double crime, Phlegm and crazy India Potira, as the media began to portray them.

Needing someone to blame for a series of robberies in their jurisdiction, Commissioner Fleet surrenders to the habit of accusing and persecuting catarrh, but this time not only to win praise, but a promotion. Logo, arrest them was not enough, I needed a spectacle, needed results, I needed that uproar, those bodies. The tale ends, and we are always reminded of the reason for its title: Izabel learned from the mother that everything that happened to him, be abuse or prostitution, It was because "God writes straight with crooked lines", it's her, repeating this refrain for catarrh, It made him think about how this scrawl that was the handwriting of God was mad. And here is the watchword: madness.

We're talking about an industrial center being built, a neighborhood being formed in a hurry, people come from all corners of the state to grab a place in the sun, a city trying to find your identity. Madness. During the first part of the story, we are introduced to a line very recurs throughout the narrative: "The madness of the Free Zone". In the madness of the Free Zone, the people settled in newly deforested neighborhood Japiim. In the madness of the Free Zone, the people remains without the slightest dissatisfaction. In the madness of the Free Zone, the people are so devoid of identity that a police raid, It is an admirable event.

It was the crazy dynamics of his village did Izabel remove teeth, was the crazy development of the industrial complex that led catarrh survive minor offenses, It was the madness of a city on the rise that led the Commissioner to such dramatic steps to get a promotion. It was the indifference of the people of the neighborhood Japiim that stopped to admire the death of two unknown. Some say it was a horrible episode, an allegory about police violence and human cruelty, but I believe that this is still surface.

In this story, Márcio Souza not only revealed a dark facet of manauara, but the human being in general: We are good at trivializing, in making the tragedy empty entertainment, We do not think the other, We do not think of us, We do not think of pain. Who was Alfredo Silva? Who was Izabel Pimentel? No one asks. Nobody cares.

Souza brought this to light, a dab of mankind in a terrible episode not as fictional as well set in Manaus, and I venture to say that this is the role of the artist: look in your own reality a piece of eternity, see no intimate or universal, see all the parts and each composing all, so that complete understanding can be.

And for a brief recommendation and reflection on a nastily beautiful tale fits into a tribute to the anniversary of Manaus? Because it worries us, desconforta us, It makes us think, It puts us in cheap jeans of catarrh and nude Izabel, It makes us die to the world view, It makes us see who dies in sight of the world, our sight. Celebrating another anniversary of our city, remember, remember to remember, be those who were similarly, without ceremony or fair epitaph, our own history, or that piece of eternity within us.

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