by Jorge Amado
He turned around because he heard some movement. Someone was getting up in the middle of the building. Legless recognized the little black boy Outrigger, who was stealthily going to the sands outside the warehouse. Legless thought he was going to hide something he’d stolen and didn’t want to show his comrades. And that was a crime against the laws of the gang. Legless followed Outrigger, crossing over the sleepers. The black boy had already gone through the warehouse door and was turning around the left side of the building. The starry sky was above. Outrigger was walking fast now. Legless noticed that he was going to the other end of the warehouse, where the sand was even finer. He went around the other side then and got there in time to see Outrigger meeting a shape. Then he recognized him: it was Almiro, a gang member, twelve years old, fat, and lazy. They lay down together, the black boy caressing Almiro. Legless managed to hear some words: “my little boy, my little boy.” Legless drew back and his anguish grew. All of them were looking for affection, anything out of that life: the Professor in those books he read all night long, Cat in the bed of a prostitute who gave him money, Lollipop in the prayers that transfigured him, Outrigger and Almiro with love on the sands of the waterfront. Legless felt the anguish coming over him and it was impossible to sleep. If he slept he would see those bad dreams of jail. He wanted someone to appear whom he could torture with wisecracks. He was looking for a fight. He thought of scratching a match on the leg of someone sleeping. But when he looked at the warehouse door he only felt sorrow and a crazy urge to flee. And he ran along the sand, running aimlessly, fleeing from his anguish.
Pedro Bala awoke because of a noise nearby. He was sleeping on his stomach and he peeked under his arms. He saw a boy getting up and cautiously approaching Lollipop’s corner. Pedro Bala, half asleep as he was, thought it was a matter of pederasty at first. And he remained alert so as to expel the passive member from the gang, because one of the rules of the gang was that they would not admit passive pederasts. But he woke up completely and then he remembered that Lollipop wasn’t anything like that. It must have been a case of theft. In fact, the boy was already opening Lollipop’s trunk. Pedro Bala leaped on top of him. The struggle was quick. Lollipop woke up but the others kept on sleeping.
“Were you stealing from a comrade?”
The other boy remained silent, rubbing his wounded jaw. Pedro Bala went on:
“You leave tomorrow…I don’t want you with our people anymore. You can go with Ezequiel’s people, who live by stealing from one another.”
“I only wanted to see…”
“What did you come to see with your hands?”
“I swear, it was only to take a look at the medal he has.”
“Let’s have the straight story or I’ll give you a licking.”
Lollipop intervened:
“Leave him alone, Pedro. He just may have come to take a look at the medal. It’s a medal Father José gave me.”
“That’s the one,” the boy said, “I just wanted to take a look. I swear,” but he was trembling with fear. He knew that life for someone expelled from the Captains of the Sands was hard. Either he joined Ezequiel’s gang, who spend all day in jail, or he ended up in the Reformatory.
Lollipop intervened again and Pedro Bala went back beside the Professor. Then the boy said with a still trembling voice:
“I’m going to tell it so you’ll know. It was a girl I saw today. She was in the Cidade de Palha. I’d gone into a store with the idea of lifting a jacket, when she came over and asked me what I wanted. Then we started to talk. I told her I’d bring her a present tomorrow. Because she was good, real good to me, see?” and now he was shouting and seemed enraged.
Lollipop took the medal the priest had given him, looking at it. Suddenly he held it out to the boy:
“Take it. Give it to her. But don’t tell Pedro Bala.”
Dry Gulch came into the warehouse during the wee small hours. The backlands mulatto’s hair was disheveled. He was wearing canvas shoes, the same as when he’d come out of the underbrush. His gloomy face came into the building. He passed over the body of Big João. He spat in front of himself, rubbed his foot over it. He was carrying a newspaper under his arm. He looked all over, searching for someone. He grasped the newspaper with his large callused hands, then he saw where the Professor was. And without any thought about the lateness of the hour he went over to him and started calling him:
“Professor…Professor…”
“What is it?” the Professor was half asleep.
“I want something.”
The Professor sat up. Dry Gulch’s gloomy face was half invisible in the darkness.
“Oh, it’s you, Dry Gulch. What do you want?”
“I want you to read this so I can hear the news about Lampião that’s in the Diário. They’ve got his picture.”
“Let me read it to you tomorrow.”
“Read it today or tomorrow I’ll teach you the best way to imitate a canary.”
The Professor looked for a candle, lighted it, began to read the news in the paper. Lampião had gone into a village in the State of Bahia, had killed eight soldiers, deflowered virgins, sacked the coffers of the Town Hall. Dry Gulch’s gloomy face lighted up. His tight mouth relaxed into a smile. And, happy now, he left the Professor, who put out the candle, and went back to his corner. He was carrying the newspaper so he could cut out the picture of Lampião’s gang. Inside he had the joy of springtime.
THE PITANGUEIRAS STOP
They waited for the policeman to leave. He took his time, looking at the sky, observing the deserted street. The streetcar disappeared around the bend. It was the last streetcar on the Brotas line that night. The policeman lighted a cigarette. With the wind that was blowing it took three matches. Then he raised the collar of his coat because it was a damp chill that the wind was bringing in from the farmlands where mango trees and sapodillas swayed. The three boys were waiting for the policeman to go away so they could cross the street and enter the unpaved alley. God’s-Love had been unable to come. He’d spent the whole afternoon at the Gate of the Sea waiting for the man who didn’t come. If he’d come it would have been easier because he wouldn’t argue with God’s-Love because he owed the capoeira fighter a lot. But he hadn’t come, the information was wrong, and God’s-Love already had a trip set up for that night. He was going to Itaparica. During the afternoon they’d practiced capoeira. Cat showed the promise of being a fighter in time, capable of mixing with God’s-Love himself. Pedro Bala had a lot of skill too. The least agile of the three was black Big João, very good in a fight where he could use his enormous physical strength. Even so, he learned enough to free himself from someone stronger than he. When they got tired they went into the main room. They ordered four drinks and Cat took a deck of cards out of his pants pocket. An old greasy deck with thick cards. God’s-Love was sure the man would come, the fellow who’d given him the information was a guy to be trusted. It was a deal that would bring in a lot and God’s-Love preferred calling on the Captains of the Sands, his friends, rather than on some waterfront lowlife. He knew that the Captains of the Sands were worth more than a lot of men and they kept their mouths shut. The Gate of the Sea was almost deserted at that hour. Only two sailors from a bay ship were drinking beer in the rear and talking. Cat put the deck on the table and proposed:
“Who’s ready for a round?”
God’s-Love looked at the cards:
“They’re more than just marked, Mr. Cat. A pretty old deck…”
“If you’ve got another one it’s all the same to me.”
“No. Let’s go along with these here.”
They began the game. Cat laid two cards down face up on the table, the others bet on one, the dealer stayed with the other. At first Pedro Bala and God’s-Love won. Big João wasn’t playing (he was only too familiar with Cat’s deck), he only looked on, laughing with his white teeth when God’s-Love said he was lucky that day because it was the feast of Xangô, his saint. He knew that luck would
only last for the start and that when Cat began to win he’d never stop. At a certain moment Cat began to win. When he won the first time he said with a half-sad voice:
“It’s about time. I’ve had a mother run of bad luck!”
Big João smiled even wider. Cat won again. Pedro Bala stood up, gathered in the coins he’d won. Cat looked at him with mistrust:
“You’re not going to play anymore?”
“Not this time, I’ve got to piss…” and he went to the rear of the bar.
God’s-Love kept on losing. Big João was laughing and the capoeira fighter was going under. Pedro Bala had come back but he didn’t play. He was laughing with Big João. God’s-Love lost everything he’d won. Big João muttered:
“He’s got to go to his pocket…”
“I’m still behind,” Cat said.
He noticed that Pedro had come back:
“Aren’t you going to play anymore? Aren’t you going to bet on the queen?”
“I’m tired of playing…” and Pedro Bala winked at Cat as if saying that he should content himself with God’s-Love.
God’s-Love bet five milreis from his pocket. He’d only won twice during the last rounds and he was quite mistrustful. Cat opened the deck on the table. He drew a king and a seven.
“Who’s in?” he asked.
No one moved. Not even God’s-Love, who was looking at the deck suspiciously. Cat asked:
“Do you think they’re marked? You can take a look. I play a clean game…”
Big João let out one of those loud ringing laughs of his. Pedro Bala and God’s-Love laughed too. Cat looked at Big João with rage:
“This black boy is dumb as a donkey in a door. You haven’t seen anything…”
But he didn’t finish the sentence because the two sailors from the bay ship, who’d been watching the game for some time already, came over. One of them, the shorter, who was drunk, spoke to God’s-Love:
“Can anybody join the fun?”
God’s-Love pointed to Cat:
“This boy is the dealer.”
The sailors looked at the boy suspiciously. But the short one nudged the other with his elbow and whispered something in his ear. Cat was laughing inside because he knew he was saying it would be easy to get the money away from the kid. They both anteed up and God’s-Love found it strange that Pedro Bala anteed too. Big João, however, not only didn’t find it strange but anteed up himself too. He knew it was necessary to cover up for the sailors and the people in the gang had to lose too. The sailors, just as had happened with God’s-Love, started winning. But the wind of luck didn’t blow for long and soon only Cat was winning out of the four of them. Pedro Bala kept making remarks:
“When this guy Cat is lucky he’s got it all…”
“When he loses too, he loses all night long,” Big João answered and that reply of his gave a lot of confidence to the sailors about the honesty of the game and the possibility of their luck’s changing. And they kept on betting and losing. The short one said:
“Our luck has got to change…”
The other one, who had a small mustache, was playing in silence and betting more every time. Pedro Bala was also raising the amount of his bets. At a certain moment the one with the mustache turned to Cat:
“Can the house cover five?”
Cat scratched his head full of cheap Vaseline, putting on a look of indecision that his friends knew he didn’t have:
“O.K. I’ll cover it. Just so you can make up your damage.”
The one with the mustache bet five milreis. The short one put up three. They both bet on an ace against a jack for the dealer. Pedro Bala and Big João bet on the ace too. Cat began to deal the cards. The first one was a nine. The short man was drumming with his fingers, the other one was tugging at his mustache. A deuce came next and the short one said:
“Now it’s the ace. A two, then a one…” and he drummed with his fingers.
But a seven turned up and then a ten and after that a jack. Cat cleared the table while Pedro Bala put on a face of great annoyance and said:
“Tomorrow, when bad luck hits you, you’ll see me clean you out.”
The short one confessed that he was cleaned out. The one with the little mustache put his hands in his pockets:
“All I’ve got is some small change to pay for the beers. The kid’s good.”
They got up, nodded to the group, paid for the beer they’d drunk at the other table. Cat invited them to come back another day. The short one answered that their ship was leaving that night for Caravelas. Only when they got back. And they left arm in arm, talking about their bad luck.
Cat counted his winnings. Not counting the money Pedro Bala had lost, there was a pot of thirty-eight milreis. Cat gave Pedro Bala back his money, then Big João, and sat thinking for a moment. He put his hand into his pocket and took out the five milreis God’s-Love had lost before:
“Take it, nice guy. It was a trick, I don’t want to pocket your dough…”
God’s-Love kissed the bill with satisfaction, patted Cat on the back:
“You’ll go a long way, kid. You can get rich with those tricks.”
But the sun was already going down and the man wasn’t coming. They ordered another drink. With nightfall the wind coming off the sea grew stronger. God’s-Love began to get impatient. He was smoking cigarette after cigarette. Pedro Bala was looking at the door. Cat was dividing the thirty-eight milreis into threes. Big João asked:
“I wonder how Legless made out snatching hats?”
No one answered. They were waiting for the man and now they had the feeling he wasn’t coming. The information had been wrong. They didn’t even hear the song coming in off the sea. The Gate of the Sea was deserted and Mr. Filipe was almost asleep behind the bar. It wouldn’t be long, however, before it would be full and then any deal with the man would be impossible. He wouldn’t want to talk there with the whole place full. They might know him and he didn’t want that. The Captains of the Sands didn’t want it either. Cat really didn’t know what it was all about. And Pedro Bala and Big João didn’t know much more. They knew as much as God’s-Love, to whom the deal had been proposed and who had accepted it for Pedro Bala and the Captains of the Sands. He himself, however, only had vague information and they would learn everything from the man who’d set up a meeting at the Gate of the Sea in the afternoon. But he hadn’t arrived by six o’clock. Instead of him the one who’d spoken to God’s-Love came. He got there just as the group was about to leave. He explained that the man couldn’t come. But that he was waiting for God’s-Love that night on the street where he lived. He should go around one o’clock in the morning. God’s-Love declared that he couldn’t go but that he was leaving the matter with the Captains of the Sands. The intermediary looked mistrustfully at the boys. God’s-Love asked:
“Haven’t you ever heard of the Captains of the Sands?”
“Yes, maybe. But…”
“In any case, they’re the ones who are going to take care of the business. That’s how it is…”
The intermediary seemed to accept it. They set up a date for one in the morning and went their way. God’s-Love went to his ship, the Captains of the Sands to the warehouse, the intermediary disappeared on the docks.
Legless still hadn’t returned. There was nobody in the warehouse. They must have all been scattered out on the streets of the city, scrounging for their dinner. The three went out again and went to eat in a cheap restaurant in the market. Coming out of the warehouse, Cat, who was very happy with the outcome of the game, tried to trip Pedro Bala up. But the latter avoided it and threw Cat down:
“I’ve been practicing that, dummy.”
They went into the restaurant, making a lot of noise. An old man who was the waiter came over mistrustfully. He knew that the Captains of the Sands didn’t like to pay and that the one with the scar on his face was the one to be most feared of all of them. In spite of there being quite a few people in the restaurant, the old man s
aid:
“We’ve run out. We haven’t got any more grub.”
Pedro Bala replied:
“Don’t spin me a yarn, old man. We want to eat.”
Big João pounded on the table:
“If not we’ll turn this grease pot upside down.”
The old man looked at him indecisively. Then Cat dumped the money on the table:
“Today we’re going to spend.”
It was a convincing argument. The waiter began to bring the dishes: a plate of chitterlings and then black-bean stew. Cat was the one who paid. Then Pedro Bala suggested that they be on their way to Brotas; since they were walking they had a lot of ground to cover.
“It isn’t worth taking the trolley,” Pedro Bala said. “It’s better if nobody knows we’re going there.”
Then Cat said he’d meet them there later. He had something to do first. He was going to tell Dalva not to expect him that night.
And there they were now at the Pitangueiras stop, waiting for the policeman to go away. Hidden in a doorway, they didn’t speak. They heard the flight of the bats as they attacked the ripe sapodillas at their feet. Finally the policeman left and they stood looking until his form disappeared around the bend in the street. Then they crossed and went into the drive with the villas and hid in a doorway again. The man wasn’t long in coming. He got out of a cab on the corner, paid the driver, and came up the walk. The only thing that could be heard was his steps and the sound of the leaves that the wind was rustling in the trees. When the man drew close Pedro Bala came out of the doorway. The others came behind him and the way they stood they looked like two bodyguards. The man moved closer to the wall he was walking along. Pedro went over to him. When he was in front of him he stopped.