INCOMPATIBLE

Foi lançada a tradução do romance Incompatível em diversas plataformas de distribuição, o e-book pode ser encontrado na Amazon, Kobo, Livraria Cultura e o livro impresso está disponível no Clube de Autores, plataforma que entrega o livro no Brasil, Canadá, Estados Unidos e Reino Unido.

O livro está saindo pela editora Alucinação Consensual, com tradução de João Rosa de Castro, autor e tradutor, que já traduziu do autor Primus AD, Origami e Mosaicos Urbanos.

Veja o primeiro capítulo do livro abaixo:

Chapter 1

Water reflexes flickered in the swimming pool on the white walls of the mansion, under the deep blue sky. The white house was composed by three circular floors, all with balconies and garnished with columns. Vases with cactus, arrowroots, cordylines, lounge chairs, wicker little tables, in addition to morocco poufs, decorated the balconies. Sliding glass doors were successively laid out and gave the place openness and shine. A staircase of large white marble steps led to the upper floors. Between the mansion and the bluish swimming pool there was a play area with wood and tissue lounge chairs and big neutral colors sunshades. 

A visiting couple headed to the house, slowly and amazed before the cinematographic view. She went calm, carrying her vintage case that contained the portable tattoo studio that Cesar Del Manto, who accompanied her, had nicknamed Felix the cat’s case. In her red and long hair there were two colored locks, one pink and another of teal, around her eyes there was a dark shadow that gave her a gothic charm. A silver piercing shone on her nose, right above another pierced through the fleshy lips. On her right arm she had yakuza east-style tattoos: the flying dragon Ouryu around Magoi, the black carp, and on her left arm she had a leather bracelet covered with tacks. She wore a white basic t-shirt, black pants and a pair of leather boots. 

“For the prior notice of God!”, Cesar exclaimed, by gesticulating and aiming to each detail of the fully astonishing landscape.

His style wasn’t similar to that of his young partner, he didn’t have tattoos, his black hair was thick and well cut, and his clothes were casual: black t-shirt, a pair of jeans and tennis-shoes. Yet for that visit he wanted to impress, so he was wearing a black blazer.

“Dude, I don’t believe we’re at Tony Perry’s house”, he went on, with excitement, “Do you know his name is Antônio Pereira?” 

“Whatever, the guy is such a metal god”, she answered laconically.

“Thank you very much!”, they turned with surprised heading to the voice. Tony Perry came from the side of the house, getting out of a track of trees that concealed the garage. The rocker was skinny and tall, bright eyes, a starting baldness was going through his thick greyish brown, as his goatee. He wore a few clothes: a silk robe with cartoons print in black and white, a black swim briefs with the red tongue of Rolling Stones on the front, NY Yankees cap and mirrored sunglasses of model aviator.

He stared at them with a hand holding a glass of whisky and the other a thick cigarette. The red-haired girl stamped a yellow smile as Cesar was melting.

“I see there’s an admirer in the house!”, Tony Perry smiled.  

“Hi, I’m Jean, the tattooist, and this is Cesar”.

“Exactly”, the owner of the house agreed and took a sip. “Jean?”

Cesar answered promptly before she could try to explain in a less embarrassing manner:

“Jean Grey like in the X-Men, because of her hair, she gained the nickname, I think it was on the first day of class, in the middle of the college hazing. And it was stuck. Not even I know her real name”.

“For sure you know, it’s…”

Cesar interrupted her:

“I have all the records of the band, since the demo Nemo in the Abyssup to By the Ass of God!”

Tony approached so that it was possible to feel the odor of the Scotch malt and calmly gave his opinion about the admirer’s taste.

“I hate this record. And nobody buys compact disks anymore, boy, don’t you have I-tunes?”

While Perry distillated his despise for his last work, an elegant woman appeared. She was tall and slander. Her tan skin contrasted her blond hair and the white bikini. A pair of high-heeled shoes helped give her a sensual look.

“This is my girlfriend, she’s American and doesn’t understand a single word in Portuguese[1]” then he lowered his voice and said lowly. “I call bad words of her mother easily in the old Portuguese language when we fuck, but she thinks it’s the Brazilian version of oh yes, oh yes. The tattoo is for her”.

“Hi!”, she nodded and smiled.

Cesar smiled back and felt a sudden heat getting to his body while he stared at her surgically modeled breasts. He felt his mouth full of water as he looked through the anatomy of the North-American girl. She’s a goddess, he thought, a goddess produced with the best that money can buy.

Jean’s eyes got straight becoming two gaps, but her companion didn’t even realize it.

“Let’s go to the living room to talk about the tattoo”, the owner of the mansion suggested, and indicated the way with the glass. 

They covered the way up to the huge room in the first floor and crossed the balcony and the glass door. They accommodated in the black leather sofas, the tattoo artist removed the drawings from her case and displayed them on the large glass table. 

“According to what we had talked, I made some drafts, and this is my favorite”, the showed a picture that was in the center. “It’s a montage I produced by mixing this image of Artemis, the goddess, with Gisele Bünchen”.

The image she mentioned showed the face and the long hair of the model Gisele Bünchen, and representing the Goddess of Hunt there was an arch held by her right hand. The picture was framed by large petal flowers, and on the opposite side of the arch, there was a quiver with some arrows. Her shock of hair was ornamented by some laurel wreaths and a jewel pended on her forehead in a half-moon format, from which two thin chains came down and got lost in her hair. 

While the tattoo artist explained the tattoo, Cesar contemplated the details of the luxurious house. However, the rocker wasn’t too interested in the details of the composition of the tattoo. The tattooist had hardly finished explaining, when he concluded:

“It’s great!Fuckin’ great! Do your magic!”

The professional girl stared at him with surprise. She had prepared to face a marathon of objections, suggestions and changes, but, anyway, Tony Parry wasn’t of the diva kind of man.

“You can use the erotic device, it’s in the other room, I think it will serve perfectly for the work”, he said and indicated the direction.

The two girls stood and headed to the erotic games room. Since Cesar remained sitting and observing the North-American girl’s gestures, Tony wanted to know what his function with the tattooist was.

“I just came to keep company”.

“I thought you were some kind of clerk or something like. You are just her womanizer, isn’t it?” 

“You can say so”, Cesar admitted and smiled.

“Good for you! So, Mr. Womanizer, let’s drink a beer by the swimming pool”.

“Sure!”, Cesar stood up and examined his host wondering if he could sell his ideas to him.

They headed to the swimming pool illuminated by the sunrays of the end of the afternoon.

“I gobbled up your biography, I’m an old fan of yours, your run until you became the bass player of the biggest metal band of the world is amazing”, he praised.  

“Destiny leads what it grants and drags what it resists”, Tony philosophized. 

“Deep”.

“Seneca. An almanac phrase never dies! My grandfather taught me”, he smiled, and nodded to a domestic worker. 

They sat in front of the table, covered by a large sunshade. The worker returned and brought the tray with a bottle of whisky.

“Take it back”, he ordered, harshly, and put his empty glass in the tray, “bring a bucket of beer”.

There was a moment of silence as they observed the worker getting out.

“As far as destiny is concerned, is this girl your destiny?”, Tony wanted to know.

“Jean? No. We only share an apartment and a bed. It’s the kind of agreement while we’re in college”. 

“I see. What do you study?”

“She’s taking up architecture and I study Cinema. I’m developing my first feature film. Actually, it’s fully run in my iPhone, which is not only my camera, but also my edition station, sound effects studio and I still compose the sound track in a composition software”. 

“Oh! Spielberg is in the room!Is it serious? What’s it about?” Tony asked and lit up a cigarette. 

A worker approached and placed a bucket full of Heinekens.

Cesar puffed up to explain about his masterpiece as he had rehearsed. He answered and gesticulated like an Italian ice-cream seller:

“It’s the story of a steward who receives a case from a man getting around from CIA. In this case there’s a set that records people’s dreams. Then she escapes from her chasers. At the same time the astronomers discover the moon is getting broken because of the fall of a meteor and that the world is going to come to an end in a few weeks”. 

Tony smiled while he lit the cigarette:

“Men, this is a mix of Melancholia, by Lars Von Trier, with Until the End of the World, by Wenders!”

“Impossible!”, Cesar exclaimed, incredulous.

Tony put the cap on the table and began to laugh, more and more, as he noticed Cesar’s expression taken by surprise in his epic plagiarism crossover.

“Is it true? I don’t believe…”

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[1]Note for readers from English-speaking countries. Most of this novel is in Brazil, and the language of the characters is the Portuguese language.