Text interpretation activity, proposed to students in the eighth or ninth year of elementary school, with questions based on the text “A Doida”.
This Portuguese language activity is available for download in an editable Word template, ready to print in PDF and also the completed activity.
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SCHOOL: DATE:
PROF: CLASS:
NAME:
The madwoman lived in a cottage in the center of the battered garden. And the street went down to the stream, where the boys used to bathe. (…) The three boys came down early in the morning to bathe and catch the bird. Only with that intention. But it felt good to go by the crazy woman's house and tease her. Mothers said the opposite: that it was horrible, few sins would be greater. We must have pity on crazy people, because they do not enjoy the benefits with which we, the sane, were granted.(…) As the crazy woman's face really was, few could say it. (…) It was confusingly known that the madwoman had been a girl like the others in her remote time (she was over 60 years old, and madness and age, together, cared for her body). The story ran, with variations, that she had been engaged to a farmer, and the wedding a huge party; but on the very wedding night the man had repudiated her, God knows why. Her husband got up terribly and pushed her away in the heat of the squabble; it rolled down the stairs, breaking bones, crashing. The two never saw each other again. Others said that her father, not her husband, had thrown her out, and explained that one morning the old man had felt a different bitterness in his coffee, he who had big money and it was costing to die(…) Anyway, the big people didn't tell the story right, and the boys deformed the tale. Repudiated by everyone, she locked herself in that cottage on the way to the stream, and ended up losing her mind. He had lost all relationships before. Nobody had the heart to visit her. (…) Sometimes an old black woman would venture in, with her pipe and her patience polite in captivity, and there she would stay for two or three months, cooking. Finally the madwoman shooed her away. And, after all, no maid wanted to serve her. Going to live with the madwoman, asking the madwoman for a blessing, having dinner at the madwoman's house, became, in the city, expressions of punishment and symbols of derision. (…) And so, successive generations of kids passed through the door, carefully fixed the windowpane and chipped a stone. At first, as a just penalty. Afterwards, for pleasure. Sensitive people lamented the fact, suggested that a way be found to hospitalize the madwoman. But how? The asylum was far away, the relatives weren't interested. And then — it was explained to the stranger who might find the situation strange — every city has its madmen; almost every family has them.(…) The boys took flat iron stones, took up their positions. Each would play in turn, with breaks to observe the result. The boss reserved an ambitious goal: the chimney.(…) The madwoman, however, seemed not to have noticed the aggression, the house was not reacting. Then the third of the group, in his 11 years, felt full of courage and decided to invade the garden. (…) The boy pushed the gate: it opened. (..) he was the first to enter the garden (…) he backed off a little and looked down the street: his companions had disappeared. Either they were really in a hurry, or they wanted to see how far his courage would go, alone in the madwoman's house. Have coffee with the crazy girl. Dinner at the crazy woman's house. But was she crazy? (…) The boy was making his way through the legs and arms of furniture, going around here, bumping up ahead. The room was small and fit so much. Behind the mass of the piano, cornered in a corner, was the bed. And in it, bust raised, the madwoman stretched her face forward, investigating the unusual rumor. It was no use for the boy to want to run or hide. And he was determined to know everything about that house. For the rest, the madwoman showed no signs of war. He just raised his hands to eye level, as if to protect them from a stone. He looked at her with interest.(…) And what a little one! The body under the deck formed a tiny rise. Small, dark, that dirty that time deposits on her skin, staining it. And she seemed to be afraid.(…) The child smiled in disappointment, not knowing what to do. Then the madwoman rose a little more, bracing herself on her elbows. Her mouth twitched, let out a vague, shy sound. As the child did not move, the indistinct sound sketched out again. He got the impression that it wasn't a curse, it felt like a call. He felt drawn to the madwoman, and all desire to mistreat her dissipated. It was an appeal, yes, and her fingers, awkwardly moving, confirmed it.(…) Perhaps she asked for water. The moringa was on the table — silent, between glass and papers. He filled the glass half full, held it out. The crazy woman seemed to approve with her head, and her hands wanted to hold them alone, but the boy had to help her drink. He did everything naturally, and he no longer remembered why he had come in there, nor did he retain any kind of aversion to the madwoman. The very idea of being crazy was gone. There was an old woman in the room who was thirsty and who was perhaps dying. He had never seen anyone die, his parents would drive him away if there was a dying person at home. But that must be how people die. A feeling of responsibility came over him. Clumsily, he tried to get his head to rest on the pillow. The woman's rigid muscles didn't help. He had to put his arms around her shoulders – with disgust – and finally managed to lay her down in a soft position. (…) Water couldn't be, maybe a remedy… (…) It would be a case perhaps of calling someone. (…) And he was afraid that she would die in complete abandonment, like no one else in the world she must die. (…) he stumbled over the furniture, dragged with an effort the heavy cupboard from the window, untangled the curtain, and light invaded the storeroom where the woman died. With thin air came a decision. He wouldn't leave the woman to call anyone. He knew he could do nothing to help her but sit on the edge of the bed, take her hands and wait for what was going to happen.
Carlos Drummond de Andrade In: Apprentice's Tales. Adapted.
1) Describe what was the habit of the kids in the city in relation to A Doida?
2) What are the two versions told by the population regarding Doida's life?
3) What happened to A Doida after she locked herself in the cottage, located on the path to the stream?
4) What were the expressions of punishment or mockery used by the people in the city where A Doida lived?
5) Why didn't people from the city or family members put A Doida in an appropriate place?
6) What was the justification used by the population of the city when an outsider arrived who might find the situation strange? Do you agree with these statements? Justify.
7) After the attempt to throw stones in the chimney did not yield any results, what happened to the boys? Report the facts:
8) After breaking into Doida's house, tell what happened to the boy and the owner of the house? Do a brief description of his and the woman's attitudes from that moment on?
9) After contact with the woman, report what feeling came over the boy? Then report the outcome of the tale.
10) Report what you felt when reading this story
By Rosiane Fernandes Silva – Graduated in Letters
At answers are in the link above the header.
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