Captains of the Sands by Jorge Amado Page A

gone off to have a beer in a bar. It was a shame that in the afternoon the lights of the carrousel weren’t turned on. It wasn’t as pretty as at night, the lights spinning in all colors. But they were proud of Dry Gulch imitating animals, of Legless running the carrousel,having the children get on, having the children get off. The Professor, with a pencil stub and a box cover, sketched Dry Gulch dressed as a bandit. He had a special skill for drawing and sometimes he picked up money sketching on the sidewalk men who were passing, young ladies with their boyfriends. These would stop for a minute, laugh at the still imprecise drawing, the girls would say:
    “It’s a good likeness…”
    He would pick up some coins and then he would set about fixing up the sketch done in chalk, broadening it, putting in men from the waterfront and women of the demi-monde, until a policeman chased him off the sidewalk. Sometimes he already had a large group watching and someone would say:
    “That boy’s got promise. It’s a shame the government doesn’t take note of these vocations…” and he recalled cases of street urchins who, aided by families, were great poets, singers, and painters.
    The Professor finished the sketch (in which he put the carrousel and Nhôzinho França falling down drunk) and gave it to the priest. They were all in a tight group looking at the drawing that the priest was praising when they heard:
    “Why, it’s Father José Pedro…”
    And the skinny old woman’s lorgnette fell upon the group like a weapon of war. Father José Pedro was half-despondent, the boys looked with curiosity at the bones and the neck and the breast of the old woman where a very expensive barrette sparkled in the sunlight. There was a moment in which they all remained silent until Father José Pedro got up his courage and said:
    “Good afternoon, Dona Margarida.”
    But the widow Margarida Santos raised her gold lorgnette again.
    “Aren’t you ashamed to be seen in this company, Father? A priest of the Lord? A man of responsibility in the midst of this rabble…”
    “They’re children, ma’am.”
    The old woman gave a haughty look and had a sneer of disdain on her mouth. The priest went on:
    “Christ said: suffer the little children to come unto me…”
    “Little children…Little children…” the old woman spat out.
    “Woe unto him who does harm unto a child, the Lord said,” and Father José Pedro raised his voice above the disdain of the old woman.
    “These aren’t children, they’re thieves. Rascals and thieves. These aren’t children. They might even be the Captains of the Sands…Thieves,” she repeated with disgust.
    The boys were looking at her with curiosity. Only Legless, who had come from the carrousel since Nhôzinho França had now returned, was looking at her with rage. Pedro Bala took a step forward, tried to explain:
    “Father was only trying to be…”
    But the old woman gave him a shove and stepped back:
    “Don’t come close to me, don’t come close to me, you filth. If it weren’t for Father I’d call a policeman.”
    Pedro Bala gave a scandalous laugh there, thinking that if it weren’t for Father the old woman would no longer have her barrette or her lorgnette either. The old woman withdrew with an air of great superiority, not without first saying to Father José Pedro:
    “You won’t go far that way, Father. You have to be more careful about whom you associate with.”
    Pedro Bala was laughing even harder and the priest laughed too, if he did feel sorry for the old woman, for the old woman’s lack of understanding. But the carrousel was spinning with well-dressed children and in a short time the eyes of the Captains of the Sands turned toward it and they were full of the desire to ride the horses, spin with the lights. “They were children, yes,” the priest thought.

    At nightfall there was a downpour. The black clouds then disappeared from the sky and the stars shone, the full moon