Nu m-am b\u0103rbierit nou\u0103 zile dup\u0103 ce a murit tata. P\u0103rintele a spus c\u0103 e de-ajuns \u0219i at\u00e2t, dac\u0103 nu pot \u021bine 40 de zile. Mi-a crescut o barb\u0103 ur\u00e2t\u0103, \u021bepoas\u0103 \u0219i, vai!, alb\u0103, tot mai alb\u0103. Am dat-o jos fiindc\u0103 trebuie s\u0103 merg \u00een locuri \u0219i la evenimente unde nu se cade s\u0103 apar neras.<\/p>\n
M-a podidit pl\u00e2nsul \u00een timp ce d\u0103deam cu lama pe fa\u021b\u0103.<\/p>\n
De c\u00e2nd mi-au dat tuleiele, pe la 15-16 ani, \u0219i p\u00e2n\u0103 azi, vreme de 30 de ani, de fiecare dat\u0103 c\u00e2nd m-am b\u0103rbierit, g\u00e2ndul m-a dus la tata. Mereu, mereu. Nu \u0219tiu de ce. Probabil pentru c\u0103 barba e un atribut al masculinit\u0103\u021bii, (de\u0219i unele femei m-ar putea contrazice), ceva ce m\u0103 leag\u0103 specific de el. La fel \u0219i acum: mi-au r\u0103s\u0103rit multe amintiri legate de tata, de demult.<\/p>\n
Mi-am amintit c\u0103 m-a \u00eentors odat\u0103 de la poart\u0103 ca s\u0103 m\u0103 rad. Plecam la \u0219coal\u0103, \u00eentr-a un\u0219pea, aveam fa\u021ba numai puf. Un b\u0103rbat, mi-a zis el, \u2012 m\u0103 recuno\u0219tea atunci prima oar\u0103 de b\u0103rbat, pentru el nu mai eram copil! \u2012, umbl\u0103 ori ras, ori cu barb\u0103, nu neras, ca mine.<\/p>\n
– Dar vreau s\u0103-mi las barb\u0103!, am \u00eencercat eu s\u0103-mi ap\u0103r semnele proaspetei b\u0103rb\u0103\u021bii.<\/p>\n
– Atunci, stai acas\u0103 \u0219i las\u0103-\u021bi barb\u0103, nu ie\u0219i a\u0219a din ograd\u0103, c\u0103 nu e frumos. Dac\u0103 nu, b\u0103rbiere\u0219te-te.<\/p>\n
Avea principiile astea: c\u0103 un b\u0103rbat trebuie s\u0103 fie \u00eengrijit, s\u0103 aib\u0103 ceas la m\u00e2n\u0103 \u0219i neap\u0103rat s\u0103 poarte curea. Asta cu purtatul curelei era, cred, o r\u0103m\u0103\u0219i\u021b\u0103 din tinere\u021bea lui militar\u0103, c\u00e2nd visa s\u0103 devin\u0103 ofi\u021ber. N-a fost s\u0103 fie. A r\u0103mas doar cu visul, o vreme, \u0219i apoi, toat\u0103 via\u021ba, cu un spirit milit\u0103ros \u00eembl\u00e2nzit numai de sufletul lui cald \u0219i bun ca p\u00e2inea. M-a certat odat\u0103, c\u00e2nd m-a v\u0103zut cu pantaloni de trening. C\u0103 de ce umblu \u00een pantaloni cu gum\u0103, ca muierile?<\/p>\n
– P\u0103i m\u0103 duc la fotbal, tat\u0103! \u0103sta e un echipament sportiv.<\/p>\n
– Dar p\u00e2n\u0103 ajungi pe teren, te vede lumea a\u0219a prin sat. Ia-\u021bi treningul \u00een pung\u0103 \u0219i te schimbi acolo.<\/p>\n
Nu insista. Spunea doar a\u0219a, ca s\u0103 \u00eei aflu p\u0103rerea. Dac\u0103-l ascultam, bine; dac\u0103 nu, ru\u0219inea mea era – s\u0103 nu spun c\u0103 n-am \u0219tiut!<\/p>\n
Mi-l amintesc b\u0103rbierindu-se \u00eentr-o oglind\u0103 rotund\u0103, de lamp\u0103, ag\u0103\u021bat\u0103 \u00een gard, prins\u0103 de trunchiul nucului de l\u00e2ng\u0103 f\u00e2nt\u00e2n\u0103, rezemat\u0103 pe fereastr\u0103, a\u0219ezat\u0103 pe mas\u0103, pe cerdac, peste tot, sau \u021bin\u00e2nd-o \u00eentr-o m\u00e2n\u0103 c\u00e2nd se b\u0103rbierea din picioare, pe fug\u0103. Se b\u0103rbierea diminea\u021ba, la amiaza, seara, nu conta momentul zilei. Nu ie\u0219ea din ograd\u0103 neb\u0103rbierit. C\u0103 se ducea p\u00e2n\u0103 la poart\u0103, la magazin, \u00een vizit\u0103, la munc\u0103, obrazul lui str\u0103lucea ca la apelul de diminea\u021b\u0103. Cum cre\u0219tea un pic barba, nu s\u0103 se vad\u0103, ci numai s-o simt\u0103 el cu degetele, intra la s\u0103puneal\u0103. Niciodat\u0103 nu l-am v\u0103zut neras. Ba da! O singur\u0103 dat\u0103. Anul trecut, c\u00e2nd \u0219i-a rupt \u0219oldul \u0219i a ajuns de urgen\u021b\u0103 la spital.<\/p>\n
C\u00e2nd am aflat de nenorocire, am s\u0103rit \u00een primul tren \u0219i m-am dus la el. Diminea\u021ba, \u00een salon, l-am g\u0103sit ab\u0103tut, sl\u0103bit, v\u00e2n\u0103t de durere, fiindc\u0103 osul rupt \u00eei rupea carnea pe din\u0103untru, sub piele, la orice mi\u0219care. \u0219i neras! Dar \u0219i mai mult suferea c\u0103 devenise neputincios, un invalid pe care infirmierele trebuiau s\u0103-l \u00eentoarc\u0103, s\u0103-l spele, s\u0103-l schimbe ca pe copii. De umilin\u021b\u0103, \u00eenchidea ochii, str\u00e2ns, \u0219i nu-i mai deschidea p\u00e2n\u0103 nu-\u0219i terminau femeile treaba \u0219i plecau. C\u00e2nd am r\u0103mas \u00een sf\u00e2r\u0219it doar noi, \u0219i-a pus m\u00e2na pe fa\u021b\u0103, s\u0103 nu se vad\u0103 c\u0103 e neb\u0103rbierit. Credea oare c\u0103 a\u0219a poate s\u0103 ascund\u0103 pe chip umbrele umilin\u021bei? Un an mai t\u00e2rziu, acas\u0103, pe patul de moarte, acesta a fost \u0219i ultimul lui gest c\u00e2nd a sim\u021bit c\u0103 se stinge: s\u0103-\u0219i trag\u0103 gulerul pijamalei peste fa\u021b\u0103. Parc\u0103 se ru\u0219ina. Nu mai r\u0103spundea de multe ore la \u00eentreb\u0103ri, nu-\u0219i mai recuno\u0219tea b\u0103iatul, dar gestul \u0103la l-a f\u0103cut!<\/p>\n
Atunci, la spital, m-am dus repede \u00een pia\u021b\u0103, am cump\u0103rat tot ce trebuia \u0219i l-am b\u0103rbierit eu pe tata. Cu m\u00e2na mea. Frate-meu \u021binea g\u0103letu\u0219a cu ap\u0103, eu d\u0103deam cu lama. St\u0103tea cuminte ca un copil la m\u00e2ng\u00e2iat. A fost, cred, cea mai intim\u0103 apropiere a noastr\u0103, cea mai \u00eendr\u0103znea\u021b\u0103 din partea mea \u0219i cu o imens\u0103 concesie din partea lui. C\u00e2nd am terminat, a dat cu m\u00e2na pe obraz s\u0103 verifice dac\u0103 l-am b\u0103rbierit bine. P\u0103rea mul\u021bumit. Privirea i s-a luminat. Era, dintr-odat\u0103, alt om. M-am uitat cu \u0219i mai mult\u0103 dragoste la el \u0219i cu m\u00e2ndrie: b\u0103rbatul acela infirm, b\u0103tr\u00e2n, sl\u0103bit, dar str\u0103lucind de o frumuse\u021be proasp\u0103t\u0103, era tat\u0103 meu!<\/p>\n
C\u00e2te zile oi mai avea, o s\u0103-mi aduc mereu aminte de tata, ca \u0219i p\u00e2n\u0103 acum, de c\u00e2te ori voi fi \u00een fa\u021ba oglinzii, cu ma\u0219ina de ras. Numai c\u0103 de acum \u00eenainte m\u0103 voi g\u00e2ndi c\u0103 nu mai este, c\u0103 s-a dus. \u0218i m\u0103car de supliciul \u0103sta a\u0219 vrea s\u0103 scap, s\u0103-mi smulg cumva p\u0103rul de pe fa\u021b\u0103, cu tot cu piele, dac\u0103 nu se poate altfel.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Nu m-am b\u0103rbierit nou\u0103 zile dup\u0103 ce a murit tata. P\u0103rintele a spus c\u0103 e de-ajuns \u0219i at\u00e2t, dac\u0103 nu pot \u021bine 40 de zile. Mi-a crescut o barb\u0103 ur\u00e2t\u0103, \u021bepoas\u0103 \u0219i, vai!, alb\u0103, tot mai alb\u0103. Am dat-o jos fiindc\u0103 trebuie s\u0103 merg \u00een locuri \u0219i la evenimente u…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":221,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[47],"tags":[],"coauthors":[75],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/03\/ilisoi.png","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4rsGx-3y","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/220"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=220"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/220\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":222,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/220\/revisions\/222"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/221"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=220"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=220"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=220"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/coauthors?post=220"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}