Childhood of the Dead (18 page)

“Sit there, Big Purple. Write down the story our little friend will tell us.” Saying that Dr. Mauro gave Dito a blow on the boy's head wound. The blood stream increased.

“Put paper in the machine, because he's dying to talk.”

Dito repeated the story he had given many times. The police chief didn't believe him, but Big Purple continued to write. The blows Dito received hit him on the head, on his back and on the face, but above all in the ribs, over the open wound.

“This is a lie. I want facts,” the police chief repeated.

Dito cried, blood had covered his legs completely, and now began to run onto the floor.

“Some drug dealer sent you to end with this woman's life. This is what I want to know.”

Dito didn't know what to say. He only shook his head. He didn't say anything about Crystal's death, nor about the wish he had to kill all of them. It didn't matter whether he remained quiet or not, he would be beaten up all the same. Caramel took a broom handle from behind the newspapers and began beating on Dito's back.

“Leave this infected animal. When you get tired, take him off the chair.”

The police chief was disappointed. He hadn't been able to get anything more than he already had heard from the boy the last time around.

Caramel followed his instructions.

“Clean the blood from his body with newspapers and throw him in the cell. Put him in cell 152, which is the most crowded. He will later on have a surprise.”

Dito could barely stand up. Caramel wiped his face, back and legs with newspapers. He then held him by one arm, and Big Purple by the other; and they took him away. The jailor opened the door and they pushed Dito inside. He was so wounded that even the prisoners felt sorry for him. At first, no one dared to say or do anything to him, even though the boy had fallen on his back and exposed his naked body. An older man, with grey hair, bent over Dito. Two others had arranged newspaper sheets in a corner, pushing him over to them.

“This one won't last long.”

Dito was still bleeding and almost unconscious. When it began to get dark, bowls with a dark colored water passed from hand to hand. The grey haired prisoner brought Dito's bowl closer to him, putting it close to the boy's mouth, but Dito did not move. Late that night Dito began to moan and on the following morning he was completely swollen. Some inmates called the jailor. The old fat man asked them to get out of the way for him to see through the iron bars. He stretched his neck but didn't see anything serious.

“It's always like that. He got a few blows, he's making a scene.”

A heavy black man, pushing his arm through the bars, tried to hit the jailor, who in turn blew the whistle, calling the shock troops. Three or four men showed up, machine guns pointed to the inside of the cell. The prisoners quickly got their backs against the walls and calm returned.

On that afternoon, Dito's body began to react. He opened his eyes and saw a bunch of men looking down at him. One smiled. the youngest one took off his pants and toffered him his underwear. The grey-haired man began to dress him up. Dito wanted to thank him, but didn't know how. He only made an almost imperceptible gesture with his head. When the dark colored water they called soup was distributed, one of the prisoners was able to steal a spoon. He passed it to the grey haired man who then fed some spoon fulls of the warm soup to Dito.

“Someday, if you leave this place, don't let them put their hands on you again. It's better to die.”

Dito felt thankful to that man, and he didn't even know his name. He also wished to thank the one who gave him his underwear. But he couldn't move.

X

Dito's health showed improvement in the second week after hw was jailed. The grey-haired man had been able to get an empty can to boil water in and wash off Dito's wounds. The jailor had left behind a little creosote-based desinfectant soap. The grey haired prisoner would wet rags in the boiling water, wash Dito's wounds, and then apply the desinfectant. Another prisoner had torn his shirt in pieces and covered the open wounds to protect them from flies. From that day forward Dito felt as if his health had been improving. Only then, did he become aware of his cellmates. The grey haired man's name was Uncle Zé, the young man of the underwear Gabriel, the thin black man who had torn up his shirt was Ghost, and Cleaner was the man who had wanted to punch the jailor.

Gabriel was always coughing and Uncle Zé had told him he had tuberculosis.

“The other day they took two of them from here. Now it's him. Later on it will be me, or one of our mates. They are trying to finish us off, slowly, without anyone noticing.”

The young man would sit in a corner, rest his jaw on his bone thin knees and cough. At night it was even worse. Dito felt sorry for having contributed to his being without a shirt. He approached him trying to return those rags, but the man only smiled, saying:

“It doesn't matter. You keep it. I'm half way gone anyway.”

Cleaner didn't like to hear such talk: “Before they finish with me I'm gonna break the balls of a couple of them. If I get hold of a knife, I'll cut the head off of the first one who crosses my path.”

The old janitor had not been there to clean for three days. The cell's toilet had clogged and overflowed. The stink of feces was so strong that even the jailor, who would frequently walk along gallery, complained. “An infernal race!”

Then he would leave laughing. The prisoners didn't say anything. They just waited for an opportunity to get him close to the iron bars, when he least expected it. But this day was taking a long time to come and Gabriel was getting worse by the hour.

Uncle Zé would stay seated at Dito's side, talking. Sometimes he would tell him about his childhood in the country: his games, his running after animals or in the fields.

“I liked that easy-going life. I've always liked it. It's what makes me the saddest about being here.”

Dito wished to ask him questions, to talk to him, but he didn't feel the strength. It just was easier to look at that kind-looking man with wrinkles etched in his cheeks.

“If I am able to get out of here, I am going back to the country. Far away. I'll get me a little house on a little piece of land and just stay put.

“You think people are better there?” Cleaner asked ironically.

“I don't know. It feels as if people know each other better.”

Dito didn't know how he found the guts to ask, “Why are you here, Uncle Zé?”

“One of those crazy moments, boy. Something I can't explain. Life every day got more difficult. Bills piling up. The children sick, my wife sick, the eviction day set.... From that point it's easy to find your hand grabbing onto something that's not yours. That's what happened. And everything went wrong. I don't know what has happened to my folks, nor what will be happening to me. I've given up on expecting anything. I've left it all in God's hands.”

Gabriel's coughing spell got worse, prompting Cleaner to say, “Tonight neither he nor we will be able to sleep.”

“And how did you get to be here?” Uncle Zé asked Dito.

“I've done a lot of wrong things, and it all began because I believed a son of a bitch who gave me away”

“And where is this guy?” Cleaner asked.

“I've sent him to hell.”

Cleaner smiled, while Uncle Zé remained serious.

“Murder doesn't accomplish anything.”

“I don't know. We at least feel free from these types.”

Dito felt, after many weeks a certain vigor. His blood felt warmer in his veins, his ears began to burn and his wounds were hurting.

“When and if I leave here, I'm gonna kill a bunch more of scum.”

“If your situation improves it's quite probable you might change your way of thinking.” Uncle Zé suggested.

“You're mistaken. They wanna finish us off.”

Cleaner smiled again at the youngsters attitude, “Right on!”

“You didn't see what they did to Pichote, Manguito, Smokey and the others.”

Uncle Zé asked for more information on the friends Dito mentioned but Dito didn't feel he had to add anything else to the story.

The boy continued to talk, Cleaner giving him incentive. Uncle Zé looked through the iron bars to the other side of the somber gallery, as Dito talked. Dito's eyes reddened with anger. Then the grey-haired man turned his attention back to Dito's comments, for he didn't know that this boy, who had been so quiet, hovering there between life and death, could be so full of hatred.

“If I could I would finish them off with boiling oil, so they could remember everything they have done.”

“There you have it, Uncle, the boy is right,” Cleaner said. “They messed around with him, now he is an angry man.”

“Do you know how many we were in this cell?” Gabriel asked, feeling a little better after his last coughing spell. “About eighteen. One week later two went to interrogation and didn't come back. Another fell ill with a fever and he has also disappeared. Four have left with tuberculosis. Now it's my turn. One or two more weeks and I'll disappear.”

Dito listened. Uncle Zé wanted to intervene, but he didn't know what to say, recognizing the uselessness of anything he might say.

“There's only one way: trust God. To Him there are no guilty nor innocent people!”

Dito smiled in disbelief. When Gabriel had another coughing attack, the jailor showed up to say the toilet would be fixed with a hot water jet the following day, and it was possible they would all end up covered in shit. He said that and smiled, while the prisoners glared at him through the iron bars.

XI

It was still dark when the men arrived with the hose. They slipped the brass nozzle through the iron bars and opened the strong hot water jet, against floor and walls. The prisoners defended themselves as they could: Gabriel was partially scalded; Cleaner pushed Dito to the side. The stink of shit increased as the water filled up the cell. Two lights above were turned on and slowly the shit began to disappear. The prisoners changed standing places several times, but the water jet was very strong. Another hose was brought in and turned on, this one with cold water.

“It's time for the scums' bath!” the police controlling the hoses shouted.

And this time there wasn't a single one of them who had not been totally soaked. The jailor laughed and clapped from his spot behind the hose handlers.

“You needed a bath!”

For hours no one was able to sit down, because the floor was still wet. They also hoped that by standing up the clothes on their bodies would dry faster. This morning there was no coffee served, since the people in the kitchen had been told the prisoners would be moved to another cell for the cleaning to take place. But they didn't complain. The old hands in the cell joked about it with the jailor and received other jokes in response.

“Since coffee is free, we give it when we want to.”

At nine o' clock, Dr. Mauro, Caramel and Big Purple showed up. The police chief had his suit jacket opened, showing the handle of his gun in its holster. Big Purple had a print shirt and a felt hat on, while Caramel was dressed in a well-worn, light-colored suit. He was tall and had a small hump on his back. Hhis sweet manner of speaking had been the source for his nickname. The police chief was straightening his mustache with his fingers and appeared to be contented. He came to the iron bars and shouted:

“Look, I finally have good news.”

The prisoners didn't move. They had never seen that policeman so euphoric. They knew something was up and it wasn't good.

“We've decided: I am going to open the door, for a game to begin. The guy pushed from the inside out will go to the solitary. The guys who are able to stand the fight, will change cells and will get lunch and dinner every day.”

There was a faint manner among the cellmates.

“Pay attention!” The police chief continued. “If someone tries to escape, we will put the dogs on him.”

He then put the key in the lock and opened the cell, giving the key back to the jailor.

“So, haven't you understood the game?”

There was only one who attempted to make a move but he was restrained by Cleaner's strong arm. The police chief showed his surprise.

“What's the matter? You are not believing me?”

Silence again. Big Purple looked at Dr. Mauro. Caramel frowned.

“Well, then this must get serious.”

The police chief called the jailor and two guards.

“Bring the guys from cell 18. That'll be better. I want to know what they will do.”

The prisoners show up, walking in line. The chief himself opened the cell door.

“I sent for you to play a game. Cell 18 against cell 152. The ones able to stay inside the cell will get one month od lunch and dinner. The guys thrown out won't have either. They won't be my problem anymore.”

The men who had just arrived begin the aggression. A strong one got Uncle Zé by the hair and threw him against the wall. A shorter man held the boy, a third one knocked Gabriel's head against the iron bars, a big fat black man pulled Dito by his legs. The door opened for the first time and Uncle Zé was thrown out backwards into the gallery. The policemen held him and put handcuffs on his wrists. Next, out came an older man. Cleaner punched furiously a strong man, but ended up being dominated. The guy gave him a waist lock and he felt slowly his senses disappearing. Finally with one heel kick he was able to hit the giant in the balls, the man bent froward and Cleaner was able to hit him in the neck. The guy was not overcome yet. He grabbed the can in which Uncle Zé boiled the water, flattening it and tried to use it as a weapon. Cleaner gave him a head kick and attacked his back. Other groups fought, the quiet mulatto knocked out two weak men, dragging them toward the door and throwing them into the gallery.

Cleaner jumped, ramming his heels into the giant's kidneys. He shouted and kicked his head on the floor. Cleaner pushed him to the outside of the cell. The police chief was not happy with Cleaner's show of strengh, and ordered the police to go in the cell and finish him off. Four big men showed up. Cleaner tried to defend himself but was dominated by nightsticks' blows in his head and shoulders. He was finally shoved out and handcuffed. At this moment Dito was also pushed out. He had his face wounded and blood streamed out of his nose.