The Violent Land (27 page)

As a result Captain João Magalhães had let himself in for a monumental series of lies. And now, on the train, he was frightened as he thought of all this, his eyes every so often instinctively seeking out the barrel of the six-shooter that was visible under Sinhô's coat. Upon thinking it over well, he decided that what he really ought to do was to leave; he ought to take a boat for Bahia, and even there he ought not to remain long, on account of that business of the survey. He would not be able to return to Rio, but he had the whole of the north country from which to choose; the sugar-mill owners of Pernambuco, the rubber-planters of Amazonia. In Recife, in Belém, or in Manáus his ability at poker would stand him in good stead and he might go on living his life with no greater complications than the occasional accusations of a suspicious player, his expulsion from a gambling-house, or an inconsequential summons to the police station. And so on the train João Magalhães made up his mind that he
would
catch the next boat. He had fifteen or sixteen hundred contos that he could lay his hands on and that would enable him to enjoy life for some little while.

But when Sinhô Badaró awoke and the captain had a glimpse of his eyes, which reminded him of Don' Ana's, he remembered that the young lady had something to do with the case. He had always endeavoured to force himself to view their relationship in a cynical light, by seeing in it merely a possibility of getting into the Badaró family through marriage and getting at the Badaró fortune; but he now realized that there was more to it than this. He was feeling the absence of Don' Ana, with that brusque way she had and her manner that was sometimes tender and sometimes austere, as she lived her virgin's life apart, without kisses and without dreams of love. She had sent word to him that she would be in Ilhéos for the feast of St. George. It was not far off. Why not wait until she came and then decide what he should do? There would be no danger in that. The only danger was in Sinhô Badaró's sending to Rio for information concerning him, in which case he most assuredly would not escape the vengeance of these rude but sensitive folk, and he would be lucky if he got off with his life. Once more he eyed that pistol-barrel. But there were Sinhô's eyes, and Don' Ana was seated beside him. Captain João Magalhães did not know what to do. The train whistled as it pulled into the Ilhéos station.

That night he went to call on Margot, with a message from Juca for her. She had moved from Machadão's place and was living alone in a small cottage with a maid to do the cooking and tidy things up. She had sent for her things from Tabocas and now, in her fashionable gowns, she paraded down the streets of Ilhéos with her lace parasol, amid the whisperings of the populace. Everybody knew by this time that she was Juca Badaró's woman, but opinions were divided as to just how matters stood. The Badaró adherents asserted that Juca had taken her away from Virgilio, while Horacio's friends maintained that Virgilio had already left her. Ever since the article in
O Comercio
had appeared, the whisperings had increased, and the Badaró faction would point her out in the street as “the woman who paid for Lawyer Virgilio's schooling.” It was a triumph for Margot. Juca had had credit accounts opened for her in the stores, and the merchants bowed before her and were honey-sweet in their words.

Margot offered him a chair in the dining-room and the captain sat down. He accepted the coffee that the maid brought in and proceeded to deliver Juca's message: he would be in to see her the following week and wished to know if she needed anything. Margot then pumped the captain as to what was happening at the plantation, for she, too, had a feeling of proprietorship in the Badaró estate. She appeared to have almost entirely forgotten Virgilio, and only spoke of him once, when she inquired if João had read the article in
O Comercio
.

“When anybody does me dirt, they pay for it,” she said. She went on to praise Manuel de Oliveira: “a sharp fellow, with brains in his head.” And she added: “What's more, he's a good sport, very amusing. He always comes here to keep me company. He's so nice.”

Captain João Magalhães at once became suspicious: was Margot “staying” with the journalist? There was no telling. But inasmuch as he was conscious of a certain kinship with her, both of them being adventurers and strangers in a strange land, he felt called upon to give her a bit of advice, as on a previous occasion.

“Well you tell me one thing?” he asked. “You're not playing around with this fellow Oliveira, are you?”

She denied it, but not very vigorously. “I don't see—”

“Well, let me give you a word of warning. You don't need to tell me; it makes no difference; I don't care to know. What I want to say to you is: be careful with the Badarós. They're nobody to fool with. If you value your hide, never think of trying to deceive one of them. No, you can't fool with them.” He was speaking to Margot, but he appeared to be endeavouring to convince himself. “It's better to give up everything than to think of trying to pull the wool over their eyes.”

Down by the harbour, in a two-story building, was the export house of Zude Brothers and Company. The lower floor was a cacao warehouse, with the offices on the floor above. This was one of three or four firms that for some years past had been going in for the exportation of cacao. Previous to that time the local crop had been a small one, limited to home consumption; but as cacao-raising became more extensive, a number of Bahia merchants and a few foreign ones, Swiss and German, had founded enterprises to deal in the new commodity. Among these houses was that of Zude Brothers, who had formerly been engaged in exporting coffee and tobacco. They had now added a branch for the cacao trade, had opened an office in Ilhéos, and had sent down as branch manager Maximiliano Campos, an aged white-haired clerk of long experience. In those days it was the exporters who catered to the colonels, the managers and clerks fairly bending double in an effort to be courteous, while the heads of the firms provided luncheons for the planters when the latter were in the capital, and took them out to cafés and houses of prostitution. The firms that dealt in cacao exclusively were small ones as yet; for the most part the business was handled by the branches of the large tobacco, coffee, cotton, and cocoa houses.

And so it was that when Sinhô had finished climbing the stairs of Zude Brothers and Company and pushed open the door of the manager's office, Maximiliano Campos hastily rose and came forward to grasp his hand.

“What a surprise, colonel!” He offered his visitor the best chair in the room, his own, and seated himself on one made of cane. “It's been some time since I saw you. Not since I was down at your place, negotiating for your crop.”

“That's where I've been—hard at work.”

“And how are things going, colonel? What do you think of the crop this year? Strikes me as being a good deal better than last year's, eh? We've bought more cacao here in the last month than we did in twelve months last season. And this in spite of the fact that some of the big planters like yourself, sir, have not sold as yet.”

“That's what I came to see you about,” said Sinhô. Maximiliano Campos at once became even more courteous than he had been before.

“You have made up your mind, then, not to wait for a better price? I think you are doing the right thing, sir. I don't believe cacao is going to bring more than fourteen milreis the hundred-weight this year—and mark you, at fourteen milreis, planting cacao is more profitable than saying High Mass.” He laughed at his own figure of speech.

“Personally, friend Maximiliano, I think it is going to bring more—fifteen milreis at least, at the end of the season. Whoever is in a position to hold on to his cacao is going to make a lot of money. The production will not be up to the demand. They tell me that in the United States—”

Maximiliano Campos shook his head. “It is true we are able to place all the cacao we can get. But this business of prices, colonel, it is the gringos who determine that. Our cacao doesn't stand a chance compared to that from the Gold Coast. And it is England that fixes the price. When you gentlemen have brought this whole region under cultivation, when you have cleared all the jungle land that's still left around here, then it may be we shall be able to dictate prices to the United States.”

Sinhô Badaró rose from his chair, his beard falling down over his cravat and shirt-front.

“That is just what I mean to do, friend Maximiliano. I am going to cut down the forest of Sequeiro Grande and plant it in cacao. Five years from now I'll be selling you the crop from that land, and then we shall have our say as to what the price is to be.”

This was no news to Maximiliano. Who in Ilhéos did not by this time know of the Badarós' plans with respect to that forest? But they also knew that Horacio had identical plans. Maximiliano now mentioned that fact.

“The forest is mine,” Sinhô Badaró informed him. “This very day I intend to enter title to it in the registry office of Domingos Reis. And God help any man who meddles with it.” He said this with an air of determination, and Maximiliano Campos fell back before his outstretched finger. Sinhô, however, laughed and went on to speak of the business in hand.

“I want to sell my crop,” he said. “As of now I'm selling twelve thousand hundredweight. Today's price is fourteen milreis two hundred. That makes a hundred and seventy
contos de reis
. Is that right?”

Maximiliano did some figuring. “And how about payment?” he said as he looked up and removed his glasses.

“I don't want any money down. What I want is to open a credit account for myself. I am going to need an advance for the felling of the forest and the planting of the groves. I'll draw a little out every week.”

“A hundred and seventy contos and four hundred milreis,” announced Maximiliano as he completed his calculations.

They then went on to discuss the details. The Badarós had been selling their cacao to Zude Brothers and Company for a number of years, and for none of their clients in southern Bahia did the export house have so much respect as for the brothers Badaró. Sinhô now took his leave; he would be back the next day to sign the bill of sale.

“Yes,” he said before leaving the office, “I shall be needing money to fell the forest and plant cacao—and to fight, also, if I have to, friend Maximiliano.” His face was grave and there was a hard look in his eye as he stroked his beard with his hand. Maximiliano did not know what reply to make.

“And your daughter, Don' Ana, how is she?”

Sinhô's face instantly lost its hardness and expanded in a smile. “Ah, there's a girl for you! And pretty, too! It won't be long before she's married.”

Maximiliano accompanied the colonel downstairs and into the street, where he left him with a prolonged handshake. “My very best wishes to all the family, colonel.”

Sinhô Badaró went down the centre of the street, his hand constantly to his hat as he returned the greetings from all sides. Men even crossed the street to say how-do-you-do to him.

The bells were pealing out on the afternoon of St. George's Day. This was the major event of its kind in Ilhéos, being the feast-day of the city's patron saint. The prefect that morning, at the municipal building, had read a proclamation in which he recalled the memory of that Jorge de Figueredo Correia who had held the captaincy of Ilhéos and who had founded the first rude sugar-mills, which the Indians had later destroyed; and those who came after him, bringing the cacao shrub, were then duly commemorated. Lawyer Genaro had made a speech full of quotations in some foreign language that most of his listeners could not understand.

In these official ceremonies Horacio's supporters had taken no part; but they were all there, in their black Prince Alberts, going down the streets to the cathedral, from which the procession was to issue to wend its way through the city's principal thoroughfares. Canon Freitas always strove to remain above the battle in which the political quarrels of the big land-holding colonels were involved; he never got mixed up in them, but contrived to be on amicable terms with the Badarós and with Horacio, with the prefect of Ilhéos, and with Dr. Jessé. If there was a subscription under way for the nuns' school building fund, he would have two copies prepared, so that neither Sinhô Badaró nor Horacio would have to sign on the second line. The result was that each was quite pleased at being handed a blank sheet of paper, thinking that he was the first to put down his name, and this clever bit of strategy had the effect of bringing the government and opposition parties together around the Church.

Canon Freitas, for the matter of that, was quite liberal-minded. He never, for example, made any fuss over the fact that a majority of the wealthy planters were members of the Masonic Lodge. It is true, he had lent his aid to Sinhô Badaró when the latter opposed Masonry (because the lodge had elected Horacio as Grand Master), but he had done so without appearing in the picture, from behind the scenes always. The one open fight that he waged was against the religion of the Englishmen, the Protestant Church. Otherwise he sought to preserve a nice balance. At the novenas to St. Anthony, if Horacio's lady served as patroness for one, it was Juca Badaró's wife and Don' Ana who did the honours for the other; and at night on such occasions the two rivals would try to outdo each other in a lavish display of rockets and Roman candles. In the month of May, similarly, he would assign one of them a High Mass and the other the care of the altar. Whenever he could, he played upon this rivalry; and when it was to his interest, he endeavoured to bring about harmony.

Lined up around the square stood the men, buttoned in their black Prince Alberts, while the womenfolk hurried into the church. Ester went by on Horacio's arm, looking very fashionable in her clothes, which reminded her of her school days with the nuns in Bahia. Seeing her, Virgilio removed his derby hat in greeting. Horacio waved his hand, and Ester nodded as the bystanders whispered to one another with sarcastic smiles. Sinhô and Juca Badaró came next, the former with his daughter and the latter with his wife. It was now Captain João Magalhães's turn to remove his top-hat and bow low in greeting. In somewhat scandalous defiance of custom he wore a grey Prince Albert. Sinhô raised his hand to his hat-brim and Don' Ana buried her face in her fan.

“Hello, there, captain!” Juca shouted to him.

“They're sweeties,” said a girl standing near.

Dr. Jessé came along, perspiring freely and almost on the run. He paused for a moment to speak to Virgilio, then hurried on. Lawyer Genaro followed, grave and solemn-faced, walking with measured stride, his eyes on the ground. The prefect passed, followed by Maneca Dantas, Dona Auricidia, and the young ones. Teodoro das Baraúnas was dressed in his everyday clothes, with the exception that, in place of khaki breeches he wore a pair of perfectly starched white ones, while on his finger gleamed his enormous solitaire.

Margot also put in an appearance. She did not go into the church, however, but stood in a corner of the square conversing with Manuel de Oliveira. The women bystanders shot her glances out of the corner of their eyes as they remarked on her dress and behaviour.

“She's Juca Badaró's new sweetheart,” one of them said.

“They say she used to be Lawyer Virgilio's.”

“He's got something better now.” They all laughed.

Men in bare feet stood at the edge of the crowd, which was now overflowing the church and the square and spreading out through the streets. Canon Freitas and two other priests came out the door and began organizing the procession. First came the bier with the Christ Child, a small image. It was borne by white-clad children, selected from among the best families, one of them being Maneca Dantas's son. The procession then started off down the street with a band at the head of it. The Christ Child was followed by school children in uniform, under the eyes of their teachers. As soon as there was room, the bier with the Virgin Mary emerged, carried by young women of the city, one of them Don' Ana Badaró. As she passed, she glanced at João Magalhães and smiled, and the captain could not help thinking that she resembled the Virgin, despite the fact that she was brown-skinned while the image was of blue porcelain.

As the band and the school children proceeded on their way, the men stood silently, hat in hand, along the line of march. Also dressed in white, with the blue ribbons of religious confraternities about their throats, the nuns' school pupils took their places behind the Virgin. Then came the ladies: Juca's wife on the arm of her husband; and Ester with a woman friend, Maneca Dantas's wife, Dona Auricidia, who thought that everything was just too lovely. Finally space was made so that the litter bearing the image of St. George, a large and richly adorned one, could join the procession. The saint, a huge figure, mounted on his horse, was engaged in slaying the dragon. The litter was drawn by Horacio and Sinhô Badaró in the front shafts, while the rear ones were manned by Lawyer Genaro and Dr. Jessé. These latter two were conversing like friends, but not so Horacio and Sinhô—they did not so much as glance at each other, but went along with serious mien, careful to keep in step, but gazing straight ahead. The four litter-bearers wore red robes over their black Prince Alberts.

Bringing up the rear came Canon Freitas with a priest on either side of him and all the important personages of the city: the prefect, the deputy, the judge, the prosecutor, a number of lawyers and doctors, the surveying engineers, the colonels, and the merchants. Maneca Dantas and Ferreirinha, Teodoro, and Lawyer Ruy were among this number. And last of all the crowd fell in: pious old ladies, women of the town, fishermen, street labourers, and men and women in their bare feet, the women carrying their shoes in their hands in fulfilment of vows made to the saint.

The band struck up and the procession got under way, slowly and in orderly fashion.

Almost at the same moment Lawyer Virgilio and Captain João Magalhães left their places on the sidewalk and joined the throng behind the Virgin's bier. Juca Badaró and Virgilio had just exchanged a cool greeting when the captain came up, proffering some sweets that he had bought. Upon hearing his voice Don' Ana threw the bier off balance as she turned to glance back at him. The other women laughed softly.

A group of men had gathered around Margot to watch the procession pass.

“Well, what do you know about that?” said one of them. “Colonel Horacio and Sinhô Badaró side by side! And Dr. Jessé with Lawyer Genaro. It's a miracle, that's what it is!”

For the moment Manuel de Oliveira forgot that he was the editor of the Badarós' newspaper.

“And each of them,” he remarked caustically, “is praying to the saint to help him kill the other one. They're praying and threatening each other.”

Margot and the others laughed. Then they, too, joined the procession, which, like an enormous serpent, was crawling slowly through the narrow streets of Ilhéos. Rockets were bursting in the air.