Por que vermelho?


Chapeuzinho, que mal te pergunte, por que é que usavas vermelho?
A cor do sangue. O sangue que corre nos vivos e escorre dos mortos, que borbulha de raiva e mancha, indelével, as mãos dos assassinos : vermelho é cor do destino. Sangue que obriga famílias, abriga doenças e rege ciclos. Vermelho sangue brilhante, quente nas pernas de quem de descobre mulher num instante de arrebatamento, ou asco, ou espanto, ou tudo, sangue-sina e assinatura do teu papel de filha de Eva. Não querias mais se menina, era isso?
Sim… Vermelho cor do rubi, vermelho carmim dos lábios, das damas, vermelho-rouge. Cor de sedução e fetiche, cor de querer-não-poder e desejo… Uma sedutora em semente.
Ou talvez… É por ser cor das rosas, das araras, da cereja, do tomate, da bandeira do Japão, sol nascente?
Eram vermelhos os olhos perscrutadores do teu Lobo, Chapeuzinho. Lembra-te? Da sensação quente daqueles olhos na floresta, em tuas costas, seguindo-te qual radares, talvez laser, quem o sabe? O vermelho te traiu, menina-moça. Quisera ser mulher antes do tempo, quisera te fazer rosa em vez de margarida; mas vermelho, na floresta, é chamativo - fostes vista.
E o vermelho te salvou. A capa que deixaste no beiral da janela, assim que adentraste a casa a mando de uma voz grossa. Não foram os gritos, poucos, que alertaram o lenhador. Foi tua capa à janela, que voou com o vento e jazia ali perto. 
No chão, amassada, tão tua, tão sabida por todos que tua.
Hoje ainda, tua capa. Estás maior a cada dia, maiores também as capas. Não mais ganhas, sabes fazê-las, e sob elas te abrigas da neve. Te concedo, agora que és moça, a honra do vermelho: pois és forte, Chapeuzinho, e o mereces. 
Por ter continuado a garota da capa vermelha ainda depois do lobo, da floresta, dos murmúrios, ainda depois dos olhares no povoado. Por seres ainda quem eras, e o seres sem duvidar.
Segue, e leva a tua capa, vermelha por excelência. Esta cor foi sempre a certa, e já não cabe a mim questionar.


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