Childhood of the Dead

by Jose Louzeiro

  “A cheap cart,” she said, “I wasted money buying it.”

  Dito thought it was good the cart had given problems, for otherwise he wouldn’t have the job. But the woman didn’t let go of the subject, complaining about it to everyone she met, to the vendors, and Dito found that very tiresome. About two hours after Dito started to work for her, she decided to leave. The basket was heavy now. Dito was sweating, although the morning had been chilly. He asked where she lived; she answered him in a bad temper and refused to take a cab. They walked. Dito had not imagined it would be so far. But he got excited at the possibility of a tip. Perhaps the woman saved money on the taxi to be able to give him a better tip.

  They went into a street of one-story houses, surrounded by yards and garages. Children played riding bicycles, and there were cars parked on both sides of the street. The woman walked about thirty feet ahead of Dito. They passed all the houses and reached a small four-story building. She opened its gate and said.

  “It’s on the top floor.”

  They went up the stairs, landing at an apartment with wooden floors, which the woman told him to enter through the service door. The kitchen was large, with formica cabinets and on the table were the remains of breakfast. Dito lowered the basket, and the woman told him to start taking the packages out and place them on the table. He didn’t refuse. After that he got his basket and waited for her to pay him. The woman gave him two bills of one cruzeiro each.

  He shook his head, but the woman made as if she had not understood.

  “My service is more than that. I’ve been following you since eight in the morning.”

  “I don’t give more than that to anyone,” she said, putting the bills on the table close to Dito. Then she added, “it was just to pick up a few things and bring them, it’s not worth more than that.”

  “You should have asked my price.”

  The woman insisted she was used to paying this and that this was not her first time.Dito smiled nervously and pushed the money to the center of the table, “I don’t think you are doing right.”

  The woman stopped arranging the packages, and, putting her hands on her waist, said, “Look here you punk...”.

  Dito felt his ears burn, and so did the scar above his eye. His face contracted and the air he breathed felt warm. He wasn’t going to stand for that kind of insult, and he wasn’t going to let that little woman talk to him that way. He pushed her, and she lost her balance, falling over the chairs.

  “Go push your mother! You, sassy punk!”

  Dito was overwhelmed by rage. He gave the woman a blow to her face and she fell to the ground. He then pushed all her purchases from the table to the floor. He picked up a broom, and breaking its handle, beat the woman up. Her husband woke up and came to see what was going on. He was an old man and heavy set. He saw the boy beating his wife and entered into the fight, taking some blows also. He left saying he was going to get his gun. Dito got her purse and took away all the money he found and disappeared. He went out through the kitchen door, locked the door from the outside, and threw the key in the yard.

  Far away, he counted his money and began to feel better. The job had brought him more than he could have hoped for. With that kind of money he would be able to buy a good pair of pants. If necessary, he could always steal a pair of shoes.

  II

  It was a street of small stores, filled with vendors trying to attract customers by shouting their specials in the sidewalks. They invited people to come in and check the merchandise, which they said was of prime quality. Some clapped their hands, others walked up and down, while from some doors there was loud music filling the street. The loudest man was also the tallest. Mounted on stilts, with very long striped pants he announced his bargains, through a megaphone, which drowned out the sounds of his competitors.

  Dito approached a store. The young women observed him. He saw the cheap pants, and asked to try them on. One of the girls matched a pair of pants to his body, to find out the width he needed and then sent him to the the back room to try it on. He hurried back when he saw that pair was too loose in the waist. The young woman gave him another pair, which fit so well he wouldn’t need a belt. He asked the price and was happy to realize he had the money. He became interested in the canvas shoes, choosing a brown pair with rubber soles. The young woman gave him the bill and painfully he gave her the bill of one hundred he had with him, waiting for his change of six cruzeiros back.

  After he got dressed he realized he didn’t have money for a sandwich, but reasoned that the most important thing had been done. From then on he had to get some more money, get a gun and go to Rio, unless he were able to find his old pals, Zé Ina’cio, Armadillo and Black Fly.

  He decided to pass by the parking lots of Sao Joao Avenue and look for them. If they were not there, they would certainly be around Ju’lio de Mesquita Square or in the neighborhood of the flower market, in Arouche Square. He would probably meet them there if he just waited long enough.

  He took a bus, always very aware of the people around him, and he went to the front to sit next to the driver, where people would have a harder time observing him. The bus went by numerous streets, got caught a couple of times in traffic jams, passed by the sky scrapers of downtown where the big banks were established, arriving at Anhangabau’. He got out, drank a glass of sugar cane juice, thinking continuously about how to get more money. Zé Igna’cio could possibly help, maybe some kind of work might show up.

  He went by a parking lot and saw Hat in the same place as always. He didn’t know how someone could spend year after year doing the same thing, looking after cars that entered or left the parking lot. He approached him and asked about Black Fly. Hat stood up to help a woman who was not able to park her car in the narrow space he had directed her to and returned to chat again.

  “He was too dumb. I got tired of telling him things. He ended up in a bad deal. He ran away from here to there and back again, but they caught up with him. I don’t know where he’s at.”

  “And Zé Ina’cio?”

  “He was here yesterday. He’s doing okay. He takes care of those two cars, and when the owner goes to Santos he takes Zé Ina’cio with him.”

  Dito looked at the cars pointed out by Hat. One was a Sport Mercedes the other was an imported Ford. He was glad his friend was doing well.

  “If you wait a little bit, he’ll be around,” Hat told him.

  Dito walked for a while in Duke of Caxias Avenue. Stopping at a grocery he purchased a pear, which he ate on the sidewalk as he observed a street woman trying to put a crate with her stuff over her head and couldn’t. He found it amusing that every time the woman tried to raise the crate up, something would fall off.

  He soon tired of that and went toward Minhocao, close to the repair shop and the Nac,o~es Theater. He saw an old man who was surrounded by dogs. There were at least six dogs, some well fed, some thin and dirty. The man was eating from a can and dispensing the leftovers to the dogs.

  He went around them, deciding to take a look at the theater posters. There were women in bikinis, some with their breasts exposed; one even looked like Beth: similar face, similar distant air. He continued to walk through the wet sidewalks, filled with cigarette butts, and thought of Beth, of the night they spent together, of her saying delicious things. He would have liked those moments to last. Then he remenbered Beth getting home with that other guy who had his hand on her shoulders. And she smiled at him. He wouldn’t like to see her again. He would like to see Pin and Figurinha and figure out why the supermarket job hadn’t worked out. He remembered his hands filled with money, the gate closing, the car that didn’t get started, the hurried pull off, the shots, time going by, the narrow passage for the car, his face on the glass, Mother’s Scourge’s feet against the windshield, the machine gun shots hitting him across the waist. He tried to hold Encravado back, but he was also scared. Encravado hurried. The shot to his head, the body falling. He still didn’t know how the policemen had arrived so
soon. Neither Pin nor Figurinha had been able to escape.

  He felt strange, when in the street he met a woman with a shiny pocket book who also reminded him of Beth. He didn’t want to think about her. He remembered what happened to Brown Sugar for having fallen for a woman. He remembered Pin’s jokes and Encravado’s motto:

  “Women are only for fucking!”

  At Deodoro’s Square children were playing in the playground. The sun escaping through the branches of the ficus trees shone on the old men reading newspapers on the park benches; on the nursemaids pushing babies’ carriages; on the young boy throwing a ball for the hairy dog to catch. In the side streets traffic was heavy, and he saw the boy afraid to go pick up a loose ball that had fallen in the midst of traffic.

  Dito continued on in Palmeiras Street stopping next to men, who, shirtless, took out a VW engine from a car chassis, and spread their tools and car parts on the sidewalk. He squatted among them and was ready to be of service. Who knows if he wouldn’t be able to get some money from that? The men took out the engine, examined the parts that weren’t good, threw aside some rubber rings and cursed.

  Dito began to think: they are going to need some parts and there are no stores close by. If they want to ask him to run those errands they will have to tip him. If they wanted something else, heavier work, they could ask. A sweaty and tense man asked him if he knew Arnaldo’s shop.

  “Over by the bakery.”

  Dito nodded.

  “Go there and bring me three washers of this type and rubber gaskets like these.”

  He gathered the samples. His hand was immediately covered with grease, but he didn’t mind. Crossing the street he put the bill they had given him in his pocket. At the store the salesman got little rubber gaskets and the washers from drawers filled with such things and patiently selected the ones needed and wrapped everything afterwards. Dito gave him the money but when the man gave him the change back Dito thought it might be easier if he could give him a receipt. The man didn’t like that, but wrote him a receipt.

  Dito went back hurriedly to the guys, gave them the package, the receipt and the change. The tense man found all correct and gave Dito a bill. He stayed around looking at their work, but got tired and decided to go back to the parking place to find Zé Ina’cio. His friend was happy to see him.

  “How’s it going, man?”

  Dito smiled, looking at Zé Ina’cio’s new cap and recognized the friend. The same freckles on his face, the same blond eyebrows and arms covered with gold colored hair.

  “Hat told me you’re doing well....”

  “The man is fine. Once a week he shows up and we go to Santos. He does what he needs and I take care of the cars.”

  “Is it good to drive a Mercedes?”

  “It’s great. You don’t even want to drive another car.”

  While Zé Ina’cio continued to talk about his employer, who was great, Dito thought of the similarities the man had with Crystal. He had also been kind; had looked as if he didn’t mind spending money; and drove a car that felt like a feather mattress. The problem was that he only brought him, Dito, problems. Had he not been tough, he would been a goner. But he hoped Zé Ina’cio’s guy was different. Zé Ina’cio deserved something good. But what he wanted to propose to his friend didn’t really involve the way he made money. He had plans to do another job on a supermarket, and maybe Zé Ina’cio might be game. Dito didn’t know how to broach it. Perhaps he should talk about it another time. Perhaps the following day. He didn’t want to look hurried. And he knew that would please Zé Ina’cio.

  They sat down on the curb, on the less busy side of the street. Zé Ina’cio got an American cigarette pack from his pocket and offered Dito one.

  Dito smiled, taking his first draw.

  “Wow! What a luxury!”

  Zé Ina’cio smiled and continued to talk, this time about the woman the rich man would meet in Guaruja’ whom he had seen a couple of times.

  “Is she the one who drives the Ford?”

  “No. That’s his wife. I’m talking about his outside dessert. She’s great!”

  Zé Ina’cio paused, inhaling deeply and exhaling the smoke from his lungs slowly.

  “Can you believe she’s been putting the makes on me?”

  Dito didn’t say anything. He just looked at his friend.

  “I went to deliver some packages the man sent her. And do you know how she received me? She had her bra and panties on. That’s all.”

  “Panties or a bikini?”

  The two were quiet for a while, Zé Ina’cio with a distant look as if he were still remembering the woman.

  “She must be about twenty-six, and she has everything in the right places, man.”

  “The man dosn’t need a helper?” Dito asked jokingly.

  “I think he’s getting fed up with me. I am gonna have her.”

  A van arrived looking for parking. Zé Ina’cio stood up to tell him only sedans were permitted in the lot. The man didn’t like that answer, but Hat showed up and confirmed the restriction. Dito continued seated, knowing that interruption wouldn’t last long. The driver backed up and pulled away in a great fury.

  Dito thought this might be a good moment to talk to Zé Ina’cio about his plans. His friend still showed a distant look, as if he thought of the woman in her undies.

  “And what are you gonna offer her?” Dito wanted to know.

  “That’s the problem. With this shitty life, I can’t even try with her.”

  “She’ll see you’re small potatoes. If she lets you go to bed with her, it will only be a one shot deal,” Dito said.

  “Yeah, it sucks!”

  “If you were willing to be part of a job, you could have some dough to impress her.”

  “What job?”

  “To get the dough of a supermarket. On a day of great business.”

  Zé Ina’cio smiled in disbelief.

  “It’s sure money, man.”

  Zé Ina’cio wasn’t convinced.

  “Armadillo got mixed up with something like that... Fucked over... Got no money, got nothing. Nothing, man!”

  Dito insisted.

  “In Rio, we almost put our hands on a big score. I had the money all the time with me. We got screwed because one guy rushed.”

  “What guy?”

  “Mother’s Scourge. At the time to get away with the car he freaked out.”

  “So?”

  “He fucked himself and we all went to jail.”

  “Doesn’t that always happen?”

  Dito was upset with Zé Ina’cio’s obstinacy.

  “You need to try to get something. You think that woman will have anything to do with you knowing you are a scumbag?”

  Zé Ina’cio looked as if he were seeing the woman again: thick thighs, flat belly, pink breasts. There was only a little pair of panties separating him from that body, covered with French perfume. When he paid attention to Dito he heard:

  “Lots of money, man. I had a bunch of money in my hands. Luck was close to me. It will come back. I know our time is coming.”

  “And how did this plan work in Rio?”

  “I looked over a supermarket and studied the manager’s office. Then, I just had to wait for the right opportunity.”

  Zé Ina’cio got another cigarette out. Dito just thanked him.

  “It’s the only way to get our lives straight. Or we will always be among the lowest of the low. We’ll end up like Hat. Looking at other people’s cars coming and going from the parking lot, all our lives.

  III

  On a dark and rainy morning when Sao Paulo’s streets lights were still on, Dito and Zé Ina’cio went to supermarket. Dito picked up a cart and pushed it through the aisles of canned goods and bottles. In a few moments, when they got to the deli counter, they discovered the manager’s office was not there. That was something Dito had not counted on, but he didn’t feel perturbed.

  “Ask at the cash register how we can talk to the manager. Say it’s
the guy who came to talk about a job. The woman will tell you.”

  He went about pushing his cart, putting a few things inside it, and following from afar Zé Ina’cio’s approach to a young woman at the cash register, speaking with her, and then leaving the store. Dito realized Zé Ina’cio would be waiting for him on the outside, so he pushed the cart through the cash register, paid, and waited for the redheaded girl put his purchases in a bag.

  “The manager’s office is in that building,” Zé Ina’cio said, when they met.

  They went into the building. Dito looked in the panel above the elevator, for the manager’s floor. He couldn’t find it. A man, behind the lobby’s counter told him it was on the third floor. Dito told Zé Ina’cio to stay behind minding the grocery bag.

  “I’m going, just to take a look.”

  Dito went up the stairs, while Zé Ina’cio stayed at the door of the building watching cars passing by in the street. After Dito arrived on the third floor, he followed a long hallway with a counter and glass wall-divisions. He saw several young women typing and men busy with paperwork. A few people were making payments, while a bald man counted money next to a dark man with uncombed hair.

  The office was large and Dito realized the job would be dangerous. He walked up to the bathrooms at the end of the hall and found another stairway, which he climbed up to the next floor. He was nicely surprised: it was there, and not on the third floor, that the money was kept. There was a security guard and a fat man counted piles of money, passing them to an older man with a black case. The fat man was protected by a screen and his compartment had a locked door. On his side there was a fan, which on this cool dark morning was not working.