Childhood of the Dead (20 page)

“Look here, you son of bitch,” Dito said angrily, “we need food and clothing. We came here to get them and we don't intend to be challenged.”

The big and strong black kid kept his eye on the station employees with more than tewnty boys around them. Dito jumped over the counter, opened drawers and distributed as many knives as he could find. He went to the tables, where plates had been piled up and began pulling the tablecloths. As he did this, plates would fall off and break on the floor, an action that made the smallest boys laugh continuously. Dito began cutiing the tablecloths in eyeballed sizes and gave them to the boys to cover themselves. He went back to the big one who dominated the men and said:

“Take them to the office, lock the office and take the key with you. If there is a telephone, pull it from the wall.”

The men were taken by the black boy and a group of another ten boys who shouted and begged to beat the guys up with their sticks and bars.

While Dito tried to find more cloth, some of the boys had found food in the kitchen cabinets and began to eat ham slices, bread, drinking soda pops and eating chocolate candies and chewing gum. Dito went to the office and found one of the men trying to break the lock.

“Look here, man, don't be a fool or we'll finish you off, right now. Stay calm because we are here only temporarily. We don't want money. I only want to know what place this is.”

The man didn't at first understand the question. He kept looking at Dito, at the piece of tablecloth covering his partially naked body.

“We're over a mile away from Camanducaia.”

“This here, is along Minas state border,” the one who appeared calmer said.

“Then, that's where we will go.”

“What happened to you?” One of the men, surprised with so many naked boys, wanted to know.

“The police threw us over a cliff.”

“But we are so good that we escaped,” the small blond boy said. He might be the smallest of the group, and yet he carried a heavy wooden stick.

“Whose restaurant is this?” The black boy asked.

“The firm's. I don't know the name of the owner.”

“We'll eat what we can find there,” Dito said.

The man shrugged his shoulders, indifferent. Part of the group was still in the restaurant, opening cabinets and refrigerators. Once in a while more plates would get broken.

A truck passed slowly on the road. The children didn't notice it, but the driver saw all that action and found it strange to see so many boys gathered there, at that time of the morning, many without clothes on. He knew the restaurant only opened for lunch, and it had done so for the past ten years, since it had opened. He felt like pulling into the station, but he went ahead, because the rain had delayed him considerably. He was going to arrive in Camanducaia much later than usual.

Some of the boys gathered around the Willys truck. Dito came to look at it. He got in and saw that it was in good condition. He called to the guy in white overalls with blue and red emblems.

“We'll take the truck, where's the key?”

The man agreed and gave him the keys. Dito looked for the ignition key and turned the engine on. The other boys are enthralled by Dito's action. But Dito knew this was crazy, only eigh kids at the most would be able to fit in the car. Not more than that. They would end fast in the hands of the truckers. He turned the car off and returned the keys.

“Not even one half of us would fit in here!”

He went back to the restaurant and asked the man in overalls to look for more cloth, old pants, flannel rags. The guy disappeared in the back but came back bringing what he could find. The kids began to feel that he was helping them out. He wasn't such a bad guy, after all.

On the counter and on the tables were now a large number of open bottles. The bigger boys had been able to get some wine, vermouth, Sao Paulo's fire, rum drinks and cognac. The glasses passed from hand to hand.

“This warms you up better than any clothing,” the dark haired boy, who was always smiling, said.

Dito took several drinks. A boy who was probably younger than eight years old was also taking a drink. It looked like cognac. Dito thought of taking it away from the boy, but he figured it would be better to leave him alone, the cold was getting worse by the minute, the rain had increased and they still didn't know where they where they would go from here.

“How are things in Camanducaia?”

The man in overalls answered as he could:

“I don't live there, but I know it's a small town. It has a square and a few streets. Nothing more.”

“That's funny. We'll surprise them all,” the black boy said. He was probably about Dito's age, but taller.

“If we need clothes and money, that's where we have to go.” Dito said.

They waited for the rain to decrease to begin the walk to Camanducaia.

The ones who had tired of eating and drinking, lay down on the wooden floor and under the tables. Others, more cautious, made packages of left over foods.

“We may need it later.”

III

The truck driver entered Camanducaia still thinking of the naked and noisy boys he had seen. The town was sleepy and the rain was very heavy. It thundered. The wind was so strong as to render the windshield wipers useless. The truck driver couldn't see well because that truck also had only one windshild wiper working. He only remembered the other needed fixing when it rained like now and the water was so voluminous he couldn't see.

He went along a stone paved street, narrow and flanked by old one-story houses. He didn't see the ditch and the front wheels of his truck fell with one shock into the ditch. He began to fear some problem with the shock absorbers and suspension. He decided to stop by the police station to report the boys he had seen and also to take a look underneath his truck. He was worried about it. He couldn't take a whole day off for the truck to be in the shop.

The police station was also closed. It only had one light on in the outside. He knocked at the door and a policeman opened it still very sleepy.

“Gosh, what a rain!”

The policeman opened his mouth but didn't say anything.

“Do you think we could bother the police chief at this hour?”

The policeman frowned. The truck driver readjusted his rain coat, the water poured down into his old shoes. He mentioned what he had seen at the gas station, the policeman didn't appear interested.

“I didn't stop, but it looked as if there were more than forty street kids. And they were all naked, in this cold!”

“Forty?”

“Thereabouts. A bunch!” the truck driver said.

The policeman thought the case might be serious.

“Have you drunk something by any chance?”

The driver laughed and the policeman joined him.

“I've been driving for more than twenty years; I like to take my drinks, but never when I am at work.”

“So, you say that if we go to the gas station we'll find a bunch of kids!

“That's right!”

The policeman sat down and opened a note book, searching for the chief's telephone number.

“He'll be furious. But I have to do it.”

His thick finger picked out the numbers in the telephone disk, rotating it slowly. He put the phone to his ear and waited. The telephone rang and rang. Until it was answered, finally.

“Doctor, this is 25. There is a problem at the gas station just outside of town. We have a driver here saying he saw some forty or so naked kids there, raising hell.

There was a moment of silence. “Hello?!”

“Right 25. Tell the driver to wait and you get the car ready. Let's go see what's going on.”

The policeman hung up, stretching himself in the chief's chair and listened to the driver, who appeared to be the type given to long tales, filled with details.

“I just don't know where they could have come from.”

“When they least expect it we'll put our hands on them.”

The policeman said, rocking himself back in the swivel chair. He finally stood up and asked the driver to wait.

“It will rob you of some time, but the chief asked for you to wait here.”

The driver was beginning to regret having taken a detour to the police station.

“I'm going to call Joao Domingo. He will come with us.”

Saying that the fat policeman went slowly through a corridor, knocking at a door.

“Domingo!”

The door opened. A mulatto came out, sleepy and red eyed, wanting to know what was going on.

“Get ready. We have a small job in sight.”

The policeman went back to seat at the chief's chair and asked:

“Is your truck all right?”

The driver explained he had fallen in the ditch but he knew now that everything was fine.

“It just happens that the truck won't be good for this job. The best thing to do would be to get Pedrinho Tara's bus. Then it will be difficult for the boys to run away.”

The driver agreed with the policeman's reasoning, and was glad to free himself of this extra work.

“If you want I can look for Tara,” he said to the policeman.

“No!” The policeman said. “Just stay put until the police chief gets here. Then you go with us. If there is no driver available you'll drive us.”

“I'm here to help,” the driver said resigned.

A car stopped in fron of the police station. It the police chief. He is still young and of average height. He didn't appear anxious for having been called so early in the morning. The policeman introduced the truck driver to him. Joao Domingo was awake now, a belt with the holster on one side and a .38 caliber on the other. The chief took a weapon from the drawer. The fat policeman opened a closet, looking for a raincoat and a hat.

“It's pouring outside,” the driver said, for conversation's sake.

“I think it will be better for us to take Pedrinho Tara's bus,” the fat policeman said.

The police chief agreed.

After making sure he had locked the truck, the truck driver and the policemen leave. They drive through narrow streets of irregular pavement up to a gas station where two buses are parked. The fat policeman spoke with a worker then called the truck driver, making sure he would drive the bus. He came back to the car where the police chief was and said: “We can take that one!”

The bus pulled off ahead of the police chief's car, its windshield wipers scratching against the glass perturbed the fat policeman. Nevertheless, he opted not to complain to the chief.

The bus led the way slowly, through strong and relentless rain. They passed the ditch the truck driver had fallen into and reached the deserted road, where they drove for about twenty minutes.

“It was a good idea to bring the old man,” the fat policeman said. “If he is lying, he'll have to pay for it.”

The police chief didn't say anything. Joao Domingo in the back seat found the entire idea funny.

“The poor man has already lost it!”

They saw the gas station's signs, and the lights on in the building. The police chief then, thought of a strategy.

“We let the bus stop and we pass by, then we manoeuvre around and come back from the other side.”

They passed by the bus that had already stopped by the gas pump. The truck driver saw the delegate's car pass by and didn't understand what was going on, but still asked the station worker approaching his truck:

“What are all these children doing here?”

The gas station worker didn't know exactly how to answer:

“All I know is that they showed up here, all naked. They tore the tablecloths up to cover themselves. But I have no idea where they came from.”

He picked up the pump hose, and the driver told him to stay calm, for the police chief was about to arrive.

The boys didn't notice the policemen arriving with their guns drawn out.

“All right. The party is over!” The police chief said.

The young boys turned around, but Dito decided to confront the newcomers.

“Aren't you going to shoot us?”

The police chief asked his men to put down their guns.

“Where are you coming from?”

Dito explained. The strong black boy at his side reinforced every point.

“I have a bus outside. Let's go. In Camanducaia I'll find clothes for everyone. Then we will see what can be done.”

The bus driver helped organize the seating.

“No pushing and shoving!”

The boys sat down, some had already forgotten the beatings they had received, others, with broken arms and dislocated shoulders, were the last ones to get on the bus.

“These two must go to the hospital,” the police chief said.

He asked them to stay in the front seat. He touched one boy and noticed he had been running a fever.

“Let's go!”

He went back to the car and followed the bus.

IV

The driver talked and talked, filling in the conversation with unnecessary details, according to the fat policeman. But Joao Domingo agreed once in a while with the driver, though he wasn't always able to get the point of the conversation. He kept looking at the boy with dislocated arms and eventually said:

“You know, if we push, this will go back into place. It'll hurt a lot, but it goes back.”

“It's better to let the doctor take a look at it,” the fat policeman said.

“What if there are no doctors there today?”

“Then, we'll talk to the chief.”

The bus got through the detour, the narrow street of one- story houses whose doors and windows were shut against the water cascading from the eaves to the sidewalk. The police chief knew that the boys could run away easily when getting out of the bus. The two policemen and the talkative driver would not be sufficient help to contain the boys.

Joao Domingo pulled out his .38 and oversaw the unloading of the prisoners, saying, “Everyone in the police station. If you try to run away, you'll get shot!”