O Ginásio

O Vasco morava num prédio antigo sem elevador, em Campo de Ourique. Todos os sábados de manhã, ajudava a vizinha do quinto, a Dona Irene, com os sacos do mercado. A Dona Irene tinha setenta e quatro anos e vivia sozinha, mas os sacos pesavam sempre muito: laranjas, seis garrafas de água, cinco quilos de batatas. Ela subia as escadas à frente dele, depressa, e esperava lá em cima com a chave na mão. Às dez em ponto, saía sempre com pressa. Nunca dizia para onde ia.

Vasco lived in an old building with no lift, in Campo de Ourique. Every Saturday morning, he helped his neighbour on the fifth floor, Dona Irene, with her bags from the market. Dona Irene was seventy-four and lived alone, but her bags were always very heavy: oranges, six bottles of water, five kilos of potatoes. She went up the stairs ahead of him, quickly, and waited at the top with the key in her hand. At ten o'clock on the dot, she always went out in a hurry. She never said where she was going.

Num sábado de março, o Vasco parou no terceiro andar, vermelho e sem ar. A Dona Irene olhou para ele lá de cima. — Ó filho, tu precisas de treinar! — gritou ela. Na segunda-feira, o Vasco entrou no ginásio ao fundo da rua, mesmo ao lado da sua pastelaria preferida. A rapariga da receção deu-lhe uma ficha para preencher: nome, idade, telemóvel. — Já treinou alguma vez? — perguntou ela. — Treinava futebol na escola — disse o Vasco. — Há vinte anos.

One Saturday in March, Vasco stopped on the third floor, red in the face and out of breath. Dona Irene looked down at him from the top. — Oh, my dear, you need to train! — she shouted. On Monday, Vasco walked into the gym at the end of the street, right next door to his favourite pastry shop. The girl at reception gave him a form to fill in: name, age, mobile number. — Have you ever trained before? — she asked. — I used to train for football at school — said Vasco. — Twenty years ago.