This novel in English was left here at home by Marianne along with a bunch of other books because of too much weight considering the flight allowance. I don’t remember having read it in Portuguese, although references to it already crossed my life many a time.
I was reading it in the tram yesterday morning on my way to meet Ana Parga at the historic Café Nicola, in Lisboa’s downtown.
For the first time I saw a display of physical violence in a public transportation. Still holding the novel in one hand I jumped to hold back the one who provoked it. He was a character who had lost his marbles already and was simply picking up at a complete stranger wearing dark glasses, a suit, and who was talking on the cell phone. They disengaged.
The suited stranger moved close to another exit. I told the marbleman to breathe deeply and he did so. I asked him if he was OK. He said he was. He seemed so. Someone commented he's one crazed person of a certain neighbourhood. He dressed like one of the working class. I returned to my reading.
Some stops later, they both exited the tram through different doorways. The suited stranger then noticed that the marbleman had also exited. His macho honour made him charge with the elbow first straight into the marbleman's face; the latter, once recovered from the surprise, kicked him back. Once more, it seemed like a metaphor for the clash of social classes. No one intervened. It wasn't my stop. I rang the bell and the tram doors reopened, and I went out to hold off the marbleman again; the stranger could be stopped simply by words. I escorted the marbleman off and made sure he went into his business, whatever that was. Then I looked at the suited stranger. He was red-faced and still trying to get a grip on himself.
'What was in your mind? He's a crazed one,' I asked, approaching him.
'If he is then that's his own problem!'
'I understand, we're not made of iron. But still... Have a better rest of day,' I said, and we parted.
When I finally noticed, I was still holding Hemingway's novel in my hand, now a bit messed up (Sorry, Marianne “Sorry” Reinsoo), I decided to hold it responsible for these rare events.
