Once Through The Eucalyptus Grove

By Neuza Costa Leite De Almeida

The book Once Through the Eucalyptus Grove is a narrative that takes the form of a novel/fantasy/science fiction and tells the story of a mysterious disappearance that occurred before the incredulous eyes of the people around. As the reader begins to read the first few lines of this novel, they may immediately think that the story is heading towards a crime novel, only to discover a completely different reality. They may also have the impression that everything is just a dream. However, the truth emerges in a different way. To gain this perception, the parameters emerge from a precise and subtle philosophical and psychological analysis of the characters words. Among some of the peculiarities in the conception of life where the story unfolds, love stands out in a curious perspective: there, it is shown as broader, stronger, deeper, paradoxically, gentle. Despite the perfect harmony that exists in the dimension lived by the character, there were choices to be made and vital decisions to be taken. This inner conflict brings much reflection—for her and for the reader himself. With the breadth of perception, she has acquired her vision expands to the point of almost reaching what seems to be a true universal concept of Life and Love, an alternative of hope for our dystopian and materialistic world today. “The most beautiful thing we can experience is mystery. It is the source of all true art and science.” Albert Einstein

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clube de Autores
• Release date: Apr 4, 2023

Book preview

Prolog

"WELL, ANDREW, I was there! I was dazzled by an extraordinary perception that became more and more clear, in the likeness of a radiant dawn that comes to banish nightmares. I knew I was not dreaming because I felt my body in the grass with the breeze caressing my nakedness. Even so, I feared that everything could dissipate in seconds if I moved too much or even if I had any strong thoughts."

Moments before this pleasant situation, Lisa had endured moments of extreme anguish. On her unusual journey, other difficulties awaited her—an unbalanced alternation in search of supreme balance.

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Chapter I

Once, a long time ago, I heard from Lisa: "I have the strong feeling that something is going to happen to me someday that will help me better understand the meaning of life." We were young. Now, after I turned sixty, I was induced to reflect and meditate upon this.

Lisa was my childhood friend. The word friend is not the right word to define our profound relationship; there was a significant similarity of ideas and thoughts. There was mutual love. In our long chats, we used to talk about everything. The subjects grew in importance throughout the conversation and got lost soon after that. The thoughts flew away, fluttering in the finite and infinite, the possible, impossible, probable, improbable, the clouds, and nothing. Our divagations in the illusion of repairing the world were heightened by existential and social questions. Nothing unusual, obviously, but some of Lisa’s ideas about human beings’ existence and development, their mistakes, achievements, and conception of progress, sounded like a restless daydream. Affinities aside, I never thought I would write about Lisa. Now, by exposing the fantastic experience she had erstwhile envisioned, I can better realize the difference between reality and fiction. The characters and plots of my books were flexible—as they should be, of course—and in them, I added and, from them, I extracted details to suit the story I had created, according to my convenience. Lisa’s story, however, represents the reality that involves not only her but my own life too. These are facts that I will narrate. I must confess that it is not easy for me to work with such an unusual reality.

It has been thirty-five years since our separation after her sudden disappearance. I felt deep pain at that time and for a long time after. And even as time passes, the memories remain. Nowadays, it is not always so present, but an unexpected stimulus triggered it. This is exactly what happened: the phone rang, and the identification of who was on the other end of the line made me shudder. 

Hello Andrew, this is Lisa.

In those eternal seconds, while I listened to that familiar voice echoing in my ears, I tried to compose myself and thought: It’s another Lisa. No doubt.

Only after she mentioned events that only the two of us were aware of did I realize I was speaking to her. So, I asked myself, Where had she been? I was confused and distressed. I wanted to see her. But how do I receive her? Even though it might have been a pleasant thing to happen, it raised a strange expectation in me. What a weird situation! And what about the urgency to meet me? What does that mean, and why is she in such a hurry after all these years? Why was she never found? Did she never want to be found?

On the phone, I tried to get some anticipated information from her. She, however, skillfully reversed the situation, and I ended up talking about her relatives. Strangely, she had not known about them since the day she disappeared. I regret not being able to give her good news. And because she insisted, I had to tell her that her mother and brother had died. The information made her suffer. She cried plenty on the phone. It was embarrassing. I couldn’t avoid it. I said nothing about her father because I thought she did not expect or did not want to know. Still sobbing, she justified:

I didn't knock on your door directly because I was afraid I'd scare you. And added:  

You’re the only person to whom I’m talking to while I’m back, and maybe the only one I’ll talk to. I'm glad I found you at home."

What happened to you? Where have you been, Lisa? My curiosity compelled me to anticipate those questions.

Don’t worry. I’ll be with you soon. I want to tell you about the extraordinary experience I went through during my absence.

We hung up the phone, and I went to my room to search for Lisa’s photos. I selected some of them and put them on my bed. With my eyes fixed on one of the pictures, I began to think: This girl must be around sixty-two years old today. I have known her for so many years now, and I haven’t seen her in the last thirty-five years. How does she look today? Fat? Ugly? Thin? Wrinkled? Would her hair be as gray as mine? After all, sixty-two years is not exactly the peak physical beauty of a woman. I cannot build a new (or old) image of her because I’ve never thought about it; I was sure she was no longer a part of this world.

From these thoughts, reflection was inevitable: It may be bitter to face what existence on earth reserves for us. In youth, beauty, hand in hand with ambition, gives impetus to our lives, showing us what the world has best to offer. Happiness seduces us by showing us its full potential. We run to meet it, daring, but stumble because wisdom is lacking. When wisdom begins to show its face, we are astonished to realize that some attributes of youth have left us. And in that abandonment, the happiness we achieve is only a pale sample of what could have been.  On the other hand, as we grow older, we find that in this world we do not live a single life, we keep living our previous stages of life—the child’s, the teenager’s, and the youth’s. As a result, no one sees themselves solely as elderly, because an elderly person does not exist without all of life's stages combined altogether.

What about Lisa? What gift did life have reserved for her? What could she have been able to store? Wisdom? Happiness? On the phone, she referred to an extraordinary experience. What did she mean by that?

Lisa's grace came to mind as I reflected on this. She radiated beauty and vivacity. Her ability to expose her thoughts was not diminished by introspection. Speaking calmly, she always involved her listeners with a tender cadence and aroused ideas, unintentionally revealing some of her talents: being thoughtful, reliable, and sensitive, as well as analytical and unaffected by extravagances. The lightly triangular form of her face, in perfect harmony with her well-designed head—always displayed in a short haircut—gave her a futuristic air. Her inner self was often revealed through the violet-blue color of her eyes.

Immersed in those memories, I began to read some notes outlined by Lisa on small pieces of paper scattered along with the photos.

(...) Human progress, as it is linked to technology, represents the desperate man's attempt to adapt to an environment that rejects, attacks, and limits him. (...)

(...) Man became more and more rational, but would he have achieved happiness in the same proportion? The equilibrium between his rational being and his animal being has not yet been fulfilled because animal/nature integration happened differently from the ideal—the peace’s perception in contact with the environment lost its importance. He grows in rationality and intelligence, but he needs more wisdom—something difficult to achieve in this simultaneity of search. (…)

(…) This lack of natural adaptation may even imply that nature and man were not designed to coexist. The human being seems to have come from somewhere unknown, where (who knows it?) his ancestors lived, or even still live, in a harmonious way with nature. (…)

The reading was interrupted by a sound that I thought was the doorbell, but it seemed unreal to me. I turned my mind from the text as a memory came to me of how I had helped Lisa’s family in their desperate search. There had been an extensive investigation into the absolutely inexplicable circumstances surrounding her disappearance, which had lasted years and turned out to be insignificant. 

I checked the clock. Half an hour had passed since Lisa’s phone call. Almost simultaneously, the doorbell rang loudly. It scared me. I tried, a little shaken, to overcome the distance between the bedroom and the door to the living room—long seconds when I realized the significance of this visit. It was not an ordinary