(PT-BR) Eram montanhas inóspitas e emaranhadas. Eram mulheres ásperas, que murmuravam, escondidas em casarões. Eram caminhos estreitos, barrancos, olmos caídos, odor de crina molhada. Eram silenciosas, em comunhão, substituindo as vísceras e a carne por feno dos bosques. Eram os ramos de artemísia e cidreira que brotavam das frestas da janela. Era a noite, tão longa e densa, que questionavam se o dia voltaria. Eram os dedos machucados de urtiga e farpas de castanheira. Era o choro do boi numa tarde disforme de colheita.

As “Pranteadeiras” são mulheres contratadas para chorar em funerais, um ofício milenar. Durante as procissões fúnebres, seus prantos comoviam os familiares, lastimavam aqueles que se foram e entoavam, entre cantos e gritos, suas elegias e rituais soturnos. Ambientado dentro do espaço íntimo em que humanas e animais se entreolham e se camuflam, a narrativa se desdobra pela revoada de insetos, um páramo transformado na neblina imperceptível e devoradora da floresta. A fauna se revela em partes, cautelosa. O abate é silencioso, o ganso não esganiça, a corda não deixa marcas. A noite, dividida em duas, demonstra sua permanência diante das existências que ali habitam. O segredo, por fim, é de animal para animal.

(ENG) They were inhospitable and tangled mountains. They were rough women, murmuring, hidden in old houses. They were narrow paths, ravines, fallen elms, the scent of wet mane. They were silent, in communion, replacing entrails and flesh with hay from the woods. They were the sprigs of mugwort and lemon balm sprouting from the cracks in the window. It was the night, so long and dense, that they questioned whether the day would return. They were the fingers bruised by nettles and chestnut splinters. It was the cry of the bull on a strange afternoon of the harvest.

The Pranteadeiras are women hired to cry at funerals, an ancient occupation. During burial processions, their weeping moved family members, they mourned those who had passed away, and they intonated, amidst chants and shrieks, their elegies and somber rituals. Set within the intimate space where humans and animals gaze and camouflage themselves, the narrative unfolds through the swarm of insects, a wasteland transformed into the imperceptible and devouring mist of the forest. The fauna reveals itself in parts, cautiously. The slaughter is silent, the goose doesn't honke, the rope leaves no marks. The night, divided in two, demonstrates its permanence before the beings that inhabit it. The secret, in the end, is from animal to animal.