EXPERIMENTS

Pedro Boeira é um menino-prodígio, que com apenas 15 anos gravou o seu primeiro CD "EXPERIMENTS", tocando todos os instrumentos num estilo que ele mesmo inventou, baseado no tão famoso "ROCK PROGRESSIVO". "EXPERIMENTS" é o primeiro disco experimental feito especialmente para deficiente auditivos (os únicos que realmente podem apreciá-lo). Basta ouvir algumas amostras de seu trabalho para constatar a total falta de maturidade de Pedro Boeira, que acha que música é experimentar todas as notas do violão até uma dar certo (evidente na primeira amostra). A pretensão de Pedro Boeira é monstruosa, que alega que seu CD é "original e criativo", e que rock progressivo não pode ser analisado por apenas amostras de 60 segundos. Isso é verdade, mas música pode ser diferenciada de barulho em menos tempo. "EXPERIMENTS" consiste de duas faixas, uma de 21 minutos, "EXPERIMENTS" e outra de 20, "IMPROVISED SOUNDS". A faixa título mostra o total desconhecimento do "músico" Pedro Boeira de quaisquer teorias musicais. A segunda é barulho malfeito. Qualquer pessoa sem o menor bom senso e sem AUDIÇÃO é capaz de fazer algo muito parecido. "EXPERIMENTS" é novo e original, pois ninguém até hoje havia pensado em fazer um disco especialmente para deficientes auditivos. Surdos apreciadores de rock progressivo: chegou o CD feito especialmente para vocês: PEDRO BOEIRA: EXPERIMENTS.

Short story: The misterious hotel Olaffson

I was not very happy with the news. "You will get six months in Haiti researching business opportunities for our company." And the hell of opportunity would this country? It is so poor that do not have electricity all day. My newly purchased home in Monte Carlo would be replaced by a Haitian roof. Okay, this is the life of business. 

I arrived in Port-au-Prince early on, after flying all night from Monaco. I thought: "I was already in Liberia investigating the oil sector, Haiti should not be much worse." I was informed, days before, that there was an acceptable place for me to live, so the company felt safer I stay in a hotel. At that point, whatever. Swap Monte Carlo for Port-au-Prince was too much. 

"Hosted me in Montana, in the hills of Port-au-Prince and Pétionville beside the rare Haitian mansions, and away from misery to the center of the capital." Well, after that I woke up. What was I had booked a standard room in the decrepit Hotel Oloffson. A hotel with history, with palm trees, gardens and swimming pool have already been a success in the 50s. Today, it is a tight houses with apartments. Well, never mind, I am here for temporary work. 

The car down the company and I spoke to the hotel reception. In the middle of the road, down from a dwarf garden. Why put these things? For the guests stumble? Enough the displeasure to come live here. Easy, Pierre, why so much violence? 

Installed me in my "new home". An apartment on the second floor with a bunch of palm trees in front and a mini-balcony. I was in Haiti in the nineteenth century. Sure, the hotel is that same season. Tired. Exhausted. Weary. Oh, I do in Haiti? Why can not I open my business and stop with these travel unbearable? I was tired, huh? Yes, it was. Get me of something in a painful mattress. No matter, it was time to rest. Far from home, just think of sleep. Wait, here is my new home. Let's agree? No, let me dream more with the old Monte Carlo. 

Shortly after noon, woke up. The nut I had done well. He spent that hate to come in soul searching tanker market in the country Caribbean. Pierre renewed, things will change. Free day. Oh, the company felt that I was tired and not filled me with work that Sunday of 40 degrees. Well, it has to do in Port au Prince? "Nothing," answered me. Well, it has to do in the hotel? Go to the bar, the famous bar. S'il vous plaît, Meilleur votre vin. Who said the bartender had wine to offer me? And who is taking wine in a bar? It would be a better vessel free. 

Voilà, monsieur. He brought me his best rum. Oh, that was good. I do not like rum. Indeed, not stand alcohol. What do I do in a bar? Ah, remember. In the past I concluded that paragraph has nothing to do in the city, then I found the hotel more interesting. Je veux travailler, je veux travailler. Work is better than enjoy a hotel falling to pieces. What evil, the hotel was charming. It was beautiful, fantastic! But not to live a half years! It took me so long to buy my house seafront in Monte Carlo for nothing. Now I sit in a cubicle of apartment oldest hotel in the Caribbean. Could you give me a suite at the Villa Creole, there in the hills, away from this hell city. I repeat: why the anger? Business is business. 

Come on, is the capital of the country. Must have at least one restaurant. I already felt hungry. The hotel's reception, come on. Bonjour, madame, I pourriez vous parler de les restaurants of Port-au-Prince. " In good French with Creole accent, you, with some sympathy, she said: "My dear, this hotel is no longer a big deal, imagine outside." Okay, climbed the stairs to the restaurant of the Oloffson. The table on the porch showed the beautiful view of palm away. The peace I took over. As soon be in Monte Carlo. Of course, to return, I will relocate in Lagos or Monrovia. Ah, so beautiful place and I send to Nigeria and Liberia. Lie, I am now in Haiti. Then I ask who knows the accounts and I live in Fiji? 

Almost five hours of Haiti and Port-au-Prince only saw the taxi. Isolated me in the hotel, which was not the luxury to justify. Despite the delay, the lunch was pleasant. I found my place for dinner, I will not dare to leave the hotel. But when I talk like a thing I never deliver, five minutes after the dessert went for a ride in the capital. Put your feet on the street. Look, is Sunday in Port-au-Prince. Admired outside the hotel by bus and a multicolored rose scraping on my shirt. Why I left the hotel? I know, because I wanted to bother. Or do you think walking out the capital of the poorest country in America is something very fun? 

You want to bother, Pierre? Want to. And walked several blocks. Why not come to Bermuda? Should do more than forty degrees. I walked up to the port. The city was awful. Pierre, here is your new home, adapts itself. I heard what I spoke to myself and I decided to adapt. But who fits in a place where nothing is done? Poverty does not surprise me. In Monrovia was similar. 

I was not fifty minutes and went walking in the street. I had no fear, just boredom. A boy of two and ten meters in height approached wanting some Gurd or dollars. My friend, I just got euro and look there. Discouraged with my beautiful face "that bag", the poor unfortunate left without taking me anything. Sadness surprised. Sorry, boredom surprised. 

The old Oloffson, my very dear and hated hotel. I was feeling affection for this old house of twenty apartments. It was my home. Looking at the immense blue sky, distracted, tripped on something. The drop was good, but nothing hurts more than not being in my home in Monte Carlo. I stood up and saw the object that caused such a scene: the old dwarf the garden. 

Emplacar did not want a fight with the decorations of the hotel garden, so to follow the elevator and climbed to the 20th floor. Sorry, the hotel is a home and has no elevator. I was of stairs to the second floor and decided to take a shower to see if I airy ideas. The hotel could have said "light water for bathing." A beautiful water color rising in many rust drops of the old shower. Complaining advance? I think not. Reception, my shower is with water color. What color, sir? And it the color? Yes, sir. Miss, my bathroom is in yellow tend to rust. For additional repair U.S. dollars in December, sir. Honey, my company will pay for everything, then do what is necessary. In two hours everything will be fine, sir. 

There I was asleep again. Bath in Haiti is not something easy. And neither electricity. The evening, I looked for the balcony and I saw? Nothing. All deleted. Reception, the city is dark, including my own apartment. This is normal in Haiti, sir. But I am not Haitian, miss. Five U.S. dollars for energy night, sir. On behalf of the firm, please. And I sorriso appear ironic. Maybe I laughing improved support that my new home without bath and no light. 

It could be worse, as me and my bed. Woke up at dawn. I heard a voice in the corridor. Of course, I was not given, ultimately it's all dark and not trust anything here. Pierre, c'est moi. Pierre, am I? Of whom? And as you know my name? Pierre, I t'espere. For me not to bother with such exotic conversation, I decided to think that was a dream and went back to bed. Sure, there was no dream, but I am going there and I discuss with the ghost this time of night? Better another hour. 

Awaken fighting with the pillow. Why not buy that the Sheraton hotel and places its menu of pillows? I certainly find a better one. Okay, it's not standard Sheraton, a hotel is to experience history haitana. Already experienced stories more comfortable. Reminded me of voices night. Would I believe with certainty that the outside reality? 

A rich breakfast on the balcony of my expected restaurant. By far, noticed the front garden of the Oloffson. The plants, trees, flowers, the ants and that kind of garden dwarf that I did fall on some opportunities were there recepcionando who enter this house-turned-hotel. 

No more engagement with the Oloffson, because once the car the company will take me to the office. I took my dark blue suit and combine with a red tie with white stripes, perhaps a subliminal homage to the flag of Haiti. What honor? Perhaps the nightmares, lack of electricity in the city, the sculptures that voodoo panic and delight the guests. 

A large armored truck took me by the dusty streets of Port-au-Prince. We go up the hill and the view was lovely. We have reached the office in Pétionville. If the company is in Pétionville, because my hotel is in Port-au-Prince? The hotels do not have voices of Pétionville night or walls of wood on the verge of collapse. 

With a masterly view to the bay of Port-au-Prince, I went to adjust to the new country. With recent installations, the office was the most comfortable place in Haiti so far. Come on, Pierre, call Monte Carlo and hosting a piece that at least has a more comfortable pillow. Telephone in Haiti is not an example of functionality, then I could not draw Monaco. Hunch that I should stay at the Hotel Oloffson. 

In the interval for lunch, I walked by Pétionville in search of a property. I did not find any. In a region of the luxury condominiums (scarce in a country so miserable), talked to the doorman. Monsieur, is there any home available for lease? The answer was "well-sur, who has money has already been away and left the house to rent." As yet had time, I was visiting the house. The elegance was immense. My salary could pay, but the company only paid the Oloffson, not this paradise of condominium. 

See me in a scenario of fiction. Like I would change the hectic and dangerous center of Port-au-Prince for a condominium of luxury in the hills, away from poverty, very close to the office. I did not think much and I spoke to the doorman: How do I rent it? Bien, monsieur, you can ... Do not let the closing sentence. Merci, mais je gonna retourner à l'hôtel. Why would I quit the condo? Neither I knew, but I felt that I did not take away good memories. 

Walking by the garden condominium toward the gate, my foot got stuck on something. It was heavy and was covered with earth. I have checked. The dwarf Oloffson of the garden! It was like him! Easy, Pierre, the heat is making him sick. It should be tradition in Haiti have that kind of adornment in the garden. 

I was thinking in the afternoon occurred. Garden gnomes to make me stumble and have the same face. It was a very strange country. For the amount of work, just forgetting the history of the garden. When they leave the office, everything went out. The blackout began night again. In the darkness, the driver took me to Oloffson. And the old midget in my garden received, as always, in front of the hotel entrance. In fact, was not the same as was on the condominium, told me. And how would? 

Today water from the shower was clear. The bed no longer bothers me. Taking advantage of the good luck of the moment, I went to the bar for not thinking of voices night. Monsieur, je voudrais du cognac, s'il vous plaît. The strong taste of cognac reminded me of times when my peace was greater. Recently received my new bar finished in wood at my residence in Monte Carlo. The cognac was a good reminder. Pierre, you're in Haiti. True, I am here and stop with the memories. 

The bar, migrate to the restaurant. Why do not I was going to fine restaurants in Port-au-Prince? Because there was no fine restaurants in Port-au-Prince. In addition, the tiredness prevented me from seeking a restaurant in Pétionville, the beautiful rich suburb of the company, which did not matter to me staying. 

Decided not to bother me more. Exit princely thinnest in the world and go to the poorest country in America is no reason for sadness. Okay, I prefer Monaco. Let me cry. Reminded me of my bank account and concluded that half a year in Haiti was bearable. Also remember that sleep is a good habit, then I spoke to sleep at night. 

Pierre, c'est moi! Pierre, c'est moi! The voice of the other night I din in the head, but was now dream. I do not know anyone in Haiti, then would not talk to be that this bothers me every night. There was lying down early, then I woke up at five in the morning, missing a few hours for work. Was still dark, although early morning in Port-au-Prince. 

I went to the balcony. Steps were heard in the distance. The wooden floor of the Oloffson highlighted sounds distant. But this time, I had to find out. Two seconds later was thrown under the covers. Well, I said I'd never deliver what I say. Would not find anything. Knock on my door. Between. Why do I say to come? I will bring peace, said the voice. Do not feel the presence of anyone, just a voice. Since that voice began to persecute me, peace was the least that I had. I will bring peace. 

The door is closed. I not left below the water or by a second to see who had entered. It was time for me go out and run back to Monaco. I put everything in his bag and left on fired for the exit. In the garden, tripped on something. Curse of dwarf garden! Actually was not the midget that I dropped. I looked around and there was no sign of the dwarf garden. For a moment, reminded me of the dwarf who was in the luxury condominium that I had visited in Pétionville. It was the same midget, I thought, in a moment away from reality. 

Why a dwarf of garden would be interested in making me crazy seeing him everywhere and talking to me? I would not stay to find out. Leaving the street, there was no taxi. I have done nothing but go to ask for a taxi receipt. Hello, Pierre. The dwarf was back. And I greeted. Pierre, you have a lighter? Sure, replied. In moments, the Oloffson blaze. I would not recommend a lighter to make a dwarf of garden. 

Guests and employees ran desperate. Feu! Feu! Quelqu'un peut telephone aux pompiers? I was quiet. My version of the fire would be somewhat out of reality. Gentlemen, the dwarf of garden asked me a lighter and burned the old house! Neither do I believe that. 

I managed to communicate with the company in Monte Carlo. They told me to stay, I was crucial for business in Haiti. The garden of dwarf killer seems to have burned together. Decided to stay, after all had worked only one day. Rehome me in Montana. Unfortunately it took a fire in Oloffson so I was in my hotel's dream, the pure air of the hills with the best view of Port-au-Prince. 

Despite the scare, the working day was calm. No one had been injured as a miracle. On the radio, the owner of the Oloffson regretted the loss of many items of decoration. The dwarf among them, I thought. Resume the activities. In Montana, I had a suite overlooking the bay and the hills. The elegance of the decor made the Creole pleasant environment. I was dining on the terrace and stayed there for hours. The natural beauty amid poverty. 

I was throwing me. Hours later, someone woke me. I thought that the maid was coming in to replace the fridge. Can I come in, sir? Without looking, resmunguei: Yes, please. The door broke. 

How lovely to return to sleep, Haiti was now seem more interesting. Minutes later, the door is opened again. Forgot something, lady? ¸ asked him, again with his face against the pillow, and hear the answer: 

C'est moi, Pierre. 

Porto Alegre, January 13, 2008.

Short story: The girl's basement

( "A new life post-mental hospital is full of mysteries") 

Dear Readers: This story reminds the facts first published story ( "The mysterious Hotel Oloffson"). Therefore, I suggest you to read this first, so that history is complete. 


A quick introduction 

He was locked nobody knew how long. Nobody knew whether ate or drank. It also asked if all of why the authorities do nothing. The underground of the old houses in a field in which nobody knew the past, it was a scene of cruelty without size. That was what was thought to be in town. 

Thousands of people passed through the region, and the door was always locked the curious. It was hard to believe that there lived a family. More than that, what exactly was happening in the basement? 

Meanwhile, far away ... 

Fresh from a psychiatric hospital in Santo Domingo, after several weeks of incarceration, the old oil executive back to you. 

- Where suis-je? (Where am I?) 
- Lo siento, señor, but not speaking French. How are you? 

The nurse did not speak the language francophone, but the patient did not speak Spanish. 

- Je ne suis pas au Haiti? (I am not in Haiti?) 
- Sir, you're at the Quisqueya Hospital in Santo Domingo. 
- Am I in the Dominican Republic? 
- Yes, you are, mister DuFois. 

The last time that his conscience showed signs of normalcy, Pierre DuFois, citizen of the Principality of Monaco, was in Port-au-Prince (read the story "The mysterious Hotel Oloffson," Peter Boeira, Porto Alegre: January 2008). The lack of structure of the Haitian capital forced the staff of the hotel where Pierre was found in a state of insanity to ask for help Dominican Embassy in Haiti. Thus, the neighbor received this former senior official of oil. 

- What's with me? Why did I get here? Nurse, must make an urgent international call. 

Pierre called to the residence of his friend Claude Toulouse in Monte Carlo. Attended the housekeeper's fine house. 

- DuFois Monsieur, monsieur votre ami Toulouse n'habite pas là depuis l'année last. (Mr DuFois, his friend Mr Toulouse not live here anymore since last year). 
- Madame, comment est-ce je peux l'find that, s'il vous plaît? (Madam, how can I find him, please?), Pierre growl, because Claude was the only person who could tell assisting you in the post-trauma Haiti. (Here, we would do a biography of Toulouse monsieur, but let me summarize: is a citizen of Monaco and the right arm of Pierre. "Thanks for your attention, the story continues on the next line).
- Il dwell on the Colombie.Je think savez vous qu'il est diplomat. (He lives in Colombia. I think you know who he is a diplomat). 

I knew Claude was a student in the department of state, but have moved was a surprise, I even spoke a restless Pierre. 

Pierre was discharged from the hospital. Receiving their belongings back, find your American Express. Hosted at the Hilton Hotel and called the embassy in Bogota of Monaco. Je voudrais Toulouse parler avec monsieur, s'il vous plaît. (I'd like to talk to you Toulouse, please). Why not be a good excuse, the secretary did not complete the connection. Our friend Pierre could say it is an old guerrilla who fought in the war between Monaco and San Marino and sanctuary needed. Well, there was never such a war. 

Fearing trouble finding Claude, Pierre flew to Bogota in the first semi-direct flight following morning. (Dear reader, Santo Domingo and Bogota are not connected by direct flights). Then the airport to the hotel and the hotel to the embassy. 

- I am a citizen of Monaco and you need to talk to Claude Toulouse. 
- We do not have any diplomat with that name, sir ... 
- DuFois. Pierre DuFois. 
- Mr DuFois. 
- Miss, told me that Mr Toulouse works as a diplomat in Colombia. 
- Mr DuBois ... 
- It DuFois. 
- Mr DuFois, the principality of Monaco has consulates in other cities of Colombia. I suggest you get in consulates in Medellín and Cartagena. 

Why Monaco has many diplomatic missions in Colombia? We are too small for such international relationship, suggested a cult Pierre in his thoughts. 

Sounded on the phone from Monaco consulate in Cartagena. 

- Consulate of Monaco, good morning. 
- C'est toi, Claude? (Is that you, Claude?) 
- Pierre? I do not think! There is no one week is your news! 
- I was living a big nightmare in Haiti. My official biographer, Peter Boeira, told in detail in The mysterious tale Hotel Oloffson. For me when I was in the Dominican Republic. 
- Glad to hear it! You are in Monte Carlo? 
- No, in Bogota. 
- Let's see. You were living a nightmare in Haiti. Do nothing, ended up in the Dominican Republic. Then, as I was stopping in Colombia. What happens? 
- Were you looking for. I need a new life. Dropped the oil company. Well, not officially abandoned, but was out of consciousness for weeks and should have given me and disappeared. 
- Friend Pierre, you can simply communicate with the company. 
- This is actually decided. Do not go back to the company. 
- Okay, buddy. Can I help? 
- Do I tried here at the embassy in Bogota, but now realize that missed the city. Can I talk to in Cartagena? 
- I hope. I came here just now, then I am living in a hotel, Bóveda of Santa Clara. 
- It will be this afternoon at Hotel Bóveda of Santa Clara. 



Back to the city's introduction 

Pierre left Bogota. The cold Andean gave space to heat the Caribbean noble Cartagena. Installed in the luxury hotel in the historic city center and waited for Claude as a rowan Colombian rum at the bar. 

Claude was back to the hotel. It seemed upset by the heat. The classic diplomatic dress was too hot to Cartagena. Pierre admiring found a bottle of Ron de Medellin. 

- You n'aimes pas du tout Boiro. You the oublié? (You do not like to drink at all. Thou hast forgotten?) 
- Claude! Old friend Claude! Let's talk in Portuguese so that readers understand us. What a pleasure to find it! 
- I'm here, dear Pierre. Did it? I am a diplomat. 
- You lucky to be working in Colombia. While oil executive, I just stopped in Liberia or in Haiti. 
- Tell me everything. Why did I come look? 
- I enlouquece in Haiti and I am away from the oil company, either by my disappearance, while taking holidays in the mental hospital in Santo Domingo, is not by my desire to live what I lived in Port-au-Prince or other exotic city where the company to me causes. You're the only one who can help me. I need to restart their lives. 
- Start over how? You're an oil executive! To that again? 
- Do not give further details. Now, help me, dear Claude. 
- Pierre, here in Cartagena something strange is happening. Nobody has head for nothing. I believe that no cartagenero think about giving jobs today. 
- Something strange? Are you going to tell me that Port-au-Prince is small cafe near Cartagena? 
- I know that you lived strange things in Port-au-Prince. But here is not for less, my dear. 
- So, I changed six per half dozen? 
- Perhaps, dear. 

What was in Cartagena? The girl's basement. A few days here, everyone said that someone lived in that old house in the underground city. Some people said that parents had admitted that lock, for reasons "perfectly justifiable," his daughter down the house. 

Pierre found the story very simple, if compared to what happened in Haiti. Could leave and resume their lives elsewhere, even though need the support of Claude, the only person who understood the trauma of Pierre, until a few days ago, a guest house of crazy. 

- Pierre, I say, but here is not your place. I would love to help you, but we are dismayed by thinking that there is a child trapped in the basement of a house in the historic center. 
- Claude, thank you for your sincerity, but without your support, nothing can do. 
- You know what to do, my dear. You know I'm here at the hotel for what it takes. 

Collected to their apartments. Pierre had a thought while Evian water in the girl's story basement. It would be something similar to the book of love and other demons, classic García Márquez lived in Cartagena? 

Pierre went to the apartment of Claude. 

- Where is home? 
- Well, my house is on the Rue Le Mardi, in the eastern part of Monte Carlo e. .. 
- Claude, I think of the girl's house basement! 
- Are you crazy? Nobody can get there. The cops came once, but did not find either girl or basement. 
- The house, Claude. 
- Seven straight blocks and two blocks on the left. 
- Merci beaucoup, mon ami. (Thank you, my friend). 

The broad steps, Pierre followed the instructions of Claude. Rumor or not, nothing was better to do. The beautiful streets with colorful balconies of the houses enchant the former oil executive. 

- Let the life here! 

He came to the house. A small group of curious beat on the door. Some argued that heard cries of children. They called the parents of cruel monsters. Pretending is desentendido, with help from Comment dire tout his book in Spanish, asked the leader of buzz: 

- Excuse me, sir, what is happening here? 
- A couple locked the child in chains in the basement! They told them! 
- Under that argument? 
- They said it was the best for her! Some are crazy! I called the police immediately. The non-malandros are so ashamed that to conceal the basement and the girl when the guards arrived! 
- Is this true? 
- They told me, sir! Assumed that, God knows why, if there was reason, trance the small underground! 

Pierre was curious. His new life for unemployed it was interesting. Although with some trauma, why not investigate this mystery? He left the small group of baderneiros in front of the house and went to a cafe in the Plaza Santo Domingo figure out what to do. 

Return to the hotel, called Claude's reception, calling him for a drink. 
- Claude! We have to do this morning! 
- Buy your ticket to Monte Carlo? 
- Absolutely not! Let's walk seven hips in a straight line and two blocks on the left. 
- Perfect. In court Thursday we got and the ham. 
- Go along the beach then! 
- Go? Who said I'm going? 
- I say, dear Claude. We will be home to the girl's basement. 
- You think I say that? 
From sunglasses and jackets of black velvet, Pierre and Claude left the hotel Bóveda of Santa Clara. A visual heartwarming to the heat of Cartagena. 

- Why are we dressed well, Pierre? 
- Because every mystery needs a clothes to match! 
- Are you sure you had high of psychiatric hospital? 
- Are you insinuating that I am crazy? 
- Yes. 
- Thanks, dear friend, thank you. Now we will continue to walk. 

The wind blows, but nothing that could shorten the heat of the heroic Cartagena. Claude regret it at every moment of having counted the rumor the girl's basement. 

At home, there was no sign of demonstrators. Pierre knocked on the door. 

- Monsieur Pierre, is five minutes we're here. No one lives in this house. 
- I will not miss the boat. Tocarei again. 
- I will ask the Ministry of Health of the Dominican Republic to review the mental hospital from where you left. 
- I know you're playing and who trust me, Claude. 
- None of the two hypotheses, dear Pierre. 
- Why do I look like that, Claude? 
- Is the twenty-nine minutes we're here. 
- For a little more hope. 
At 01:56 am, 66 minutes after the first beat on the door, lit up a light. Steps were heard in the distance. A lady high and extremely smooth hair, in black clothes, asked them: 
- Good morning, gentlemen, how can they help? 
- I'm from Monaco. I do not speak Spanish. 
- Thanks for passing the pump to me, dear friend. 
- You expect the answer, Claude. In that she can help us? 
- Excuse us, madam. My friend insisted that I wanted to visit the house. 
- It is welcome. 

You led them to a room and left alone, alerting would return in a few minutes. 

- Pierre, you know that we are cold in most of life, right? 
- Now we learn all about the girl's basement, think on the positive side. 
- Assume that this is true. It is notable that she will bring to hide the girl, do not you think? 
- Alegro me for believing in history. That worries me. Listen to the sound of steps. She is going to the underworld to a girl in the disappearance. What do we do? 
- And I know that? I brought you here, you crazy. 

The steps are close. She was back. 

- Dear you, follow me. I will take them to a place where we can talk. 

They were coming to the door with stairs. The path of the basement. Or disappear or find out what this round house of Cartagena. A comfortable and elegant room appeared. 

- Excuse me for the delay, but the gentleman should realize that arrumei better for the environment to receive them. 
- That does not seem captivity and Pierre. 
- You spoke captivity? - Mess with you. 
- Excuse me, miss, but you should know that the stories we hear around here. 
- I these people speak what should not. It is absurd to call this captive as elegant. Do not believe? 
- It seems to me that yes - a stunned Claude sighed. 
- It is absurd to call home the captivity of my daughter. 

Claude and Pierre looked it. In French, commented: the story was true! You have the number of strips to redemption, at least, our bodies? 

- The gentleman would like to know my daughter? 
- Yes - a curious Pierre sighed, in his fateful Spanish. 
- Because she is in the next room. 

- See, Claude? Not only hides the girl here, as in other rooms hidden underground. I did well to come up here. 
- I would rather forget all that. I do not know how convinced me to leave the hotel to come here other than get out alive. 

- Gentlemen, I present them Clara Rodriguez. 

The two friends did not understand anything. There was just a doll, very well looked after, apparently manufactured a few decades. They were worried about the isolation of a doll? 

- This is my daughter, gentlemen. 
- Madam, this is a doll. 
- Dear sir ... 
- Toulouse. Claude Toulouse. 
- Mr Toulouse, this doll has been here since 1966. My little girl left us this year, a day after winning the doll. She played, but felt pain in the chest and died the same evening. This doll is like my daughter. 
- Why was hiding down here? Why let all the accused? 
- My daughter suffered the attack on top, then created an underground floor, a new and safe place so that this doll represents the new life of my daughter, my beloved Clara Rodriguez. 
- You respect your history, lady - Claude said. 

The phone rang in the upstairs. 

- Excuse me, gentlemen - you asked and withdrew. 

Alone in the mysterious basement, Pierre and Claude seemed to calm. There was no girl confined there, after all. Strong noise to interrupt the silence in an underground room to room where they were continuous. Pierre was investigating. It was a broad framework, full of webs and mold, which had fallen. 

- Look, Claude. There is a picture of you and a girl. 
- Despite the state in the table, the picture is today! Even the lady's hairdo is the same. Who is this girl? Look what's down there? 
- Let's see: 
Always be here, Clarita. December 1888. 

Xangri it, in January 2008.

Short story: The winds of the Martinique

Prezadores readers: This story has brief references to previous tale (The Girl of the hold), then the reading in sequence would be more fruitful. But the winds of Martinique is a tale with life itself and is on your choice to read the stories in order or not. 

We can start the plot in a hotel with a beach on a beautiful day when the tourists enjoy the pool. A perfect day includes the holiday of Jean Francois. This old employee of the Court of Auditors of Monaco was alone, trying to calm this island amid the palm trees and pleasant gardens of charming hotel. 

- Claude, here to seek peace so desired - said in a telephone call to his friend diplomat. 
- I enjoy the coolness of the beach. Here in Cartagena, the weather is hot. 
- Nothing can take away my peace. 
- How long you stay there? 
- A couple of months at least. 
- It will take away your peace. I will be there to trust you a job. 
- I'm on vacation, Claude. 
- Pay £ 12000.00. 
- I have just come back from vacation, Claude. What? 
- Seeking to invest in a hotel in the region. Need a consultant in economics and finances. I need to know what the most profitable of the island, analyzing estimates of demand, can increase the flow of tourists and guests to capture the competition. 
- Do I hope in my hotel. 

Claude landed at the airport of Fort-de-France, Martinique. The facts of Cartagena did reassess the diplomatic career (read The girl's basement, Pedro Boeira: Xangri-A, 2008), leading it to seek new investment. A hotel in Martinique it was good, very good. 

- Bonjour, Jean Francois. 
- Comment ça va, Claude? 
- Great! I hope that even better after our work here. 
- Check a roadmap for five days to know the beaches where there is available land. 
- Let us start now. 

While Jean Francois had documents to justify an investment in the overseas French tourist, Claude swing themselves into a network stuck to coconut trees, near the Caribbean Sea flaring. The wind increased, shaking the surrounding area. In a lapse between a nap and another, found a strong white light in the window of the hotel's top floor. Let's say it was a dream. 

- Come on, Claude? 
- Where? 
- At the hotel. 
- Are we in the hotel. 
- At our hotel. 
- To ...? 
- Are more slowly than ever, ¿eh? Let the hotel to discuss the data collected today. 
- D'accord. 

The clouds take the sky from Fort-de-France in a phantasmagorical image. 

- Bienvenue à l'hôtel. 

Gathered in a small room. 

- The results show that the infrastructure of the region and the strong contracts between the government of Martinique with major travel operators are considerable opportunities, e. .. Claude? 
- Yes? 
- Are more apart from Baghdad. What do you occur? 
- The clouds. 
- Yes, formations are caused by the evaporation of water. What is the clouds, Claude? 
- You look beautiful? 
- Too, Claude. We can continue? 
- Sure. 

The feelings of fear and comfort come together when Claude watching the movement of clouds. Via horrifying images and comforting. He went to his apartment hotel without having saved a word of the information observed by Jean Francois. On the third floor of this grand hotel, Claude lie down on your queen size and sleep. In the middle of sleep, saw a picture behind the glass door of the balcony. The movement in the intrigue, seems be looking for a contact. Then, returning to sleep, not noticing anything more when it awakens. 

- What did you think of the opportunities on the beach yesterday visited? 
- What opportunities, Jean Francois? 
- From business! You came here for that, right? 
- Maybe. 
- Strips me of my vacation days to work and get all avoado? 
- I was thinking in the clouds. They want to be able to communicate with me through the door of the balcony? 
- Piraste of time. 
- You say ...? 
- Comment on the opportunities that this island has for your business tour. 
- What do you think we should do? 
- There is a land that I consider of utmost importance. Stay away from Fort-de-France, but with paved road and you can make a private beach. 

They take its course in a rented jeep. The old site was abandoned, with only the waves of the sea meeting with the rocks. Jean graphic analysis of tourism potential in the coming years in Martinique, while Claude walked slowly to the sea, without any concern to assess the ground of an economic point of view. 

Since March, Claude could see a building of many floors, one that ripped look if it were built, as was his original plan. It was just his imagination, but the building won colors, glass reflecting light in the morning, panoramic elevators, tourists observing the order and, on the top floor, the curtains moving at a pace equal to the clouds nightly, even as the morning. 

- Claude? 
- Yes? 
- The head somewhere else again? 
- Absolutely not. I was imagining the block of concrete and glass that can raise here. 
- That seems good. Since arriving at Martinique, it seems that word does not understand half of what I say. See, Claude, the statistics do not lie. There are estimates of 100,000 new tourists per year in the next decade. The hotel capacity of Martinique does not support it, but we can solve this by installing a huge beach resort. 
- I like the beach so, abandoned, with the water touching the rocks. 
- Okay, sir Nature. You did not ask me to design new business tour? 
- He was joking, friendship. I imagine only 570 apartments here in this region. 

Claude talked about random numbers. All I had was about the movement of the curtains on the top floor of the hotel that he had imagined. There was a message to him, who knew not decode. 

Back to Fort-de-France, and Jean Claude had some important information to the hotel sought to install on the island. Claude was aware of the importance of the business, but denied a meeting to discuss the matter that afternoon. Preferred lie on a network by the sea, searching in dreams, any response to the clouds and curtains of wind that pursued him. 

Claude awakened to 18h30min, so the night took their place. The network swing bar in the clouds and curtains of his apartment is shaken, because he had left the door open. It was set in the communication of water evaporated in the sky and him. He returned to the apartment and decided to watch her from the window. Each cloud seemed to have a meaning, although he did not know exactly what. 

Claude sat in the armchair of his apartment of hotel and looked fixedly into the clouds and the curtain in the wind. Balloons of festival began to fall out of the roof for the curtain, forming the letters: DRC. 

- Who is chasing me? What I want to communicate? 

A voice in the background saying: Allez-vous ... Allez-vous ... 

- By God, tell me who you are! 
- Go ... Go ... The letters ... The balloons ... 

Claude had information for the balance of curtains and movement of clouds. I had to go to any place, but did not know which. DRC were the only letters that the balloons formed. Broke into the apartment of Jean. 

- Jean, open the door, please! 
- What is you, buddy? 
- You have noticed that I'm in another universe. 
- Yes, commented a few sentences ago that were beyond Baghdad. 
- Well I will tell you what happens. 
- I know, I understand, most do not want my business advisory services. 
- Unfortunately, we can not continue with the project. 
- How not? I want my twelve thousand pounds! 
- Jean, the matter is very serious. 
- OK, forget the money. What has happened? 
- Since I came here to Martinique I feel that the clouds and wind want to tell me something. 
- I know, you havias I reviewed, but gave no importance. Why now should I give you important? 
- I should not tell, but I alone can not solve it. I need someone capable of interpreting a message. 
- I am able? 
- Of course not, but the only person I know in Martinique. 
- Oh, thank you. 
- When the line. Well, Jean, fixei me that the curtain was shaken by the wind, while the clouds in the background is moved. At this moment, balloons dropped and gave me a clue: DRC. 
- Go to parties. Track what? And what the hell is DRC? 
- I do not know what track this is and I do not know who is sending this message, but I know something: we have to get out of Martinique. 
- Who told you that? 
- After the fall of balloons, I heard a voice telling me serious, bottom, "Allez-vous." That is, we have to go, just do not know where. 
- Let's say we descubramos to where we should go. What do we do in this place? 
- I do not know. I hope that the balloons give me that answer. 
- And how this will happen? 
- There is only one way. I need to look at the curtains in the wind. 
- I do not understand anything of what happens, but I understand that you are different. A former diplomat, now a businessman, can not leave slaughtered by little. And you're beaten. That statement of fact happened, despite the foreign elements are: wind, curtain, balloons and voices from the afterlife. When you think the balloons will give a new signal? 
- I can not know. But we have to stay in Fort-de-France to find everything and then get out of here. 
- The project to build hotel? 
- We left for later. I believe that some of Martinique in the former slave is sending a signal. 
- Former slave? 
- The voices may come from outside that world, the world of the dead. You know well that had slavery in Martinique, just see the formation of ethnic residents. 
- Is a hypothesis, but what he wants this former slave? 
- Only the balloons will say ... Or the voices ... Or the curtain ... Or the wind ... Nothing is certain as of now, Jean. 
- I feel I regret that I must believe that. 

The idea of the business tour was canceled. Jean gets involved in suspense, though somewhat skeptical, and it was no longer possible to discuss how new hosts 100,000 tourists a year in Martinique. But what to do in Fort-de-France? Wait offering some clown balloons in the form of letters, saying that meant the DRC and the reason for leaving the Martinique? 

And Jean Claude was forwarded to the hotel bar. Based on a cocktail of rum and cocoa, the two discussed the direction of confusing stay in Martinique. Claude was a diplomat until the moment he left Cartagena (see The story of Miss hold) and Jean was on holiday in Martinique. Claude seeking new business to drop the diplomatic career, but now had no career, unless the researcher of clouds and winds communicative. 

- Jean, my life is hell of a mess. 
- And you're trying to make me too, is not it? 
- But that lack of trust! I just tried not to experience this pineapple alone. I wanted to pretend that there were no balloons are communicating with me? I wanted to continue without understanding patavina than you I say about the statistics and forecasts for our former tourist hotel business? 
- I. 
- Do not believe it. I bet you anything darias to see a clown balloons spreading the curtain of the apartment indicating that steps below. 
- I confess that I am coming to believe that. 

The doors of the bar is closed. The music of circus dominated the environment. The curtains were discussed, the wind was strong. 

- It is a signal, Jean! It is a sign! 

The other occupants of the bar were sucked through the earth. There was only Jean Claude and the music of circus and all the wind. The balloons fell to the hills and accommodates on the ground, while a few balloons were suspended in front of a window, forming a message: 

Leopoldville. 

- I do not doubt, Jean. I know where we will! 
- Tell me what you have to do with DRC Leopoldville. 
- Leopoldville is the current city of Kinshasa, which in turn is the capital of the DRC - Democratic Republic of Congo. 
- Why are we in the Democratic Republic of Congo? 
- The only thing missing check. 
The bar took its normality, with customers back to their tables, the music of circus already went away, but still left a message for them, from a voice in the distance. 
- Allez-vous ... Allez-vous ... Do you need to save me. The next message will wait in the hotel CFA Palace. 

Jean Claude and packed their bags, took the first flight to Paris and, from there, following in Kinshasa. Dozens of hours later, landed in the Democratic Republic of Congo. They left the dusty streets of Kinshasa and searched the hotel CFA Palace. By far, saw the sign in strong lights. 

- We found our hotel, Claude. 
- Which hotel? 
- Do not you see the lights? 
- Those that say "Death Aliens?" 
- My God, two seconds was writing "CFA Palace Hotel"! 
- That does not exist, Claude. We came up here because imagine having heard and seen messages. This is something of our imagination. 
- The balloons were real, at least for us. Now we will complete this mystery. 

CFA at Hotel Palace, the lights returned to normal. They moved into two apartments, overlooking the River Congo. Met at the terrace on the top floor of the hotel, to observe clouds and get some more explanation, the message would end in CFA Palace. 

- Claude, which want? Save some former slave? 
- Well, in my opinion, this former slave is originally from Congo and was escravizado in Martinique. 
- And that relationship we have with that? 
- The message arrives. 

A huge plane fly over Kinshasa, causing unbearable noise. Vine the direction of Brazzaville, capital of neighboring Republic of Congo, and passed with the engines roaring over the capital of Democratic Republic of Congo. Amid the noise, Jean said: 

- The message arrived? 
- Maybe it arrived, but did not hear anything! 

Past the plane, a small sheet of paper had fallen on the roof of the CFA Palace. Claude read the ticket: with a thousand slaves on a ship, we back our homeland, landed on an island in the Caribbean Sea. 

- Okay, Claude, the slaves Congolese want something from us. 

The plane passed again, now more noisy, coming from where thousands of balloons. The balloons covered the terrace of the hotel Congalais Palace, suffocating and Jean Claude. Meanwhile, a voice was serious, now closer, shouting: 

- You are representatives of French colonialism! You took in the Congo and led us to Martinique! Not only enslave us, but following escravizando our descendants who live there in the Carib! 
- Sir Ghost, a correction ... 
- Shut up, Claude! Do you think it is nice to see their relatives cane plantations without any conditions of survival? You were the chosen! You will be sacrificed on behalf of the Congolese people! You tyrants French! 
- Phantom Lord, we are not French. 
- How it not? You speak French and came from southern France! 
- We are in Monaco, who, despite being close to France, has sovereignty! Our country is another! 

In addition to voice, now appeared a gray cloud, which became man. It was the little slave literate in geography. In his hands, a geographical atlas was consulted. 

- You are right! Mônaco não pertence à França! 
- Of course we have! Now could, please, remove these balloons off of us? 
- Absolutely! Fly back to Martinique! My tataraneta has a lovely inn in the seaside! Look for Géraldine Du Marche. 

Jean Claude and took the trip to the Democratic Republic of Congo and sought the mountain gorilla, well away from the capital. Back in Kinshasa, took the flight to Paris and then to Fort-de-France, Martinique. 

- I trust you a job, Jean! 
- Claude, I'm on vacation! 
- I paid £ 15000.00. 
- Which beach build our hotel? 


Porto Alegre, February and October 2008.

Biography: Pedro Boeira (via Wikipedia)

Pedro de Souza Boeira Costa (Porto Alegre, Nov. 21, 1985) is a Brazilian writer of tales of terror and suspense. 

The first book 

The stories below integrate his first book, entitled Mystery in Hafen Prinz and other stories ..., with estimates of launch to March 2009. They are interlinked stories that mix suspense, horror and comic touch. 

- MYSTERY IN HAFEN PRINZ: Story of an oil executive, born in the Principality of Monaco, who will work in Port-au-Prince, capital of Haiti. Living in Hotel Prinz Hafen, it can be seen surrounded by strange facts that do, most do not know what is real and what is the fruit of his imagination. 

- A GIRL of hold: we have the continuity of the story before. The then executive of oil following tracks of an old friend diplomat in Cartagena, on Colombia's Caribbean coast, to investigate the case of a girl who was held hostage in the basement of the house. Rumor or truth? 

- THE WINDS OF MARTINIQUE: then continues with the tale of former diplomat and an official of the Court of Auditors of Monaco, now on the island of Martinique, a French overseas territory. Thus, signs are everywhere in this island, where he wanted to build a hotel, but the suspense dominates. What happens in Martinique? 

- IN QUIMBAYA: portrays the vacation of a family in Colombia's coffee zone. The character in the story comes earlier to try to resolve the shocking facts that plague the Brazilian family. 
Other stories 

- THE CASE OF FASHION (2008): a tribute to Roberto Gomez Bolaños, the Chespirito, creator and interpreter of Chaves and Chapolin. A tie inherited by grand-uncle's character disappears and the suspect is the maid. Several lines are based on the work of Chespirito. 

- SEARCH OF A YOUNG VELOZO (2008): With Uncle Cândido unable to get out of bed at the hotel in Santiago, Chile, which will make young Jorge Velozo? 


Unfinished works 

- ¿QUE PASA EN SANTO DOMINGO? (2002): stories about the author's trip to Santo Domingo, capital of the Dominican Republic, addressing tourism, history and geography. Boeira discloses some chapters nonprofit. 

- The PORTO ALEGRE de Medellin (2004): the search for Juan Martinez for a new city, after a traumatic fact forced him to leave Medellín (Antioquia, Colombia) and go to Porto Alegre (Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil). The author portrays the loneliness and strength that the character created around them. According Boeira, the work will be continued. 


Personal life 

Pedro Boeira lives in Porto Alegre. Also lived in Gramado (Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil) and Bogota (Colombia). Dedicated to the art writing stories, travel stories and composing soundtracks for travel videos, jokes and interpretations of projects in architecture. It also takes the art of gastronomy, with great dedication to create new plates. 
Life outside of books 

In addition to writer, Pedro Boeira holds a Bachelor's degree in Hospitality and Strategic Marketing Specialist by PUCRS. Run activity of consulting in the areas of economic and financial feasibility and market research. 


The page is about to be deleted! : (Words of the detractors:

Biography initial hj by an IP, and then edited several times by Boeira29 C D E, which denotes vanity. The writer does not yet launched any books, and his first is planned for 2009! I am from Porto Alegre and never heard of this writer that money is artist of gastronomy, author of soundtrack of travel videos, jokes and interpretations of the architecture projects, specializing in strategic marketing etc.

Biografia: Pedro Boeira (via Wikipedia)

Pedro de Souza Costa Boeira (Porto Alegre, 21 de novembro de 1985) é um escritor brasileiro de contos de terror e suspense.

O primeiro livro

Os contos abaixo integram seu primeiro livro, intitulado Mistério no Hafen Prinz e outros contos..., com previsão de lançamento para março de 2009. São contos interligados que misturam suspense, terror e toques cômicos.

- MISTÉRIO NO HAFEN PRINZ: história de um executivo do petróleo, nascido no Principado de Mônaco, que vai trabalhar em Porto Príncipe, capital do Haiti. Morando no hotel Hafen Prinz, ele se vê rodeado de fatos estranhos que o perseguem, não sabendo mais o que é real e o que é fruto de sua imaginação.

- A MENINA DO PORÃO: temos a continuidade do conto anterior. O então executivo do petróleo segue pistas de um antigo amigo diplomata em Cartagena, na costa caribenha da Colômbia, para investigar o caso de uma menina que era mantida refém no porão da casa. Boato ou verdade?

- OS VENTOS DA MARTINICA: prossegue com o então diplomata do conto anterior e um funcionário do Tribunal de Contas de Mônaco, agora na ilha da Martinica, território ultramarino francês. Assim, sinais vêm por todos os lados nessa ilha, onde pretendiam construir um hotel, mas o suspense os domina. O que ocorre na Martinica?

- EM QUIMBAYA: retrata as férias de uma família na zona cafeeira da Colômbia. O personagem do conto anterior surge para tentar uma solução para os fatos assustadores que rondam essa família brasileira.

Outros contos

- O CASO DA GRAVATA (2008): uma homenagem a Roberto Gómez Bolaños, o Chespirito, criador e intérprete de Chaves e Chapolin. Uma gravata herdada pelo tio-avô do personagem desaparece e a suspeita é a empregada. Várias falas se baseiam na obra de Chespirito.

- A BUSCA DO JOVEM VELOZO (2008): com o tio Cândido impossibilitado de levantar da cama no hotel em Santiago do Chile, o que fará o jovem Jorge Velozo?

Obras inacabadas

- ¿QUÉ PASA EN SANTO DOMINGO? (2002): histórias sobre a viagem do autor a Santo Domingo, capital da República Dominicana, abordando turismo, história e geografia. Boeira divulga alguns capítulos sem fins lucrativos.

- DE MEDELLÍN A PORTO ALEGRE (2004): a busca de Juan Martínez por uma nova cidade, após um fato traumático tê-lo obrigado a deixar Medellín (Antioquia, Colômbia) e ir para Porto Alegre (Rio Grande do Sul, Brasil). O autor retrata a solidão e a fortaleza que o personagem cria em torno de si. Segundo Boeira, a obra será continuada.

Vida pessoal

Pedro Boeira mora em Porto Alegre. Também morou em Gramado (Rio Grande do Sul, Brasil) e em Bogotá (Colômbia). Dedica-se à arte escrevendo contos, histórias de viagem e compondo trilhas sonoras para vídeos de viagem, interpretações de piadas e projetos de arquitetura. Também leva a arte à gastronomia, tendo grande dedicação a criar novos pratos.

Vida profissional fora dos livros

Além de escritor, Pedro Boeira é Bacharel em Hotelaria e Especialista em Marketing Estratégico pela PUCRS. Desenvolve atividade de consultoria nas áreas de viabilidade econômico-financeira e pesquisa de mercado.

A página está prestes a ser deletada! :( Palavras dos detratores:

Biografia inciada hj por um IP, e em seguida editada várias vezes por Boeira29 D C E, o que denota vaidade. O escritor não lançou ainda nenhum livro, e o seu primeiro está previsto para 2009! Sou de Porto Alegre e jamais ouvi falar neste escritor que tb é artista da gastronomia, autor de trilha sonora de vídeos de viagem, interpretações de piadas e projetos de arquitetura, especialista em marketing estratégico etc.

Contos: Livro Mistério no Hafen Prinz

O livro está chegando! Mistério no Hafen Prinz!