City of God

by Paulo Lins

  ‘He’s takin’ a nap over at Rattler’s place,’ answered a teenage boy.

  ‘Go wake ’im up, quickly.’

  ‘I can’t, I gotta stay …’

  ‘You can’t my arse, kid!’ shouted Tiny, going over to the boy to clout him across the face. Then he asked:

  ‘Ain’t ya goin’?’

  ‘I’m goin’, I’m goin’!’

  The boy sped off through the alleys while Tiny had a beer with his men at Noé’s Bar, always with his gun in his hand, glancing around. Carrots emerged on the street corner, strolling along in a pair of Bermuda shorts and no shirt. Tiny waved cordially, drinking his beer in small sips. Sparrow said that Carrots was getting fatter by the day. Carrots shook hands with each member of the gang and made a point of hugging Sparrow.

  ‘You know it’s us that’s runnin’ the show down in The Flats?’

  Carrots nodded his head.

  ‘Well then! Don’t let them kids over on Thirteen thieve down there, right? Tell ’em to do it somewhere else. It’ll attract the pigs to both our dens if they keep workin’ the area, you know. I reckon …’

  ‘Hey man, I mind my own business and no one else’s. It’s not my thing to go around givin’ orders and I’m not the police either, you know. Go tell ’em yerself.’

  ‘I came to talk with you ’cos I heard them kids was hangin’ round your den,’ said Tiny coldly. ‘Seein’ as it’s not your thing, when they all start droppin’ dead, don’t come to me for help.’

  Before Carrots could answer, Sparrow intervened:

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t want to get involved. You always did like to keep to yourself, but here’s the story: tell the kids you like to lay off if they don’t want any trouble from us, right? We’ve come in peace, know what I’m sayin’? We just want to see eye to eye … You don’t need to give anyone a hard time or kill anyone, but have a chat with them kids, OK man?’

  Then Sparrow quickly got on his bike and said:

  ‘Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.’

  Along the way, Tiny discussed the possibility of eliminating Carrots. He thought he’d been rude to them when they’d only gone to have a word with the guy, precisely to avoid a clash with him; he was an old friend after all.

  ‘That’s just the way the guy talks, man! He just don’t wanna get involved, full stop. You warned him, didn’t ya? Right then! I’ll have a word with them kids over on Thirteen … They listen to me …’ said Sparrow.

  They were passing in front of Batman’s Bar when Sparrow said:

  ‘Hey, I’m gonna swing by my place, OK? I’m gonna grab some clothes and I’ll head over to The Flats in a bit. Can you take my shooter?’

  He doubled back along the same path he’d taken on the way there, then took the road along the right branch of the river, went down an alley, turned left and came out on Edgar Werneck Avenue, where he lived, but braked his bike when he passed a kiosk where some guys were playing samba.

  He ordered a beer, sat next to a man playing the cavaquinho and positioned himself so he could see the guy’s fingers strumming the strings. He got friendly with him. After a while, it was he who led the sambas. He sang out loud, drank beer quickly, and insisted on paying for the beers ordered by the musicians. His expression of joy at being there grew with every passing second. Everything was going fine until two men arrived, looking as if they already knew Sparrow was there. They called him over. Their curt conversation lasted a little over ten minutes, until one of them gave him a shove. Sparrow stumbled back, but quickly found his balance again and flew at his attacker. The samba stopped when the fight started. Although slightly drunk, Sparrow leaped about, dodging the kicks and punches the men were now throwing at him. He was short and chubby, but he wasn’t afraid to take on a big guy with his fists. He could even sprint off to his place to get one of his ten brothers to come and help him, but he decided to see the fight through to the end. Some people shouted:

  ‘Two against one is gutless!’

  People gathered around to see Sparrow beating up two men who were bigger than him. The fight was ending when one of them jumped behind the counter, grabbed a butcher’s knife and flew at Sparrow, stabbing him twice in the stomach.

  Sparrow tried to run home, while his enemies backed away amidst hissing and swearing. Sparrow fell before he’d gone a hundred yards, and asked someone to call a taxi, finding it difficult to talk. Acerola and Orange stopped a car on Edgar Werneck Avenue and made the driver take him to hospital.

  There was commotion over in The Flats when Sparrow’s own brother brought the news. He told Tiny what had happened and asked him for a gun.

  ‘You don’t need a gun, ’cos you’re not a gangster. You need money.’

  He turned and shouted:

  ‘Russian Mouse, ask Carlos Roberto for money to pay for the hospital and Sparrow’s medicine.’

  When Sparrow’s brother had gone, Tiny, somewhat confused, talked about several other things, then off he went, flitting from thought to thought without giving anyone a chance to cut in and without mentioning Sparrow’s name in his agitated monologue. Sometimes he’d stare off into space, then come back gushing his feelings, still reeling from the events. He fired shots into the air while chewing his lips, cocked and uncocked his gun, laughed his quick, shrill little laugh for no reason at all, wandered back and forth between all the blocks of flats, ordered people to roll him joints, punched in the face anyone he thought looked like a dickhead, and several times recited a prayer which no one could understand a single word of. Late in the afternoon, he ordered Bicky to buy thirty pounds of the best quality meat and threw a barbecue near Building Seven. No one dared ask him a single question, and he was the only one who talked in that tense atmosphere. He’d talk to himself and laugh after a long silence, and would order the gang to eat – because at this barbecue only the gangsters were allowed to enjoy the rare steak, its blood oozing from the corners of their mouths. Even the cool guys were excluded from the barbecue, which continued on into the night.

  At exactly midnight, without explanation, Tiny got on his bike and quickly pedalled Up Top. He wandered through the darkness of that moonless night and found out from a reliable source everything that had happened. He went to Teresa’s place and ordered her to stop dealing without telling her why, went to Block Thirteen, where he rudely gave Carrots the same orders with his gun cocked, then returned to The Flats.

  ‘Let’s snort, let’s snort … ! Gangsters’ve gotta snort to stay switched on … So they don’t sleep on the job! Gangsters’ve gotta snort, gangsters’ve gotta snort …’ he said over and over, laughing his quick, shrill little laugh.

  The next morning dawned grey. Everything seemed slow in the sinister atmosphere that enveloped the people in the streets, who went about with grave expressions in the omission of alleys and lanes, whose desertion made up the sadness of the day.

  Down at The Flats, Tiny was still snorting coke with his men. He was even more agitated than when he’d first heard what had happened to his friend.

  It was midday on the dot when he told everyone to follow him. Some went by bike, others on foot, running along with their eyes wide open, teeth clenched, glaring into places both real and imagined, with the intention of instilling terror in the eyes of whoever Tiny wanted. Because he was the one who gave orders, he was the one who took the lead, with three guns, and decided which path to take. He was going to give his enemies the full tour of death.

  They turned into the alley where Poison César’s den was. Tiny asked a group of people on the street corner where to find him. A woman pointed at the bar. Tiny followed her finger with his eyes and saw Poison eating fried sausages, drinking beer and telling jokes.

  ‘What’s up, Poison César? Let’s talk!’

  When he saw fifteen armed men, Poison made a run for it, but one shot from Tiny caught him at a distance. Although he’d been hit, Poison disappeared down an alley, jumped two walls and hid under a car. Tiny’s gang scoured the area but didn’t find
him. As they were leaving, they passed the car Poison was hiding under. The dealer, thinking he’d been found, begged them at the top of his lungs not to kill him, then handed his gun over to one of Tiny’s men. Tiny laughed his quick, shrill little laugh and pumped three bullets into the bastard’s head.

  Valter’s family celebrated Poison’s death. Poison had killed Valter, a thief from Up Top, two days earlier, then lit candles around his body out of sheer malice.

  Tiny and his men took off running again towards the New Short-Stay Houses. They arrived shooting locks off doors and scouring all the houses and, just like the police, captured two dealers. They headed for Block Fifteen with their prisoners at gunpoint. Bicky and Tiny invaded Sparrow’s attacker’s house. They hauled him out of bed, hitting him with the butts of their guns, and took him with the other two to the river’s edge.

  ‘Hit the ground, hit the ground …’

  ‘What’s up, Tiny? … Don’t do this, don’t … What’ve we done? For God’s sake!’ said one dealer, already defecating, feeling his entire body tighten with the despair of one who finds himself in death’s path.

  The other two dissolved in silent tears amidst the members of Tiny’s gang, who were also finding the situation hard to understand. They knew Sparrow had been stabbed, but they’d thought they were only going to take revenge on the guy who had stabbed him. Some of them wanted to leave. But who had the courage to go against Tiny? Bicky and Russian Mouse looked happy and thumped them with the butts of their guns when they raised their voices begging for mercy. The rain was light, the river ran a little faster, and Tiny’s laugh was quicker, shriller and littler. He was unblinking, his head swinging back and forth towards every extreme of that moment.

  The first of the three was brought down with blows and bullets. Several shots blasted his head open. Tiny rolled the still writhing body into the river with his feet. The first murder made the other two prisoners fall silent. The man who’d stabbed Sparrow fainted before his body was pumped full of bullets. He too was pushed into the river writhing. The last one suddenly jumped into the river and stayed underwater trying to hold onto something. When he came to the surface for air he took a bullet from Tiny’s gun in the left side of his head. Before Tiny had even uncocked his gun, two friends of the executed dealers emerged from an alley; they’d come to ask Tiny to spare their friends. When they saw the bodies floating in the water, they asked what was going on.

  ‘Come to make a request, have ya? Well I don’t take requests, I don’t! You tooled up? Are ya?’ asked Tiny.

  ‘Yeah, but we’re here in peace.’

  ‘Peace my arse! Gimme your shooters! Gimme your shooters!’

  The two looked at one another, put their right hands on the backs of their waistbands and stared firmly at Tiny, who, on hearing one of their guns cock, shot them both and yelled to Russian Mouse:

  ‘Throw ’em in the river! Throw ’em in the river!’

  They walked around Up Top firing shots into the air and ordering bars to close. As always, Tiny went around thumping people in the face if he didn’t like the look of them, and warned everyone that he was the boss of those parts and anyone who set up a den in the area would snuff it. He told Teresa she could sell all the dope and coke she had, but afterwards she’d only be allowed to sell for him. He hung around a little longer then headed to Block Thirteen looking for Carrots.

  ‘Come here, Carrots, come here, Carrots … Here’s the story: I killed everyone Up Top, right? And it’s like this: you’re only gonna be the frontman, got it? But only if you send some dough over to the slammer, right? You gotta send money to Slick and Sting, OK? If you don’t, you’ve had it!’

  The rain gained new strength, its drops ricocheting on the rooftops like machine-gun fire. The water washed away the pools of blood by the river’s edge and put out the candles around Poison César’s body.

  ‘But if everythin’ that comes from the heavens is sacred, it doesn’t matter!’ said his mother after saying a decade of the rosary and giving up trying to keep the candles lit.

  Above all, the waters came down to cry for Rocket and Stringy the day they left the haunted mansion and smoked a joint at the river’s edge over by the Eucalypt Grove.

  A few hours after arriving back from the beach, where they’d replanned the flogging they were going to give the gang from Gardênia Azul, the Boys from City of God showered and put on their designer clothes. Grouped together and dressed alike, they looked as if they were about to parade with the same samba school. Before reaching Main Square, they bought chewing gum and Halls cough drops. They chewed and sucked them, but kept some to offer the girls at the dance. As boys do.

  Sunday night. Main Square belonged to the Boys and their childish games. Marisol was one of the first to get there. As the rest of his friends arrived, he ran through the plan of letting Thiago go alone to talk to the boys from Gardênia Azul. If there was a scuffle, they’d let their enemies have it.

  They got on the bus singing rock ‘n’ roll. The white kids from City of God were going to get the dance at the Freguesia Olympic Club grooving. Thiago remained serious and sat in the front seat with his arm around Adriana. Marisol sat behind them. Although concerned with memorising every little detail of their plan of attack, he sang in a loud voice, doing everything he could to get Adriana’s attention. Every time he saw the couple being affectionate, he turned his face away so he wouldn’t feel jealous.

  When they got to Freguesia, they spread out in small groups. Adriana did what she’d been asked to, but nobody came on to her when she walked into the club. The Boys from City of God went into the dance discreetly and stayed apart even in the dance hall, confusing the guys from Gardênia Azul, who did the opposite, huddling together in one corner of the hall, oblivious to everything but themselves in that atmosphere of Led Zeppelin at full volume, lit joints and strobe lights.

  Dancing along, Marisol went through the entire hall looking for the boy who’d had the cheek to feel up Adriana, that sexy piece of arse who’d one day be his, when she’d be treated with all the affection that a gorgeous girl like her deserved. He noticed the guy with his friends, who were now all in the middle of the hall, and crept over. ‘I’ll punch him in the face, then take off running to stir things up,’ he thought, closing the short distance between them.

  The punch floored the boy, and his friends didn’t know whether to help him or go after Marisol, who shouted to the others for help. Within a few seconds, those who weren’t from City of God were taking a beating. Sometimes there were four against one on that battlefield, where sounds of laughter mixed with those of desperation.

  Daniel and Rodrigo held their enemies so Marisol could kick them. The best tactic was to throw them in the pool outside, and then, when they got out, beat up everyone who was wet. Some people raided the bar, some stole the belongings of those who’d been knocked out, or grabbed a hot chick for a quick smooch while the fight raged on, but others, like Rocket, made a run for it before somebody jumped them.

  The security guards concerned themselves with safeguarding the ticket money and sound system, as they knew there was no way they could break up a fight involving more than a hundred people. The fight, which seemed to have ended in the hall, started up again in the street. At this stage in the brawl, people in nearby bars, at the bus stop, and taxi-drivers were attacked and mugged, even though the Boys weren’t using guns. Passing buses were pillaged. They broke noses, arms, legs and heads and left eyes swollen in such a short space of time for so many acts of violence.

  After the fight they got on the first bus that appeared and forced the driver to take them to City of God, even though he had to change his route to do so.

  On the bus, Marisol said he’d been attacked in the most gutless way. He’d copped it in the back of the neck from God knows where. The next time they had to give it to them the minute they arrived, so they’d never again dare attack one of the Boys from City of God. Out of the corner of his eye, Thiago watched Marisol, with
his slanting eyes and tousled black hair. He sensed hostility when Marisol’s gaze came to rest on him and desire when it came to rest on Adriana. He decided never to let his girlfriend out of his sight, because he knew guys lusted after her, not only Marisol but everyone who saw her wavy hair, fleshy lips, small breasts and shapely thighs. Marisol talked too much, repeated himself, gesticulated, laughed, and he was already planning another fight.

  They got off the bus as soon as it had passed the bridge, and were careful not to go past the police station. Daniel suggested they score a bundle of grass in Building Seven, but quickly gave up the idea when Marisol reminded him it would be risky. The police were no doubt on the hunt for Tiny in The Flats, because his gang had just murdered six people. Marisol looked around and saw that everything was deserted. They were the only people out and about after midnight. They were all immediately gripped by a feeling of fear.

  Daniel and Marisol hung back chatting, after saying goodbye to the other Boys.

  ‘Tiny killed them guys the day before yesterday and this mornin’ he was dealin’ over in Seven with his tail up … Every time he kills someone, he likes to do the dealin’ himself. He gives out free dope to everyone he knows … I showed up mindin’ my own business, know what I mean? He saw me, stared at me for ages, then went: “So what’ll it be? Buy one, get one free; buy two, get two free; buy four, get four free.” Can you believe it? He said the dens Up Top are his as well.’

  ‘Fuck! All of a sudden the guy’s top dog in the area. I don’t get it – how can a guy that’s short, fat and ugly as hell be the boss of everythin’? He’s worse than Sparrow …’

  ‘Who’s Sparrow?’

  ‘The guy that got stabbed. He runs the show with Tiny and he’s short and fat just like Tiny. But he’s a bit nicer lookin’.’

  On the Monday, Thiago woke up early and got ready to go for a jog. As always, he’d go to the beach, where he’d swim a bit, stretch and do some sit-ups. He set out at the time he’d promised himself before falling asleep – sleep that had also been preceded by feelings of jealousy, anger, insecurity and a determination not to lose Adriana. Before he reached the first bridge over Motorway Eleven, he decided to turn back and follow his girlfriend to the bus stop.