Stories of Paraná - No more Polish? (I)

Stories of Paraná - No more Polish? (I)

No more Polish? (I)
Wilson Bueno

- Polish!
The curse struck shitload done.
Knew.
- Niggers!
The answer came on the border of spit, the stretch of land from Visconde de Nacre, corner of Saldanha
where now stands, imposing, the building has also vetusto Italy.
In game, more than the color, the sudden feeling of dignity threatened.
- Niggers!
Espumávamos of anger in the dining room of the board of many bedrooms, four eyes open as windows on the Saldanha Marinho, rented by my father, tnigrante North Pioneer.
No, the family arrived in the train-the-hunger shipped in Joaquim Tavora.
On alienation of children impossible, did not realize the horrors that prevail over the need afflicted
- The arrangements and derangements by subvida.
Pendants inside, hillbillies in misturávamos them, the Poles, as well as the nights Saravá Umbanda and tried to decipher the house in front, across the street, the mystery of the Japanese - always hidden, always aloof, as if their difference
was a pain.
Tried to sour cucumber wrapped in leaves-of-ra-parrei at first disgusted and soon after, greedily, and we learned from the Poles to exact ripening grape vineyards in the background of improvised backyards.
Fixed color-ves the time of apples, pears and figs.
With the Poles, the family began patient in the art of jam in glasses Trevisan - lean, mirrors.
And it was curious that those children who spoke the language at home arrevezada parents in Portuguese to correct the ordinary, and with the same enthusiasm they were our cunning and skillful in "game-of-breath" with Zequinhas - played on luck and arm.
Understand life, the gringos, real beings, flesh-and-blood, like all common. And this in the face of our inexperience was something amazing.
My city hinterland was being even a dream Curitiba.
What comes in recollection and memory collects with fingers of melancholy, the frame is colorless life poor, the wooden houses succeeding - of Saldanha to the wall of the funds that faced the street Chorões. Only the pension triumphed, old house, stately opening procession of houses, yards, gardens, trees, vines, children and chickens pecking around the courtyards.
- Niggers!
The Poles gave back the teasing - without knowing that everything seemed in: they, with hair-colored ass-when-flees
envied those blue eyes, freckles, we capiaus hinterland full of this strangeness that Indians become accustomed to whites, and more black hair, smooth in our face vulgaríssimos dark eyes.
The skin, sunburned North, faded, low winters and outmoded.
Felt the inevitable stringer land beats by poeirão red - a cloud po chasing the bib.
Here baixávamos hospitals (public) as often uncomfortable with the cold attacked tonsils and pharynx.
Polacada!
Niggers!

Wilson Bueno is a writer, creator and editor of the journal Cultural "Nicholas".


Source: Stories of Paraná, Brasil.