de\u00a0Ionu\u021b Manea<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Pe strad\u0103 erau pu\u021bini oameni. Gr\u0103bi\u021bi, \u0219ov\u0103ielnici ca \u0219i cum fiecare \u00een parte, pe ascuns, ar fi avut de suferit. \u00cen dimine\u021bile ploioase obi\u0219nuiesc s\u0103 merg pe jos \u0219i de cele mai multe ori \u00eent\u00e2rzii la munc\u0103. De fiecare dat\u0103 \u00eemi atrage aten\u021bia c\u00e2te ceva. Un om cu tr\u0103s\u0103turi profunde, un c\u00e2ine mort, o ma\u0219in\u0103 uitat\u0103 \u00een parcare de ani de zile, un melc strivit, o m\u00e2nu\u0219\u0103 r\u0103t\u0103cit\u0103, un cap de p\u0103pu\u0219\u0103 sibilin. De data aceast\u0103 mi-a r\u0103mas lipit de fundul creierului o\u00a0 b\u0103tr\u00e2n\u0103 \u00eembr\u0103cat\u0103 ponosit cu o e\u0219arf\u0103 alb\u0103 legat\u0103 la g\u00e2t, cu contururile fe\u021bei expresive \u0219i s\u0103r\u0103c\u0103cioase, cu un nas ce iese \u00een eviden\u021b\u0103 datorit\u0103 arcuirii pregnante, cu ochi buni \u0219i calzi de femeie obi\u0219nuit\u0103 cu muncile c\u00e2mpului pentru c\u0103 fa\u021ba sa era ars\u0103 de soare, lucioas\u0103. Am cump\u0103rat din co\u0219ul ei un buchet de zambile, l\u0103s\u00e2ndu-i rest \u00eenc\u0103 pe at\u00e2t. Mi-a mul\u021bumit st\u0103ruitor, oferindu-mi un alt buchet ce mi se cuvenea, am dat din cap \u0219i am spus c\u0103 unul este suficient. C\u0103ldura \u0219i recuno\u0219tin\u021ba ei m-au \u00eenduio\u0219at. Tot drumul p\u00e2n\u0103 la locul de munc\u0103 mi-am imaginat curtea, casa, simplitatea, familia politicoas\u0103, tablourile vechi cu so\u021bul, animalele cumin\u021bi, f\u00e2nt\u00e2na \u0219i c\u00e2te \u0219i mai c\u00e2te. Tare mult a\u0219 fi vrut s\u0103 o cunosc \u00eendeaproape. S\u0103 descop\u0103r tr\u0103s\u0103turile omului simplu, destoinic, lipsit \u0219i nep\u0103truns de grijile lumii, insolvabil \u00een \u00eemprejurul s\u0103u. \u00cen biroul unde lucrez am o carte pe care nu am apucat s\u0103 o citesc. Se nume\u0219te Paharul de foc<\/em> al lui Pocculus. Azi, nu \u0219tiu de ce, am avut chef s\u0103 o r\u0103sfoiesc. E o carte de povestiri scris\u0103 \u00een secolul al \u0219aptesprezecelea. Am g\u0103sit o poveste acolo intitulat\u0103 S\u0103rmana femeie din Beckett<\/em>. \u00cencepe a\u0219a: ,,\u00cen ciudatul sat Beckett, a\u0219ezat pe malul unui p\u00e2r\u00e2u secat de cur\u00e2nd, o namil\u0103 \u0219i-a f\u0103cut un culcu\u0219, iar peste ani, pe fostul s\u0103u culcu\u0219, un b\u0103rbat a ridicat o izb\u0103, mic\u0103, at\u00e2t c\u00e2t s\u0103 \u00eencape o femei \u0219i copilul ei. B\u0103rbatul a plecat s\u0103 lupte \u00een R\u0103zboiul de treizeci de ani \u0219i femeia a r\u0103mas v\u0103duv\u0103. \u0218i-a crescut copilul singur\u0103, cu ajutorul c\u00e2torva p\u0103s\u0103ri \u0219i a unui cal sfrijit. A muncit p\u0103m\u00e2ntul din jur care nu era al nim\u0103nui, iar drept r\u0103splat\u0103 p\u0103m\u00e2ntul i-a hr\u0103nit odrasla \u0219i cele c\u00e2teva lighioane de pe l\u00e2ng\u0103 cas\u0103. A plantat nuci ce \u00een c\u00e2\u021biva ani au dat roade. Nucile le vindea \u00een iarmarocul din apropiere; cu banii c\u0103p\u0103ta\u021bi a cump\u0103rat c\u00e2teva oi. Le-a \u00eengrijit, le-a \u00eenmul\u021bit, le-a tuns \u0219i din l\u00e2na lor toars\u0103 la fuior, a cro\u0219etat haine pentru b\u0103iatul ei \u0219i pentru ea. B\u0103iatul a crescut, devenind peste ani \u0219i ani un t\u00e2n\u0103r bine legat precum tat\u0103l s\u0103u. A ridicat o cas\u0103 uria\u0219\u0103, c\u0103ci izba de p\u0103m\u00e2nt se coco\u0219ase de vreme, apoi l-au \u00eenrolat \u00een r\u0103zboiul de treizeci de ani, ce era pe sf\u00e2r\u0219ite. B\u0103tr\u00e2na a r\u0103mas singur\u0103, oarb\u0103, istovit\u0103 de durere \u0219i destin…\u201d. Ziua de munc\u0103 se \u00eencheiase, am ie\u0219it afar\u0103 sper\u00e2nd s\u0103 fie \u00eennorat pentru a putea merge pe jos. M\u0103 g\u00e2ndeam \u00eenc\u0103 la b\u0103tr\u00e2na ce vindea zambile, \u0219i am iu\u021bit pasul cu g\u00e2ndul s\u0103 o reg\u0103sesc. \u00cen locul \u00een care b\u0103tr\u00e2na \u0219i co\u0219ul ei fuseser\u0103, lucrurile se schimbaser\u0103, v\u00e2ntul se-nte\u021bise, cinematograful \u00een fa\u021ba c\u0103ruia o g\u0103sisem pe b\u0103tr\u00e2na, era dezafectat, abandonat, iar \u00een mijlocul\u00a0 lucrurilor de prisos ce sub-existaser\u0103, o umbrel\u0103 rupt\u0103, un pantof galant cu toc, am g\u0103sit un piedestal ros de vreme, n\u0103p\u0103dit de iarb\u0103 pe alocuri. Construit din piatr\u0103 cubic\u0103, solid, refuzase s\u0103 cedeze o dat\u0103 cu statuia. M-am a\u0219ezat \u0219i am aprins o \u021bigare, c\u00e2\u021biva corbi \u00eemi d\u0103deau t\u00e2rcoale sper\u00e2nd s\u0103-mi curg\u0103 c\u00e2te ceva de ale gurii. Am aruncat o chitan\u021b\u0103 veche, inutil\u0103 \u0219i au s\u0103rit pe ea, devor\u00e2nd-o. Corbii m\u00e2ncau h\u00e2rtie pentru c\u0103 duceau lips\u0103 de hran\u0103, sau \u00een chitan\u021b\u0103 \u00eenvelisem demult ceva apetisant?! \u00cen jur, griul predomina,\u00a0 m\u0103 sim\u021beam presat de timp, trebuind s\u0103 ajung acas\u0103 la or\u0103 exact\u0103 cum f\u0103ceau to\u021bi colegii mei de munc\u0103. \u0218tiam c\u0103 m\u0103 a\u0219teapt\u0103 cineva important, dar nu puteam s\u0103-mi imaginez cu exactitate cine, ca \u0219i cum suferisem o lovitur\u0103 puternic\u0103 \u00een cap.\u00a0 Aveam senza\u021bia vag\u0103 c\u0103 m\u0103 a\u0219teapt\u0103 un musafir, un str\u0103in, o obliga\u021bie, c\u0103ruia din varii motive, \u00eei datoram ceva. M-am ridicat brusc, ca un om cu program fix, turmentat de aerul \u00eenchis de parc\u0103 \u00eentregul ora\u0219 ar fi stat sub o cupol\u0103 de sticl\u0103. M\u0103 sim\u021beam sufocat, b\u0103tr\u00e2n, \u00eengreunat de parc\u0103 a\u0219 fi petrecut la munc\u0103 ani, \u00eenghesuit \u00een biroul rotund, mic. Pu\u021binii trec\u0103tori cu fe\u021bele lor ursuze aveau darul de a m\u0103 \u00eenstr\u0103ina mai mult. M\u0103 ascundeam de un colos ce m\u0103 urm\u0103rea pretutindeni, nel\u0103s\u00e2ndu-mi o clip\u0103 de r\u0103gaz. Parc\u0103 nu mai eram eu, omul de diminea\u021b\u0103; eram ca un obiect, uitat \u00eentr-o curte n\u0103p\u0103dit\u0103 de buruieni, pe care anii au depus rugin\u0103, reziduuri, praf, iar ploaia mi le-a impregnat \u00een \u021besuturi. Pu\u021binele mi\u0219c\u0103ri din jur \u00eemi d\u0103deau o stare de nesiguran\u021b\u0103, de parc\u0103 a\u0219 fi r\u0103mas singurul om viu \u00eentr-un ora\u0219 de p\u0103pu\u0219i. Nu puteam s\u0103 p\u0103r\u0103sesc acel loc magic. M-am urcat pe soclul de piatr\u0103, am ridicat o m\u00e2n\u0103 spre cerul \u00eennourat, \u00eencerc\u00e2nd s\u0103 eclipsez statuile terne din jur, provoc\u00e2nd imaginarul s\u0103-mi \u021bese o p\u0103tur\u0103 osoas\u0103 moart\u0103 \u0219i s\u0103 o arunce peste trupul meu c\u0103l\u0103tor, cu speran\u021ba vag\u0103 c\u0103 am s\u0103 re\u00eent\u00e2lnesc celelalte euri desprinse din nucleul meu. Dar nu s-a \u00eent\u00e2mplat nimic. Ora\u0219ul r\u0103m\u0103sese neclintit, la fel de anost \u0219i gol, v\u00e2ntul sufla la fel de anemic, neav\u00e2nd for\u021ba s\u0103 ridice altceva dec\u00e2t o pung\u0103 \u0219i o pan\u0103. Eram at\u00e2t de plictisit \u00eenc\u00e2t m-am a\u0219ezat \u00eencol\u0103cit, pe piedestal, ca \u00eentr-un uter. Nu am visat, m-am trezit dezorientat, av\u00e2nd senza\u021bia c\u0103 cineva m\u0103 urm\u0103rise \u00een tot acest timp, fiind \u00een mijlocul g\u00e2ndurilor mele, manipul\u00e2ndu-le cumva f\u0103r\u0103 \u0219tirea mea. Refuzam s\u0103 m\u0103 dizolv \u00een lumea abstrus\u0103 din jur; la fel de lipsit\u0103 de via\u021b\u0103 precum o pan\u0103 de corb, r\u0103t\u0103cit\u0103 \u0219i purtat\u0103 de v\u00e2nt. Nu vroiam s\u0103 ajung devreme acas\u0103, m-ar fi a\u0219teptat doar unghiurile umbrite, doream s\u0103 colind, s\u0103 ajung \u00een satele din jurul ora\u0219ului, unde speram s\u0103 g\u0103sesc v\u00e2ntul puternic, baticurile, caii, p\u0103s\u0103rile, animalele aparent r\u0103t\u0103cite pe c\u00e2mp, p\u0103m\u00e2ntul frumos preg\u0103tit pentru s\u0103m\u00e2n\u021b\u0103. Gara era aproape goal\u0103; un singur tren sta\u021bionat la linia a opt-a. Mi\u0219c\u0103rile \u0219i zgomotul trenului \u00eemi aduceau aminte de primele c\u0103l\u0103torii. Pe drum aveam senza\u021bia c\u0103 m\u0103 recompun, dep\u0103\u0219ind cupola de sticl\u0103 ce sufoca ora\u0219ul, dar \u00een acela\u0219i timp m\u0103 expuneam lumii, a\u0219a cum eram eu, desigilat, \u00een\u021beleg\u00e2nd c\u0103 nu pot rezista mult \u00een mediul acela.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" de\u00a0Ionu\u021b Manea \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Pe strad\u0103 erau pu\u021bini oameni. Gr\u0103bi\u021bi, \u0219ov\u0103ielnici ca \u0219i cum fiecare \u00een parte, pe ascuns, ar fi avut de suferit. \u00cen dimine\u021bile ploioase obi\u0219nuiesc s\u0103 merg pe jos \u0219i de cele mai multe ori \u00eent\u00e2rzii la munc\u0103. De fiecare dat\u0103 \u00eemi atrage aten\u021bia c\u00e2te ceva. Un om cu tr\u0103s\u0103turi profunde, un c\u00e2ine […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1224,15],"tags":[1225,1066,1115],"class_list":["post-11440","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-47","category-proza","tag-egophobia-47","tag-ionut-manea","tag-proza"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-2Yw","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11440","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=11440"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11440\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11450,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11440\/revisions\/11450"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=11440"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=11440"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=11440"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}