Last night, the Old Warrior appeared to me in the mirror. His image, so vivid, though ghostly, moved me. I closed my eyes and, when I opened them, I was wearing a t-shirt printed with shooting stars, shiny shorts and top hat. Around his neck, he wore the mocking horn; in one hand, the showy codfish; in the other, the wrinkled pineapple. In his pocket, there was a flabby cucumber. I looked at the sad figure and was about to undress when something happened.
I opened my bedroom door and a huge hall opened up. Everyone was seated, waiting for the show. I honked the horn with glee. Suddenly, the music started: "Abelardo Barbosa is on fire and not showing off...". He was a clown ready to say something dishonorable.
Looking at the audience, mostly composed of women, I raised my left hand and asked:
"Who wants Conceição Evaristo's codfish?"
And I threw the Gadus Macrocephalus into the audience . A monastic silence fell.
I didn't back down. I reached into my pocket and, with the vegetable in my hand, yelled:
"Who wants Ailton Krenak's cucumber?"
And I threw it into a colleague's lap, who caught it and threw it back at my forehead.
I had one last card to play. So, with no strength left, I pleaded:
"Who wants Marilena Chauí's pineapple?"
With both hands I placed the fruit on an empty chair and, undressing, I took off my horn, top hat, and shirt. I was preparing to take off my shorts when, in the sea of confetti and streamers, a group of showgirls invaded the auditorium. First in line was Índia Potira, accompanied by Rita Cadillac. Beyond her was Mulatinha Mustang, followed by Trícia Trovão. There were also other women dressed in silver sequined swimsuits.
I took a good look at the showgirls, not believing what I was seeing, because it wasn't Índia Potira or Trícia Trovão anymore, but all the women were, in fact, the XL and XS prostitutes: Dalila Capivara (my first feminist love), Darlaine Toalhas Felpudas (the entrepreneurial dwarf), Tatiane Mini Saia (the sixty-something journalist), Brenda Toblerone (the nasal-voiced speech therapist), and Dulcineia Barra Pesada (PhD in Plínio Marcos). They surrounded me as if in a trance, knocked me down with low blows, and shouted:
"Who wants a conservative jerk?"
I woke up startled.
This text does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Unicamp.
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