Land of Black Clay

by Jose Louzeiro

  “You’ll be running a big risk.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We have to be decisive. I’ve decided.”

  “I’m worried about this, Alice.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

  “You have no idea what these Lowland Group people are capable of.”

  “The truth will force them to treat people with respect.”

  “What about our future?”

  “It’s looking up. Everybody will be on notice that we’re steadfast. The judge can breathe more easily.”

  “And your uncle?”

  “If he has to be punished, I’ll do everything to make sure it’s as light as possible.”

  I embraced Alice, kissed her. It was incredible how she could cast doubt aside. I touched her hair, her chin.

  “Have you always been like this—so full of decisions?”

  “I’m not a flake, if that’s what you mean,” she said, smiling. “I’m daring and, I don’t know why, but danger is, for me, a challenge to be overcome. Faced with it people either learn or die.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to die. I want to imagine you always as you are: pretty and audacious, although you seem so fragile.”

  “Both the weak and the strong have challenges to overcome. I live for the moment, and shouldn’t postpone it.”

  “When are you going to talk with your uncle?”

  “Tonight. Want to come along?”

  “What if he decides to let me have it?”

  “Uncle Dilermando is an educated man. He’ll treat you with respect. At most he’ll remain silent, until he’s able to loosen up. Afterward he’ll tell us what he thinks of our idea, with perfect candor.”

  We went out into the corridor and sat down under the myrtle tree. Alice wanted to know what I’d decided about the newspaper. I struggled to come up with an answer. Although I wasn’t eager to touch on the offer Janete had made me, I thought it opportune to say a few words about it. I didn’t know where to begin, and feared the results that could accompany mulling over that theme. On the other hand, faced with Alice’s spontaneity, why not treat her the same way? I squeezed her hands and kissed them.

  “Right now I’m faced with losing my job as a reporter and becoming a partner in a newspaper that has an office all set up. Everything ready to go.”

  “Where?”

  “Right here in Sapé.”

  “How’d you swing that?”

  “I was invited. You know how it is: a reporter shows up from Rio and people who like journalism think he can work miracles.”

  “Is it a good proposal?”

  “In principle, yes. The problem is how to distribute a newspaper in this town. The last one was driven out of business by gangsters. One of the directors was roughed up in the middle of the street.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Perhaps that’s not exactly the question. Obviously there’s nothing pleasant about being beaten up, much less starting a project just to go halfway with it.”

  “I don’t know. After this trial Sapé’s going to be a different place.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I think so. What Judge Fernandes is doing should be repeated in Recife, João Pessoa, Natal, and all over Brazil. From the far north to the extreme south.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a moment. In Rio and São Paulo we’ve never had a trial so long and with the idea of punishing so many millionaires all at once. To the contrary, experience teaches that a rich man doesn’t go to jail in this country; he does whatever he wants to do.”

  “Isn’t that one more reason to look on the idea optimistically?”

  “Optimism and audacity: things get confused around here. I’m still not an expert about Sapé, but I’m beginning to understand things. It’s not for no reason that the big event in this town is the one in which they choose the Pineapple Queen.”

  “It’s a nice occasion, for your information. Sapé’s pineapple is the best around.”

  “I agree. Every time I have time to eat a proper lunch, I have pineapple for dessert.”

  “Whose newspaper is it?”

  “That’s the problem. It’s a little story you should know. I don’t want to hide anything from you. I’m going to start acting with the same frankness you’ve shown. Sincerity deserves sincerity: agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay then. Shortly after I arrived in Sapé I went out one night playing the sophisticate. I slipped into a fancy nightclub called the Covil. I had a lot of money and was certain that The Nation would back everything I might write. You can see what an idiot I was. I started drinking whiskey and all of a sudden a girl came over to my table. Her name was Janete. We drank, and then I went to drop her off at home. She lived nearby. I thought that would be the fairest thing to do. Getting to her house, she insisted I come in. She offered me a drink. Something like the cap to a pleasant evening. I drank a few sips of said drink while she continued to talk, and felt faint. It contained some kind of drug that knocked me out. When I woke up, I was naked and had been thrown in the back of someone’s van. The men who were taking me away started drinking cane liquor. That was fortunate for me. At a certain moment I was able to escape. Even though I was disoriented and naked, I set out through the jungle until I came upon a shack owned by a peasant named Luís, who let me in. His wife lent me clothing and I was able to return to Sapé. That’s how I went on the gangsters’ blacklist, especially Azulão’s, who was ordered to track me down at whatever cost. I evaded him as best I could, but one day I ran into him at the Sapé Rural Workers’ Union. He spoke with me and told me that Janete wanted to explain herself. I thought it rather odd that he should know the girl. He told me Janete had tried to become a nightclub singer in Recife and it was there he met her. He also told me that at the moment I went under she was overpowered by a thug named Galho Dentro. He beat and battered her, trying to leave her an invalid or almost one. When I went to visit her, at your uncle’s insistence, she was in a wheelchair. And it was then she proposed the idea of the newspaper. Your uncle knew about it all along, but he kept his mouth shut. He wanted Janete herself to explain it. I needn’t tell you how surprised I was. Where could it be? Was it possible, or was I hearing things? Well, Janete’s a practical person. She spoke as little as possible about her suffering; she preferred to dwell on the newspaper project. We went out at night, with me pushing her wheelchair, to where the offices are located. Everything was there, from linotypes to a printing press and all the rest of it. All that’s missing is someone daring enough to take the bull by the horns. It could be a disaster or the beginning of a journalistic enterprise, with lots of people working and earning their living that way.”

  “How’d she manage to put together a newspaper?”

  “It’s a mystery! As far as I know, when she quit being a singer, she dedicated herself to this endeavor. Of course, she’d met some other journalist before me. What’s certain is that the office is all set up and the machines are good. All you need to do is load up the press with paper and let it roll.”

  “And the editorial staff? Who’s going to take care of that part?”

  “That’s the problem. Anybody who gets mixed up with a paper like that will have to have the nerve to deal with the daily grind morning, noon and night. Especially the first six months, which is the development stage.”

  Alice chuckled challengingly.

  “Why’d Janete do all this for you?”

  “A bit of a guilty conscience, perhaps.”

  “Just that, or is it a demonstration of another sort?”

  “I don’t think so. For my part I don’t have any ties to her. For a few days I was certain she’d tried to kill me. It was Azulão who changed my mind. I owe him for that at least. I was drawing a conclusion about her without any basis for it.”

  “My God, what an ability you have to get into trouble!”

  “A reporter is a Geiger counter for trouble.”

  “I dunno. As crazy at it sounds,
the idea of a newspaper in Sapé is appealing. Unless Janete ends up charging you a high price for what she’s offering you.”

  “If you were in my place, what would you do?”

  “I’d try to find out how Janete was able to put together a print shop—that’s a big undertaking. If she came to Sapé with the goal of being a lady of the night, she’s got to have connections everywhere. Why wouldn’t a big land baron be the hidden partner of such an enterprise? That’s the biggest risk. Tomorrow you could be printing a paper whose capital comes from Colonel Barros, for example.”

  “That shouldn’t be a big problem. I could run a test in the first and second issues: a good story on agrarian issues that would finger all those rats should be enough to divide the waters. Still, you’ve made an excellent point. I swear I hadn’t thought of it. Once again, I’ve acted naïvely in front of Janete.”

  People began to walk down the corridor. We came out from next to the myrtle tree and saw the judge, the prosecutor, and Dr. Jansen walking into the courtroom.

  “Shall we go?”

  “Are you willing to go with me later to find my uncle?”

  “You can count on me.”

  Chapter 25

  We went in a side door and made for the best seats, right behind the jury box. Alice hugged me.

  “I liked what you said. It shows you trust me.”

  “Completely,” I said, kissing her lightly.

  “Everything’s going to work. Maybe you really should start up that paper to help Sapé get some municipal stability. If my father should show up all of a sudden, he could help you.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  The judge took the bench. The prosecution and defense teams sat at their respective tables. Police officers led the defendants to the rows of benches on which they were to sit. Spectators streamed back in, filling the seats almost instantly. More armed police entered. Soares and Magalhães conversed. Soares seemed animated.

  “Do you think they’ve been able to come up with Lieutenant Colonel Santíni?” asked Alice. “His family’s from Recife.”

  “Starting now we’re going to have to grip our armrests. Judge Fernandes must have organized some good ways to wriggle out of the defendants’ schemes.”

  “Court is in session,” intoned Judge Fernandes.

  “Your Honor,” began Soares, rising nervously. “At the close of the last session, we all heard the learned prosecutor’s elegant discourse—elegant but not very persuasive. He said in effect that the court had been forced to summon men like Mr. Carvalho, Júlio Martinho, and his brother Wenceslau to serve as hostages should certain gangsters threaten to burn down the courthouse. Now, I beg the illustrious prosecutor’s pardon, but he is suffering from absurd delusions and in that state it has become difficult for him to carry out his mission with equanimity. None of the defendants has ever given license to anyone to act against law and order. The aggression that this honorable court previously suffered was nothing more than the act of deranged troublemakers who should be locked up. I am certain that if my clients knew the identity of these disruptive elements they would be the first to point them out to the authorities.

  “In truth, ladies and gentlemen, this court has decided to turn itself, in an impassioned manner, against all those who have become successful thanks to their labor and their business acumen. It’s the first time I’ve seen entrepreneurs be hauled into court solely for having become wealthy, for owning land and being the bosses of thousands and thousands of farmworkers. I am unable to fathom how far the distinguished prosecutor intends to go and I demand clear explanations, for my clients cannot be punished merely for opposing exotic ideologies that lie at the bottom of the questions here raised. The nine businessmen dragged into this court are at the pinnacle of Paraíban society and therefore suffer the horror of being suspects. What this court is doing is holding them up to public opinion as responsible for everything bad that happens in the Jungle Zone and in particular in the city of Sapé. Are the killers of peasants here? Are the fomenters of strikes here? The rapists of women, thieves of cattle and horses? No, they are not. Before us sit members of the acme of society, I repeat.”

  “Distinguished counsel for the defense,” said Judge Fernandes, plainly trying to keep calm. “Once more I recommend that learned counsel adhere to the facts. This court did not make up the crimes alleged in the complaint; it did not make up the crimes committed against women and children in the field; nor did it invent the poverty in which the workers live out on the plantations generally. If crimes occurred, those who committed them exist. That’s what we’re dealing with. Please proceed.”

  “I call on the jury,” intoned Soares dramatically, “not to let itself be carried away by people who place passion before good sense. Who among you does not know the good-hearted Guilherme Moreira de Carvalho, who has done so much for this city? Who does not know Wenceslau Martinho, the man who built the trauma center, who every year gives a large donation to the Sapé Old Folks’ Home? And Júlio Martinho, that man whom we have all learned to admire? And the illustrious professor Aquino, a talented lawyer, a man loved by rich and poor alike? And Colonel Barros, who came from far away to do everything to benefit these parts? How many schools has Colonel Barros opened; how many churches has he helped to restore? And Noé Batista, who in isolation has quietly worked to grow crops? Let us also mention the police chief, Juarez Cordeiro, and Luiz de Paula, now the state representative: two lawmen who have sacrificed themselves so much so that Sapé might be an orderly city, inhabited by a community of people with faith in God and the future. What crime have they committed? Why accuse them of assassinations committed so long ago and duly explained in the media? Who does not know that the killers of Teixeira were terrorists who had fallen out with Teixeira himself over ideology? Who is not aware of his ties to the Communist Party and that the Peasant League he created was little more than a front for that party in our midst? And who does not further recall that the communists oppose the church and God, for materialism corrupts everything; it is the extinction of faith and of all Catholic people. I do not wish to belabor the point, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. But I would issue a warning worth contemplating: life in Sapé is hard for all of us, but there are places where it is worse. Here we live as one great family, united by God. We do not wish to live with much money in our pockets yet without faith in our hearts. Think about that. We do not desire communist materialism as a solution for anything. If the defendants of today end up being condemned by this court, know then that we will be taking the first step toward a political system inspired by Satan, the great idol of all the atheists.”

  Soares returned to his seat. For a moment nobody dared utter a word. The law students who occupied almost one entire row of seats continued to write in their notebooks. A little girl took photographs. Alves, Father Juliano and Almeida remained near where I was; other local dignitaries occupied the first rows.

  “I move, with the court’s permission, for Lieutenant Colonel Hilário Santíni to approach and give his testimony,” said Soares solemnly from his seat.

  At the back of the room, amidst the standees, emerged an elderly but energetic man. He was elegantly dressed and walked confidently, carrying a large, black-covered book. He seemed unconcerned at the stares he was drawing. He approached the judge and took the oath. Romão pointed to a seat. The silence in the courtroom was absolute. Heleninha appeared without her tray and called Alice over.

  “What is it?” I asked her.

  “Uncle Dilermando’s out there. I think now’s a good time to talk with him.”

  “Want me to come along?”

  “I’d rather go alone.”

  I watched Alice go out a door on the far side of the room. I was worried. Dr. Jansen came up to me.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Santíni showed up more quickly than we expected,” he said somewhat bitterly.

  “Could he throw a monkey wrench into things?”

  “That’s what we’re afraid of. Odilon was
certain they wouldn’t be able to find him in the city. At least not today.”

  “It shows that Soares has a lot of assistants.”

  The judge gestured for defense counsel to begin direct examination. Soares appeared relaxed as he placed his hands on the wooden bar that separated the jury box.

  “Friends. The real truth is a two-sided coin. A lie is quite the opposite: it has no side at all, and hence is easily discovered. They say the liar has a short tail….”

  Some people laughed. The judge rapped his gavel for silence.

  “Just a few hours ago,” Soares continued, “here in this courtroom, we heard two men state that they were the killers of Teixeira, the husband of Elizabeth Teixeira, daughter of Batista. It took few questions for them to reveal themselves as killers—good killers as they almost described themselves. I am certain that the illustrious prosecutor and his assistant Mr. Colares did not encounter great difficulty bringing out their testimony. It almost seems that it was prearranged; but I don’t believe that, because this court is applying itself seriously to the task of uncovering crimes that have rocked public opinion. I praise his Honor, Judge Fernandes, for the bravery and intrepidness with which he conducts himself. Perhaps by a stroke of luck, then, Alexandre and Silva appeared and described their abominable crime in fine detail. Silva introduced his singular narrative, and Alexandre helped fill in the gaps. They went so far as to state that after the killing, when they considered themselves safe, a gangster appeared who wanted to kill them. That’s what the bureaucracy calls termination with extreme prejudice. I must tell you, ladies and gentlemen of the sentencing counsel, that I have never seen, in all my twenty-five years of advocacy, more sincere people, expressing so much regret, desiring at any cost to reencounter God and justice, as Sister Genoveva already told us. Yes, both Alexandre and Silva would leave no doubt that they were military policemen at the time of the crime. They were not in uniform, but they used the guns with which the state had entrusted them.

  “Now, here is Lieutenant Colonel Santíni, worthy representative of the valorous military police of the state of Paraíba. At the time of the crimes, in 1962, he was the commandant of the military police. His management of that agency ran from ’60 to ’66. Lieutenant Colonel Santíni has many qualities. But now is the time to emphasize one of them: he is considered to have a good memory for faces; he knows the names of almost all of his subordinates. Moreover, because memory can fail, he has brought with him the registry of all soldiers and officers that were under his command. And in this volume, which I now hand up to the court, the names Antônio Alexandre and Francisco Pedro da Silva do not appear; and if they do not, they could not have killed Teixeira with weapons furnished by the state. Colonel, do you remember, sir, whether Antônio Alexandre and Francisco Pedro da Silva belonged to the military police?”