Captains of the Sands

by Jorge Amado

  “He needs a lesson,” Legless was laughing. “I won’t let the guy get away with it.”

  They worked out a plan of battle. And around midnight some thirty went out. Ezequiel’s gang slept around the Pôrto da Lenha, in some overturned boats and on the dock. Dora went alongside Pedro Bala and she carried a switchblade too. Legless said:

  “She even looks like Rosa Palmeirão.”

  There never had been a woman as brave as Rosa Palmeirão. She took on six policemen all at one time. Every sailor on the waterfront of Bahia knows her ABC ballad. That’s why Dora likes the comparison and smiles:

  “Thank you, brother.”

  Brother…It’s a nice and friendly word. They’d grown accustomed to calling her sister. She calls them brother too. For the younger ones she’s a kind of little mother, just like a little mother. She takes care of them. For the older ones she’s like a sister who says nice things and plays with them innocently and goes through the dangers of the adventurous life they lead. But no one knows that she’s Pedro Bala’s sweetheart. Not even the Professor knows. And in his heart Professor calls her sweetheart too.

  The dog Legless got goes along barking. Dry Gulch imitates the barking of a dog, they all laugh. Big João whistles a samba. Good-Life begins to sing it aloud:

  “My mulatta’s gone and left me…”

  They go along merrily. They carry switchblades and knives in their pants. But they’ll only take them out if the others do. Because abandoned children have a law and a morality too, a sense of human dignity.

  Suddenly Big João shouts:

  “There they are.”

  With the uproar they make, Ezequiel comes out from under a boat:

  “Who goes there?”

  “The Captains of the Sands, who don’t swallow any insults…” Pedro Bala answered.

  And they pounce on the others.

  The return was a triumphal procession. In spite of Legless’s getting a cut and Outrigger’s almost having to be carried from such a beating (a big fellow from Ezequiel’s gang was beating him up until Dry Gulch knocked him down), they were all returning happily, talking about their victory. The ones who’d stayed behind in the warehouse cheered them. They stayed up for a long time talking, making comments. They talked about the courage of Dora, who fought just like a boy. “Just like a man,” Big João said. She was like a sister, just like a sister…

  Like a sweetheart, just like a sweetheart, Pedro Bala was thinking, lying on the sand. The moon was yellowing the sands, the stars were reflected in the blue Bahia sea. She came, lay down beside him. And they began to talk about silly things. Just like a sweetheart. They didn’t kiss, they didn’t embrace, sex didn’t call them at that moment. Her blond hair only touched Pedro Bala lightly.

  She laughed, looked at his hair:

  “Yours too.”

  They both laughed and then it turned into a cackle. It was a habit of the Captains of the Sands. She began to tell about things on the hilltop, stories about her neighbors, he remembered things from the agitated life of the gang:

  “I came here when I was five. Younger than your brother…”

  They laughed innocently, happy to be beside each other. Then sleep came. They were separated. Pedro took her hand, squeezed it. They slept like brother and sister.

  REFORMATORY

  The Jornal da Tarde carried the news in large letters. A headline across the front page read:

  LEADER OF “CAPTAINS OF THE SANDS” CAPTURED

  Then came the headings over a picture where Pedro Bala, Dora, Big João, Legless, and Cat were seen, surrounded by policemen and detectives:

  A GIRL IN GROUP—HER STORY—SENT TO ORPHANAGE—LEADER OF “CAPTAINS OF THE SANDS” IS SON OF STRIKER—OTHERS ABLE TO GET AWAY—REFORMATORY WILL STRAIGHTEN THEM OUT DIRECTOR STATES.

  Under the picture came this: “After this picture was taken, the leader of the vagrants started an argument and an uproar that enabled the rest of the urchins arrested to escape. The leader is the one marked by an X and alongside him is Dora, the new lady-friend of the Bahia urchins.”

  The story followed:

  Yesterday the police of Bahia struck a blow. They succeeded in apprehending the leader of the gang of juvenile delinquents known as the “Captains of the Sands.” More than once this newspaper has dealt with the problem of juveniles who live on the streets of the city and dedicate themselves to thievery.

  We have also reported several times raids carried out by this same gang. The city has really been living under a constant fear of these boys. No one knew where they lived or who their leader was. Some months back we had occasion to publish letters from the Chief of Police, the Juvenile Judge, and the Director of the Reformatory of Bahia with regard to this problem. They all promised to initiate a campaign against juvenile delinquents and in particular against the “Captains of the Sands.”

  This worthy campaign bore its first fruit yesterday with the arrest of the leader of this pack and several members of the gang, including a girl. Unhappily, due to a wise ruse on the part of Pedro Bala, the leader, the rest managed to escape from the hands of the police. In any case, the police have already accomplished a great deal by catching the leader and the romantic inspiration for the robberies: Dora, a most interesting figure of a juvenile delinquent. With these commentaries let us go on to the facts:

  ATTEMPTED ROBBERY

  Late yesterday afternoon five boys and a girl entered the mansion of Dr. Alcibíades Meneses on the Ladeira de São Bento. They were heard by the son of the owner, however, a medical student who let them get into a room where he locked them in. He then called police and detectives and handed them over.

  Reporters from the Jornal da Tarde, informed of the circumstances, went to Dr. Alcibíades’s house. When they arrived they found the minors ready to be taken to Police Headquarters. We then asked permission to take a picture of the group. The police very kindly consented. At the moment when the photographer exploded the magnesium and took the picture, Pedro Bala, the fearsome leader of the “Captains of the Sands” made possible the

  ESCAPE

  Putting into use an unusual agility, Pedro Bala freed himself from the hands of the detective who was holding him and knocked him down with a capoeira kick. He did not flee, however. It is clear that the other policemen and detectives landed on him to prevent his flight. Only then were they able to understand the plan of the leader of the “Captains of the Sands,” because he shouted to his comrades:

  “Beat it, you guys…”

  A single policeman managed to grab two others and one of them, very agile, knocked him down too with a capoeira kick. And they ran off down the Ladeira da Montanha.

  AT THE POLICE STATION

  At Police Headquarters we wanted to hear from Pedro Bala. But he would not tell us anything, nor would he tell the authorities the place where the “Captains of the Sands” slept and kept their loot. He only gave his name, said that he was the son of an old striker who had been killed at a rally during the famous dock strike of 191_, and that he had no one in the world. As for Dora, she is the daughter of a washerwoman who died of smallpox during the epidemic that swept the city. She has only been with the “Captains of the Sands” for four months, but has already taken part in many attacks. And she seems to take great pride in this.

  SWEETHEARTS

  Dora declared to our reporters that she was the sweetheart of Pedro Bala and that they were going to be married. She is still an ingenuous girl, more worthy of pity than punishment. She speaks of her engagement with the greatest innocence. She is not more than fourteen years old, while Pedro Bala is around sixteen. Dora was taken to Our Lady of Mercy Orphanage. In those holy surroundings she will soon forget Pedro Bala, the romantic bandit-boyfriend and her criminal life with the “Captains of the Sands.”

  As for Pedro Bala, he will be remanded to the Reformatory for Juveniles as soon as the police are able to get him to reveal the gang’s hiding place. The police have great hopes of getting the information
today.

  WORDS OF THE DIRECTOR OF THE REFORMATORY

  The director of the Bahia Reformatory for Juvenile Delinquents and Abandoned Boys is an old friend of the Jornal da Tarde. One of our reporters once put an end to a series of libels brought against that educational establishment and its director. Today he was at the police station, waiting to take the minor Pedro Bala with him. To our question he replied:

  “He’ll reform. Remember the title of the institution I direct: ‘Reformatory.’ He’ll reform.”

  And to another question of ours he smiled:

  “Escape? It’s not easy to escape from the Reformatory. I can guarantee that he won’t.”

  That night the Professor read the news to everybody. Legless said:

  “He’s in the Reformatory now. I saw him when he left the police station.”

  “And she’s in the Orphanage…” Big João added.

  “We’ll get them out,” Professor stated. Then he turned to Legless. “Until Pedro Bala gets out, you’re leader, Legless.”

  Big João held his arms out to the others, spoke:

  “People, until Bullet comes back, Legless is leader…”

  Legless said:

  “He stayed behind so we could be free. We have to free him. Isn’t that right?”

  They all agreed.

  When they took him into that room, Pedro Bala imagined what was waiting for him. He didn’t see any guard. Two policemen, a detective, and the director of the Reformatory came in. They closed the door. The detective said in a laughing voice:

  “Now that the reporters have gone, kid, you’re going to tell us what you know, whether you like it or not.”

  “Talk now…”

  The detective asked:

  “Where do you sleep?”

  Pedro Bala looked at him with hatred:

  “If you think I’m going to tell…”

  “You will…”

  “You can stand on your head.”

  He turned his back. The detective signaled to the policemen. Pedro Bala felt two clubs at the same time. And the detective’s boot on his face. He rolled on the ground, cursing.

  “You still won’t talk?” the Reformatory director asked. “This is just the beginning.”

  “No,” was all that Pedro Bala said.

  Now they were hitting him on all sides. Whacks, punches, and kicks. The director of the Reformatory got up, kicked him, Pedro Bala fell to the other side of the room. He didn’t get up. The policemen twirled their clubs. He saw Big João, Professor, Dry Gulch, Legless, and Cat. They all depended on him. The safety of all of them depended on his courage. He was the leader, he couldn’t betray them. He remembered the scene in the afternoon. He had managed to let the others get away in spite of being caught too. Pride filled his chest. He wouldn’t talk; he’d escape from the Reformatory, he’d free Dora. And he’d get his revenge…He’d get his revenge…

  He cries out with pain. But not a word comes from his lips. It’s getting to be night for him. Now he doesn’t feel the pain anymore, he doesn’t feel anything. But the policemen are still beating him, the detective punching him. But he doesn’t feel anything else.

  “He’s fainted,” the detective says.

  “Leave him to me,” the director of the Reformatory explains. “I’ll take him to the Reformatory, he’ll open his mouth there. I guarantee it. I’ll let you know.”

  The detective agrees. With the promise that the next day he’d come for Pedro Bala, the director left.

  In the pre-dawn, when Pedro came to, the prisoners were singing. It was a sad moda. It spoke of the sunlight there was on the streets, how great and beautiful freedom is.

  Ranulfo, the beadle, who’d gone to pick him up at Police Headquarters, brought him into the presence of the director. Pedro felt his body aching all over from the beating of the day before. But he was satisfied because he hadn’t said anything, because he hadn’t revealed the place where the Captains of the Sands lived. He remembered the song the prisoners were singing at daybreak. It said that freedom is the best thing in the world. That there was sunlight on the streets and there was eternal darkness in the cells, because freedom was unknown there. Freedom. João de Adão, who was on the street, in the sunlight, talked about it too. He said that it wasn’t just for pay that they went on those strikes on the docks and would go on others. It was for freedom, because the dockworkers didn’t have much of it. Pedro Bala’s father had died for freedom. For freedom—Pedro was thinking—for his friends, he’d taken a beating from the police. Now his body was soft and painful, his ears full of the moda the prisoners were singing. Outside there, the old song said, is sunlight, freedom, life. Pedro Bala sees the sun through the window. The street goes right in front of the main gate of the Reformatory. Inside here it’s like eternal darkness. Outside it’s freedom and life. And revenge—Pedro Bala thinks.

  The director comes in. Beadle Ranulfo greets him and shows him the Bullet. The director smiles, rubs his hands, sits down in front of a tall cabinet. He looks at Pedro Bala for a few minutes:

  “At last…I’ve been waiting a long time for this pigeon, Ranulfo.”

  The beadle smiles approval of the director’s words.

  “He’s the leader of those so-called Captains of the Sands. Look at him…The born criminal type. It’s true you haven’t read Lombroso…But if you’d read him, you’d understand. He has all the marks of the criminal on his face. At his age he has a scar already. Look at his eyes…He can’t be treated like an ordinary person. We’re going to give him special honors…”

  Pedro Bala is looking at him with his sunken eyes. He feels a weariness, a mad urge to sleep. Beadle Ranulfo essays a question:

  “Shall I put him with the others?”

  “What? No. Put him in the hole to start. Let’s see if he comes out of there a little reformed…”

  The beadle bows and goes out with Pedro Bala. The director then orders:

  “Diet number 3.”

  “Black beans and water…” Ranulfo mutters. He sneaks a look at Pedro Bala, shakes his head. “You’re going to come out a lot thinner.”

  Outside there is freedom and sunlight. Jail, the prisoners in jail, the beating had taught Pedro Bala that freedom is the greatest thing in the world. Now he knows that it wasn’t just for his story to be told on the waterfront, in the Market, at the Gate of the Sea, but that his father had died for freedom. Freedom is like the sun. It’s the greatest thing in the world.

  He heard the beadle Ranulfo snap the padlock outside. He’d been thrown into the hole. It was a small room underneath the stairway, where he couldn’t stand because it wasn’t high enough, nor could he lie down fully because it wasn’t long enough. He could either sit or lie with his legs up in a very uncomfortable position. That was precisely how Pedro Bala lay. His body gave a turn and his first thought was that the hole was only good for the snake-man he’d seen in the circus once. The room was shut up tight, the darkness was complete. The air came in through the thin, rare cracks in the steps of the staircase. Pedro Bala, lying as he was, couldn’t make the slightest movement. The walls stopped him on all sides. His limbs ached, he had a mad urge to stretch his legs. His face was full of bruises from the beating at the police station and this time Dora wasn’t there to bring him a cool cloth and take care of his wounded face. Freedom was Dora too. It wasn’t just sunlight, walking freely in the streets, laughing on the waterfront with the great guffaw of the Captains of the Sands. It was also feeling Dora’s blond hair next to him, listening to her tell stories about up on the hilltop, feeling her lips on his wounded lips. Sweetheart. She was without freedom too. Pedro Bala’s limbs are aching and now his head aches too. Dora is with him, without sunlight, without freedom. She was taken to an orphanage. Sweetheart. Before she appeared, he’d never thought about that word: sweetheart. He liked to pull little black girls down onto the sand. Lie chest to chest, head to head, legs to legs, sex to sex. But he’d never thought of lying on the sand beside a girl, a girl like h
im, and talking about foolish things and playing hide-and-seek the same as other children, without pulling her down to make love. He’d always thought that love was the pleasant moment when a black or mulatto girl moaned under his body on the waterfront sand. He learned that early, when he wasn’t thirteen years old yet. All the Captains of the Sands knew that, even the smallest ones, the ones who still weren’t strong enough to pull a halfbreed girl down. But they already knew it and thought joyfully about the day when they could. Pedro Bala’s limbs and head hurt. He’s thirsty, he still hasn’t drunk or eaten that day. With Dora it was different. As soon as she arrived, he, just like all of them in the warehouse, thought about pulling her down, possessing her, using her, because she was pretty, for the only kind of love they knew. But since she was just a girl, they’d respected her. Then she became like a mother to all of them. And like a sister, Big João said that was for sure. But for him it was different from the first moment. She’d been a playmate, the same as for the others, a beloved sister too. But it had been a different joy from what a sister gives. Sweetheart. He’d like to, yes. Even when he tries to deny it to himself he can’t. It’s true that that’s why he doesn’t do anything, content to chat with her, listen to her voice, timidly take her hand. But he’d like to possess her too, see her moan with love. Not, though, just for a night. For every night of a whole lifetime. The way other people have a wife, a wife who’s mother, sister, and friend. She was mother, sister, and friend to the Captains of the Sands. For Pedro Bala she’s a sweetheart, one day she’ll be his wife. They can’t keep her in an orphanage like a girl who hasn’t got anybody. She has a boyfriend, a legion of brothers and children she takes care of. The weariness leaves Pedro Bala’s limbs. He needs movement, walking, running, to be able to think up a plan to free Dora. There in that darkness, he can’t. He’s of no use, thinking that maybe she’s in a hole too. But he’s too used to rats to be bothered. But Dora is probably afraid of that continuous noise. It’s maddening for anyone who isn’t the leader of the Captains of the Sands. All the more so for a girl…It’s true that Dora is the bravest of all women born in Bahia, which is the land of brave women. Braver than even Rosa Palmeirão, who took on six policemen, than Maria Cabaçu, who respected no guy, than Lampião’s companion, who can handle a rifle just like a cangaceiro. Braver because she’s just a girl, she’s just beginning to live. Pedro Bala smiles with pride in spite of his aches, his weariness, the thirst that’s almost squeezing him. How nice a glass of water would be! Beyond the sand by the warehouse is the sea, never-ending water. A sea that God’s-Love, the great capoeira fighter, cuts with his sloop when he goes fishing in the southern sea. God’s-Love is a good fellow. If Pedro Bala hadn’t learned Angola capoeira from him, the prettiest fighting in the world because it’s also a dance, he wouldn’t have been able to help Big João, Cat, and Legless get away. Now, there in the hole, unable to move, capoeira would be of no use to him. He’d like to have a drink of water. Can Dora be thirsty right now too? She must be in a hole too, Pedro Bala imagines the Orphanage as just like the Reformatory. Thirst is worse than a rattlesnake. It’s scarier than smallpox. Because it starts tightening your throat, mixing up your thoughts. A little water. A little light too. Because if there’s a little light maybe he’ll see Dora’s smiling face. In the darkness like that he sees it full of suffering, full of pain. A dull, impotent rage grows inside him. He rises up a little, his head resting against the steps of the stairway that serves as a ceiling. He pounds on the door of the dungeon. But it seems there’s no one to hear him out there. He sees the director’s evil face. He’ll bury his knife in the director’s heart up to the hilt. Without any trembling of his hand, without any remorse, enjoying it. His knife was at the police station. But Dry Gulch would give him his, he has a pistol. Dry Gulch wants to go join the band of Lampião, who’s his godfather. Lampião kills policemen, kills bad men. Pedro Bala at this moment loves Lampião as his hero, as his avenger. He’s the armed hand of poor people in the backlands. Someday he’ll be able to join Lampião’s gang too. And, who knows, maybe they’ll be able to invade the city of Bahia, split open the head of the director of the Reformatory. What a face he’d put on seeing Pedro Bala coming into the Reformatory at the head of some cangaceiros…He’d let go of the bottle of liquor, the present from a friend in Santo Amaro, and Pedro Bala would open his head. No. First he’d leave him in that same hole, with nothing to eat, nothing to drink. Thirst…Thirst is mistreating him. It makes him see Dora’s sad and mournful face on the darkness of the wall. The certainty that she’s suffering…He closes his eyes. He tries to think about Professor, Dry Gulch, Big João, Cat, Legless, Good-Life, all of them at the warehouse except Dora. But he can’t. Even with his eyes closed he sees her face, embittered by thirst. He pounds on the door again.