{"id":5183,"date":"2022-07-27T14:31:58","date_gmt":"2022-07-27T11:31:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/?p=5183"},"modified":"2022-07-27T14:32:03","modified_gmt":"2022-07-27T11:32:03","slug":"scriind-noaptea-pe-ziduri","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/?p=5183","title":{"rendered":"Scriind noaptea pe ziduri"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p><strong>P\u0103zitorii cheilor lunii<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gigi era un om \u00eenalt \u0219i palid care conducea un camion invizibil prin ora\u0219. \u00cei ambala motorul, claxona tare \u0219i schimba vitezele fugind pe strad\u0103. Fr\u00e2nele \u00eei sc\u00e2r\u021b\u00e2iau tare c\u00e2nd tr\u0103gea pe dreapta \u00een sta\u021bia de autobuz, oferind tuturor c\u0103l\u0103torii gratuite.&nbsp;<em>Vino cu mine, \u0219tiu drumul,<\/em>&nbsp;mi-a zis, \u0219i l-am crezut.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Maria avea un cuib r\u0103v\u0103\u0219it \u00een loc de p\u0103r. \u00centr-o zi a venit la \u0219coal\u0103 \u0219i a oferit tuturor profesorilor din cancelarie dulcea\u021b\u0103 de vi\u0219ine dintr-un borcan. Vi\u0219inele str\u0103luceau ro\u0219u aprins ca rujul ei. M\u00e2nca\u021bi! a strigat, \u00eendop\u00e2nd \u00een gurile profesorilor linguri\u021bele pline cu dulcea\u021b\u0103. Ast\u0103zi e ziua fiului meu, cel pe care l-am pierdut acum zece ani. Uite o linguri\u021b\u0103 plin\u0103 cu vi\u0219ine, s\u0103-i \u00eendulceasc\u0103 sufletul.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u00cen Rutherford, e un om care fuge \u00een pielea goal\u0103 pe strad\u0103 chiar \u0219i \u00een timpul iernii. C\u00e2teodat\u0103 merge pe biciclet\u0103, c\u0103r\u00e2nd pungi pline cu ziare, colect\u00e2nd \u0219tirile de ieri. Nimeni nu-l opre\u0219te, nimeni nu-i vorbe\u0219te. Gol-golu\u021b, f\u0103r\u0103 s\u0103-i pese, el trece bomb\u0103nind, sun\u00e2nd clopo\u021belul bicicletei. Am auzit c\u0103-l cheam\u0103 Dl. Adev\u0103r.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Fiecare ora\u0219 are un p\u0103zitor al cheilor lunii. Ei \u00ee\u0219i amintesc ceea ce nu s-a \u00eent\u00e2mplat \u0219i morm\u0103ie numele mor\u021bilor, iar noaptea se plimb\u0103 prin visele tuturor. Aud c\u00e2teodat\u0103 pe strad\u0103 fr\u00e2nele camionului invizibil, clopo\u021belul bicicletei, fo\u0219netul ziarelor vechi \u0219i clinchetul linguri\u021bei \u00een borcanul cu dulcea\u021b\u0103. \u0218tiu atunci de cheile lunii c\u0103 sunt bine p\u0103zite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>Omizile<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Omizile \u00eemi \u021bineau companie. Ele tr\u0103iau \u00een cei doi duzi c\u0103rora le m\u00e2ncau toate frunzele. Noaptea le auzeam cum mestec\u0103 \u0219i fo\u0219nesc p\u00e2n\u0103 mi se v\u00e2rau \u00een vise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>La colectiv, bunica mea hr\u0103nea viermii de m\u0103tase cu frunze de dud. Timpul era pufos \u0219i torcea zile de borangic. Nop\u021bile erau ni\u0219te coconi m\u0103t\u0103so\u0219i.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Ca o inunda\u021bie mi\u021boas\u0103, omizile se urcau pe pere\u021bi, acoperind masa \u0219i scaunele cu o dantel\u0103 mi\u0219c\u0103toare. Chiar \u0219i feti\u021ba \u00ee\u0219i dorea s\u0103 fie o omid\u0103, dar singura ei \u0219ans\u0103 era s\u0103-\u0219i \u021beas\u0103 singur\u0103 o gogoa\u0219\u0103 de m\u0103tase \u0219i s\u0103 stea ag\u0103\u021bat\u0103 \u00een ea sub pat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u00cen timpul verii, viermii de m\u0103tase s-au \u00eemboln\u0103vit \u0219i au murit. Omizile au invadat prispa. S\u00e2ngele mov al duzilor a p\u0103tat p\u0103m\u00e2ntul de sub ei.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Fratele meu \u0219i cu mine culegeam dudele m\u0103t\u0103soase de pe jos \u0219i le m\u00e2ncam, apoi vorbeam cu limbi \u00eentunecate. Odat\u0103, \u00een loc de o dud\u0103, el a \u00eenghi\u021bit un g\u0103ina\u021b lucios \u0219i negru. P\u00e2n\u0103 \u00een ziua de azi, el se consider\u0103 extrem de norocos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Norocul e ceva care se \u00eenghite sau \u00een care calci. C\u00e2teodat\u0103 e o femeie frumoas\u0103 purt\u00e2nd o rochie \u00een fl\u0103c\u0103ri, care tocmai dispare \u00een fa\u021ba ta dup\u0103 un col\u021b. Dar cel mai adesea, este produs de porumbei.&nbsp;<em>F\u0103-m\u0103 mam\u0103 cu noroc \u0219i arunc\u0103-m\u0103 \u00een foc.<\/em>&nbsp;\u0218i chiar a\u0219a a f\u0103cut.<br><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>M\u0103tu\u0219a Suzie \u0219i satul<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u00cen puterea iernii, nu aveam nimic de f\u0103cut \u0219i nici de v\u0103zut la televizor, a\u0219a c\u0103 m-am apucat de cro\u0219etat. Am cro\u0219etat replici fidele ale tuturor oamenilor din sat: m\u0103tu\u0219a Suzie, Mo\u0219 Gheorghe, vecina mea Lulu, veri\u0219oara-mea Elena din Italia citind o carte cro\u0219etat\u0103, p\u0103rintele, poli\u021bistul, baba Marina, fantoma din cimitir, pe to\u021bi i-am cro\u0219etat. Le-am cro\u0219etat ochelarii, basmalele, hainele, obrajii \u0219i buzele, chiar \u0219i \u0219uvi\u021bele de p\u0103r.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Am cro\u0219etat c\u00e2inele m\u0103tu\u0219ii Suzie dintr-un scul maro pufos \u0219i c\u00e2rdul ei de g\u00e2\u0219te din fire albe \u0219i gri u\u0219oare ca penele. Iar c\u00e2nd m\u0103tu\u0219a Suzie a murit, i-am cro\u0219etat organele interne din m\u0103tase cafenie \u0219i ro\u0219u aprins \u0219i scheletul ei cu tot cu din\u021bii de filde\u0219, coastele pleo\u0219tite \u0219i falangele ei moi. I-am cro\u0219etat creierul, \u00eenvol\u0103nat \u0219i crestat, cu toate g\u00e2ndurile ei din mohair \u00eennorat \u0219i sinapsele lor \u00eenc\u00e2lcite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I-am asamblat corpul pe masa din sufragerie, fiecare organ \u00eenvelit \u00eentr-un s\u0103cule\u021b de m\u0103tase fo\u0219nitor. \u00cennodat\u0103 \u0219i complicat\u0103, i-am a\u0219ezat inima ultima, cu toate firele de s\u00e2nge r\u0103sp\u00e2ndite \u00een corp ca o dantel\u0103. Lumea din sat mi-a zis c\u0103 am prea mult timp de pierdut, dar ce \u0219tiu ei?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Le-am r\u0103spuns: soarta ne cro\u0219eteaz\u0103 mereu pe to\u021bi cu firele ei colorate. Ea leag\u0103 ziua cu noaptea, mama cu copilul, prim\u0103vara cu vara cu toamna cu iarna \u0219i via\u021ba cu moartea. Faci un ochi, chei\u021b\u0103, l\u0103n\u021bi\u0219or, \u00eentorci partea, tragi firul pe dos, repet\u0103. Soarta trage igli\u021b\u0103 prin fratele meu \u0219i prin mine \u0219i am\u00e2ndoi at\u00e2rn\u0103m de un fir. Apoi de un altul. Ochi, chei\u021b\u0103, l\u0103n\u021bi\u0219or. Soarta are prea mult timp de pierdut.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>Scriind noaptea pe ziduri<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Fiica mea se ridic\u0103 cu repeziciune din pat \u0219i \u00eencepu s\u0103 scrie ceva pe tavan cu o carioca neagr\u0103. Wow, ce \u00eenalt\u0103 s-a f\u0103cut dintr-o dat\u0103, \u00eentinz\u00e2ndu-se s\u0103 ajung\u0103 la tavan: ce picioare lungi, ce bra\u021be lungi. M\u0103 str\u0103duiesc s\u0103 citesc pe \u00eentuneric, dar scrisul ei e neinteligibil. C\u00e2nd termin\u0103, se \u00eentinse repede la loc l\u00e2ng\u0103 mine \u0219i adormi imediat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Din perete iese \u00eencet un fuior negru de fum. Arat\u0103 ca cerneal\u0103 plutind spre mine prin ap\u0103. C\u00e2nd se apropie, se transform\u0103 \u00eentr-o fa\u021b\u0103 de femeie: mama.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Care-i chestia cu mamele \u0219i fiicele care nu pot s\u0103 doarm\u0103 la 2 noaptea? Acum suntem pe o plaj\u0103 plin\u0103 de pietre, uit\u00e2ndu-ne la marea n\u0103moloas\u0103. Mama merge \u00een fa\u021ba mea, iar v\u00e2ntul \u00eei bate fusta cu putere. \u00cemi spune ceva, ar\u0103t\u00e2ndu-mi valurile verzi. \u00cei v\u0103d buzele mi\u0219c\u00e2ndu-se, dar bubuitul valurilor \u00eei acoper\u0103 vocea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u00cen c\u0103minul de fete din Regie, Florina mi-a scris poemele cu carioca neagr\u0103 pe toate cele patru u\u0219i ale dulapurilor din camer\u0103. M\u00e2zg\u0103lituri indescifrabile, p\u0103tate de degete pe suprafa\u021ba laminat\u0103. Poeme de dragoste pentru fete singuratice departe de cas\u0103.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Totul e despre aceast\u0103 ne\u00een\u021belegere a scrisului, a cuvintelor, a petelor de cerneal\u0103. Despre a fi scufundat\u0103 \u00een ap\u0103, cu urechile \u00eenfundate. Cu ochii mari deschi\u0219i, dar f\u0103r\u0103 s\u0103 vad\u0103. Apoi femeia-arca\u0219 se ridic\u0103 brusc \u0219i vine spre perete, \u021bintind s\u0103geata spre mine. \u00cei v\u0103d v\u00e2rful tremur\u0103tor scriind ceva \u00een aer:&nbsp;<em>P\u00e2n-aici \u021bi-a fost.<\/em>&nbsp;Sar din pat \u00een momentul \u00een care \u00eei d\u0103 drumul.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>P\u0103zitorii cheilor lunii Gigi era un om \u00eenalt \u0219i palid care conducea un camion invizibil prin ora\u0219. \u00cei ambala motorul, claxona tare \u0219i schimba vitezele fugind pe strad\u0103. Fr\u00e2nele \u00eei sc\u00e2r\u021b\u00e2iau tare c\u00e2nd tr\u0103gea pe dreapta \u00een sta\u021bia de autobuz, oferind tuturor c\u0103l\u0103torii gratuite.&nbsp;Vino cu mine, \u0219tiu drumul,&nbsp;mi-a zis, \u0219i l-am crezut. Maria avea un cuib r\u0103v\u0103\u0219it \u00een loc de p\u0103r. \u00centr-o zi a venit la \u0219coal\u0103 \u0219i a oferit tuturor profesorilor din cancelarie dulcea\u021b\u0103 de vi\u0219ine dintr-un borcan. Vi\u0219inele str\u0103luceau ro\u0219u aprins ca rujul ei. M\u00e2nca\u021bi! a strigat, \u00eendop\u00e2nd \u00een gurile profesorilor linguri\u021bele pline cu dulcea\u021b\u0103. Ast\u0103zi e ziua<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":45,"featured_media":1928,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[30],"tags":[378,1093,723],"coauthors":[],"class_list":["post-5183","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poezie","tag-claudia-serea","tag-nr-5-2022","tag-poeme"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/04\/Claudia-Serea.jpeg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5183","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/45"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5183"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5183\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5184,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5183\/revisions\/5184"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1928"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5183"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5183"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5183"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistafamilia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcoauthors&post=5183"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}