by Paulo Lins
‘I won’t let ya!’
‘It’s too late now – I’ve already drunk a shitload of tea and if I don’t get rid of it, it might even be born deformed.’
Sparrow didn’t say anything. He got up, pulled on his clothes and walked through the night until he got to Tiny’s flat. He told his friend what had happened and Tiny consoled him:
‘Don’t worry man, when women have kids they go to the dogs … Go get one of them white girls knocked up … nice and young …’
Yes, it was better that Fly got rid of the brat. It would actually be good, because he’d kick her out and she wouldn’t be able to say a thing. He decided to roll a joint, then smoked it with his pal as a kind of celebration for making the right decision.
‘How ‘bout a shot of whisky?’
‘Why not?’
Tiny drank from the bottle, then passed it to Sparrow. They sat on the sofa and smoked a joint, talking and laughing while they drank the whisky. Sparrow was the first to fall asleep right there on the sofa. Tiny staggered to the bedroom and threw himself on the bed.
At around midday, someone pounded at the door. Gun in hand, Tiny opened it. Benite, looking sad, said he had some bad news:
‘Spit it out, man, spit it out!’
‘Sparrow’s wife …’
‘Is she dead?!’
Sparrow’s brother lowered his head and walked over to the kitchen. Tiny hugged his friend, who, bug-eyed, fell silent for a few minutes, an expression of deep sadness on his face.
‘Where is she?’
‘At Xinu’s place. People’re saying it was an abortion.’
‘Who’s there?’
‘No one, everyone got the hell out of there.’
‘I’m not goin’ there, OK? I’m not goin’ home either … Can I crash here, man?’
‘ ‘Course!’ answered Tiny.
‘Give my brother some money for her funeral.’
Tiny gave Benite the money to give to Fly’s family. Sparrow’s brother went downstairs together with Tiny, who went out to search high and low in The Flats for a girl who was always smiling at him. She was pretty, she wasn’t a slut, she studied, and she didn’t hang around in the street all the time. He’d never had a woman like that. He started going out with her that very day. Sparrow locked himself away in his friend’s flat for three days, without eating, showering or brushing his teeth. When friends dropped by, he’d exchange a few words then head back to the bedroom.
‘Get yourself protected, man! You’re really jinxed. You’ve been stabbed, arrested, and your wife’s just snuffed it … You gotta get yourself protected so you can relax, man!’ Tiny told Sparrow a month and a half after beating up Butucatu.
‘OK! OK!’
Tiny called in Aunt Vincentina. She’d known him since he was a kid and had told him about some strong magic over in Vigário Geral. They went by taxi after dinner on the last day of the year. The priest gave him a quick session because he had to leave with the devotees for Copacabana, where they were going to see in the New Year.
They went back to the favela by taxi, believing that everything would go swimmingly for them in the year that was about to begin. There would be no shortage of money or women. Vincentina thought the session had been badly done, and insisted that the two of them go to the beach for another session.
‘Ahh, auntie, I’m not goin’. I’ve already made plans with the Boys to have a party over at Katanazaka’s place. I need to have some fun so I can stop thinkin’ about Fly … Comin’ Tiny?
‘I’m gonna drop by your parents’ place, then I’m gonna keep quiet in The Flats.’
And that’s what happened. That night Tiny was the only non-member of Sparrow’s family at the gathering, but he was treated like one. After midnight, everyone went their separate ways. Before saying goodbye, they arranged to have dinner the next day at Composer’s house. They missed Penha’s cooking.
It was already morning when Sparrow left the Katanazakas’ house and walked to The Flats. He was going to shower, change clothes, have a sleep, then go with Tiny to the other side of the favela to enjoy Penha’s cooking. He found Tiny at Tim’s place, drank another glass of wine and did what he’d decided to do.
At around three o’clock in the afternoon the bosses of the streets of City of God crossed the favela, discreetly armed. Tiny walked along looking serious, greeting the cool guys with just a nod of his head. Sparrow laughed and wished even those he didn’t know a Happy New Year. The sun was hot and the streets were busy, as they were only on holidays.
Butucatu’s sister saw Sparrow and Tiny crossing Edgar Werneck Avenue near the yellow church and rode home to tell her brother that that bastard Tiny was heading Up Top, accompanied only by Sparrow. Butucatu got his gun from the wardrobe, his ammunition from behind the fridge, and lay in wait in the yard of a house.
Tiny got irritated each time Sparrow stopped to make a fuss of someone. He told him he was acting like Father Christmas and hurried him along, saying he didn’t like taking so long to get somewhere.
‘I’m so glad you guys showed up!’
‘What’s up, Penha?’ asked Sparrow.
‘This week I had a bad dream … I dreamed they filled you full of lead, son!’
‘Then it’s more years of life for me, especially since I got myself protected. Don’t worry, Penha, it means more years of life for me!’
They ate dinner and listened to the samba schools’ record at a high volume. They chewed the fat for another hour after dinner, then said goodbye. Penha warned Sparrow to take care.
‘Hey, you know them chickens at my place?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You can have ’em. I haven’t been over there to give ’em any corn since Fly died, and my brother keeps complainin’ and doesn’t go either … You can have ’em. Two of ’em lay blue eggs! I’m off then, OK?’
‘OK!’ replied Composer.
‘Let’s take a stroll past the Two-Storey Houses,’ said Tiny.
Butucatu took position when he saw them appear at the end of the street and cocked his gun; he only had to wait for Tiny to walk twenty metres to pump a shitload of bullets into his arse.
Sparrow walked along singing one of the sambas they’d heard at Composer’s house. He didn’t know his friend wanted to pass through there to find Potbelly so he could rough him up a bit too; if Butucatu had copped it, Potbelly would also have to cop it.
Butucatu was extremely nervous, and could still feel the pain of the kicks, punches and blows with sticks and gun butts he’d got from that bastard’s entire gang. He’d only kill Tiny and would spare Sparrow, who hadn’t attacked him at any point, and he’d stopped them from killing him. Not only that, but a few days later, Sparrow had sent him a message telling him to spend some time away from the favela, because if a gang member saw him when he wasn’t around, they might kill him just to win points with Tiny.
Butucatu’s whole body shook. When Tiny came within firing range, he held his breath and squinted. But Sparrow, still singing, passed in front of Tiny, making it hard to see him. He lowered his gun, breathed, took aim at Tiny again, steadied his arm, fired twice in a row and slipped away through the backyard of the house.
Sparrow fell, writhing.
Tiny ran, bleeding. Although he’d been hit, he still had the strength to return fire, but he feared Butucatu had several supporters in the area because of the murders Tiny had committed there. He made his way back to Zeca Composer’s house, but before he sprinted off, he caught sight of Butucatu through the holes in the bricks at the top of the wall where the murderer had placed the barrel of his gun and fired.
‘Go see Sparrow, he’s down, he’s down, go, go …’
‘Who was it?’ asked Composer.
‘Butucatu, it was Butucatu, I shoulda killed ‘im, I shoulda killed ’im … I told Sparrow, I told ‘im, I told ‘im!!! They got Sparrow too! Sparrow’s down! Go see Sparrow … I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die!’
‘Calm down, stay cool, man! You’re
not gonna die!’
‘Go help Sparrow, he’s like a brother to me! Go help ‘im, help ’im …’
Composer was unsure as to who to attend to, and on an impulse decided on Tiny, who was bleeding a lot. Tiny’s mother lived a few metres away.
‘Take my shooter …’ said Tiny to Composer when they started walking.
He was finally going to see his mother – she’d surely help him.
‘You were asking for this to happen to you. I don’t let murderers into my house,’ said his mother so bitterly that Tiny lowered his head and stayed in that position even after his mother had violently slammed the gate shut.
‘Let’s go to my real mother’s place!’
‘Lets go to the clinic!’ said Composer.
‘Not the doctor, no, not the doctor! Take me to my other mum’s place – she’s a nurse now.’
In front of the chapel there were only the Boys sitting on the pavement with several lit joints, singing ‘Alternative Society’ by Raul Seixas.
Before leaving the favela, the villains had decided not to stay long at the wake, but the night turned out to be a good one: women were showing up left, right and centre, someone brought a bottle of whisky, wine, lemon cocktails … Russian Mouse perked up and sent someone to buy five crates of beer, while family members were given handshakes, pats on the back and the shoulders of others to lean their heads on, prayers, blessings and words in verse and prose, recited and sung. Tambourines, rattles and cavaquinhos appeared. People were snorting coke and joints were passed from mouth to mouth.
Only Sparrow’s body, in the centre of the chapel, got in the way of the proceedings. They decided to push the coffin into a corner and paid homage to the deceased from time to time by singing his favourite samba: ‘I live where no one else lives.’
As at any good party, there was no lack of flirting; the men were under a spell at the sight of so many beautiful women. And the guys who managed to hook up with one had sex in the bathroom, in the empty chapel next door or in the nearby streets, and some said Sparrow was enjoying it all – he’d always been one for a bit of a romp.
A bright, round moon made the eternal mystery of the night even more enchanting, and the funeral was the biggest ever seen. It was forty-three degrees out.
Tiny’s Story
The late 1970s and early 1980s
‘I hardly ever see Rocket any more.’
‘Yeah … he’s really disappeared off the map.’
‘He’s off doin’ his own thing, ain’t he?’
‘You can say that again!’
‘I only see ’im goin’ past …’
‘He hangs around with those guys from the Residents’
Association …’
‘He’s a real photographer now!’
‘You can say that again!’
‘All the guys he hangs around with are from the university. He loves all that political stuff …’
‘I know them, man … They’re the ones who block off the street every May Day with them workers’ demonstrations and they’re always holdin’ a shitload of meetin’s …’
‘Residents’ Association, hey?’
‘Yup …’
They fell silent for a time.
‘Rocket used to be the biggest head!’
‘You can say that again!’ They laughed. ‘That was all he could think about, wasn’t it?’
‘You can say that again!’ They laughed again.
‘Reckon he still smokes?’
‘Ha! I ran into ’im one day on the stairs of his building – shitfaced.’
‘But he has a puff on the quiet, don’t he?’
‘You can say that again!’
‘But everyone’s disappeared!’
‘What? They’re still all here, man!’
‘No, they ain’t! Look: Sir Paulo Carneiro left the favela, I think he’s livin’ over in Taquara, Vicente’s gone, so has Katanazaka, Thiago … Tonho pissed off to the United States …’
‘What? Who told you that?’
‘Marisol. Bruno and Breno are still around, but they’re off doin’ their own thing, Paype got married …’
‘What about Adriana?’
‘She got married to some rich guy she went to school with …’
‘The last guy from the favela to get it on with her was Aloísio …’
‘She was really hot, wasn’t she?’
‘You can say that again! There’s more, let’s see … Hey, everyone’s disappeared! We’re the only ones still around … you know, that hang around together …’
‘Everyone’s off doin’ their own thing …’
‘What about Tiny?’
‘Fuck, man, that guy’s a piece of work … It was him who killed them guys Up Top yesterday, him and Bicky … They’re killing people left, right and centre … I talked to ’im yesterday …’
‘We should get rid of ‘im, man!’
‘No, he doesn’t mess with us! Let’s get rid of Ox, OK? He thumped Marisol twice in the face over at Cascadura Tennis Club …’
‘You gonna get a move on and chop out the rest, man?’
‘How many wraps you got?’
‘There’s ten left! Enough for us to play all night.’
‘So chop us out the rest of that one then.’
‘There’s this house near the canal and the owners are rich as fuck – seriously! Me and Xinu was walking along, right, and we saw the whole family goin’ off to the beach. I felt like doin’ the place alone … If I’d’ve had a partner …’
‘Once Chocky did three houses over in Barra and Recreio and he hit the jackpot, man! He got gold, two shit-hot cameras, a watch, a film camera and a shitload of other stuff!’
‘And he did that Flamengo player’s house over in Araújo…’
‘It was him and Old Pal …’
‘What was the guy’s name again?’
‘Dunno, all I know is that he played for Flamengo … They got two revolvers, a shotgun and a shitload of trophies. They gave the trophies to the kids down at the Rec to have football tournaments with.’
‘They nearly got into deep shit with Tiny for thievin’ near the favela.’
‘Did they?’
‘He sent for ’em and broke their balls … Russian Mouse was ready to lay into ’em.’
‘He’s really got some pull, don’t he?’
‘Yeah, he’s well in with Tiny.’
‘We should get rid of him too!’
‘Fuck, man, chop that shit out properly!’
‘I am … This bit here’s almost soft.’
‘Chocky had a fuckin’ awful death! The day he died, he went to the beach with Leonardo, came back with ’im and had dinner at his place. He said he was goin’ to the dance later on, then he disappeared …’
‘You really reckon it was Rogério who took him out?’
‘Folks’re sayin’ he went through Rogério’s place lookin’ for gold, but only took a TV set. Rogério found out it was him and took him out!’
‘Who would’ve thought that Chocky would turn into a gangster? Good lookin’, never lived in the favela …’
‘Who got ’im in with the group?’
‘Patrícia Katanazaka … him and Ricardo.’
‘They live in Freguesia, don’t they?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Was he rich?’
‘So-so. But he always looked smart.’
‘He turned into the biggest thief!’
‘You can say that again.’
‘The plate’s cold, man!’
‘Heat it up.’
‘Gimme the matches.’
‘Get the lighter, over there on the table.’
‘That job’s still on, isn’t it?’
‘Depends on Shrimp, man! He said he was gonna case the joint.’
‘Was he goin’ today?’
‘He said he was, and then he was comin’ straight here.’
‘I just hope he doesn’t screw things up.’
‘Are all fiv
e of us goin’?’
‘Sure! Three go in and two stay outside to keep watch.’
‘That pistol’s got a nice shine on it, man!’
‘Yeah, did you wipe it down with kerosene?’
‘Kerosene my arse! I used lubricating oil!’
Daniel snorted his line of coke then passed the plate to Rodrigo, who snorted his eagerly. They poured two small glasses of whisky, lit two cigarettes and continued:
‘After Sparrow died, Tiny got even worse. D’you see what he did over on Motorway Eleven last month?’
‘Marisol told me a bit, but I wasn’t in the favela at the time. So what happened?’
‘Someone saw Butucatu over in Gávea gettin’ into a Kombi … one of them minibuses that come to the favela …’
‘Yeah?’
‘So Tiny staked out Motorway Eleven with the biggest gang and everythin’, and he stopped and searched every Kombi that came along …’
‘Fuckin’ hell!’
‘But wasn’t Butucatu in the slammer ’cos of that inquiry about the girl they raped?’
‘He escaped, man! Him and Potbelly got out in some breakout …’
‘But you know what I heard?’
‘What?’
‘That they got ’im again. The pigs busted ’im over in Serrinha.’
‘What about Potbelly?’
‘Potbelly … I was talkin’ to his sister the other day. She said he’s given up smokin’ and snortin’. He’s over in Minas Gerais, workin’ with an aunt and uncle that live out in the country. He’s really cleaned up his act, you know.’
‘You can say that again!’
‘What about Slick?’
‘Slick’s out. He’s running things over in Thirteen … him and Night Owl …’
‘Them kids from Thirteen are bad. They steal left, right and centre! That Earthquake guy’s the biggest Judas – we should get rid of him too …’
‘We’re only gonna get the ones who want to give us a hard time, OK?’
‘True.’
‘This whisky really hits the spot, doesn’t it?’
‘Marisol gave it to me.’
‘You still gettin’ it on with that girl?’
‘I gave ’er a good one yesterday! I made ’er suck me off, then I fucked ’er in the arse …’
