‘Well, you’re a nice, intelligent little boy.’
‘Does that mean we can meet up again next Tuesday?’
He laughed.
‘If you wish.’
‘I do. But I’m going to have to arrange it with my sister. She’ll understand. Actually, it’s good, ’cause I’ve never been to the other side of the tracks.’
‘How do you know I go there?’
‘I wait for you every Tuesday, sir. One Tuesday you come and the next one you don’t. So I figured you go to the other side of the tracks.’
‘Clever boy! What’s your name?’
‘Zezé.’
‘I’m Ariovaldo. Shake.’
He took my hand in his calloused hands so we’d be friends until death.
* * *
It wasn’t hard to convince Glória.
‘But Zezé, once a week? What about school?’
I showed her my notebook and my handwriting was all neat and meticulous. My grades were excellent. I did the same with my maths book.
‘And I’m the best at reading, Gló.’
Even then she wasn’t sure.
‘What we’re studying now we’ll be studying for the next six months, repeating the same thing over and over. Those donkeys take ages to learn.’
She laughed.
‘What a way to talk, Zezé.’
‘It’s true, Glória, I learn much more from the singing. Want to see how many new things I’ve learned? Afterwards Uncle Edmundo told me what they meant. Stevedore, constellation, temptation and wretched. And on top of it all I’ll bring you a brochure of song lyrics every week and teach you the most beautiful things in the world.’
‘Right. But there’s just one thing. What do we tell Father when he notices that you don’t come home for lunch every Tuesday?’
‘He won’t. But if he asks, we lie. You say I went to have lunch at Gran’s place. That I went to take a message to Nanzeazena and stayed for lunch.’
Holy Mary! Just as well it was only pretend because if Nanzeazena’s mother, Dona Corinha, found out what I’d done!
Glória ended up agreeing because she knew it was a way to keep me out of mischief, and so avoid beatings. And it was nice to sit under the trees with her on Wednesday, teaching her to sing.
I couldn’t wait for Tuesdays to come. I would go wait for Seu Ariovaldo at the train station. When he didn’t miss his train, he got there at eight-thirty.
I’d wander around looking at everything. I liked to go to the pastry shop and watch the people coming down the stairs from the station. It was a good place to shine shoes. But Glória never let me because the police would chase us and take our boxes. And there were the trains, too. I could only go with Seu Ariovaldo if he gave me his hand, even if it was to take the footbridge to the other side.
Then he’d arrive, all flustered. After the song about Fanny, he was convinced that I knew what the people liked to buy.
We’d go sit on the wall of the station, across from the factory garden, and he’d open the brochure and show me the song, singing the first bit. When I didn’t think it was good, he’d find another one.
‘This one’s new: “Spoiled”.’
He sang it.
‘Sing it again.’
He repeated the last verse.
‘That’s the one, Seu Ariovaldo, plus Fanny and the tangos; we’re going to sell out.’
And we’d go through the dusty, sunlit streets. We were the joyful birds who confirmed that summer was coming. His big, beautiful voice opened the window of the morning.
‘The hit of the week, the month, the year: “Spoiled”, recorded by Chico Viola.’
The full moon casts a silver sheen
On the mountain, lush and green
The serenader’s trusty strings
His love to the window bring.
A heartfelt tune is gently spun
Sweet lyre deftly plucked and strummed
The crooner opens the floodgates
to all his lovesick heart’s dictates …
Then he’d pause a moment, nod twice and I would come in with my pure little voice.
No fairer vision ever seen
You are my light, you are my queen
If up to me, you’ll never toil
Clever girl, you’ll be spoiled.
You should have seen it! Girls would come running to buy brochures. Gentlemen, people of all ages and types. I really liked selling the ones that cost four or five tostões. When it was a woman I knew what to do.
‘Here’s your change, ma’am.’
‘Keep it and buy yourself a sweet.’
I was even beginning to talk like Seu Ariovaldo.
At noon we’d head into the first tavern we saw and chomp, chomp, chomp, devour his sandwich, sometimes with an orange soda, sometimes a red one.
Then I’d stick my hand into my change pocket and spread it out on the table.
‘Here, Seu Ariovaldo.’
And I’d push the coins towards him. He’d smile and say, ‘You’re a good kid, Zezé.’
‘Seu Ariovaldo,’ I asked him one day. ‘Why did you used to call me finch?’
‘Back in Bahia, where I’m from, it means a little kid, a small child.’
He scratched his head and covered his mouth to burp. Then he excused himself and took a toothpick to clean his teeth. The money stayed where it was.
‘I’ve been thinking, Zezé. From now on you can keep the tips. After all, we’re a duo now.’
‘What’s a duo?’
‘When two people sing together.’
‘Then can I buy a sweet?’
‘It’s your money. You can do what you want with it.’
‘Thanks, champ.’
He laughed at the imitation. Now I was the one eating the sweet and looking at him.
‘Am I really a duo?’
‘You are now.’
‘Then let me sing the part about Fanny’s heart. You sing loudly and I’ll join you in the bit about the heart, with the sweetest voice in the world.’
‘That’s not a bad idea, Zezé.’
‘So, after lunch, let’s start with Fanny, ’cause it’s really good luck.’
And under the blazing sun we went back to work.
We were in the middle of Fanny when disaster struck. Along came Dona Maria da Penha looking all prim under her parasol, her face white with rice powder. She stopped and stood listening to us sing. Seu Ariovaldo saw tragedy coming and gave me a nudge to walk as I sang.
But I was so caught up in Fanny’s heart that I paid no attention.
Dona Maria da Penha closed her parasol and stood there tapping the toe of her shoe with it. When I finished, she scowled angrily and exclaimed, ‘My, my. What an immoral song for a child to be singing.’
‘There’s nothing immoral about my work, ma’am. Any honest work is work, and I am not ashamed of it!’
I’d never seen Seu Ariovaldo so annoyed. Maria da Penha was looking for a fight, and she got it.
‘Is that child your son?’
‘No, ma’am, ’fraid not.’
‘Your nephew, a relative?’
‘Nope.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Six.’
She sized me up with a doubtful expression and continued. ‘Are you not ashamed to be exploiting a young child?’
‘I’m not exploiting him at all, ma’am. He sings with me ’cause he wants to and ’cause he enjoys it. And I pay him, don’t I?’
I nodded. I was loving the fight. I felt like headbutting her in the belly to see the noise she’d make when she hit the ground. Boom!
‘Well, I’ll have you know I am going to do something about this. I am going to speak to the priest. I’m going to child welfare. I’m going to the police.’
Then her mouth snapped shut and her eyes opened wide with fear. Ariovaldo had pulled out his enormous knife and taken a step towards her. She looked like she was about to throw a fit.
‘Well, go ahead, ma’am. But go quickly. I’m
a good man, but I do like to cut out the tongues of tongue-wagging witches who stick their noses in where they’re not wanted …’
She tottered off, as stiff as a broomstick, and once at a distance turned and pointed her parasol.
‘You’ll see!’
‘Skedaddle, you shooshy old witch!’
She opened her parasol and disappeared down the street, stiff as could be.
* * *
In the late afternoon, Seu Ariovaldo was counting the profits.
‘We sold out, Zezé. You were right. You bring me good luck.’
I remembered Dona Maria da Penha.
‘Do you think she’s going to do something?’
‘’Course not, Zezé. At the most, she’ll talk to the priest and the priest’ll say, “Best let it go, Maria. There’s no messing with these people from the North.”’
He put the money in his pocket and rolled up his bag. Then, as always, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a folded brochure.
‘This is for your sister Glória.’ He stretched. ‘It was a helluva good day!’
We rested for a moment.
‘Ariovaldo.’
‘S’up?’
‘What’s a shooshy old witch?’
‘How am I supposed to know, son? I made it up in the heat of the moment,’ he said with a chuckle.
‘And were you really going to poke a hole in her?’
‘’Course not. That was just to spook her.’
‘If you did poke a hole in her, would guts or straw come out?’
He laughed and ruffled my hair in a friendly manner.
‘Know what, Zezé? I think shit would come out.’
We both laughed.
‘But don’t be scared. I can’t kill a thing. Not even a chicken. I’m so scared of the missus that I even let her beat me with the broomstick.’
We stood and walked to the station. He shook my hand and said, ‘Just to be safe, we’ll steer clear of that street for a few weeks.’
He squeezed my hand even more tightly.
‘See ya next week, champ.’
I nodded while he slowly climbed the stairs.
From up top he shouted, ‘You’re an angel, Zezé!’
I said goodbye and started to laugh.
Angel? If only he knew …
Part Two
WHEN THE BABY JESUS APPEARED IN ALL HIS SADNESS
Chapter One
PIGGYBACKS
‘Chop chop, Zezé, or you’ll be late for school!’
I was sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee and chewing a piece of bread without any hurry. As always, I had my elbow on the table and was staring at the piece of paper on the wall.
Glória always got flustered. She couldn’t wait for us to disappear for the morning and leave her in peace with the housework.
‘Get a move on, you little rascal. You haven’t even combed your hair! You should follow Totoca’s example – he’s always ready on time.’
She fetched a comb and ran it through my blond fringe.
‘Not that there’s anything to comb on this little goldilocks.’
She made me stand and then looked me up and down to see if my shirt and trousers were decent.
‘Now let’s go, Zezé.’
Totoca and I slung our satchels over our shoulders. Just textbooks, notebooks and pencils inside. No snacks – they were for other children.
Glória patted the bottom of my satchel, felt the marbles and smiled. We carried our tennis shoes in our hands to put on when we got to the market, near school.
The minute we were outside, Totoca would bolt off, leaving me to amble along on my own. That’s when my inner imp would begin to wake up. I actually liked it when Totoca went on ahead so that I could do my thing in peace. I was fascinated with the highway. A piggyback. Definitely a piggyback. To cling to the back of a car and feel the highway blowing wind in your face, whooshing and whistling. It was the best thing in the world. We all did it. Totoca had taught me, telling me over and over to hold on tight, because the cars behind us were dangerous. We slowly learned to overcome our fear, and our sense of adventure prompted us to attempt even more difficult piggybacks. I was getting so bold that I’d even piggybacked on Seu Ladislau’s car. The only one I hadn’t been on was the Portuguese’s beautiful vehicle. What a fine, well-kept car that was. The tyres always brand new. The metal so shiny you could see your reflection in it. I loved the sound of the horn: a gravely moo, like a cow in a field. The Portuguese would drive past sitting stiffly in his seat, master of all that beauty, wearing the biggest scowl in the world. No one dared piggyback on his back wheel. They said he beat people up, killed them, and even threatened to cut off their balls before he killed them. None of the boys from school had dared to, until now.
When I was talking about it with Pinkie, he said, ‘No one at all, Zezé?’
‘No one at all. They don’t dare.’
I sensed that Pinkie was laughing, and he could tell what I was thinking.
‘But you’re just dying to do it, aren’t you?’
‘To be honest, I am. I think …’
‘What do you think?’
Now I was the one laughing.
‘C’mon, tell me.’
‘You’re so nosy.’
‘You always tell me – you always end up telling me. You can’t help yourself.’
‘Hey, Pinkie. I leave home at seven o’clock in the morning, right? When I get to the corner it’s five past seven. Then, at ten past seven, the Portuguese stops his car at the corner outside the Misery and Hunger and goes in to buy a packet of cigarettes … One of these days I’m going to pluck up the courage and wait for him to get back into the car and pow!’
‘You don’t dare.’
‘Don’t I, Pinkie? I’ll show you.’
Now my heart was thumping. The car stopped, the Portuguese got out. Pinkie’s challenge played on my fear and my courage; I didn’t want to, but pride made me quicken my step. I walked around the bar and hid behind the corner, stuffing my shoes in my satchel while I was there. My heart was beating so fast I was afraid they’d hear it in the bar. The Portuguese came back out without even noticing me. I heard the door open …
‘It’s now or never, Pinkie!’ I whispered.
I jumped onto the tyre and clung to it with all my strength fuelled by my fear. I knew it was a long way to the school. I could already see the look on my classmates’ faces when they learned of my prowess …
‘Aahh!’
I cried out so loudly that people raced to the door of the bar to see who had been run over.
I was suspended two feet above the ground, wriggling and writhing. My ears were burning like red-hot coals. My plan had gone wrong somehow. In my haste, I’d forgotten to listen for the engine to start.
The Portuguese’s scowl looked even bigger than usual. His eyes were shooting sparks.
‘Well, well, toerag. So, it’s you, huh? You’ve got a lot of cheek for such a little squirt!’
He allowed my feet to touch the ground, let go of one of my ears and threatened me with his burly arm.
‘Do you think I didn’t see you checking out my car every day, toerag? I’m going to make sure you never try that again.’
The humiliation hurt more than the physical pain. All I wanted to do was fire off a volley of swear words at the brute. But he wouldn’t let go of me and, as if reading my mind, shook his free fist in my face and growled, ‘Say something then, toerag! Swear! Why don’t you say anything?’
My eyes filled with tears; it was the pain, the humiliation, the sniggering onlookers.
The Portuguese carried on shouting.
‘Why don’t you swear at me, toerag?’
A cruel fury rose up in my chest and I managed to splutter angrily, ‘I might not be saying anything, but I’m thinking it. And when I grow up I’m going to kill you.’
He laughed, followed by everyone standing around us.
‘Well, grow up, then, toerag. I’ll b
e waiting for you. But first I’m going to teach you a lesson.’
He quickly let go of my ear and bent me over his thigh. He walloped me only once, but so hard it felt like he’d sent my back-side through my stomach. Only then did he let me go.
I staggered away with the roar of the crowd ringing in my ears. It was only when I got to the other side of the highway, which I crossed without seeing a thing, that I was able to rub my stinging rump. The bastard! I’d show him. I swore I’d get even. I swore that … but the pain eased off as I put distance between myself and those sons of bitches. It’d be worse when the kids at school found out. And what was I going to tell Pinkie? For a week, whenever I passed the Misery and Hunger they’d be laughing at me, in all their grown-up cowardice. I’d have to leave earlier and cross the highway further down …
I approached the market with these thoughts running through my mind. I washed my feet in the fountain and put on my shoes. Totoca was waiting for me anxiously. I wasn’t going to breathe a word about my humiliation.
‘Zezé, you’ve gotta help me.’
‘What’ve you done?’
‘Remember Bié?’
‘That big kid from Rua Barão de Capanema?’
‘That’s the one. He’s going to get me at the gate after school. Can you fight him for me?’
‘But he’ll kill me.’
‘No, he won’t, and anyway, you’re brave and a good fighter.’
‘Alright. At the gate?’
‘At the gate.’
Totoca always did that. He’d get in a fight and then he’d have me sort it out. But it was a good thing. I would take out all my anger at the Portuguese on Bié.
But that day I took such a beating that I came out with a black eye and my arms all scratched up. Totoca knelt on the ground with the others, cheering me on, a pile of books on his knees: mine and his. He also shouted instructions.
‘Headbutt him in the belly, Zezé. Bite him, dig in your nails – he’s all lard. Kick him in the balls.’
But even with all the cheering and instructions, if it weren’t for Seu Rozemberg, Bié would have made mincemeat of me. He came out from behind the counter, grabbed Bié by the collar of his shirt and knocked him around a bit.
My Sweet Orange Tree Page 7