R. ainda tem o mel dourado da voz do Porto Santo , num tempo em que as casas eram de salão e tinham chão de terra batida. Veio partilhar uma história antiga de pobrezas e solidões, em que a morte da mãe, primeiro, e do pai, depois, o traz para a Ilha grande.
De mão dada com a irmã, vem para um lugar sem afetos: ela para um colégio interno, ele para a Casa do Gaiato.
- Desculpe, não gosto de chorar. Já tenho cabelos brancos.
Conta a vida e pede-nos que a calemos, por enquanto. Cumpriremos.
Há de voltar. Tem retratos e lembranças da eira e da lota, do cinema e dos dinheirinhos do carreto.
- A gente carregava as malas dos senhores que vinham nos barcos e ganhávamos uns tostões... dava para o cinema.... Viu o Cinema Paraíso? Era assim.
R. vai voltar com esse Porto Santo nas mãos, na voz, no coração. Daremos conta dessas histórias, aqui, um dia destes.
R. has a melted voice like the golden sand of Porto Santo beach, and makes us remember the time when houses were still roofed by a mixture made of earth. He shared old tales of past times when poverty and loneliness were constant and of harsh times tainted by the death of his mother, and later of his father and the consequent depart for the big island.
Hand in hand with his sister, he was sheltered at a place that lacked affection: she went into a boarding school and he entered Casa do Gaiato
- I am sorry… I don’t like crying. I am already a grown up man.
He had to share his stories but he has asked us not to share. We will keep our promise.
He will come back. He has photos and memories of the old cinema, of the fish market and of the pocket money he used to collect.
- We carried the luggage of the passengers and so we earned some coins … it was enough to pay for the cinema … Have you seen the film Cinema Paraíso? It was just like that.
R. is going to come back. He still carries Porto Santo Island in his hands, in his voice, in his heart. Soon we will tell you all about it.