It was with those thoughts whirling through my mind that I went to meet my wife-to-be at the park of Quinta da Boa Vista. Just before closing time, we hid in one of the recesses of a cave. As agreed, Denilson let us into the museum. We were prepared, carrying flashlights, masks, gloves, scissors and some tools.
Martinha looked anxious.
“We can turn back, you know,” I tried. But it was useless.
In the dark, the objects seemed creepier. At the entrance, I felt like one of the museum’s meteorites was about to smash us. I’m not sure if it was because she had been there a few days before, but Martinha walked around very comfortably. I squeezed her hand, and we carried on without making any noise. On the second floor, I was so stunned by a giant sloth that I ended up walking in the wrong direction. When Martinha found me, I stood lost under an enormous dinosaur skeleton, dumbfounded like a child.
I snapped back to reality when we entered the Ancient Egypt room. The vision of the mummy terrified me as it did when I was a boy. I thought about tales of the curse, and if it wasn’t for the strength of Martinha’s hand holding mine, I would certainly have fled like a coward. I suddenly had no self-control; it was a miracle I didn’t piss my pants.
We pulled on our gloves and masks and approached Kherima. My nerves calmed as we opened the display case, and by the end, I had nearly stopped shaking. I noticed one of the mummy’s right toes was missing. Perhaps another Father Doninho client had been there before us.
I don’t know if it was due to the supposed spell of the mummy, but I felt an urge to touch that two-thousand-year-old body. The fear, which paralyzed me before, was thrilling now. With the display case open, I took charge of the situation. I used a thin pair of scissors to cut a fragment of cloth that hung from Kherima’s ankle, placing my other hand on the fragile foot that had lost a toe. Goose bumps rose on my skin as I touched the foot. I intentionally let the embalmed body have direct contact with a little part of my wrist that the glove didn’t cover without even thinking about the fungus risk.
I relished placing the stolen cloth inside a transparent plastic bag while Martinha closed the showcase. It was certainly psychological, but as soon as the glass closed, my fear and discomfort returned. As I stuffed our supplies into the backpack, I lost control of my body and bumped the showcase with the tip of the scissors, creating a tiny crack in the glass and a huge grimace on my fiancée’s face.
After making sure the incident wouldn’t have larger consequences, we left. I was trembling more than ever and my legs felt as if they might give out. I stumbled down the stairs and started to fall, but Martinha grasped my hand to pull me upright. From that moment, she never let go.
When we left the park, our relationship somehow felt more solid.
I don’t see a future for us as grave robbers, but ever since that day, my wife and I love visiting the National Museum together and looking at that almost invisible crack in the mummy’s showcase.
NOTE
On the following pages, we present to you “The Heist” in its original Portuguese version.
O Trabalho
Adriana Tourinho
Quando a Martinha me ligou dizendo que havia finalmente encontrado um jeito de salvar nosso casamento, logo senti cheiro de problema. Era evidente que minha opinião não importava, e ela sabia muito bem que eu faria tudo para ter sossego.
Desde que a vi acidentalmente experimentando o vestido de noiva, ela enlouqueceu. Nada conseguia convencê-la que nossa união não estava irremediavelmente condenada ao maior dos fracassos. E ela ainda me culpava por ter aparecido em sua casa para fazer uma surpresa no aniversário de namoro. Quase fui linchado por ela e pela costureira, que, por pouco, não me furou um olho com uma alvejada de alfinetes. Fui obrigado a devolver as chaves de seu apartamento, levei uma chinelada na cabeça, e as flores, que eu trazia, foram pisoteadas enquanto ela se desesperava e me espinafrava. Até o Obama, que sempre me adorou, latiu para mim.
Ela disse que só me veria de novo quando achasse uma solução para nosso azar. Mas, mesmo suspeitando que viria encrenca, não poderia imaginar o tamanho do delírio que me esperava. Depois de conversar com padres, pastores e ciganas, foi um pai de santo que convenceu Martinha de que resolveria tudo. Quando finalmente nos encontramos, ela me disse, sem rodeios, que eu teria que completar o material para o trabalho do Pai Doninho.
— Querida, não é melhor ficar longe desse negócio de macumba? Afinal, a gente vai se casar na igreja!
— Foi você quem começou com isso tudo.
— Está bem. - disse eu, querendo acabar logo com tudo aquilo – O que está faltando?
— Um pedaço de faixa de uma múmia do Egito. - anunciou ela, para meu estupor, como se fosse a coisa mais banal do mundo.
— Que história é essa, Martinha? Não está vendo que estão te enrolando?
— O único que está me enrolando aqui é você, Zé Carlos. O Pai Doninho disse que precisava usar no trabalho o tecido mais velho possível para garantir a longevidade da nossa relação. Foi o Denílson, marido da Zoraide e guarda noturno no museu da Quinta da Boa Vista, que deu a ideia da múmia. Falei com o Pai Doninho e ele disse que seria perfeito.
Estava claro que ela tinha noção do absurdo da situação, mas fingia uma naturalidade dentro do seu autoritarismo para me deixar sem saída. De nada adiantou argumentar que isso era crime contra patrimônio federal, e que nunca conseguiríamos sequer tocar na múmia, quanto mais arrancar um pedaço.
Sempre fiz todas as vontades da Martinha, mas isso era demais! Como percebeu que seu jeito mandão não me convencia, tentou me comover, dizendo que seria a maior prova de amor que eu poderia lhe dar. Acrescentou que iríamos juntos e me apresentou um plano completo.
— O Denilson vai facilitar a nossa entrada à noite. Ele disse que transferiram esta semana as múmias de um invólucro de plástico para uma vitrine. Eu visitei o museu e conversei com um dos técnicos. Joguei um charme, e ele contou que o fechamento da vitrine da múmia Kherima não foi finalizado porque houve problemas no controle da umidade. Eu vi no Youtube a colocação da múmia na vitrine, a abertura fica no lado do pé. Dá para a gente abrir e pegar só um pedacinho discretamente.
Ouvi suas explicações paralisado. Não sei se estava mais chocado com a insensatez da proposta, com seu empenho no plano ou com sua fé nessa mandinga. A Martinha nunca colocava os pés em exposições, nem sabia antes que o Museu Nacional era na Quinta da Boa Vista e agora estava de conversinha com técnico em museologia e chamando múmia egípcia pelo nome!
Mesmo me achando um imbecil, acabei cedendo. No fundo, eu me sentia lisonjeado ao ver que ela estava disposta a tudo para se casar comigo. Eu descobria uma futura esposa ardilosa, mas sua determinação me convenceu a embarcar nesta empreitada sem pé nem cabeça.
Eu já tinha visto aquelas múmias em um passeio escolar e tive até pesadelo, foi a primeira vez que vi um cadáver. Descobri na internet que fungos perigosos poderiam existir no tecido milenar. Para piorar a situação, justamente aquela múmia tinha a reputação de causar transe e alucinações em quem a tocasse.
Foi com essas preocupações na cabeça que fui ao encontro de minha noiva na Quinta da Boa Vista. Pouco antes de o parque fechar, nos escondemos numa das reentrâncias de uma gruta. Como combinado, o Denilson permitiu que entrássemos no prédio do museu. Levamos lanternas, máscaras, luvas, tesouras e mais umas ferramentas. Percebendo seu nervosismo, ainda tentei, sem sucesso, convencê-la a desistir.
Os objetos, na penumbra, adquiriam um ar sinistro. Logo na entrada, tive a sensação que um meteorito estava prestes a nos esmagar. Talvez por ter ido ao local um pouco antes, Martinha se deslocava com desenvoltura. Eu me segurava num de seus braços, e avançávamos sem fazer barulho. Chegando ao segundo andar, fiquei tão impressionado com a preguiça gigante que segui andando para o lado errado. Quando Martinha me achou, eu estava perdido embaixo dum enorme esqueleto de dinossauro, embasbacado como uma criança.
Entrar na sala do Egito Antigo me trouxe para a realidade. A visão da
múmia me aterrorizou como da primeira vez, quando era pequeno. Pensei em todas as histórias sobre maldições e, se não fosse a mão de ferro da Martinha me segurando, teria certamente saído correndo. Senti-me um frouxo, sem o menor controle sobre a minha pessoa. Foi um milagre não ter molhado as calças.
Aproximamo-nos de Kherima, colocando luvas e máscaras. Fui me acalmando, enquanto abríamos a vitrine, e no final já quase não tremia. Faltava um pedaço de um dos dedos do pé direito da múmia, e eu não conseguia parar de fixar este detalhe. Pensei até que outro cliente do Pai Doninho poderia ter passado por ali antes de nós.
Não sei se foi o famoso transe da múmia, mas o fato é que comecei a desejar o contato com aquele corpo de mais de dois mil anos. O medo, que antes me cristalizava, agora me entusiasmava. Uma vez a vitrine aberta, eu tomei a frente da situação. Peguei uma tesoura fina e cortei com delicadeza um pequeno fragmento que pendia um pouco do tecido do tornozelo. Fiz isso encostando com a outra mão no frágil pé sem dedo. Fiquei todo arrepiado, toquei, acariciei e fiz questão de deixar o corpo embalsamado ter contato diretamente com uma ínfima parte de meu braço, onde a luva não alcançava. Nem me lembrei dos tais fungos.
Adorei colocar o pedaço roubado dentro dum plástico transparente enquanto Martinha fechava a vitrine. Foi certamente psicológico, mas bastou o acrílico se fechar completamente para que o meu temor e desconforto retornassem espontaneamente. Ao colocar nossos objetos na mochila, perdi o controle de meus movimentos e bati com a ponta da tesoura na vitrine causando uma minúscula fenda no canto e uma careta enorme na minha noiva.
Depois de nos assegurarmos que o incidente não teria maiores consequências, deixamos o local. A tremedeira voltou mais forte do que antes, e as pernas começaram a fraquejar. Tropecei na escada e fui catando cavaco até a Martinha me socorrer mais uma vez com sua mão, que depois não descolou mais da minha.
Ao sairmos do parque nos sentíamos mais unidos. Não vejo aí, sinceramente, uma futura vocação para ladrões de túmulo, contudo, desde esse dia, adoramos visitar o Museu Nacional e olhar a quase imperceptível fenda na vitrine da múmia.
Kisses When I Get Home
Richard E. Klein
Love stories are timeless and universally endearing. Romances set in turbulent times are especially commanding.
Unlike many popular love stories, Kisses When I Get Home is a true story written by my Uncle Walter J. Klein and his betrothed, Rita Marie Lavery Klein, in a series of letters to each other during the era of World War II.
Upon my discovery of the cache of Walter and Rita’s courtship letters fifty years following the war’s close, I was immediately drawn to them. As I paged through, the times described seemed to burst forth with life. I am honored to have been the instrument to see that these letters—their love story—are now available for lovers of all ages. I sincerely hope you will find their story as compelling and spellbinding as I did.
As the war approached, Rita was a young secretary. Walter was employed as a gravel truck driver. Uncle Walter, then age 24, registered with the Selective Service in the fall of 1940. He was classified as 4-F because of extensive burns suffered as a child and therefore remained stateside for the duration of the war. Walter entered the military on January 13, 1943, reporting to basic training at Fort Devens, Massachusetts.
The collection of letters is close to 800 in total. Rita’s letters to Walter were typically four pages in length. Each letter commonly represented a daily description and accounting of life’s happenings, joys, and struggles. Walter’s letters were much shorter, usually one page. The collection of letters presents a truly unique and detailed insight into the lives and emotions of these two engaged lovers.
My goal with these letters was to preserve the voice of the original writers. Walter and Rita had strikingly different writing styles. As a trained professional secretary, Rita’s letters were virtually flawless in usage, spelling, and punctuation. In contrast, Walter’s writing was filled with spelling and grammatical errors, sometimes letting words run on without using period marks and capitalization to denote sentence breaks. This is not to say Walter couldn’t write correctly, but rather when at Army camp the urgency of writing took precedence over striving for today’s standard of correctness. Both writers’ letters have been transcribed as closely as possible to the originals. No effort was made to correct spelling, grammar, punctuation, or usage.
This excerpt includes selected letters from the months leading up to their wedding. Rita carried the burden of all the wedding planning, though she did have the support of her sister, Cele, who offered to pay for many aspects of the wedding since their mother had already passed. Rita had to deal with the uncertainty of when Walter would be allowed a 10-day furlough, and she was frustrated with Walter’s reluctance to talk to his father about the wedding. Yet, despite these obstacles, their love for each other shines through.
Saturday Night 9/18/43 11:00 P.M.
Dearest Walter,
You asked me if I get as sentimental as you. Well, Walter darling, the only way I can answer that is more + more lately I wish we could get married. When I think the whole thing out there are more advantages to getting married than disadvantages. If you are worried about finances, darling, don’t worry because as far as expenses of the wedding are concerned I would have most of the expenses. The bride always does. I would pay for the reception and of course gown, veil, flowers for the altar + a gift for the attendant. You would pay the priest (which isn’t very much) buy the ring (plain gold bands are cheap) buy the attendant’s flowers + give a gift to the best man + then of course if there would be a wedding trip (I hope there would be) you would pay for it. So when it comes right down to it we can’t use money (lack of it) for putting off getting married because even now, your $115.00 in savings would cover your expenses easily.
I think what you are concerned with most of all is that you wonder how your family would feel about it especially your father. Well, Walt, he knows we will be married sometime I’m sure, so it isn’t as tho he would be stunned over the idea. I really don’t think he’ll mind too much. When we do get married we’ll be better off financially, I’m positive we would. I could save your entire allotment for our home + could live on my pay.
It seems logical to think if we wait until next June ’44 it seems almost impossible that you would still be stationed at Ft. Devens. Of course no one knows about those things but as I said before it seems logical to believe that you won’t be. I don’t think the war will be over by then but that’s my personal opinion + again no one knows.
Well, dearest, I’d like you to think all these things over + when you come home next time let’s talk about them. I’m very anxious to know how you feel about everything. Please don’t think I’m pushing you along by writing all these facts. I certainly wouldn’t want to consider marriage at all if you feel entirely different than I do about it. So, dearest, let’s get straightened out on everything when you come home next time. I mean tell me how you feel about the whole thing. I don’t know why we evade even talking over the whole thing.
Darling, what I wouldn’t give to see you right now. I love you so much, dearest. It’s awfully hard sometimes to keep our spirits up, isn’t it, this war gets everybody down sooner or later. Let’s hope + pray we’ll get back to normal living soon.
Love Always,
X X X X X Rita X X X X X
Monday 10/4/43 5:15 pm (in the office)
Hello Sweetheart,
I thought I’d start this letter now as I have a few minutes to myself. My boss is in Hartford this afternoon and I’m all caught up in my work. In ten minutes the buzzer will go – that means the day is over and it’s time to go home. At 5:25 everyone makes a mad dash to get out of here (myself included) – ha ha.
Yes, Walter, we’re getting away ahead of ourselves when we talk about our children – we have to think about a lot of other things first – when we’ll be married is the most important thing right now – then once we decide that – the next thing
is talking to the priest – that is, you would take your six instructions that are necessary in the case of mixed marriages. Any chaplain in any camp can give them. As far as the details like the reception, flowers, what I’ll wear, etc. they will be all up to me so don’t worry, darling. As all you’ll have to worry about is buying the ring, getting your instructions + getting home at the right time + of course paying the priest + giving your best man + usher something + oh, I forgot the trip too – (paying for it). Darling, don’t think I’m telling you all this because I have all these plans in my mind – I haven’t – but I just want to give you an idea of what your part will be like when the time does come, see darling? I know the kind of wedding I’d like but naturally we should both talk all these things over – I would never make all arrangements (in the future) without talking every thing over with you first.
Only 4 + 3/4 more days this week + I’ll see you, sweetheart (I hope).
Lots of big hugs + kisses, Walter, dearest
X X X X X Rita X X X X X
Tuesday Nite 6: P.M. Post. M.P. Co. Day Room.
Dear Rita,
Hello Rita, Marie Lavery. hows my totsie, Wodsie, this fine day: in autumn.
Tomorrow I am going in to see the first Sergeant, about my weekend pass, and ask for (3) days. Here’s hoping. I will let you know about it, just as quickly as possible. Oh boy. Keep our fingers crossed.
Yes dear we will talk, more about marriage and all the details that acompany marriage yes dear we will always talk over every thing over together. Heh. Bunny.
Legacy- an Anthology Page 5
