By Epitacio Pais
Translated by Paul Melo e Castro
Issue no 24
Conceição had been happy once, but nothing in this world could bring that feeling back. What did return were her memories, of João’s savage kisses, his strange way of loving, animal-like but gentle, harsh but tender, veering between the platonism of words and the basest passion, his magic touch that brought either pain or maddening ecstasy, she was never quite sure which. His velvety words and jealous Cyclopean rages. His blazing eyes and tears of feeble subservience.