For the next few days I left for school a little earlier to avoid running into the Portuguese buying cigarettes. I also took care to slip around the corner on the other side of the street, which was almost completely in the shade of the hedges in front of the houses. The minute I got to the highway, I would cross over and carry on, shoes in hand, staying close to the large factory wall. But my efforts were pointless. The street has a short memory and soon no one remembered yet another of Seu Paulo’s boy’s antics. Because that’s how I was known when I was being accused of something: ‘It was Seu Paulo’s boy.’ ‘It was that boy of Seu Paulo’s.’ ‘It was that little troublemaker of Seu Paulo’s.’ Once they even came up with a horrible joke: when the Bangu Football Club was thrashed by Andaraí, people joked, ‘Bangu took more of a beating than Seu Paulo’s boy!’
Sometimes I’d see the goddam car at the corner and I’d hang back so as not to have to see the Portuguese—I really was going to kill when I grew up—strutting his stuff as the owner of the most beautiful car in the world and in Bangu.
That was when he disappeared for a few days. What a relief! He must have gone out of town or taken a vacation. Once again I could walk to school with a calm heart, and I was already beginning to doubt whether it was really worth killing him later on. One thing was for sure: without fail, when I went for a piggyback on a less important car, I no longer felt the same thrill and my ears would begin to sting terribly.
Life in the street went on as always. Kite season had come and we were always outside. The blue sky would be dotted with the most beautiful, colourful stars during the day. As it was the windy time of year I didn’t spend as much time with Pinkie, only going to see him when I was grounded, after a beating. I never tried to sneak out when I was grounded; being beaten twice in a row hurt a lot. Instead I would go with King Luís to festoon – I loved that word – my orange tree. As it happened, Pinkie had grown a lot and soon would be giving me flowers and fruit. Other orange trees took a long time. But my sweet-orange tree was ‘precocious’, which is how Uncle Edmundo described me. Then he told me what it meant: something that’s ready a long time before everything else. Actually, I don’t think he knew how to explain it properly. It just meant anything that came first.
So I’d fetch bits of rope, scraps of thread, make holes in a bunch of bottle tops and go festoon Pinkie. You should have seen how smart he looked. When the wind blew, the bottle tops would clink against one another and he looked like he was wearing the spurs Fred Thompson wore when he rode Silver King.
School life was good, too. I knew all the national anthems off by heart. The big one was the real one. The others were the hymn to the flag and the one that went Liberty, Liberty, spread your wings over us. For me, and I think for Tom Mix too, it was the best. Whenever we went for a ride, except when we were at war or on a hunt, he’d say respectfully, ‘C’mon, Apinajé warrior, sing the anthem of liberty.’
My high-pitched voice would fill the vast plains, even more beautifully than when I sang with Seu Ariovaldo in my job as a singer’s helper on Tuesdays.
Every Tuesday, I would skip school to wait for the train that brought my friend Ariovaldo. He’d come down the stairs holding up the brochures of song lyrics that we’d sell on the streets. He’d be carrying two more full bags too, which were our backup. He almost always sold everything and this made both of us very happy.
At school recess, when there was time, we’d play marbles. I was really good at it. My aim was spot on and I almost never went home without my satchel jiggling with my winnings, often triple the number of marbles I’d gone with.
My teacher, Dona Cecília Paim, was really sweet. You could tell her I was the most terrible boy on my street, and she wouldn’t believe it. She didn’t believe that I knew more swear words than anyone else in class, or that no one got up to as much mischief as me. She refused to believe it. At school I was an angel. I was never told off and had become the darling of all the teachers, as I was one of the youngest kids who had ever been there. Dona Cecília Paim could see our poverty from a mile off and, at break time, when everyone else was eating their snack, she’d take pity on me, call me over and send me off to buy a sweet pastry. She was so fond of me that I think I was good just so she wouldn’t be disappointed with me.
Suddenly, it happened. I was walking along the highway slowly, as always, when the Portuguese’s car drove past, very close. He honked the horn three times and I saw that the monster was smiling at me. All over again I felt angry and wanted to kill him when I grew up. I scowled haughtily and pretended to ignore him.
* * *
‘It’s like I said, Pinkie. Every single day. It’s as if he waits for me to go past and then he comes along and beeps his horn three times. Yesterday he even waved.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I don’t care. I pretend not to see him. He’s starting to get scared, you see. I’ll be six soon and it won’t be long before I’m a man.’
‘Do you think he wants to be your friend because he’s scared?’
‘I’m sure of it. Wait a second, I’m going to get the crate.’
Pinkie had grown a lot. I had to stand on a crate to climb into his saddle now.
‘There, now we can talk properly.’
Up high there I felt bigger than everything. I’d look around at the landscape, at the grass in the ditch, at the tanagers and finches that came to look for food. At night, darkness would barely have fallen when another Luciano would come swooping happily around my head like a plane at the Campo dos Afonsos air base. At first even Pinkie was surprised that I wasn’t afraid, because most children are terrified of bats. Come to think of it, Luciano hadn’t appeared for days. He must have found other Campo dos Afonsos air bases to fly around.
‘Did you know, Pinkie, the guavas at Eugênia’s house are starting to turn yellow. They must be just about ripe. The problem is if she catches me. I’ve already been beaten three times today. I’m here because I’m grounded …’
But the devil gave me a hand down and pulled me over to the hedge. The afternoon breeze was starting to waft the smell of the guavas to my nose, so it seemed. I peered through the hedge, pushed a branch aside, heard no noise … And the devil was saying, ‘Go on, silly, can’t you see there’s no one there? She must have gone to the Japanese lady’s grocery store. Seu Benedito? Don’t worry. He’s practically blind and deaf. He can’t see a thing. There’s time to run away if he notices.’
I followed the hedge to the ditch and decided. First, I signalled to Pinkie to be quiet. By now my heart was racing. There was no messing with Eugênia. God knows she had a tongue on her.
I was tiptoeing along, holding my breath, when her voice boomed from the kitchen window.
‘What’s going on, boy?’
It didn’t even occur to me to lie and say I’d come to fetch a ball. I bolted and jumped into the ditch with a splash. But something else was waiting for me there. A pain so intense that I almost screamed, but if I screamed I’d get beaten twice: first, because I’d left the backyard when I was grounded, and second, because I’d been stealing guavas from the neighbour and had just managed to get a shard of glass in my left foot.
Still giddy with pain, I tugged at the glass. I moaned quietly and saw the blood swirling into the dirty water in the ditch. What now? My eyes brimming with tears, I managed to remove the glass, but I had no idea how to staunch the flow of blood. I was squeezing my ankle hard to ease the pain. I had to stay strong. Night had almost fallen, and with it, Father, Mother and Lalá would arrive home. If any of them caught me they’d beat me. Or they’d each beat me separately. I climbed over the barrier and hopped over to my orange tree, where I sat down. It still hurt a lot, but I didn’t feel like I was going to be sick any more.
‘Look, Pinkie.’
Pinkie was horrified. He was like me—he didn’t like the sight of blood.
Oh Lord, what was I going to do?
Totoca would have helped me, but where was he now? There was Glória. She was in the kitchen, no doubt. Glória was the only one who didn’t like the fact that everyone was always beating me. She might give my ears a tug or ground me again. But I had to try.
I dragged myself to the kitchen door, trying to think of a way to win Glória’s sympathy. She was embroidering something. I sat down awkwardly and this time God helped me. She looked over and saw me with my head down. She didn’t say anything because I was grounded. My eyes welled up with tears and I sniffed. I found her eyes on me again. She had stopped embroidering.
‘What is it, Zezé?’
‘Nothing, Gló … Why doesn’t anyone love me?’
‘You get up to a lot of mischief.’
‘I’ve been beaten three times today, Gló.’
‘And didn’t you deserve it?’
‘That’s not it. It’s just that because no one loves me, they take everything out on me.’
Glória’s fifteen-year-old heart was beginning to thaw, and I could feel it.
‘I think it’s best if a car runs over me on the highway tomorrow and squashes me completely.’
Then the tears came streaming down in torrents.
‘Nonsense, Zezé. I love you lots.’
‘No you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t let them beat me again today.’
‘It’s getting dark now and there won’t be enough time for you to get in trouble again.’
‘But I already have …’
She put down her embroidery and came over. She almost screamed when she saw the puddle of blood at my foot.
‘My God! Shrimp, what’ve you done?’
I’d won. If she called me shrimp, I was safe.
She picked me up and sat me down on the chair. Then she quickly got a bowl of salty water and knelt at my feet.
‘This is going to hurt a lot, Zezé.’
‘It’s already hurting a lot.’
‘My God, the cut’s almost an inch and a half long. How did you do it?’
‘Don’t tell anyone. Please, Gló, I promise to be good. Don’t let them hit me so much …’
‘OK, I won’t tell. But what are we going to do? Everyone’s going to see your foot all bandaged up. And tomorrow you won’t be able to go to school. They’re going to find out.’
‘I’ll go to school. I’ll wear my shoes to the corner. After that I can take them off.’
‘You need to lie down and put your foot up, otherwise you won’t even be able to walk tomorrow.’
She helped me limp over to my bed.
‘I’ll bring you something to eat before the others get home.’
When she came back with the food, I couldn’t help myself and gave her a kiss. I hardly ever did that.
* * *
When everyone had assembled for dinner, Mother noticed that I was missing.
‘Where’s Zezé?’
‘He’s lying down. He’s been complaining of a headache all day.’
I listened in ecstasy, momentarily forgetting how much my foot hurt. I liked being the topic of conversation. That was when Glória decided to stick up for me. She put on a voice that was sorrowful and accusatory at the same time.
‘I think everyone’s been hitting him. And today he was in really bad shape. Three beatings is too much.’
‘But he’s always up to no good. He only stops when he gets a paddling! Do you mean to say you never lay a finger on him?’
‘Hardly ever. At the most, I give his ears a tug.’
They all fell silent and Glória went on.
‘After all, he isn’t even six yet. Yes, he’s naughty, but he’s still a child.’
That conversation pleased me no end.
* * *
Glória was fretting as she got me dressed, helping me to put on my shoes.
‘Are you OK to go?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You’re not going to do something silly on the highway, are you?’
‘Was it true what you said?’
‘No. It’s just that I was really sad ’cause I thought no one loved me.’
She ran her hands over my fine blond hair and sent me off.
I thought it would only be hard until I got to the highway and that once I took off my shoes, the pain would ease up. But when my bare foot touched the ground it was too much and I had to go slowly, leaning against the wall of the factory. At that rate I’d never get there.
Then the thing happened. The horn honked three times. Damn! It wasn’t enough that I was dying of pain and here he was to bully me.
The car pulled up alongside me. He stuck his body out and called, ‘Hey squirt, you hurt your foot?’
I felt like saying that it was none of his business. But because he hadn’t called me toerag, I didn’t reply and kept walking.
He started the car again, passed me and pulled over onto the pavement, blocking me. He opened the door and got out, his large body towering over mine.
‘Is it hurting a lot, squirt?
It wasn’t possible that a person who had beaten me was now speaking in such a gentle, almost friendly, voice. He came even closer and, unexpectedly, knelt down and looked me in the eye. His smile was so soft it seemed to radiate affection.
‘It looks like you’ve really hurt yourself. What happened?’
I sniffed a little before replying.
‘Piece of glass.’
‘Is it deep?’
I showed him with my fingers.
‘Oh! That’s serious. Why didn’t you stay home? You’re on your way to school, aren’t you?’
‘My parents don’t know I hurt myself. If they find out they’ll beat me to teach me not to get hurt.’
‘Come with me, I’ll take you.’
‘No, thank you, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘Everyone at school knows what happened that time.’
‘But you can’t walk like that.’
It was true. I hung my head, feeling that my pride was about to take a tumble.
He lifted my head up by the chin.
‘Let’s forget a few things. Ever been in a car?’
‘No, sir, never.’
‘Then I’m going to give you a lift.’
‘I can’t. We’re enemies.’
‘I don’t care. If you’re ashamed, I’ll drop you off before we get to the school. OK?’
I was so moved I didn’t even reply. I just nodded. He picked me up, opened the door and sat me carefully in the passenger seat. He walked around the car and got in. Before starting the engine, he smiled at me again.
‘That’s better, see.’
The lovely feeling of the car cruising along, with the occasional jiggle, made me close my eyes and begin to dream. It was smoother and nicer than Fred Thompson’s horse, Silver King. But it wasn’t for long because when I opened my eyes we were almost at the school. I could already see the crowd of schoolchildren swarming through the front gate. Terrified, I slid off the seat and hid. I said angrily, ‘You promised to stop before we got to the school.’
‘I changed my mind. That foot of yours can’t be left like that. You could get tetanus.’
I couldn’t even ask what that beautiful, tricky word was. I also knew it was pointless saying I didn’t want to go. The car turned onto Rua das Casinhas and I returned to the seat.
‘You strike me as a brave little man. Let’s go see if it’s true.’
He pulled up in front of the pharmacy and carried me inside in his arms. When Dr Adaucto Luz came to help us, I was terrified. He was doctor to the factory staff and knew Father well. And my fear grew bigger when he me looked at me and asked straight off the bat, ‘You’re Paulo Vasconcelos’s son, aren’t you? Has he found a position yet?’
I had to answer, although I was ashamed that the Portuguese now knew that Father was unemployed.
‘He’s waiting. He’s been promised a lot of things …’
‘Well, let’s get down to business.’
He peeled back the cloth stuck to the cut and let out an ‘uh-oh’ that frightened me. My lips began to quiver. But the Portuguese came to my rescue.
They sat me on a table covered with white sheets. A bunch of tools appeared. And I shook. The only reason I didn’t shake more was because the Portuguese leaned my back against his chest and held me by the shoulders, firmly but gently.
‘It won’t hurt much. When it’s over, I’ll take you for a soda and sweets. If you don’t cry, I’ll buy you some sweets that come with trading cards.’
I mustered up all the courage I could. The tears streamed down my face and I let them do everything. They gave me stitches and even an anti-tetanus injection. I struggled against the desire to throw up. The Portuguese held me tight as if he wanted to take on a little of my pain. He mopped my sweaty hair and face with his handkerchief. It felt like it was never going to end. But it did eventually.
When he took me to the car, he was satisfied. He had done everything he’d promised. Except that now I didn’t want anything. It was as if my soul had been torn out through my feet.
‘You can’t go to school now, squirt.’
We were in the car and I was sitting very close to him, leaning against his arm, almost getting in the way of his driving.
‘I’ll take you somewhere near your house. You make something up. You can say you got hurt at playtime and that the teacher sent you to the pharmacy.’
I looked at him with appreciation.
‘You’re a brave little man, squirt.’
I smiled through the pain, but inside that pain I had just discovered something important. The Portuguese was now the person I liked most in the world.