Chapter Three
THE LEAN FINGERS OF POVERTY
When I put the problem to Uncle Edmundo, he gave it some serious thought.
‘So that’s what’s you’re worried about?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m afraid that when we move house, Luciano won’t come with us.’
‘Do you think this bat really likes you?’
‘Of course.’
‘From the bottom of his heart?’
‘I’m sure of it.’
‘Then you can be certain he’ll go. He might take a while to show up at the new place, but one day he’ll find the way.’
‘I’ve already told him the street name and number.’
‘Well, that makes it even easier. If he can’t go because he’s got other commitments, he’ll send a sibling, a cousin, a relative of some sort and you’ll never notice.’
But I still wasn’t convinced. What good was the street name and number if Luciano didn’t know how to read? Maybe he’d go along asking the birds, the praying mantis, the butterflies.
‘Don’t worry, Zezé. Bats are very good at finding their bearings.’
‘At finding what, Uncle?’
He explained what bearings meant and I was even more impressed by how much he knew.
With my problem solved, I went out to tell everyone what was in store for us: the move. Most grown-ups said cheerfully, ‘You’re moving, Zezé? How lovely! How wonderful! What a relief!’
The only one who didn’t bat an eyelid was Biriquinho.
‘Good thing it’s only a few streets over. You’ll be nearby. What about that thing I told you about?’
‘When is it?’
‘Tomorrow, at eight, at the door to the casino. Folks are saying the owner of the factory ordered in a truckload of toys. You going?’
‘Yep. I’m taking Luís. Do you think I’ll get something too?’
‘’Course. He’s a runt like you. Why? You think you’re too big?’
He came closer and I felt that I was still really small. Smaller than I’d thought.
‘Because if I’m going to get a present … But now I’ve got things to do. See you there.’
I went home and hovered around Glória.
‘What’s up, Zezé?’
‘It’d be so nice if you could take us to the casino tomorrow. There’s a truck from the city stuffed full of toys.’
‘Oh, Zezé. I have a pile of things to do. I have to iron, I have to help Jandira get things ready for the move, I have to keep an eye on the pots on the stove …’
‘A bunch of cadets from Realengo are going.’
Besides collecting pictures of Rudolph Valentino, who she called Rudy, and pasting them into a notebook, she had a thing for cadets.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me: cadets at eight o’clock in the morning? Pull the other leg! Run along and play, Zezé.’
But I didn’t go.
‘You know, Gló, it’s not for me. I promised Luís I’d take him. He’s so little. All children his age can think about is Christmas.’
‘Zezé, I already told you I’m not going. And that’s a fib: you’re the one who wants to go. You’ve got your whole life to get Christmas presents.’
‘But what if I die? What if I die without getting a present this Christmas?’
‘You’re not going to die so soon, my little old man. You’ll live twice as long as Uncle Edmundo or Seu Benedito. Now, enough of this. Go play.’
But I still didn’t go. I made sure she bumped into me everywhere she turned. She’d go to the chest of drawers to get something and she’d find me sitting on the rocking chair, begging her with my eyes. Begging with your eyes really got to her. She’d go to fetch water from the washtub and I’d be sitting in the doorway, looking at her. She’d go to the bedroom to get the clothes to be washed and I’d be sitting on the bed, chin in hands, looking …
She couldn’t take it.
‘Enough, Zezé. I’ve already told you that no means no. For heaven’s sake, don’t try my patience. Go play.’
But again I didn’t go. That is, I thought I wasn’t going. But she picked me up, carried me out the door and dumped me in the backyard. Then she went back inside and closed the doors to the kitchen and the living room. I didn’t give up. I sat outside every window she was going to pass, because now she was starting to dust and make the beds. She’d see me peeping at her and would shut the window. She ended up shutting up the whole house so she wouldn’t see me.
‘Meany! Evil witch! I hope you never marry a cadet! I hope you marry a private, the sort who can’t even afford to have his boots polished.’
When I saw that I was wasting my time, I headed for the street, fuming.
I ran into Nardinho playing. He was squatting, staring at something, oblivious to everything else. I went over. He had made a little wagon out of a matchbox and tied it to the biggest beetle I’d ever seen.
‘Wow!’
‘Big, innit?’
‘Wanna swap?’
‘Why?’
‘If you want some trading cards …’
‘How many?’
‘Two.’
‘You’re kidding. A beetle this big and you’ll only give me two?’
‘There’re heaps of beetles like that in the ditch behind Uncle Edmundo’s house.’
‘I’ll do it for three.’
‘Three, but you don’t get to pick.’
‘Nothing doing. I get to pick at least two.’
‘Fine.’
I gave him one of Laura La Plante that I had several of. And he picked one of Hoot Gibson and another of Patsy Ruth Miller. I put the beetle in my pocket and went on my way.
* * *
‘Quick, Luís. Glória’s gone to buy bread and Jandira’s reading in the rocking chair.’
We crept down the corridor to the toilet. I went to help him pee.
‘Make it a big one, ’cause we’re not allowed to go in the street during the day.’
Afterwards, I splashed water on his face in the washtub. I did the same to mine and we went back to the bedroom.
I dressed him without making any noise. I put his shoes on him. Goddam socks! They just get in the way is all they do. I buttoned up his little blue suit and looked for a comb. But his hair wouldn’t stay down. Something had to be done about it. I couldn’t find anything anywhere. No brilliantine, no oil. I went into the kitchen and came back with a little lard on my fingertips. I rubbed it on my palm and took a whiff first.
‘It doesn’t smell at all.’
Then I slapped it on Luís’s hair and started combing. His head full of ringlets was beautiful. He looked like Saint John with a lamb on his back.
‘Now, you stand over there, so you don’t get all wrinkled. I’m going to get dressed.’
As I pulled on my trousers and white shirt, I looked at my brother.
What a beautiful child he was! There was no one more beautiful in Bangu.
I pulled on my tennis shoes, which had to last until I went to school the next year. I kept looking at Luís.
All lovely and neat like that, he could have been mistaken for a slightly older Baby Jesus. I was sure he was going to get lots of presents. When they set eyes on him …
I shuddered. Glória had just come back and was putting the bread on the table. I could hear the paper bag rustling.
We went hand in hand and stood in front of her.
‘Doesn’t he look lovely, Gló? I dressed him myself.’
Instead of getting angry, she leaned on the door and looked up. When she lowered her head, her eyes were full of tears.
‘You look lovely too. Oh! Zezé!’
She kneeled down and held my head against her chest.
‘Good God! Why does life have to be so hard for some?’
She pulled herself together and started fixing our clothes.
‘I told you I couldn’t take you. I really can’t, Zezé. I have too much to do. First let’s have breakfast, while I think of something. Even if I
wanted to, there isn’t enough time for me to get ready …’
She poured us our coffee and sliced the bread. She continued staring at us with a look of despair.
‘So much effort for a couple of lousy toys. But I guess there are too many poor people for them to give away really good things.’
She paused and then went on. ‘It might be your only chance. I’m not going to stop you going. But, my God, you’re too small …’
‘I’ll get him there safely. I’ll hold his hand the whole time, Gló. We don’t even need to cross the highway.’
‘Even so, it’s dangerous.’
‘No, it isn’t, and I’m good at finding my bearings.’
She laughed through her sadness.
‘Now, who taught you that?’
‘Uncle Edmundo. He said Luciano’s good at it, and if Luciano’s smaller than me, then I’ll be better …’
‘I’ll talk to Jandira.’
‘Why bother? She’ll say yes. All Jandira does is read novels and think about her boyfriends. She doesn’t care.’
‘Let’s do this: finish your breakfast and we’ll go to the gate. If we see someone we know who’s heading that way, I’ll ask them to go with you.’
I didn’t even want to eat any bread, so as not to waste time. We went to the gate.
Nothing passed except time. But that ended up passing too. Along came Seu Paixão, the postman. He waved to Glória, took off his cap and offered to accompany us.
Glória kissed Luís and kissed me. She asked with a teary smile, ‘What was that thing about a private and his boots?’
‘It’s not true. I didn’t mean it. You’re going to marry an aeroplane major with a bunch of stars on his shoulder.’
‘Why didn’t you go with Totoca?’
‘He said he wasn’t going. And that he wasn’t in the mood to go lugging “baggage” around.’
We set off. Seu Paixão told us to go on ahead and went along delivering letters to the houses. Then he would quicken his step and catch up with us. He did it over and over. When we reached the highway, he laughed and said, ‘Boys, I’ve got to speed up. You’re making me fall behind in my work. Now, you go that way. It’s not at all dangerous.’
He hurried off, with the bundle of letters and papers under his arm.
I thought angrily, ‘Coward! Abandoning two little children on the highway after promising Glória that he’d take us.’
I held Luís’s little hand even tighter and we kept walking. His tiredness was beginning to show. His steps were growing shorter and shorter.
‘C’mon, Luís. It’s close now. There’re lots of toys.’
He’d walk a little faster and then would go slower again.
‘Zezé, I’m tired.’
‘I’ll carry you a ways, OK?’
He stretched out his arms and I carried him a bit. Boy, was he heavy, a lead weight. When we reached Rua do Progresso, I was the one panting.
‘Now you walk a bit more.’
The church clock chimed eight o’clock.
‘Oh dear! We were supposed to be there at seven-thirty. But it’s OK, there are lots of people and plenty of toys to go around. A truckload.’
‘Zezé, my foot hurts.’
I knelt down.
‘I’m going to loosen your shoelaces a little and it’ll feel better.’
We were going slower and slower. It felt like we’d never get to the market. We still had to pass the school and turn right on the street of the Bangu Casino. And the worst part was that time was flying on purpose.
We arrived, dead on our feet. There was no one there. It didn’t even look like toys had been given out. But they had, because the street was littered with crumpled tissue paper. Torn scraps of coloured paper were strewn across the sand.
My heart began to race.
We walked up to the casino and found Seu Coquinho closing the doors.
‘Seu Coquinho, is it all over?’ I said in a fluster.
‘Yep, Zezé. You came too late. It was mayhem.’
He closed one side of the door and smiled kindly.
‘There’s nothing left. Not even for my nieces and nephews.’
He closed the other side of the door and stepped into the street.
‘Next year, you need to come earlier, you sleepyheads!’
‘It’s OK.’
It wasn’t. I was so sad and disappointed that I’d rather have died than have that happen.
‘Let’s sit down over there. We need to rest a little.’
‘I’m thirsty, Zezé.’
‘When we pass the pastry shop, we can ask Seu Rozemberg for a glass of water. That’s it for us today.’
It was only then that he understood the tragedy. He didn’t even speak, just looked at me, his bottom lip jutting out and eyes brimming.
‘Don’t worry, Luís. You know my little horse, Silver King? I’m going to ask Totoca to change his pole and give it to you for Christmas.’
He sniffled.
‘No, don’t do that. You’re a king. Father said he named you Luís because it was a king’s name. And a king can’t cry in the street, in front of other people.’
I leaned his head against my chest and stroked his curly hair.
‘When I grow up, I’m going to buy a beautiful car like Manuel Valadares’s. Remember, the Portuguese man who passed us once at the train station when we went to wave at the Mangaratiba Express? Well, I’m going to buy a beautiful big car like that, full of presents just for you … But don’t cry, ’cause kings don’t cry.’
My chest exploded with sorrow.
‘I swear I’m going to buy one. Even if I have to kill and steal …’
It wasn’t the little bird inside me saying that. It must have been my heart.
It was the only way. Why didn’t Jesus like me? He even liked the ox and the donkey in the manger. But not me. He was punishing me because I was the devil’s godson. He was punishing me by not giving my brother a present. But that wasn’t fair on Luís, because he was an angel. There couldn’t have been an angel in heaven that was better than him …
Cowardly tears began to roll down my face.
‘Zezé, you’re crying …’
‘It’ll pass soon. Besides, I’m not a king like you. I’m good for nothing. A naughty boy, really naughty … That’s all.’
* * *
‘Totoca, have you been to the new house?’
‘No. Have you?’
‘I pop over there whenever I can.’
‘But why?’
‘I want to see how Pinkie is.’
‘Who the heck is Pinkie?’
‘He’s my orange tree.’
‘You found a name that really suits him. You’re good at finding things.’
He laughed and continued whittling what was going to be Silver King’s new body.
‘And how is he?’
‘He hasn’t grown at all.’
‘Nor will he if you keep watching him. What do you think? Is this how you wanted the pole?’
‘Yes. Totoca, how is it that you know how to do everything? You can make cages, chicken coops, nurseries, fences, gates …’
‘That’s because not everyone was born to be a poet in a bowtie. But if you really wanted to, you could learn.’
‘I don’t think so. One needs to have the “inclination” to do those things.’
He paused for a moment and looked at me, half laughing, half disapproving of the new word Uncle Edmundo had probably taught me.
Gran had come over and was in the kitchen making French toast soaked in wine for Christmas Eve supper. It was all there was.
I said to Totoca, ‘And some people don’t even have this much. Uncle Edmundo gave us the money for the wine and to buy things for the fruit salad for lunch tomorrow.’
Totoca was making the new pole for free because he’d heard about what had happened at Bangu Casino. At least Luís would get something. Something old and second-hand, but something very beautiful, which I liked a lo
t.
‘Totoca?’
‘What?’
‘Do you think we’re going to get nothing at all from Father Christmas?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Tell me the truth. Do you think I’m as naughty, as bad as everyone says?’
‘Not bad bad. It’s just that you’ve got the devil in your blood.’
‘When Christmas comes I really wish I didn’t! I hope that before I die, at least once in my life, the Baby Jesus will be born in my heart instead of the devil child.’
‘Maybe next year … Why don’t you learn from me and do what I do?’
‘What do you do?’
‘I don’t expect anything. That way I don’t get disappointed. Jesus isn’t as good as everyone says. ’Cause the priest says that even if the catechism says …’
He paused, unsure if he should go on.
‘Even if it says what?’
‘Well, let’s just say that you were really naughty and didn’t deserve a thing. But what about Luís?’
‘He’s an angel.’
‘And Glória?’
‘She is too.’
‘And me?’
‘Well, sometimes you … you … use my things, but you’re good.’
‘And Lalá?’
‘She hits hard, but she’s good. One day she’s going to sew me a bowtie.’
‘And Jandira?’
‘Jandira is Jandira, but she isn’t bad.’
‘And Mother?’
‘Mother’s very good; she feels sorry for me when she smacks me, and she does it gently.’
‘And Father?’
‘Hmm! I’m not sure about him. He never gets lucky. I think he must have been like me, the bad one of the family.’
‘Well, then. Everyone in the family is good. So why isn’t Jesus good to us? Now go to Dr Faulhaber’s house and see the size of the table, piled high. The Villas-Boas’s house, too. And Dr Adaucto Luz’s house, don’t even get me started …’
For the first time I saw that Totoca was almost crying.
‘That’s why I think Jesus Christ only wanted to be born poor to show off. Afterwards he saw that only the rich were any good … But let’s not talk about this any more. What I said might be a really big sin.’
He was so distraught that he didn’t even look up from the horse’s body that he was now stroking.
My Sweet Orange Tree Page 3