Childhood of the Dead (10 page)

“Come here, you son-of-a-bitch! We want to hear your story!”

The guy saying this was strong, had his shirt out of his pants and wore a fedora. The other one was white and fat. The one who grabbed Smokey, a tall black, had a cap on.

The car went down the hill. Dito didn't feel like fighting them off, or try to escape. He knew that was impossible and that he was stupid to believe in Crystal. The black man with a cap extended his arm to the back seat.

“Give me the man's money, tough guy.

Dito did not move. The big man holding him put his hands in Dito's pockets.

“Three thousand, brother! Not bad!” The policeman said, passing the bills to his friend.

The fat white man mocked: “Where you're going you won't need this.”

Dito looked at Smokey, he was pale and scared. He suspected Crystal, but had not imagined that he could have done so much. His eyes were filled with tears, and the cut above his eye began to hurt. The policemen spoke among themselves. He knew the comments were about him. Now, even the driver, a little man, wanted to know the details. The white man, jokingly, explained what they had done Sao Paulo.

“They did in three of them, brother. Without a moment's thought.”

Dito remembered the face of the Sao Paulo delegate, of Caramel and Big Purple. If he were sent there again, he was sure that would be his end. Crystal would be free, playing pool in the afternoons, without worrying whether he won or lost. Actually that was his other profession, only now did Dito understand it clearly.

V

The stolen Ford rode around and stopped often, but there were always two policemen to take care of the prisoners. There was no way they could escape. Later on, they began to go up a road that appeared to go up to Corcovado. The white policeman asked the driver to stop. The car stepped on the grassy shoulder.

“I think it's time to search this punk well.”

They got out of the car, the big man holding Dito's arms behind his back. The policeman examined his pockets and laughed. He took out the gun, showed it to his colleagues who were inside the car.

“Look at this guy's cannon!”

He threw the gun to the driver, put his hands on his waist and started to laugh, sarcastically, cynically.

“Aren't you afraid of getting hurt, you bastard?”

Dito didn't answer. He was grabbed by the hair, pulled forward and given a kick in his stomach. Though Dito protected himself as he could, the big man got him with a kick; he turned around, a new blow landed on his back; now the big man took off his belt, and beat Dito with the belt buckle. With the punch in the face Dito went down as the white man went back to holding him by his hair.

“I think he is ready to talk!”

“Who ordered you to finish off Deborah?” The big man asked him.

Dito has no answer and got a kick in his back, as the white man squatted in front of him.

“Talk or we will finish you off right here.”

“Who asked you to kill the woman?” The big man shouted.

“She didn't wanna pay what was owed us and called the pigs.”

“That's why then you decided to take her off the planet,” the white policeman said with a smile.

“You will tell the entire story. We're not liking what you're saying.”

“Hold the punk there by your side, Eyelash. Let's break the back of this son of a bitch,” the big man said, while he asked the driver to back the car up slowly.

Dito noticed the manouevering and attempted to escape; Eyelash didn't have the strengh to contain him.

“Come here, Overtime, the dude is wiry.”

Dito was caught now, his arms twisted, one of his legs was straightened out. The car was getting close.

“Hold your horses, Xereta,” said the heavy man to the driver. “Now, you boy, pay attention. Either you spill the beans, or you'll end up with your foot under the car. And don't you think we're in a hurry. The car will stand on your foot, until you talk.”

Eyelash insisted, “Who asked you to burn the woman?”

Smokey was terrified. The driver with his arm hanging outside the window looked toward the back making sure not to miss his target, while the big man waved for him to continue backing up. Dito shouted and continued to scream. When the policeman released him, he tried to pull with his own hands his foot from under the car. He struggled against the bumper, fell down and stood up again, raised his arms and covered his face. Smokey cried just hearing his friend suffer, the man with the fedora told him to be quiet.

“Just wait for your turn. Don't waste your energies. You also helped in the scheme to kill the woman.”

Overtime signaled the driver, the car moved, the tire freed the boy's foot. But the policemen held him again. He continued to groan and cry.

“So what happpened? Who sent you to kill Deborah?”

Dito had one leg retracted. His tears were mixed with the saliva in his mouth. The white policeman continued to smile.

“Speak, or we'll do the other foot.”

Dito shook his head. He didn't know what to say. He had nothing else to say.

“I killed her because she didn't pay me. I killed her because she sent a dirty pig to beat us up.”

“Dirty pig!” Overtime repeated.

Saying that, he stepped on Dito's bloody foot. Dito bent over, the white man gave him a karate chop to his neck, and Dito fainted.

“Bring out the other one, Panther.”

The black man with the cap moved out of the front seat of the car. Smokey began to yell, holding on to the car as hard as he could.

“Come on, little devil!”

The boy was dragged out and thrown beside Dito. Smokey looked at the flattened foot, at the running blood, and begged, saying he didn't know anything, that he was not with Dito when Deborah died. Overtime was amused by Smokey's distress, the fat white man held him by his ears. He pulled Smokey's head down, violently kneeing him in the face. The boy fell backwards on the grass. Overtime raised him up.

“The boy doesn't like it this way!

He pulled a pocket knife while Smokey's shouts echoed from afar.

“Shut this pest up!”

Xereta offered a handkerchief. Panther gagged the boy.

“Now you can dance!”

Overtime was ready. He put the knife under Smokey's chin, Panther pulled the gag away.

“One more scream, you chickenshit bastard, and I'll slit your palate.”

Smokey stood on his toes, Overtime began to raise his hand slowly, forcing him to step from one side to the other.

“That's it. Quiet and obedient. Like a good boy.”

“Who ordered Deborah's death?”

Smokey wanted to talk, Overtime pulled the blade away. The boy was exhausted.

“It was a man from Sao Paulo, but I don't know his name.”

“And the other one: does he know who he is?” Panther asked.

“He knows. We talked and he promised us good money.”The fat white guy helped pull Dito inside the car. Smokey continued under the power of the black man with a cap.

“Let's go, Xereta,” Overtime said. “We're already half way there. At the police station we'll discover the rest.”

“What about the punk's foot?” Xereta asked.

“Leave him at the emergency room in the hospital. He was run over by a car, and that's it. In his hurry to run away from us, he preferred to go under a car.”

The others laughed. Smokey continued to cry in silence, his eyes red, his body shaking.

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

I

Dito woke up still dizzy with anesthesia. He looked at the low ceiling, at the dirty white walls, at the lighted lamp. He tried to move and noticed that one of his arms was tied to the bed. The large room was a kind of infirmary, although all other beds were empty. He noticed that there was no one walking by and he felt an unbearable thirst. He couldn't remember having had so much thirst. He even had a dream that the earth around him had dried up, its surface had broken. He could feel the sun burning while he walked, and his hands tried to grab bushes which had in turn dried up. He saw water among dunes, and he ran in its direction. It was a mirage. He rid himself of the nightmare, of his sleep, but the thirst didn't go away and there was no one, no functionary to be seen. There should be a bell to call the nurse. That was precisely it. The button should be close by. He looked for it searching around with the hand without handcuffs, but he only felt the bed's metal bars. He found nothing. He would have to shout. He thought of the problem this would create and resigned himself to wait. Someone would pass by, if nothing else, a janitor. His lips were more and more dry, his throat burned. It must be the medicine they had given him causing this reaction. Him! Who didn't even take that much water, not even in the hottest days when he cruised the streets for hours on end! He would make an effort, now, to resist the thirst. He wouldn't shout. He wouldn't give them reason to hate him. He moved the right leg. His left one was in a cast. Slowly he remembered: the men in the car, one with a fedora, the other with a cap; Smokey with his arm locked behind his back, being beaten by fedoraman and by the other, the white scoffer. Where had they come from? What kind of connection did they have to Crystal? When he left this place he would never again believe Crystal. This was the second time he got screwed because of that guy, who appeared to be one thing, when in truth he was another. He had proven he was just a boy; an adult wouldn't have risked a second rub-in with Crystal. He had been stupid, subjecting himself to this. He had gone to get the money from hands that were ready to kill him. Still worse, he took Smokey with him. Where could that little black boy be? Smokey, who always looked astonished; Smokey, who believed in him so much. He tried again to remember the sequence of events, from the moment in which the smiling white man had given him a knee in the face. There was a hiatus. He must have fainted, for he couldn't remember things after that. That was when Smokey disappeared. Did they put an end to him, or was he in another room in that huge building? His thirst continued to dominate his thoughts. No matter how much he tried to shift his attention, he felt his tongue dry, his throat parched. He heard voices, laughter, and perked up. He would ask for a bit of water, from whoever showed up. He wouldn't be able to resist for much longer. Unbelievable how that physical sensation took over entirely. He had never desired water this much. He remembered Smokey jumping over the bushes at the square, bending over to drink that water from the gardener's hose, while the man who pulled the rubber hose away let that water go to waste. How could there be so much wasted water? And there he was burning, his lips dried up, while his eyes following the rain outside the window noticed that not even a drop would fall on his body.

Talk and laughter continued at a distance. But he was sure someone would come by. It couldn't take too long. Then, he would ask for water, if only half a glass. It wouldn't be a problem. Any water, even unfiltered. Supporting himself on his elbows he rose away from the bed to see if there was a sink close by, but he only saw beds. Beds and beds, all covered in white and empty. Where could the other patients be? He couldn't understand this. He didn't worry about being there alone. He didn't care what might happen to him. It couldn't be worse than having the car parked on his foot. The pain had driven him crazy, tearing him from the inside, his hands had uselessly tried to pull his leg out from under, but he could still hear the laughter from the guys inside the car. Laughter like the one he could hear now. Was it coming from the hallway, from the lounge or from some other infirmary? What if he tried to break open the handcuff? Wow, why hadn't he thought of it before? Would one of Crystal's friends have placed him there so he could run away? They couldn't have been so kind. He couldn't imagine kind people could exist. People are always wanting something, and as a rule they always want more than they can give in return. He wouldn't fall for it. If he ran away he would return to Sao Paulo, no matter what. He knew that city better, he could more easily hide. The pigs had been able put him in jail very few times. In Rio it was different. He had fewer chances. If he were able to discover Smokey's hiding place, he would invite him to go also. But for now, he couldn't worry about this. He wanted water or he would go crazy. He didn't know that thirst could be so painful.

The laughter began to dwindle away, dying out, and it was morning again, a silent and warm morning, the sun reaching the bedroom through the iron bars in the window. Then, when he least expected it, an old man showed up, pulling a bag filled with paper. He got up on his elbows. Finally someone would help him. The old man was all wrinkled up, his skin was yellowish, his face dried up, and he wore blue overalls too big for his shriveled body. He had flip-flops on and pulled the big bag slowly.

“Hey, you, get me some water,please!”

The old man didn't seem to hear, although he looked at him.

“I'm dying of thirst. It can be from any faucet.”

The old man smirked showing his rotten teeth and a red tongue. He didn't answer, he didn't agree to get the water, nor did he disagree, he only smiled, a stupid smile, as if he were a madman pulling that very large bag. The man stepped toward the bed, gathered some cotton pieces from the floor, and said in a weak tone:”Try to forget the water and remember the brothers who have already gone.”

There was no doubt. He was in front of a lunatic. The old man turned around, pulling the bag, and disappeared from the infirmary as silently as he had come in.

Dito felt his eyes tearing up and imagined he might be in an abandoned pavillion or in some insane asylum, where there might be other people like that, who didn't know what they were doing or saying. Would this be a section of the Department of Correction for Minors? Or would this be another agency he might not know? He was left with almost no hope that someone else might appear and get him some water. He would have to try to break the handcuffs. He only needed to find a piece of wire or perhaps even a wooden match. He would work calmly. He would try to resign himself to the agonizing thirst he felt, until he was able to get rid of the handcuffs. Another way of escaping would be to slip a pillowcase inside the handcuff's ring and pull on it. That might make the central hook give. And why not try this since it would be difficult to find a match or a wire? He slipped the pillowcase through the ring to protect his arm. The pressure would be the strongest he could muster, and that could open a sore on his wrist. He would bleed at the sore and there would be no one to help him.

He tried to sit as comfortably as possible shifting his body weight to help him increase the impact on the handcuff's central axis. He pushed and let his weight down. Even having his wrist wrapped in the pillowcase he felt great pain and the handcuffs did not break. He would have to try another time and folded the pillowcase in still smaller sections to give more protection to his wrist. He pulled even harder this time but the handcuff's ring did not open. That would be a very difficult way to break it. While he thought of another way to escape, he stretched himself on the bed, breathing with difficulty, his lips trembling with thirst. It was possible that he might be in some kind of isolation, where people where not permitted to come by. Perhaps once a day there would be a man bringing in food and nothing else. And what would he do to go to the bathroom? Where could the bathroom be? Who would open the handcuff? These were other things that alarmed him. He made himself comfortable and tried to think about his friends, to forget the painful thirst. The sunlight's patch had already moved quite enough on the floor, and he calculated that it might be close to noon. Looking at the ceiling he felt confused and aware he was sweating for it was a muggy morning. He had the impression he heard some shouting. He tried to listen carefully, but he was surrounded again by calm — the calm of a lake's tranquil waters. If he could only pull that bed, he would go with it from this floor to the water fountain. There had to be one. That was certainly an idea. To pull his own bed. He got down to verify if the iron legs were bolted to the cement floors like all the other beds were. He lay down again. He had never seen beds bolted to the floor, as if there were never a need to move them. What if he were able to break the lever that made the head of the bed rise and with this metal scrap he were able to open the handcuff? That's another idea. He looked at the lever for a long time and tried to feel how resistent it was with his fingertips. What if he were able to kick it with the foot not in a cast? He turned the lever until its handle was in the up position. He put his foot over it, pulled out, he felt the mattress slip. The holder supporting the wooden lever twisted but did not break. It would be foolish keep on trying. He went back to looking at the ceiling, at the sunspot. He saw the gardener's waterhose pouring water, Smokey jumping over the flowering bushes. He could go crazy if he didn't have water. He would have to shout, to call for someone, whether they liked it or not. He no longer worried about what they could say. After all he would be only another case. If they punished him for having had some water it wouldn't be that bad. It would be a kind of compensation. Nothing more.

He shouted once, twice. Strongly. Very strongly. His appeals filled the infirmary but even then no one showed up. Not even to reprimend him. Were there other people there or only the crazy types that pulled the bag filled with paper? Would there be other rooms like the one where he was, or was he in some sort of isolation, surrounded by woods, far away from any town? He could no longer think straight. His throat hurt, it appeared swollen. Shouting was useless; he would have to find a way to break his handcuff.

In the afternoon, as soon as the sun began to set, he fell asleep at the edge of a lake. The grass was green and tender. He would put his feet in the water and bathe. But if he got his mouth close to the water the lake would dry up. How could such a thing happen? He woke up, surprised by the lake, and listened to the sparrows chirping outside. Perhaps — who knows? — after nightfall someone would come? He should be on the alert. He couldn't continue to sleep. He searched for the sunspots over the other beds, but didn't find any. The afternoon was ending. For a long time he stared at the handcuffs, at their thin rings, so difficult to break in. He didn't have any new ideas on escaping. His thirst began to take away his ability to think. Then he heard voices again. But he no longer believed his hearing. With the voices he heard steps. There were at least two men. He raised his head from the mattress and saw them come in. One was very fat. He was in uniform and carried a tray. The other had a sports jacket on and a little felt hat. He felt like laughing when he saw them coming. From where had they come? So late? When his faith had already faltered by thirst? Now, they were close to him. Very close. The man with the fedora picked up a stool, placed it by his bedside, while the other man placed the tray on it. Dito's eyes were fixed on the water jar with ice cubes on the tray. And childishly he began to laugh and say: water! water!

The guy in the fedora came closer, while the one who had brought the tray only smiled.

“I know. You want water. But here, if you want something you must give something else in return.”

Dito didn't understand. What did they want in exchange for a few sips of water? The guys didn't seem to be in a hurry....

“You can drink this entire jar and I'll still find you another one,” the fat man said.

“You must tell me who deals with Crystal,” said the man in the hat.

“Who deals with him?”

“That's right. Their complete names. If it matches up with our information, you get the water.”

He didn't know what to do. He had no idea who supplied Crystal. That was something he had never wondered about.

“So you can't remember?”

“Only with a little bit of water.”

“So you'll have it,” the man in uniform said picking up the jar.

He got closer to Dito and poured a good part of the water over Dito's head, who hurriedly tried to catch as much as he could with his tongue. The water ran down his clothes and disappeared into the mattress. Dito's eyes bulged, his ears popped and his thirst became even greater.

The man put the water jar back on the tray.

“We're leaving. When you want to talk, shout,” sain the man in the fedora.

As soon as they left, Dito had a raging spell, his eyesight

dimmed and he couldn't say exactly how he was able to stand up on

the bed and shout louder than he ever thought possible. When the pain in his arm was so great he could no longer feel his thirst, he knelt on the matttress, his hand holding the bloody wrist. But to his happiness the handcuff's central ring had broken. He wasn't sure how it happened. Now, he cried low, nursing his arm that was beginning to feel dormant. He dried up his blood with the pillowcase, and went to the waterjar. He turned it into his mouth letting the ice cubes fall at his feet. He was breathless, dizzy and his pain enhanced his fear the two guys might suddenly reappear. When he replaced the half empty jar again on the stool, he saw a plate with food. He picked up a piece of meat, eating it, while looking through the window's iron bars. He saw only a few lights on, far away, probably in some other building.

II

He walked through the dark veranda, saw the wall, the wires, the dim lights. He wouldn't be able to run away easily. He would have to cross the patio and, after that, to climb the wall. Since one of the guards was coming in his direction, he went in one of the buildings. It was all dark. A little boy cried, other boys moaned. He was sure this was some kind of solitary. Would Smokey be there? What if he found the light switch and turned the lights on? Would he find Smokey, or would this make his escape more difficult? Before he made a decision his hands were already feeling the walls. Only one weak light came on. The cells appeared. There were many boys in each cell. Most of them just lay on the ground. Only some resisted languor. Thin with eyes deeply set, they leaned against the walls, their legs stretched as if they no longer had the strength to stand up. One of the boys followed Dito's movements with his eyes. Even if he were able to open the iron gate, the boy wouldn't be able to leave, he no longer had the ability to move. Dito made an extra effort. He picked up a piece of wood and managed to pry up the gate's locking bar. He pushed it open with a grating noise. He got close to the boy, whose voice was weak and sorrowful: