Captains of the Sands (9 page)

It’s old and faded, Nhôzinho França’s carrousel is. But it has its beauty. Maybe it’s in the bulbs, or in the Pianola music (old waltzes out of a time long lost) or maybe in the wooden mounts. Among them there’s a duck for the smaller children to sit inside. It has its beauty, yes, because in the unanimous opinion of the Captains of the Sands it’s something marvelous. Who cares if it’s old, broken, and faded if it pleases children?

It was an almost unbelievable surprise when Legless arrived at the warehouse that night saying that he and Dry Gulch were
going to work on the carrousel for a few days. A lot of them didn’t believe it, they thought it was just another trick on the part of Legless. Then they went to ask Dry Gulch, who, as always, was stuck in his corner examining a revolver he’d stolen from a weapons shop. Dry Gulch nodded yes and said a couple of times:

“Lampião rode on it. Lampião’s my godfather…”

Legless invited everybody to come see the carrousel the next night when they would finish setting it up. And he went out to meet Nhôzinho França. At that moment all the little hearts that were beating in the warehouse envied Legless’s supreme happiness. Even Lollipop, who had pictures of saints on his wall, even Big João, who that night would go with God’s-Love to Procópio’s
candomblé
rites in Matatu, even the Professor, who read books, and, who knows, maybe Pedro Bala too, who never envied anyone because he was the leader of them all. They all envied him, yes. The way they envied Dry Gulch, who in his corner, his straight halfbreed hair hanging down, his eyes squinting, and his mouth twisted in that rictus of rage, pointed the revolver, now at one of the boys, now at a rat who was passing, now at the stars, of which there were many in the sky.

The next night they all went with Legless and Dry Gulch (the latter had spent the day off helping Nhôzinho set up the carrousel) to see the assembled merry-go-round. And they stood before it in ecstasy over its beauty, their mouths open with admiration. Legless showed them everything. Dry Gulch took them one by one to show them the horse that had been ridden by his godfather Virgulino Ferreira Lampião. There were almost a hundred children looking at the old carrousel of Nhôzinho França, who at that time was in the throes of a tremendous binge at the Gate of the Sea.

Legless showed them the engine (a small motor that missed a lot) with the pride of an owner. Dry Gulch didn’t get off the horse that Lampião had gone around on. Legless was very careful with the carrousel and wouldn’t let them touch it, handle anything.

It was when the Professor asked:

“Do you know how to work the machinery yet?”

“Tomorrow I’m going to learn…” Legless said with a certain displeasure. “Tomorrow Mr. Nhôzinho is going to teach me.”

“Then tomorrow, when the show is over, you can start it turning with just us. You get the thing started and we’ll get on board.”

Pedro Bala supported the idea enthusiastically. The others anxiously awaited Legless’s answer. Legless said yes and then some of them clapped, others cheered. It was when Dry Gulch left the horse Lampião had ridden and came over to them:

“Do you want to see something nice?”

They all wanted to. The boy from the backlands got up onto the carrousel, wound up the Pianola, and the music of an old waltz started up. Dry Gulch’s somber face opened up in a smile. He was watching the Pianola, watching the boys wrapped in joy. They were listening religiously to that music coming from the bowels of the carrousel in the magic of the night of the city of Bahia only for the adventurous and poor ears of the Captains of the Sands. They were all silent. A worker who was coming along the street, seeing the group of boys on the square came over to them. And he stood there too, listening to the old music. Then the light of the moon spread out over them all, the stars shone even brighter in the sky, the sea grew completely calm (perhaps Iemanjá had also come to listen to the music) and the city was like a giant carrousel on which the Captains of the Sands were spinning on invisible horses. In that musical moment they felt themselves masters of the city. And they drew close to each other, they felt like brothers because all of them were without love or comfort and now they had the love and comfort of the music. Dry Gulch certainly wasn’t thinking about Lampião at that moment. Pedro Bala wasn’t thinking of someday being leader of the city’s whole underworld. Legless about jumping into the sea where dreams are all beautiful. Because the music was coming out of the belly of the old carrousel just for them and for the workman
who had stopped. And it was an old sad waltz, long forgotten by all the men in the city.

People are pouring out of all the streets. It’s Saturday night, tomorrow men won’t have to go to work. They can hang around the street tonight. A lot of them prefer going to bars, the Gate of the Sea is full, but the ones with children had taken them to the poorly lighted square. In compensation, the lights of the carrousel are spinning there. The children look at them and clap their hands. In front of the ticket office Dry Gulch is doing animal imitations and calling for customers. He’s wearing a cartridge belt, as if he were in the backlands. Nhôzinho França thought that would attract people’s attention and Dry Gulch looks just like a
cangaceiro
with his leather hat and crossed cartridge belts. And he imitates animals until men, women, and children gather in front of him. Then he offers tickets that the children buy. A joy spreads out over the whole square. The lights of the carrousel make everyone happy. In the center, squatting down, Legless helps Nhôzinho França get the motor started. And the carrousel spins, loaded with children, the Pianola plays its old waltzes. Dry Gulch sells tickets.

Couples in love stroll about the square. Mothers buy popsicles and sherbets, a poet sitting facing the sea composes a poem about the lights of the carrousel and the children’s joy. The carrousel lights up all the square and all the hearts. At every moment people come out of streets and alleys. Dry Gulch, dressed as a bandit, imitates animals. When the carrousel stops spinning, the children invade it, waving their tickets of admission and it’s hard to count them. When one of them can’t find a place his face grows sad with disappointment and he impatiently awaits his turn. And when the carrousel stops those on it don’t want to get off and Legless has to come and say:

“Everybody off! Everybody! Or buy another ticket.”

Only then do they leave the old horses who never grow tired in their endless run. Others get on the mounts and the race begins again, the lights spinning, all the colors making one single strange tone, the Pianola playing its ancient music.
Loving couples are also going around on the benches and while the carrousel spins they whisper words of love. There are even those who exchange a kiss when the motor fails and the lights go out. Then Nhôzinho França and Legless lean over the engine and look for what’s wrong until the spinning begins again, drowning out the protests of the children. Legless has already learned all the mysteries of the motor.

At a certain moment Nhôzinho França sends Legless to take Dry Gulch’s place selling tickets. And he has Dry Gulch ride the carrousel. And the boy takes the horse that was used by Lampião. And while the ride lasts he goes along pulling on the reins as if he were riding a real horse. And he makes motions with his arms as if shooting at those in front of him and in his imagination he sees them dropping, bathed in blood, under the shots of his repeater. And the horse runs and runs faster and faster and he kills them all because they’re all soldiers or rich ranchers. Then he possesses all the women on the benches, sacks villages, towns, trains, riding his horse, armed with his rifle.

Then it’s Legless’s turn. He goes along silently, a strange commotion overcomes him. He goes along like a believer to mass, a lover to the breast of his beloved, a suicide to death. He goes pale and limping. He mounts a blue horse that has stars painted on its wooden rump. His lips are tight, his ears don’t hear the music of the Pianola. He only sees the spinning lights, and he comes to the realization that he’s on a carrousel, spinning on a horse like all those children who have fathers and mothers, a home and someone to kiss them and love them. He thinks that he’s one of them and he closes his eyes to hold the certainty better. He no longer sees the policemen beating him, the man with the vest who’s laughing. Dry Gulch killed them on his ride. Legless is tense on his horse. It’s as if he were running over the sea toward the stars in the most wonderful trip in the world. A trip such as one the Professor had never read about or made up. His heart is beating so hard that he holds his hand tight against it.

That night the Captains of the Sands didn’t come. Not only did the carrousel ride on the square end very late (at two o’clock in
the morning men were still spinning around), but many of them, including Pedro Bala, Good-Life, Outrigger, and the Professor were busy on different matters. They made a date for the next day, between three and four in the morning. Pedro Bala asked Legless if he knew how to run the engine all right now:

“It’s no good causing any damage for your boss,” he explained.

“I know it backwards and forwards. It’s a snap.”

The Professor, who was playing checkers with Big João, asked:

“Wouldn’t it be good if we stopped by the square in the afternoon? It might just be worth something.”

“I’ll go,” Pedro Bala said. “But I don’t think a lot of us should go. The crowd might get suspicious seeing so many together.”

Cat said he couldn’t go in the afternoon. He had something to do since he’d be busy on the carrousel that night. Legless teased him:

“A day can’t go by without your mixing it up with that bag, right? You’re going to end up a dish of mush…”

Cat didn’t answer. Big João wasn’t going in the afternoon either. He had to meet God’s-Love to go have some black-bean stew at the house of Don’Aninha, the
mãe-de-santo
. Finally it was decided that a small group would work the square that afternoon. The others would go wherever they wanted to. Only at night they’d all get together to ride on the carrousel. Legless warned them:

“You’ve got to bring some gasoline, for the motor.”

The Professor (he’d already beaten Big João in three games) took up a collection to buy half a gallon of gasoline:

“I’ll bring it.”

But Sunday afternoon brought the arrival of Father José Pedro, who was one of the very few people who knew where the most permanent abode of the Captains of the Sands was. Father José Pedro had become their friend a long time ago. The friendship had come about through Good-Life. The latter had gone one day, after mass, into the sacristy of a church
where Father José Pedro served. He had gone in out of curiosity more than anything else. Good-Life wasn’t one of those who worked to stay alive. He liked to let life run on without worrying too much. He was more of a parasite on the group. One day, when he felt like it, he would go into a house and bring out something of value or lift a man’s watch. He almost never put them into the hands of a fence himself. He would bring them back and give them to Pedro Bala, as a contribution to the gang. He had a lot of friends among the stevedores on the docks, in several poor houses in the Cidade de Palha, in a lot of places in Bahia. He would eat in one person’s house, then in that of another. In general he didn’t dislike anybody. He was content with Cat’s leftover women and he knew the city better than anyone, its streets, its strange places, a party where you could eat and dance. When it had been some time that he hadn’t contributed to the economy of the gang with some object of value, he would make an effort, arrange something that would bring in money, and give it to Pedro Bala. But he really didn’t like any kind of work, honest or dishonest. What he liked was to lie on the sands of the waterfront hours on end watching the ships, squatting by the doors of the harbor warehouse listening to stories of brave deeds. He dressed in rags, because only providence could give him something to wear when his clothes started falling apart. He liked to stroll at his leisure along the streets of the city, going into parks to smoke a cigarette sitting on a bench, entering churches to look at the beauty of the old gold, sauntering along the streets paved with large black stones.

On that morning when he saw the people coming out of mass, he went into the church indifferently and moved about up to the sacristy. He was looking at everything, the altars, the saints, he laughed at the black Saint Benedict. There was nobody in the sacristy and he saw a gold object that must have been worth a lot of money. He looked around again, he didn’t see anyone. He was reaching out his hand when someone touched him on the shoulder. Father José Pedro had just come in:

“Why are you doing that, my son?” he asked with a smile as he took the golden reliquary out of Good-Life’s hand.

“I was only taking a look, Reverend. It’s great,” Good-Life replied with a certain apprehension. “It’s real great. But I wasn’t thinking of taking it. I was just about to put it down. I come from a good family.”

Father José Pedro looked at Good-Life’s clothes and laughed. Good-Life also looked at his rags: