ATÍLIO AND THE DOE

The accident on January 25, 1975, was so serious that the rescuer on duty that night, Gerson Rodrigues, was surprised to hear a groan coming from somewhere in the woods. The car had collided head-on with a truck and what was left of it looked like a twisted metal box. The fireman acted quickly and with a flashlight went in search of the victim who was badly injured. Atílio raised his hand and between moans he said, "Here, here." And Gerson immediately helped him and gently asked him not to try too hard, or to speak, as he was very ill. The 23-year-old recalled painfully the time he spent in that wet bush, in the dark and rainy night, because the man who helped him comforted him in a moment of extreme pain and despair and to that hope he clung firmly, while regurgitating blood. But now, after the moments of greatest agony, that confused night and all its events, marked in his life the beginning of what he came to affirm later, to be the embodiment of hell itself. He still couldn't say for sure, whether he purposely threw the car against the truck that night, due to the altered state. He was still trying to remember everything. The chase. I always avoided thinking about it. It was too insane. Inconceivable. He could not even bear to mention madness. But madness was probing him, yes. Either he was crazy, or he was part of some supernatural game of playful gods who decided to make fun of humans down here for fun. The time spent in the hospital could be tedious for anyone. But not for him. I wanted to stay there. The noisy corridors and all the hustle and bustle. The nurses and doctors passing, entering and leaving. Everything distracted him and made him forget about the hideous creature that accompanied him on the road, before the accident and that yes, it was the one that caused the accident.

The night before the fateful accident, it had already disturbed him a lot, because of confused dreams and waking up startled and drenched in sweat. The boss in the office was fighting with him. With your finger in your face, shouting. But let no human voice come out of his vocal cords, he bleats, like a goat and in the dream Atílio defended himself against accusations, as if he understood irrational bleating, but he did not emit a voice. He was speechless. And very disturbed and restless, he fell out of his swivel chair and that was when he fell off the bed with his face on the floor, waking up. The drawback of staying in the hospital longer was not hearing from the sick mother. He and Brother Nelson put it in a good place. The brother paid the monthly fee and he paid the medicine. He worried about her health. The mother raised him and the brother alone, he did not know the father. He struggled as best he could to raise them in a dignified way and he would do everything possible now, at the end of her life, to give back. He stared at the clock on the wall at 10am. The suspended feet and arms caused such discomfort. And now a cold wind penetrated his flesh, even with the windows closed, which made him return with that bad feeling that anticipated her arrival. I didn't know where the nurse was. Judith. She arrived promptly at 8 am, opened the windows, gave her medication, checked the serum and brought the newspaper. She read, of course, because he couldn't do it. I enjoyed her company. He even joked that he wanted to see her after he left. The eyes. They were staring at him. Those big, bright eyes, from which the rays of death certainly radiated, fell on him again. They were unfathomable and glittering eyes, which brought up agonizing feelings and flashes of death. The doe in front of him breathed vigorously and laughed. Yes, he seemed to laugh. He turned his face away from looking and the clock crossed his vision. He looked at his watch in amazement. The clock hands receded. 9:55, 54, 53… accelerating more and more. He returned for a few minutes before the accident. The damned doe was making him relive the accident.