The Ninja and me
We'd known each other for a long time, since the days when we used to go to teenage dances. He was a friend of my friend's friend, famous at school for taking part in illegal car races on the streets at weekends. The few times I took part in these events, in the streets around Redenção Park, I was amazed by a world full of light, noise and booze where he and his friends were masters of the art of making wooden horses, skids and circles of fire. They were also masters of seduction. From a very young age, he was unfaithful and promiscuous
When we met again, I had already divorced and was the mother of three young daughters. I was still a very beautiful woman and full of life, even after giving birth and looking after small children. With the separation, I had had to go back to work to support myself. I was a nurse at the health department and had made several friends at work with whom I went out at weekends. I met him again at night, amid a lot of singing and beer. He was a man who exuded vitality from every pore and who held a mystery in his eyes. I was immediately attracted. But his reputation remained the same. Rumor had it that he had impregnated several of his ex-girlfriends and that they had all decided to have abortions. Despite the rumors, we soon started dating and were a constant presence at all the events. We liked doing the same things, we traveled a lot and we were a hit in every social group.
By day, he worked at his family's gas station, and in his spare time he continued to race cars. He had now given up street racing and migrated with all his old-school friends to the Tarumã race track in Viamão. When the oil crisis hit in 1976, the races ended and Tarumã closed. Shortly afterwards, he fell into a depression, he didn't see any more fun in life. We had been dating for a few months when one day he asked me if I wanted to have more children. His dream was to be a father, and the fact that all his ex-girlfriends who got pregnant had aborted made him very frustrated. I remember that moment well. When he told me that I was the woman of his life, I didn't know what to say. I was so moved by that unexpected display of love! I didn't think our relationship was that important to him.
I went home confused. I liked him. He was great company, always in a good mood, the sex was excellent and we had a lot of fun together. But I hadn't lost my head, it was still resting firmly on my shoulders. I knew that once a womanizer, always a womanizer. And I was sure that I couldn't bear to be betrayed. Another break-up in my early 40s and a young child to look after alone was not a pleasant perspective. However, I knew he would be sensitive to my arguments, because he was crazy about me. It was all a question of giving a sensible answer.
The next time we went out together, I told him I'd like to talk to him in private. We had been invited to Sunday lunch by his parents, and we were waiting for lunch to be ready amid the noise and confusion of a typical Italian family. When he saw me so anxious, he hugged me excitedly and took me out to talk on the veranda. There, I explained as gently as possible that I didn't feel up to having another child. My desire now was to enjoy life as much as possible and, if money allowed, to travel the world in good company. Going back to the diaper and bottle phase was unimaginable for me.
As this was not at all what he had imagined hearing from me, his reaction was brutal. He told me point-blank that the time had come for us to split up. He said it was a shame that I felt that way, because he was sure that our children would be as beautiful as the children he had always dreamed of having. "What," I thought to myself, "so he wasn't in love with me, but with my genes?".
Months passed before I heard from him again: he had got a new girl pregnant. But this time, when his family found out, he was given an ultimatum and persuaded to get married. Although it was a loveless marriage, I learned that he was a good father to the girls and, as far as possible, faithful to his wife. For her, however, who had never been in love with him, it was a marriage of interest. Shortly after the birth of their second daughter, the marriage had completely fizzled out. I learned that, eventually, she had affairs, perhaps as a form of revenge for his lack of attention.
In 1984, when the Tarumã racetrack reopened, he, who was now over 40 years old, started racing again. Every weekend he took part in the '12h de Tarumã', which started at midnight on Saturday and had its final flag at midday on Sunday. According to mutual friends, he raced without fearing for his life. He was famous for the speed with which he entered the Tala-Larga corner, a downhill elbow that sent many drivers into the afterlife. This earned him the codename 'Ninja'.
The other day, when I met him at the mall for the first time after all these years, I was startled. He looked like an empty shell, his vitality had been lost in the curves of Tarumã. Instinctively, I pretended I hadn't seen him and invited my eldest daughter to go for ice cream. I decided to have Belgian chocolate ice cream, his favorite, in honor of our good times.
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