Chapter 8
Rego was very tired as he walked through the streets of Lima. The business of everyday life went on all around him. He thought he would see signs of military occupation and strife in Lima but he did not. It was nothing like what Alonso had described back in Bolivia. People hurried by on bicycles, motor scooters and small cars. Others walked past, never taking any notice to him. The buildings were all light and beige with TV antennas scattered all across the sky line on the roofs of the villas.
He wasn’t too hungry, for his friends had given him a few more pieces of fruit before he had left them. But he really wanted to find a place where he could just sit for a while and take a nap. He walked down a neighborhood street where he could hear kids laughing and playing. He came upon the source of the laughter and a smile appeared on his face. In a large open dirt lot, several kids were playing a game of football. He walked over to a small wooden set of bleachers and he sat down on them to watch them play. He thought of running out onto the field to join them in the game but he was too tired. So he just sat and watched as they played. After a while, he closed his eyes and faded off into a light sleep under the warm sun.
Rego slept for what seemed like hours beside the football field. Out of nowhere, he heard the voice of a child, “Hey mister, are you dead?” Rego shaded his eyes from the sun and looked all around. Finally he saw a little boy down on the ground, sitting on a football. He was no more than eight.
“No, I’m not dead. Not yet at least,” Rego said waking up.
The little boy looked at him with a curious grin, “You looked like you were dead.”
Rego looked at the playing field where the kids were still playing their game. He wondered why the little boy wasn’t playing too.
“What’s your name?” the boy asked.
“My name is Rego, what’s yours?”
“Pelé! I am the greatest football player in the world!” he pronounced loudly. He stood up and started kicking the ball around. Rego chuckled to himself at the little boy’s enthusiasm.
“Pelé is my favorite player too,” Rego said with a smile. “I am from the same country as he is, did you know that?” The little boy shook his head. Rego watched him kick the ball around some more. “Why aren’t you out there playing the game with the other kids? You look like a good player to me?”
The little boy stared at the ground with a pouting look on his face. “They say I am too little and I can’t play with them.” He kicked some dirt on the ball.
Rego found his strength coming back to him and he felt rested enough to get a little exercise. He looked at Pelé and asked him, “Can I kick the ball with you?”
Pelé readily agreed and Rego jumped from the bleachers and put his jacket on the ground and hung the satchel across his chest. They began kicking the ball back and forth to one another on the side of the playing field.
“You’re pretty good, little Pelé!” Rego complemented him as he kicked the ball with the side of his foot. Rego was very happy to be kicking a ball around. And so was Pelé. No one had ever asked him to kick the ball around before. Rego stopped the ball with his foot and rested it on top of the ball. “Hey, do you want me to show you how to dribble the ball and set up for a shot? You learn this and the goal keeper will never see what is coming!” Pelé smiled and nodded eagerly.
Rego showed Pelé the technique of dribbling the ball, kicking it behind his legs to change directions, faking one way and going another, and then taking aim at the net. Pelé learned quickly and loved being shown the old tricks of the trade. They ran up and down the side of the field, taking turns dribbling the ball down the field.
After a while, Rego noticed that the game on the dirt lot had come to an end and the other kids had left. “Hey, Pelé, do you want to go try your new moves on a real goal?”
Pelé grabbed the ball and went running onto the field. He started kicking the ball the way he was shown and kicked it into the net. He jumped up and down and celebrated his goal. Rego trotted onto the field after him.
“OK, I will be the goal keeper. You dribble it down and kick it past me, just like I showed you,” Rego yelled out to him.
Pelé ran back about thirty yards and started dribbling the ball down the field towards the goal. He got closer and closer and then stopped and faked one way and then kicked the ball perfectly past Rego’s outstretched arms and into the net. They both jumped up and down and celebrated the goal. The sun began to set but Rego and Pelé continued to practice and have fun.
“I think it’s starting to get dark, Pelé. You had better go on home or your parents will worry,” Rego finally said, catching his breath. Pelé had worn him out on the playing field.
Pelé pointed towards the side of the bleachers. “That’s my papa right there.”
Rego looked to see an older man walking towards the field, carrying a lunchbox. He had just arrived at the nearby bus stop, coming home from work. Pelé started dribbling the ball over to where he stood and Rego walked behind him.
“Papa!” Pelé said out loud and hugged his father’s legs. “This is my new coach, Rego!” he said enthusiastically.
The man looked at Rego tiredly. “I am Anton. You’ve been looking after Pelé, have you?”
“Hello, sir. I suppose I have,” Rego said in reply. “I was just watching the game and saw that he wanted to play, so we practiced some after the game was over.”
“They never ask him to play. He is so little for his age, you know?” Anton said in a tired voice. “Thank you for watching him. Do you live nearby?”
“No sir, I had better be going,” Rego said picking up his jacket.
“Papa, can he come with us? I want to show you what he taught me,” Pelé pleaded with his father.
“No I better go, Pelé. It’s getting late.” Rego said to him. The pouting face reappeared on his face again. “You keep practicing those moves though, OK?” Pelé wouldn’t look up and stared at the ground. “A pleasure to meet you sir, good night.” Rego turned to walk towards the bus stop. He walked about half way and then turned around.
“Hey Pelé, wait!” he called out to the boy and his father walking towards home. He ran to them and reached into his jacket. “I have something for you that I want you to keep.” He looked at Anton, “Do you mind, sir?” Anton shrugged his shoulders. Rego pulled out his trading card with a picture of Pelé and handed it to little Pelé. “Here, I want you to have it.”
Little Pelé’s eyes grew wide and his mouth flew open. “Wow! It’s a picture of my favorite player!” He showed it to his father proudly. Rego was pleased with his reaction.
Anton smiled at his son and looked at Rego, “Are you sure you won’t come have dinner with us?”
“I would be honored, sir, but I must go. But, if you don’t mind, could you tell me the best way to get to the port and loading docks?” Rego asked him.
“Yes, wait for the number eight bus there. It will be the last bus to go down to the shipping docks,” he directed Rego. “But if you can not stay, then please, my pass is still good for the rest of the day. Take it and use it when the bus arrives.” He took out his old bus pass and handed it to Rego.
“Many thanks, sir,” he said to Anton. “You are very kind.” He looked at Pelé still admiring the trading card. “Cheer on Pelé for me when the matches begin next week, OK?”
I will!” Pelé shouted as they turned to walk home. “Go Pelé! Go Brazil!”
Anton smiled curiously at his son. “Don’t you want Peru to win as well?” he asked as he laughed at his son.
Rego laughed as they walked away. He headed towards the bus stop and sat down to wait for the bus to arrive.
Rego rode on the bus with his head rested against the window. The bus was mostly empty as it rattled down the streets of Lima, slowly rolling towards the bay.
His eyes were weary and he grew tired from the long journey. He star
ed down at the leather satchel sitting next to him on the seat. It had started to look worn and dirty from the rain and wind and the dirt from working in the fields. He wondered if his long journey was going to be worth all his trials and tribulations, all for the sake of something that he couldn’t look at.
He took a deep breath and sighed softly to himself. All he wanted now was to rest. The sun was completely set now, and the street lights were bright as he neared the port of Lima. The bus roared past an old rusty sign that read, ‘Puerto Callao’. Over in the dark distance, he could see massive structures lined along the sea wall, one after another. Rego sat up in his seat to look at them more carefully. As the bus drew nearer, he could start to make out the shape of giant ships in the darkness. He breathed another heavy sigh of relief as the bus pulled into the final stop at the port. He also felt a feeling of nervousness. He had never been on a ship before, not even a small boat. But that was the last of his worries at the moment. His first task would be to find a ship that was going north and an employer that would allow him to come aboard and work.
Rego dragged himself off of the bus and tried to get his bearings. Even though it was night, the port was busy with work. Men worked all through the night to get the ships loaded or unloaded in preparation to send them back out to sea.
Rego walked up and down the boardwalk, observing all the activity going on. He watched as men loaded crates with cranes, scrubbed the decks of the ships, scrubbed the exterior of the ships and even re-painted the sides. He had never seen such massive hunks of iron, and so close up. He noticed military men patrolling the area as well. It was the first sign of the new government Alonso had spoken of that had taken over the country. The revolution was less than two years earlier. They wore navy blue berets and dark green uniforms. And all the soldiers wore dark glasses, even at night. Rego looked at the lights all around the docks and shrugged his shoulders.
He stopped for a moment when he saw a bench out of the way. So, he decided to rest for a while and just watch all the activity around him. Across the boardwalk from him were some smaller boats with Peruvian flags on them. Rego just assumed they were for the military men or harbor patrol boats. He observed two workers enter a small wooden building with no markings on it. He wondered if it was an office of some type. Maybe it was the place where he could ask about employment. About ten minutes had passed, when the two men emerged from the building, dressed in the military uniforms and dark glasses and carrying small rifles.
Rego sat up on the bench and watched them closely. They walked down a pier with two other civilian workers and stepped onto one of the small boats with the Peruvian flags. Another flag was raised under the Peruvian flag. This one was just a plain red and white flag. Soon, the boat began to pull away from the pier and head out into the bay. A large sign on top of the vessel read in English and Spanish letters, Harbor Pilot. Rego was intrigued, he wondered what the harbor pilot’s job was. He got up from the bench and watched the small boat slowly ride out towards the mouth of the bay. He walked along the boardwalk trying to keep it within sight. It was hard to see due to the darkness. The small boat approached a massive ship that had just entered the bay. It pulled alongside the ship and suddenly, a long rope ladder fell from the deck of the ship, down to the harbor pilot vessel. Soon, one of the soldiers began to climb the rope ladder, followed by one of the civilian workers. They both reached the top of the deck and disappeared onto the ship. The rope ladder was quickly hauled up and the harbor pilot vessel slowly pulled away from the ship. He watched as the giant floating piece of iron slowly approached the dock area. After a long while, the large ship came to rest in a space along the docks.
Rego was impressed and nodded in understanding. “I get it now,” he thought out loud, “He’s the valet!”
After watching the large ship come in, he walked some more around the port and began to notice the markings on the stern of each ship. Some of them had the name of the company that owned the ship, others did not. But all of them had what Rego was looking for, the country of origin of each ship. He saw names of all kinds, Columbia, Mexico, Argentina, United States, Chile, and even Brazil. Then he saw names of places even farther away, like the Philippines, Japan, and New Zealand. Then a ship with another familiar name caught his eye. A smaller, yet still very large ship painted black and red across the stern. In huge, white, capital letters the name, PANAMA, was painted on the back.
Rego scratched his chin and started to nod to himself, “This is the one. It has to be.”
He finally came across a building with the word Oficina written on the door. He walked into the small office and saw a clerk sitting behind a desk. The clerk paid no attention to him and kept working.
“Excuse me, sir,” Rego said politely, “Is this where I apply for a job on one of the ships? I was told the one going to Panama was looking for help.”
“Is that so?” the night clerk said, still looking down at his work. “Can’t help you here, kid. You have to go talk to the ship’s first mate for that kind of work.”
“Do you know where I can find him?” asked Rego.
The night clerk finally looked at Rego with an annoyed expression. “Just look for the man holding a clipboard, kid. Now can you beat it? I’m busy.”
Rego slowly left the office with a discouraged look on his face. He walked out on the boardwalk and looked towards the ship from Panama. A large crane was lifting wooden crates to the deck of the ship. He looked around, hoping to see a man that looked to be in charge. A small group of workers talked near the ship but none held a clipboard. He neared the gang plank that led to the deck of the ship and then he saw a man in a dark blue dress shirt strolling very quickly down the gang plank to the boardwalk. He had a pencil behind his ear and carried a wooden clipboard at his side. Rego immediately started to walk faster and tried to get to the bottom of the walkway as soon as the man did.
“Hello, sir?” Rego said nervously. “They told me at the office you were the man to talk to about a job on this ship.”
The man didn’t stop walking. He headed towards the bow of the ship. He gave a quick look to Rego who was trying to keep up. “Got no work here, kid. Sorry.”
“I’m a hard worker, sir. I can do whatever you need. I’m a born seaman,” Rego said with pride.
The first mate stopped, he could tell he wouldn’t be able to get rid of this person easily. “Listen kid, I told you I don’t need anybody.” He looked Rego up and down. He noticed all he had with him was a jacket and a satchel. “Listen, you look like an honest kid. I’m a busy man, so I’ll give you one minute. What can you do for me? You ever worked on a ship before?”
Rego perked up. “Oh yes, sir! I can scrub the decks, clean the sides, whatever you need.” He quickly looked around trying to think of something else. He caught a glimpse of the moor lines coming from the ship to the dock. “And, I can help the crew secure the lines, sir. I’ll work long hours, no problem!” He snapped to attention and saluted the first mate.
The man put his hands on his hips and looked at him with a crooked stare. “I don’t need any clowns around here, kid.”
Rego put his arm down. “Yes, I’m sorry, sir. Please, I’m a hard worker, really. I just need a job.”
He looked Rego over one last time. “Are you gonna give me any trouble, kid?”
“No, sir!”
“Be here at six A.M. sharp,” the first mate barked. “We’re on a tight schedule and we have to unload these crates in Panama City in two days! Ship leaves at seven!” He strode off towards the end of the ship, pulling the pencil from his ear and scribbled something on his clipboard.
Rego smiled in relief. “Yes, sir,” he called out. “I will be here!”
The next morning, Rego was out on the boardwalk well before six A.M. He had slept for a few hours at the bus stop until the buses began to arrive and he had to leave. He peeled an oran
ge over a trashcan, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was actually going to board a ship and head out to sea.
He ate the orange as he walked down the boardwalk towards the Panamanian ship. He saw the man he had spoken to the night before, barking orders at workers all around him. He was going over last minute details before they set sail. Rego walked up beside him and waited for him to finish yelling out orders. He had already noticed Rego coming down the boardwalk.
“Get these mats squared away! I want these moor lines un-cabled in fifteen minutes!” He shot a quick glance at Rego and pulled a slip of paper from his clipboard. “Take this to the office, kid, and give them your name with the ship number, it’s on the top there,” pointing quickly at the sheet of the paper. “Get checked in and be back here, pronto!” He turned back to the workers, “Come on men, I don’t have all day. Get this crap hauled off the deck!”
Rego turned towards the office. He walked a few hundred yards and froze in his tracks. Opening the door to the office was Coutier. He had just arrived in Lima by plane the night before. He had gotten word from Gomes and LaBonne about the bus incident and now knew Rego was heading to the west coast somewhere.
Rego’s heart began to pound in his chest. He watched as Coutier went inside the office. “How did that bastard find me here?” he thought wildly. His mind raced for answers on what to do. His ticket out of here was that ship and he had to be on it by the time it left. He walked quickly past the office and down the boardwalk and then slipped behind a metal warehouse. He leaned up against a wall and then saw a large empty oil drum. So he crouched down behind it and peered around the edge to keep a lookout. He sat thinking as fast as he could on what he should do. He had to get on that ship. He thought about the first mate who had given him the job. “He must be wondering where I am by now,” he thought to himself. “If he talks to the agent, he will turn me in for sure!”
Coutier approached the clerk and held up a composite drawing of Rego. It was the day clerk for the morning and afternoon shifts. “Have you seen this man?” he snapped.
“No sir, never,” the clerk said calmly. “But, maybe the night clerk saw him, who knows?” Coutier turned and angrily walked out of the office.
Rego waited impatiently as the minutes passed. He gathered his courage and stood up behind the oil drum. He slowly walked out from behind the warehouse and looked around cautiously. He saw his ship and the moor lines were now raised and release water poured from the side of the ship. It was on the verge of pulling away from the dock. Then he spotted Coutier walking down the boardwalk with a sheet of paper in his hands, holding it up to every person he passed. He turned to walk the opposite way, but he spotted Gomes and LaBonne walking the other way down the boardwalk, doing the same thing as Coutier. LaBonne walked with a neck brace around his neck. Rego grinned, remembering the crash they encountered with the tree.
Shit! They are all over the place! he thought to himself. He pressed against the side of the wall again, breathing heavily. He looked at the satchel hanging across his chest. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, “I’ve come this far…”
He stepped onto the boardwalk and slowly walked away from the ship, trying not to be seen. He began to panic when he noticed his ship started to pull away from the dock.
Then, looking the other way up the boardwalk, he got an idea. He quickly walked back up the boardwalk, behind Gomes and LaBonne, staying out of sight. He sat down on the bench where he sat the night before and stared at the military building. Soon, two soldiers emerged from the building, wearing sunglasses and carrying rifles. When their backs turned, Rego raced to the building and slipped inside. The room was empty, but luckily he found what he was looking for. Several uniforms hung on the wall over by a stack of metal lockers. He quickly threw one on over his clothes and satchel. He threw on the navy blue beret and grabbed an unloaded rifle from a gun case and ran out of the building.
The two soldiers were already walking down the pier towards the harbor pilot vessel. Rego found a pair of sunglasses in the front pocket of the uniform and he put them on. He ran down the pier and caught up with the two soldiers and strode along behind them as if he knew what he was doing.
He climbed aboard the boat behind them and one of them turned around. “Private Ouliveyra reporting for duty, sir!” he said firmly, saluting the soldier. “I’m here to learn the ropes!”
The soldier looked at him curiously and then at the other soldier, “You didn’t tell me we had a rookie this morning! Damn that corporal. He never keeps us informed,” he muttered to himself.
The other soldier looked at him blankly. “Cast off!” was the shout from the captain. The soldier looked at Rego, “Man your post, soldier!” Rego stepped to the front of the boat and held his rifle firmly to his chest.
The boat pulled into the bay and headed towards the black and red ship heading for Panama. The captain steered the boat alongside the ship and then a rope ladder came falling down to the deck. The harbor pilot stepped out of the cabin and made his way over to the ladder. Rego alertly stepped up to the ladder. The soldier standing next to him pulled him back.
Rego thought quickly, “I will go, sir, it’s the only way for me to learn!” The other soldier looked at him sternly. There was little time to argue.
“Get up there, soldier!” he barked at Rego. Rego immediately flung his rifle over his shoulder and began climbing the ladder to the ship. The harbor pilot followed close behind. Rego finally reached the top of the deck and was out of breath. He stood at attention as best as he could as the harbor pilot climbed up behind him. One of the other soldiers followed him up the ladder and stepped aboard the ship. He approached Rego and said, “Let’s go.”
They walked behind the pilot as he made his way to the bridge. They stopped outside the main door. “You wait here, I will escort the pilot to the bridge,” he commanded Rego.
Rego stood guard outside the door. He couldn’t believe he had made it on board. It wasn’t until now that he realized how large the ship was. He didn’t even notice while he climbed the long rope ladder, he was just trying to climb as fast as he could. But, now he was noticing, and simple fact of how high they were. Boy, this ship is big, he thought to himself. He took deep breath to calm his nerves and began to look around the deck. He needed to get rid of the uniform and gun and try to blend in with the crew somehow. He looked up and down the deck of the ship and saw workers all around still securing the lines below the decks. The first mate came walking down the walkway right towards Rego. Rego’s eyes grew wide but he kept his composure. He walked right past Rego and never looked up from his clipboard. Rego slowly side-stepped his way down the walkway, looking for a place to duck into. Suddenly a worker came up behind him. Rego saluted the old man and said, “I’m heading back to the ladder, I am very sick.” The old man shrugged his shoulders as though he didn’t care.
Rego strode off towards the back of the ship where the harbor pilot vessel waited. Before he reached the ladder, he slipped into a room he had noticed when they came aboard. It was a mechanical room full of barrels and other cleaning tools. He quickly took off the uniform and stuffed it and the rifle into one of the barrels and closed the lid. He opened the door slowly and stepped onto the deck and found the nearest staircase to a lower level.
The ship was free of the harbor and was now headed northward. The pilot and the soldier exited the bridge and made their way back to the ladder. The soldier looked all around for Rego but didn’t see him. He continued to follow the pilot to the ladder. He saw the old man standing at the ladder. “Did you see the other soldier on the deck?”
“Oh yeah, he went back down because he got seasick,” the man laughed. The soldier looked over the side but couldn’t see well to the boat below. It was too far down. He swore under his breath and then stepped over the side onto the ladder. The two men reached the bo
at below and it quickly pulled away. The pilot had more ships to navigate and needed to get back right away.
The old man on deck pulled the ladder up. He looked down at the boat pulling away and saw the two soldiers yelling at each other and pointing upward. The man laughed as he finished pulling the rope ladder back up. “I guess that rookie won’t be back,” he laughed to himself.
Rego calmed down and began to walk around the ship to learn his way around. He walked to the maintenance deck where a lot of men were working, stowing away the moor lines. Just then, the first mate appeared on the deck. Rego immediately grabbed a push broom that was leaning against the wall.
The first mate spotted Rego as he walked past. “Where the hell you been, mister?” he shouted angrily.
“Just sweeping up and helping the men secure the lines, sir,” he said with confidence.
“Bullshit, kid. You check in with me before you board this vessel, you hear me? Don’t you ever leave me waiting around again! Now get back to work!” He stormed off in a huff.
Rego smiled as he watched the first mate stride off. He breathed a sigh of relief. He had made it.
Coutier, LaBonne, and Gomes returned to the port office that evening. There was one more person they wanted to question. The night clerk that Rego had spoken to the night before sat behind the old wooden counter.
Coutier approached him with a smile and held the drawing in front of the clerk’s face, “Have you seen this man?”
The clerk stared the picture and his eyes grew wide, “Yes, yes I’ve seen this man. He was in here just last night asking for a job on a ship.”
Coutier crumpled the paper in his hands and the clerk looked at him as if he were crazy. “What ship?” Coutier snarled.
The Brazilian Page 8