by Dan Smith
As we headed over the scrub to his house, though, I couldn’t help glancing at the birds huddled round their meal. Dark and ugly and smelling like carrion, it was hardly any wonder people saw them as an omen of death.
*
Carolina had prepared boiled rice and feijoada, made with black beans and a few thin strips of dried beef. My sister Sofia used to make it that way, though we didn’t always have the beef. Sometimes it was chicken, sometimes nothing at all. Doña Melo, the woman next door, taught Sofia to cook when we were growing up because our mother was already buried and she felt sorry for us. Whenever I smelled feijoada now, it reminded me of Sofia.
Carolina placed a bowl of farinha on the table – coarsely ground manioc flour – and invited me to sit with them. There wasn’t much so I ate just a little, telling them I’d repay them. The old man waved a dismissive hand and Carolina shook her head, telling me there was no need. I was always welcome to share what they had.
Carolina was Xavante Indian; A’uwe Uptabi. The True People, they called themselves, coming from further south, past Piratinga, on the Rio das Mortes. The River of Deaths. She hadn’t lived in a Xavante village since she was seven or eight and couldn’t even remember her real given name. She never went back, never mixed with her people, but showed no sign of regret. Life had put her and the old man together and she was happy that way.
Carolina wasn’t beautiful and her face was hard, but her eyes carried a warm look every time they met her husband’s. And Raul’s smiled in reply. Seeing them together made me think that Raul had everything he needed right here in Piratinga. He didn’t need Imperatriz and Imperatriz didn’t need him. There was no reason to suffer the despair of always chasing something he would never catch.
The old man had talked about it so many times, telling me how the money was so important. He needed enough to buy him and Carolina a place in Imperatriz, close to their son Francisco; a place where they could make a better life. Francisco had done that – gone to find a better life – because he hated it here. He hated the slow pace and he resented his parents for not taking him away from it. He was married now, a wedding that Carolina and Raul had seen only in photos, and he wrote once a year, asking them to come. A year ago he had sent them a picture of their first granddaughter, Luziene; a child they had never seen in the flesh.
When we had eaten, Raul and I sat on his narrow porch, a glass of pinga each, a cigarette for him and a bottle of mosquito repellent for me. I spread the Autan on my arms and face as we spoke, and Rocky came to curl up on the cool concrete floor beside the old man’s chair.
The sun had dropped now, the last of its light was shimmering over the forest on the other side of the river, and soon it would be gone. The cicadas chirped with an unnoticed monotony, and the frogs were beginning to call their own tune.
‘You don’t look so good, old man, you feeling all right?’ His eyes were bloodshot; the bags underneath were bigger and darker than usual. The deep tan on his lined face was pallid and drained of colour.
‘It’s the beer,’ he said, coughing as if to prove himself wrong. ‘And the pinga.’
‘I’ve seen you drink more beer than that, and chase it down with pinga and cigarettes and God knows what else.’
‘The heat then. It’s so damn hot today.’
‘Just like every day. No, you look like you’re getting sick.’
‘You tell, him, Zico.’ Carolina had come to the door. ‘He won’t listen to me. Old fool never listens to me.’
‘If I always listened to you, woman, I’d never listen to anything else.’ Raul chuckled and blew a kiss at his wife before turning to me. ‘I don’t get sick, Zico. When have I ever been sick?’
I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it. Men like Raul don’t like to admit they’re feeling weak, so I nodded and let it pass, changing the subject. ‘So what’s this job you’ve got tomorrow? Delivery or collection?’
‘Both. Something to collect and then we have to deliver it.’
‘You shouldn’t be working,’ Carolina said as she came to sit beside him. ‘Look at you. You’re in no state for it.’ The plastic chair creaked and Rocky shifted, looking up, then letting out a long sigh and settling again.
‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ Raul said. ‘Stop fussing.’
‘You need to get well.’
‘I need to work.’
‘Then promise to take Zico with you.’
‘Of course I’ll take Zico with me.’
‘So where are you collecting from this time?’ I asked. ‘São Tiago? Further north?’
The old man shook his head. ‘Further south.’
‘South? How far?’ There wasn’t much down that way and the river was only navigable a few hundred kilometres in that direction. Once we got to a certain point, the water was laced with rapids, falls and rocky canyons. ‘Anywhere I know?’
‘Just the river. We’re meeting a plane. It’s going to land on the water.’
I whistled. ‘They tell you what’s on it?’
Raul shook his head, then sipped his pinga and stared out at the river, watching the last splinter of sun disappear. ‘When do I ever ask? That’s why people come to me. All I know is I’m meeting a plane, taking on cargo, and heading to Mina dos Santos.’
‘That’s a long way.’ We’d been once before, a gold mine three or four hundred kilometres west on the Rio das Mortes. Maybe further. ‘And you have no idea what the cargo is?’
‘I don’t need to.’
‘It’s too far to go in your state,’ Carolina told him. ‘This sounds too dangerous, Raul. It’s too much for you.’
I looked across at the old man sitting with Rocky at his side and I remembered the bird perching on his roof that afternoon. I was too practical to be superstitious like he was but it bothered me anyway and I wanted this day to be over. Tomorrow would be better. A fresh start.
‘It’ll be fine.’ The old man spoke to his wife, reaching out to take her hand in his own. ‘Money for nothing.’ Then he turned to me. ‘Cargo for Mina dos Santos is all I know. A man came to Ernesto’s this morning, gave me half the money up front, the rest when I get to the mine.’
‘What man?’ I asked.
‘Said his name was Leonardo.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Like any other man.’
‘And he gave you money?’
‘Half.’
I nodded. The Deus e o Diabo wasn’t the fastest boat on the river and it wasn’t the biggest, but it would carry anything that was asked of it, and its captain always delivered. She was big enough to carry a good cargo and put about fifteen, twenty kilometres of river behind her in an hour, depending on the conditions. Raul had been carrying people and contraband up and down the Araguaia since he was a young man and he knew the rivers like he knew the contours of his own wife.
There were other boats, other captains, but taking the wrong channel when the river split or turned could lead to narrowing passages blocked by the forest and a nest of tributaries that writhed about each other like snakes. In there, surrounded by the dense forest, the heat and the pounding rain, there were a thousand deaths waiting for every man who lost his way.
Raul knew the channels, the sandbanks, how to recognise the change in the water. If the riverbed had shifted and risen with the rains or droughts, Raul knew how to spot it just by looking at the surface of the water.
His knowledge of the river wasn’t the only reason why people came to him, though. He had a reputation for discretion and always turned his eyes when he took the money. He didn’t care what he carried, as long as the money was real when it touched the palm of his callused hand.
‘And this guy Leonardo?’ I asked him. ‘He paying you much?’
‘Not much,’ Raul said. ‘But it all goes into the pot. And when we have enough, Carolina and me ...’ Raul made a blowing noise and tilted his head while lifting one hand like it was taking off from his knee.
Like everyone else, Raul had pl
ans. When he had the money.
Always when he had the money.
9
Around ten o’clock, the old man stood up and said he was tired. He rubbed a hand across the back of his thick neck and stooped a little as he went inside, bumping his shoulder against the doorframe.
‘Too much pinga,’ I said.
‘Or maybe not enough,’ he replied as the door swung closed behind him.
Rocky stayed where she was, chin resting between her paws as she watched him go, but Carolina followed him, coming back out after ten minutes or so with a shawl draped over her shoulders to combat the night’s chill.
‘He’s not well,’ she said, pouring more pinga into my glass.
‘Just tired is all. Tired and drunk.’
‘No, it’s something else; he’s just too proud and stubborn to admit it. I worry about him.’
‘We both do, but whatever it is, it’ll pass.’
Beside the old man’s chair, Rocky lifted her head and looked out into the night, a low growl rumbling in her throat.
‘Come here,’ I called to her. ‘What is it?’
The dog rose to her feet and slinked over to me, her head low, eyes watching the darkness. She continued to growl, lifting her lip just enough to show a flash of teeth.
Putting one hand on her, I squinted to see beyond the glare of the bare bulb that hung over us. ‘What is it, Rocky? What’s out there?’
She responded with a long, low, snarl.
Then movement in the darkness. Close to the river’s edge.
‘You see something?’ Carolina asked. ‘Is there something there?’
‘Not sure.’ I pushed myself out of the seat and stepped down onto the grass. Rocky followed on my heels. ‘Stay with me, girl.’
Having the light at my back made me feel exposed. Whatever was out there would have the advantage.
I took a step forward and slipped the knife from my waistband, holding it at my side, blade pointed towards the ground.
Rocky stayed with me but I sensed her tension. She stood with her front legs taut, splayed to either side, and her head was down. She lifted her lips to show her teeth, then the growl heightened and she barked at the silhouette that materialised as my eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness.
‘Stay with me.’ I reached down to grab the scruff of Rocky’s neck in my left hand. I didn’t want her racing off into the night until I knew what was out there.
‘What is it, Zico?’ Carolina whispered.
I kept my eyes on the figure standing just a few metres away.
‘Boa noite,’ I called out, waiting for a reaction.
‘Boa,’ came the reply, but the figure remained as it was.
‘Is that you, Luis?’
‘Luis? No.’ It was a man’s voice. ‘You got hold of that dog?’
I tightened my grip on Rocky but she continued to bark.
‘Who are you?’ I asked. ‘What you doing out here?’
‘Been fishing,’ came the reply. ‘On my way home. You sure you’ve got hold of that dog?’ The man shifted, as if he might be lifting a hand to point at us.
‘It’s a bit late for fishing.’ I tilted my head, trying to see who it was, and wished I were better armed.
‘I lost track of time. Put my boat up too far along the shore, that’s all. Just keep that dog away from me.’ In a brief moment of quiet between his last word and Rocky’s barking, I heard the unmistakeable click of a pistol being cocked.
‘The dog won’t hurt you.’ I pulled Rocky back and told her to be quiet. She stopped barking straight away but remained tense in my grip. I didn’t think the man intended to shoot me – if that was his intention, he would have done it already. He was afraid of Rocky. The pistol was for her.
‘I’ve got her,’ I told him. ‘You don’t need that.’
‘I’ll be on my way, then.’ And now the figure moved again. An arm reached up as if to push back a cap, then the man sniffed and moved away, feet scuffing on the sand.
‘Who was it?’ Carolina asked as I came back to her. ‘Is everything all right?’ Her voice was tight, and when she put a hand on my arm, it was hot and damp.
‘Fisherman.’ I sat down.
‘At this time of night?’
‘It’s nothing to worry about.’ But I kept my eyes on the spot where the man had been, and I rested the knife on my thigh.
Rocky sat beside me, but didn’t settle. She remained upright, ears pricked, twitching at every sound.
After a moment, Carolina spoke, saying, ‘Eloiza has been ill. Someone said dengue fever. There’s been a few people with it.’
I scanned the darkness for any sign of the man, wondering how many people would risk fishing on the river at night. I didn’t believe he had lost track of time, it was too late for that. Whoever had been out there, he was no fisherman. He had been watching us.
‘Zico?’
‘Hm?’
‘Something wrong?’
‘No.’ I reached out and rubbed Rocky’s ears. She grunted and started to relax. ‘What was that you said about dengue fever?’
‘Eloiza told me a few people have had it.’
‘Not Raul.’ I shook my head. ‘He’s too strong. But look, if you’re worried about him, you should make him stay at home. I’ll do his job for him.’
‘I’ve tried but he won’t listen to me. Maybe he’ll listen to you.’
‘He never did before.’
‘Then look after him, Zico.’
‘I always do.’ I glanced out at the darkness once more but everything was still and Rocky had eased back into a half sleep on the floor beside me. Somewhere in the river a fish jumped and splashed, but Rocky was so used to that sound, she didn’t even stir. ‘I won’t let anything happen to him. If he looks bad, I’ll bring him straight home.’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
By the time I had finished my drink, Carolina said it was too late and I was too tired and drunk to go home, so she made up a bed on the sofa. Falling asleep, I wondered how many nights I had slept like this since coming to Piratinga and meeting Raul; how many times I had accepted his hospitality and eaten the food from his table.
The small room I rented was just a dusty box in a house with other workers. It was no place to return the old man’s kindness; no place to invite Carolina. I did what I could to earn enough to buy a proper home of my own, maybe even get a small piece of land if there was one to be had, but work was thin and the pay even thinner. Money was so meagre it was worthless almost as soon as it was in my hand, but a job like the one Costa had talked about today might be enough to give me a start. Maybe his offer was an opportunity for me. Maybe he was right.
The alcohol spread itself across my thoughts and feelings, and let me see a good side to this. A place to live with Daniella; something to make me worthy of her and my friends.
For a moment the shadow was forgotten. For a moment, I imagined myself with a home and a wife.
Then I remembered the vulture on the roof, and the old man’s reaction. I wasn’t superstitious like he was but now, in the quiet and lonely hours of darkness, I shivered as I pictured its shabby feathers and curved neck. I had to open my eyes and stare at the ceiling so I didn’t see the bird’s hooked beak and hear its ominous scream. I saw blood, too, and Antonio lying dead in his apartment, with no one to ask about him or care that he was gone.
I was afraid of being like that; of having nothing and no one.
I was afraid of being forgotten.
10
I didn’t sleep well, my mind was filled with images of vultures and forgotten dead men, so I rose before dawn and let myself out of the old man’s place. Rocky thumped her tail on the floor and hurried out to relieve herself before following me part of the way into town. I was halfway home when I told her to go back to the old man. It took her a while to understand, so I clapped my hands and shooed her away and she turned in disgust and trotted back.
Nothing stirred in t
he street. The cicadas creaked their chorus, but theirs was the only sound. Out on the fazendas, the vaqueiros would be taking their first coffee and mounting up, but Piratinga was like a ghost town as I passed through it.
When I came to my building, I caught myself checking the roof for vultures and had to tell myself to stop thinking about it. It was the old man who believed in signs and omens; I should leave that thinking to him.
Juliana the owner would still be asleep and wouldn’t thank me for waking her, so I crept through the front door, keeping as quiet as I could, then eased it shut behind me with a gentle click. The windowless corridor inside was dark and still.
There were four doors, two on either side of the passage, and a flight of stairs leading to the other floor. Juliana occupied one of the apartments, while men like me rented the others. Men without families and belongings. Men without futures. Men like Antonio.
I took off my old, worn flip-flops and headed to the far end of the passage, liking the way the floor cooled the soles of my feet. When I reached the door to my room, though, I was surprised to find it already unlocked. The key refused to turn any further but the door still stood firm.
Even when I applied a little pressure with my shoulder, it wouldn’t budge.
The only way it could be locked was if someone had pulled the bolt inside.
I tried the handle once more, growing frustrated and shoving a little harder, but there was no doubt someone had bolted it from the inside.
I stood back and glared at the door in confusion, feeling a hint of anger building. I told myself to relax, there had to be a reason for this. Maybe something was jamming it. Maybe Juliana had done something because I was late with my rent.
Or perhaps there was someone in there.
Someone like Luis or Wilson.
Someone like the man who had been watching the old man’s house last night.
That thought made my skin tingle and the hairs on my arms prickle. It suddenly felt colder inside the passageway and I found myself reaching for the knife.
I would go outside. Head round the back and look through the window. It was safer that way.
But a noise from inside made me stop. Someone was moving inside my room, coming towards the door.
