O turno da noite, conto de ficção (The Night Shift, a short story)
QECR B2377 palavras
Between three and five in the morning, the petrol station on the motorway belonged to Nadia and to whoever needed fuel badly enough to stop. The lorries arrived in waves, and then, for an hour at a time, nothing. She had learned to tell the time by what people bought. At three it was coffee and cigarettes. By half past four it was chocolate, always chocolate, as if the body knew the night was nearly over and wanted something in return.
The man came in for the first time on a Tuesday. He bought a bottle of water, paid in coins that he counted twice, and asked whether the road north was still closed. It wasn't, and it never had been. He thanked her anyway and stood by the door for a while, looking out at his car, parked away from the pumps, in the dark, at the far end of the forecourt.
On Wednesday he was back at twenty to five. The same water, the same coins, the same question about the road. Nadia said no again, and this time she watched the security screen instead of his face. The car had not moved from the far end. Something in the back seat, or someone, stirred and then was still.
On Thursday she caught herself waiting for him. That was the part she would never tell anyone. She had wiped the counter twice, straightened the chocolate, switched the coffee machine on early, and when the doors slid open at twenty to five she felt the relief of something arriving on time. Ridiculous. He was a man who bought water. He was a driver who could not sleep, like half the country.
He came to the counter with the bottle and did not put it down. "You're here every night," he said. It was not a question, and she did not answer it. Behind him, through the glass, the headlights of his car came on and went off again, once, like someone tired of waiting.
Nadia looked at the clock. Twelve minutes to five. Twelve minutes, and then the day shift, and the light, and the ordinary noise of the road. She put her hand under the counter, where the alarm button was, and left it there.
Palavras que talvez não conheças
- shiftturno de trabalho
- forecourtpátio da estação de serviço
- pumpbomba de combustível
- lorrycamião
- counterbalcão
- coinmoeda
- to wipelimpar com um pano
- to straighten (things on a shelf)endireitar, arrumar
- to stirmexer-se ligeiramente
- still (not moving)quieto, imóvel
- headlightsfaróis do carro
Perguntas
Respondem-se com o texto à frente. Não é memória: é perceber.
How does Nadia know roughly what time it is during her shift?
By what the customers buy — Aprendeu a ler a hora pelo que as pessoas compram: às três, café e cigarros; às quatro e meia, chocolate.
The man asked whether the road north was still ___.
closed — É a pergunta que ele repete nas três noites: whether the road north was still closed.
The road north really was closed that week.
False — O texto nega-o duas vezes na mesma frase: It wasn't, and it never had been. Não estava cortada nessa noite nem nunca tinha estado.
What do the details about the car suggest?
That the man did not want anyone to see it properly — O texto não o diz: é preciso deduzi-lo. O carro está longe das bombas, às escuras, ao fundo do pátio, e na segunda noite continua no mesmo sítio. Quem só vai comprar água estaciona na zona iluminada e vai-se embora. E algo, ou alguém, mexe-se no banco de trás.
What has changed in Nadia herself by the third night?
She has begun to look forward to his visits without admitting it — O texto não o diz: é outra inferência. Vê-se no que ela faz —limpa o balcão duas vezes, arruma o chocolate, liga a máquina do café mais cedo— e nesse «Ridiculous», que é a sua própria voz a discutir consigo mesma. E no facto de ser a parte que nunca contaria a ninguém.
What does the last sentence of the text suggest?
That she is getting ready for something that may not happen — Põe a mão onde está o botão do alarme e deixa-a lá: não chega a carregar nele. O conto acaba em aberto, nesses doze minutos, e não chega a dizer o que acontece a seguir.