My Sweet Orange Tree

by José Mauro de Vasconcelos

  ‘Is that so? What about when you gallop wildly over the western plains when we go bison and buffalo hunting? Have you forgotten?’

  He had to agree because he didn’t know how to argue with me and win.

  ‘But there’s one, Pinkie … There’s one that no one dares piggyback on. Know which one it is? That big car that belongs to Manuel Valadares. How’s that for an ugly name? Manuel Valadares …’

  ‘Yes, it is. But I’m thinking something.’

  ‘You think I don’t know what you’re thinking? I know, yes. But not yet. Let me practise more … Then I’ll give it a try …’

  * * *

  The days went past with great cheer. One morning I showed up with a flower for my teacher. She was moved and said that I was a gentleman.

  ‘Do you know what that is, Pinkie?’

  ‘A gentleman is someone who is very polite, like a prince.’

  And every day I developed more and more of a taste for my lessons and applied myself even harder. There were never any complaints about me from the school. Glória said that I left my little devil in the drawer and became another child.

  ‘Do you think it’s true, Pinkie?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Is that so? ’Cause I was going to tell you a secret but now I’m not going to.’

  I left in a huff. But he didn’t worry about it much because he knew I never stayed mad for long.

  The secret was going to happen at night and I was so anxious that my heart was almost leaping out of my chest. It took ages for the factory whistle to go off and the people to go past. Night took a long time to arrive in summer. Even dinner time never came. I stayed at the gate watching and didn’t have a single thought about snakes or anything else. I sat there waiting for Mother. Even Jandira found it odd, and asked if I had a stomach ache because I’d eaten unripe fruit.

  Mother’s silhouette appeared at the street corner. It was her! No one in the world looked like her. I jumped up and ran.

  ‘Hello, Mother,’ I said, kissing her hand.

  Even in the poorly lit street I could see that her face looked tired.

  ‘Did you work a lot today, Mother?’

  ‘Yes, son. It was so hot at the loom that no one could bear it.’

  ‘Give me your bag. You’re tired.’

  I took her bag with her empty lunchbox in it.

  ‘Did you get up to much mischief today?’

  ‘Only a bit, Mother.’

  ‘Why did you wait at the gate for me?’

  She was trying to guess.

  ‘Mother, do you love me just a little?’

  ‘I love you as much as I love your brothers and sisters. Why?’

  ‘Mother, remember Nardinho? The hippo’s nephew?’

  ‘Yes,’ she laughed.

  ‘His mother made a fine suit for him. It’s green with white stripes. It has a waistcoat that buttons up to the neck. But he’s grown out of it. And he doesn’t have a younger brother who can use it. And he wants to sell it. Can you buy it?’

  ‘Oh, child! Things are so difficult!’

  ‘But he said you can pay in two instalments. And it isn’t expensive. It won’t even cover the cost of making it.’

  I was repeating Jacob the Money Lender’s words.

  She was quiet, doing the maths.

  ‘Mother, I’m the hardest-working pupil in my class. The teacher says I’m going to get a distinction. Please buy it for me, Mother. I’ve haven’t had new clothes for such a long time …’

  Her silence was unsettling me.

  ‘Look, Mother, if you don’t, I’m never going to have my poet’s clothes. Lalá can make me a tie with a big bow like this out of a piece of silk she’s got …’

  ‘OK, son. I’ll do a week of overtime and I’ll buy you the suit.’

  Then I kissed her hand and walked next to her with my face pressed to her hand until we were inside the house.

  That was how I got my poet’s clothes. I looked so smart that Uncle Edmundo took me to have my photograph taken.

  * * *

  School. Flower. Flower. School …

  Everything was going fine when Godofredo came into the classroom. He excused himself and asked to speak to Dona Cecília Paim. All I know is that he pointed at the flower in the glass. Then he left. She looked at me sadly.

  When class was over, she called me over.

  ‘I’d like to talk to you about something, Zezé. Just a minute.’

  She rummaged in her handbag for a long time. I could tell she didn’t really want to talk to me and was searching for courage among her things. Finally, she decided.

  ‘Godofredo told me something very bad about you, Zezé. Is it true?’

  I nodded.

  ‘About the flower? It’s true, miss.’

  ‘What exactly do you do?’

  ‘I wake up early and stop by Serginho’s front garden. When the gate isn’t closed all the way, I slip in and steal a flower. But they have so many that they won’t be missed.’

  ‘Yes. But it’s not right. You shouldn’t do it any more. It’s not serious but it’s a kind of theft.’

  ‘No it isn’t, Dona Cecília. Doesn’t the world belong to God? Doesn’t everything in the world belong to God? Then flowers belong to God too …’

  She was surprised by my logic.

  ‘It was the only way, miss. There’s no garden at my place. Flowers cost money … And I didn’t want the glass on your desk to always be empty.’

  She gulped.

  ‘Don’t you give me money from time to time, to buy a pastry?’

  ‘I could give it to you every day. But you disappear …’

  ‘I couldn’t accept it every day …’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because there are other poor children who don’t bring anything to eat either.’

  She pulled a handkerchief out of her bag and discreetly dabbed her eyes with it.

  ‘Don’t you see Little Owl?’

  ‘Who’s Little Owl?’

  ‘The little black girl who’s my size and her mother rolls her hair up in little buns and ties string around them.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you mean Dorotília.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Dorotília is even poorer than me. And the other girls don’t like to play with her because she’s black and poor. So she always stays in a corner. I share the pastry that you give me with her.’

  This time she stood there with the handkerchief pressed to her nose for a long time.

  ‘Every now and then, instead of giving it to me, you could give it to her. Her mum is a washerwoman and she has eleven children. All still young. Gran gives them some rice and beans every Saturday to help them out. And I share my pastry with her because Mother taught us that we should share the little we have with those who have even less.’

  Tears were rolling down her face now.

  ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry. I promise not to steal flowers any more and I’m going to study even harder.’

  ‘It’s not that, Zezé. Come here.’

  She took my hands in hers.

  ‘I want you to promise me something, because you have a beautiful heart, Zezé.’

  ‘I promise, but I don’t want to mislead you, ma’am. I don’t have a beautiful heart. You say that because you don’t know what I’m like at home.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. To me you do. From now on I don’t want you to bring me any more flowers. Only if they’re given to you. Promise?’

  ‘I promise. But what about the glass? Will it always be empty?’

  ‘This glass will never be empty. Whenever I look at it, I’ll always see the most beautiful flower in the world. And I’ll think: my best pupil gave me that flower. OK?’

  Now she laughed. She let go of my hands and spoke sweetly.

  ‘Now off you go, heart of gold …’

  Last Chapter of Part One

  ‘IN A PRISON I HOPE YOU DIE’

  The first very useful thing that we learned at school was the days of
the week. And once I had mastered the days of the week, I knew that he came on Tuesday. Then I also discovered that one Tuesday he would go to the streets on the other side of the station and the next he would come to our side.

  That’s why that Tuesday I skipped class. I didn’t want Totoca to know, or I’d have to pay him marbles not to say anything at home. Because it was early and he wouldn’t arrive until the church bells chimed nine, I went for a stroll through the streets. Streets that weren’t dangerous, of course. First I stopped at the church and took a look at the saints. I felt a little scared seeing the still statues, surrounded by candles. The winking candles made the saints wink too. I wasn’t sure if it would be nice to be a saint and have to be really still all the time.

  I went for a walk around the sacristy and Seu Zacarias was taking the old candles out of the candleholders and putting new ones in them. There was a pile of stubs on the table.

  ‘Good morning, Seu Zacarias.’

  He stopped, moved his glasses to the tip of his nose, sniffed, turned around and replied, ‘Good morning, son.’

  ‘Would you like me to help you?’

  I couldn’t stop looking at the candle stubs.

  ‘Only if you want to get in the way. Didn’t you go to school today?’ he said, returning to work.

  ‘I did. But the teacher didn’t come. She had a toothache.’

  ‘Oh!’

  He turned around and moved his glasses to the tip of his nose again.

  ‘How old are you, child?’

  ‘Five. No, six. No, I’m five.’

  ‘Well, is it five or six?’

  I thought about school and lied.

  ‘Six.’

  ‘Well, six is a good age to start Catechism classes.’

  ‘Am I allowed?’

  ‘Why not? All you have to do is come every Thursday, at three o’clock in the afternoon. Want to come?’

  ‘That depends. If you give me the candle stubs, I’ll come.’

  ‘What do you want candle stubs for?’

  The devil had already given me a nudge. I lied again.

  ‘It’s to wax my kite string to make it stronger.’

  ‘Then take them.’

  I gathered up the stubs and stuffed them in my satchel with my school-books and marbles. I was deliriously happy.

  ‘Thank you very much, Seu Zacarias.’

  ‘Don’t forget, now. Thursday.’

  I raced out of there. It was early; there was time. I hurried to the front of the casino and, when no one was coming, crossed the street and rubbed the stubs of wax on the pavement as quickly as possible. Then I ran back and sat down to wait on the pavement outside one of the casino’s four closed doors. I wanted to see from a distance who would be the first to slip.

  I was just about to give up waiting when, suddenly, plop! My heart leapt. Dona Corinha, Nanzeazena’s mother, walked through her gate with a handkerchief and a book, and set off for the church.

  ‘Holy Mother of God!’

  Dona Corinha, of all people – she was a friend of Mother’s and Nanzeazena was good friends with Glória. I didn’t want to watch. I bolted for the corner and stopped to look. She had come crashing to the ground and was cursing.

  People gathered around to see if she was hurt, but judging by the way she was cursing, she must have only got a few scratches.

  ‘It was those little delinquents.’

  I let out a sigh of relief. But I wasn’t so relieved that I failed to feel a hand taking hold of my satchel.

  ‘That was your doing, wasn’t it, Zezé?’

  Seu Orlando-Hair-on-Fire. He of all people, who’d been our neighbour for many years. I couldn’t speak.

  ‘Was it or wasn’t it?’

  ‘Promise not to tell my parents?’

  ‘I’m not going to tell. But look here, Zezé. I’ll let it go this time ’cause that woman’s a real gossip. But don’t do it again because someone could break a leg.’

  I made the most obedient face in the world and he let me go.

  I headed back to the market, waiting for him to arrive. But before that I stopped by Seu Rozemberg’s pastry shop, smiled and said, ‘Good day, Seu Rozemberg.’

  He wished me good day dryly, and didn’t offer me a sweet. Son of a bitch! He only gave me sweets when I was with Lalá.

  ‘Here he comes.’

  The clock clanged nine o’clock. He came like he always did. I followed him from a distance. He turned onto Rua do Progresso and stopped on the corner. He put his bag on the ground and threw his jacket over his left shoulder. What a nice checked shirt! When I’m a grown-up, I thought, I’ll only wear shirts like that. He had a red kerchief around his neck and his hat was tipped back. Then he boomed in his deep voice that filled the street with cheer, ‘Gather round, my good people! Come hear what’s new!’

  His Bahian accent was lovely too.

  ‘This week’s hits. “Claudionor!” “Pardon!” … Chico Viola’s latest song. Vicente Celestino’s latest success. Come learn it – it’s all the rage.’

  His singsong way of speaking fascinated me.

  I wanted him to sing ‘the bit about Fanny’. He always sang it and I wanted to learn. When he got to the bit that goes ‘In a prison I hope you die’, it was so beautiful I even got goose pimples. He filled his lungs and sang ‘Claudionor’.

  I went to dance samba in the favela

  A girl looked at me and said, hey there big fella

  But I didn’t go, my lust unfulfilled

  Her husband was strong, I could’ve been killed …

  I don’t want to be like Claudionor

  To support his family, became a stevedore …

  He would stop and announce:

  ‘Brochures with song lyrics for all pockets, from one to four tostões. Sixty new tunes! The latest tangos.’

  Then he’d come to the bit I’d been waiting for. Fanny.

  One day while she was busy with chores

  He stabbed her to death behind closed doors

  For the crime of being a tart …

  (Then his voice would grow so soft and sweet it could have melted the hardest of hearts.)

  Poor, poor Fanny, who had a good heart

  I swear to God you’ll have reason to cry

  IN A PRISON I HOPE YOU DIE

  He stabbed her to death for being a tart

  Poor, poor Fanny, who had a good heart.

  People would come out of their houses to buy brochures, but not before studying them all to see which took their fancy. By this time I couldn’t stop following him because of Fanny.

  He turned to me with an enormous smile.

  ‘Want one, boy?’

  ‘No, sir. I don’t have any money.’

  ‘I could tell.’

  He picked up his bag and strolled a little further down the street, shouting, ‘The waltzes “Pardon”, “Smoking, I Wait” and “Bye-bye Boys”.’ The tangos that are even more popular than ‘Night of Kings’. In the city, everyone’s singing “Heavenly Light”. It’s a beauty. Listen to the lyrics!’

  And he sang:

  The light in your eyes is heavenly

  I do believe that I can see

  The glow of stars in constellations

  Your eyes a well of temptations

  Stare into my eyes and see

  What moonlit love has done to me

  And just how wretched love can be …

  He made a few more announcements, sold a few more brochures and noticed me again. He stopped and beckoned me over with a finger.

  ‘C’mere, finch.’

  I obeyed, smiling.

  ‘Are you going to stop following me or not?’

  ‘No, sir. Nobody in the world sings as beautifully as you.’

  He was flattered and a little disarmed. I was getting somewhere.

  ‘But I can’t go anywhere without you following me.’

  ‘It’s just that I wanted to see if you sing better than Vicente Celestino and Chico Viola. And you do.’ />
  He flashed a broad grin.

  ‘And have you heard them, finch?’

  ‘Yes, sir. On a gramophone at Dr Adaucto Luz’s house, with his son.’

  ‘Then the gramophone must be old or the needle broken.’

  ‘No, sir. It was a brand-new gramophone that had just arrived. You really do sing a lot better. In fact, I was thinking something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll follow you everywhere. You teach me how much each brochure costs. Then you sing and I sell the brochures. Everyone likes to buy from a child.’

  ‘Not a bad idea, finch. But one thing. If you come along, you come ’cause you want to. I can’t pay you anything.’

  ‘But I don’t want anything.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Well, I really like to sing. I like to learn. And I think the song about Fanny is the most beautiful thing in the world. Now, if you end up selling lots, you could take an old brochure that nobody wants to buy and give it to me to give to my sister.’

  He took off his hat and scratched his head where his hair was flattened down.

  ‘I have an older sister called Glória and I’d give it to her. That’s all.’

  ‘OK then.’

  And we went along, singing and selling. He sang and I learned as I went.

  When it was noon, he eyed me a little suspiciously.

  ‘Aren’t you going home for lunch?’

  ‘Only when we finish our work.’

  He scratched his head again.

  ‘Come with me.’

  We sat in a bar on Rua Ceres and he retrieved a big sandwich from the bottom of his bag. He pulled a knife out of his waist-band. A scary looking knife. He cut off a piece of his sandwich and gave it to me. Then he had a sip of cachaça and ordered two lemonades. As he ate his sandwich he studied me with his eyes and his eyes were very content.

  ‘Y’know, finch,’ he said with a drawl. ‘You’re bringing me good luck. I’ve a row of potbellied young ’uns and I never thought to get one of ’em to give me a hand.’

  He took a long sip of lemonade.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Five. Six … Five.’

  ‘Five or six?’

  ‘I still haven’t turned six.’