Captains of the Sands (14 page)

The Professor advanced with the knife, the man turned white.

“What’s this? What’s this?” and he looked all around in hopes of seeing somebody. But only far away on the docks could the shape of men be seen. Then the man with the overcoat started running when the Professor leaped on him and cut his hand with the knife. The overcoat was abandoned on the ground and blood from the man’s hand dripped onto the sand. The Professor went in the opposite direction, stopped for an instant not knowing what to do. A policeman wouldn’t be long in coming, then a lot of them, coming in pursuit along with the man. If the man’s ship were leaving right away everything would be all right, the chase wouldn’t last long. But if it
took its time in sailing the man would surely go after him until he caught him and put him behind bars. Then the Professor remembered the waitress. He walked over to the lunch stand that was across the way and signaled to the waitress. She came and immediately understood when she saw him with the overcoat. The Professor told her:

“He’s got a cut on the hand.”

She laughed:

“You got your revenge, eh?”

She took the overcoat into the lunch stand, hid it. The Professor disappeared until the ship was beyond the breakwater. But from where he was he saw two policemen searching across the sands and on the neighboring streets. That was how the Professor got that overcoat that he never wanted to sell. He’d acquired an overcoat and a lot of hate. And a long time later, when the whole nation admired his murals (the themes were the lives of abandoned children, old beggars, workers and dockhands breaking their chains), they noted that the fat burghers always appeared wearing enormous overcoats, which had more personality than they themselves.

Pedro Bala, Big João, and Legless went into the warehouse. They went over to the group playing cards around Cat. When they arrived, the game halted for a moment. Cat looked at the three:

“Want to play some blackjack?”

“Do I look like a fool?” Legless answered.

Big João sat down to watch, Pedro Bala went off in a corner with the Professor. He wanted to set up a way to steal the image of Ogun from the police. They discussed it for part of the night and it was already eleven o’clock when Pedro Bala, before going out, spoke to all the Captains of the Sands:

“People, I’m about to go through a rough time. If I don’t show up by tomorrow you’ll know that the police have got me and I won’t be long in going to the Reformatory, until I can escape. Or until you people get me out of there…”

And he left. Big João went to the door with him. The Professor came back over to Cat. The younger ones viewed the leader’s departure with a certain worry. They had great trust in
Pedro Bala and without him a lot of them wouldn’t know how to get by.

Lollipop came out of his corner, leaving a prayer half-said:

“What’s up?”

“Pedro went out to do something hard. If he’s not back by tomorrow he’ll be locked up…”

“We’ll bust him out,” Lollipop answered naturally, and it didn’t seem that minutes before he’d been praying before a picture of the Virgin for the salvation of his petty thief’s soul. And he went back to his saints to pray for Pedro Bala.

The game started up again. Rain and lightning, thunder and clouds in the sky. An intense cold in the warehouse. Drops of water fell onto the boys playing cards. But the game had lost their attention now. Cat himself was forgetting to win, there was a kind of confusion in the whole warehouse. It lasted until Professor said:

“I’m going out to see how things are going…”

Big João and Cat went with him. That night it was Lollipop who lay by the door of the warehouse with the knife under his head. And near him Dry Gulch scanned the night with his somber face. And he thought about where Lampião’s gang might be in the immensity of the scrublands in that stormy night. Maybe they were fighting with the police that night, the way Pedro Bala was going to now. And Dry Gulch thought that when Pedro Bala was as big as a man he’d be as brave as Lampião. Lampião was the lord of the backlands, of the endless scrub. Pedro Bala would be master of the city, the tenements, the streets, the waterfront. And Dry Gulch, who was from the backlands, would be able to travel in scrub and in cities. Because Lampião was his godfather and Pedro Bala was his friend. He imitated the crowing of a cock and that indicated that Dry Gulch was happy.

Pedro Bala, while he went up the Montanha slope, went over his plan mentally. It had been put together with the help of the Professor and it was the riskiest thing he’d undertaken till then. But Don’Aninha was well worth running a risk for. When someone was sick she would bring her cures made of
leaves, take care of him, often cure him. And when a Captain of the Sands appeared at her temple she would treat him like a man, like an
ogan
acolyte, give him the best to eat, the best to drink. The plan was risky, he might not be able to bring it off. Pedro Bala might do some time in jail and end up being sent to the Reformatory where life was worse than a dog’s. But there was the chance to bring it off, and Pedro Bala would gamble everything on that possibility. He reached the Largo do Teatro. The rain was falling, the policemen were huddled under their capes. He began to go slowly up the São Bento slope. He turned down São Pedro, crossed the Largo da Piedade, went up Rosário, now he was on Mercés, in front of Police Headquarters, looking at the windows, the movement of the policemen and plainclothesmen as they came and went. From time to time a streetcar passed, rumbling on its tracks, lighting up the now illuminated street even more. Don’Aninha’s policeman friend had said that Ogun was in the holding cell, thrown on top of a cabinet among a lot of other objects picked up in raids on thieves’ homes. That was where they kept all the people who’d been arrested during the night, before they could have a hearing by the police chief or the deputies on duty and they would then be sent to jail or turned out onto the street. In a corner there, first in a cabinet that soon became full, then beside it or on top, they placed worthless objects taken in police raids. Pedro Bala’s plan was to spend the night or part of it in the holding pen and when he left (if he managed to leave) to carry off Ogun’s image with him. He had a big advantage: he wasn’t known to the police. Only a very few policemen knew him as a street urchin, although all policemen and even a few detectives were hot to capture the leader of the Captains of the Sands. All they knew about him was that he had a scar on his face—and Pedro Bala touched the cut. But they thought he was bigger than he really was and they also had the notion that Pedro Bala must be a mulatto and older. If they found out that he was the leader of the Captains of the Sands they might not even send him to the Reformatory. More probably he would go directly to the Penitentiary. Because you can escape from the Reformatory, but it’s not easy from the
Penitentiary. So…and Pedro Bala walked on to Campo Grande. But he was no longer going along with that unconcerned walk of a city street urchin. Now he was swaying like a sailor’s son, wearing a cap because of the rain, the collar of the black jacket (it must have belonged to a very large man before) turned up.

The policeman was under a tree because of the rain. But Pedro came up to him like someone who was afraid. And when he spoke to the policeman his voice was that of a child who was afraid of the stormy night in the city.

“Mr. Policeman…”

The policeman looked at him:

“What is it, urchin?”

“I don’t come from here. I’m from Mar Grande, I came with my father today.”

The policeman wouldn’t let him go on:

“So what?”

“I haven’t got any place to sleep. I wondered if you’d let me sleep at the police station…”

“The police station isn’t a hotel, you bum. Beat it, beat it,” and he made a sign for Pedro to go away.

Pedro tried to start up a conversation again, but the policeman threatened him with his stick:

“Go sleep in the park…Get out of here…”

Pedro went off with a teary face. The policeman stood watching the boy. Pedro halted at the streetcar stop, waited. Nobody got off the first car. But a couple got off the second one. Pedro jumped on the woman, the man saw that he was trying to snatch her purse and held Pedro by the arm. It was so poorly done that if one of the Captains of the Sands had passed by he doubtless wouldn’t have recognized his leader. The policeman, who had witnessed the scene, was beside them:

“So that’s the way you’ve come from out of town, is it? A thieving punk.”

He went off leading Pedro by the arm. The boy went along with a face somewhere between fear and a smile:

“I only did it so you’d grab me…”

“What?”

“Everything I said is true. My father’s a sailor, he’s got a sloop in Mar Grande. He left me here today, he didn’t come back because of the storm. I don’t know where to sleep, I asked to sleep at the police station. You wouldn’t let me so I made like I was going to rob the woman just so’s you’d grab me…Now I’ve got a place to sleep.”

“And for a long time to come,” was the policeman’s only reply.

They went into Headquarters. The policeman went down a corridor, left Pedro Bala in the detention room. There were five or six men there. The policeman jeered:

“Now you can sleep, you son of a bitch. And after the deputy gets here we’ll see how long you’re going to sleep here…”

Pedro was silent. The other prisoners didn’t pay any attention to him, they were interested in teasing a pederast who’d been arrested and said his name was “Mariazinha.” In a corner Pedro saw the cabinet. The image of Ogun was to one side next to a basket filled with wastepaper. Pedro went over, took off his jacket, laid it over the image. And while the others were talking he rolled Ogun up (he wasn’t big, there were other images that were much larger) in his jacket and lay down on the floor. He laid his head on the bundle and pretended to be asleep.

The prisoners for that night continued joking with the pederast, except for an old man who was trembling in a corner. Pedro didn’t know whether from the cold or from fear. But he heard the voice of a young black man asking “Mariazinha”:

“Who busted your cherry?”

“Come on, leave me alone…” the pederast answered laughing.

“No. Tell us. Tell us,” the others said.

“Oh, it was Leopoldo…Oh!”

The old man was still trembling. A hoodlum with a face sucked dry by TB spotted the old man in the corner:

“Why don’t you go sniff the tail of that little old man?” he asked Mariazinha, who pouted.

“Can’t you see right off that I don’t go for old men? Come on, I don’t want to talk anymore…”

Now a policeman was enjoying things by the door and the one with the sucked-in face turned to the old man who was all curled up:

“But I’d bet you’d like it if he gave you some today, eh, uncle?”

“I’m an old man…I didn’t do anything,” the old man mumbled more than spoke. “I didn’t do anything, my daughter’s waiting for me…”

Pedro, who had his eyes closed, guessed that the old man was crying. But he went on pretending that he was asleep. Ogun was hurting his head bones. The prisoners continued teasing the pederast and the old man until another policeman arrived and spoke to the old man:

“You, old man. Let’s go…”

“I didn’t do anything…” the old man said once more. “My daughter’s waiting for me…” He spoke to everyone, policemen and prisoners. And he was shaking so much that they all felt sorry for him and even the hoodlum with the sucked-in face lowered his head. Only the pederast was smiling.

The old man didn’t come back. Then it was the pederast. He took a long time. The one with the sucked-in face explained that Mariazinha came from a good family. They were calling his house, naturally, asking them to come get him so they wouldn’t have to pick him up again that night. Every so often when he’d taken too much cocaine he’d raise a row on the street and be brought in by a policeman. When Mariazinha came back it was only to pick up his hat. Then he saw Pedro Bala lying there and said:

“This one’s so young. But he’s lovely…”

Pedro spat with his eyes closed:

“Beat it, fag, before I bust your face…”

The others laughed and only then did they notice Pedro: