PEDRO COELHO

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O ANEXO

Em 32 anos de histórias, a de Gracinda terá sido a que mais me marcou. É certo que percorri muitos territórios limite, que me cruzei com rostos em fim de linha, almas perturbadas pelo sofrimento, mas uns e outras se diluíram numa massa compacta, a que o passar do tempo roubou os contornos precisos.

𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑜𝑠 𝟾𝟶. 𝑉𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑎 𝑛𝑢𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑜, 𝑛𝑜 𝑓𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑚 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑙, 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑙ℎ𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠; 𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑟, 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑎-𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑎. 𝐶ℎ𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑎-𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎̃𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑜 𝑎𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑙. 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑡𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎 𝑑𝑎 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒; 𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑛𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑜 𝑣𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑎-𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖́𝑙𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑐̧𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑠, 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑜𝑠, 𝑏𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑖𝑥𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑠. 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑜. 𝑁𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑠 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑚 𝑒𝑚 𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑚 𝑒 𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑜, 𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑑𝑎𝑟 𝑑𝑜 𝑗𝑢𝑛ℎ𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑎 𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑢𝑠, 𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎, 𝑠𝑜́ 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎 𝑙𝑎́ 𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑎, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑎𝑐𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎, 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑜 𝑒 𝑎𝑗𝑢𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑢𝑒𝑟. 𝐸𝑚 𝑗𝑢𝑛ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟽, 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑒𝑟𝑎, 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑣𝑟𝑎𝑠, 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑎.

𝐸𝑚 𝟹𝟸 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜́𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑠, 𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎́ 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑜 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑐𝑜𝑢. 𝐸́ 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑖 𝑚𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑜́𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑒, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑧𝑒𝑖 𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑚 𝑓𝑖𝑚 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎, 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜, 𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑠 𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑙𝑢𝑖́𝑟𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑎, 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑟 𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑠. 𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜-𝑚𝑒 𝑣𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎 𝑎 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑏𝑎𝑖𝑥𝑜 𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑒́𝑠 𝑒 𝑑𝑜 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑜, 𝑝𝑎𝑖 𝑑𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖́𝑙𝑖𝑎, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑐̧𝑎 𝑛𝑜 𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑐̧𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑎, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑜 𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑚𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝐹𝑎𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑎 𝑒𝑚 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟾.

𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜-𝑚𝑒, 𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒, 𝑑𝑜 𝑅𝑢𝑖, 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑔𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑃𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝐶𝑟𝑢𝑧, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑜 𝑟𝑖𝑚 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑣𝑎𝑟 𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑙ℎ𝑎, 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑎̀𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑒… 𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜-𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑟 𝑜 𝑅𝑢𝑖, 𝑑𝑒𝑧 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠, 𝑛𝑜 𝐹𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑙, 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑎 𝑑𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑚-𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑜, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑚 𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠… 𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜-𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑅𝑢𝑖 𝑒 𝑜 𝑅𝑢𝑖, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑓𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜, 𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑒 𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑜, 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎, 𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑢-𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑚; 𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑖-𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑙ℎ𝑎, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑜 𝑟𝑖𝑚 𝑑𝑜 𝑅𝑢𝑖, 𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙, 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑟𝑎 𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑣𝑎𝑟. 𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜-𝑚𝑒, 𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒, 𝑑𝑜 𝐹𝑜𝑎𝑑, 𝑗𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑓𝑒𝑔𝑎̃𝑜, 𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑎, 𝑞𝑢𝑒, 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑚 𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑜 𝑝𝑖𝑜𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎 𝑑𝑎́, 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑟𝑎 𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑣𝑜-𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑢𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑃𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑙, 𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑜.

𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜-𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑟, 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑙ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑙ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐̧𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑜𝑠, 𝑑𝑒 𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑜𝑠 𝑣𝑎𝑧𝑖𝑜𝑠. 𝑅𝑒𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑖-𝑜 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑎, 𝑛𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝐶𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑆𝑜𝑑𝑟𝑒́, 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑎 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑟𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑜́𝑡𝑢𝑙𝑜, 𝑚𝑒𝑖𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑚 𝑙𝑖́𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒. 𝑂 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑙ℎ𝑢𝑒𝑡𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑙ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑟𝑎, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑜, 𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑎.

𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜-𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑎 𝑚𝑎̃𝑜 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑎 𝑑𝑜 “𝐹𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑠”, 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑃𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝐶𝑟𝑢𝑧, 𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑎 𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑖 𝟷𝟹 𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑠, 𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑟𝑜́𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒 𝑜 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑎 𝑚𝑎̃𝑜 𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑑𝑜́𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑜𝑠, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 “𝐹𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑠” 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑎, 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑟𝑜, 𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒 𝑑𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎. 𝐸𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑠, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑙ℎ𝑜𝑠, “𝐹𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑠”, 𝑡𝑎̃𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑙ℎ𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠, 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖́𝑎-𝑠𝑒. 𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜-𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑎 𝑚𝑢𝑙ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑚 𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑜, 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑎𝑠 𝑣𝑒𝑧𝑒𝑠, 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑟 𝑜 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑎́𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑚 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑎 𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑚 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑧𝑎.

𝑁𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑜𝑠, 𝑣𝑖 𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑜 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝐹𝑎𝑖𝑎𝑙, 𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑅𝑢𝑖, 𝑑𝑒 𝑃𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝐶𝑟𝑢𝑧, 𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝐹𝑜𝑎𝑑 𝑑𝑜 𝐶𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑆𝑜𝑑𝑟𝑒́, 𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎, 𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠… 𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝑠𝑎, 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑚 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑡𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑜, 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑖 “𝐵𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑎”: 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑚 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐̧𝑜𝑢 𝑜 𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑎 𝑎 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑎́-𝑙𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑎; 𝑜 𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑎 𝑏𝑎𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑐̧𝑜𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑢𝑧𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑎̃𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑚 𝑒 𝑎 𝑅𝑜𝑠𝑎 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑢 𝑑𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑎, 𝑗𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑢-𝑠𝑒, 𝑠𝑢𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑎 𝑗𝑢𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒 - 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎𝑜𝑠 𝟷𝟽 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑐̧𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟 - 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜 𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑑𝑜.

𝑃𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑎 𝑖𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜́𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑒, 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑚𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒, 𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑎𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑎𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑠, 𝑜𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑢𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑎̃𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑢𝑠, 𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑠, 𝑝𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑠, 𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑜𝑠, 𝑝𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑜𝑠, 𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑠, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑠… 𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜́𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑎-𝑠𝑒, 𝑒𝑛𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑒-𝑠𝑒, 𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑡𝑎, 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎, 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑟𝑒, 𝑑𝑖𝑙𝑢𝑖-𝑠𝑒, 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑎-𝑠𝑒, 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑎, 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑎, 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑒, 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑎, 𝑣𝑜𝑎, 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑖, 𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑢𝑙ℎ𝑎, 𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑒…

𝐴𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜́𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑗𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎. 𝐹𝑢𝑖 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑐̧𝑎𝑛𝑜 𝑛𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑗𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑢 𝑝𝑎𝑖.

𝐴 𝑙𝑜𝑗𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑢 𝑝𝑎𝑖 𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑜. 𝑁𝑎 𝑑𝑒́𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝟽𝟶 𝑑𝑜 𝑠𝑒́𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑖́𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝟾𝟶, 𝑛𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑎 𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑎, 𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑒̂𝑠 𝑜𝑢 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑗𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑢 𝑝𝑎𝑖 𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑚 - 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 “𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑜” - 𝑜𝑠 𝑙𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑚 𝑜 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑎. 𝑂 𝑚𝑒𝑢 𝑝𝑎𝑖 𝑓𝑖𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑎𝑜𝑠 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑎́𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑠, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑚 𝑑𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑜 𝑚𝑒̂𝑠, 𝑜𝑢 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑙ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑛𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑔𝑎𝑛𝑎, 𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑎𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑠, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑎𝑚 𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑎́𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑎́𝑣𝑒𝑖𝑠. 𝐴𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝟸𝟻 𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑙, 𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑧𝑎 𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑜 𝑢́𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑜 𝑙𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑢 𝑝𝑎𝑖. 𝐴𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜, 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎 𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑧𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑐𝑜𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎𝑚 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐̧𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑟; 𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑜 𝑣𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎 𝑜 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑒 - 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖́𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑟 “𝑝𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑠, 𝑚𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑠”; 𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑎 ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑟𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑜́𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑒 𝑎̀ 𝑝𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑧𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑎́𝑣𝑒𝑙 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑎. 𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜-𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑠.

𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜-𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑝𝑜́𝑠-𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜. 𝐶𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑖 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠. 𝐶𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑖 𝑎𝑡𝑒́ 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑟, 𝑒𝑚 𝑐𝑖𝑚𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑚 𝑣𝑒𝑙ℎ𝑜 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑎, 𝑎𝑜 𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑐𝑎̃𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑗𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑢 𝑝𝑎𝑖. 𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑙 𝑜𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑖 𝑝𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑠 (𝑜𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑐̧𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑚 𝑎 𝑛𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝟸𝟻 𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑙, 𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑐𝑜𝑠). 𝑂𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑠, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑧𝑜, 𝑛𝑒𝑚 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑗𝑜, 𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑚 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑠𝑎 – 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑚 𝑓𝑎𝑧𝑒𝑟: 𝑢𝑛𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑠, 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑛𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑎 𝑑𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑙ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟. 𝑂𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑠, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑠, 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑚 𝑎 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑒, 𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑢𝑛𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑠 – 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑐𝑜𝑠 – 𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒. 𝐴𝑙𝑔𝑢𝑛𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑜𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑠, 𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒, 𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙, 𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑚 𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑚 𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜, 𝑠𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑜, 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑗𝑜𝑠𝑜𝑠, 𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑎 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑣𝑎 𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑟-𝑙ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑣𝑒𝑖𝑎𝑠. 𝐼𝑎 𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑟 𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑠. 𝑁𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑜𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑜𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑜𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑜𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑠, 𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑐̧𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑥𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑒 𝑏𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑖𝑥𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑠. 𝐴𝑜 𝑓𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒 𝑢𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒 𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑚 𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑥𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑢𝑠𝑜.

* Jornalista da Grande Reportagem da SIC e professor auxiliar na FCSH da Universidade Nova de Lisboa. Autor de várias investigações jornalísticas e vencedor de dois Prémio Gazeta de Televisão, em 2014 e 2017.

IN "SETENTA E QUATRO" - 14/09/22 .