Pelo gosto de sonhar ou pelo fascínio que causa, em mim o mistério pode mais que a razão. Por isso não será de estranhar que tempos atrás tenha lido de ponta a ponta os dezassete volumes da Library of Curious and unusual Facts - Time-Life Books, New York, 1990 — e agora me tenham deixado entre surpreendido e preocupado certas passagens da autobiografia de Alec Guinness intitulada Blessings in Disguise — Hamish Hamilton Limited, London, 1985.
Um exemplo. No Outono de 1955 tinha ele ido para fazer o seu primeiro filme em Hollywood: The Swan, com Grace Kelly.
Na noite da chegada uma amiga convidou-o para jantar e, depois de terem tentado alguns estabelecimentos caros onde lhes tinham recusado a entrada, devido à dama vestir calças, esta decidiu que fossem a um restaurante italiano onde tinha a certeza de que seriam bem acolhidos.
Depois de dezasseis horas de voo de
Copenhaga para Los Angeles, Alec Guinness
estava próximo da exaustão, mas
concordou. Quando lá chegaram não havia mesa
livre e iam já de volta para o parque de estacionamento, quando um rapaz
correu atrás deles: »You want a table», he asked. «Join me. My
name is James Dean.» We followed him gratefully, but on the way back to the
restaurant he turned into a car-park, saying»: I’d like to show you something.»
Among the other cars there was what looked a large, shiny, silver parcel
wrapped in cellophane and tied with ribbon. «It’s just been delivered», he
said, with bursting pride. «I haven’t even driven it yet.»
The
sports-car looked sinister to me, although it had a large bunch of red
carnations
resting on
the bonnet. «How fast is it?», I asked. «She’ll do a hundred and fifty», he
replied. Exhausted, hungry, feeling a little ill-tempered in spite of Dean’s
kindness, I heard myself saying in a voice I could hardly recognize as my own:
«Please, never get in it.» I looked at my watch.
«It is now
ten o’clock, Friday the 23rd of September, 1955. If you get in that
car you will
be found dead in it by this time next week.»
He laughed.
«Oh, shucks! Don’t be so mean!» I apologised for
what I had
said, explaining it was lack of sleep and food...
We parted an
hour later, full of smiles. No further reference was
made to the
wrapped-up car. Thelma was relieved by the out-
come of the
evening and rather impressed. In my heart I was
uneasy —
with myself.
At four o’clock in the afternoon of the following Friday, James Dean was dead, killed while driving the car.»
A
acontecimentos assim os espíritos fortes e racionalistas chamam
«coincidências».
