LA DAMA AZUL
by Iara Oliviera Rosa

From Buzios, Brasil

Blue because blue is the color of children and she kept, in her fascinating old age, the purity and freshness of children; or because the mountains that are found on the horizon of the landscape that she loved so much are blue; or, then, because Gagarin, full of excitement, once yelled: "The world is all blue!"

We met each other through the art of painting. Coincidences. Painting, which is such a part of my life, was also her companion. She used to spend long periods of time at her son's house, by the sea. There she painted her landscapes, the arrival of the ships, the common scenes of a fishing village.

"I do not know how to paint", she would say. "I paint to occupy my old age."

At first, this would be the rule. Only the painting began to penetrate her life, revealing a growing talent, a beauty that expanded through brush strokes and colors. She was a great artist with marvelous sensitivity. Her advancing age possessed a magical enchantment. Her fascinating long life was topped by the fantasy of her creation, forming a halo of beauty and joviality so immense that I never was able to obtain a clear vision of her old age. Her actual age would become a funny abstraction, just like her language, a mixture of Portuguese and Spanish, her mother tongue.

"Te das conta?" (1)

Many years ago Brigitte Bardot had stayed as a guest in her son's house, a beautiful and simple property. The actress's presence, transformed the then scattered fishing village. Hundreds of photographers and film fans filled its few streets with the goal of capturing candid moments and unpublished photos of the famous French woman. Some fishermen remembered her and recount uncommon memories.

"She was not ugly, but... she had skinny legs."

"She was strange... she bought fish and put it on the grill, scales and all."

With events and changes, time passed. The footsteps of Brigitte Bardot remained imprinted in the sands of those lovely beaches. The village grew, it became a city. Brigitte did not return. She aged beautifully, defending animals and fighting for their rights.

Many years later, on a winter afternoon, the sky tinted red and the sea turquoise blue, a young man appeared. He found "Dama Azul" in the interior patio of the house, painting her canvases. With an air of shyness he asked for permission to come in.

"Good afternoon, mi seqora"

"Good afternoon. Can I help you?"

"Yes, seqora. Could you please tell me if this is indeed the house where the actress Brigitte Bardot once stayed?"

She looked at the young man and thought he must have been a child when Brigitte Bardot was here. She answered, a little surprised,

"Yes, but it has been a long time since...!"

The young man's face lit up. He smiled, a dazzling air about him. He appeared to have made a great discovery.

"Ah!... Then it was here!... HERE!...

"What remarkable behavior... "

"Mi seqora, excuse me for the inconvenience, but... seqora, could you show me the room where she.... slept?

The voice had a pleading tone and the face... the face displayed even more intensely the youngster's state of mind. "It seems almost as if he were about to cry..." She took the keys and took the young man to the room where, according to what she had been told, the famous French woman slept.

"There it is."

The young man was paralyzed. He looked around as if he were dreaming. Whispering, he repeated a single sentence.

"I don't believe it... I don't believe it..."

"Dama Azul" was getting ready to shut the door when he asked:

"Was it in this bed that she slept?"

"Yes, there is no other bed."

It was then when suddenly, the young man threw himself on the bed and rolled from one side to the other. "Dama Azul" was horrified. Before she could even say a word, the young man sat bolt upright. And quickly he withdrew mumbling pleas for forgiveness and words of gratitude.

"How crazy! ...te das conta?"

The years passed and her chronological age advanced. "Dama Azul" was now in the city of her birth, very ill, surrounded by her grandchildren.

"She's dying." They told me.

It was Christmas and I wrote a postcard to her. On it I painted the landscape that she most loved: the distant mountains, sensual and full of magic, the islands, the boats. I wrote a few words, but I discovered that they were empty, they said nothing.

It was a surprise to receive her letter. She wrote that she was very well and that very shortly she would be back. She claimed the doctors "didn't know a thing."

She did not come back. I think with all of that magic, "Dama Azul" did not age or die. She became eternal through recollection, a memory for everyone, who like me, had the privilege, of knowing her once.

(1) This sentence starts with the Spanish "Te das" or "Do you" and ends with the Portuguese "conta" which stands for "realize". Its meaning in English is probably closest to "Don't you think?"

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