'I'm scared,' Alfredo murmured.
'You don't have to be scared,' Nelio reassured him.
'I'm scared to have Nascimento carry me. He might drop me by mistake – or on purpose.'
'I'll tell him we'll beat him with sticks if he drops you. Nascimento doesn't like being hit with sticks.'
Alfredo Bomba did not seem convinced by Nelio's words, but he was too tired to make any further objections. Nelio gave him another pill from the paper cone, and then he called over Pecado and told him to massage Alfredo Bomba's feet.
'What good will that do?' asked Pecado suspiciously. 'He's not cold.'
'We can't let the blood collect in his feet,' Nelio said firmly. 'Just do as I say.'
Pecado rubbed Alfredo's feet while Nelio made sure the others took turns wiping his sweaty forehead and saw to it that he always had cold water to drink. Those who weren't needed to take care of Alfredo Bomba were sent out on the street to wash cars and then buy ice and bread with the money they earned. The heat hung on, and someone was always sitting by Alfredo's head, fanning him with part of a broken umbrella. When the watchmen sat down on the steps of the theatre after midnight and started playing cards, the boys again crawled in through the broken window at the back of the building.
That night they began rehearsing their play. Nelio gathered them around him onstage.
'None of us knows anything about theatre,' he said. 'We're going to have to do this without help, but that's something we can do better than anyone else – we can survive without help.'
'I want to play the monster,' said Nascimento.
'You'll get to play the monster,' said Nelio. 'But only if you don't interrupt until I've finished talking. The key thing is that we make Alfredo Bomba forget that he's sick and forget where he is. Then we can take him wherever we want. And we'll wait until he's asleep before we bring him here. When he opens his eyes, he'll think he's dreaming.'
'It'll be hard to get him through that window if he's asleep,' Pecado said anxiously.
'There's a door in the back,' Nelio said. 'The night before we perform our play, we'll leave it unlocked.'
Then they started rehearsing the journey to the island that Alfredo Bomba's mother had once told him about. They tried to create a dream that would have the same power as reality. Nelio was filled with doubt. He felt as if he were casting about in a dark room. Often he would get angry because the others didn't do as he said or made too much commotion. It was soon clear that it would be almost impossible for him to use either Nascimento or Mandioca as actors. Nascimento had found a monster head, which he refused to take off, although he never managed to grasp when he was supposed to be on the stage, what he was to do, or what he was to say. Finally Nelio lost all patience and told him to wrap himself up in a piece of blue cloth and pretend to be the sea.
'What should I say?' Nascimento wanted to know.
'The sea doesn't speak,' replied Nelio. 'The sea is endless, it billows or it lies calm. You don't say anything, because the sea never speaks.'
'That sounds like a very boring part,' Nascimento protested.
'But important,' replied Nelio. 'If you keep on objecting, you won't play any part at all.'
The one who demonstrated the most natural ability to act was Pecado. He instantly memorised everything Nelio told him, he made his entrances on cue, and he spoke the words that Nelio wanted to hear. Nelio himself was in charge of the lights, turning them off and changing colours when needed. They were all very tired, but he urged them on. Each morning when they emerged from the theatre building, their faces pale and drawn, they could see that Alfredo Bomba was sinking deeper into his illness and moving swiftly towards the end. They didn't have much time.
On the third night they went through the whole performance that they had created. Except for the fact that Nascimento fell asleep in the wings, snoring inside his monster head, everything went almost the way Nelio wanted it. When he sat in the balcony and watched what was happening below him on the stage as he made the beams from the spotlights rise and fall, he sometimes even forgot where he was. The journey to the island shed its outer skin, which was the dream, and became a real journey that was being played out before his eyes.
Afterwards, when they once again gathered onstage and Nelio told Nascimento that he couldn't sleep in the wings, he said that now they were ready. They couldn't make the performance any better.
'Before we leave here tonight, we'll unlock the door at the back. Then tomorrow night we're going to carry Alfredo Bomba over here so that he can be part of the play.'
'Isn't he just going to watch?' wondered Mandioca.
'When he's watching he will also be part of it,' replied Nelio. 'That's the whole point of what we're trying to do.'
'He might not understand any of it,' Pecado said. 'He might be so disappointed that he won't even want to watch the whole thing. He might fall asleep.'
Nelio didn't have the strength to reply. Nothing would be any different. All that was left was to wait for the following night. He simply told the others to get everything ready so they could leave the theatre before it was light.
That morning Nelio realised that Alfredo Bomba only had a few days to live. He had stopped eating, his skin was stretched taut over his skull, and his eyes had sunk deeper and deeper. They sat in a circle around him, silent, tired and scared. Everyone felt anxious at being so close to death.
A hard rain fell on the city before dusk. They covered Alfredo Bomba with an old tarpaulin that had been discarded behind the petrol station. But he seemed not to notice; he was deep in his restless dreams.
'Old people are supposed to die,' Nascimento said, wiping the rain from his face. 'Old people, not children. Not even the ones who just live on the street like Alfredo Bomba.'
'You're right,' Nelio said. 'That's something that this world should hurry up and learn.'
Nascimento sat still in the rain, looking at Alfredo Bomba. 'Can spirits die?' he asked. 'In the same way that people do?'
Nelio shook his head. 'No. Spirits can't be born and they can't die. They just are.'
'I think Alfredo Bomba will be much better off than he is now,' Nascimento said.
'Old people are supposed to die,' Nelio said. 'Not children.'
'I think he'll be back with his dog,' Nascimento said hesitantly. 'Alfredo Bomba likes dogs, and dogs like him.'
'You're probably right. But be quiet now.'
Late that night the rain stopped. Alfredo Bomba was asleep. Everyone was tense. Pecado made frequent forays out to the street to keep an eye on the armed watchmen outside the theatre. 'It's Armandio and Julio tonight,' he said. 'Armandio, the fat one, is asleep. But Julio usually stays awake.'
'They won't hear a thing,' Nelio said. 'We'll go soon.'
Earlier in the day Nelio had gone to the marketplace and borrowed two thick broomsticks from an old broom-maker that he knew from before. On his way back he caught sight of Senhor Castigo being dragged down the street between two policemen. He was battered and bloody, and his clothes were hanging in tatters, as if an enraged mob had tried to rip him to shreds. He saw Nelio too. For a brief, confused moment he tried to remember who the boy with the two broomsticks could be. But Nelio doubted that he had recognised him.
Senhor Castigo is an omen, he thought. He has been caught and beaten. In the dark cells of the police station he'll be beaten even more. Soon there will only be scraps left of what might once have been a human being. If I hadn't escaped from him, I might have ended up just like him.
By pulling two old vests over the broomsticks, they made a stretcher. At midnight, they lifted Alfredo Bomba, who was delirious, and carried him across the deserted street. They listened in the shadows before they opened the back door and slipped into the theatre. While Nelio groped his way over to the light panel in the dark, the others waited behind the stage. Nelio made a faint dawn light sweep across the dark stage, a pink glow above a sea that was still asleep. He went back to the others, and they set the stretche
r down, close to the footlights. Nelio sat down beside Alfredo Bomba while the others left to get ready. He didn't want to wake him yet. He could feel from Alfredo's forehead that he had a high fever.
After a while Nascimento stuck his monster-head out from the wings and whispered that they were ready. Nelio nodded. The next moment a wind started blowing. It came gusting in from the wings, from the mouths of Pecado and Mandioca and the others. Gently Nelio woke up Alfredo Bomba, coaxing him out of his deep slumber. When Alfredo Bomba opened his eyes, Nelio was bending over his face.
'Do you hear the wind?' he asked.
Alfredo Bomba listened. Then he nodded weakly.
'It's the wind from the sea,' Nelio said. 'We're on our way to the island that your mother told you about.'
'I must have fallen asleep, Alfredo Bomba said. 'Was I sleeping? Where are we?'
'On a ship,' Nelio said, his torso swaying slowly. 'Do you feel the swells?'
Alfredo nodded again. Nelio helped him to sit up, leaning him against the side of the stage.
Then he left Alfredo Bomba sitting there alone and went back to his light panel.
In his old age, when death had already taken root in his body, Old Alfredo Bomba made the journey that he had dreamed of and prepared for all his life. One night, when the tide was out and the water had retreated, he waded out to a little fishing boat with a lateen sail that was going to carry him along the coast to the estuary, which only those trusted by their mothers could find. On board the fishing boat was an invisible helmsman, a dog and a man with a sack of rice; a shipwrecked monster appeared occasionally at the side of the boat. They navigated by the stars and held a steady course for the second star in Pegasus. Before dawn, they were struck by a storm from the north-east; the wind tore at the sail, thunder boomed and bolts of lightning criss-crossed each other. Afterwards the sea was calm again, the shipwrecked monster seemed to have perished in the waves, and the man with the rice sack stood motionless in the bow, searching for the mouth of the river. The dog was lying next to Alfredo Bomba. It had hands instead of paws, but with the wisdom of his years, Alfredo Bomba realised that journeys along unknown coasts meant travelling in the company of strange creatures that no one had ever seen before. They drew close to land in the early dawn. The coast was lined with steep cliffs. The man in the bow offered a handful of rice to the sea, and then a river broke through the cliffs. They sailed up the river, which at first was very wide. The monster returned in the shape of a crocodile. But Alfredo Bomba felt quite safe in the company of the invisible helmsman, the dog and the man with the sack of rice. On the river banks people were visible, and they all waved to him. Alfredo Bomba had the feeling that he recognised the people waving to him, just as he thought the dog lying at his side was a dog he had met earlier in his life. But he thought this might have been when he was quite young, still only a child. After they had been sailing for a long time, the boat scraped against an invisible sand bar in the middle of the river. The dog stood up on his human-like hind legs, picked up the sack of rice, and waded off towards an island, which lay close to the place where the boat was stranded. The man who had been standing in the bow throughout the voyage, ceaselessly scanning the waters, now turned his head for the first time. Alfredo Bomba seemed to recognise him too. It was a face that came gliding towards him out of his past. Then he remembered who it was.
'Pecado,' he said. 'Is it really you?'
'Pecado was my father. I am his son.'
'I remember him,' Alfredo Bomba said dreamily. 'You look a lot like him. But he didn't have a crooked moustache under his nose.'
'Here we are. Let me help you ashore.'
Pecado's son helped the feeble Alfredo Bomba out of the boat. For a moment they were wrapped in the sea, which resembled a blue silk cloth. They waded a short distance before stepping ashore. The light was now quite strong, as if the sun had grown and was shining with many eyes above his head. Pecado's son set Alfredo Bomba down in a deckchair and opened a parasol over his head. The dog lay down at his side again; the boat and the crocodile had disappeared. It was very quiet.
'What happened to your father?' asked Alfredo Bomba, who felt the silence on the little sandy island carrying him back in time with dizzying speed.
'It was my son who led you here,' Pecado said. 'I am his father.'
Alfredo Bomba looked at him in surprise. Then he noticed that the moustache under his nose was gone. It really was Pecado who was standing next to him.
'Everything seems so long ago,' said Alfredo Bomba, and he felt the sea slowly beginning to seep into his body. A wave had started rippling inside his skin.
'You've grown old too,' he continued, still looking, at Pecado in amazement.
Pecado smiled. Then he pointed at the river. Alfredo Bomba squinted in the glare of the sunlight. He saw Nelio wading towards him with his trouser legs rolled up. At his side were Nascimento, Mandioca and Tristeza. Soon they had gathered around him. He saw that they were all old, just like him.
'I thought we would never see each other again,' said Alfredo Bomba. 'I no longer understand what I was always so afraid of
'We're here,' Nelio said. 'Wherever friends gather, there is never room for fear.'
Alfredo Bomba felt the wave inside him growing stronger and stronger. It was about to carry him away towards something unknown but not yet feared. The water was warm, and he felt pleasantly drowsy. The sunlight was dazzling, and the faces around him were slowly being erased.
'Who brought me here?' he asked. 'I should thank the man who stood at the helm.'
'It was your mother,' said the voice that belonged to Nelio, although Alfredo could no longer see his face.
'Where is she?' asked Alfredo Bomba. 'I can't see her.'
'She's standing behind you,' someone said, and now it was the dog lying next to him who was talking.
Alfredo Bomba didn't have the strength to turn his head. But he felt her warm breath on his neck. The wave rippled inside him, he was very tired, and he thought that it was a long time since he had had any sleep. He closed his eyes, his mother was sitting right behind him on the sand, and he now knew that he had been afraid for no reason. What had happened would keep on happening: his friends would always be with him.
Then the suns were extinguished around him, one after the other. He smiled at the thought of the strange dog that had human hands instead of paws. He must remember to tell Nelio when he woke up. A dog that had hands instead of paws . . .
They stood around him, watching him sleep.
'He's smiling,' Nascimento said. 'But he didn't applaud. I think he was afraid of the monster.'
'Be quiet,' Nelio said. 'You talk too much, Nascimento.'
Nelio looked at Alfredo Bomba's face. He wore an expression that he had never seen before. Then he understood that Alfredo Bomba was dead. He took a step back.
'He's dead,' said Nelio.
At first they didn't understand what he meant. Then they saw for themselves that Alfredo Bomba was no longer breathing, and they backed away.
'Were we that bad?' said Mandioca.
'I think we did the best we could,' replied Nelio, and his voice was thick with sorrow.
None of them said a word. Nascimento had turned his back and fled inside the monster's head.
A rat rustled under the stage.
Then everything happened very fast.
The doors at the back of the theatre were flung open. Someone screamed. In the harsh glare of the spotlights they couldn't see who it was. Everyone except Nelio ran to the wings. Someone kept on screaming. Nelio understood that he should put up his hands, that he should surrender. He stood in front of Alfredo Bomba, who was lifeless in his deckchair, and thought that even a dead street kid deserved to be defended. Nelio walked towards the footlights to explain that nothing was going on. Two shots rang out in rapid succession. Nelio was thrown backwards and lay full-length on the stage, at Alfredo Bomba's feet. He felt his vision grow hazy and he began to sink. He vaguely sensed that s
omeone was looking down at him. Maybe it was Julio, one of the watchmen from outside the theatre. But the face was blurred, and he wasn't positive that he recognised the voice either. It might also be the transparent face of death, which had come for Alfredo Bomba, but had now decided to take him too – that's what he thought.
Chronicler Of The Winds Page 22
