“It doesn’t matter. You keep it. I’m half way gone anyway.”
Cleaner didn’t like to hear such talk: “Before they finish with me I’m gonna break the balls of a couple of them. If I get hold of a knife, I’ll cut the head off of the first one who crosses my path.”
The old janitor had not been there to clean for three days. The cell’s toilet had clogged and overflowed. The stink of feces was so strong that even the jailor, who would frequently walk along gallery, complained. “An infernal race!”
Then he would leave laughing. The prisoners didn’t say anything. They just waited for an opportunity to get him close to the iron bars, when he least expected it. But this day was taking a long time to come and Gabriel was getting worse by the hour.
Uncle Zé would stay seated at Dito’s side, talking. Sometimes he would tell him about his childhood in the country: his games, his running after animals or in the fields.
“I liked that easy-going life. I’ve always liked it. It’s what makes me the saddest about being here.”
Dito wished to ask him questions, to talk to him, but he didn’t feel the strength. It just was easier to look at that kind-looking man with wrinkles etched in his cheeks.
“If I am able to get out of here, I am going back to the country. Far away. I’ll get me a little house on a little piece of land and just stay put.
“You think people are better there?” Cleaner asked ironically.
“I don’t know. It feels as if people know each other better.”
Dito didn’t know how he found the guts to ask, “Why are you here, Uncle Zé?”
“One of those crazy moments, boy. Something I can’t explain. Life every day got more difficult. Bills piling up. The children sick, my wife sick, the eviction day set.... From that point it’s easy to find your hand grabbing onto something that’s not yours. That’s what happened. And everything went wrong. I don’t know what has happened to my folks, nor what will be happening to me. I’ve given up on expecting anything. I’ve left it all in God’s hands.”
Gabriel’s coughing spell got worse, prompting Cleaner to say, “Tonight neither he nor we will be able to sleep.”
“And how did you get to be here?” Uncle Zé asked Dito.
“I’ve done a lot of wrong things, and it all began because I believed a son of a bitch who gave me away”
“And where is this guy?” Cleaner asked.
“I’ve sent him to hell.”
Cleaner smiled, while Uncle Zé remained serious.
“Murder doesn’t accomplish anything.”
“I don’t know. We at least feel free from these types.”
Dito felt, after many weeks a certain vigor. His blood felt warmer in his veins, his ears began to burn and his wounds were hurting.
“When and if I leave here, I’m gonna kill a bunch more of scum.”
“If your situation improves it’s quite probable you might change your way of thinking.” Uncle Zé suggested.
“You’re mistaken. They wanna finish us off.”
Cleaner smiled again at the youngsters attitude, “Right on!”
“You didn’t see what they did to Pichote, Manguito, Smokey and the others.”
Uncle Zé asked for more information on the friends Dito mentioned but Dito didn’t feel he had to add anything else to the story.
The boy continued to talk, Cleaner giving him incentive. Uncle Zé looked through the iron bars to the other side of the somber gallery, as Dito talked. Dito’s eyes reddened with anger. Then the grey-haired man turned his attention back to Dito’s comments, for he didn’t know that this boy, who had been so quiet, hovering there between life and death, could be so full of hatred.
“If I could I would finish them off with boiling oil, so they could remember everything they have done.”
“There you have it, Uncle, the boy is right,” Cleaner said. “They messed around with him, now he is an angry man.”
“Do you know how many we were in this cell?” Gabriel asked, feeling a little better after his last coughing spell. “About eighteen. One week later two went to interrogation and didn’t come back. Another fell ill with a fever and he has also disappeared. Four have left with tuberculosis. Now it’s my turn. One or two more weeks and I’ll disappear.”
Dito listened. Uncle Zé wanted to intervene, but he didn’t know what to say, recognizing the uselessness of anything he might say.
“There’s only one way: trust God. To Him there are no guilty nor innocent people!”
Dito smiled in disbelief. When Gabriel had another coughing attack, the jailor showed up to say the toilet would be fixed with a hot water jet the following day, and it was possible they would all end up covered in shit. He said that and smiled, while the prisoners glared at him through the iron bars.
XI
It was still dark when the men arrived with the hose. They slipped the brass nozzle through the iron bars and opened the strong hot water jet, against floor and walls. The prisoners defended themselves as they could: Gabriel was partially scalded; Cleaner pushed Dito to the side. The stink of shit increased as the water filled up the cell. Two lights above were turned on and slowly the shit began to disappear. The prisoners changed standing places several times, but the water jet was very strong. Another hose was brought in and turned on, this one with cold water.
“It’s time for the scums’ bath!” the police controlling the hoses shouted.
And this time there wasn’t a single one of them who had not been totally soaked. The jailor laughed and clapped from his spot behind the hose handlers.
“You needed a bath!”
For hours no one was able to sit down, because the floor was still wet. They also hoped that by standing up the clothes on their bodies would dry faster. This morning there was no coffee served, since the people in the kitchen had been told the prisoners would be moved to another cell for the cleaning to take place. But they didn’t complain. The old hands in the cell joked about it with the jailor and received other jokes in response.
“Since coffee is free, we give it when we want to.”
At nine o’ clock, Dr. Mauro, Caramel and Big Purple showed up. The police chief had his suit jacket opened, showing the handle of his gun in its holster. Big Purple had a print shirt and a felt hat on, while Caramel was dressed in a well-worn, light-colored suit. He was tall and had a small hump on his back. Hhis sweet manner of speaking had been the source for his nickname. The police chief was straightening his mustache with his fingers and appeared to be contented. He came to the iron bars and shouted:
“Look, I finally have good news.”
The prisoners didn’t move. They had never seen that policeman so euphoric. They knew something was up and it wasn’t good.
“We’ve decided: I am going to open the door, for a game to begin. The guy pushed from the inside out will go to the solitary. The guys who are able to stand the fight, will change cells and will get lunch and dinner every day.”
There was a faint manner among the cellmates.
“Pay attention!” The police chief continued. “If someone tries to escape, we will put the dogs on him.”
He then put the key in the lock and opened the cell, giving the key back to the jailor.
“So, haven’t you understood the game?”
There was only one who attempted to make a move but he was restrained by Cleaner’s strong arm. The police chief showed his surprise.
“What’s the matter? You are not believing me?”
Silence again. Big Purple looked at Dr. Mauro. Caramel frowned.
“Well, then this must get serious.”
The police chief called the jailor and two guards.
“Bring the guys from cell 18. That’ll be better. I want to know what they will do.”
The prisoners show up, walking in line. The chief himself opened the cell door.
“I sent for you to play a game. Cell 18 against cell 152. The ones able to stay inside the cell will get one mont
h od lunch and dinner. The guys thrown out won’t have either. They won’t be my problem anymore.”
The men who had just arrived begin the aggression. A strong one got Uncle Zé by the hair and threw him against the wall. A shorter man held the boy, a third one knocked Gabriel’s head against the iron bars, a big fat black man pulled Dito by his legs. The door opened for the first time and Uncle Zé was thrown out backwards into the gallery. The policemen held him and put handcuffs on his wrists. Next, out came an older man. Cleaner punched furiously a strong man, but ended up being dominated. The guy gave him a waist lock and he felt slowly his senses disappearing. Finally with one heel kick he was able to hit the giant in the balls, the man bent froward and Cleaner was able to hit him in the neck. The guy was not overcome yet. He grabbed the can in which Uncle Zé boiled the water, flattening it and tried to use it as a weapon. Cleaner gave him a head kick and attacked his back. Other groups fought, the quiet mulatto knocked out two weak men, dragging them toward the door and throwing them into the gallery.
Cleaner jumped, ramming his heels into the giant’s kidneys. He shouted and kicked his head on the floor. Cleaner pushed him to the outside of the cell. The police chief was not happy with Cleaner’s show of strengh, and ordered the police to go in the cell and finish him off. Four big men showed up. Cleaner tried to defend himself but was dominated by nightsticks’ blows in his head and shoulders. He was finally shoved out and handcuffed. At this moment Dito was also pushed out. He had his face wounded and blood streamed out of his nose.
“The ones who have fallen inside have to be brought outside,” The police chief announced.
The guards began pulling out those who had fainted. The guards themselves didn’t understand the order. The little group was put standing up, led by Uncle Zé who was limping.
“I don’t want anyone getting fat in my police quarters. They will all go to cell 96.”
The jailor walked ahead, some guards behind him, then the prisoner, followed by other guards and the dogs. Dito had no idea what else could happen. The cell was square with cement walls, it had a sink and the Turkish toilet. There were no beds, nor newspapers to cover the floor.
“Here you’ll turn to seed,” the jailor said, “Dr. Mauro had a eye out for you guys.”
Listening to the guy talk Uncle Zé thought for a second he was a lunatic. But he said nothing. Cleaner wiped his face with the back of his hand. Gabriel couldn’t stand his pains and Dito was still bleeding through the nose. But he felt lucky: he was the one who’d received fewest blows throughout the session.
At lunch time the guards passed through the gallery with food, but they didn’t stop at cell 96. “This group is in quarantine. They ate too much,” they said, and continued pushing the cart and laughing. Cleaner knew they would make it all more difficult; Gabriel only coughed, no longer hungry. At the end of the day, Dito began to think of ways to escape. He looked around for something to open the door lock, but didn’t find anything. He tried to imagine some situation that could attract the jailor to the cell, but he couldn’t come up with a way to do so.
Dito’s stomach was howling with hunger. As night began to fall he noticed that cell 96 was much hotter than 152. Cleaner sat with his back to the wall and recounted the fight he had with the big man, “I can’t believe I’m still in shape!”
Uncle Zé smiled vaguely and Dito had nothing to say. Gabriel was coughing covering his mouth so as not to bother his cell mates.
“They are planning to do something awful to us.” Uncle Zé said.
“That’s all they ever do.”
Much later, when the prison had been silent for a long time, they heard steps in the gallery. They put their backs to the walls. Policemen came with lanterns and trained dogs. One of them called out the numbers, as they approached the doors.
“Let’s go. The trip will be long.”
They focused their lights on the prisoners. Dito’s number was called and soon he felt the dogs next to his legs. No one said a word until they got to a police van. A short, strong men, who had his shirt out of his pants, opened the door. Dito noticed there were others in the car. Gabriel continued to cough. The car move off fast, tires screaming against the asphalt. After about an hour, it stopped. At that point there were guards with machine guns in hand showing them the way to a bus.
“That way, scum!” The man with the loose shirt shouted.
A sort of line was formed and Dito could see then a bunch of young man. He could see only a few that were about his age; others were much younger, like Pichote and Smokey. The oldest ones were about Gabriel’s age. He had no idea where they were taking him. He imagined it might be a prison farm, like the one he had been at in Rio. But why worry? They couldn’t be sending the bus to a good place.
It was his turn to get in. Gabriel had already been pushed to the front. He continued to cough and that had been irritating the guards. One of them had shouted for him to stop that. It was a regular bus, but the windows were covered with curtains and the guards who had been watching over them had already warned: “The first one to open the curtains will get beaten.”
That’s why no one dared to move them. Some dogs had also climbed on the bus. Some of the guards who were in the back of the bus talked and laughed loudly. Some told jokes. The bus driver shut the door that separated his driving seat from the rest of the bus. The engine was turned on and the bus moved. Though Dito knew Sao Paulo well, he had no idea of where they could be. He tried to find Gabriel but he couldn’t see him; he only heard his cough. In the seat in front of his there were three boys whose ages were approximately 6,8 and 12. They were very quiet and looked very scared with such trip at that time of the day. Dito was sure that all of them had been in the prison cells of Dr. Mauro’s precinct, just as he and Gabriel had been pulled for this trip.
When they had already been riding for a long time, Dito noticed it was raining. The bus had slowed down and was crossing a flooded area. The water reached the bottom of the bus chassis, the engine complained, the tires were sliding and for the first time Dito felt the drops of water, from the storm, beat against the window glass. Strong winds invaded the bus when one of the guards opened the door to speak with the driver and Dito’s curtain moved briefly. He saw only some solitary and distant lights. Then, as if they had been able to go back to an asphalted road, the speed of the bus increased. Even so, it was possible to notice that the rain had become even more intense.
One of the boys from the seat ahead said something. Only the other two could hear him. The youngest one turned to look back. He looked a little bit like Pichote, and he was very scared. The one who travelled next to Dito was also a quiet type, a black boy of about 16. Dito had not paid attention to him yet, but now, seeing him better, he noticed that he cried silently.
“What’s the matter?”
The young man would only shake his head, without answering.
“Where are they taking us?”
He cleaned his eyes and Dito saw his hands wounded, as if he had grabbed something and had been pulled from it violently. He spoke very low.
“They are gonna kill us.”
Dito relaxed back into his chair. He should have imagined something like that. It would be much worse than the prison farm.
* * *
CHAPTER SEVEN
I
Considering the engine noise, the bus had to be climbing a steep road. Gabriel was still coughing, while some boy Dito wasn’t able to see began to laugh nervously. The policemen in the back of the bus started joking and one of the dogs appeared very agitated.
The door between the driver from the rest of the bus opened again. From the front cabin the short and strong man with his shirt out of his pants emerged rubbing his hands, warming himself up. It was cold.
“We’re almost there,” he said to the policemen holding the dogs.
“Are we still going to make another trip today?”
Dito couldn’t see who had asked, but he understood, then, that it was a
kind of regular program. They wouldn’t be the only ones expelled from the planet. There were many people on the list. Then, for no apparent reason, he remembered Uncle Zé, his patience and tranquil face, his hands holding the can with warm water to clean his wounds. And beside Uncle Zé, he saw also the image of Mother Dolores, her voice, her sad eyes and kind features.
“It’s Yemanja, who protects us, son. Think always about her.”
Dito remembered the image of Yemanja on the wall where Smokey spent the night in his coffin, surrounded by candles and by the silence of those heavily made up women, while the sweaty black man beated smoothly the atabaque drum singing a sad song.
He felt his courage come back thinking about Mother Dolores. He wasn’t going to let things get to him like the kid seated at his side had done. He would neither open his mouth, nor act as if he were weak. The important thing, until the bus stopped, was to imagine an escape plan. The best opportunity would be at the time to get out. He would jump out, no matter the consequences. If they were slow in catching him he would disappear into the night. He doubted very much that some dog would get him. What if they handcuffed them on before they were to leave the bus? That, he feared. Then, it would be very difficult to escape.
The bus shook all over, shock absorbers banged the frame as the wheels went into potholes splashing lots of water. There was no doubt they were leaving behind the main road. They were taking a shortcut, or something like that. The galloping went on for a good half hour until the brakes were applied and the driver’s cabin door was opened and closed several times. New guards, whom Dito had not seen before, had come in. They were big and were covered in a plastic capes. They all had hats of the same material as the capes or they were wearing wool hats. Cold wind invaded the bus, and Gabriel had another bout with coughing. The cop with his shirt in the outside of his pants was very agitated, saying:
“Now, scumbags, take your clothes off. Where you’re going, you won’t need them.”
His order was not immediately followed. Some of the caped police caught several boys and began tearing off their clothes. They pulled the fabric from pockets and the ripping textile made a squirming sound as they were pulled apart. The boys who attempted to resist were pulled out of their seats and were slapped in their faces.
Childhood of the Dead Page 17