Daniel Galera: Blood-drenched Beard

I’m going to kill myself tomorrow.

He thinks about what he’s just heard for a good while, listening to his irregular breathing leaving his nostrils in short puffs. An immense tiredness weighs suddenly on his shoulders. He stuffs the photo of his granddad into his pocket, dries his hands on his Bermuda shorts, gets up, and heads for the front door.

Come back here.

What for? What do you want me to do after hearing that kind of shit? Either you’re serious and want me to convince you to change your mind, which would be the most fucked-up thing you’ve ever asked me to do, or you’re having a laugh at my expense, which would be so pathetic that I don’t even want to find out. ’Bye.

Come back here, damn it.

He comes to a halt by the door, looking back at the sad floor of pinkish clay tiles separated by stripes of cement, the lush fern trying to escape a pot hanging from the ceiling, the perennial atmosphere of cigar smoke that pervades the living room with its invisible consistency and sweet, strangely animal smell.

I’m not joking, and I don’t want you to convince me of anything. I’m just informing you of something that’s going to happen.

Nothing’s going to happen.

Look, understand this: it’s inevitable. I made up my mind a few weeks ago in a moment of absolute lucidity. I’m tired. I’m fed up. I think it started with that hemorrhoid surgery. At my last checkup, the doctor stared at my tests, then looked at me with a woeful expression as if he were disappointed in the whole human race. I got the impression he was going to quit my case like a lawyer. And he’s right. I’m starting to get sick, and I can’t be bothered with it all. I can’t taste my beer anymore, cigars are bad for me but I can’t stop, and I don’t even feel like taking Viagra so I can fuck. I don’t even miss fucking. Life’s too long, and I haven’t got the patience for it. For someone who’s had a life like mine, living beyond sixty is just being stubborn. I respect those who take it seriously, but I can’t be bothered. I was happy until about two years ago, and now I want to go. Anyone who thinks I’m wrong can live to a hundred if they want. Good luck to ’em. I’ve nothing against it.

What nonsense.

Yeah. Forget it. I can’t expect you to understand. We’re too different. Don’t bother — it’ll be a waste of your time.

You know I won’t let you do it, Dad, so why did you invite me over to tell me?

I know it’s not fair. But I did it because I trust you, I know how strong you are. I called you because there’s something I need to take care of first, and I can’t do it alone. Only my son can help me.

Why don’t you call your other son? Who knows, he might even find the whole thing amusing? He’ll write a book about it.

No, I need you. It’s the most important thing I’ve ever had to ask anyone, and I know I can count on you.

Give me that pistol now, and I’ll take care of it, whatever it is. Okay? Are you done clowning around?

His dad laughs at his exasperation.

Tchê , kid… listen. What needs to be taken care of is because of the other thing.

The suicide.

That word makes it sound kind of gutless. I’m avoiding it. But go ahead and use it if you want.

What do I do now, Dad? Call the police? Have you committed? Go over there and take that gun away by force? Did you really think this would work?

It already has. It’s as if it’s already happened.

That’s stupid. It’s your choice. What if I make you change your mind?

It’s not my choice. It’d be easier for me, and much easier for you, to see it as a choice. My decision doesn’t lead to the fact — it’s a part of the fact. It’s just another way to die, kid. It took me a long time to come this far. Sit down again, son. Want another beer?

He walks quickly over to the sofa and sits down angrily.

Look, consider this: imagine what it’d be like if you or anyone else tried to stop me now. It’d be a pain in the ass. Me trying to act on my decision and you guys trying to stop me, goodness knows how, living with me, watching me, committing me to an institution, medicating me, your brother coming from São Paulo, and your mother having to put up with me again. Who knows what you could do, but it’d be a nightmare for everyone involved. Do you see how crazy it’d be? There’s nothing more ridiculous than someone trying to convince someone else. I’ve worked with persuasion my whole life, and it’s the worst cancer of human behavior. No one should ever be convinced of anything. People know what they want, and they know what they need. I know it because I’ve always been a specialist in persuasion and inventing needs, and that’s why that wall there is covered in awards. Don’t try to talk me out of it. If you convinced me not to kill myself, you’d leave me crippled, and I’d live a few more years, defeated, mutilated and sick, begging for mercy. This is serious. Don’t try to persuade me. Persuading someone not to follow their heart is obscene. Persuasion is obscene. We know what we need, and no one can tell us what’s best. What I’m going to do was decided a long time ago, before I even had the idea.

I expected more of you, Dad. More than this retarded drivel. I’ve never been able to play the victim — it makes me sick — and the person who taught me that was you. And now you’re giving me this victim crap.

Well, now I’m going to teach you something else: when you start shitting blood and can’t get it up and wake up feeling fed up with life every goddamn day, you have a moral obligation to act like a victim. Write it down. Oh, don’t give me a hard time, for fuck’s sake. Have you grown balls all of a sudden? It’s not you. You’re the acquiescent sort, a bit of a pushover even. I’ve always told you that to your face. I’ve got you all worked out. I’ve warned you about so many things. And have I ever been wrong? Have I? I told you you’d lose your girlfriend the way you did. I told you the desperate would come to you your whole life. But you really are capable of thinking of the next person even though you can’t remember anyone’s face. And that’s why you’re better than me and your brother. I’m proud of it, and I love you for it. And now I need you to stand by your old man.

Fuck, Dad.

His dad’s eyes are red.

It’s Beta.

What about Beta?

His dad waves at the front door and makes an almost inaudible sound. The dog gets up without hesitation and leaves the house.

You know how much I love that dog. We’ve got a real connection.

I’m not doing it.

Why not?

There’s no way I can look after a dog right now. And anyway… fuck, I don’t believe this. Sorry. I’ve got to go.

I don’t want you to look after her. I want you to take her to Rolf, over in Belém Novo. After I’ve… done what I’m going to do. Ask him to give her an injection. I’ve done my homework — it’s painless.

No, no.

She’s already depressed. She knows. She’ll waste away when she’s on her own.

Do it yourself. You’re the one who thinks he doesn’t have any fucking choice. I do. I won’t be a part of this.

I can’t bring myself to, kid.

No, no.

You have to promise me.

Forget it, Dad. There’s no way.

Promise.

I can’t be a part of this.

Please.

No. It’s not fair.

You’re denying me my last wish.

It won’t happen.

You’ll do it. I know you will.

I will not. You’re on your own. I can’t. Sorry.

I know you’ll do it. That’s why you’re here.

You’re trying to persuade me. A few minutes ago that was obscene.

I’m not going to persuade you. I’m done. It’s my last wish. I know you won’t deny me it.