Childhood of the Dead (14 page)

The woman told him to come in, and explained that she would do it only if the pants were already cut or if he could wait for her to send it out to have it cut.

“I am afraid to cut and damage the fabric. I am used to working for women. In men's clothing what I know how to do is shirts.”

Dito talked about Crystal, and the seamstress showed him a shirt already finished and another still in the making.

“Well. He's a friend. I even have a package to deliver to him; the problem is that I can't find his address.”

“Let me see if I have it here.”

She came back with a notebook with torn up pages , searched here and there for it, and put on her glasses. “It's in Copacabana.”

Dito asked to write it down. “That's great. I'll be able to go by there today.”

The woman was not curious. She gave him a piece of paper, searched for a pen that was difficult to find, she opened a small drawer where she kept threads and bobbins and found the pencil stub. Dito asked her to tell him.

“Dias da Rocha Street 121, apartment 910.”

Dito folded the paper, put it in his pocket, and went back to the subject of the pants.

“Let's do this. I'll look for someone who can cut and then I'll bring it to you. I am always coming around here.”

She smiled. Dito had nothing else to say. He couldn't contain his happiness. He went down the hill, he met the boy he'd given the money, and he noticed two strange-looking men paying attention to his movements. He got to the point where snitches and criminals usually gathered and hurried up. His foot was hurting. He went back through the narrow street of low houses without fear, he was now sure no one could have imagined his intentions. He wished he could go to a bar and ask for a
guarana'
soda, but he was running out of money. He barely had enough to take a bus to Copacabana. After he surprised Crystal, it would be different. At first he thought of taking a bus, but then decided for a trolley. It was cheaper and it would get there all the same.

He would get into the building at nightfall. If he could he would try to get in without being noticed by the porter. He would sit down in the stairway, waiting. He could also get a lockpick with Mother's Scourge or Encravado. Then, he wouldn't have to wait for so long. He woud force the lock, and would lock it from the inside, and he would wait for Crystal comfortably. That would be best. The greater the surprise the worse it would be for Crystal's health. That's the way he was used to dealing with the others. He would get what he deserved.

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

I

When they stopped listening to Brown Sugar's story, silence reigned. Pin used his dirty nails to scratch his head, Mother's Scourge sniffled and Encravado asked, “And you're gonna to wait for them to catch you?”

Brown Sugar looked at the motorcycle parked nearby before answering, “I liked her. I must face the dance.”

“Pffh!” Pin exclaimed. “Will you tell the cops you fucked both of them?”

No one found that funny.

“What will happen if the cops prove you're the one to finish off the girl?” Dito asked.

“I spent the entire morning fixing the fucking bike at the shop. The cop just needs to go to the shop and confirm it.”

“And what are you gonna do with the dude?” Mother's Scourge wanted to know.

Brown Sugar felt dizzy.

“I dunno.”

“Why don't you fence the bike and run away?” asked Pin.

“'Cause then they'll think I did it, man!”

Silence took over the group.

“Did you like her?” Dito asked.

Brown Sugar nodded affirmatively, and his eyes teared up. He got up, leaving the others sitting. No one said a word. He got on the bike and rode away. Traffic in the streets was busy, but everywhere all he could see was the smiling face of Vera: her dimples, her perfect teeth. He didn't know why Fla'vio had done that. He couldn't believe Fla'vio might be such a cold criminal, but somehow he couldn't feel angry with him. He got to the wide side walk at the beach and gazed at the sea. Hiding his pain from passersby he cried, loudly, as he should have done a long time ago.

When he felt better he tried to put his thoughts in order. He didn't want to stay in the streets anymore, like the others. He would go the police station to tell them what he knew about the case. But he didn't muster the courage do to it. He didn't know what to say, how to begin. It would be better if they came looking for him. But where would they find him? He didn't have a permanent place. The few months in his life he could have given out an address was when he stayed at Fla'vio's apartment. But he would not return there; he didn't want to see him again. He didn't even want to keep that bike, which reminded him of so many umpleasant things. He should have stayed with Pin and Encravado and continued to wander about as they did. But his wish to improve his life had made him get into some serious complications. He wouldn't go to the police. They would want to know details of his life, he would end up talking about his friends and about what they did. That was not his role. He didn't have anything to explain. Fla'vio should tell what he knew.

At the door of the morgue a group of men approached him, without his noticing it. They showed their badges. “Come with us. You have a lot to tell us in Homicide.”

Brown Sugar wasn't surprised.

“Don't worry anymore about her.” — the short and strong man told him.

Brown Sugar looked at him gratefully, went into the car and observed a morgue employee take the bike to the patio.

“For how long did you fuck that fag?” one of the policeman asked him.

“We were only friends.”

“Don't make me laugh. Gifts and gifts, all because you were friends?” argued the policeman.

Brown Sugar repeated what he had already said. The short and strong man reminded him, “If you liked the girl, you must say what you know.”

The car stopped in front of an old building, and they went up the stairs. Brown Sugar's mind was absorbed with the distant day he met Vera. She had invited him to go swimming. It had been a beautiful, luminous morning and the sea appeared transparent. Each time he dove he saw her moving like a fish or a mermaid. He wasn't paying attention when he sat down in front of the fat man in a suit. He couldn't exactly understand what he wanted with so many questions.

II

“You see what happens when you get involved with women?” Encravado said.

“That's not true. It's just that Brown Sugar had always been a softie. If it was me, I wouldn't have got into this mess,” said Mother's Scourge.

“I only deal with them to diddle,” Pin said.

“And which one have you pluked?” Encravado asked making fun of him.

“I think what you really like is to beat your meat.” Dito said smiling.

Pin didn't like the joke.

“I dunno. But I'm alive. It's not gonna be any joy hole that's gonna make me throw myself under a truck.”

“And who said he threw himself?” asked Encravado.

“The pigs plan one thousand and one tricks and it all stays the same: no one gets caught.”

“How come he jumped and the bike remained intact?”

Pin didn't know what to say. He looked at the newspaper and passed it along to Mother's Scourge, saying:

“I think that what's in there is right.”

Mother's Scourge began to read. He had a gloomy expression in his face, for having learned about the death of a friend.

“And what was he doing at Brazil Avenue?

“Who knows?” Encravado said, “Brown Sugar got himself involved in the big leagues. He would either climb mountains or end up the way he did.”

“It was better this way. No one can suspect he was the killer,” Dito said.

Pin talked senselessly for a while, remebering that life would go on, that he would meet with Sueli and Carla. Mother's Scourge promised to go along with him. Pin had no maney, Dito lent him one half of what he had. He had been able to sell one of the guns, keeping only the 22 with which he had done Crystal in. But he didn't talk about his deed. He didn't like to open himself up to anyone. Different from the others, he was getting to an age when he didn't need to talk anymore. He would spend hours listening to the others shoot the breeze, but only rarely did he make his opinions known. Pin invited him to go see Beth, but he said he wasn't up to it; he would talk to her some other time. He went away along a very dark street, and thought of the days he used to see Brown Sugar regularly, the friendship he appeared to have for Smokey. He crossed the square with the water fountain already lit up and had a coffee in a bar. When the street car came by, he decided to go visit Mother Dolores, and stay there for some time, to see if she had news of Smokey or Manguito.

Her street was brightly lit. There were stands selling fruits and skewered meats and a greater number of men in front of the houses. Women appeared everywhere, in the windows, at the doors. As Dito walked along the sidewalk, a woman tried to hold on to him, showing her naked torso. He spoke of Mother Dolores and the woman began to laugh. Mother Dolores' large house had the hallways crowded with people: there were couples coming in and out, almost all bedrooms had their doors shut. He could hear murmurs and laughter dwindling in the warm air of the night. When he knocked at a door, Mother Dolores showed up. She had red eyes and she was dressed in white. She didn't answer Dito's greeting. Her room was poorly lit. It held a profusion of old furniture, and two cats sprawled on the sofa.

“Is something wrong?” asked Dito.

She nodded, came into the bedroom, and Dito followed. He saw a small coffin, candles, and three seated women. Approaching the coffin Dito recognized Smokey. He looked at Mother Dolores as if he couldn't understand. She rubbed a handkertchief on her face and said, “A friend of mine found him. They were going to bury him as an indigent. Then they remembered me. I agreed to do the wake for his soul. I was afraid you might not come.”

Dito couldn't take his eyes from the small boy, and reaching for the coffin, he touched Smokey's cold forehead.

“Do you know how it happened?”

Mother Dolores shook her head.

“They only told me he was found dead. He had been in a police precinct jail all this time.”

Dito looked at the women again who remained quiet. They had make up on and were wearing low cut dresses. He sat down at their side and concentrated on a candle about to burn out, when Mother Dolores came up with one to replace it.

“Did you know anyone of his family?”

Dito said that he didn't.

“We have no one,” he added, a little disturbed.

An old woman showed up serving coffee. Dito got a cup and felt the atmosphere very heavy with the mixed smell of candles and flowers. While he awaited for the second round of coffee, he observed Smokey who looked as if he were asleep. Mother Dolores had knelt in front of the images of the saints, and after she stood up she said unintelligible things aloud. Dito followed the ceremony closely until he had to go to the bathroom. He crossed the partially dark hallway and got in a small room that stunk of urine. The tiles on the walls were loose and falling. A scantily dressed woman showed up at the door of a bedroom, saying something to the man who was leaving her room.

Dito pissed, thinking of Smokey's bad luck. If Crystal had been involved in that deal, he had already paid for it. He now had to know of Manguito's whereabouts. If he was still alive.

When he returned to the room, other people had shown up. A bald black man had brought his
atabaque
drum. He held it in between his knees and, at the request of Mother Dolores, he began to beat on it lightly while singing a melancholy song. His melody escaped the room through the half-open door and joined the other sounds coming from the heart of the old house.

When he began falling asleep, the old woman took him to a long folding chair for him to lie down. It was in a small and crowded room. He loosened up the knots in his shoes, put his gun in the back pocket of his pants and fell asleep. He woke up at daybreak. Movement in the house had increased. The women who were tired of hooking were ready to go away, but before that they were coming to see the young boy. Dito looked at those strange faces, showing marks of sleeplessness with dark circles under their eyes and smeared make up. Mother Dolores did not appear to have slept for a moment; she satyed in front of the saints' images. The
atabaque
man beat his drum as smoothly as the night before and appeared to be singing the same song. When a far away clock struck six AM, Mother Dolores stood up and invited all to pray. She closed her eyes and raised her arms. The
atabaque
was silenced. A smoke cloud began to rise from a small grill placed in the corner of the room. In an instant the house was filled with incense.

III

Dito stayed behind when the women left the cemetery. He observed how odd figure of Mother Dolores and all the others looked. He wrote down the number of Smokey's burial place to play it in the numbers game. He was almost sure he would win. He went into a restaurant and the waiter asked him to pay beforehand for the plate he chose.

“What's the big deal, man? What if the food ain't no good?”

As the man was indifferent to his protest, Dito had no other solution but to show him a bill of fifty. The waiter picked up the money and began to set the table.

Finishing lunch he went to look for his group. He was only able to find Encravado and Pin. He told them about Smokey. Pin couldn't believe it.

“Gosh, they are rubbing us out!”

Dito thought like that also.

“Every time they get their hands on one of us, it's to kill.”

“That's why you can't play with them,” Dito said.

“And what do you suggest? Pin asked.

“To set up a gang, to get a lot of money and to disappear for some time. It's the only way.”

“It won't work,” Encravado said.

“What won't work is this rolling johns. In no time every one of you is gonna be in the cage.”

“So, what's the plan?” Encravado wanted to know.

“Pull a job on the supermarket. Get a million and disappear!”

“Pffh! This is for big fish!” said Pin.

“Of course. It ain't for babies. It will take balls to pull this off,” argued Dito nervously.

“I'm in,” Encravado said.

“Then let's wait for Mother's Scourge.”

“Figurinha may also want in,” Pin said. “I saw him yesterday.”

“What about you?”

Pin was in doubt: “It's too big,man.”

He frowned, scratching his head, then said, “Damned if I do and damned if I don't! I'm in.”

“After we talk to the others we make our plans.” Dito said.

Encravado began, then, to enumerate frustrated robberies, while Pin, echoing his friend, stressed what was said, “But I won't be soft. If people cross me, they'll eat bullets. You'll see.”

Dito reclined on the bench, as was his habit, and looked at the sky, at the clouds, at the black wings of vultures flying in circles. He thought of Smokey and remembered the guys in the car: Xereta's smiling face, at the moment he backed the car over his foot; Panther's hat; Eyelash's face and Overtime's gestures. If he stayed longer in Rio he would seek them out. One at a time. He would have enough money to attack them and to spend many days in hiding. If he were to return to Sao Paulo he would settle accounts with Big Purple and Caramel. He didn't feel good knowing they were alive, catching other boys, doing to them what they did to him and to Manguito and Smokey.

“Friday would be a good day,” Encravado said suddenly, as if he were continuing the earlier conversation.

“I prefer Saturday,” Dito argued. “It's easier for us and more difficult for them. Women go out shopping with their children. We can get one of them and use him as a shield, if things get out of hand. I think it'll be easy.”

“And who will get the money?”

“Leave it with me. The important thing is to get the manager. Having him in hand, the money will show up. Otherwise the manager is a goner.”

Pin found that very funny. He clapped his hand and laughed loudly, “This is a cool dude, man!”

Encravado didn't find that funny, “What if we can't hang on to the manager?”

“Can't hold him? What kind of fucking robbers are you? Or would you rather to pull a job at an old folk's home?”