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 Mangaratiba 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 buy 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.
‘A cadaver’s a dead body, a corpse. But maybe we should change the subject now.’
I thought it was a good idea, too, but I couldn’t help but think that he had been a cadaver for several days now. Glória kept talking, promising things, but now I was thinking about Portuga’s two little birds, the blue one and the canary. What would become of them? They might have died of sadness like Orlando-Hair-on-Fire’s finch. Maybe someone had opened the cage doors and set them free. But that would have meant certain death. They didn’t know how to fly any more. They would sit in the orange trees until the children hit them with their slingshots. When Zico couldn’t afford to keep the tanager aviary going, he had opened the doors and that’s what happened. Not one escaped.
Things began to return to normal in the house. There was noise everywhere. Mother went back to work. The rocking chair went back to the sitting room, where it had always lived. Only Glória stayed put. She wasn’t going to budge until she saw me standing again.
‘Have this soup, shrimp. Jandira killed the black chicken just to make this soup for you. See how nice it smells.’
And she would blow on the spoon.
If you like, dunk your bread in the coffee like this. But don’t slurp when you take a sip. It’s bad manners.
‘Hey, what’s going on, shrimp? Don’t tell me you’re going to cry because the black chicken is dead. She was old. So old she didn’t lay eggs any more.’
So you managed to find out where I live.
‘I know she was the black panther at the zoo, but we’ll buy another black panther, much wilder than her.’
So, where’ve you been all this time?
‘Not now, Gló. If I eat it, I’ll start throwing up.’
‘If I give it to you later, will you have it?’
And before I could stop myself I blurted out, ‘I promise to be good, I won’t fight, I won’t use swear words, not even “bum”. But I always want to be with you.’
They gave me worried looks, thinking I was talking to Pinkie again.
* * *
In the beginning it was just a rustling at the window, but after that it turned into knocking. A gentle voice came from outside.
‘Zezé!’
I got up and leaned my head against the shutter.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me. Open up.’
I unlatched it without making any noise so as not to wake Glória. Standing there in the darkness was Pinkie, all shiny and festooned with gold, like a miracle.
‘May I come in?’
‘I guess so. But don’t make any noise or she’ll wake up.’
He jumped into the room and I went back to bed.
‘Look who I brought to see you. He insisted on coming too.’
He held out his arm and I saw a kind of silver bird.
‘I can’t see properly, Pinkie.’
‘Pay attention because you’re going to get a surprise. I dressed him up with silver feathers. Isn’t he beautiful?’
‘Luciano! How fine you look. You should stay like that for ever. I thought you were a falcon from The Tale of Caliph Stork.’
I stroked his head, overcome with emotion, and felt for the first time that it was soft and that even bats liked tenderness.
‘You missed something. Take a good look.’
Pinkie turned around to show himself off.
‘I’m wearing Tom Mix’s spurs. Ken Maynard’s hat. Fred Thompson’s pistols. Richard Talmadge’s belt and boots. And to top it off, Seu Ariovaldo lent me that chequered shirt you like so much.’
‘I’ve never seen anything more beautiful, Pinkie. How did you get it all?’
‘When they heard you weren’t well, they lent it to me.’
‘It’s a shame you can’t dress like that all the time.’
I studied Pinkie, worried that he might know what awaited him. But I didn’t say anything.
He sat on the edge of the bed and his eyes were all sweetness and concern. He leaned in close.
‘What’s wrong, Sweetie?’ he said.
‘But you’re Sweetie, Pinkie.’
‘Well, then you’re Sweetie Junior. Can’t I be a really good friend to you, as you are to me?’
‘Don’t say that. The doctor told me not to cry.’
‘I don’t want that either. I came because I really miss you and I want to see you well and happy again. Everything in life passes. And to prove it, I’ve come to take you for a ride. Let’s go?’
‘I’m very weak.’
‘A little fresh air will cure you. I’ll help you jump out the window.’
And we left.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Let’s go for a walk on the water pipes.’
‘But I don’t want to go down Rua Barão de Capanema. I’m never going there again.’
‘Let’s take Rua dos Açudes right to the end.’
Pinkie had transformed into a flying horse. Luciano was perched happily on my shoulder.
When we got there, Pinkie gave me his hand to help me balance on the thick pipes. It was nice when there was a hole and the water squirted up like a little fountain, wetting us and tickling the soles of my feet. I felt a little dizzy, but the joy that Pinkie was giving me made me feel as if I was better already. At least, my heart was lighter.
Suddenly, I heard a whistle in the distance.
‘Did you hear that, Pinkie?’
‘It’s a train whistle, far away.’
But a strange noise grew closer and closer and new whistles pierced the silence. The horror hit me all at once.
‘It’s the train, Pinkie. The Mangaratiba. The murderer!’
And the sound of the wheels on the tracks grew, frighteningly.
‘Climb up here, Pinkie. Quickly, Pinkie.’
Pinkie couldn’t keep his balance on the pipe because of the shiny spurs.
‘C’mon, Pinkie, give me your hand. It wants to kill you. It wants to kill you. It wants to crush you. It wants to chop you up.’
Pinkie had barely climbed onto the pipe, when the wicked train charged past, whistling and blowing out steam.
‘Murderer! Murderer!’
But the train continued speeding over the tracks. Its voice came to us between fits of laughter.
‘It wasn’t my fault … It wasn’t my fault … It wasn’t my fault … It wasn’t my fault …’
All the lights in the house came on and my room was invaded by sleepy-eyed faces.
‘It was a nightmare.’
Mother took me in her arms, trying to quell my sobs against her chest.
‘It was just a dream, son … A bad dream.’
I began to throw up again while Glória told Lalá what had happened.
‘I woke up to him shouting “murderer”. He was talking about killing, crushing, chopping … My God, when is all this going to end?’
* * *
But a few days later it ended. I was condemned to go on living and living. One morning, Glória came in, radiant. I was sitting up in bed, feeling sad about life.
‘Look, Zezé.’
In her hands was a tiny white flower.
‘It’s Pinkie’s first blossom. Soon he’ll be a grown-up tree and bear fruit.’
I sat there stroking the little white flower. I wouldn’t cry over anything any more. Although Pinkie was trying to say goodbye to me with that flower, he had already left the world of my dreams for the world of my reality and pain.
‘Now let’s have some porridge and walk around the house a little like you did yesterday. Come soon, OK?’
That was when King Luís climbed onto my bed. He was allowed near me now. At first they hadn’t wanted him to get upset.
‘Zezé!’
‘What, my little king?’
He was the only true king. The others, the King of Diamonds, the King of Hearts, the King of Clubs and the King of Spades, were just figures soiled by the fingers that played them. But he wouldn’t live to sit on a throne.
‘Zezé, I love you.’
‘I love you too, little brother.’
‘Do you want to play with me today?’
‘Yes, I’ll play with you today. What do you want to do?’
‘I want to go to the zoo, and then to Europe. Then I want to go to the Amazon jungle and play with Pinkie.’
‘If I don’t get too tired, we can do it all.’
After breakfast, as Glória looked on happily, we went down to the back of the yard holding hands. Glória leaned in the doorway, relieved. Before we reached the chicken coop, I turned and waved at her. Her eyes glowed with happiness. And I, with my strange precociousness, sensed what she was feeling in her heart: ‘He’s gone back to his dream world, thank God!’
‘Zezé?’
‘Yes?’
‘Where’s the black panther?’
It was hard to go back to playing the same old games now that I didn’t believe in such things any more. I felt like saying: ‘There never was a black panther, silly. It was just an old black hen, which I ate in a soup.’
But I said, ‘There are only two lions left, Luís. The black panther went on a vacation to the Amazon jungle.’
Best to preserve his illusions as much as possible. When I was little, I believed those things too.
The little king opened his eyes wide.
‘In that jungle, over there?’
‘Don’t be afraid. She went so far that she’ll never be able to find her way back.’
I smiled bitterly. The Amazon jungle was just half a dozen thorny and hostile orange trees.
‘You know, Luís, I’m feeling weak, I need to go back in. We’ll play more tomorrow. Cable cars and whatever else you want.’
He nodded and slowly followed me back to the house. He was still too young to know the truth. I didn’t want to go anywhere near the ditch or the Amazon river. I didn’t want to see Pinkie with his spell broken. Luís didn’t know that the tiny white flower had been our goodbye.