It was true. Totoca was rarely mean to me. I knew I’d end up lending it to him.
‘If you lend it to me, I’ll tell you two really good things.’
I was silent.
‘And I’ll say that your sweet-orange tree is much more beautiful than my tamarind tree.’
‘Really?’
‘That’s what I said.’
I put my hand in my pocket and shook my coins.
‘What else?’
‘You know, Zezé, we’re not going to be poor any more. Father got a job as a manager at Santo Aleixo Factory. We’re going to be rich again … What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?’
‘Yes, I’m happy for Father. But I don’t want to leave Bangu. I’ll go live with Gran. I’m only leaving here to go to Trás-os-Montes …’
‘Right. You’d rather stay with Gran and take laxatives once a month than go with us?’
‘Yep. And you’ll never know why … What’s the other thing?’
‘I can’t tell you here. There’s “someone” who can’t hear it.’
We walked over to the outhouse. Even so, he spoke in a low voice.
‘I need to warn you, Zezé. So you can get used to the idea. City Hall is planning to make the streets wider. They’re going to fill in all the ditches and take space from all the backyards.’
‘So what?’
‘You’re such a bright spark and you didn’t get it? When they widen the streets they’re going to tear all that down.’
He pointed at the place where my sweet-orange tree stood. I puckered up to cry.
‘You’re lying, aren’t you, Totoca?’
‘You don’t need to make that face. It’s still a long way off.’
My fingers were nervously counting the coins in my pocket.
‘It’s a lie, isn’t it, Totoca?’
‘No. It’s the honest-to-God truth. But are you a big boy or not?’
‘I am.’
The tears streamed down my face anyway. I hugged him around the waist, begging.
‘You’re with me, aren’t you, Totoca? I’m going to round up a lot of people to make war. No one’s chopping down my little orange tree.’
‘OK, fine. We won’t let them. Now will you lend me the money?’
‘What’s it for?’
‘Since you were banned from the Cinema Bangu, they started showing a Tarzan film. I’ll tell you all about it when I’ve seen it.’
I found five tostões in my pocket and handed him the money while I dried my eyes with the bottom of my shirt.
‘Keep the change. You can buy some sweets.’
I went back to my orange tree, but I didn’t feel like talking. I just thought about the Tarzan film. I’d seen it the day before.
‘Do you want to go?’ Portuga had asked when I told him about it.
‘I’d love to, but I’m not allowed in the Cinema Bangu.’
I reminded him why. He laughed.
‘Is that head of yours making things up?’
‘I swear, Portuga. But I think if a grown-up went with me, no one would say anything.’
‘And if this grown-up were me … Is that what you want?’
My face lit up with happiness.
‘But I have to work, son.’
‘There’s never anyone there at this time. Instead of chatting or napping in the car, you could see Tarzan fighting leopards, alligators and gorillas. Do you know who plays Tarzan? Frank Merrill.’
But he still wasn’t sure.
‘You little rascal. You’ve a ruse for everything.’
‘It’s only two hours. You’re already very rich, Portuga.’
‘Let’s go, then. But let’s walk there. I’m going to leave my car parked right here.’
And we went. But the girl at the ticket counter said she had strict orders not to let me in for one year.
‘I’ll be responsible for him. That was before. He knows how to behave now.’
The ticket girl looked at me and I smiled at her. I planted a kiss on the tips of my fingers and blew it to her.
‘Look here, Zezé. If you get up to anything, I’ll lose my job.’
I’d been keeping our trip to the cinema a secret from Pinkie, but I could never keep anything from him for long.
Chapter Seven
THE MANGARATIBA
When Dona Cecília Paim asked if anyone wanted to come up to the blackboard to write a sentence they had made up themselves, no one dared. But I thought of something and put my hand up.
‘Want to come up here, Zezé?’
As I stood and walked to the blackboard, I was proud to hear her say, ‘See? The youngest member of class.’
I couldn’t even reach halfway up the blackboard. I took the chalk and wrote in my best handwriting: There are only a few days left until the holidays.
I looked at Dona Cecília Paim to see if I’d made a mistake. She smiled happily and on her desk was the empty cup. Empty, but with an imaginary rose in it, as she had said.
I returned to my desk, happy with my sentence. Happy because, come the holidays, I was going to see Portuga a lot.
Then others put up their hands, wanting to write sentences. But I was the hero.
Someone asked if they could come in. They were running late. It was Jerônimo. He came bumbling in and sat directly behind me. He plonked his books down noisily and said something to the person next to him. I didn’t pay much attention. I wanted to study to be wise. But one word in the whispered conversation caught my attention. They were talking about the Mangaratiba.
‘It hit the car?’
‘Manuel Valadares’s car. That beautiful one.’
I swung around in shock.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said the Mangaratiba hit the Portuguese’s car on the crossing at Rua da Chita. That’s why I’m late. The train crushed the car. There’s a huge crowd there. They even called the Realengo Fire Brigade.’
I broke into a cold sweat and it felt like everything was about to go black. Jerônimo continued answering his neighbour’s questions.
‘I don’t know if he’s dead. They wouldn’t let children anywhere near it.’
Without realising it, I stood up. I felt a terrible need to throw up and my body was covered in cold sweat. I left my desk and headed for the door. I barely even registered the face of Dona Cecília Paim, who had come to intercept me. Perhaps she’d seen the colour drain from my face.
‘What’s wrong, Zezé?’
But I couldn’t answer. Tears were welling in my eyes. Then something snapped and I bolted, without even thinking about the headmistress’s office. I reached the street and forgot about the highway, about everything. I just wanted to run and run until I got there. My heart hurt more than my stomach and I ran the length of Rua das Casinhas without stopping. I got to the pastry shop and glanced about at the cars to see if Jerônimo was lying. But our car wasn’t there. I let out a cry and started running again. I was caught by Seu Ladislau’s strong arms.
‘Where’re you going, Zezé?’
My face was wet with tears.
‘There.’
‘You don’t have to.’
I struggled like crazy, but couldn’t free myself.
‘Calm down, son. I won’t let you go.’
‘So the Mangaratiba did kill him …’
‘No. The ambulance has come already. It just wrecked the car.’
‘You’re lying, Seu Ladislau.’
‘Why would I lie? Didn’t I tell you the train hit the car? So, when he’s allowed to have visitors at the hospital, I’ll take you, I promise. Now let’s go have a soda.’
He took a handkerchief and wiped away my sweat.
‘I’m going to be a little sick.’
I leaned against the wall and he held my head.
‘Feeling better, Zezé?’
I nodded.
‘I’ll take you home, OK?’
I shook my head and began to walk slowly away, in a daze. I knew the truth. The Mangaratib
a was merciless. It was the strongest train there was. I threw up a few more times and I could see that no one paid the slightest attention. I had no one left in the world. I didn’t go back to school and just followed my heart. I sniffed from time to time and dried my face on my school uniform. I’d never see my Portuga again. Never again. He was gone. I walked and walked. I stopped at the road where he’d let me call him Portuga and let me piggyback on his car. I sat at the base of a tree trunk and curled up, face on my knees.
Suddenly I blurted out, ‘You’re mean, Baby Jesus. I thought you were going to be good to me this time and you go and do this? Why don’t you like me as much as the other boys? I’ve been good. I haven’t fought, I’ve done my homework, I’ve stopped swearing. I even stopped saying “bum”. Why have you done this to me, Baby Jesus? They’re going to cut down my orange tree and I didn’t even get upset about it. I only cried a little bit … But now … now …’
My outburst surprised me. A new flood of tears.
‘I want my Portuga back, Baby Jesus. You have to give me my Portuga back.’
Then a very soft, very sweet voice spoke to my heart. It must have been the friendly voice of the tree I was sitting under.
‘Don’t cry, child. He’s in heaven.’
When it was almost dark, Totoca found me sitting on Dona Helena Villas-Boas’s doorstep, drained of all strength, unable to throw up or cry any more.
He spoke to me, but all I could do was moan.
‘What’s wrong, Zezé? Talk to me.’
I just kept moaning in a low voice. Totoca put his hand on my forehead.
‘You’re burning up with fever. What’s going on, Zezé? Come with me, let’s go home. I’ll help you, we’ll go slow.’
I managed to speak between moans.
‘Forget it, Totoca. I’m not going back to that house.’
‘Yes, you are. It’s our house.’
‘There’s nothing left for me there. It’s all over.’
He tried to help me up, but he saw that I didn’t have the strength.
He wrapped my arms around his neck and carried me in his arms. When we got home, he laid me down on the bed.
‘Jandira! Glória! Where is everyone?’
He went to find Jandira, who was chatting with Alaíde at her house.
‘Jandira, Zezé’s really sick.’
She came, grumbling.
‘He must be up to something. A few good smacks with a flip-flop …’
But Totoca had walked nervously into the bedroom.
‘No, Jandira. This time he’s really sick and he’s going to die.’
* * *
For three days and three nights, I didn’t want a thing. I was burning up with fever and threw up every time they tried to give me something to eat or drink. I was wasting away. I just lay there motionless, staring at the wall for hours on end.
I heard people around me talking. I understood everything they said, but I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to talk. All I could think about was going to heaven.
Glória changed rooms and spent the nights by my side. She wouldn’t let anyone turn off the light. Everyone treated me with kid gloves. Even Gran came to spend a few days with us.
Totoca spent hours and hours with me, eyes bulging, talking from time to time.
‘It’s not true, Zezé. Honestly. It was all a lie. They’re not going to widen the streets or anything …’
The house was cloaked in silence as if death walked in silk slippers. No one made any noise. They all spoke quietly. Mother spent almost the entire night with me. But I couldn’t forget him. His laughter. His way of talking. Even the crickets outside imitated the kechah, kechah of him shaving. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Now I really knew what pain was. Pain wasn’t being beaten unconscious. It wasn’t cutting my foot on a shard of glass and getting stitches at the pharmacy. Pain was this: my whole heart ached, and I had to carry it to the grave. I couldn’t tell anyone my secret. Pain sapped the strength from my arms, my head; I didn’t even want to turn my head on the pillow.
And it only got worse. I was skin and bones. They called the doctor. Dr Faulhaber came and examined me. It didn’t take him long to figure it out.
‘It’s shock. He’s deeply traumatised. He’ll only survive if he is able to get over it.’
Glória took the doctor outside and told him.
‘He has had a shock, sir. He’s been like this ever since he heard they’re planning to cut down his orange tree.’
‘Then you need to convince him that it isn’t true.’
‘We’ve tried everything, but he won’t believe us. To him, the tree is a person. He’s an odd boy. Very sensitive and precocious.’
I overheard it all but I still didn’t want to live. I wanted to go to heaven and no one went there alive.
They bought medicine, but I kept on throwing up.
That was when something beautiful happened. Everyone in the street started coming to visit me. They forgot that I was the devil incarnate. Seu Misery and Hunger came and brought me a marshmallow. Eugênia brought me eggs and prayed over my belly so I would stop throwing up.
‘Seu Paulo’s son is dying.’
They said nice things to me.
‘You need to get better, Zezé. The street’s so sad without you and your mischief.’
Dona Cecília Paim came to see me, with my satchel and a flower. It just made me start crying all over again.
She said I’d left the classroom and that was the last she’d heard of me.
But it was really sad when Seu Ariovaldo came to see me. I recognised his voice and pretended to be asleep.
‘You can wait outside until he wakes up.’
He sat down and said to Glória, ‘Listen, ma’am, I went along asking everyone where he lived until I found the house.’
He sniffed loudly.
‘My little saint can’t die. Don’t let him, ma’am. It was you he brought my brochures to, wasn’t it?’
Glória was barely able to reply.
‘Don’t let the lil’ critter die, ma’am. If anything happens to him, I’ll never come to this godforsaken part of town again.’
When he came into the room, he sat next to the bed and pressed my hand to his face.
‘Look here, Zezé. You need to get good and come sing again. I’ve barely sold a thing. Everyone says, “Hey, Ariovaldo, where’s your little canary?” Promise you’re going to get good, promise?’
My eyes filled with tears and Glória, seeing that I was upset again, led Seu Ariovaldo away.
* * *
I started to improve. I was able to swallow things and keep them down. But whenever I remembered, the fever would come back higher than ever, along with the throwing up. Sometimes I saw the Mangaratiba hurtling along and crushing him. I couldn’t help it. I prayed to Baby Jesus, if he cared about me at all, that he hadn’t felt anything.
Glória would come and stroke my head.
‘Don’t cry, shrimp. It’ll all pass. If you want, my mango tree is all yours. No one’s going to do anything to it.’
But what was I going to do with a toothless old mango tree that didn’t even bear fruit any more? Even my orange tree would soon lose its charm and become a tree like any other … That’s if they gave the poor thing a chance.
How easy it was for some to die. A cruel train just had to come along and that was it. And how hard it was for me to get to heaven. Everyone was holding onto my legs so I couldn’t go.
Glória’s kindness and devotion managed to get me talking a little. Even Father stopped going out at night. Totoca lost so much weight out of remorse that Jandira gave him a scolding.
‘Isn’t one sickly person enough, Totoca?’
‘You’re not in my shoes to feel what I’m feeling. I was the one who told him. I can still feel it in my stomach, even when I’m sleeping, his face, crying and crying.’
‘Now don’t you go crying too. You’re a big boy and he’s going to pull through. Now chin up and go bu
y me a can of condensed milk at the Misery and Hunger.’
‘Then give me the money ’cause he won’t keep a tab for Father any more.’
My weakness made me constantly sleepy. I no longer knew when it was day or night. The fever would ease a little and my tremors and agitation would let up. I would open my eyes and, in the semi-darkness, there would be Glória, who never left my side. She had brought the rocking chair into the room and often fell asleep in it, she was so tired.
‘Gló, is it afternoon already?’
‘Almost, my love.’
‘Do you want to open the window?’
‘Won’t it make your head hurt?’
‘I don’t think so.’
The light came in and I could see a sliver of beautiful sky. I took one look at it and started to cry again.
‘What’s the matter, Zezé? The Baby Jesus made such a beautiful blue sky for you. He told me so today …’
Gloria didn’t know that the sky reminded me of heaven.
She leaned over, took my hands in hers and tried to cheer me up. Her face was tired and thin.
‘Look, Zezé, soon you’ll be better. Flying kites, winning a heap of marbles, climbing trees, riding Pinkie. I want to see you back to your old self, singing songs, bringing me lyrics. So many beautiful things. See how sad the street is lately? Everyone misses the life and cheer you bring to it. But you have to help. Live, live and live.’
‘But I don’t want to any more, Gló. If I get better, I’ll be bad again. You don’t understand. I don’t have anyone to be good for any more.’
‘Well you don’t need to be that good. Be a boy, be the child you always were.’
‘What for, Gló? So everyone can hit me again? So everyone can treat me badly?’
She took my face between her fingers and said resolutely, ‘Look, shrimp. I promise you one thing. When you get better, no one, but no one, not even God, is going to lay a finger on you. They’d have to step over my cold cadaver first! Do you believe me?’
I nodded.
‘What’s a cadaver?’
For the first time, Glória’s face lit up with happiness. She laughed, because she knew that if I was interested in difficult words I had regained my will to live.
My Sweet Orange Tree Page 13