My Sweet Orange Tree

by José Mauro de Vasconcelos

‘It’s part of Father’s pocket watch. It had a strap with this on the end, which was supposed to hang out of his pocket. Father said the watch was going to be my inheritance. But then he needed money and had to sell it. Such a beautiful watch. He gave me the rest of the inheritance, which was this. I cut off the strap because it smelled funny.

  He stroked my hair again.

  ‘You’re a complicated little chap, but I have to confess you’re filling this old heart with joy. Indeed you are. Shall we go now?’

  ‘This is so nice. Just a little more. I need to say something very serious, sir.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘So, we’re really friends, right?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Even the car is half mine, isn’t it?’

  ‘One day it will be yours, all of it.’

  ‘It’s just that …’

  It was hard to get out.

  ‘Go on … what’s the matter? You’re not one to get tongue-tied …’

  ‘You won’t get angry?’

  ‘Course not.’

  ‘There are two things I don’t like about our friendship.’

  But it didn’t come out as easily as I had planned.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘First, if we’re such good friends, then why should I have to call you “sir”, or “Seu Manuel” all the time?’

  He laughed.

  ‘You can call me whatever you want.’

  ‘It’s just that I don’t know what to call you when I talk to Pinkie about you. You’re not upset?’

  ‘Why would I be? It’s a fair request. Who’s this Pinkie that I’ve never heard of?’

  ‘Pinkie is Sweetie.’

  ‘So, Sweetie is Pinkie and Pinkie is Sweetie. I’m still lost.’

  ‘Pinkie is my little orange tree. And Sweetie is my nickname for him.’

  ‘So, you have a little orange tree named Pinkie.’

  ‘He’s incredible. He talks to me, turns into a horse, comes on adventures with us. With Buck Jones, Tom Mix … Fred Thompson … Do you like Ken Maynard?’ (It was odd leaving off the ‘sir’, but I’d made up my mind.)

  He made a gesture as if to say he didn’t know anything about cowboys in westerns.

  ‘The other day Fred Thompson introduced me to him. I really like the leather hat he wears. But I don’t think he knows how to laugh.’

  ‘Well, let’s get a move on, because the world in that little head of yours is confusing me. What’s the other thing?’

  ‘The other thing’s even more difficult. But since I brought up the “sir” and you didn’t get upset … I don’t like your name very much. It’s not that I don’t like it, but among friends it’s a bit …’

  ‘Goodness me, what now?’

  ‘Do you really think I can call you Valadares?’

  He thought about it a little and smiled.

  ‘No, it doesn’t sound right.’

  ‘I don’t like Manuel either. You’ve no idea how angry I get when Father tells Portuguese jokes and says, “Manuel this, Manuel that”. You can tell that the son of a gun’s never had a Portuguese friend …’

  ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘That Father tells Portuguese jokes?’

  ‘No. After that. Something rude.’

  ‘Is “son of a gun” as bad as “son of a bitch”?’

  ‘It’s almost the same.’

  ‘Then I’ll try not to say it … So, what do you think?’

  ‘You tell me. Have you got a solution? You don’t want to call me Valadares, and by the sound of things, Manuel won’t do either.’

  ‘There’s one name I love.’

  ‘What?’

  I made the cheekiest face in the world.

  ‘What Seu Ladislau and the others call you at the pastry shop.’

  He shook his fist, pretending to be angry.

  ‘Why, you’re the cockiest person I know. You want to call me “Portuga”, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s a good name for a friend.’

  ‘Is that all you want? Very well, then. Shall we go now?’

  He started the engine and drove a distance, thinking. Then he stuck his head out the window and looked up and down the street. No one was coming.

  He opened the car door and said, ‘Out.’

  I obeyed and followed him to the back of the car. He pointed at the spare tyre.

  ‘Now, hold on tight. And be careful.’

  I positioned myself for the piggyback, happy as could be. He climbed into the car and drove off slowly. He stopped after five minutes and came to check on me.

  ‘Like it?’

  ‘It’s like a dream.’

  ‘Well, that’s enough. Let’s go, it’s getting late.’

  Night was gently falling and off in the distance crickets were singing in the hawthorn trees, announcing that there was more summer to come.

  The car purred along.

  ‘Well. From now on, we’ll leave that subject well alone. OK?’

  ‘Done.’

  ‘I’d like to see you explaining where you’ve been all this time when you get home.’

  ‘I’ve already got it worked out. I’m going to say I went to Catechism. Today’s Thursday, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re incorrigible. You’ve got an excuse for everything.’

  I scooted over close to him and leaned my head on his arm.

  ‘Portuga!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I never want to be far away from you, you know?’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because you’re the best person in the world. No one treats me badly when I’m with you and I feel a sun of happiness in my heart.’

  Chapter Four

  TWO MEMORABLE BEATINGS

  ‘You fold it here. Now, take the knife and cut the paper right on the fold.’

  The dull sound of the edge of the knife cutting the paper.

  ‘Now glue it on, overlapping just a tiny bit, leaving this much margin. Like this.’

  I was sitting next to Totoca, learning to make a balloon. After everything was glued down, Totoca pegged it on the clothes line by the crown.

  ‘You only make the mouth when it’s all dry. Got it, dummy?’

  ‘Yep.’

  We sat there on the back doorstep staring at the colourful balloon, which was taking a long time to dry. Totoca, as self-appointed expert, went on explaining, ‘You should only try to make a balloon with lots of sections when you’ve really got the hang of it. In the beginning you should just make them with two, ’cause it’s easier.’

  ‘Totoca, if I make a balloon on my own, will you make the mouth for me?’

  ‘That depends.’

  This was him trying to cut a deal, to take a crack at my marble or trading card collections, which were growing faster than anyone could understand.

  ‘Gee, Totoca, I fight for you when you ask me to.’

  ‘OK. I’ll do the first one for free, but if you don’t learn, the others’ll only be in exchange for something.’

  ‘Fine.’

  I swore to myself that I was going to learn so well that he’d never touch my balloons again.

  After that I couldn’t get the balloon out of my head. It had to be ‘my’ balloon. Imagine how proud Portuga would be when he heard of my prowess. Pinkie’s admiration when he saw the thing swinging from my hand …

  The idea had taken hold of me, so I filled my pockets with marbles and a few trading cards that I had repeats of and headed out. I would sell them on the cheap in order to buy at least two sheets of tissue paper.

  ‘Attention, everyone! Five marbles for one tostão. Good as new!’

  Nothing happened.

  ‘Ten cards for one tostão. You won’t find them as cheap at Dona Lota’s shop.’

  Nothing happened. None of the children had any money. I went all the way down Rua do Progresso peddling my wares. I visited Rua Barão de Capanema almost at a trot, but nothing happened. What about Gran’s house? I went there too, but
she wasn’t interested.

  ‘I don’t want trading cards or marbles. You’re better off hanging on to them. Because tomorrow you’ll come and ask me to buy them for you again.’

  Gran obviously didn’t have any money.

  I headed off again and looked down at my legs. They were dirty from so much walking through dusty streets. I looked at the sun, which was beginning to set. That was when the miracle happened.

  ‘Zezé! Zezé!’

  Biriquinho came running like a madman towards me.

  ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You selling?’

  I shook my pockets, jiggling the marbles.

  ‘Let’s sit down.’

  We sat and I spread my wares on the ground.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Five marbles for one tostão and ten cards for the same price.’

  ‘That’s steep.’

  He annoyed me with that. Bloody thief! How was it ‘steep’ when everyone sold five cards and three marbles for what I was asking? I went to put them all back in my pocket.

  ‘Wait. Can I pick which ones?’

  ‘How much you got?’

  ‘Three tostões. I can spend two.’

  ‘OK, then, I can give you six marbles and twelve cards.’

  * * *

  I raced into the Misery and Hunger. No one remembered that scene any more. Only Seu Orlando was there, chatting at the counter. When the factory siren sounded, everyone came to wet their throats and you couldn’t even get inside.

  ‘Have you got any tissue paper, sir?’

  ‘You got money? You’re not putting anything else on your father’s tab.’

  I wasn’t offended. I just showed him the two tostões.

  ‘I’ve only got pink and orange.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘You lot made off with everything I had during the kite season. But what difference does it make? Kites fly no matter what the colour, don’t they?’

  ‘But it’s not for a kite. I’m going to make my first balloon. I want my first balloon to be the most beautiful one in the world.’

  There was no time to lose. It would take ages to get to Chico Franco’s general store.

  ‘I’ll take it.’

  Now things were going to be different. I put a chair next to the table and helped King Luís up so he could watch.

  ‘Now, you be quiet, alright? Zezé is going to do something very tricky. When you grow up, I’ll teach you how to do it for free.’

  It was growing dark quickly, and there we were working. The factory siren sounded. I needed to be quick. Jandira was already putting the plates on the table. She liked to feed us first so we didn’t disturb the grown-ups.

  ‘Zezé! Luís!’

  She bellowed as if we were all the way over in Murundu. I helped Luís down and said, ‘You go. I’ll be right behind you.’

  ‘Zezé! Get a move on, or there’ll be trouble.’

  ‘Coming!’

  The witch was in a bad mood. She must have had a fight with one of her boyfriends. The one down at the bottom of the street or the one up at the top.

  Now, almost as if on purpose, the glue was drying and the flour was sticking to my fingers, making it hard to work.

  Her bellow was even louder. There was barely any light to work by.

  ‘Zezé!’

  It was the last straw. Jandira was furious.

  ‘You think I’m your servant? Come eat now!’

  She rushed into the living room, grabbed me by the ears, dragged me into the kitchen and threw me against the table. That made me mad.

  ‘I won’t eat. I won’t. I won’t. I want to finish my balloon.’

  I slipped away and raced back to where I’d been.

  She turned into a beast. Instead of coming at me, she went to the table and that was the end of my balloon. She tore it to shreds. I was so shocked I did nothing. Then, not satisfied, she grabbed me by the arms and legs and threw me into the middle of the room.

  ‘When I tell you to do something, you obey me.’

  The devil inside me worked its way free. My indignation exploded like a hurricane. The first blast was simple.

  ‘Do you know what you are? You’re a whore!’

  She put her face close to mine, her eyes shooting sparks.

  ‘Say that again if you’ve got the guts.’

  I dragged the word out.

  ‘Whooore!’

  She snatched up the leather strap from the chest of drawers and began to flog me mercilessly. I turned my back to her and hid my head in my hands. My fury was greater than the pain.

  ‘Whore! Whore! Bitch!’

  She didn’t stop. My body was burning up with pain. That was when Totoca came in and ran to help her, as she was beginning to tire.

  ‘Go ahead and kill me, you murderer! You’ll get what you deserve in prison!’

  And she went on flogging me, hitting me so hard I fell to my knees, leaning on the chest of drawers.

  ‘Whore! Bitch.’

  Totoca picked me up and turned me around.

  ‘Cut it out, Zezé. You can’t talk to your sister like that.’

  ‘She’s a whore. A murderer. A bitch!’

  Then he started to hit me in the face – the eyes, the nose and the mouth. Especially the mouth.

  My salvation was that Glória heard. She was next door chatting with Dona Rosena, and rushed back home when she heard all the shouting. She blew into the living room like a gale. There was no messing with Glória and when she saw my face covered in blood, she pushed Totoca aside and shoved Jandira away too, not caring that she was the oldest. I was sprawled on the ground almost unable to open my eyes, taking ragged breaths. She took me to the bedroom. I didn’t cry, but King Luís had gone to hide in Mother’s room and was bawling, terrified, because they were hurting me.

  Glória was ranting.

  ‘One day you’re going to kill this child and then what, you heartless monsters?’

  She had laid me down on the bed and was going to fetch the blessed bowl of salty water. Totoca came in awkwardly. Glória gave him a shove.

  ‘Get lost, you coward!’

  ‘Didn’t you hear what he was calling Jandira?’

  ‘He wasn’t doing anything. You two provoked him. When I left he was quietly making his balloon. You have no heart. How can you beat your brother so badly?’

  As she was wiping the blood off me, I spat a piece of tooth into the bowl. That stoked the volcano.

  ‘Look what you’ve done, you lily liver. When you want to fight, you get scared and go running to him for help. Chicken! Nine years old and you still wet the bed. I’m going to show everyone your mattress and the wet pyjamas you hide in the drawer every morning.’

  Then she sent everyone out of the room and locked the door. She turned on the light because night had fallen. She took off my shirt and sat there mopping the blood and gashes on my body.

  ‘Does it hurt, shrimp?’

  ‘It’s hurting a lot now.’

  ‘I’ll do it really softly, my sweet little rascal. You’ll need to lie on your stomach for a while so it can dry, otherwise your clothes’ll stick to the cuts and it’ll hurt.’

  But what really hurt was my face. It ached with pain and rage at so much unprovoked cruelty.

  When things were a little better, she lay down beside me, stroking my head.

  ‘You saw, Gló. I wasn’t doing anything. When I deserve it, I don’t mind being flogged. But I wasn’t doing anything.’

  She gulped.

  ‘But the saddest part was my balloon. It was looking so beautiful. Just ask Luís.’

  ‘I believe you. It was beautiful. But don’t worry. Tomorrow we’ll go to Gran’s house and buy some tissue paper. And I’ll help you make the most beautiful balloon in the world. So beautiful that even the stars will be jealous.’

  ‘There’s no point, Gló. You only make one beautiful first balloon. When that one doesn’t work out, you never get it right again or you never feel like
making it again.’

  ‘One day … one day … I’m going to take you far away from this house. We’re going to live …’

  She stopped short. She must have been thinking about Gran’s house, but it would be the same hell there. That was when she decided to enter the world of the orange tree and my dreams.

  ‘I’m going to take you to live on Tom Mix’s or Buck Jones’s ranch.’

  ‘But I like Fred Thompson even better.’

  ‘Then let’s go there.’

  And, completely helpless, we began to weep quietly together …

  * * *

  Even though I missed Portuga, I didn’t go to see him for two days. I wasn’t even allowed to go to school. They didn’t want there to be any witnesses to such brutality. As soon as the swelling on my face went down and my lips healed, I would go back to my normal routine. I spent the days sitting next to Pinkie with my little brother, with no desire to talk. Afraid of everything. Father had sworn that he’d beat me to a pulp if I ever repeated what I’d said to Jandira again. Now I was even afraid to breathe. Best to take refuge in the tiny shadow of my orange tree, look through the mountains of trading cards that Portuga had given me and patiently teach King Luís to play marbles. He was a bit clumsy, but he’d eventually get the hang of it.

  I missed Portuga a lot. He must have thought it odd that I hadn’t been to see him and if he’d known where I lived, he might even have come looking for me. My ears sorely missed his thick Portuguese accent and the way he always called me tu. Dona Cecília Paim had told me that you really need to know your grammar to address others as tu. My eyes longed to see his brown face, his impeccable clothes in dark colours, the collars of his shirts, always so stiff, as if they’d come straight out of a drawer, his chequered waistcoat and even his gold anchor cuff-links.

  But I’d be better soon. Children heal quickly, or so they say.

  That night Father hadn’t gone out. No one else was home, except for Luís, who was already asleep. Mother was probably on her way home from the city. Sometimes she did overtime at the English Mill and we only saw her on Sundays.

  I had decided to stay near Father, because that way I couldn’t get up to any mischief. He was sitting in the rocking chair staring blankly at the wall. His face was always covered in stubble. His shirt wasn’t always terribly clean. Maybe he hadn’t gone to play cards with his friends because he had no money. Poor Father, it must have made him sad that Mother had to work to help pay the bills. Lalá already had a job at the factory. It must have been hard to go looking for jobs and always come home downcast after hearing the same reply: ‘We need someone younger.’