Captains of the Sands (29 page)

Now he awakens because someone is tapping lightly on one of the steps. He gets up, curved over, he can’t stand up straight because the stairs won’t let him. He asks in a low voice:

“Is someone out there?”

A mad joy comes over him when they answer:

“Who’s in there?”

“Pedro Bala.”

“Are you the leader of the Captains of the Sands?”

“I am.”

He hears a whistle. The voice goes on, rapid now:

“I’ve got a message for you, someone brought it today…”

“Let me have it…”

“Someone’s coming now. I’ll be back later.”

Pedro Bala hears the steps going away. But he’s happier. He thinks immediately that the message is from Dora, but he can see that it’s foolish to think that. How could Dora have sent a message to him? It must be from the gang. They must be trying to get him out of there. But first he has to get out of the hole. As long as he’s in there the Captains of the Sands won’t be able to do anything. After he’s got the run of the Reformatory escape will be easy. Pedro Bala sits down to think. What time can it be, what day is it? It’s always night there, the sunlight never shines. He waits impatiently for his informant to return. But there’s a delay and he gets worked up. What can the others be doing without him? Professor will think up some plan to get him out of there. But while he’s in the hole it’s useless. And as long as they don’t get him out he won’t be able to get Dora out of the Orphanage. The door is opened. Pedro Bala leaps forward, thinking that they’re going to let him out. A hand holds him back:

“Hey, take it easy…”

He sees Ranulfo, the beadle, in the door. He has a mug with water that Pedro Bala snatches from his hands and drinks with great gulps. But it’s so little…It doesn’t get to kill his thirst. The beadle gives him a clay dish with water where a few black beans are floating. Pedro Bala asks:

“Could you give me a little more water?”

“Tomorrow…” the beadle laughs.

“Just another mug.”

“You’ll have more tomorrow. And if you keep on pounding on
the door and hollering, instead of one week you’ll spend two.” He pushes the door shut in Pedro Bala’s face.

He hears the key locking it. He feels in the darkness until he finds the plate. He drinks the dark bean water. He doesn’t notice that it’s quite salty. Then he eats the hard grains. But thirst attacks him again. The salty beans stir up his thirst. What good is a mug of water for that thirst, which calls for a whole jar? He lies down. He no longer thinks about anything. Hours pass. He can barely see Dora’s sad face in the darkness. And he feels aches all over his body.

Much later he hears someone rapping on the stairs again. He asks:

“Are you there?”

“A crippled guy said to tell you they’re going to get you out of here. As soon as you come out of the hole…”

“Is it nighttime yet?” Pedro Bala asks.

“It’s just starting…”

“I’m dying of thirst.”

The voice doesn’t answer. Pedro thinks with despair that maybe the boy has gone off. But he doesn’t hear any steps on the stairs…And the voice comes back:

“I can’t give you any water. There’s no way to pass it to you. But do you want a cigarette?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Wait, then.”

Minutes later the rapping is very light on the door. The voice comes from underneath the door:

“I’m going to pass the cigarette through here. Put your hands underneath, right in the middle of the crack under the door.”

Pedro Bala does as he’s told. A squashed cigarette reaches his hands. He pulls it from under the door. Then a match that comes with a piece of the box, the part where it’s scratched.

“Thanks a lot,” Pedro Bala says.

But at that moment there’s a scuffle outside. The sound of a blow, a body falling. And a voice he doesn’t know speaks to him:

“If you try to communicate with people outside, your punishment will be increased.”

Pedro huddles up. Now someone is going to be punished because of him. When he escapes, he’ll take him to the Captains of the Sands. For sunlight and freedom. He lights the cigarette. Very carefully, so as not to lose the match, which is the only one he has. He hides the glow of the cigarette under his hand so no one will see it through the cracks in the stairs. Silence enwraps him again and with the silence, thoughts, visions.

When he finishes smoking, he curls up on the floor. If he could only sleep…At least he wouldn’t see Dora’s face filled with suffering.

How many hours? How many days? The darkness is always the same, the thirst is always unchanged. They’ve brought him water and beans three times now. He learned not to drink the liquid from the beans, because it made him thirstier. Now he’s much weaker, a listlessness all over his body. The pail where he defecates gives off a horrible smell. They still haven’t taken him out. And his belly hurts, it’s horrible when he defecates. It’s as if his insides were coming out. His legs don’t help him. What keeps him up is the hate that fills his heart.

“Sons of bitches…Bastards…”

It’s all he can manage to say. Even then in a low voice. He no longer has the strength to shout, to pound on the door. Now he’s sure that he’s going to die there. Each time it’s more painful to defecate. He sees Dora stretched out on the ground, dying of thirst, calling for him. Big João is beside her, but separated by bars. Professor and Lollipop are crying.

They brought him water and beans for the fourth time. He drinks the water, but delays eating the beans. He only knows how to say in a low voice:

“Sons of bitches…Sons of bitches…”

Before the meal (if that could be called a meal) arrived that day (it was always night for Pedro), the voice called him again on the stairs. He asked, without even rising up:

“How many days have I been here?”

“Five.”

“Give me another cigarette.”

The cigarette bolsters his spirits a little. He can think that with five more days he’ll die. That’s punishment for a man, not for a boy. The hatred in his heart doesn’t grow anymore. It’s reached its maximum.

It’s always night. Dora is slowly dying before his eyes. Big João beside her, the bars separating them. Professor and Lollipop are crying. Is he asleep or awake? His stomach hurts terribly.

How long will the darkness go on? And Dora’s agony? The smell from the pail is unbearable. Dora is dying before his eyes. Can he be dying too?

The face of the director appears beside Dora’s face. Has he come to torture her agony even more? How long will it take her to die…Pedro Bala asks for her to die quickly, quickly…It will be better. Now the director has come, has come to increase the torture. He hears his voice:

“Get up…” and a foot touches him.

He opens his eyes more. Now he doesn’t see Dora anymore. Only the face of the director, who smiles:

“Let’s see if you’re a little tamer now.”

He can’t stand the light coming through the windows. He can barely use his legs. He falls down in the middle of the corridor. Can Dora have died or not?—he thinks as he falls.

He’s in the director’s office once more. The latter looks at him with a smile:

“Did you like your apartment? Do you still feel like stealing? I know how to teach and break young hoodlums here.”

Pedro Bala is unrecognizable, he’s so thin. He looks all skin and bones. His face is greenish from intestinal complications. The beadle Fausto, owner of the voice he’d heard one time at the door to the hole, is beside him. He’s a strong guy, he has the reputation for being just as mean as the director. He asks: