Childhood of the Dead (23 page)

Dina gave her the measurements of the biggest boy of the group.

“This shirt will fit him,” Elizena said pushing away her memories.

Dina turned to the smallest boy and asked for his name.

“Zelito,” he answered.

“And how old are you?”

“Eight.”

She didn't have to ask so many questions, but she enjoyed talking to the boy. He had very round eyes, and appeared fairly happy. She wanted to ask him more, but she refrained. She stood up carrying the paper with her notations and went to the kitchen, where Maria da Glo'ria prepared some coffee, to hide her tears.

As soon as the boys had their measurements taken, they were returned to jail, accompanied by Joao Domingo. One of them thanked the ladies for the coffee and kissed Dina and Elizena. The women smiled and followed them with their eyes, while they went away much more noisily than when they had come.

IX

Around five in the afternoon the news van had stopped in front of the police station. Three men got out: the driver; a man who carried the camera and the flashlight; and a bearded man, who should be the reporter. Leaning at the door, Twenty-Five followed their moves. The bearded man asked for the police chief. Twenty-Five answered a bit testily. He knew the chief was busy and could not waste time giving explanations. When the reporter insisted, Twenty-Five, unconcerned, sat down and made a phone call.

Later on, the reporter got out a cigarette pack and offered Twenty-Five one. Since the photographer took one, Twenty-Five felt he couldn't refuse it and they began talking.

“What's the story on these boys?”

“All we know is that from the moment they showed up at the gas station, they made a big mess. It's been said they were disposed of by the State of Sao Paulo police.”

“How many are there?” the photographer asked.

“Fifty-two. Two or three of the bigger boys claim there were about one hundred of them in the bus, and then all were thrown off the cliff.

“Can we talk to them?”

The policeman was a little embarrassed.

“Yes, you can. But it would be better if you asked the chief, first.

The reporter understood it was a matter of hierarchy. And he didn't want to put the policeman in a bad situation.

“What about the others?”

“What others?” Twenty-Five answered a bit absent-mindedly.

“Well, if the boys say there were one hundred of them in the bus. We're missing forty-eight.”

The policeman shifted positions in his chair, and shook his hands impatiently. “This matter I don't know. This is a problem for the people in Sao Paulo. When you get there you ask them. Here, we are taking care of fifty-two.”

When Dr. Emiliano showed up, reporter and photographer stood up, telling the chief the name of the newspaper they worked for.

“What are you going to do with all of these boys?”

“I've already called the Secretary-General and he gave me authorization to take any measures I see fit. I've called the Minor's Department of Sao Paulo, and things will be resolved. They might be going back tomorrow morning.”

“Why do think this disposal happened?”

“This is an old problem,” the police chief said patiently, “when things get too tough in certain centers, this is their way out. The thing is that in my case, the boys will be sent back. In Sao Paulo they can decide whatever they want, but they can't cross the state line to mess up my jurisdiction.

“Have you been to the place where they were discarded?”

“Not yet. I intend to go, as soon as possible. First I'm trying to get them some clothing. We've already got food, and later in the day we'll have a good dinner. Tomorrow I'll go down to bottom of the cliff.

“Can we see the boys?”

The police chief stood up and went to the cell, followed by the reporter and the photographer. Some of the boys were lying on the mattress; others had their feet wrapped in newspaper; most were playing quietly or were telling each other jokes.

The police chief asked Joao Domingo to open the door. The reporter pointed to two or three boys with whom he would like to talk. Dito was among the boys brought out. The group went back to the chief's office, where the boys sat down on a long bench. Joao Domingo leaned against the wall, while Twenty-Five stretched his legs forward from his chair. The police chief began taking care of paperwork, while the reporter questioned Dito.

“How did you get into the bus?”

“I've already told him,” Dito said, pointing to the police chief.

“The reporter would like for you to repeat the story,” the chief said harshly.

Dito didn't like that.

“OK. I was in a police station jail. And the police chief took me out of there. Me and some others. Uncle Zé and Gabriel, for instance.”

“What do you mean, for instance?”

“Only Gabriel and I ended up in the bus. The others, I don't know.”

“Where was the bus?”

“I don't know. We changed cells. The change was made during the day, but we had to wait until night time. Then the guys showed up and took us: Gabriel and I. The bus was in a very large courtyard. There were lots of policemen. Some had trained dogs. It looked as if there were police cars coming from other places. I saw a bunch of kids come out of a police van. All very small. Then they told us to get into the bus. It was raining when we left Sao Paulo. We couldn't open the window curtains. I tried to calculate the time it was taking us, but I couldn't. Then I got lost. When they threw us out of the bus, I had no idea where we were.”

“What did they do to you in the bus?”

“They beat us, they broke one boy's spine, and they put the dogs on us. Then, they took our clothes off, and ordered us to jump. Those, who didn't want to do it, were thrown off with a kick. I rolled down the cliff. I got all scratched,” he said showing his arms and legs.

“From what height did you fall?”

“Three hundred feet.”

The reporter also talked with the other boys. All repeated the same story. The black boy with reddened eyes, had only one worry.

“Yes, you'll go back,” the reporter said, “but this time it'll be for the Minor's Department.”

“And what's the difference?” Dito asked smirking.

The reporter didn't know what to say. Twenty-Five smiled. The police chief made as if he had not heard it, saying:

“Take another group of children to Usina Street, Joao Domingo.”

X

It was dark, when the rain came back. Camanducaia had a different aspect: in the streets there were numerous people with opened umbrellas and several news cars had parked in front of the police station. The stores which would usually close their doors and windows earlier in the day were still open and lit by low voltage lights. In the bar pinkish and toothless men, drinking
cachac,a
, talked about the children and about the help given to the boys by the women from Usina Street. They would have another round and expound as they could the town's gossip. They weren't sure about the number of dead at the bottom of the cliff, but rumors were that in the morning, there had been cars taking the corpses away. The oldest man said a truck driver had told him the story, “He saw them pulling out the bodies.”

The others appeared worried with that story and the subject went back to the boys in the station's cell. Joao Domingo who had been drinking there with them, confirmed the number at fifty- two.

“Virgin Mary!” was heard all over.

The bar owner refilled the glasses with
cachac,a
and the guys gossiped and kept on drinking.

At the same time, in another part of town,
Dona
Chiquinha had visited Engra'cia, meeting there Maria Quitéria who had just arrived.

“It was a tiresome day,” said
Dona
Chiquinha.

“Just to know about the boys made me sick. Things are really crazy all over. God help us!” Maria Quitéria said.

“I think we can only give the police chief spiritual help,” Engra'cia said while serving coffee her maid had brought out for the guests.

“I thought of taking apart some underskirts to make a few shirts, but who can sew like that at a moment's notice?”
Dona
Chiquinha considered.

“I collected a bunch of postcards with the image of Jesus Christ as a child, which I am sending to the police chief. We shouldn't only think about material things.” Maria Quitéria said.

“But people nowadays don't understand that. I think they will not be satisfied,”
Dona
Chiquinha added.

“If the priest was here, he could to the police station and celebrate a mass there!” Maria Quitéria suggested.

“Well,” Engra'cia said. “We can also pray, but instead of going there, we could do it right here.”

The three women knelt in front of the small home altar where the images of several saints could be found, including the image of St. Sebastian pierced with arrows. They all mumbled something in silence, only her lips moving. Their prayers went on for about twenty minutes. When they finished, Engra'cia called her maid and asked for more coffee.

Dona
Chiquinha got on the phone to the police chief .

“Look, Dr. Emiliano, only now have I been able to gather my friends to help you out. But our help can't be material. We are praying for the kids, for all the wrongs they have suffered and for their futures. I am sure God will listen to us.”The police chief listened to
Dona
Chiquinha while straightening out some papers on his desk. The reporter who was interviewing him was impatient because the woman never stopped talking. She told the chief about their prayers, told him the stories of saint's sacrifices and especially that of Saint Sebastian, of whom she was a personal devotee.

Dr. Emiliano thanked her for her good intentions and told her the women of Usina Street had helped him solve the problem. Many clothes had been made and others were being finished as they talked.
Dona
Chiquinha shut up. The police chief smiled and told the reporter they could continue their interview, after he hang up.

Dona
Chiquinha, straightened up her hair, immediately after hanging up, saying “Insolent man, this Dr. Emiliano! When he showed up here, he was always bothering everyone asking for this or that. Now he's showing his claws.”

Engra'cia wanted to know what happened. Maria Quitéria, who was still drinking her coffee, was also curious.

“What an arrogant manner,”
Dona
Chiquinha said, “the police chief has just informed me that those tramps of Usina Street were solving the children's problem. It's really a pity the priest is not in town. We can't let those lost women contaminate those children's lives.”

“They are always ready to do something, just to show they can be nice people,” Maria Quitéria said.

“I think we should go to the police station and have a talk with Dr. Emiliano. After all, above him, in this town, is Judge Galdiano. And we cannot allow them to shame us in this manner,”
Dona
Chiquinha suggested.

Engra'cia, who was much heavier than the others, who had a calm expression in the eyes, and greying hair, had no intention of making that kind of a sacrifice, of leaving her house now that the rain had began again.

“What if we just make a representation and wait for the priest to come back?”, she suggested.

Dona
Chiquinha thought about it for a while and was convinced that a representation was indeed the best thing, for to get to the police station they would have to cross several streets, go over mud puddles, wet their feet. And what for? To explain themselves to a poor police chief, nothing more than a simple lawyer. Never! They would talk to the judge, the greatest authority around.

“And we can use this occasion to straighten a number of things. The limits those sinful women must observe, for instance. At first they could only be at Usina Street. This police chief was appointed, got here, and look, they have advanced up to Tiradentes Street. Now, I've even found some of them occasionally, in the Church Square.”

“Oh!” Maria Quitéria exclaimed, desolate.

“The police chief cannot change the habits of the people in town. We must worry about taking the tramps out of the streets, and keep order around. This, he doesn't do.” Engra'cia added.

“I never liked him very much.”
Dona
Chiquinha said.”Once, I saw him at Jacira's home and thought he was obnoxious,” said Maria Quitéria from the pulpit of her thirty- eight years of spinsterhood.

Dona
Chiquinha was angry. Her eyes were moving fast from corner to corner, her usually slow gestures had disappeared. She picked up the phone, searched for the judge's phone number and made her call. The judge she was told, was not at home. He hadn't arrived home yet.

“I don't know where this judge goes when we need him the most!”

The rain increased. They could hear thunder, and lightning illuminated the room. The lights flickered, threatening to go out. Engra'cia asked the maid to make sure they have candles available, just in case.

“We must do the represenation.”
Dona
Chiquinha concluded.

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT

I

Close to midnight Elizena and her friends had finished their task: clothes had been sewn by machine or by hand and some were barely basted, but Twenty-Five had been able to pick up the order, taking the chief's car filled with shirts and pants. Elizena was happy for having helped the boys. Maria de Jesus, Ofélia and Dina felt the same. They hadn't occupied themselves with men this evening.

“I wish I could see them all dressed up,” Edna de Oliveira said.

“If you want, we can stop by the police station,” Nilva Barbosa suggested.

Elizena arranged her dress and washed her face as the others changed. Dina even put on a new blouse. In a few minutes they were at the police station. The chief had left but Joao Domingo was on call.

“We want to see the boys dressed up.”

He laughed and said: “They are not here anymore. A bus from Sao Paulo took them away, as soon as they'd put their clothes on. The police chief went with them to the outskirts of town.”

“How did they look?” Nilva Barbosa wanted to know.

“They looked like nobility,” said the policeman winking at Edna.

“It was a pity we came, then.” Elizena said.

“No. Stay a little longer until the police chief gets back.”

But they didn't like Joao Domingo and so returned home. The rain had stopped but the streets were still covered with plenty of puddles. Dina walked carefully to keep her sandals clean, while Ofélia held her skirt away from wet walls.

“One of these days I'm gonna slap the face of that man,” she said referring to Joao Domingo. “Every time he sees me he wants to squeeze my ass.”

The others laughed.

“He looks stupid.”

At the time they arrived at Usina street and turned on the lights in their homes, in the outskirts of town the Sao Paulo bus passed by the gas station where the boys had first been found, in the wet and cold wee hours of the day just ending. Dito didn't feel like talking. He was travelling in a seat by himself. There were only two policemen overlooking the boys. He thought about the things he had done, rehearsed in his mind once again the supermarket assault. He remembered Mother's Scourge holding on to his belly and falling, and Encravado jumping out of the VW bus and being hit in the head. He could not understand Encravado's obstinacy. He knew they would kill him and he jumped anyway. Dito, on the other hand, had kept quiet, raising his arms above his head, when the policemen opened the bus's doors. They would have killed at the slightest movement, but he had not wanted to die then. He still had much to resolve. They covered him with beatings and here he was, reborn from the ashes. How much further would they let him go? He didn't know and didn't want to worry about it. The important thing was to return to Rio and look for Pin and Figurinha. Perhaps they had been able to save their asses. He would like to find them. There was no point in staying in that bus. He would run away before they got put back in jail. As soon as they arrived in the city, he would find a way of escaping. At the first sign, in a close turn, he would leap out. The boys who were able to get to the Juvenile Division would end up in other prisons. They would never have peace. Never. Other problems would appear, and they would be each time more and more involved in them. He didn't belong with that group. He didn't know anyone. The only one who had become his friend had stayed at the bottom of the cliff, with his weak voice, and his veins opened at the wrist.

He read several times the white with red letters:
Emergency exit. In case of accident, pull the lever upward
. He only needed to know if it worked. The trip continued. Some of the boys were making great noise, singing and laughing, as if they were returning from a picnic. He didn't see anymore the one who had had his arms dislocated, nor the one with broken arms. One of the policeman asked them to be quiet. For more than half an hour the bus kept going at very high speed. Dito now realized how far they had been taken. He adjusted his pants and noticed he had no pockets. First thing he had to do was to get better clothes. He remembered the gun he had lost in the supermarket and the money the policemen had taken from him in prison. He was clean, not a nickel. After he got clothes, he would have to get money. After that he would go to Rio, probably by train, as he had already done several times, or, perhaps hitchhiking, helping some truck driver? He would try. The important thing was to get to town, pull that lever and run. He would let the naive boys be happy going back to jail.

He relaxed against the seat. The night was very dark and the few cars that met them on the road passed at high speed. A little after that the city's mercury vapor street lights began to show up, and in the distance, more lanes also well lit appeared. They went over an overpass, and then he recognized the beginning of the city proper. He looked at the policeman talking, and at the other who had sat in the back seat and napped.

He pulled the lever, as the sign indicated, and there was a noise at the door. He felt it was open but stayed seated, holding on to the lever. This was not the best time to get out. The bus went through an avenue, turned right, turned left, went up a steep hill, slowly. At an intersection there were several cars and a garbage truck stopped. That was the opportunity he had been waiting for. He pushed the door open and jumped out. He ran in front of the garbage truck, got up a narrow street, ended up in a little square, took the underground street crossing, and got out close to a church, where he hid himself. He made himself comfortable in the church's stairway. Later on, when he discovered a niche in the wall close to a side door, he realized he could stay there safely. He sat down, leaned against the wall and fell asleep.

He woke up with sun already up, hearing the noise of cars passing by. The church bells tolled a few times, and he thought it was time to go. He walked through the streets, one after another until he reached a square where there were some fruit stands established. People were going back and forth buying fruits, carrying bags with their purchases inside. He walked a little further to the heart of the open market, approached some vendors, offering his help. But some of them didn't even answer him. Then he got hold of an old basket and walked behind shopping housewives. One of them, who appeared angry, accepted his help. She had a discussion with the fresh fish vendor and with the tomato man; she spent ten minutes deciding between two lettuces and complained with the man who sold her lard. Dito would pick up the purchases and put them in the basket he was carrying. The woman also asked him to hold on to the cart she had brought, whose wheel had come loose.

“A cheap cart,” she said, “I wasted money buying it.”

Dito thought it was good the cart had given problems, for otherwise he wouldn't have the job. But the woman didn't let go of the subject, complaining about it to everyone she met, to the vendors, and Dito found that very tiresome. About two hours after Dito started to work for her, she decided to leave. The basket was heavy now. Dito was sweating, although the morning had been chilly. He asked where she lived; she answered him in a bad temper and refused to take a cab. They walked. Dito had not imagined it would be so far. But he got excited at the possibility of a tip. Perhaps the woman saved money on the taxi to be able to give him a better tip.

They went into a street of one-story houses, surrounded by yards and garages. Children played riding bicycles, and there were cars parked on both sides of the street. The woman walked about thirty feet ahead of Dito. They passed all the houses and reached a small four-story building. She opened its gate and said.

“It's on the top floor.”

They went up the stairs, landing at an apartment with wooden floors, which the woman told him to enter through the service door. The kitchen was large, with formica cabinets and on the table were the remains of breakfast. Dito lowered the basket, and the woman told him to start taking the packages out and place them on the table. He didn't refuse. After that he got his basket and waited for her to pay him. The woman gave him two bills of one cruzeiro each.

He shook his head, but the woman made as if she had not understood.

“My service is more than that. I've been following you since eight in the morning.”

“I don't give more than that to anyone,” she said, putting the bills on the table close to Dito. Then she added, “it was just to pick up a few things and bring them, it's not worth more than that.”

“You should have asked my price.”

The woman insisted she was used to paying this and that this was not her first time.Dito smiled nervously and pushed the money to the center of the table, “I don't think you are doing right.”

The woman stopped arranging the packages, and, putting her hands on her waist, said, “Look here you punk...”.

Dito felt his ears burn, and so did the scar above his eye. His face contracted and the air he breathed felt warm. He wasn't going to stand for that kind of insult, and he wasn't going to let that little woman talk to him that way. He pushed her, and she lost her balance, falling over the chairs.

“Go push your mother! You, sassy punk!”

Dito was overwhelmed by rage. He gave the woman a blow to her face and she fell to the ground. He then pushed all her purchases from the table to the floor. He picked up a broom, and breaking its handle, beat the woman up. Her husband woke up and came to see what was going on. He was an old man and heavy set. He saw the boy beating his wife and entered into the fight, taking some blows also. He left saying he was going to get his gun. Dito got her purse and took away all the money he found and disappeared. He went out through the kitchen door, locked the door from the outside, and threw the key in the yard.

Far away, he counted his money and began to feel better. The job had brought him more than he could have hoped for. With that kind of money he would be able to buy a good pair of pants. If necessary, he could always steal a pair of shoes.

II

It was a street of small stores, filled with vendors trying to attract customers by shouting their specials in the sidewalks. They invited people to come in and check the merchandise, which they said was of prime quality. Some clapped their hands, others walked up and down, while from some doors there was loud music filling the street. The loudest man was also the tallest. Mounted on stilts, with very long striped pants he announced his bargains, through a megaphone, which drowned out the sounds of his competitors.

Dito approached a store. The young women observed him. He saw the cheap pants, and asked to try them on. One of the girls matched a pair of pants to his body, to find out the width he needed and then sent him to the the back room to try it on. He hurried back when he saw that pair was too loose in the waist. The young woman gave him another pair, which fit so well he wouldn't need a belt. He asked the price and was happy to realize he had the money. He became interested in the canvas shoes, choosing a brown pair with rubber soles. The young woman gave him the bill and painfully he gave her the bill of one hundred he had with him, waiting for his change of six cruzeiros back.

After he got dressed he realized he didn't have money for a sandwich, but reasoned that the most important thing had been done. From then on he had to get some more money, get a gun and go to Rio, unless he were able to find his old pals, Zé Ina'cio, Armadillo and Black Fly.

He decided to pass by the parking lots of Sao Joao Avenue and look for them. If they were not there, they would certainly be around Ju'lio de Mesquita Square or in the neighborhood of the flower market, in Arouche Square. He would probably meet them there if he just waited long enough.

He took a bus, always very aware of the people around him, and he went to the front to sit next to the driver, where people would have a harder time observing him. The bus went by numerous streets, got caught a couple of times in traffic jams, passed by the sky scrapers of downtown where the big banks were established, arriving at Anhangabau'. He got out, drank a glass of sugar cane juice, thinking continuously about how to get more money. Zé Igna'cio could possibly help, maybe some kind of work might show up.

He went by a parking lot and saw Hat in the same place as always. He didn't know how someone could spend year after year doing the same thing, looking after cars that entered or left the parking lot. He approached him and asked about Black Fly. Hat stood up to help a woman who was not able to park her car in the narrow space he had directed her to and returned to chat again.

“He was too dumb. I got tired of telling him things. He ended up in a bad deal. He ran away from here to there and back again, but they caught up with him. I don't know where he's at.”

“And Zé Ina'cio?”

“He was here yesterday. He's doing okay. He takes care of those two cars, and when the owner goes to Santos he takes Zé Ina'cio with him.”

Dito looked at the cars pointed out by Hat. One was a Sport Mercedes the other was an imported Ford. He was glad his friend was doing well.

“If you wait a little bit, he'll be around,” Hat told him.

Dito walked for a while in Duke of Caxias Avenue. Stopping at a grocery he purchased a pear, which he ate on the sidewalk as he observed a street woman trying to put a crate with her stuff over her head and couldn't. He found it amusing that every time the woman tried to raise the crate up, something would fall off.

He soon tired of that and went toward Minhocao, close to the repair shop and the Nac,o~es Theater. He saw an old man who was surrounded by dogs. There were at least six dogs, some well fed, some thin and dirty. The man was eating from a can and dispensing the leftovers to the dogs.

He went around them, deciding to take a look at the theater posters. There were women in bikinis, some with their breasts exposed; one even looked like Beth: similar face, similar distant air. He continued to walk through the wet sidewalks, filled with cigarette butts, and thought of Beth, of the night they spent together, of her saying delicious things. He would have liked those moments to last. Then he remenbered Beth getting home with that other guy who had his hand on her shoulders. And she smiled at him. He wouldn't like to see her again. He would like to see Pin and Figurinha and figure out why the supermarket job hadn't worked out. He remembered his hands filled with money, the gate closing, the car that didn't get started, the hurried pull off, the shots, time going by, the narrow passage for the car, his face on the glass, Mother's Scourge's feet against the windshield, the machine gun shots hitting him across the waist. He tried to hold Encravado back, but he was also scared. Encravado hurried. The shot to his head, the body falling. He still didn't know how the policemen had arrived so soon. Neither Pin nor Figurinha had been able to escape.