The Matuto and the Autumn
The Matuto is a jazz admirer. In the opinion of Matuto, jazz is a complete musical style. The “Full Package” as the English would say. Resolvely, Matuto believes that jazz has the answer to all dilemmas in the world. And when the grandeur of the autumn twilight invades the ‘house of the bridges’, it is in jazz that Matuto finds his mild cove.
Telling to the explanation, for the most distracted readers, that the fall, in this tropical country that so generously welcomed the Matuto in its bosom, happens between March 20 and June 20. Sometimes it seems that the summer that is Brazilian by birth right, and that is never beaten here, will reign banished and sleepy, all year round. Like a vacation bitch. But no! There was a cold cold. Really cold. Everyone was caught by surprise. Jackets shaving the bodies and scarves serpenting necks, they left the cabinets. The nose stuck to the sweaty window. In the south far, it snowed, transforming the landscape into a Swiss postcard. The colds and the like champions of crazy, and the Matuto told, in one day, 73 sneezing released into the air. From those who expel the soul from the lungs. In fact, allergic storms leave the Matuto, Husted. These new viruses emerge, excellent in the art of flying the most antibiotic, and there are already third and fourth generation bacteria out there. These fall days awakened with desire to recover lost time and violently pushed the summer to singing. Belinha – the conservative visit of the ‘bridges’ – said: « Hospitals are bursting through the seams, but youth delinquency has decreased. » The Matuto is upset. « It’s true »-continued the Belinha-« these bordes, some small rascals, are trained to act in the light of tropical heat. In the cold, they are for their shacks that neither caged animals. » “There is good news” – sighs the gentle wife of Matuto, Dona Sirlei.
When the Matuto was militinho, he was allowed to have two flu a year. Everything that surpassed this was considered a temperamental exaggeration, treated with Olympic indifference. Mariquices! At that time the flu were just evils of existence attributed to air currents and climate change. Do not confuse with climate change – warns the matuto. It was said it was « the fruit of time. »
At that time, the autumn was for Matutinho, a farewell of the ‘Dolce Far Niente’ of summer. The morning chased the last lizards, contemplated the last ‘ends of the sun’, shook the modor sphel, arranged the readings of the “Sandokan: The Tiger of Malaysia”, and received the first autumn breezes happy.
However, other falls materialized a matut Dandy English dwelling beyond the English Channelin the fogs of the green fields of England. Yesterday, Matuto traveling early the road, saw how the icy fog made the hills and trees disappear, crumbled them like drawings to chalk in a blackboard. Zuuutt. They disappeared! The suspended bruma disputed space with the Zinc Horizon and made the Matuto spread the memories through the English rails and paths. And in the record darling the jazz classic: “The Falling Leaves Drift by the Window…” – The leaves falling, wandered through my window. The Matuto remembers kicking the fallen leaves in the English parks. The crispy rest of the loose halves… Anyway, the fall arrived. In the attemptive, now, the voice of Chet Baker, in the kitchen Dona Sirlei prepares an ancestral tea of ginger and threatens inhalations with eucalyptus leaves, in the foot of the catita, Janota, elegant. Autumn has dropped everything: the temperature, the disposition, the leaves… but never the dignity. Because a man always wants to gentle, the gentleman – Matuta the Matuto.
