Captains of the Sands (20 page)

“Where do you live?”

Pedro Bala didn’t give the Professor a chance to answer. It was he who spoke:

“We live in the Cidade de Palha…”

The man put his hand into his pocket and took out a card:

“Can you read?”

“We can, yes, sir,” Professor answered.

“Here’s my address. I want you to come look me up. Maybe I can do something for you.”

Professor took the card. The policeman was walking toward them. Pedro Bala took his leave:

“So long, doctor.”

The man was taking out his coin purse, but he saw the Professor’s gaze on his cigarette holder. He threw the cigarette away, handed the holder to the boy.

“That’s for my picture. Come to my place…”

But they had both run off down the Rua Chile because the policeman was almost beside them already. The man was watching as if he only half understood when he heard the policeman’s voice:

“Did they steal anything from you, sir?”

“No. Why?”

“Because since those hoodlums were here beside you…”

“They were two children…One of them has a wonderful gift for painting.”

“They’re thieves,” the policeman retorted. “They’re two of the Captains of the Sands.”

“Captains of the Sands?” the man said, remembering. “I read something about it…Aren’t they abandoned children?”

“Thieves is what they are…Be careful when they get close to you, sir. Check and see if anything is missing…”

The man shook his head no and looked down the street. But there was no trace of the two boys. The man thanked the policeman, saying once more that he hadn’t been robbed and he went down the street murmuring:

“That’s the way great artists are lost. What a painter he would make!”

The policeman was watching him. Then he said to the buttons on his uniform:

“They’re right when they say poets are crazy…”

Professor was showing off the holder. He was behind a tall building where there was a fashionable restaurant now. Pedro Bala knew how to get lunch leftovers from the chef. They were waiting for their lunch on the deserted street. After they ate, Pedro Bala offered the Professor a cigarette and he got ready to smoke it with the holder the man had given him. He tried to clean it:

“The guy was skinny as a rail. He might be a big shot…”

Since he couldn’t find anything better to clean it with, he rolled up the man’s card and shoved it through the holder. When he was through he tossed the card into the street. Pedro Bala asked:

“Why don’t you keep it?”

“What do I want it for?” And the Professor laughed. Pedro Bala laughed too and for a moment their laughter filled the street. They laughed that way with no other reason than just for the pleasure of laughing.

But Pedro Bala became serious:

“The man looked like he might have been able to help you be a painter…” He picked up the card and read the man’s name. “You should keep it. Who can tell?”

Professor lowered his head:

“Don’t be a fool, Bullet. You know damned well that the only thing we’ll ever get to be is thieves…Who cares about us?
Who? Nothing but thieves, just thieves…” and his voice grew louder, now he was shouting with hate.

Pedro Bala nodded agreement, his hand dropped the card, which fell into the gutter. They weren’t laughing anymore now and they were sad in the joy of the morning full of sun, of the morning just like a painting in an art museum.

Workmen passed on their way to work after their meager lunch, and that was all they saw, all they managed to see in the morning.

Omolu sent the black pox into the city. But the rich people up above there got vaccinated and Omolu was a goddess from the jungles of Africa, she didn’t know about things like vaccines. And the smallpox descended to the poor people’s city and made people sick, laid black people full of sores onto their beds. Then the men from public health came, put the sick people into bags, carried them off to the distant pesthouse. The women stayed behind weeping because they knew they would never see them again.

Omolu had sent the black pox to the upper city, the city of the rich. Omolu didn’t know about vaccines, Omolu was a goddess from the jungles of Africa, what could she know of vaccines and scientific things? But since smallpox had already been turned loose (and the black pox was terrible), Omolu had to let it go down to the city of the poor. Since she had already turned it loose she had to let it get on with its work. But since Omolu felt sorry for her poor little children, she reduced the strength of the black pox, turned it into milk pox, which is a white and mild pox, almost like measles. In spite of that the men from public health came and carried the sick off to the pesthouse. There the families couldn’t visit them, they had nobody, only the visits from the doctor. They died without anyone’s knowing and when one of them managed to return he
was looked upon as a corpse that had risen. The newspapers talked about a smallpox epidemic and the need for vaccination. The
candomblés
beat their drums night and day, in honor of Omolu, to placate the fury of Omolu. The
pai-de-santo
priest of Paim, from Pineapple Hill, a favorite of Omolu’s, embroidered a white silk scarf with spangles to offer Omolu and placate her wrath. But Omolu rejected it, Omolu was fighting against the vaccine.

Women were weeping in houses of the poor. Out of fear of the milk pox, out of fear of the pesthouse.

Almiro was the first of the Captains of the Sands to come down with milk pox. One night when the little black boy Outrigger went to look for him in his corner to make love (the love Pedro Bala had forbidden in the warehouse), Almiro told him:

“I’ve got a devilish itch.”

He showed Outrigger his arms, already full of blisters:

“I seem to be burning up with fever too.”

Outrigger was a brave little boy, the whole gang knew that. But Outrigger had a crazy fear of smallpox, Omolu’s ailment, a fear accumulated inside him by many African races. And without worrying about his sexual relations with Almiro being discovered he ran among the groups shouting:

“Almiro’s got smallpox…People, Almiro’s got smallpox.”

The boys soon got up and moved cautiously away from the place where Almiro was. He began to sob. Pedro Bala hadn’t come in yet. Professor, Cat, and Big João were also out. Therefore it was Legless who took charge of the situation. Legless had been more withdrawn than ever lately, he spoke to practically no one. He was wild in his mocking of everybody, he started fights everywhere, he only respected Pedro Bala. Lollipop prayed for him more than for anyone and sometimes he thought that Satan had got into Legless’s body. Father José Pedro was patient with him, but Legless had withdrawn from the priest too. He didn’t want to have anything to do with anyone, a conversation begun with him was a conversation that ended up in a fight.

When Legless went through the groups they all backed off.
They were almost afraid of him as of the smallpox. During those days Legless had picked up a dog to whom he dedicated himself entirely. At first, when the dog appeared in the warehouse, famished, Legless mistreated him as much as he could. But he ended up petting him and taking him under his wing. Now it seemed that he only lived for the dog. And, therefore, he only went back to remove the dog, who’d come along, far from Almiro. Then he returned to where the boys were. They were surrounding Almiro from a distance. They pointed at the pustules that were showing on the boy’s chest. Before anything else Legless spoke to Outrigger in his nasal voice:

“Now you’re going to have smallpox on your prick, you black jackass.”

Outrigger looked at him in terror. Then Legless spoke to everybody, pointing to Almiro:

“Nobody here’s going to come down with smallpox just because of this fairy.”

They all looked at him, waiting for what he was going to say. Almiro was sobbing, his hands to his face, huddled against the wall. Legless was speaking:

“He’s getting out of here right now. He can go stick himself in some alley until the dogcatchers from public health pick him up and take him off to the pesthouse.”

“No, no,” Almiro roared.

“Yes, you’re going,” Legless said. “We’re not calling the dogcatchers here for the police to find out where we’re hiding out. You can go nicely or by force, and take your rags with you. You can go to hell because we’re not going to catch smallpox because of you. Because of any love for you, faggot…”

Almiro said no, no, and his sobs filled the warehouse. Little black Outrigger was trembling, Lollipop proclaimed it to be the punishment of God because of their sins, the rest didn’t know what to say. Legless was getting ready to force him to leave. Lollipop hugged a picture of Our Lady and said:

“Let’s everybody pray because this is a punishment of God for our sins. We’ve done a lot of sinning, God is punishing us. Let’s ask for forgiveness…” and his voice was like a great outcry sounding the arrival of vengeance.

Some clasped their hands and Lollipop started an Our Father. But Legless shooed him off with his hand:

“Beat it, sexton…”

Lollipop kept on praying in a low voice, still hugging the saint. It was a strange-looking picture. In the background Almiro was sobbing and saying no. Lollipop was praying, the others were indecisive, not knowing what to do. Outrigger trembled with fear, thinking that he’d caught it. Legless spoke again:

“People, if he doesn’t want to leave we’ll kick him out with a good clubbing. If not we’ll all die of smallpox, all of us…Can’t you see, damn you? Kick him out into the street where they can pick him up for the pesthouse.”

“No. No,” Almiro was saying. “For the love of God.”

“This is a punishment,” Lollipop said.

“Shut your mouth, you son of a priest,” Legless went on. “Let’s carry him out, people, since he refuses to go peacefully.”

When he saw that the others were still undecided he marched over beside Almiro and put out his foot to give him a kick:

“So you’re going out, pocky.”

Almiro huddled all the more:

“No. You can’t do this. I’m a member of the gang. Wait till the Bullet gets here.”

“It’s punishment…It’s punishment…” Lollipop’s voice annoyed Legless all the more and he gave a kick to Almiro.

“Get out, pocky. Get out, faggot.”

But at that instant a hand grabbed him and pushed him away. Dry Gulch planted himself between Almiro and Legless. The Halfbreed had a revolver in his hand and his eyes were flashing:

“I swear it’s loaded and if anybody so much as touches Almiro…” He looked at them all with a somber face.

“What business is it of yours, bandit?” Legless tried to regain control of the situation.

“He’s not a cop for people to treat that way. He’s a member of the gang, he was telling it straight. We’re going to wait till Pedro Bala gets here. He’ll decide. And if anybody touches
him I’ll shoot him down just like he was a stinking cop,” and he clutched the revolver.

The others withdrew after a while. Legless spat:

“They’re all cowards…” and he went over to where the dog was waiting for him. He lay down beside him and those closest heard him mutter: “Cowards, cowards.”

Dry Gulch remained in front of Almiro with the revolver in his hand. Almiro was sobbing, and he cried out in a loud voice when he saw the blisters spreading over his body. Lollipop was praying, asking God to become supreme goodness again, not to be supreme justice.

Later Lollipop remembered that he ought to call Father José Pedro. He slipped out the door of the warehouse, went to the priest’s home. But along the way he kept on praying, his eyes wide, full of the fear of God.

Pedro Bala arrived in the company of the Professor and Big João. They were coming back from some business they had to attend to and were commenting on their success amidst loud laughter. Cat had gone with them but he didn’t come back. He’d stayed at Dalva’s. The three of them came into the warehouse and the first thing they caught sight of was Dry Gulch with the revolver in his hand.

“What’s all this?” Pedro Bala asked.

Legless got up out of his corner, the dog followed him:

“This bastard acting like a
cangaceiro
won’t let us do what we’ve got to do,” and he pointed to Almiro. “That fairy’s got smallpox…”