by Dan Smith
Carolina took a deep breath and looked up at me. Her eyes glistened in the half-light. ‘Yesterday ... Early ... He asked for you.’
You should have been here for him, something screamed in my head. You should have brought him home.
I gave myself a moment to steady my voice. ‘What happened?’
‘The fever never broke. And he started ... he was bleeding, Zico. Everywhere.’
I turned away and wiped my fingers across my eyes before I looked back at Carolina and saw her strength and dignity. ‘Do they know what it was? Dengue fever?’
She swallowed her grief and looked down, nodding.
‘And you?’ I asked, putting a hand to my mouth. ‘Do you feel all right?’
When she looked up at me, her despair was clear, but she fought it, determined not to let it pour out of her. ‘Can I get you some coffee?’ she asked.
‘Sit down.’ I took her hand and led her to one of the soft chairs. I sat opposite and leaned forward, putting my hands on my face. ‘I should have come back with him. I should have ...’ My words died in my throat.
Rocky came to me and rested her chin on my lap.
‘There was nothing you could do, Zico. Nothing even the doctors could do. They tried giving him more blood but there was nothing.’
I rubbed my face, pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes and tried to think, but my mind was filled with just one thing.
I couldn’t believe he was gone.
The old man was gone.
‘I wanted to bring him home,’ Carolina said, ‘but they wouldn’t let me. I’m going to bury him tomorrow. Will you be there?’
I nodded and we sat in silence, neither of us looking at the other. I stroked Rocky’s head and cast my eyes around the room, seeing all the signs that he was still here. His hat on a hook by the door. A shirt across the back of a chair at the table. A pair of shoes. Photographs.
‘What will you do?’ I asked, lowering my head to put my face against Rocky’s fur. ‘Will you go to Imperatriz?’
Carolina shook her head. ‘What would I go there for?’
‘To be with your son. Francisco.’
‘I never really wanted that,’ she said. ‘I belong here. It was Raul’s dream more than it was ever mine.’
I looked up at her and felt the tears well in my eyes. ‘He said the same thing to me.’ My voice was quiet. ‘That it was your dream, not his.’
‘He said that?’
‘Yes.’
She smiled, a melancholy look. ‘Silly old fools. We spent all our time pretending we wanted something because we thought it was what the other wanted. Don’t be like that, Zico. Be happy with what you have. You don’t know when it will be taken from you.’
It was as if she had read the dilemma I’d struggled with for the last few days. If she had said it to me before, though, I might not have believed her. Only now could I see that she was right. Costa’s money meant nothing if I had to sell my soul to have it. All that mattered was the family I had built around me since coming to Piratinga. I had to live for what I had, not for what I hoped to have.
‘You cared a lot for each other,’ I said, wondering if it would be the same for Daniella and me. If we were meant for each other the way Raul and Carolina had been.
‘So he never wanted to go to Imperatriz?’ she asked.
I shook my head.
‘It makes sense.’ She closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them again, she widened them as if something was clouding her vision. There was grief there, but she was proud and stubborn and wouldn’t allow herself to cry. ‘You were more of a son to him than Francisco ever was.’
I wiped my own tears from my cheeks. ‘You can’t say that.’
‘I can say what I want. I can say what is true. You were here, Zico. You shared his life. He spoke of you like you were ...’ She stopped, her throat constricting, the pain wanting to come out, but she swallowed it down, reset herself.
‘But I wasn’t here,’ I said. ‘Not when it mattered.’
‘You sent him back to me. That’s all you could have done.’
I stood again, went to the kitchen and checked the flask but it was empty. Carolina had not made coffee today. ‘Let me get you something,’ I said, opening a cupboard, the door loose on its hinge. ‘I should fix that.’
‘No.’ She came through and put her hand on me. ‘Let me get something for you.’
I protested, but she made me stand aside while she boiled water, made coffee, found some dry biscuits. But when she put everything on the table, neither of us felt much like eating, so we sipped the hot coffee and ignored the biscuits.
‘When I was a boy,’ I said. ‘I did a thing that rotted me from the inside. Something that I did again and again until I couldn’t get away from it any more.’
Carolina raised her eyes to watch me.
‘It was the only thing I was good at, but it made me dirty. Raul ... he made me a better person. Being with him made me a better person. Maybe not a good person, but better. Do you understand?’
‘You were a son to him. He spoke about you as if you were his own. He loved you.’
I lowered my head once more and stared at Rocky, feeling the tears swell in my eyes.
‘Some men came to the hospital,’ she said, making me look up. ‘They wanted to speak to Raul but he was ... he couldn’t ...’ She swallowed some coffee. ‘He didn’t even know who he was by then. I stayed with him every minute. Held his hand when he went.’
‘What did they want?’ I asked, feeling a pang of something other than grief. ‘These men?’
‘They came here last night,’ she said. ‘Here. No shame, no respect. They were asking for you, Zico. Daniella, too.’
‘Daniella?’
She nodded. ‘Such a lovely girl, Raul always said. Maybe too good for you,’ She managed a half smile. ‘Will you bring her tomorrow when I ... bury him?’
‘Yes.’ But I was hardly listening now. I was thinking about the men who had come to the hospital. It would have been Luis and Wilson.
I tightened my hands into fists and remembered that they were sitting on the beach awaiting my return. There was no time for grief now. I had to bury it deep and save it for another day.
‘There are men here now,’ I said. ‘Outside. Waiting. Are they the same ones?’
Carolina stood, went to the window and opened the shutter, just a crack so she could look out. ‘It’s them. Do they want to hurt you?’ she asked.
‘I think so.’ I went to stand beside her and look out.
‘Don’t let that happen.’ She took my hand and put it on my gun. ‘Don’t let them take you from me, too.’
60
Closing Carolina’s door, I stopped to stare at the spot on the river where the Deus was usually moored. I thought about what the old man said to me about not wanting to go to Imperatriz, about how he and I were part of this place and that we would never leave it just as it would never leave us. That was truer for him now than ever before.
I took a few steps forward, Luis and Wilson coming into view, both of them still sitting on the shore, smoking and watching the river.
I took out my pistol and checked the load once more, looking over at the men as I rolled the cylinder in my fingers. Then I took a deep breath and began towards them, coming at them almost from behind, raising my pistol so it was level in front of me.
About five metres from where they were sitting, I stopped and called out. ‘You waiting for me?’
Both men turned, eyes wide as if startled from a moment of boredom. They looked at one another, then back at me.
‘Yes,’ said Luis. He was wearing a Brahma T-shirt today, and burgundy trousers that needed a wash. The same cap was on his head, the peak still hard and crisp.
Beside him, Wilson put his hand to his waist, searching for the reassurance of steel and lead.
‘That’s right,’ I said to him. Take it out.’
I could see the confusion in his eyes, dark under his str
aw hat, the questioning look wondering what I was doing. Inviting him to draw his weapon. He’d be deciding if I was giving myself an excuse to shoot him down.
‘Do it now.’ I wanted to get this done quickly. It wasn’t too busy here, but someone might come. Someone who didn’t need to see this. ‘You, too,’ I said to Luis.
They lifted their shirts with one hand and used the finger and thumb of the other to pull out their pistols.
‘Now throw them in the water.’
They hesitated, looking at each other.
‘You won’t hit me from there.’ I said. ‘Not before I put two holes in each of you. Don’t test me; I’ve had a bad week.’
They looked at each other once more, then Wilson said, ‘You know how much I paid for this pistola?’
‘Tell Costa to pay for a new one.’
Still they hesitated.
‘Let me throw it over there,’ he said, nodding to a dry patch of ground.
‘In the water,’ I told him. ‘Right now.’
‘Shit.’ Luis grimaced and hefted his pistol out into the river where it landed with a hollow sound, like a heavy stone. A spit of the river rose in complaint, then settled into concentric rings and disappeared.
‘You too,’ I said to Wilson. ‘Or I’m going to start shooting.’
Wilson shook his head and threw the pistol.
‘Good. Now I feel much safer. Anyone else here?’ I asked, keeping my distance.
‘No.’
‘Costa only sent you two? I’d have thought he’d send more.’
Wilson looked angry, like he wanted to make me pay for forcing him to throw away his gun, but Luis looked a little scared now he was disarmed.
‘You came to kill me?’ I asked. ‘Like you killed Antonio. You remember Antonio, right?’
The two men remained silent.
‘Are you here to kill me?’ I asked again.
‘No,’ said Luis. ‘To meet you is all. Costa wanted to know as soon as you came back.’
I went straight to him, raising my pistol higher and pressing the barrel to his chest, right where his heart was beating. ‘Don’t lie to me.’
Luis put both his hands out, his breath quickening, his eyes widening in fear.
‘How much,’ I said. ‘How much was Costa going to give you to kill me? How much?’ I pressed my pistol harder into his chest.
‘Thirty,’ Luis admitted. ‘Thirty reais.’
So Sister Beckett had been right. Costa had been lying to me from the start.
I’m sorry, Zico.’ Luis saw the anger in my face and his fear increased. His skin glistened with sweat and his eyes darted as he searched mine, trying to anticipate what I planned to do with him.
‘Thirty reais?’ I asked. ‘And for Daniella?’
‘Thirty for each of you. For the old man, too, but he was already dead.’
‘Lucky for you,’ I said, pressing the gun hard against his sweat-dampened shirt. ‘If you had touched him, I would have cut out your eyes. You’re lucky I haven’t done it already.’
Luis swallowed hard. Beside him, Wilson remained still.
‘Thirty reais a piece?’ I said. ‘That’s fifteen American dollars. Not much for a man’s life.’
‘I do what I can.’
‘You have a family?’ I asked. ‘Wife? Kids?’ I nudged him with the pistol and he nodded.
‘And you?’ I looked at Wilson.
‘A girlfriend,’ he replied.
I shook my head. ‘He’s playing you the way he played me. He’s got all of us running around trying to kill each other.’
‘Who? Costa? What are you—’
‘Yes, Costa,’ I said. ‘He’s like a devil lying to all of us. You two know who I am, you know the kind of thing I do for him. He’s sent you here to cover something up. Something he asked me to do.’
‘Like what?’
‘Doesn’t matter. What matters is that he said he was going to pay me for a job and then he sent you here to wait for me. To kill me the moment I put a foot in Piratinga.’
‘So?’
‘Christ, you two are even slower than me. What makes you think he won’t do the same thing to you? Send other men. Less reliable men. Not family men like you.’
‘That’s bullshit,’ Wilson said. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘Same reason he’d do it to me. To cover it up. Hide it deeper.’
Wilson pursed his lips, the hairs on his moustache straightening. He narrowed his eyes. ‘He wouldn’t do that to us.’
‘He did it to me. And I’ve done work for him for a long time. More important work than you. You know how much he’s supposed to pay me? Five thousand dollars.’
‘Caralho. What did he want you to do?’ Wilson asked. ‘Kill the Pope?’
‘I already said it doesn’t matter.’
‘Why would we believe you?’
‘Because you’re here. Because he’s going to pay you to kill me.’ I looked at both men. ‘Maybe I should just shoot you now. Kick you in the river and leave you for the fish.’
Luis’s fear returned. For a moment he’d been distracted, had something else to think about, but now it was real again. ‘No ...’
‘Or maybe we should go talk to Costa,’ I said. ‘See what he’s up to. What do you think of that?’
Luis and Wilson looked at each other, then nodded to me.
‘We’ll see if those five thousand dollars are in that safe of his,’ I said. ‘See if it ever even existed.’
‘OK.’ Luis spoke quickly. ‘We should do that. We should go see Costa.’
I took a step away from him, removing the barrel of my pistol from his chest. ‘I’m going to put this away and walk behind you. Don’t make me take it out again.’
We moved in silence, Luis and Wilson in front, me following. I kept my pistol hidden, so as not to attract any attention, but it was close to hand if I needed it.
‘You didn’t think this through, did you?’ I said as we walked. ‘Waiting for me in plain view like that.’
‘Costa wanted us to talk to you, find out if you did his job for him. We didn’t think you’d know that—’
‘That you’d be there to kill me?’
Luis slowed his pace and glanced back at me. ‘Look, Zico, it’s just business.’
‘And that’s meant to make me feel better? Because you’re doing it for money?’ I considered for a moment that I had done the same thing – tried to justify my actions with the same argument. There might have been a time when I fooled myself into thinking money had been my incentive, but I knew better now. Financial reward had never been my motivation. It had always been revenge.
‘Are you going to kill us?’ Wilson asked.
‘I haven’t decided yet. But troubling the old woman ...’I shook my head. ‘That’s low.’
‘We were looking for you.’
‘Sure you were.’ I glanced across at the hospital as we passed it, thinking about the old man lying in there on a slab or a bed or maybe just on the floor; I didn’t know where they kept the dead. I didn’t even know if he’d be cooled or if he’d be lying in a warm room getting higher. I spoke a silent farewell, and promised myself I would make it to his funeral tomorrow.
I would stand by Carolina’s side if that’s what she wanted. I would be with her when she put him to rest.
The street was almost deserted when we turned off and headed to Costa’s office. The sun was high and most people were keeping to the shade, sleeping off their lunch. A single car moved slowly on the road as if it, too, was exhausted by the heat.
‘Go on up,’ I said to the two men when we came to the blue door on the corner. ‘He’ll be surprised to see us.’
It was cooler in the stairwell, no windows for the sun to penetrate, and it smelled of concrete dust, just like always. Our footsteps were soft on the cracked stairs and broken tiles, me in flip-flops and the other two in shoes that were so old the soles were soft like animal hide.
I followed them through the door at the
top and into the outer office where the ancient secretary looked up, eyes peering over glasses that were now held together in the middle with a piece of tape. Her mouth opened when she saw me.
I put a finger to my lips and shook my head, raising my pistol so there was no mistake about what I was holding and what I would do with it.
She closed her mouth and sat bolt upright, putting her hands on the desk in front of her, knocking a pencil that rolled to one side and fell onto the tiled floor.
‘Costa in there?’ I asked.
She nodded.
‘Is there a key for this door?’
She nodded again.
‘Lock it and sit back down.’
The secretary took a key from a pencil pot on her desk and crept over to the front door, not once taking her eyes off me.
When I heard the click of the lock, I took the key from her and told her to sit down. ‘This won’t take too long,’ I said. ‘You’ll be quite safe if you stay right where you are.’ And as I spoke, the door to Costa’s office opened and he stepped out saying, ‘Samara, is someone—’ He stopped when he saw Luis and Wilson. ‘Oh it’s—’ And then he saw me standing behind them.
For a moment he was lost for words. I could see his eyes moving as his mind raced and his mouth floundered. He looked at the door, saw it was closed, then his eyes took in what was in my hand before he looked at my face. He shook himself. A shiver ran through him as he composed himself and forced a smile to his lips. ‘Zico,’ he said, stepping forward. ‘You’re back. I sent Luis and Wilson to meet you.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘And your trip?’ He inclined his head to one side. ‘Did it go well?’
‘Why don’t we talk about it in your office? You can sit down. Get comfortable.’
Costa hesitated, looked around the room. He narrowed his eyes at Samara, a questioning look, or maybe an angry look because she hadn’t warned him, then he cleared his throat and stood aside. ‘Of course. Why don’t you come in.’
‘You first.’
Costa retreated into his room, turning his back to me, going to the window to look out, then to his desk, standing behind it. He put his hands to his chin, then dropped them, crossed them over his chest, then dropped them again, putting his hands into his pockets.
