Land of Black Clay

by Jose Louzeiro

  Chapter 20

  The mansion that Luso de Aquino used for parties and special functions was centered on a lot surrounded by high walls, a heavy iron gate with gilded ornamentation, and armed guards. Many cars were parked on the lawn, while others continued to arrive. Drivers opened their passengers’ doors and aging men alit and entered the house, where they were received by Aquino himself, a plump, amiable-looking, dark-faced man in his fifties.

  “They’re coming!”

  In a living room lined with draperies and filled with overstuffed armchairs there was a long table topped with a white tablecloth, a vase of flowers, and a microphone. A gray-haired man about fifty-five years old sat down and loosened his tie.

  “Dear friends,” said Aquino, “let’s begin our business meeting. It’s Júlio Ribeiro Martinho’s turn to be president. I’m sure you all know him. Whoever doesn’t know Júlio hasn’t been to any meetings of the Lowland Group.”

  Laughter. Aquino continued:

  “Now, because we’ve gotten lax in having these meetings, things have gotten bad for our side. Rest assured nobody knows about this gathering. Those guards outside think they’re receiving friends of Júlio Ribeiro Martinho for his birthday, which is today.”

  Laughter and applause. Júlio waved his arms and smiled.

  “In a little bit, when the business meeting is over, the caterers will be here and we’ll get down to the celebration. I didn’t lie outright to the employees. But I want to remind you that we’ve gotten so lax in looking out for our interests that our last meeting, if I recall correctly, was in April of last year. That’s an example of the neglect we’ve exercised. I count myself among the negligent.”

  Still more laughter.

  Joel Inácio undertook a review of recent events—all from memory, for there could be no minutes of the meetings. He took his place at the table.

  “Okay. The last meeting was presided over by Júlio Ribeiro Martinho, who read us a message from Monsignor Martinho. The focus of discussion was on the proposal to create company towns. Segismundo dos Santos had finished leading a group to organize against the Rural Workers’ Unions and analyze their structure. It turns out they’re no different from the old Peasant Leagues, which have been transformed into organizations aimed at agitation in the countryside. Those of us who followed Batista had the idea of planting part of the land in sugarcane, part in more diversified crops, to escape the system of monoculture. Colonel Barros made his position clear: he’d only change the ways he was accustomed to working when the government began to pay for whatever type of harvest it wanted. Payment in advance, not a loan. The proposal resulted in a big discussion and the meeting wound up without our reaching any agreement. Those were the main points dealt with on April 5, 1982, at Carcará Plantation, which belongs to our friend, ex-police chief and then state representative Luiz de Paula. Today, it seems logical that the discussion should revolve around the caprices of Judge Fernandes who, instead of sending troublemakers and communists to prison, has instead decided to detain Colonel Barros and Batista, as well as Chief of Police Cordeiro. That’s the man, by the way, who should be the district judge. An energetic and loyal man, always on guard against the reds and their fellow travelers. I turn the subject over to Júlio.”

  “Dear friends,” Martinho began, “I’ve no doubt most of you know who I am. I have my share of land under cultivation in this state, and it’s not a trivial amount. I’ve dedicated all my life to the countryside and to agriculture. Yesterday we planted corn, cotton and beans; today the work is in sugarcane, as we heed the call of President Figueiredo. His Excellency wants to get the national gasohol program off and running, and we’re not going to be the ones to stand in his way. The Middle Eastern countries have imposed high gasoline and fuel-oil prices on the world. It falls to Brazilian agriculture to produce abundant alcohol to power millions of vehicles. We’re all aware of this, and we’re working assiduously to make sure that production will be up to the government’s expectations. Moreover, it’s worthwhile to recall that we were good allies of the revolutionaries of 1964, but that’s all water under the bridge. If many communists and their sympathizers were killed or disappeared, we’ve had our disappointments and material losses too. President Figueiredo has announced an amnesty that applies to victim and persecutor alike. It so happens that the narrow-mindedness of some people who lack a vision of the future is putting that achievement in jeopardy. Judge Fernandes, for example, has decided to lend an ear to bad Brazilians, people injurious to society.

  “As you know, days ago he began a sensational trial and implicated, without proof of guilt, some of this state’s most august people, like Colonel Barros and Noé Batista. Cordeiro, being a stalwart police official, wound up with the rest of them, because the leftists hate him. In another roundup of defendants, Judge Fernandes plans to arrest my brother Wenceslau Martinho, who by the grace of God pays more taxes in Paraíba than any other businessman. He also intends to arrest me and Luiz de Paula, the landowner who, with our help, has done more than anyone else for the peasants’ welfare. We’re being accused by the judge; by Father Juliano of the Matriz de Santa Terezinha church in the Nova Brasília neighborhood; by Dr. Antônio Jansen whom I in particular have helped out; by Mr. Almeida, the president of the Rural Workers’ Union; and by a communist who has managed to pass herself off as a union leader, Margarida Maria Alves, who’s been traveling frequently from Alagoa Grande to cause trouble in Sapé. We have no idea how Judge Fernandes managed to persuade the governor to send reinforcements to Sapé so as to stimulate his megalomania. The trial, dear friends, scarcely rises to the level of a farce, a pantomime, and one without any deadline to finish up.

  “Judge Fernandes has only one goal: to prove that we’re responsible for antipeasant violence in the Jungle Zone. We’re gathered here today to say he’s wrong about that as well. We don’t order the death of farmworkers. We do try to defend ourselves against bad elements, troublemakers, communists, and all those who would put an end to family and private property. I dare Judge Fernandes to prove me wrong. We are men of peace, defenders of democracy, order, and progress. But we cannot accept any method whose goal is to send the country down the path of exotic doctrines. Our people love liberty, for only with liberty can we build a strong Brazil, free of poverty, sickness and illiteracy. For that to happen we must remain united, bosses and workers alike. We won’t progress if the peasants start to see us as their enemies, as those unionists preach, especially Alves. We recognize that the wages paid to men in the field are low, but we must understand as well that the resources the government devotes to agriculture remain insufficient. We need more official assistance so that workers and plantation owners can be, on the land of black clay beyond, one united family.”

  At the end, Martinho’s speech was greeted with enthusiastic applause. He raised his hands and stayed on his feet. In the middle of the audience a roughhewn man got up, jacket hanging open.

  “Friends. I’m Josias de Azevedo, or simply Jó as they call me in Santa Rita. What Júlio Martinho just said is the pure and simple truth. I don’t have the gift of gab that he does, but I think the reds are really putting the squeeze on us. Every day there are more and more priests, foreign researchers, journalists, census takers and the like, all opposed to us. None of them recalls the dues we’ve paid around here to stay in business. If the weather is bad, the Rural Workers’ Union doesn’t offer to help us out. Their lingo is strikes and denunciations. Now in a pure show of strength this Judge Fernandes has had people like Colonel Barros arrested, old Noé Batista and Chief Cordeiro. It’s an outrage! I suggest we leave this meeting armed with measures to counter these abuses. Let the grower breathe easily again; let him worry only about the problems of the business, which are big enough.”

  The next to speak was Segismundo Marcos dos Santos. Dark-skinned, short, squat, and about fifty years old, his face was etched with sharp creases that made his thick-lipped mouth even more pronounced.

  “As the
majority here know, I’m not the speech-making type. I came to this meeting so we’d come up with a plan of action. Forget complaints and lamentations. If the governor of Paraíba has decided to back that crazy judge, let the two of them work it out. We’ve got to act with an iron hand, give back as good as we’re getting.”

  “What type of action are you suggesting?” asked another grower outfitted in an elegant white linen suit and gold-buttoned shirt.

  “As I said, I don’t like beating around the bush. My plan is simple: we’ve got to eliminate those who are digging our grave. They constitute disorder, whereas we have a big responsibility for the future of this country. That’s all I have to say.”

  Hands rose in unison. Santos sank back into his chair, indifferent to the applause. The landowner who had interrupted spoke again.

  “I’m Guilherme Moreira de Carvalho. I have some land in Alagoa Grande and Guarabira and other that runs a bit along the Rio Grande do Norte border, along the Seridó River. I don’t consider myself inhuman, and much less an imbecile. I have a law degree from the National School in Rio de Janeiro, and I’ve taken continuing-education courses in international law at the Sorbonne in Paris. I mention these biographical facts advisedly, but not vainly. I’ve grown beyond that. I just would like you gentlemen to know where I’m coming from. With all those degrees and others that I’ve been winning during a long life of work and austerity, I’ve never meant to hand down rules and much less to turn against those in solidarity with me. My brother, the late representative Euzébio de Carvalho, was a man of good training and a good heart. When Judge Fernandes was a young student in Recife, often in financial straits or facing other trouble he’d gotten himself into, it was my brother Euzébio who helped him out. Later, still in Recife, Judge Fernandes worked for a time as a reporter on the Journal of Commerce. In one of his first stories, can you guess whom he decided to attack? Why, none other than Representative Euzébio de Carvalho. He was already peddling this line back then: the representative, a landowner, was exploiting peasants and had gotten himself elected by practicing clientelism. To conclude, my dear gentlemen, I want to say to you that I seriously question Judge Fernandes’s judicial philosophy and even more, given the facts I’ve just told you, his integrity. To me, Odilon Fernandes, J., is a fraud.”

  Warm applause followed. Some even gave Carvalho a standing ovation, causing him to rise twice or thrice to acknowledge modestly their approval. A tall, thin man, nervous in demeanor, raised his hand. Martinho asked for quiet.

  “There’s no doubt that there are people in Sapé who are laying a trap against all of us who are responsible for agriculture in this state. It remains to be seen whether Judge Fernandes, Father Juliano, the union leaders and even that kook Asbal are acting alone or with outside help. It’s clear that from the moment President Figueiredo began to talk about political openness the agitators began to organize. I can safely say they receive foreign money—or do you really want me to say that priest’s activities are maintained just with community support? And who pays for the union’s activities? Who pays for Ms. Alves’s trips around Paraíba and various other states in this country? Where does the money come from? That’s what we must ask ourselves. Judge Fernandes, in the days of lean calves, got married to the daughter of an illustrious landowner. He got himself set up, expanded his influence. Now he thinks a landowner is a criminal. I associate myself with the fine words expressed by Mr. Carvalho.”

  “Dear friends, we’ve been discussing this matter for more than two hours,” said Martinho. “If there’s one thing we can be sure about, it’s that I’ve never heard plantation owners talk so much. And everyone has identified precisely a piece of the problem; everyone is exactly right. After all, who is it who generates growth in this country? Who creates jobs for people who only know how to cut cane, drink cane liquor and threaten us with strikes? We are the base on which the political, judicial and executive authorities support themselves, for they all sustain themselves on a strong economy. For that reason we will not let a megalomaniacal pipsqueak judge threaten us. That being the case, and so that nobody may say we suffer from lack of objectivity, I herewith make five suggestions so that Sapé can rid itself of its connivers and we can work in peace: first, strengthen the Lowland Group, which entails bringing in new elements from law enforcement agencies. Second, form an elite group of the best hired men to put an end to the clowning of the communists in Sapé and its hinterlands—fight back tit for tat. Third, lend total support to aldermen and state representatives who think our struggle is just. We’ve got to spend whatever’s necessary to reelect them. Fourth, create a commission of five or more representative local growers to work out a meaningful accord with the governor. And fifth, get rid of people who haven’t worked out well in the Lowland Group and in recent times have just brought us problems. Leaving them hanging out there with tongues flapping is just as good as delivering witnesses into the hands of Judge Fernandes.”

  Martinho got a rousing standing ovation for his remarks.

  “I want to remind my colleagues,” he concluded, “that the fulfillment of item five pains us deeply. We are not beasts. Certain people in the security forces have served us well, and we won’t forget it. But in general, it hasn’t worked out. As the saying goes, the good have to pay for the sins of the sinner. We just can’t take the risk.”

  “I’d like to add something,” said an elderly man, weather-beaten from exposure to the sun. “I’m Emiliano de Paiva, out of Pindorama Plantation in Sapé and Magnólia Plantation in Alagoa Grande. What I have to say may irritate the chair of this meeting, but I feel I have the right to speak.”

  An air of suspense filled the room, which had become totally silent.

  “Go ahead, Emiliano. We’ve known you for thirty years. We’re here precisely to be entirely frank with one another. It’s time to wash our dirty linen, and if we don’t we won’t reach any kind of understanding,” agreed Júlio Martinho.

  “Well, I feel more relieved after hearing that,” said the old man. “What I have to say is that Pindorama Plantation lies close to the Graúna mansion where your brother, the ex-senator João Alberto, has decided to live in light of his incurable disease. You can believe in what I say: he’s been visited by Asbal who, for me, is a lot less crazy than he lets on. Suffice it to say that he provides the link between Father Juliano and the Sapé and Alagoa Grande Rural Workers’ Union chapters. He’s an intimate of Alves, of Almeida, of Judge Fernandes, and of the doctor Antônio Jansen. It worries me that Asbal has been seen frequently in the vicinity of the Graúna mansion. That’s what I wanted to say, and I beg your pardon for raising a delicate subject.”

  “I’m interested to find this out, Emiliano. We friends meeting here can be certain we’ll be inflexible no matter with whom, relative or member. Otherwise I’ll have to step down from the position I hold in the Lowland Group. It is the upright behavior of each one of us that will make this organization a true support organization for growers. My dear brother João Alberto is at the end of his life as all of you here know. But that can’t be a motive for him to jeopardize anyone’s interests. Let’s have his ties he’s keeping to Asbal investigated. If our friend Emiliano’s concerns turn out to be well-founded, unfortunately my brother João will have to move far away, maybe even out of Paraíba.”

  The audience remained hushed.

  “To close, I’d like us to vote, one by one, on the five action steps I’ve proposed,” said Martinho. “Given your previous applause, I gather the plan is approved, but we need to confirm it. Those in favor, raise your hands. Those against, stand up.”

  Nobody got up; everyone raised his hand. The tension broke and the men chattered in a carefree manner. Next to Martinho, at the table, were two secretaries. One of them rang a bell. Martinho took a drag from his cigarette and put it in a large crystal ashtray.

  “Let’s vote for the commission that will go work things out with the governor.”

  The background noise in the room grew mo
re noticeable. Some men got up, shirts sticking out of their pants, speaking loudly and gesticulating.

  “For the president of the commission to visit the governor I vote for Guilherme Moreira de Carvalho,” said Martinho. “We’ve got half an hour, gentlemen, to select the group.”

  After much discussion, featuring some disagreement between Azevedo and Santos, the voting ended. A representative from the audience took the paper up to Martinho. The names selected were: Carvalho, Azevedo, Martinho, Aquino, Adionel Castro, and Alcino José Agamenon. The names were read amidst applause. The voters also made clear they wanted to give the commission broad powers for two years—not just to hold talks with the governor and other authorities in and out of state, but also to make the Lowland Group a better-coordinated organization.

  “We don’t want to be protected by a group of inebriates, Mr. President,” yelled Santos from the middle of the floor. He had been left off the commission and was showing a certain discontentment. “We want men who know what they’re doing and who’ll earn the salary we’ll be paying.”

  “Of course, Segismundo,” said Martinho. “Please rest assured that the commission will know how to proceed. Everything we do we’ll discuss frequently in this room or some other convenient place. We can’t continue to slack off on the job or sweep serious problems under the rug. Either we begin anew or we’ll wind up in the defendant’s box like Colonel Barros, Batista, and Cordeiro. The odious strategy of Judge Fernandes against decent citizens, true leaders of the best of society, is to humiliate the landowning class, and that’s something we can’t tolerate.”