The Violent Land (23 page)

BESIDE THE SEA

The man in the sky-blue vest did not answer. He was a little runt of a man, and that enormous vest of his hung down over his brown canvas trousers, browner still from stains.

The night outside was a lyric one, and the poetry of the night penetrated even to the tallow-smelling bar of the wine-shop, by way of a bit of moonlight on the cobblestones of the street, a glimpse of stars through the half-opened doors, and a woman's languorous, mournful voice singing a song of lost love and the days of long ago. More disturbing than the moonlight and the stars, the sinful scent of jasmine from next door, or the glow of lights from the ship—most disturbing of all, perhaps, to the tired hearts of the men drowsing on packing cases or sprawled over the bar, was that melancholy song in the night.

The man with the big imitation ring repeated the question when the one in the sky-blue vest failed to reply.

“And you, you old snail, you, didn't you ever have a woman?”

It was the blond-haired one, however, who replied: “Now, if it's a woman you're talking of—there are dozens of them in every port. A woman is something that a sailor never has to go without. For my part, I've had them by the dozen,” and he made a gesture with his hands, opening and closing his fingers.

The prostitute spit between her rotting teeth and eyed the blond sailor with interest.

“A sailor's heart,” she said, “is like the waves of the sea that come and go. There was José de Santa—I knew him well. One day he went off without saying a word, on a boat that wasn't even his.”

“Well,” continued the sailor, “a seagoing man can't cast anchor anywhere, not even in a woman's flesh. One day he's off, the dock's empty, and then another comes along and throws out a grappling-line. A woman, my dear, is more treacherous than a gale at sea.”

A ray of moonlight had now forced its way through the door and fell on the flooring of rough wooden planks. The man with the imitation ring prodded the sky-blue vest with a carving-knife.

“Speak up, you snail—ain't that right, that you're a snail? Did you fellows ever see anyone who looked more like it? I'm asking you, did you ever have a woman?”

The prostitute burst out laughing and put her arm around the blond sailor's neck; they both laughed together. The man in the sky-blue vest drank what was left of his rum and wiped his mouth with his coat-sleeve.

“You wouldn't know where it was,” he began. “It was a long way from here, in another port, in a country that was a lot bigger than this. It was in a wine-shop—I remember the name: New World.”

The man with the imitation ring pounded on the table for more rum.

“I was acquainted with the girl who was with her—there were two of them and some fellow. I was having a drink with a buddy of mine, and we were sitting there talking about our troubles. They say there's no such thing as love at first sight, that it's all a lie.”

The prostitute leaned her head on the blond sailor and tightened her grip on his brawny arm. Suddenly the squalor of the wine-shop was drenched with song—a woman's voice, singing:

“He went away, never more to return. . . . ”

They sat listening. The man with the imitation ring was sipping his rum as if it were a rare liqueur, as he waited with an anxious look on his face for the man in the sky-blue vest to continue.

“But what difference does it make?” said the latter, and again he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“Just look at the moon, how big and pretty it is,” whispered the prostitute, drawing nearer to her blond. “It's been a long time since I saw it like that.”

“Go ahead! Tell us the rest of it!” said the man with the imitation ring.

“Well, then, as I was saying, there I was sitting with a friend, having a little drop. He was complaining about what a hard life it was. He was in the dumps, and I was, myself, when she came in. She came in with another girl—did I tell you that?”

“Yes, you told us that,” said the blond sailor, who was becoming interested in the story. Even the Spaniard who kept the shop leaned on the bar to listen to the tale. The woman's voice, singing, came faintly out of the mysterious depths of the night. The man in the sky-blue vest made an appreciative gesture toward the sailor, and went on:

“Well, then, that's how it was. She came in with the other girl and some fellow. I knew the other girl; I'd been out with her—but, mates, I'm telling you, I didn't even see her, you might say—all I could see was the other one.”

“Was she brown-skinned?” asked the man with the imitation ring, who had a fondness for that kind.

“Brown-skinned? No, she wasn't brown-skinned, nor blond either, but she was pretty—she was like a foreigner, someone from another country.”

“I know how it is,” said the blond sailor, who came from a seagoing vessel. The man with the sky-blue vest made another gesture of appreciation.

The prostitute was snuggling up against her new-found friend.

“You know everything,” she whispered to him, with a smile. “Just look at the moon—big, big—and so yellow.”

“As this lad says,” and the man in the sky-blue vest pursed his lip at the sailor, “you would have thought she had just got off a boat that came from some place far away. I don't even know how I happened to sit down with her—it must have been my buddy who struck up a conversation with the other one, and she told her friend who we were and we got to talking. What we talked about I couldn't tell you—all I could do was look at her, and she had nothing to say. All she did was laugh, with her white teeth, whiter even than sand on the beach. It was my friend all the while who was doing the talking, telling them all about his troubles. The girl I knew, she talked, too—I think she was trying to cheer him up, but to tell you the truth, I couldn't say. The strange girl and the fellow who was with them didn't say a word—she just laughed.” He smiled at the memory, and then went on: “—such a short, sharp little laugh—I never heard anyone laugh the way she did. And her eyes—” He paused at the recollection. “I can't say what her eyes were like.” He spread out his hands. “She seemed to me like a woman in a story which black Asterio used to tell on board that Swedish ship, the one that went down on the Coqueiros Reef.”

The man with the imitation ring put his foot out into the moonlight, and spit.

“And the guy she had with her,” he asked, “was he the skipper of that likely little craft?”

“I can't say. He didn't appear to be. He seemed more like a friend, but I couldn't be sure. All I know is that she laughed and laughed, with those white teeth and her white face, and her eyes.”

He now put his fingers into the pockets of his sky-blue vest, being without anything else for his hands to do, seeing that he had drained his glass.

“And what happened?” said the man with the ring.

“They paid and the three of them left. I did the same, but I went back to that wine-shop so many times! Once I saw her again. She came from some place far away. I'm certain of that. From very far away—she wasn't from this country.”

“The moonlight's so pretty,” said the prostitute, and the sailor noticed that her eyes were sad. There was something that she wanted to say, but she could not find the words.

“—from far away—who knows? From beyond the sea, maybe? All I know is that she came and went. That's all I know. She took no notice of me; but to this day I remember that way she had of laughing, and her teeth, and how white she was. And the dress she wore!” He almost shouted with joy at recalling this fresh detail—“that dress with the open sleeves.”

He drained his cup and stuck out his lip; he was cheerful no longer. The woman's voice singing in the lyric night came to them languorously:

“He went away, never more to return. . . .”

“And then?” said the man with the imitation ring once more. The man in the sky-blue vest made no reply; the prostitute could not tell whether he was gazing at the moon or at something which she could not see, beyond the moon and the stars, beyond the sky, even, beyond the night that was so calm and still. She did not know, either, why it was she felt like weeping. But before the tears would come, she had left with the blond sailor to make the most of the moonlit night.

The Spaniard was leaning on the bar to hear the adventures that the man with the imitation ring might have to relate, but the one in the sky-blue vest was once more indifferent as he gazed up at the yellow disk above. In the midst of a story about a wench he had known, which he was telling with sweeping gestures, the man with the ring stopped. Turning to the proprietor and pointing to the blue vest, he said:

“I'm asking you, now: doesn't he look just like a snail?”

While men sat talking on the wharves that night, the city of Ilhéos was tossing in a restless sleep, its slumbers being interrupted by rumours that kept arriving from Ferradas, from Tabocas, and from Sequeiro Grande. The struggle between Horacio and the Badarós had begun. The two weekly papers that were published in the town were exchanging violent insults, each one praising its own party leaders and dragging those of the opposition through the mire. The best journalist was the one who could think up the most outrageous invectives. Nothing was sacred, including the private and family lives of the individuals involved.

Manuel de Oliveira, editor of
O Comercio,
the Badarós' paper, was watching the poker game from a seat behind Juca. The other players were Colonel Ferreirinha, Teodoro das Baraúnas, and João Magalhães. Ferreirinha, who had met the captain on the boat coming down from Bahia, had introduced him to Juca Badaró.

“An educated chap,” he had said, “very rich, travels for the pleasure of it, a retired captain, an engineer.”

Juca had come into the city on a matter having to do with the forest of Sequeiro Grande. But as it happened, Dr. Roberto, the surveyor, was not in Ilhéos; he had left on a trip to Bahia; and Juca was in a hurry to have the surveying done so that he could register the property. Accordingly, when he had heard that there was an engineer in town, he had felt that his problem was solved.

“It's a great pleasure to know you, captain. I have a business proposition by which you might be able to make some money, sir.”

João Magalhães was interested. Who could say?—this might be the opportunity he had been waiting for. He had come to Ilhéos in search of money, but big money, not just what he might be able to pick up at the poker table. He tried to be as polite as possible to Juca.

“The pleasure is all mine. I believe, though, that I know you, sir, at least by sight. We came down on the same boat from Bahia, but we did not have a chance to get acquainted.”

“That's right,” Ferreirinha remembered, “you did come down on that boat, Juca. Only you were too busy thinking about some woman that was on board,” and he slapped his friend jovially across the stomach and laughed.

After expressing his regrets that he and the captain had not met before, Juca then plunged into the subject that was uppermost in his mind.

“Captain,” he began, “this is the way it is. Our plantation borders on a forest which doesn't belong to anybody but which comes nearer to being ours than anyone else's, seeing that we were the first to go into it. It's the forest of Sequeiro Grande that I'm referring to. Well, now we want to fell it and plant it in cacao; but there is a leader of a band of ruffians down here, one Horacio da Silveira, who wants to take it over; he has dug up some old survey and has had it registered in his own name and those of some of his friends. But it won't do him any good, because we put a stop to that ouster in short order.”

“So I've heard. A fire in the registry office,” and Captain João Magalhães accompanied his words with expressive gestures. “Was that your work, sir? If so, my congratulations. I like men who know their own minds.”

“No, that was my friend Teodoro, the master of Baraúnas; he's a dashing fellow, with plenty of nerve.”

“Yes, you can see that.”

“Well, then, what we're looking for is an engineer to survey that forest for us. But unfortunately Dr. Roberto is away on a trip, and he's the only one around here that would do it. The others are a pack of cowards; they don't want to get mixed up in it. And so, when I heard that you, sir, are an engineer, I thought I would consult you and see if you would care to undertake it. We will pay well. And as to any vengeance on the part of Horacio, you needn't be afraid of that; we will guarantee you protection.”

Captain João Magalhães gave a superior laugh.

“Come, now, for the love of God—you speak of fear to me? Have you any idea how many revolutions I've taken part in, colonel? More than a dozen. The only thing is I don't know if I am legally in a position to—” he paused—“make the survey. You see, I'm not a surveyor; I'm a military engineer. I don't know if I have the right—”

“Before coming here,” said Juca, “I consulted my lawyer, and he says that you can do it, sir, that military engineers may practice—”

“I'm not so sure of it, all the same. What's more, I'm not registered at Bahia, but in Rio. The registry office wouldn't accept my survey.”

“That's of no importance. We can fix matters with the registrar. Don't let that worry you.”

But João Magalhães was still doubtful. He was neither a military personage nor an engineer. He could play any kind of game, could do tricks with a deck of cards and win the confidence of others; but he wanted wider opportunities, he wanted to make big money and not go on living forever dependent upon the card table, one day with a roll of money and the next day without a cent. After all, what risk was he running? The Badarós were on top in politics, they had every chance of winning the struggle, and if they did win out, the property rights to the forest of Sequeiro Grande would never be questioned. And even supposing it was found that the survey was illegal, done by a charlatan, he would be far away by that time, enjoying the money he had got, in another part of the country. It was worth taking a chance. He thought it over, his eyes on Juca Badaró, as the latter stood there impatiently before him, tapping his boot with his riding-whip.

“The truth of the matter is, I'm an outsider here and don't like to get mixed up in local squabbles. On the other hand, I have a very warm feeling toward you, sir, and toward your brother. Especially after the firing of the registry office. Deeds of courage like that impress me very much. In short—”

“We will pay well, captain. You won't regret it, sir.”

“I'm not speaking of money. If I did it, it would be out of friendship.”

“But we want to show our appreciation just the same. Business is business, aside from the debt of gratitude that we will always owe you.”

“That's true.”

“How much would you ask to do the job, sir? It would mean spending a week at the plantation.”

“What about the instruments?” The captain asked this question by way of gaining time while he calculated how much he should ask. “Mine are in Rio, you know.”

“That makes no difference. I'll get Dr. Roberto's from his wife.”

“Well, in that case—” The captain was still thinking. “Very well. I didn't come here to work, but for a holiday. Let's see: a week at the plantation—that means I'll have to miss Wednesday's boat.” He dropped his voice to a murmur again. “I may not be able to close that lumber deal in Rio in time—that's too bad. Well, then—” and he addressed his remarks to Juca, who was waiting nervously, tapping harder than ever on his boot. “Twenty contos—I don't think that is too much.”

“It's a lot of money,” said Juca Badaró. “A week from now and Dr. Roberto will be back; he would do it for three contos.”

João Magalhães made a facial gesture to indicate his complete indifference, as much as to say, very well, then, let him wait.

“It's a lot of money,” Juca Badaró repeated.

“Look, my friend: three contos is your surveyor's fee; but he's registered in Bahia, he lives here, although he's out of town—won't be back for a week at least; whereas, I'm risking my professional reputation. I might be prosecuted and lose my right to practice or even my diploma. And then, as I was saying, I am on vacation, I'm going to miss my boat and possibly lose out on a big business deal that will cost me hundreds of contos. If I agree, it is more out of friendship than for the money that's in it.”

“I realize that, captain, but it's a lot of money just the same. If you would take ten contos, sir, it's a bargain; we'll go out tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

João Magalhães thereupon suggested that they split the difference: “Fifteen contos.”

“Captain, I am not a Syrian or a pedlar. If I pay ten contos, it is because I am in a hurry to have the job done. If you like, sir, you can have your money today, and we'll set out tomorrow.”

João saw that he would not get any further by arguing the matter. “Very well, then, just as a favour to you. It's agreed.”

“I'll be indebted to you all my life, captain. I and my brother. You can count on us, sir, whenever you need us.” And before leaving he had inquired: “Do you want the money at once? If so, come around to the house.”

“Now, now, what do you take me for? Whenever you care to pay, sir. There's no hurry.”

“Then we can meet tonight.”

“Do you play poker, sir?”

Ferreirinha applauded this idea enthusiastically: “A good idea. We'll get up a little game at the café.”

“All right,” said Juca. “I'll bring the money along, and afterwards I'll win it back from you at poker, and you'll do the survey free of charge.”

João fell in with his jesting mood: “What you mean is, I'll win another ten big ones to cover the twenty that I asked. You'd better come with your pockets well lined, Mr. Juca Badaró.”

“We need a fourth hand,” Ferreirinha reminded them. Juca solved the problem: “I'll bring Teodoro.”

And so here they all were, in the back room of Nhôzinho's café, sitting in a poker game. Juca Badaró was taking more and more of a liking to the captain all the time. João Magalhães was the type that appealed to him: a lively conversationalist who had had a wide experience with women and knew how to tell a spicy story. The winnings were divided between them; Ferreirinha and Teodoro lost, the latter heavily. The ante was steep—so steep that Manuel de Oliveira had gone into the ballroom to summon Astrogildo, another planter, to come and see how high the bets were. The two of them now were looking on.

“Your hundred and sixty and raise you three hundred and twenty,” said Teodoro.

“He's already lost more than two contos,” whispered Manuel de Oliveira to Astrogildo. “I never saw anything like it.”

Juca Badaró paid to see. Teodoro held nines, Juca tens. “Too bad, my friend,” and Juca raked in the chips.

Nhôzinho came in at this point, bowing, scraping, and cracking jokes, a whisky tray in his hands. Manuel de Oliveira took a glass from the tray. It was for windfalls like this that he hung around: a whisky, a bite of supper, and whatever he might be able to pick up in the way of a stray chip at bacarat or roulette.

“Good whisky,” he remarked. Captain João Magalhães smacked his tongue approvingly. “Better even than what they sell me in Rio—it's contraband stuff, you know—tastes like nectar.”

Teodoro called for silence. Everybody said that he was a poor loser, which was too bad, considering that he was so fond of trying his luck at every kind of game. It was likewise said that he could have been a rich man had it not been for his vice of gambling. On days when he won he bought drinks for the house, threw his money away on women, and gave champagne suppers at the café; but when he lost, he was impossible and would insult his best friend.

“You don't talk when you're playing poker,” he protested.

Ferreirinha dealt the cards, and they all stayed. Manuel de Oliveira, sitting behind Juca Badaró's chair, was sipping his whisky; he was not even following the game, but gave his entire attention to his drink. Astrogildo, on the other hand, standing behind Teodoro, was observing the hands closely. From his face, where disapproval showed, João Magalhães could tell what kind of cards Teodoro held. The latter drew two, and Astrogildo made a face expressive of disgust. João stayed with what he had, although it was but a lonesome pair. Teodoro then spread out his cards on the table.

“Every time I try a bluff, I always run into that!”

The others threw down their hands also and João took the pot. Nhôzinho now appeared, to inquire if they wished anything else.

“Go to hell,” said Teodoro.

He stayed in every hand and invariably lost. Finally, when the colonel broke a pair of aces to draw to a flush. Astrogildo was unable to contain himself.

“As long as you play them like that,” he said, “you're bound to lose. That's not poker; that's throwing your money away. Breaking up your hand—”

Teodoro bounded from his chair; he was looking for a fight.

“And what business is it of yours, you son of a bitch? Is it my money or yours? Why don't you attend to your own affairs?”

“You're a son of a bitch yourself!” And, drawing his revolver, Astrogildo was on the point of firing. Juca Badaró and Ferreirinha at once leaped in and strove to quiet the two men. João Magalhães did his best to appear calm and not to show how frightened he was. Manuel de Oliveira did not budge from his chair, but went on sipping his whisky with an air of indifference; he even took advantage of the confusion to pour into his own glass half of Ferreirinha's drink, which the latter had not touched. When both Astrogildo and Teodoro had been disarmed, Juca Badaró sought to restore amity.

“What kind of foolishness is this?” he said. “Two friends fighting like that. Save your bullets for Horacio and his kind.”

Teodoro sat down again, still grumbling about the “ganders” watching the game. They brought him bad luck, he said. Astrogildo, a trifle pale, had sat down also, this time beside João Magalhães. They played a few more hands, and then Ferreirinha suggested that they go and dance a little in the front room. Upon counting the chips, it was found that João Magalhães had won three contos and Juca Badaró one and a half. Before they left the room, Juca made another appeal to Teodoro and Astrogildo.

“That's enough now. It's all in the game, you know. People get hot-headed—”

“But he insulted me,” said Astrogildo. Teodoro put out his hand and the other grasped it. They then went into the front room, but Teodoro did not stay long; saying that he had a headache, he went home.