Wanderlino Arruda

I had just arrived home from a holiday vacation, which had begun in
the middle of December, when I was peremptorily advised that I had
been awarded something and invited to the upcoming ceremony, which
would soon take place in Goiânia, in the state of Goiás. The Second
Week of The Art of Goiás exposition had chosen one of my paintings -
Road in Movement- as one of the winning canvases, with a cash premium
as well as an honorary diploma, and wanted me to be there in person
for the event and following festivities. Since I didn't have to get
back to work for a few days more, I didn't think twice about it and
jumped on the interstate bus to Brasilia, where I arrived on a
beautiful summer morning, with a beautiful, brilliant sun just coming
up between the twin towers of the National Congress, a sight that any
painter or writer that likes landscapes would appreciate. And it was
there in Brasilia, that I discovered the trap into which I had
unwittingly fallen, a harrowing confusion of problems...right on the
night before Christmas. There weren't any more seats left on any of
the buses returning to Montes Claros in time for me to celebrate
Christmas Eve in family. Now, the situation was beyond difficult. It
was impossible. When things don't go along as expected, the worst that
can happen is for you to lose your cool and get upset. A little clear
thinking is always the best path to take, being that a little caution
doesn't do anyone any harm. But turning down the invitation, at that
time, would have put all the joy and sacrifice of my participation in
the event to waste. To stay there, in Goiânia wasn't exactly what I
had planned, but going to stay in some other nearby city didn't sound
like any fun, either. So, what to do? Why, examine all the
possibilities, of course! And that was when the best solution to my
quandary hit me. Suddenly, I realized that I could make an old dream
of mine come true. Traveling to the Grande Sertão (Great Wilderness)
was my oldest and most cherished dream, especially if I could visit
Serra das Araras and see some of the places described by Guimarães
Rosa in his legendary books. On the 23rd of December, I bought the
last available seat to São Francisco: estimated departure time, seven
o'clock a.m. and estimated arrival time at five in the afternoon. I
was so much more interested in my new adventure that the award for my
painting was soon forgotten in the excitement. A little before seven,
now back from Goiânia and at the bus station in Brasilia, I noticed a
restless mob at the terminal I would embark from. There were enough
people there milling around to fill three buses. At five minutes to
departure time, the driver advised everyone that didn't already have a
ticket, to go, on foot, over to the W-3 avenue and wait for a while,
because, as a security measure, the law demands that buses can only
leave the terminal with all passengers safely seated. A little over
one third of them stayed in line and about sixty of them started out
to obey the order. What we saw next as we were passing under the first
overpass was enough to make any normal person wonder, because there
was absolutely no way that bus could support the weight of such a
numerous clientele. There were six long minutes of accommodation,
squeeze here, push there, little kids sitting on the laps of their
elders, lovers and newlyweds as cozy as possible. The most afflicted
at standing in the corridor, settling on the armrests, somewhat like
ungainly pigeons. Indeed, it was truly a can of human sardines. Before
getting to Unaí, there were another two stops to pick up even more
passengers. It wouldn't have helped any for the driver to say that the
bus was full and there was no more room because more room was somehow
always conjured up. At the coffee stop where the driver said we would
stop for only a few minutes, it took fifteen whole minutes just to get
everybody out of the vehicle. And for everybody to get back in, with
an additional six passengers, by my watch, didn't take any less than
an eternal forty minutes. Then came the lunch stop, another three
fellow adventurers and even more waiting for going in and coming back
out because people always get slower on a full stomach. When we
stopped again, this time for coffee around four in the afternoon, no
one even had to get off the bus because the oranges, bananas, slices
of watermelon, fried pastry and more, as well as slices of sugar cane
were all bought and sold through the window like a colossal rolling
fast food drive-thru. A great novelty and miracle of salvation was the
appearance of mineral water, I believe nothing could have been more
coveted in the broiling heat. At Serra Das Araras ( Land of the
Macaws) , a beautiful little place, planted with shade trees with a
pleasant square full of lush green grass. An old lady with three
little blond kids and a crate with two turkeys going glu-glu-glu
suddenly appeared. At the beginning, the driver didn't let her get on,
explaining that it was impossible because, even if there were space
for her and the kids, where would he put the turkeys? The question
became a general curiosity. More and more passengers stuck their heads
out of the windows wanting to give advice and help out. So, where to
put the turkeys? It was a problem for us passengers as well as the bus
driver, because to the old lady, this was just a normal traveling
situation. She called the ticket collector, made him move three of
four bags, a few sacks and some packages, studied the baggage inside,
and like the experienced traveler she was, deftly tucked her bags and
things neatly inside among the rest. A sigh of general relief bubbled
through the canned crowd. Then, with head held high, now an important
member of the expedition, she smiled, wiped the perspiration off her
brow, gathered up the kids, and with them, proudly occupied the first
step into the bus. When we finally arrived at São Francisco, not at
five in the afternoon, but at eight in the evening, The stuffy
overcharged environment inside that bus was so packed that the door
could only be opened from the outside. There was absolutely no danger
of falling or slipping because there just wasn't anywhere to fall. It
may seem strange and I know that it wasn't my job, but I felt it
important to record some statistics about our journey for the
Department of Roads and Highways or whoever may find it interesting or
amusing. Including the driver, ticket boy and all the rest of us, one
hundred and twenty three passengers got off that bus in São Francisco.
One hundred and twenty one humans and two turkeys. But only we humans
would make it through to Christmas. The turkeys probably ended up as
the object of good appetites during the festivities. Or maybe even
before, because we know that turkeys always get done in on the day
before Christmas.

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BANNER http://www.banner2.blogger.com.br
BIBLIOTECA  http://boards4.melodysoft.com/app?ID=Wanderlino12
FUNDAÇAO ROTARIA BRASILEIRA  http://www.fundacarotaria.com.br
MONTES CLAROS  http://www.montesclaros.adm.br/
FUNDAÇAO CULTURAL MARIANA L FERNANDEZ   http://www.fundacaomarina.art.br/
MONTES CLAROS  http://www.wanderlino.com.br/montesclaros/
FOLCLORE  http://www.folclore.adm.br/
INSTITUTO HISTORICO E GEOGRAFICO DE MONTES CLAROS  http://www.ihgmc.art.br/
INSTITUTO HISTORICO E GEOGRAFICO DE MINAS GERAIS  http://www.ihgmg.art.br/
AUTOMOVEL CLUBE DE MONTES CLAROS http://www.acmc.art.br/