was also shining. In the small hours of the morning the Captains of the Sands arrived. Legless started up the engine. And they forgot that they weren’t like other children, they forgot that they had no home, no father or mother, that they lived by stealing,like men, that they were feared in the city as thieves. They forgot the words of the old woman with the lorgnette. They forgot everything and they were equal to all children, riding the mounts on the carrousel, spinning with the lights. The stars were shining, the full moon shone. But more than anything in the Bahia night the blue, green, yellow, and red lights of the Great Japanese Carrousel were shining.
DOCKS
Pedro Bala bounced his four-hundred
reis
coin off the wall of the Customhouse, it fell in front of Good-Life’s. Then Lollipop threw his, the coin landed between Good-Life’s and Pedro Bala’s. Good-Life was squatting, watching closely. He took the cigarette out of his mouth:
“That’s the way it goes. If you start off bad…”
And they continued the game, but Good-Life and Lollipop lost their four-hundred pieces, which Pedro Bala put in his pocket:
“I’m luck itself.”
Opposite them the sloops were anchored. Men and women were coming out of the market. That afternoon they were waiting for God’s-Love’s sloop. The
capoeira
fighter was out fishing, as he was a fisherman by profession. They continued their penny-pitching until Pedro Bala cleaned the other two out. The scar on his face was gleaming. He liked to win like that, in a clean game, especially when his fellow-players were as good as Lollipop (who’d been the champion of the gang for a long time) and Good-Life. When they were finished Good-Life turned his pockets inside-out.
“You’ve got to lend me something, even if it’s only one coin. I’m wiped out.”
Then he looked at the sea, the sloops at anchor:
“God’s-Love is late. Do you want to go to the docks?”
Lollipop said he’d stay and wait for God’s-Love, but Pedro Bala went to the docks with Good-Life. They went through the waterfront streets, their feet sinking into the sand. A ship was casting off from Warehouse 5, there was the movement of people coming and going. Pedro Bala asked Good-Life:
“Did you ever want to be a sailor?”
“You can see…I like it here. I’ve got no urge to ship out.”
“Well, I have. It’s nice climbing up a mast. And how about a storm? Do you remember that story that the Professor read us? The one where there was a storm? Wild…”
“Terrific, yeah.”
Pedro Bala remembered the story. Good-Life thought it would be foolish to leave Bahia when he grew up, it would be so nice to live the easy life of a drifter, a switchblade in his pocket, a guitar under his arm, a dark girl to fall onto the sand with. It was the life he wanted when he became a full-fledged man.
They reached the doorway to Warehouse 7. João de Adão, a husky black stevedore, an old striker, feared and loved all up and down the waterfront, was sitting on a crate. He was smoking a pipe and his muscles showed under his shirt. When he saw the boys he greeted them:
“Look at my friend Good-Life. And Captain Pedro.”
He always called Pedro “Captain Pedro” and he liked to chat with them. He offered Pedro Bala an edge of the crate. Good-Life squatted in front of them. In a corner an old black woman was selling oranges and coconut candy, wearing a chintz skirt and a blouse that let her breasts show, still firm in spite of her age. Good-Life kept looking at the woman’s breasts while he peeled an orange he’d picked from her stand.
“You still got a pretty good pair, eh, aunty?”
The black woman smiled:
“These kids today have no respect for their elders, friend João de Adão. Where’d you ever hear tell of a fresh kid like this talking about breasts with a worn-out old woman like me?”
“Come off it, aunty. You can still make it…”
The black woman laughed good-humoredly:
“I’ve shut the
DOCKS
Pedro Bala bounced his four-hundred
reis
coin off the wall of the Customhouse, it fell in front of Good-Life’s. Then Lollipop threw his, the coin landed between Good-Life’s and Pedro Bala’s. Good-Life was squatting, watching closely. He took the cigarette out of his mouth:
“That’s the way it goes. If you start off bad…”
And they continued the game, but Good-Life and Lollipop lost their four-hundred pieces, which Pedro Bala put in his pocket:
“I’m luck itself.”
Opposite them the sloops were anchored. Men and women were coming out of the market. That afternoon they were waiting for God’s-Love’s sloop. The
capoeira
fighter was out fishing, as he was a fisherman by profession. They continued their penny-pitching until Pedro Bala cleaned the other two out. The scar on his face was gleaming. He liked to win like that, in a clean game, especially when his fellow-players were as good as Lollipop (who’d been the champion of the gang for a long time) and Good-Life. When they were finished Good-Life turned his pockets inside-out.
“You’ve got to lend me something, even if it’s only one coin. I’m wiped out.”
Then he looked at the sea, the sloops at anchor:
“God’s-Love is late. Do you want to go to the docks?”
Lollipop said he’d stay and wait for God’s-Love, but Pedro Bala went to the docks with Good-Life. They went through the waterfront streets, their feet sinking into the sand. A ship was casting off from Warehouse 5, there was the movement of people coming and going. Pedro Bala asked Good-Life:
“Did you ever want to be a sailor?”
“You can see…I like it here. I’ve got no urge to ship out.”
“Well, I have. It’s nice climbing up a mast. And how about a storm? Do you remember that story that the Professor read us? The one where there was a storm? Wild…”
“Terrific, yeah.”
Pedro Bala remembered the story. Good-Life thought it would be foolish to leave Bahia when he grew up, it would be so nice to live the easy life of a drifter, a switchblade in his pocket, a guitar under his arm, a dark girl to fall onto the sand with. It was the life he wanted when he became a full-fledged man.
They reached the doorway to Warehouse 7. João de Adão, a husky black stevedore, an old striker, feared and loved all up and down the waterfront, was sitting on a crate. He was smoking a pipe and his muscles showed under his shirt. When he saw the boys he greeted them:
“Look at my friend Good-Life. And Captain Pedro.”
He always called Pedro “Captain Pedro” and he liked to chat with them. He offered Pedro Bala an edge of the crate. Good-Life squatted in front of them. In a corner an old black woman was selling oranges and coconut candy, wearing a chintz skirt and a blouse that let her breasts show, still firm in spite of her age. Good-Life kept looking at the woman’s breasts while he peeled an orange he’d picked from her stand.
“You still got a pretty good pair, eh, aunty?”
The black woman smiled:
“These kids today have no respect for their elders, friend João de Adão. Where’d you ever hear tell of a fresh kid like this talking about breasts with a worn-out old woman like me?”
“Come off it, aunty. You can still make it…”
The black woman laughed good-humoredly:
“I’ve shut the
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