e remembered that day, as if it was today. Longings of the fifties, how many mischiefs! Johnny, restless adolescent, conceited to throw audacious and untruthful actions” on your english colleagues, he liked too to count prose of your musical abilities. He faked to be a great musician and carried, as proof of that, an enormous guitar box, wood skeleton covered with napa leather black and lined of velvet red carmine. A very beautiful object to protect big musical instruments.

Johnny began the musical alphabet, it was your second week of class and he didn't know absolutely anything.

Your daily one went of the Conservatory to English's course, in the old district "Bexiga", in São Paulo. He hid the guitar in the school library, but it ended up getting the people attention. They insisted that he played, that he acted in concert for them. All wanted to hear him.. He was sorry bitterly for the sentence - “yes, I know how to play” and for having also demonstrated a presumptuos and fanfaronade image for the students, in that school. Now, the thing grew, it took a big monster, The thing dispersed as harmful herb, bad of being extracted. The teachers suspended the classes and all met in the theater to hear him, the discouraged musician. Terrified with your own audacity and impotent to face such unusual situation, he supported terrible insomnia nights, where desperate, tried to finger three easy music in the G-clef. Johnny dominated precariousness the melodic part, accompaniment, nor to think. It seemed as the “plim-plim-plim” of the children little music-boxes.

It arrived the great day! Full theater, impatient public! Johnny entered in the stage, sat down, asked for a music-stand and a bank where he would place the right foot, to disguise the nervousness and to support the guitar. He opened the box and it felt strange flurry of coming frozen wind of the audience, an " oh "! contained and prisoner in the chest.

From within of the enormous black box of red visceras Johnny left a delicate and minuscule guitar, of those very small ones, of child to play. He closed the ashamed eyes and felt a cold perspiration running for the temples, accentuating the tremor of the impatient fingers. He fingered for nervous and endless minutes the classic “Sadness” of Chopin, “Jambalaia” of the happy and saltatory Rita Pavone and the “Merry Christmas” that he announced to be a homage to the arrival of next Christmas (they were in the middle of the August!!!). Executed the last “plim”, he stayed static in the face of that silence total, sepulchral, absolute and real. Nor applauses, nor you catcall, anything... anything... Only the emptiness and the darkness! Hypnotized public, petrified and stunned in the face of such an unusual procedure.

Johnny got up, caught the box and the instrument and he left running heading for the bathroom, where he was to hide and to regret sad and bitter tears of a “concert-man" unsuccessful and full of laments, for your wild hormones pulses, drivers of the ridicule of his inopportune actions.

It was consoled by a teacher, receiving praises for your immense one “wood face” and for the fact of having gotten to transmit your scenic truth, without inconveniencing in the face of the ridicule of the action and for having transformed everything in an immense performance of theatrical fiction.

Then of that vexation, Johnny turned actor and thanks to God: “ex-musician”...

(Story published in the Antologia CAPOSAN-2001 of Poeta Santanense's House, of Santana do Livramento, Rio Grande do Sul, Brasil – page 36)

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