Black was the night. In the dark darkness, the sparkle of the rays sparkled, illuminating the fury of the sea, being anxious and roaring under the storm, that tumbled on the ocean, making her to hear sibilating of the wind and the strepitous of the thunders shaking the Nature. The ocean grew and it was anxious in the fury of the devastating whirls, in direction of the beaches.

Navigating in that chaos a Portuguese caravel struggled on the gigantic vacancies, that they got up to the height of the sails, throwing the small embarkation to a side for other, making it to twirl as a small nut peel, in the crest of the waves. Uncommon forces of the Nature impelled, they took the panic to the crew, that struggled to survive. Some caught to the mast, other thrown to the sea. Among these, a man struggled hopelessly on the waves, pressing against the chest a manuscript. He felt the forces to abandon him and to the sound of noisy thunder, he had the vision of an enormous head emerging of the fury of the waves and a figure growing on the sea, he took larger proportions than the caravel. He was Possêidon, god of all the rivers and all the seas, that he didn't control in his cares and he roared with his vigor diabolical trident on the sea, increasing his fury and taking the despair to the embarkations, that dared to challenge the all powerful god, that he amused laughing heartily, insensitive to the supplications of the desperate sailors.

A great roar, a ray was heard it reached the main mast and the man caught to the manuscript he sees Possêidon commanding a choir of gods of Olimpo, whose growing sound got confused with the noise of the storm:

The Choir is going accompanying shipwrecking of the caravel, that disappeared, swallowed by the sea. He just saw himself the man's figure, that held the manuscript with a hand and with the other arm he leaned on on a barrel, but little by little he felt the death approaching and before the end he still shimmered the gods of Olimpo. Interrupting the choir, it was heard the noisy voice of Zeus, that tuned made a thunder, shaking the Nature.

- " Stop Possêidon your madness! Stop the fury of the sea and of the storm! It is an order!

- " No, my brother Zeus, won't obey you, therefore my will is that the winds blow and that the sea is more and more and curled ".

Furious, he gesticulated with your trident on the sea and the storm continued. Plutao, the god that reigned on Hades, the profundities of the Hell, he tried to dissuade him of your evil intentions.

- Big " Ó Possêidon! It arrives of games, because your last marine feat almost destroyed my kingdom. The hell shook so much, that I thought that the world will tumble on my head ".

Possêidon launched a glance on the scenery of the disaster and after brief reflection, he lifted the trident again and he made a gesture on the sea, that calmed down, the storm ceased. The gods quietly disappeared.

That everything was the scenery of a tragedy, in the distant Red Sea, in the coast of Cambodia, near of Rio Mekong.

It elapsed the year of 1558, in the sixteenth century era of the great discoveries, of the Portuguese navigators, that they ventured to face the dangers of a marine crossing, facing winds and storms, that when they didn't shipwreck they drifted and they ended up discovering or finding unimaginable lands, as the discovery of our dear Brazil.

Finally, the ship shipwrecked taking hundreds of men to the profundities of his waters. The sea threw the wreckages in the beach and among them a man, almost lifeless, caught to a barrel. He was our hero, that little by little went opening the eyes and it got a fright when he saw a face with two stared eyes, staring him with curiosity. He sat down and he saw the details better of the illustration to his front. He was a soldier, that tried to help our castaway, that coughing a lot cried out: - " Oh, I thought to have arrived my hour "

- It was " a terrible shipwreck. I don't know how many they escaped, a storm, that seemed the end of the world was!

The soldier repaired that shipwreck didn't have the right eye and onlooker asked what it had happened, receiving as answer that had lost it in an expedition against the Moors in Ceuta, in Africa. The soldier lamented it happened, the shipwreck smiled him and he asked so that he didn't lament, therefore still cross-eyed, he made a lot of success among the women, that for pure cruelty, they called him " Face Without Eye ". it is own of them to do the men they to suffer. And, as revenge, he began to declaim: " Of the eyes I don't make mention / because you want eyes not to be / sells them, eyes overabound / but seeing you, eyes are not ". Soon after, the soldier investigated on the manuscript and Luís answered that it was his largest treasure, the only that remained him of the shipwreck and he intended to publish it, like this, that returned to Portugal.

They walked quietly for the beach. The unhappy poet didn't get to contain the tears, that insisted to roll for the face.

- " I cry for a lost love. Longing cry... longing of my Dinamene! My Dina, that disappeared in that macabre shipwreck. Cursed Possêidon, that killed my love and only left me and so unhappy.

" Ah! My Dinamene! You left like this / who had not left of wanting you / Ah! My nymph! No longer I can have you / so like this, this life despised! / How already forever away from who moved so far you it was of getting lost? Ah! My nymph! How much longing feels of you. - (it was turned for the soldier, saying) -" I tried in vain to save her, but Possêidon took her, damned it is...

The two, in silence, left heading for the vice-king's palace, Dom Constantino of Bragança. New presentations and the monarch's promise in helping the patrician poet to re-do his life, to return to the dear Homeland and to accomplish his largest objective - the publication of his book of poems. Investigated about his function in the Cut, he told to Dom Constantino that he was provider-mor of the deceaseds and absent, in the parts of China and the monarch cannot contain a malicious smile when imagining the poet taking care of the absentees' widows.

The lodging in the palace, the shelter of a soft bed, the sleep rocked by Morfeu, they brought him memories and reminiscences of the happy days of his childhood, to the edge of Mondego, where the maternal affection of Dona Ana de Macedo, overcame a father's of adventurous blood absence, as well as him, that abandoned the family to run behind the wealth of beyond sea. Wealth that, nowadays they are with easiness in the supermarkets, the famous spices: pepper of the kingdom, nutmeg, channels, etc and one don't need to take a risk the life, in foreign trips to get them.

He also dreamed about his youth's agitated days, student's time in longing Coimbra, beside his uncle, a friar of hard and implacable temper, rigorous in the discipline, that it imposed your disciples, getting to apply aching correctives, where the palmatória was always made present and he didn't forgive Luisinho, transverse and very rebellious youngster, that didn't accept their advices. Useful years, that surrendered him precious teachings on the classic literature of Greece and of Rome and to dominate them, he had to learn Latin, Italian and the Castilian. He was proud a lot of his Course of Arts.

He learned with the own experience, that all your wisdom resembled each other to a poor and a small drop of water in the ocean of his existence and he also knew that would have a lot to learn in the experience dictated by his daily one and that not always the literary second-hand books would give answers to his doubts.

Eros and Afrodite appeared in the enchantment of his dreams and of his sensual and loving reminiscences, doing him a lot of times victim of the implacable arrows of Cúpido, responsible for his sudden passions, removals, losses and the eternal sensation of solitude to dominate the suffered and consumed heart. In Lisbon, the poet lived the loving rests with the courtly prostitutes, that flew done shaken moths to his turn, the search of pleasures, in a libidinous climate. In the poetic diversions he was a leader and until he had received the title of " the poets' " prince. He adored to be bohemian and to court the famous prostitutes of the High Neighborhood, in the famous brothel " Malcozinhado ", whose women, in his opinion, were the most beautiful of the Universe. He said, that the Love was a feeling, that burned made fire, that we felt and could not see. It hurt as a stabbing wound, but that didn't also feel, therefore it would end up being an unhappy joy. And the verses dictated by the passion that leveled him the soul, they fall made dew drops, humidifying the soft carmins lips, love desirous and passion.

The gods of the Love whispered him that it still existed in his heart a space to the dear woman, described in his poems, as a goddess that makes to calm the wind, to be born the flowers and even eternalize the secular logs of the trees. They were still alive for the youth Luís, the memories of the loving attempts close to the lady of a Portuguese princess's company, in a confused situation, where the poet's interest was not confirmed it was relative to the company lady or the own princess, because both they wrapped up in his arms, in the agitated love games, of the bedrooms court palace. The situation was ready - mind solved by the heir of Kingdom, the youth infant, Dom João III, that expelled the conqueror of the palace and it condemned him to the prison, not only for the loving rests with his sister, but also for the debts, that bulked and the poet " forgot " to pay.

The road for a new condemnation and the expulsion of the own homeland was an abbreviation step, when he wrapped up in a fight, when interceding trying to help two scoundrels with cowl (friends him of bohemian), he stabbed in the neck the employee of the real stable, Gonçalo Borges, that didn't die miraculously. Involved they disappeared them and the poet went to stop at the prison of the Log, old prison of Lisbon. The one that it proceeded was the repeated goings and his poor mother's comings, Dona Ana of Macedo, to the royal palace. The supplications, they were only accepted by the king, with the own victim's intervention, that was moved with the mother's request, liberating the youth poet of the prison. The king demanded that he was enlisted by three months, as welded militiaman and he paid a fine of 4 thousand kings, it fines that, that ended up being he paid by the friends (as always).

He went our hero for new adventures for the East and for Africa, where he suffered the bad weather, that shook the backs of Africa, as in the great Cabo Tormentorio, where there were always strong storms, that martyred the Portuguese navigators, Vasco da Gama, that says him.

The poet's dreams were mixed in shades of colors and sensations, with the impression of a false reality, that moved away him of the terrestrial plan and he/she gave him the sensation of having died in the shipwreck and not to have wakened up of the sleep of the death. The gods' of Olimpo constant presence, responsible for these sensations, they took him to consider the possibility of already to have if loosened of this matter, because he had visions of his dear Dinamene and of all the women that he had loved. And the retrospective of a whole life passed before his eyes, pulling the curtain the secrets of his soul. Everything that he had dreamed in the spiritual plan, didn't know it was real or not. In any way he was liking his visions, mainly those that showed him as a to be humanitarian, out of the patterns of his time, where the homocentrism was subdued by the Catholic dogmas governed by the Inquisition, that didn't forgive the smallest slips of the religious morals. The sense humanist orientated all his life, mainly in the relationship with the enslaved human being, pulled of his home, moved away of the dear beings, to serve to the interests of a slavocrat. The treatment that the youth poet gave to the black Antonio, " Jaú ", was worthy of praise, his humanism considered odd, own of the great men, following Jesus' teachings, of love and charity. The poet's attitudes humanists, took him to be considered as pre-cursor of the Renaissance, in the middle of the Medium Age.

Of turn to the birthplace, in company of " Jaú ", found the mother, the friends and he was honored by King Dom Sebastião, that gave him the book of poems already edited (objective principal of all his life). And for the works rendered to the Portuguese Crown, in the trips and battles against the pirates and the Moors, it was promised him a lifelong pension of 15 thousand kings. If everything out a dream or not, he had doubt, he thought until that there was already desincarnated in the shipwreck; his head seemed to rotate in a whirl of catastrophic events, prisons, undone loves, Black Plague, disease that made to suffer him... to suffer... to suffer... voices... strange mythological illustrations... gods of Olimpo... And that suffering was softening if in the consolation of his faith, in the future stranger and in the trust of the eternal justice... And the Olympic gods of his dreams, the poet, that went diving in the deep sleep of the Death wept.

The end slowly approached, the verses of a farewell populated his mind, he felt weak and impotent to struggle for the life, that little by little was dispersing, succumbing before the terrible disease. In the weakness of his delirium, he murmurs his last verses: Flees me, little by little, the short life / If by chance it is true that still alive / I cry for the past and while I speak / If they pass me the days step the step / Go-if-me, finally, the age and stay the feather "

He visualized in the final instants the mother and the black Jaú crying. A soft music involved him and little by little they went the gods of Olimpo, that approached appearing and they invited him to the embarkment in an all white caravel, where he saw sweet and dear Dinamene, the great love of his life, waiving him. The poet got up and he walked slowly heading for the boat. Zeus held in his arm and he shows the beautiful registration, that was recorded in his grave: " HERE JAZ LUÍS VAZ DE CAMÕES " / the poets' of his time Prince / he lived poor and miserably / he died like this... " and Zeus completed: - You will be honored every year, in the day of your death, June 10, National Holiday and also " Day of Portugal ". And now we go, you must to speed up, because the ship will already leave!

Camões walked happy to his lover's encounter and together they traveled heading for the eternity. The ship, quietly, went sliding on the clouds, the sails were anxious blown by the soft wind and the small white caravel, little by little, it went disappearing in the infinite cosmos.

I dedicate this story to my wife, the writer Maria de FÁTIMA QUEIROZ Pinho Matvichuc, that helped me in the researches and she inspired me, turning possible the creation of that literary work.

Story published in the Antologia Asas e Vôos, for Publisher Guemanisse, of Rio de Janeiro in 2006, pages 81 to 87.

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