Childhood of the Dead (2 page)

Pichote swayed. He fell and stood up again, managed some steps as if he didn't know which direction to take, fell again. Dito had the stones in his hands without knowing at whom to throw them.

“They shot Pichote!” Smokey said alarmed.

Dito knew he couldn't lose his cool even though he felt himself fuming.

“Let's go, before they catch us!”

The three started running, crouching as much as they could. Other shots were fired, but no one got hurt. Dito approached Pichote. He had his eyes open, threads of blood flowing from his neck. His yellowish hand had opened, releasing the drooping flowers he'd been taking to Starry. Manguito and Smokey had already scaled the wall. Dito stood up and flung some stones not knowing what he wanted to hit. Realizing the pointlessness of his gesture, the impossibility of taking Pichote away from there, he ran to the wall and jumped.

III

“Dr. Alencar, there's a little problem here to be taken care of,” said the supervisor, a powerful looking mulatto.

The man who had just arrived kept quiet. He put on his glasses to read an invoice of materials, after which he asked if the truck had already unloaded the bricks. His aide answered by telling him the bricks were being stacked up in a pile in the same sector where there was a problem. Dr. Alencar showed some nervousness.

“What problem is this you're talking about,
Seu
Laerte?”

The mulatto smiled.

“Galego and Big Jet followed the orders . . . .”

“Which orders?”

“To stop urchins from robbing the cemetery. At least one of them won't bring us any more problems.”

Dr. Alencar set his glasses down on the table. He was a bit apprehensive.

“How did this happen,
Seu
Laerte?”

“It's hard to tell. But from what Big Jet tells me, Galego hit one of the punks. To avoid complications, I sent the body to the third chapel.”

“Let's see how this happened,” Dr. Alencar said, standing up and leaving the room.

The supervisor followed him.

The third chapel was the smallest of all. It had not been used in years. Nowadays, only unused material was stored there. The manager entered with care to avoid staining his clothes on the shovels and hoe handles in the room.

“How old could this boy be?”

“About ten. But they know how to do things you wouldn't imagine.”

“Where is Galego?”

“He's left. Both he and Big Jet.”

Dr. Alencar wasn't concerned with the boy's death; what bothered him was how to get rid of the body without problems.

“Get me Galego and Big Jet. No matter where they are.”

Dr. Alencar returned to his office. He turned on the air conditioning, answered the phone, took notes, smiled, spoke softly. The supervisor called a man in uniform, and told him to find Galego and Big Jet's whereabouts.

“Dr. Alencar wants to speak to both of them.”

The manager stayed on the phone, apologized for something he wasn't able to do — which the security supervisor couldn't figure out and was not interested in knowing — took from his pockets other invoices for delivery of materials and set them on the table.”Each one says three loads of stone, but it was only one.”

Dr. Alencar looked at the receipts and smiled.

“And when does the driver want to be paid?”

“He said he'll stop by next week.”

“And alley 125 is already all cemented?”

“No. The two masons haven't shown up since last week. I think I'm going to get others. Someone willing to work hard.”

“I don't understand,
Seu
Laerte, how it is that we can let custodians go about armed in the cemetery.”

The mulatto pulled a cynical smile and clapped once.

“Well,
doutor
, that's what we'd agreed. A caretaker is much cheaper than a guard. And it doesn't cost to do both things at once. What we didn't foresee was this swarm of punks showing up. It is unbelievable what they've robbed from the graves. Now, maybe things will get better. It is an ill wind that blows nobody good.”

“I hope you're right. Can you imagine if this gets out? If Big Jet and Galego talk?”

Laerte looked at Dr. Alencar incredulously. “Do you think they are crazy? Who would be the losers but them?”

“And have you thought about how to dispose of the body?”

“Yes, but I was waiting for a word from you. Who knows, you may have a better idea.”

“Seek an out-of-the-way place and have it buried tonight.”

“You'll excuse me, but I believe that, in cases like this, the more discreet we are, the better.”

Dr. Alencar settled back into his chair. “What do you suggest then?”

“That we open an existing grave and place the body there. It's safer.”

Dr. Alencar smirked. “That's a good idea. Do this yourself; don't let Galego or Big Jet know about it. If tomorrow, then, they decide to accuse us, they won't have a way to prove anything.”

The supervisor grinned again and Dr. Alencar turned his attention to the phone.

IV

Dito shook the dirt from his clothes. His eyes were still red. They had crossed a long stretch of woods, up to the foot of the hill. No one felt like talking. When they got to the main ascent up into the slum, where there was no more danger of being caught by the snitches and dealers, Manguito decided to break the silence.

“Do you think we should return through the cemetery?”

“No. We escape by the other side. Only later, I'm going to show up there. They'll have to tell me who shot Pichote.”

They arrived at the bar. Manguito and Smokey went around behind the small shack, while Dito went in cautiously, and approached Crystal who was still playing pool.

“Hey, man! I thought you'd forgotten our appointment.”

Dito remained quiet.

“Where're your little friends?”

Crystal noticed Manguito and Smokey approaching. He sat on the pool table and began talking.

“It's gonna be a big job. First some free samples. After, when they are well hooked, things thicken. But in this small job only, you will take five hundred grand. It's enough to keep the wolf away from the door for a long time.”

“And what do we have to do to get so much money?” Dito asked.

“As I said,” Crystal answered, “almost nothing.”

Dito didn't much like this guy, who talked incessantly and acted as if he knew everything, and thought everything would be easy. They hadn't even begun their first job and he was already absorbed with their future.

“And where will we get the money?” Dito asked objectively.

“Two hundred thousand cruzeiros from me and the rest in Sao Paulo. At this address.”

Crystal took a card from his pocket showing it to Dito.

“Do you know where it is?”

“Of course I know.”

“Well it's there. A big house that's ready to be demolished. There is work going on there, but the workers are all part of the group. You go in and ask for Deborah. Then one of the workers will stop what he's doing and ask you to follow him to her presence. You'll like it. Fine people, who don't begrudge payments. You might even earn a bonus. It will all depend on you.”

Dito reached for the card but Crystal pulled it away, smiling and gesturing.

“None of that. Material proof is dangerous. You have to memorize: 1072 Lavapés Street, two houses before the gas station.”

“And what'll we take?”

Crystal pulled small bags from his pockets.

“This stuff. I will sew them to the inside of your pants myself.”

While this man with strange mannerisms and a pock-marked face, always smiling, fidgeted around, Dito thought about Pichote: his wide-open eyes, his hand unfurled with Starry's flowers.

“First you,” said Crystal addressing Manguito.

The boy took off his pants, keeping his undershorts. Crystal turned the clothes inside out, opened a small box, where there were more little bags, thread and needle.

“I have to make like I'm a tailor for everything to work out. The goods will be secure like this. Even if they put their hands in your pockets, they won't find anything.”

Dito continued to observe this man so patient and talkative. When he finished sewing the bags to Manguito's pants, it was Smokey's turn. Only, he had no undershorts. He was embarrassed to be naked, so Crystal found him a towel.

“When you come back, I swear I'll buy first-class clothing for everybody. Clothes and shoes.”

Dito wasn't worried about that. He was worried about returning through the cemetery and, from there, to try to take the train to Sao Paulo. His thoughts appeared to echo those of Crystal.

“Don't even dream of catching a bus at the bus station. You would be caught, easy.”

Dito said he knew that. Crystal wasn't satisfied.

“The policewomen would try to see your travel permit and they'd end up taking you to juvenile court. The route for you is the train. Unless you can get a ride, which is just as dangerous.”

“You can leave it to us. You don't need to worry about this,” Dito said a bit fed up with Crystal's anxiety over petty details.

By the time Crystal finished sewing the bags into Dito's pants, Smokey remembered having to return via the cemetery, because Crystal himself argued that it would be dangerous to go back past the snitches again. Soon after, he showed the money, almost all in thousand cruzeiro bills.

“Look,” he said, “if something happens because you don't do it right, it's your problem. For all intents and purposes I know nothing. That's why you can't be too careful. And don't get yourself in a mess.”

Manguito appeared cheerful, while Crystal proceeded with his admonition. Dito's interest picked up only when he heard threatening words.

“Any fuck up will cost you. Get the picture: you're not working only for me. There's a lot of people in the organization. You can have a great life or be done away with.”

V

“So, how did this happen,
Seu
Galego?” Dr. Alencar wanted to know.

The man was white and nearly bald. His colleague, whose nickname was Big Jet, was seated. He had muscular arms and didn't seem disturbed by his superior's worries.

“Look, boss,” Galego said, “we've done what we should have done long ago. Have you noticed how these punks are about to drive us all nuts? The other day they ruined a whole tomb. They took away the crosses and even the metal inscription. That's why I followed the orders to a tee. I wasn't going to hit the little fucker, but then the shot went wild.”

“And now, what do you think should be done?”

“Very simple,
doutor
,” Big Jet said. “We put the punk in a hole and that's it.”

“I don't believe it's that simple,” Dr. Alencar remarked.

“These kids are all abandoned in the world,
doutor
. I doubt somebody will show up to complain,” Galego said.

The telephone rang, the supervisor answered and said Dr. Alencar was in a meeting.

“What if tomorrow you two have a fight and decide to squeal?” the manager challenged.

“Talk about this? Us? Cut it out,
doutor
,” Big Jet said smiling.

“If you like, we'll bury the punk later. Over there where he died.”

The manager stood up, and poured some coffee in his cup.

“It's already been taken care of, but you must keep quiet. I want this to be kept secret, or I'll have to take it up with the proper authorities. That wouldn't be good for me, but it would be much worse for you two.”

Shrugging his shoulders with indifference, Big Jet stood up waiting for his colleague who was still listening to Dr. Alencar's concerns. Not knowing why he asked, Big Jet posed his supervisor a question just as challenging.

“From now on should we do as we did, or should we let that bunch of delinquents take over the cemetery?”

Dr. Alencar winked, then smiled. The custodian understood well what that meant.

VI

Dito, Manguito and Smokey veered in a wide turn around the slum, finally leaving by the side far from where they'd entered. Dito couldn't forget Pichote, his words, his gestures, his baby- toothed smile. At times, he felt responsible for his death. Had he imagined another plan, Pichote could still be alive. But he also knew he did all he could to protect him. He couldn't have remained there, without reacting, waiting for the caretakers to come and kill them. The mistake had been to go through the cemetery, in the first place, to fear a confrontation with the snitches. Smokey was also sad. Manguito was the only one who appeared reconciled to the loss.

“It happened. What can we do?”

Dito didn't think like that.

“For the time being we'll stay cool. We have to take Crystal's goods. On the way back I'm going to the cemetery again. I may even sleep there. When is dark, I'll get the guy who killed Pichote. They won't get away with this.”

“And do you know who did it?” Smokey asked naively.

“Anyone I catch will be fine. I just want them to know we're not dogs they can kill without punishment.”

They were seated beneath some bushes enjoying a light breeze; the slum shacks had been left behind. This was a quiet place, covered with wild flowers. Smokey and Dito talked about Pichote until Manguito interfered.

“And that woman in Sao Paulo! What do you reckon she's like?”

Dito looked at him. Smokey cut in.

“Well, she must have a big butt and she already owes us three grand.”

Manguito smiled, Dito felt like laughing but tried not to. He didn't want to cheer up. For a long time he thought about Pichote, about his almost incessant questions and his foolery. He had learned to like him and admire him for his courage: Pichote feared nothing. How many dangerous escapades had they faced together! Again, he heard dry shots; he saw Pichote running and suddenly, as if he had lost direction and consciousness, he saw him fall, lift himself again, and then fall once more. No. This wouldn't stay like that. He would return from Sao Paulo and go to the cemetery. He would bring with him a sharp pocket knife and do in the first person he met.