Land of Black Clay

by Jose Louzeiro

  “Where’d you meet him?”

  “It’s a long story. They tried to bump me off the week I got to Sapé. I escaped and went for help in a shack he and his wife Janaína lived in.”

  “Where was that?”

  “Out there around Alvorada Plantation—they have a little plot of land, maybe a few acres if that much. The rest of the land is canefields.”

  “Was Luís with the union?”

  “The last time I saw him he said he’d just joined. Because he couldn’t find work around here on anyone’s plantation, he said he was going to become an active union member.”

  “So young. He couldn’t have been forty.”

  “Thirty-five.”

  They boarded a dusty, overloaded bus. A little girl began to cry.

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Not for me!” said Alice, shaking her head. “But I am for my uncle. He prowls around here looking for my father.”

  “I’m afraid Judge Fernandes won’t be able to hang on in a tough spot. If things happen fast, the colonel’s men are going to unleash a bloodbath in Sapé. I’ve been listening to some of the threats of some of those right-wing guys. Magalhães talked about it openly in front of the courthouse. He thinks the trial is just a disgusting spectacle aimed at damaging men of means who represent the best traditions of Sapé and Paraíba.”

  “If that should happen, will you return to Rio?”

  “Only if you’ll come with me.”

  Alice smiled. I wanted to kiss her pretty face but didn’t: from a bench to one side a fat woman was watching us with a certain suspicion. I squeezed Alice’s hands.

  “If you want, I’ll stay,” I said. I could feel her breath.

  “I’m going to take my time. I’m only leaving here if it’s proved my father was never in Sapé or his death is confirmed and there’s nothing left to do. If there’s any doubt, I’m not turning back.”

  “Why don’t you ask your uncle to stop looking, just for a while?”

  “Albuquerques are difficult to convince. He took his time agreeing to help me, but now he’ll go to the bitter end. Know how many years it’s been? Four.”

  “I’d like to have a relative with that kind of dedication.”

  We got off the bus in front of the church. Light came from the windows. We walked toward the entrance. A group of men was conversing in low voices on the beaten-earth patio in front. Inside the church, a sad chant was beginning, dominated by women’s voices. The illuminated altar was adorned with white flowers. Two peasants entered, followed by one of the colonel’s gangsters, a large, heavyset man carrying a ladder. A banner was being unfurled, bearing Luís’s name and Father Juliano’s aphorism: “He is with us. The land belongs to those who work it.”

  Alice brightened up.

  “Uncle Dilermando!…”

  “He’s your uncle?”

  Alice wanted to run up to the big man, but I restrained her. I wanted to tell her it was in fact Azulão, Colonel Barros’s gangster, the colleague of Galho Dentro and Vinte e Cinco. But could I be wrong?

  “Uncle, this is Jorge Elias. He came from Rio to cover the trial.”

  “The journalist…,” said Dilermando, without altering his careworn expression.

  “Has something happened, uncle?”

  “Right now, the worst turmoil is because of the peasant’s death.”

  “Do you know who killed him?”

  “Perfectly. Who killed, and who ordered the killing.”

  “Then you can testify before the judge.”

  “Calm down, young man. I’m not the type to rush things. If I were, you might not be here.”

  “What are you talking about, uncle?”

  “It’s a long story, Alice. I’ll explain later.”

  Dilermando went back to tending the ladder. One man climbed up it as the other held the opposite end of the banner outstretched, displaying its large blue letters. The women’s singing grew louder, as did a murmuring around the church. Soon a seemingly endless procession came into view, torches casting a reddish light over people walking silently.

  In the churchyard, Father Juliano stood among members of the congregation, most of them women. The bells rang, and four men, one of them shirtless and perspiring, carried Luís’s body, laid out on a wide plank, hands crossed on his chest. Father Juliano began to sing, at first alone, but presently an immense chorus of voices began to accompany him. The procession was arriving, its participants filling the churchyard and spilling out around the premises. Dilermando and his retinue put out two sawhorses and helped lower the plank bearing Luís’s body onto them. His face looked thin and yellow. I felt like crying; Alice wiped her eyes.

  To see Luís dead was as strange a sensation as to converse with Azulão and to learn he called himself Dilermando and was the uncle of the woman I loved. I was overcome with feelings of tenderness. Who was Azulão in the end? Why his closeness to Father Juliano? I had much to learn in Sapé. I was reminded of Janete, of Azulão’s insistence that I go see her. And how could I resolve that problem now without creating tension with Alice? Could I confide in Azulão? Should I even keep calling him by that name, or would it be better to deal with him as Dilermando?

  Calm down, young man. I’m not the type to rush things. If I were, you might not be here.

  Those words were incomparably menacing. Alice had sensed as much and been frightened. Even so, I planned to confront Azulão. I had to clarify his position with regard to me, and how I should deal with Janete. The latter topic was pure reporter’s curiosity: after all, she had tried to kill me. Why, then, would she want to tell me a story?

  At a signal from Father Juliano, the crowd that surrounded Luís’s body knelt, arms and faces raised, illuminated by resin torches.

  Father Juliano said a prayer; Asbal opened the palms of his hands.

  “Brothers and sisters. We bear witness to death but not to defeat. Luís, the boy Luís, is here. They have blocked his way, they have put an end to his efforts, but they cannot extinguish his memory.”

  I looked around for Azulão but couldn’t see him. Was he kneeling, or had he undertaken to escape, to return later and surprise me? The scent of burning candles, the murmuring of the crowd and the dripping of the torches was beginning to bother me. Had it not been for Alice, I would have gotten out of there. Why not bring Luís inside the church? My annoyance grew in proportion to my inability to locate Azulão. Only then did I realize I was afraid. And Alice—why had she not protested against her uncle’s threat? I pulled her by the hand and we went off to the wall of the church, where people also were kneeling. As I was about to speak, Alice knelt and I had to follow suit. She prayed in a scarcely audible voice, and I could not make out the specific words of her prayer.

  “I’m praying for you!”

  “Me?”

  “So that you won’t let yourself by carried away by false promises, or have your life cut short like your friend Luís.”

  “And what else?”

  “For uncle Dilermando not to hate you. Did you do something to make him angry?”

  “As far as I know, no.”

  “Uncle Dilermando is a bitter man. He has no sense of humor.”

  “Sometimes I think I’m going crazy, Alice.”

  “Nonsense. Pray with me for Luís’s soul.”

  “He was the father of a pretty girl named Jeruza.”

  An overweight old lady with a scarf on her head hissed in annoyance. Only then did I realize how rude I was being, chatting in the middle of a vigil for a person who had risked so much for me. I decided to be quiet. Alice looked at me once or twice but I remained self-absorbed, thinking of Luís’s words and plans: Janaína’s willing to forget everything and get out of Sapé. I agree it’s best for her and all of us. But it’s only going to happen after I settle a score with Vinte e Cinco. After him it’s Ticuca’s turn. Hard to say which one of them is worse!

  Other images ran through my mind: Luís angry, wanting the gun to avenge his honor. No
doubt it had happened because of the 7.65. Empty-handed or with a simple knife, he would never have risked so much. So some of the blame fell to me. But what to do? Yell out loud that I had bought him the gun and that thereafter he felt encouraged to go after the hoodlums? I thought of Luís curled up in the yard as dawn emerged; Luís telling me about his life’s travels, inviting me to be Jeruza’s godfather, reappearing on the red bicycle with nickel-plated rims; Luís smiling and Luís disheartened never to have done anything to his persecutors.

  Some women appeared with baskets of flowers. They covered the body and the ground around it. The singing swelled again. Alves began to speak, and the peasants shouted:

  “For Christ and our struggle!”

  Alves spoke of the rights of each individual before the law and God.

  “But nothing can hold us back,” she concluded. “I am certain that we will change the system of semi-slavery in which we find ourselves. Farmworkers have been forgotten by society. Luís is one more martyr in this fight that drags on, the bosses always seeming to win. They are power, we the victims. We write our history with our compatriots’ blood. On this sad night, I propose that the peasants of Sapé and Alagoa Grande declare a three-day general strike, as a sign of struggle and of protest against the killing of Luís Queirós. All those in favor, raise a hand holding a candle.”

  Alves raised her candle-bearing hand and was followed by Father Juliano and hundreds of others. Alice looked for a candle herself and we both offered the same salute. There was silence until Asbal rapped his staff on the ground thrice and began to sing an eerie song that farmworkers intone out in the canefields. Everyone sang in a low but heartfelt voice. Even Alice knew a few verses of that strange song. I was the only one to keep my mouth shut. When the ceremony had ended, Alice grabbed my shirt.

  “I can’t be late getting home. I live on a dark street.”

  “I’ll drop you off.”

  We were still talking when our taxi stopped at the corner.

  “You know, Alice, your uncle Dilermando has a bone to pick with me.”

  “Why not explain yourself to him? He may have gotten over it.”

  “I’d rather do it another time.”

  “Uncle Dilermando is a good man, willing to help and attentive.”

  “When I see him, I’ll start out by saying you love him like a father.”

  Alice smiled. We talked down the dark, unpaved street.

  “Every night, when Heleninha comes home from school, she walks through here. I don’t know how she gets up the courage!”

  A weak light shone on the porch. We kissed once, then again. An old woman’s voice interrupted us.

  “Alice? Is that you, child?”

  I walked back down the dark street feeling somewhat fearful. I couldn’t forget Azulão’s words and I continued to feel somewhat guilty about Luís’s death. Had it not been for the gun, he would never have walked into that snare. And what about Alves’s speech and her suggestion of a general strike? It could well make a good sidebar for my next dispatch on the trial.

  The whole way back from Alice’s house to João Pessoa Square, where Judge Fernandes lived, I failed to see a single person on the streets. I put the key in the lock and opened the door, turned on the light, and had a shock. I wanted to retreat but it was impossible. Right in front of me, sitting in one of the armchairs, was Azulão.

  “How did you get in?” I asked nervously.

  “Through the kitchen. I’ve gotten into the habit of getting in through the back of places. They’re the same everywhere.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m not going to keep following you.”

  “You’ve quit being a gangster?”

  “I won’t discuss that. I’m saying you’re no longer my objective. You should be pleased.”

  “Why should I be, Mr. Azulão?”

  “The order was to get rid of you and I’ve never been one to go back on my word.”

  “What would you gain by it?”

  “Some cash and, more important for me, some information: Jesuíno knows where my brother is. He promised to take me to him.”

  “And then?”

  “Things got sticky. Jesuíno began to plan an outright massacre. I’ve never been the type to get involved in such crimes.”

  “Then why me?”

  “You armed Luís and did him in.”

  “I’ve thought about that. When he insisted on having a gun, I told him it would be dangerous.”

  “I believe you. But that’s not enough.”

  “What else could there be?”

  “The growers are rounding up their men to put the courtroom under siege. They’re going to stop the trial with bullets. Lieutenant Sampaio, who commands the detachment from the capital, has already been invited to go along or get lost.”

  “Why are you telling me such important information?”

  “I wanted to tell Father Juliano early this evening but there wasn’t any way to do it. You can print what I’m telling you in the paper and alert the judge.”

  “Can I trust you?”

  Azulão glared at me. His face turned angry; his large, rough hands gripped the arms of his chair.

  “Are you calling me a liar, you idiot?” he yelled, furious.

  “Calm down. I’m not allowed to talk loud here myself. This isn’t my house. What I’m asking is if your story has some substance to it. As a reporter plunked down here in Sapé, I can’t just go barking up any old tree. Do you know what it will mean to divulge what you’re telling me?”

  “I know what I’m talking about, son. What’s going to happen is a bunch of people are going to get killed at the trial.”

  “Who’s in on the plan?”

  “From what I hear, the entire Lowland Group crowd. Their Syndicate of Death, as they call it. They’re bringing in outside hit men.”

  “What about the old gangsters?”

  “Everyone gets paid off and vamooses.”

  “And you?”

  “I was never completely on their side. I dipped my foot in the mud to try to find my brother Elindo.”

  “Alice told me. She’s helping me at the trial.”

  Azulão walked back and forth in the room, his head almost brushing the chandelier. I offered him a snack. He didn’t respond.

  “In these four years, I’ve killed three men. Worthless, they were. The last was named Galho Dentro. He injured Janete. Remember her? She’s still waiting for your visit.”

  “And the other two?”

  “I’m not here to confess. I’m warning you that Janete is still waiting for you and Judge Fernandes’s trial is going to go sour.”

  “I’ve nothing to do with that woman.”

  “I think you do.”

  “If we’re going to resolve that situation, being frank with each other is the first step.”

  Azulão walked away. As he opened the door, he turned to eye me. His countenance was closed, his eyes somber.

  “The men I’ve killed weren’t worth a damn, as I said. One helped kill Teixeira, the other killed Fuba. I told it all to Father Juliano; he absolved me.”

  “Are you in a hurry?”

  “I’ve never been one to run, son.”

  “Then please sit down for a bit. Let’s think through this plan against the judge.”

  Dilermando closed the door. I got a bottle of white wine out of the refrigerator and put out two glasses on the table, which remained covered with papers and books. Only after I’d gone to the effort of pouring the wine into the glasses did Dilermando tell me he didn’t drink. I found that brutish and obsessive man annoying, but tried to keep calm. I could tell he was interested in talking about the Syndicate of Death’s project.

  “What are the colonels’ chances?”

  For the first time Dilermando seemed amused. He showed his big white teeth and shook his head.

  “They’ve got all the cards stacked in their favor. Each one owns a bunch of cars. They’ll gather up the
men and equip them with modern, powerful weapons.”

  “How many roughnecks?”

  “Some two hundred. That’s just the ones who are handy with a trigger!”

  “And afterward?”

  “Nothing’s gonna happen to them. The wounded will be eliminated. There can’t be any witnesses. For that reason the colonels are paying well. Know how much they offered me? Enough I wouldn’t have to think about working for six months.”

  “Why didn’t you take them up on it?”

  “Jesuíno’s staying out of it. I’m following his lead.”

  “What about your brother? Do you think he’s become a cabrocó?”

  “I figure as much.”

  “What about sticking with them just to get a decent weapon?”

  “I thought of that. But I’d be dead soon after. I don’t want to leave my mother alone in the world with those two girls, Heleninha and Alice.”

  “Maybe there’s some way of escaping.”

  “I’d be on the lam the rest of my life.”

  “If things go the way you’re telling me, I don’t see how the judge is going to have time to ask for reinforcements. On what basis?”

  “That’s why they’re keeping calm—so the judge won’t have time to react.”

  “It’s difficult to organize a plan of defense.”

  “Two other things are bothering me, son: figuring out if you’ve got the smarts to take care of Alice, and wondering if you’re going to hear out Janete.”

  “Why Alice?”

  “Don’t be stupid. I’ve been noticing your romance.”

  “I don’t know if that adds up to anything.”

  “Two and two make four,” said Azulão.

  “I was going to speak with you about Alice. She thinks of you like a father. I don’t want to hide anything from you. I’m not that kind of guy, for your information. And also, if Alice wants to get married, we will. As for Janete, I promise I’ll go see her tomorrow. But I’ll go armed.”

  Dilermando let slip a laugh, showing his teeth. He rubbed his hands.

  “Fair enough!”

  He opened the door and I watched him cross the square and down the sidewalk next to a row of houses. The night was silent. I thought of Alice and her sister Heleninha walking down their dark street. Would she have come back from school? I stretched out on the sofa and dawdled, perusing the splotched ceiling, the paint peeling from the laths. I knew I’d never be able to get to sleep so early, buffeted by so many conflicting emotions. I continued to be surprised by Dilermando, but at the same time was happy to have gotten his agreement on my relationship with Alice. One less problem. I was apprehensive about having to find Janete, go back to her house, and face her. Might she be setting a new trap? Was Azulão really the peasants’ ally or instead the colonel’s trusted professional killer? The possibilities scared me. What might Alice know about her uncle’s activities? I’d have to ask her. I’d tell her about my encounter with him. All except the business about Janete.