The angels, however, were totally inspired by the inhabitants of the new land. Bento didn’t sculpt images of chubby angels with wavy blond hair and fine tapered noses. Instead they always came out with prominent cheekbones, wide nostrils, tight curls like those of Africans, or smooth, long hair like the Indians. He had no other models. Almost all the children he saw around him had features of the Africa they had just left or the American forest they came from. Manuela was probably the only European under fifteen in the whole area. But she had grown so much that she could no longer be considered a child.
Fascinated by her brother’s work, the girl often came to see the figures that were sprouting from the wood. They were beautiful.
“It makes me want to make something for the church, too,” she said.
Dona Catarina liked the idea and began making lace for altar cloths with Manuela, Beatriz and Felipa. They spent hours engaged with threads wound on bobbins, working them over a pillow to make the lace. Manuela imagined that she was making a new set of clothes for Our Lady, bringing back memories of her mother and the beautiful Virgin who had protected her when she was alone during those cold nights in Lisbon, praying for Bento stuck in a dank, dark dungeon.
At some point during their flight and suffering, she had lost the rosary that belonged to her mother. But she didn’t need to count beads in order to pray, nor did she need to use memorized or decorative language. She continued to talk with Our Lady silently, or to ask the spirits of her mother and father for protection.
She remembered the nights she had slept at the altar in the stone church. Those were difficult times. Now she was doing well in a new land, with Bento and surrounded by friends. She prayed for Dona Ines, Don Diogo and Don Gaspar in gratitude for helping her and her brother. If there were no slavery, with the brutal suffering it brought, she would have been completely happy. She prayed for freedom for Didi and his family, and for a world without captivity. She could never forget that everyone was a part of one big whole. Sometimes it seemed that her entire life was like the lacework she created with Beatriz, Felipa and Dona Catarina — full of interwoven threads forming new designs. It was just that the dangers that they were living through were not always as beautiful and delicate as the panels of altar cloth.
But soon Manu was full of other ideas. She liked to do lacework — yes — but she wanted to try something else. She had the idea of making ceramic candlesticks for the new altar. Dona Catarina admired the lively girl and let her find her own way. She allowed her to work alongside the Indian women, helping them collect the riverside clay they called tabatinga that they used to shape pots, pitchers, candlesticks and ornaments.
It was obvious that the girl was very happy taking up her father’s craft and turning the wet clay into useful vessels. She dreamed of doing painted and glazed pottery, like the dove that still went everywhere with her. Perhaps she would start with white and blue or yellow tiles. But she knew nothing of pigments or high kiln temperatures. And the Indians didn’t work in that way. They preferred to paint pottery with lines forming beautiful designs, but in only one color. In any case, Manuela loved being with the women, laughing and talking, cheerful and playful as they worked on the bowls, pitchers, jars and pots.
It was also a good thing that Antonio Caiubi had returned. In the exchange of groups between the Jesuit school and the village, it was once again his turn to be in Amparo. And she loved his company.
Now there were three friends. Everyone had a lot to do, and free time was scarce. But whenever they could be, Manu, Didi and Caiubi were together. Sometimes Beatriz and Felipa accompanied them. Other times, only the boys got together, while the girls were embroidering or making lace. The whole group would talk under the quitungo, fish, make traps to catch birds, pick fruit, bring in cassava from the fields, and braid fibers to make baskets or mats. Working together they got more done.
Manu, at least, usually found a way to escape and be close to one or both of the boys. Dona Catarina wasn’t sure what to think of these friendships. Sometimes she was amused, but other times she was worried, feeling that Manuela should be acting more like a proper young woman. She was growing up, and so were Beatriz and Felipa. It wouldn’t be long before it was time to think about marriage for the three of them. They weren’t children any longer — they couldn’t continue to go wherever they wanted with the boys. She even discussed the matter with Bento.
“She has always been this way, Senhora Catarina, since she was little. Perhaps it’s because she was the only girl in a family with three boys. And then when it was just the two of us alone in the world, she was used to being near me. Don’t worry, it’s just the way Manu is.”
Considering that Bento, the older brother who was responsible for the girl, didn’t think there was anything wrong, the widow decided to drop the subject. But she didn’t like to see Beatriz and Felipa always with the two boys and tried to keep them at home a little more.
The people of Amparo were used to seeing Manuela, Caiubi and Didi — so different yet so bonded to each other — going together from place to place. They were such a part of the landscape that they didn’t really attract anyone’s attention.
Little by little, Manuela and Didi were learning to appreciate Caiubi’s knowledge. The Indian boy was able to find his way in the jungle as if he were on a familiar street, or even at home. He could identify edible fruits or roots, or plants that held water in their stems. He could shoot arrows with perfect marksmanship. He was aware of the sudden silence announcing the flight of a hawk overhead. He recognized animal tracks and the paths the animals chose. He knew where they were going to drink water and the burrows where they hid. He would notice treetops moving across the creek when there was no wind, and then draw his friends’ attention to some monkeys playing.
Gradually, they talked about other matters, like quilombos. Antonio Caiubi knew several routes that might lead to them.
“Many of our braves know where they are. They help the escaped slaves find them. But no one must know that here in Amparo.”
“You know where they are? You know how to get there?”
“I’ve never been, but some warriors in my village have. And I know of one, from another villager who moved there.”
“Along with the runaways? Blacks and Indians?”
“Why not? That way they can all defend themselves better. Or have you forgotten that your people want to enslave us, too?”
Manu didn’t need to respond. She knew that very well. And she knew the reason for Caiubi’s repressed half smile when he added, “I mean, they would if they could …”
She had heard many stories of fierce struggles between the indigenous people and the whites who hunted them down. But she sometimes forgot that when she saw the Indian boys at the Jesuit school, or the Indian women making cassava flour in a quitungo or making baskets or pottery — in peace.
Didi returned to what interested him most. “Do you think you can find out where these routes are?”
Caiubi stayed silent for a while, his eyes downcast.
Before he answered, Manu added, “And help someone in the woods avoid danger and the poisonous beasts?”
More silence, more lowered eyes. The boy thought a lot about what he was going to say. Finally, he replied, “Alone, maybe not. But if there’s time, I can prepare myself. And I can get help from my family and friends.”
Looking Didi straight in the eye, he added decidedly, “I know what you’re thinking. I’m your friend. You can count on me.”
He would be a great support, Didi was sure.
“It will be our secret,” Manu concluded. “You cannot talk about it with anyone.”
They didn’t need to hear this advice. All three of them knew the risk they were running.
In the months that followed, things changed very slowly. In the church of Amparo, Bento was gradually covering the bottom of the wooden altar with angels surrou
nded by ornaments of leaves, fruits, vegetables, birds and small animals. Clay animals and people were emerging from Manuela’s hands, and it was clear that when Christmas came, there would be a nativity scene recreating the birth of the baby Jesus. Father Vicente had seen one in Italy and suggested that the girl make it. From Caiubi came more and more secrets of the forest and, finally, one surprising piece of information — the quilombos were communicating with each other. They soon might be able to find out which one Didi’s father was in. The hope of seeing his father was gradually building Didi’s determination to escape.
Before that day came, however, Bento managed to convince Quim that he had to go back to Amarante, and this time he should take someone to help him transport the heavy timbers he might need. He made up a story so compelling involving the furniture orders and the choice of trees to be felled that Senhora Catarina eventually agreed to allow Didi to accompany him.
And so the two went.
As they approached the stream that signaled they were nearing Amarante, Bento saw that the women were once again doing their hard work of washing clothes. He barely had time to speak.
“Didi, if you ever recognize anyone from your village, you have to be very smart and do as your father did with you on the beach that day. Don’t let on. Don’t give the owners any reason to be suspicious or let anyone think the meeting is strange. Make sure the foreman doesn’t notice.”
The boy didn’t answer. He had stopped suddenly and was staring at the river’s edge, at one of the slaves who had walked away a little from the group to hit a wet shirt against a rock.
“That’s Rosa,” Bento explained. “My friend.”
“No,” Didi corrected, trembling. “That’s Danda. My sister.”
“That’s what I suspected. In fact I was almost certain, which is why I wanted to bring you here. But don’t give anything away yet. We need to be careful. On second thought, I’m going to go and prepare her so she doesn’t let on that she knows you.”
While Didi waited on the hill with the mule, Bento went slowly down the slope. Once they saw him, the washerwomen stopped working and greeted him. Some began exchanging glances and smiles, because they knew he would do just what he did — approach Rosa and start talking to her in a low voice.
But they couldn’t have imagined what he was saying. They saw the girl put her hands to her chest, still holding a soaking shirt that was dripping all over her. The others laughed, thinking that she must be nervous to see Bento again. They didn’t understand why Rosa laughed as the boy helped her collect the clothes she had dropped, her moist eyes fixed on the hilltop where a black boy was standing beside a mule.
“Don’t let anyone suspect,” Bento said to Rosa.
“But my mother will cry with joy. Everyone will know.”
“Then we have to let her know ahead of time. It’s very important.”
“But how? You’ll get to the house before I do and she’ll see Odjidi.”
“Yes, but I won’t go inside. I’ll ask permission to leave the mule tied to the corral and then go with the boy to take a peek in the woods, while it’s still light. I’ll say that I want to pick a good tree for Senhora Barbara’s bed. That way he won’t go to the kitchen porch immediately, and your mother won’t see him.”
“But …”
“Leave it to me to work out with Don Vasco and Senhora Barbara. I’ve thought of everything. You talk to your mother and prepare her. I’ll come back tonight. You and your mother can meet Didi at the fire in front of the slaves’ quarters. It will be dark and there will be fewer people around. Then you can talk. But you must be discreet.”
“Didi? Who is Didi?”
“Didi is your brother Odjidi.”
And that is what they did.
And since Bento stayed over another day and night at the Amarante mill, there was an opportunity for more conversation. Although the other slaves thought Rosa and Chica were giving the boy a lot of attention, they were satisfied with the explanation that they recognized him as the son of a neighbor from their village. They didn’t suspect the truth. They had no idea that he had brought them news of Guezo. That is, as much news as Bento felt he could give without jeopardizing anyone’s safety.
Didi told them that he had seen his father from a distance, unloading the bullock cart, but that they hadn’t been able to speak to each other. He said that the foreman was very violent, and that they had to be careful. His father was a slave at a plantation some leagues away, on the west side of the forest. And he had sent a message to his son saying he was fine.
All true. But incomplete.
Following Bento’s advice, Didi didn’t mention Guezo’s escape or the quilombo. It was valuable but risky information, which could be dangerous if it fell on the wrong ears. They covered it up with a white lie, leaving some hope that perhaps Guezo would come to Amparo again or send news.
For his part, Bento advised Don Vasco and Senhora Barbara to use mahogany for the canopy bed. There were good trees in the woods, and they themselves could choose which ones to cut down. He gave them several possibilities — they could have just the bed or take the opportunity to order a pair of night tables and a clothes chest as well. The timber could be transported to Amparo, but in fact that wouldn’t be necessary. Although the carpenters in Amarante were only used to manufacturing rough pieces, they were very good. They could get a start on the work, doing the heaviest parts of the job, and then he could come to guide them, while he was doing the drawings and fine finishes.
It seemed like a good idea, and so it was arranged.
18
—
Dreams and Secrets
In the midst of hard work and various comings and goings between the village of Amparo and the Amarante mill, time passed.
In the village, Bento convinced the Jesuits that he needed some apprentices. Father Vicente chose three very skilled students to help him. Their assistance made it possible to finish the work on the church altar just in time for Christmas.
It was a beautiful celebration that lasted several days. For a few weeks, the Indian children had been rehearsing a play at the Jesuit school. The priests liked to organize a play for special occasions, and the Indians liked to participate. Everyone enjoyed the rehearsals and preparations. And on Christmas Eve, everyone — the people of Amparo and many from the surrounding mills like Amarante — could see and hear the result.
But the celebration involved much more. First, there was a procession. Then, in front of the church, everyone stopped to listen to the beautiful singing by a children’s choir of hymns celebrating the coming of God to live among the people. Then a public ceremony recreated the birth of the baby Jesus, with all its stories. It showed the glory of Jesus, the angels, the guiding star, the adoration of the shepherds, the visit of the Three Kings. But it also showed the poverty in which Jesus decided to enter the world, the violence of the persecution by Herod, and Herod’s massacre of the innocents.
It was only when the celebration outside was over that the doors of the church were opened and everyone entered to see the new altar and the ceramic nativity scene. They were dazzling.
The candlelight revealed the beauty of the wood carved by Bento with the help of Indians and slaves. The wood carvings stood out, rising behind the altar stone covered by the lacework made by Dona Catarina, Beatriz, Felipa and other women in the village. On the side, near the door that gave way to the cloister, was another attraction — a pretend grotto made of rough, dyed, crushed cloth that housed the clay figures made by Manuela and the Indian women. The nativity scene included the Holy Family, the Magi, the shepherds, the angels, as well as a host of other visitors and animals — dolls representing fishermen, basket weavers, porters, farmers, woodsmen, dogs, agoutis, coatis, parrots, frogs and alligators. They all came to celebrate the birth of Jesus.
It was beautiful. Everyone was delighted by the new altar and the
nativity. Then the Christmas mass began. In his sermon, Father Braz spoke about the meaning of the coming of the Redeemer, the hope of humanity. But he also talked about the joy of everyone being assembled in peace that night, in a church that had become so beautiful and that owed so much to the work of an artist like Bento.
Hearing these words, the boy remembered the conversation he’d had with the priests a few days before. Father Vicente had said that he owed the beauty of the altar to Bento, and he didn’t know how to pay him. The boy had drummed up his courage and answered in a straightforward way.
“I know how.”
Curious, the priest asked, “Tell me. Is it something we can do?”
“I don’t know. But I know what I would like. I want you to help me marry Rosa Chica.”
Given the priest’s surprise, he explained who Rosa was and how much the two of them liked each other. He didn’t need to say anything about the difficulties of such a marriage, because they were obvious. She was a slave and had owners. No need to say more.
“I’ll think about it. We will talk again tomorrow,” promised Father Vicente.
The next day, Bento was called to have another conversation, this time with all the priests. They sympathized with his request, but had no idea what could be done to make it happen. They didn’t have a plan, but they had some suggestions.
Some thought that first Rosa should be baptized. Others said that maybe Bento could work and save money to buy her and give her her freedom.
“Make money? How? Will the church pay me for my work? Or will Rosa’s owners give me enough for the furniture that she could stay with me?”
Until the Day Arrives Page 9