Origami by Mauricio Robe Barbosa Campos

ORIGAMI
    Short Story
    ––––––––
    Mauricio R B Campos
    © 2015 – Mauricio R B Campos
    Contact the author:
    [email protected]
    Cover
    Mauricio R B Campos
    Cover picture
    2015 © Mauricio R B Campos
    Proofreading
    Adriana Tinoco de Vasconcelos
    Translation
    João Rosa de Castro
    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be stored or reproduced by any means – whether tangible or intangible – without the written authorization by the author.
    This is a fiction work. Names, characters, places and occurrences described are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity with real names, dates and occurrences are a mere coincidence.
    Dedicated to the Japanese-Brazilian Cultural and Sportive Association of São Carlos, for their work and constant devotion to keep the Japanese culture and traditions alive in this city.
    ©
    Radu Razvan Gheorghe | Dreamstime Stock Photos

Origami
    The day parks
    But not the song
    of the larks.
    Basho
    Keika went down the hill rushing. The living green still fostered by the dew shone under the clear blue sky. She brought a kerchief in her right hand and her left hand was trembling. When she got to the road bordered by a small wood, she headed to the parking lot.
    All the love affairs of the world are our own ones, because we interpret all of them according to our experience. Matsuo liked to say that when he saw a couple in love, or in the bittersweet phase in which the friendship had not yet the tones of passion. A phase they spent many years ago when love was flavored by jealousy and sometimes sorrow.
    He agreed when she said that true love was the one prepared in the womb of a genuine friendship. And this perception of reality was so strong that he decided to write it down. This was the story that encouraged him to idealize his own shojo comic.
    But why thinking of this now? — Keika wondered as she got into the van and started it up.

    The Saturday morning was nice, which meant a promise of a hot day. He went up the sidewalk with the van and got into the large walkway in front of the city market. He stopped the vehicle in front of a dozen stands in row on both sides of the walkway. Behind him, the large stage already prepared for the festival, and before the majestic Tori, the Japanese portal that adorns the downtown during the festival.
    The downtown was relatively empty. At that moment, the customers were still having breakfast, but one or another salesman passed in hurry not to miss the time of the shops opening.
    Nikkey matsuri , the São Carlos community’s festival. That would be the fifth edition, and the fifth time he would keep with the origami stand. He was in charge of the Kakushin Origami and an active member of the Seinen Kai, the group of youngsters of the community. For this year, the work he had prepared was the violinist, his masterpiece, a delicate figure with skirt, with the instrument in her hands. The skirt painted with a tenuous watercolor painting and bamboo motives.
    He went to the van and started to unload the boxes. The glasses ones were kept in card paper boxes with pieces of Styrofoam that protected them from crushes. He placed them beside the van, and then he removed the bendable tables and took them to the stand. He mounted one. Covered it with the towels he had taken from the van and put the glass boxes that were going to protect the most sophisticated origami works on them. The next step was to mount the tree of tsurus , the stork, but that they called simply the luck bird.
    He would need to go back home to take the rest of the things. He had arranged with Mila, but, apparently, she had some trouble, because she hadn’t arrived yet. He went  to the van, closed the doors and started the alarm. Then, he returned to the stand, mounted the chairs and sat in one of them. He wondered if Mila was taking long. If he, at least, had something to read while he waited. He remembered he had received a comic book by mail yesterday; he