Brazilian Cattle Baron (Siren Publishing Ménage and More ManLove)

by Roland Graeme

  “I can’t help it. It is so funny to see him putting on airs, to impress senhor Sebastien,” Cristiano replied. “You have to remember—I knew him back when he was a ragged little boy, with no shoes on his feet.”

  “We—I mean the four of us, Anibal, Cristiano, Estevao, and myself—are not usually so formal with each other, senhor Sebastien,” Joaquin said. “To say the least. We have all known each other too long to stand on ceremony with each other. You may have to make allowances, if our behavior seems crude.”

  “Oh, don’t apologize. It’s a relief to have a little informality around here, for a change.”

  Two of the maids served the dishes. The first course was a stew of large prawns, cooked in coconut milk and served in hollowed-out small pumpkins, one for each diner.

  “All right, gentlemen, you’re going to have to tell me what we’re eating,” Sebastien said when the main course arrived. “It all looks delicious, but I haven’t a clue. What kind of fish is that, for example?”

  “It is dourado, from the Pantanal region. It is usually served grilled, as you see,” Joaquin explained.

  Sebastien noticed a little open dish, containing what looked like fine, toasted grain. “And what is this?”

  “It is called farofa,” Cristiano told him. “It is roasted flour, made from manioc root. Here in the northern parts of Brazil, we use it as a condiment, like salt. It is perhaps an acquired taste.”

  “I’ll try it.”

  Cristiano smiled. “You are adventurous by nature, I see.”

  “I try to be.”

  Dessert was pudim de leite, a stiff-textured pudding made from eggs, condensed milk, and caramelized sugar. By now, the wine had circulated freely, and the mood around the table was relaxed and convivial.

  Anibal refilled everyone’s glass with wine. “If it’s not too much of a liberty, senhor Sebastien?”

  “Yes?”

  “May I ask what are your plans?”

  “For all practical purposes, I have none. I may stay here in Brazil for some time. What little of the country I’ve seen so far has only made me curious to see more. And I can already tell that it’s going to take me quite some time to see everything there is to see right here on the fazenda—let alone even begin to understand how you do things. I’m counting on all three of you to excuse my ignorance, and to help me learn.”

  “We are at your disposal, senhor Sebastien.” Anibal hesitated. “If I may be forgiven for asking a possibly too personal question?”

  “I’d much prefer it, Anibal, if you could feel comfortable enough with me to speak to me quite freely, and ask me anything you want, without all this formality and obsequiousness. I realize that we are employer and employee, but I want us to be friends.”

  “Thank you.” The foreman immediately seemed to relax. “All of the people here are naturally curious…about whether the fazenda will be put up for sale, and pass into other hands.”

  “It’s understandable that they feel anxious about the possibility of such a big change. I have a question of my own. It’s probably an unfair one, since I’ve only been here for a few hours. But how do they feel about my being here, so far?”

  “They are delighted,” Anibal said.

  Cristiano, who had been making short work of his pudding, spoke up. “Your uncle was greatly respected and loved. You are respected and loved, for your uncle’s sake.”

  “They’re willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, in other words, until experience disappoints them,” Sebastien said, a tad cynically.

  Cristiano, looking unusually serious, for him, shook his head. “I do not think they will be disappointed. I see much of your uncle in you. Not only in appearance, but in character.”

  “I hope that’s true. Well, to speak candidly…I’m not the sort of person who does things in a hurry. I never expected to inherit this property—this business. I’m still getting used to the idea, and to the possible implications. I will say that, right now, my gut instinct is that the fazenda should remain in my family. It’s a valuable asset, a dependable source of income. I would not even consider putting it up for sale without long and hard deliberation, and consulting with financial advisors—here in Brazil, as well as back in the United States. My uncle always said, in his letters to me, that this operation practically ran itself, thanks to the hard work of the employees. I’m not here to interfere with that, unless I see some good reason to. I don’t intend to change anything unless it will be a legitimate improvement, and I certainly will not make any changes without seeking your advice, first. You may share that with the employees, Anibal and Joaquin, for what it’s worth.”

  “They will be relieved,” Anibal said.

  “One of the first things I want to familiarize myself with is what the employees are paid, what health benefits they have, and what sort of retirement or pension plans are in place for them.”

  Joaquin nodded. “I can easily give you access to all that information. I think you will find that senhor Gilberto was exceptionally generous. He believed in taking care of his people. That is one reason why people are eager to come here to work. And once they come here, they want to stay.”

  Cristiano reached for the wine bottle. “Let us drink to the memory of senhor Gilberto.”

  He refilled all four glasses, then stood up. The other three men also pushed back their chairs and rose.

  “To the memory of the mestre,” Cristiano said softly. They raised their glasses, touched them together, and drank.

  “And to the new mestre,” Anibal said quickly, before anyone could sit down again.

  Sebastien allowed the other men to drink to him, and they resumed their seats.

  “I would like to make an early start in the morning,” Sebastien announced, “and see as much of the fazenda as I can. All of it, eventually.”

  “That will take many days,” Cristiano pointed out. “I will be delighted to show you around, though, tomorrow morning.”

  “I don’t want to inconvenience you, or take you away from your work.”

  “I am very good at keeping the men busy, even without my direct supervision,” Cristiano assured him, with a laugh. “Shall we go on horseback? That is the best way to travel about the property.”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  “And later, in the afternoon or early evening,” Joaquin said, “might I suggest I meet with you, to answer any questions you may have? I will take you on a tour of the office building, and show you the accounts. But it was not necessary for your uncle to walk over there, unless he chose to pay us a visit—which he often did, and of course he was always welcome. But he could access everything right here in the house, from the computer on his desk in his study. I will give you a temporary password and show you how to call up all the programs. Then, of course, you can change the password to one of your own choosing.”

  “That will be fine,” Sebastien said.

  “And some evening soon, if you are not too fatigued by all of these activities, you must do me the honor of dining in my house,” Anibal said. “Joaquin and Cristiano, you must come, too. Perhaps on Friday evening?”

  “As long as you promise not to go to too much trouble,” Sebastien said.

  “I can promise no such thing. My wife speaks of nothing else. She is determined to be the first to entertain you.”

  “Well, we mustn’t disappoint her. I am eager to meet her. Tell her I accept the invitation, with pleasure.”

  “Thank you, senhor Sebastien. And I thank God as well, because if you had refused the invitation, I would know no peace!”

  “I will entertain you in my house in due course,” Joaquin promised. “Fortunately, I am a bachelor, and you may find it more informal.”

  Estevao served coffee.

  “Sit down, Estevao, here next to me, and have your coffee with us,” Cristiano said. “Get yourself a cup and saucer, from the sideboard.”

  “Yes, please do so, Estevao,” Sebastien said, quickly. It was obvious that this was Cristiano’s
way of proposing a truce.

  “Very good, senhor.” As he sat down and joined in the conversation, Estevao’s haughty manner thawed, and he and Cristiano were soon friends again.

  Cristiano told Estevao about the plan to go riding in the morning. “You will come with us, Estevao, of course. The mestre expects you to accompany him.” He caught Sebastien’s eye, and winked.

  “Of course,” Estevao agreed.

  “I believe the weather will be fine, and dry. There may be no more rain for a few days.”

  “The rain won’t deter me, when it does come back,” Sebastien promised. “I’m tougher than I look.”

  “I will join you for breakfast, senhor Sebastien, if I may,” Cristiano suggested.

  “Please do.”

  Cristiano grinned. “Ignacia is used to feeding me.”

  “Yes, as one might set a dish down for a stray dog that keeps coming to the kitchen door to beg for scraps,” Estevao said—which led to another round of banter and merriment, but a good-natured one, this time. It was obvious that Estevao and Cristiano were old verbal sparring partners.

  “Anibal tells me that you are not married, senhor Sebastien,” Cristiano remarked.

  “No, I am not.”

  “Are you engaged to be married?”

  “No.”

  “Have you a mistress?”

  Estevao scowled. “What a question to ask the mestre!”

  “Oh, it’s all right, Estevao. I don’t mind,” Sebastien said. “Cristiano’s curiosity is only natural. And, to answer your question, Cristiano—I’m afraid not. There’s no woman in my life. When you get to know me better, Cristiano, you’ll find out that I’m a man of rather solitary habits. A confirmed bachelor, as the expression goes.”

  “Oh, we must do something to change that,” Cristiano said. “Oranjinho has three unmarried sisters still living at home. They are all great beauties, like their brother. And the eldest is now of marriageable age.”

  Sebastien was a little startled, and more than a little encouraged, by the frank way Cristiano spoke about another man’s physical attractiveness.

  “And what do you consider to be a marriageable age, Cristiano?” he asked.

  “The girl will soon be fifteen. Her mother is afraid she will become an old maid.”

  “I can assure you, gentlemen, that I have no intention of marrying a fifteen-year-old girl,” Sebastien said. “But if I change my mind, I will definitely turn to you, Cristiano, for advice.”

  Joaquin laughed. “Cristiano might be better qualified to give you advice about the kind of entanglements that do not end in marriage.”

  “Oh, Joaquin!” Cristiano protested. “You will make senhor Sebastien think ill of me.”

  “I hope you’ll also find out that I tend to be tolerant of other men’s shortcomings,” Sebastien said. “Probably because I’d like them to tolerate mine.”

  Sebastien was rather sorry when the party began to break up, with Anibal and Joaquin pointing out that they were both, of necessity, early risers.

  “As are most of the people here on the fazenda, I’m sure,” Sebastien said as he accompanied his guests to the front of the house. Anibal and Joaquin took their leave of him in the vestibule. Estevao had remained behind, in the dining room, to help the maids clear the table.

  “I will stay and talk to you for a little while, if you wish,” Cristiano volunteered.

  “Please do.”

  “Shall we walk, outside?”

  “Yes, let’s.” Sebastien was pleased by the prospect of being alone with Cristiano.

  They passed through the courtyard, and then began to stroll alongside the front of the house. It was a clear night. Here in the country, away from the massed lights of a city, the equatorial stars were startlingly bright overhead.

  “I can’t get over how quiet it is here,” Sebastien remarked. “Especially now, at night.”

  “Most of the employees are already in bed, senhor Sebastien, or soon will be.”

  “You could do me a big favor, Cristiano, by calling me just plain Sebastien, not senhor. All of this bowing and scraping around me—I know it has a basis in tradition, and I respect that, but I have to admit it gets on my nerves at times. I’d like to have at least one person who treats me as an equal.”

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to be intimate with you.”

  They were speaking in English, and no doubt Cristiano was unaware of the possible connotations of that phrase, to be intimate with you. Sebastien smiled.

  “I’m glad,” he said.

  “I won’t ask you how you like Brazil, because I know you have seen very little of our country so far,” Cristiano said. “And Marajó is not like the rest of Brazil. Very few tourists choose to come here. Fortaleza and Natal, farther down the coast, are more popular. There are fine beaches there.”

  “I’m sure it’s beautiful. But I am not a tourist. I find Marajó fascinating, and beautiful in its own way.”

  They were rounding a corner of the house. In the distance, Sebastien could see some of the buildings he had passed that morning. Only a few of them had windows or doorways that were lit up at the moment.

  “Where do you stay, Cristiano? In the bunkhouse, with the other men?”

  “I used to. After I was promoted, to Anibal’s assistant, I moved in with Joaquin, since he is unmarried and he had that large house all to himself. So there we are, two old bachelors keeping house together. And I often stay at the remote house.”

  “Oh yes, I remember hearing that mentioned. What, exactly, is the remote house?”

  “Just as the name implies, it is a house located on the far side of the property, in the middle of the pasture land. It is small, but comfortable. When we work in that area, it is more convenient to sleep there, overnight or for a few days at a time, than to travel back and forth.”

  “I see.”

  “Senhor Gilberto left me money in his will, as you are no doubt aware. Enough for me to build a house of my own, some day—although of course he placed no such restriction on the gift.”

  “Estevao told me, earlier today, that my uncle was also known for his generosity during his lifetime.”

  “That is true. He was a most unselfish man.”

  “And that he set up a trust fund for Estevao, when Estevao was a boy. I didn’t like to ask Estevao why. It seemed too personal a question.”

  “There is no mystery about it. Estevao is an orphan. Both of his parents, sadly, died when he was a little boy. And there were no other relatives.”

  “Who raised him, then?”

  “You might say he was raised by the fazenda in general,” Cristiano said, with a laugh. “That is how things are done here at Saõ Martinho. We take care of our own. True, senhor Gilberto made himself Estevao’s legal guardian, until he became of age, and later he made Estevao his personal servant, as you know. Estevao and I grew up together. For a time, he lived with my family, and we slept in the same bed. He is like a brother to me. That is why Estevao knows better than to try to—how do you say it in English, to lord it over me?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Because, as I always remind him, I knew him when he was just a stupid little punheteiro, like me.”

  “Ah…does punheteiro mean what I think it means, Cristiano?”

  “I am sorry, it is a vulgar word. I believe you say ‘a jerk-off,’ in English.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. Don’t censor yourself around me, please.”

  “I will not. I must say, Sebastien, you are not quite what I expected.”

  “Anibal said much the same thing to me, when we first met today. I seem to be a man full of surprises,” Sebastien joked. “What were you expecting? Wait, let me guess. A spoiled norte-americano brat from the big city, ignorant about Brazilian culture, and with a smug, superior, condescending attitude?”

  “Well…in a word, yes. You told me not to censor myself. I expected you to complain about the heat, and the rain, and about the way thi
ngs are here, in general. You say it is quiet here. Many people would find it dull. Life here is certainly very different from the way it is in the city.”

  “Yes, it is. But I flatter myself that I am adaptable. I’m actually quite used to ‘roughing it,’ as we say, when I travel, and I enjoy it. Frankly, I was expecting things here to be considerably more rustic than they are. I didn’t give my uncle enough credit. Saõ Martinho is quite an impressive place. And I certainly wasn’t expecting to find anything like Estevao waiting for me!”

  They laughed together at Estevao’s expense.

  “All joking aside, Sebastien, Estevao is a sweet boy. Very loyal. And he will take good care of you.”

  “I know he will.”

  “It is late—for us, here. As I said, this is not the city, where there is a busy night life. I will bid you boa noite, if I may.”

  “Boa noite, Cristiano.”

  The big bearded man gave him a hug. “I am so glad you have come here.”

  “Thank you, Cristiano. I am glad I came. You—all of you here, but you in particular—have made me feel welcome.”

  They exchanged further good-nights, and Sebastien watched Cristiano walk away, across the lawn, before he turned back toward the house.

  Sebastien wandered back toward the master bedroom. It was lit only by a lamp set on one of the small side tables, next to an armchair, in the middle of the room. The pleated lampshade diffused the light and left most of the large space in deep shadow.

  Sebastien had no sooner entered the room and kicked off his shoes than Estevao appeared—as though by magic, or as though he could somehow intuitively sense his new master’s presence.

  “Was the dinner to your satisfaction, senhor?”

  “Everything was perfect. Ignacia is a very good cook.” Sebastien sat down in the armchair and stripped off his socks, then sank back in the leather cushions of the chair and pressed the soles of his feet against the soft pile of the oriental carpet. He wriggled his toes.

  “Shall I bring you something to drink? A nightcap, senhor?”

  “God, no. I had a couple of glasses of that excellent wine.” Sebastien caught himself trying to stifle a yawn, not altogether successfully.