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CHAPTER ONE
I
The morning was cool and clear. Pichote shoved aside the newspapers, looked at the day just beginning and at the people who rushed in and out of the train station. He got up before the policemen arrived, around six in the morning, to beat up whomever they could catch. This was the fourth time he'd slept at the station and escaped the guards. Dito would not believe it. When he woke up on the first morning it was still dark. In fact, he'd not been able to sleep well. On the second, he woke up with the noise of the newspaper vendors and the barman raising their shops' iron doors. On the next, he'd felt someone rummaging through in his pockets. It was a black dude, smiling and drunk, pocket knife poised. He didn't shout, didn't say anything, as the guy went through his pockets until he found the one thousand cruzeiros bill. Pichote felt like running after him, swearing, but he knew that would be risky. That's why he curled up again. He'd cried quietly, and crying, fell asleep. He then woke up with the noise of trucks delivering newspapers.
This time, what made him get up so early was the appointment with Dito, Manguito and Smokey. Crystal would show up, deliver the stuff; they would return to the station and go as stowaways to Sao Paulo. Pichote had never been there. The plan fascinated him. He couldn't remember greater excitement: to travel, to walk in unknown streets, with taller buildings than Rio. He was left speechless, just listening to Dito's descriptions. He rejoiced in having met him, and was even happier realizing they had become friends. Though he was the youngest in the group, it was he whom Dito had chosen.
Pichote was eleven and feeling rather cocky for his three years in the streets. Sinking his hands in his pockets, he hopped around the crowd arriving at the station, he twirled and laughed at their serious faces and at their severe looks. His canvas shoes were frayed, his pants revealed most of his skinny shins. He stuck a dirty yellow hand out to beg, a fat man shoved him with indifference, women who walked by talking loudly and laughing made an effort to ignore his presence; but Pichote did not give up, until an old woman in mourning opened her purse and took out a worthless bill. He held it with a smile showing his tiny teeth, two of them overlapping on the side of the mouth. Before walking away, the woman's eyes ran over his filthy clothes, his buttonless shirt exposing his belly.
He skipped about in the crowd, he sang dirty little songs, laughed, pulled a student's skirt, messed up the dessert tray the Bahian woman carried, stopped at the door of the bar, the owner sending him away; he slipped among students and decided to say he hadn't eaten in two days and had no change for coffee. The tallest student gave him some coins, another was hard pressed to find a small bill like the one the woman in black had given him.
Pichote had no complaints that fresh and clear morning. Now he just needed to get on a bus and pay for his ticket. He needed to avoid any problem with the ticket taker. To go from the station to the cemetery on foot was impossible. He'd already walked longer distances, but he couldn't get there on foot and be on time to meet Dito. No doubt about it: with the old woman's bill he would have a coffee and with the rest he would make sure to have a place on the bus.
Putting the cup back on the counter, which was almost as tall as he was, he ran to the line and disappeared in the crowd formed suddenly at the bus door. He shoved and got shoved. A young woman in glasses called him a punk; a man with an attaché case tried to thump him on the head. He dove in the confusion of legs and bodies, resurfacing next to the ticketeer with money in hand; the stupid-looking guy was grateful he didn't have to come up with change.
He pushed through turnstyle and sought the seat next to the driver. The running engine caused the entire chassis to shudder. The seats were progressively taken, when none were left, passengers held on as they could, some grabbed the overhead rail, others the edges of their seats. The driver vaulted into his seat like a gymnast, and engaged the gear. Pichote paid no more attention to the people elbowing each other in the aisle.
He looked at the streets full of cars, at the avenues, at the public squares and the sleepy air the city seemed to have. There were streaks of fog in the oiti-tree branches around the church, there were cottony flakes floating in the waters of the lake where he'd often washed himself. The driver was oblivious to Pichote's little discoveries. He used the brakes brusquely at the avenue's light, in front of the movie theater and swerved violently into a curve underneath the overpass. Then, they passed mansions surrounded by trees, a police barracks, repair shops and one or two schools where students on the sidewalks waited for the bell to ring.
Close to the cemetery, Pichote pulled the cord and other people did the same. He stood up, almost sorry not to go to the end of the line, and hurried to step out. He took a side street where the cement sidewalk had holes and burned-candle stubs at the foot of the long lugubrious wall. Heavy iron gates were covered with sheetmetal painted in black.
He imagined the gates and the wall were to keep the souls from running away, just as they did in prisons or in the children's home, where he had lived for six months until Starry managed to spring him.
He stopped where the candles were more numerous, started to mash the melted wax with the toe of his shoe and to remember Starry's life, who was in there, way beyond the large tombs. At night was his soul able to jump over the wall and the tall gates?
He would have remembered more things about Starry, from the time he got to know him at the children's home, had he not heard Dito's whistle and seen him together with Smokey in front of a florist. He didn't know why they were there, but he hurried over.
II
"Hey man, you're already screwing up," Dito said when Pichote arrived. "I didn't know where you was at."
"I had to get some dough."
"What about the other day's ten thousand cruzeiros?"
"I got me some chow, and for Encravado and Mother's Scourge. It was just enough."
Dito found that funny.
"Never mind. There's still time for Crystal to show up. Cool it."
"Why do we have to wait here?"
"'Cause we do," Smokey answered, his pockets full of cookies.
"When Manguito shows up we go."
"Where's he at?"
"Coming around by the side of the cemetery. I don't trust Crystal. He's already screwed us up once," Dito explained.
"And why do we have to fuck with him?" asked Pichote a little alarmed.
"He has the dough, we got to chance it. Shut your face and everything will be fine," Smokey insisted.
His friend's confidence pleased Pichote. He took the cookie Smokey offered him while Dito got another one. Pichote wished to ask for more but was afraid of being yelled at. Dito got more cookies again. Pichote watched Smokey go through his pockets.
"Want some?" Smokey asked.
"Give him more, this guy ain't had a nibble today," said Dito.
Smokey found that funny.
"Eat, or you kick the bucket, man. You'll go there to stiff city, like Starry."
Pichote was about to answer when Manguito showed up running, shirt in hand, sweating and breathless.
"Crystal is calling us to the bar."
Dito sat on the curb. At first he said nothing. Manguito played with his shirt. Pichote and Smokey sat beside him.
"What's he up to?"
"I dunno," answered Manguito, still breathless. "He said he has the weed."
"And who is at the bar with him?" Smokey asked.
"From what I saw, nobody. He'll be playing pool until we show up."
"Did you case the outside of the bar? That's what we wanna know, man," Dito said angrily.
"Sure! Do you think I am dumb?"
"Then, let's go," Dito said. "We'll go through the cemetery or we won't get there on time." "There's a good place on the other side," explained Manguito, taking the lead.
The first to try climbing was Smokey. He was barefooted, his feet calloused; he supported himself as well as he could in the fence's iron curls; going up he waved for his companions to follow. Then, it was Pichote's turn. Dito helped him.
As they jumped into the cemetery they tried to hide behind the tombs and the tall grass. They sprinted in small stretches and went back to crouching to escape the workers.
They arrived at an alley of big trees planted in careful lines. Dito spotted an old man with a mean face and told the others to keep down. After a second sign they resumed walking. They'd already covered a good part of the way, but still had far to go.
"Jeez, so many stiffs around here!" said Smokey.
Dito looked at him but made no comment. He didn't want jokes at a time when they had to be so careful.
When they crossed one of the alleys they saw a cortege going by, men leading the coffin carrying flowers. Pichote's eyes opened wide. He didn't like being there, crawling among the tombs. And at each inscription he saw and could barely read, he remembered Starry.
He'd like to know where his friend was buried, he would like to put flowers on his grave on the way back. When Dito ordered them to walk faster, he forgot Starry. He mustn't lag behind, nor go too far ahead. It was silly to be worried about Starry, when he needed to be on the alert.
Smokey sneaked by his side. By now Pichote didn't recall why they hadn't gone around the outside. He'd like to know why. They were taking too many risks and for nothing. He'd ask Dito the reason for that as soon as they set foot outside the cemetery.
They reached the sector where there were no imposing tombs. Common now were the low graves, where grass grew. Some still showed old paintings, others were completely blackened. The flower vases had been broken or simply didn't exist. The inscriptions were covered by moss and there were no trees around to give them shade.
That state of abandonment left Pichote alarmed. If they had buried poor Starry there, then he had been practically thrown away. And despite knowing Dito would be angry, he could not avoid the question:
"Is Starry around here?"
Dito looked at him without anger, shook his head silently, while observing the alley of loose dirt, for he was sure he had caught sight of a caretaker behind a pile of dirt and bricks.
They crawled for a little longer. Dito told them to stop. Despite his effort he could not see the man again. He even thought he was wrong. But at the same time, he was sure he'd seen him. He couldn't be confused.
The space they had to cross, the last one before reaching the foot of the wall, was very open. They could easily be seen. That was why he had to be sure about that caretaker. And what was worse: if he were hiding, it would be because he wanted to surprise them. Perhaps he saw Manguito go by and wanted to catch them, take them to the administration office, and accuse them of coming to steal marble.
Dito watched and grew certain that was it. Even if they ran, they wouldn't have time to jump. Soon the employee would come, perhaps with two or three others. He was sure he would be able to jump over the wall easily but he didn't think Smokey and Pichote could do it.
He got a stone and threw it toward the pile of dirt and brick. He saw clearly when the man's cap appeared. There was no question he was waiting for them to run. He looked at Manguito, Smokey, Pichote, and thought it best to tell them what was going on. He did it as if telling a secret.
"We have to run as hard as we can. I'll help Pichote, you push Smokey up to the top," he said to Manguito.
There was no waiting. The longer they waited, the worse it would be. He looked at Pichote again, saw him holding some drooping flowers he wished to place on Starry's tomb.
"Throw that away!"
Pichote shook his head.
"If we pass by his grave, I'll put the flowers on it."
Dito knew that wasn't possible. They couldn't go about looking for Starry's inscription, even if there was one. But, by the same token, he didn't want to pass on to his friends the fear that had come over him. Few times had he felt this way, driven into a corner, with no chance of escaping.
What if the custodian were in fact a security guard?
The guard would wait for them to climb the wall, to have a better target. Why hadn't he thought about this before? The other option was to retreat cautiously to the alley where they'd seen the cortege following the coffin. They could probably hide. On the other hand, they wouldn't reach the slum where Crystal was. No. The idea of retreating didn't appeal to him. It was a kind of defeat. They'd have to reach the slum by the steep alley at the end of the stone paved street, where the stoolpigeons and dealers were. They'd want to know about things, would force an answer,and then all work would have been lost. There was only one way left: each one, by himself, would run to the wall and would try to jump over it. If the guy with the cap got out of his burrow, Dito would be able to hit him with a stone. If there were two, Manguito would help. They wouldn't be the ones to screw up a deal with Crystal.
Speaking as quietly as he could, Dito tried to explain the plan. Smokey's eyes appeared scared but, even so, he was able to show a bright smile. Pichote didn't seem bothered. The wall he saw two hundred meters away didn't look difficult for him to jump. He had already faced worse situations, and he couldn't be unworthy of his companions' trust, especially now.
"Do you think you can jump?"
Pichote smiled, showing only his tiny yellow teeth.
"When you get there, don't panic. When it's time to jump to the outside, don't fall apart because it seems high."
None of this appeared to scare Pichote. He tightened his belt, and was ready to go. Dito, for his part, grabbed stones, looking towards the dirt pile. Pichote ran, at first squatting and later, freely. He was already close to the wall and not a sign of the man in the cap. Yet, they heard two dry shots.
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.
When Dito woke up to his friends' talk, Smokey was asking about the train trip.
"Well, there is nothing hard about it, man. We find out the schedule and keep a low profile. Then we sneak through the platform and get in the restaurant car. That is the safest one. If we can't," explains Dito further, "we look for a freight about to leave. That might even be better."
Smokey smiled, Manguito spoke lewdly:
"What I worry about is how to spend the dough. Who knows, maybe Deborah will get us some girls?"
"Sao Paulo has lotsa girls. You only need cash. If this is your problem, I know a bunch of places." Dito said.
Manguito was enticed.
"So, we can spend a whole day at a cat-house before coming back. What do you think?"
"May be," Dito answered drily.
"What about me, how do I get in on this?" asked Smokey.
"You're a kid. You still smell of diapers. If you go to a real woman's house, she will put you in the crib."
Dito thought this provocation funny. He looked at Smokey, knowing that he, himself, was not much older. At most he might be fourteen. To show off, Smokey talked about the intimacies he'd already had with a woman.
"She called me in to give me some clothes and then wanted something else. And do you think I wasted time?" he said, excited.
Manguito and Dito laughed again. They stayed under the bushes waiting for the day to cool off some.
"I think that from here we should look for a restaurant and get some hot food."
"I'm gonna have me some black beans," Manguito said.
"And we also have to buy jackets for the cold weather. Sao Paulo at night ain't easy."
"If we buy clothes we'll spend almost all our money," Smokey complained.
"We'll get more later in Sao Paulo. Didn't you hear Crystal say they owe us three hundred grand?"
"And a wool shirt should be cheap. We should buy it over by Alfa^ndega Street."
"Then, I'll buy some shoes also. I'm tired of walking barefoot," Smokey said.
They stood up and went down through the underbrush; later they got to a bus stop, where uniformed bus drivers stood joking, laughing.
"Where are we going now?" Manguito wanted to know.
"To the Chinaman. After lunch we stay around Paris Square or we go to a movie. If Smokey can't go in, he stays walking around while we watch the movie."
Smokey didn't like the threat.
"You only have to look for a film I can see!"
"You can't go in barefoot," Manguito explained.
"Then, let's buy clothes and shoes first."
Dito smiled stroking Smokey's head. He wasn't very different from Pichote.
VII
After lunch they went for a walk. Whenever they arrived at a store salesmen would throw them out. Dito began to think they were taking too many risks, and so he sent Manguito and Smokey to wait for him at the street corner. He guessed his friends' sizes and bought them jackets. Seeing his money the salesclerk whistled loudly prompting the boys to come up from the sidewalk.
"Now you find a pair of shoes for this guy!"
"What size?"
"He has to try them on."
The salesman was impatient. He didn't want Smokey to sit down where other people tried on shoes. He took the measurements carelessly, said that a 32 was okay. He went to the back of the store and returned with two boxes. Smokey chose the brown pair with wide shoelaces. Dito didn't think they should loiter around there: someone might call the juvenile court, telling on them. He pulled out one more bill and paid for the shoes. The salesclerk watched them as if wondering how they came to have money. Despite his dirty legs and wrinkled pants, Smokey put the shoes on immediately. He stomped out into the street and began to regret his notion of going around with shoes on.
Hours later they hid in a shattered warehouse. Tall weeds clustered around its gate, and a good part of its roof had no tiles. They checked again the little bags stitched to their britches. After initial discomfort, Dito had soon got used to them.
"Now, we scout the area. Each goes his own way, until we discover if there is a freight to Sao Paulo. If there ain't any, we'll have to catch a passenger train, tonight."
"Won't the freight take too long?" Manguito wanted to know.
"It's all the same junk," Dito answered. "If it leaves today, it'll only get there tomorrow. If the piece of crap doesn't break down."
"But first, we should hide the clothes," Manguito suggested.
"I'll stash my shoes," said Smokey, taking his shoes off.
"You mean you spent the money but can't bring yourself to leave with them on?" Dito commented.
"I have to get used to them slowly."
"Let's go. Be careful of wrong information. Or else, instead of Sao Paulo we'll end up in hell," Dito warned.
Going one way until he found the tracks, Dito saw Manguito taking another direction and, further down, little Smokey. A freight was moving about, the railroad switchman switched the frog, some cars entered the sidetrack, the locomotive stopped, the frog was switched again; a black man with short pants and a greasy blue cap showed up and uncoupled the engine. The locomotive accelerated, leaving three cars behind. Dito wished to talk with this old man, but he knew that he'd only want to know why he was interested in the freight, and it could all end in a terrible mess.
He passed by a worker dressed in khakis and noticed the man had a crabby expression. Abruptly he asked where Dito thought he was going. Getting no answer, the man continued in an ill temper.
"This is not a place for punks!"
Dito wished to get an iron bar, to assail this useless, worthless crud, to club him to pieces. But he controlled himself. The worker continued to grouse. Dito made as if he didn't hear, climbing a pile of rails, coming down on the other side near the station. Then, when he saw a group of mechanics washing their hands and arms with gasoline, he had an idea. Why not approach them and ask? He would invent a story. He would say, his widowed mother lived alone in Sao Paulo, that he had come to Rio looking for work, to get money from a relative, but he ended up not finding him. Now, he had to return and had no money. That's why he was there, hoping to get a free ride on a train to Sao Paulo.
A black man observed him attentively. A fat white man laughed at his tale.
"I'm tired of that old story, boy. Keep moving."
Dito didn't budge. The black man dried off his hands on rags, pointed toward a line of cars and two locomotives.
"I believe that train leaves before sundown. I think the engineer is a man called Evangelist. Go there. He might help you out."
Seeing the mechanic's good will the others stopped laughing and joking. The boy went away, thanking him. He walked alongside the railcars and observed how high they were, the huge size of their steel wheels, bolted to enormously thick axles. There was no one in the locomotives, though one of them had its engines running. He went to the place where a pale thin man sold desserts from a tray covered by a white cloth; he sat down on the sidewalk, waiting for the engineer to appear. When Dito was eating a slice of manioc cake, he saw men walking toward the locomotive. He ran after them. All he needed to know was whether this was the train about to leave for Sao Paulo. The rest would be more or less easy to resolve. He ran the risk of getting the wrong information, but he had to chance it.
VIII
He sat on the wide sidewalk by the crumbling warehouse, sucking on hard milk candies, while he waited for Manguito and Smokey. After a while, he saw Smokey, running, his shirt flapping on his back. Dito offered him some candy when he arrived, but even before speaking, Smokey was already pointing in the direction of the train.
"That's the one going. I asked three guys."
"They didn't suspect anything?"
"I don't think so. I said there was a man who wanted to know. He had a package to ship."
Smokey laughed at his own imagination. Dito was even more pleased. He never thought that this boy could be so spirited. He himself had not been that clever.
"Then what did they say?"
"That's the train and it will leave right after sundown."
"I was told that too."
Manguito showed up, sat down. He was always tired. Any little run and his tongue would be hanging out.
"That one is the freight. The one with two engines."
Dito was sure that was the train. So, he lay down on the large sidewalk, and stared at the disintegrating roof. Smokey whistled, counting the money again. Manguito dreamed about the girls he'd get to know and began talking trash.
"Have you humped a woman in your life, man?" Dito asked suddenly.
Manguito got stirred up. "Have I! And a good one too."
"Where was this?" Smokey wanted to know, feeling somewhat suspicious and jealous.
"At the children's home. She was blind but delicious."
Smokey laughed, still counting his money. "I bet she only went with you 'cause she couldn't see your face."
Manguito didn't like the joke. "Shut up, shrimp. When we go after girls in Sao Paulo we'll have to find a crib to leave you sleeping."
"Hey dude, I'm a man," Smokey said. "I can handle anything."
Dito continued to observe the ceiling which threatened to fall, chuckling at Manguito and Smokey's jive. But by Smokey's answers he perceived the little black boy was brighter than he'd imagined. And because they were only talking trash, he began to tell them what to do in Sao Paulo.
"Over there we can't screw up. Any mistake and there will be a bunch of hawks all over us. First we try to find Deborah, at the Lavapés Street. We get the money and hit the road. We might spend an entire week doing nothing before looking for Crystal again. Then, I'm going back to that cemetery and close accounts."
"I'm going also. Pichote was my friend," Smokey said.
Dito lifted himself onto his elbows.
"This job is mine alone."
"But who had the best idea to discover which train would go to Sao Paulo?" Smokey asked defiantly.
Dito laughed. He knew Smokey was right.
"OK. You can come."
The station's lights were turned on, later the street lights, the lights at the public square seen in the distance, lights at some points in the road on posts, shining only on clumps of broad-leaf grass.
"I think it's time to split. Look alive, now, this is the real thing. I think it's better to go underneath the cars."
Smokey put on his new jacket, Manguito tied his around the waist. Dito tucked his in his pants' waistband. They walked down the warehouse's wide sidewalk, mingled with the darkness that slowly erased the differences between grass clumps and heaps of tracks and sleepers.
Dito went ahead, followed by Manguito. They walked at first by the side of the cars, jumping at the end of the sleepers. When they saw the signalman's lantern, they tried to hide.
"Be careful with your head, Smokey. Don't hurt the train," Manguito joked.
Dito told them to be quiet, and the march proceeded. Once in a while they came out from under, hoping to find one of the car doors open. But again, it was Smokey who discovered what they were searching for.
"On the other side there's a door open a bit. I think we can get in and open it more."
"How do you know this?"
Smokey didn't answer. He came out from under the car again and showed them.
"Look!"
Dito was excited. Manguito joked.
"This imp has such sharp eyes . . . ."
Dito listened, concluding there was no one in the car. He examined whether the car could be locked from the outside. He helped Smokey climb, and the boy disappeared.
"It's dark as shit in here. I can't see nothing!"
Manguito asked Dito to open the door a little more. From an awkward position outside Dito strained. The heavy sliding door opened so they could squeeze in. Manguito thought it was dangerous to stay for a long time in the dark.
"I'm gonna buy cigarettes and matches."
Dito thought this was a good idea.
"Don't let anyone see you coming in this direction. Go the long way around."
Manguito jumped out of the wagon again, creeping in between piles of tracks, sleepers and grass clumps.
"What if the train leaves before he comes back?" Smokey asked.
"I don't think it will. When it's supposed to go the signal and lantern people will show up."
A few minutes later Manguito came back. Besides cigarettes and matches, he'd brought a bag of sandwiches and candies.
"Hey man! That's cool. If you hadn't remembered this, we would die of hunger!"
Putting the sandwich bag aside, Dito tried to close the door as tightly as he could. A match was struck; the wagon was full of boxes. They could stay there for the entire trip without fear of being bothered.
"What if the freight goes to some other town before Sao Paulo?" Manguito asked.
Dito was free of worries now.
"We'll get down, we'll move to another car. There's no reason to get the jitters."
Manguito passed out the sandwiches while Dito shared the hard milk candies he still had in his pockets.
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