The Violent Land

  “It’s a great pleasure to know you, captain. I have a business proposition by which you might be able to make some money, sir.”

  João Magalhães was interested. Who could say?—this might be the opportunity he had been waiting for. He had come to Ilhéos in search of money, but big money, not just what he might be able to pick up at the poker table. He tried to be as polite as possible to Juca.

  “The pleasure is all mine. I believe, though, that I know you, sir, at least by sight. We came down on the same boat from Bahia, but we did not have a chance to get acquainted.”

  “That’s right,” Ferreirinha remembered, “you did come down on that boat, Juca. Only you were too busy thinking about some woman that was on board,” and he slapped his friend jovially across the stomach and laughed.

  After expressing his regrets that he and the captain had not met before, Juca then plunged into the subject that was uppermost in his mind.

  “Captain,” he began, “this is the way it is. Our plantation borders on a forest which doesn’t belong to anybody but which comes nearer to being ours than anyone else’s, seeing that we were the first to go into it. It’s the forest of Sequeiro Grande that I’m referring to. Well, now we want to fell it and plant it in cacao; but there is a leader of a band of ruffians down here, one Horacio da Silveira, who wants to take it over; he has dug up some old survey and has had it registered in his own name and those of some of his friends. But it won’t do him any good, because we put a stop to that ouster in short order.”

  “So I’ve heard. A fire in the registry office,” and Captain João Magalhães accompanied his words with expressive gestures. “Was that your work, sir? If so, my congratulations. I like men who know their own minds.”

  “No, that was my friend Teodoro, the master of Baraúnas; he’s a dashing fellow, with plenty of nerve.”

  “Yes, you can see that.”

  “Well, then, what we’re looking for is an engineer to survey that forest for us. But unfortunately Dr. Roberto is away on a trip, and he’s the only one around here that would do it. The others are a pack of cowards; they don’t want to get mixed up in it. And so, when I heard that you, sir, are an engineer, I thought I would consult you and see if you would care to undertake it. We will pay well. And as to any vengeance on the part of Horacio, you needn’t be afraid of that; we will guarantee you protection.”

  Captain João Magalhães gave a superior laugh.

  “Come, now, for the love of God—you speak of fear to me? Have you any idea how many revolutions I’ve taken part in, colonel? More than a dozen. The only thing is I don’t know if I am legally in a position to—” he paused—“make the survey. You see, I’m not a surveyor; I’m a military engineer. I don’t know if I have the right—”

  “Before coming here,” said Juca, “I consulted my lawyer, and he says that you can do it, sir, that military engineers may practice—”

  “I’m not so sure of it, all the same. What’s more, I’m not registered at Bahia, but in Rio. The registry office wouldn’t accept my survey.”

  “That’s of no importance. We can fix matters with the registrar. Don’t let that worry you.”

  But João Magalhães was still doubtful. He was neither a military personage nor an engineer. He could play any kind of game, could do tricks with a deck of cards and win the confidence of others; but he wanted wider opportunities, he wanted to make big money and not go on living forever dependent upon the card table, one day with a roll of money and the next day without a cent. After all, what risk was he running? The Badarós were on top in politics, they had every chance of winning the struggle, and if they did win out, the property rights to the forest of Sequeiro Grande would never be questioned. And even supposing it was found that the survey was illegal, done by a charlatan, he would be far away by that time, enjoying the money he had got, in another part of the country. It was worth taking a chance. He thought it over, his eyes on Juca Badaró, as the latter stood there impatiently before him, tapping his boot with his riding-whip.

  “The truth of the matter is, I’m an outsider here and don’t like to get mixed up in local squabbles. On the other hand, I have a very warm feeling toward you, sir, and toward your brother. Especially after the firing of the registry office. Deeds of courage like that impress me very much. In short—”

  “We will pay well, captain. You won’t regret it, sir.”

  “I’m not speaking of money. If I did it, it would be out of friendship.”

  “But we want to show our appreciation just the same. Business is business, aside from the debt of gratitude that we will always owe you.”

  “That’s true.”

  “How much would you ask to do the job, sir? It would mean spending a week at the plantation.”

  “What about the instruments?” The captain asked this question by way of gaining time while he calculated how much he should ask. “Mine are in Rio, you know.”

  “That makes no difference. I’ll get Dr. Roberto’s from his wife.”

  “Well, in that case—” The captain was still thinking. “Very well. I didn’t come here to work, but for a holiday. Let’s see: a week at the plantation—that means I’ll have to miss Wednesday’s boat.” He dropped his voice to a murmur again. “I may not be able to close that lumber deal in Rio in time—that’s too bad. Well, then—” and he addressed his remarks to Juca, who was waiting nervously, tapping harder than ever on his boot. “Twenty contos—I don’t think that is too much.”

  “It’s a lot of money,” said Juca Badaró. “A week from now and Dr. Roberto will be back; he would do it for three contos.”

  João Magalhães made a facial gesture to indicate his complete indifference, as much as to say, very well, then, let him wait.

  “It’s a lot of money,” Juca Badaró repeated.

  “Look, my friend: three contos is your surveyor’s fee; but he’s registered in Bahia, he lives here, although he’s out of town—won’t be back for a week at least; whereas, I’m risking my professional reputation. I might be prosecuted and lose my right to practice or even my diploma. And then, as I was saying, I am on vacation, I’m going to miss my boat and possibly lose out on a big business deal that will cost me hundreds of contos. If I agree, it is more out of friendship than for the money that’s in it.”

  “I realize that, captain, but it’s a lot of money just the same. If you would take ten contos, sir, it’s a bargain; we’ll go out tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

  João Magalhães thereupon suggested that they split the difference: “Fifteen contos.”

  “Captain, I am not a Syrian or a pedlar. If I pay ten contos, it is because I am in a hurry to have the job done. If you like, sir, you can have your money today, and we’ll set out tomorrow.”

  João saw that he would not get any further by arguing the matter. “Very well, then, just as a favour to you. It’s agreed.”

  “I’ll be indebted to you all my life, captain. I and my brother. You can count on us, sir, whenever you need us.” And before leaving he had inquired: “Do you want the money at once? If so, come around to the house.”

  “Now, now, what do you take me for? Whenever you care to pay, sir. There’s no hurry.”

  “Then we can meet tonight.”

  “Do you play poker, sir?”

  Ferreirinha applauded this idea enthusiastically: “A good idea. We’ll get up a little game at the café.”

  “All right,” said Juca. “I’ll bring the money along, and afterwards I’ll win it back from you at poker, and you’ll do the survey free of charge.”

  João fell in with his jesting mood: “What you mean is, I’ll win another ten big ones to cover the twenty that I asked. You’d better come with your pockets well lined, Mr. Juca Badaró.”

  “We need a fourth hand,” Ferreirinha reminded them. Juca solved the problem: “I’ll bring Teodoro.”
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  And so here they all were, in the back room of Nhôzinho’s café, sitting in a poker game. Juca Badaró was taking more and more of a liking to the captain all the time. João Magalhães was the type that appealed to him: a lively conversationalist who had had a wide experience with women and knew how to tell a spicy story. The winnings were divided between them; Ferreirinha and Teodoro lost, the latter heavily. The ante was steep—so steep that Manuel de Oliveira had gone into the ballroom to summon Astrogildo, another planter, to come and see how high the bets were. The two of them now were looking on.

  “Your hundred and sixty and raise you three hundred and twenty,” said Teodoro.

  “He’s already lost more than two contos,” whispered Manuel de Oliveira to Astrogildo. “I never saw anything like it.”

  Juca Badaró paid to see. Teodoro held nines, Juca tens. “Too bad, my friend,” and Juca raked in the chips.

  Nhôzinho came in at this point, bowing, scraping, and cracking jokes, a whisky tray in his hands. Manuel de Oliveira took a glass from the tray. It was for windfalls like this that he hung around: a whisky, a bite of supper, and whatever he might be able to pick up in the way of a stray chip at bacarat or roulette.

  “Good whisky,” he remarked. Captain João Magalhães smacked his tongue approvingly. “Better even than what they sell me in Rio—it’s contraband stuff, you know—tastes like nectar.”

  Teodoro called for silence. Everybody said that he was a poor loser, which was too bad, considering that he was so fond of trying his luck at every kind of game. It was likewise said that he could have been a rich man had it not been for his vice of gambling. On days when he won he bought drinks for the house, threw his money away on women, and gave champagne suppers at the café; but when he lost, he was impossible and would insult his best friend.

  “You don’t talk when you’re playing poker,” he protested.

  Ferreirinha dealt the cards, and they all stayed. Manuel de Oliveira, sitting behind Juca Badaró’s chair, was sipping his whisky; he was not even following the game, but gave his entire attention to his drink. Astrogildo, on the other hand, standing behind Teodoro, was observing the hands closely. From his face, where disapproval showed, João Magalhães could tell what kind of cards Teodoro held. The latter drew two, and Astrogildo made a face expressive of disgust. João stayed with what he had, although it was but a lonesome pair. Teodoro then spread out his cards on the table.

  “Every time I try a bluff, I always run into that!”

  The others threw down their hands also and João took the pot. Nhôzinho now appeared, to inquire if they wished anything else.

  “Go to hell,” said Teodoro.

  He stayed in every hand and invariably lost. Finally, when the colonel broke a pair of aces to draw to a flush. Astrogildo was unable to contain himself.

  “As long as you play them like that,” he said, “you’re bound to lose. That’s not poker; that’s throwing your money away. Breaking up your hand—”

  Teodoro bounded from his chair; he was looking for a fight.

  “And what business is it of yours, you son of a bitch? Is it my money or yours? Why don’t you attend to your own affairs?”

  “You’re a son of a bitch yourself!” And, drawing his revolver, Astrogildo was on the point of firing. Juca Badaró and Ferreirinha at once leaped in and strove to quiet the two men. João Magalhães did his best to appear calm and not to show how frightened he was. Manuel de Oliveira did not budge from his chair, but went on sipping his whisky with an air of indifference; he even took advantage of the confusion to pour into his own glass half of Ferreirinha’s drink, which the latter had not touched. When both Astrogildo and Teodoro had been disarmed, Juca Badaró sought to restore amity.

  “What kind of foolishness is this?” he said. “Two friends fighting like that. Save your bullets for Horacio and his kind.”

  Teodoro sat down again, still grumbling about the “ganders” watching the game. They brought him bad luck, he said. Astrogildo, a trifle pale, had sat down also, this time beside João Magalhães. They played a few more hands, and then Ferreirinha suggested that they go and dance a little in the front room. Upon counting the chips, it was found that João Magalhães had won three contos and Juca Badaró one and a half. Before they left the room, Juca made another appeal to Teodoro and Astrogildo.

  “That’s enough now. It’s all in the game, you know. People get hot-headed—”

  “But he insulted me,” said Astrogildo. Teodoro put out his hand and the other grasped it. They then went into the front room, but Teodoro did not stay long; saying that he had a headache, he went home.

  “He’s going to get himself killed one of these days,” remarked Ferreirinha, “acting like that. Somebody will put a bullet in him before he knows what’s happened to him.”

  Juca was for excusing him. “He has his faults, but he’s a good fellow.”

  The dance hall of the café was animated. An aged Negro was pounding on a piano that was older than himself, while a blond-haired individual was doing his best with a violin.

  “Lousy orchestra,” said Ferreirinha.

  “Terrible,” Manuel de Oliveira agreed.

  The couples on the floor, tightly clasped, were dancing a waltz, and women of varying ages were scattered about at the tables. Most of the customers were drinking beer, but here and there was a party with whisky and gin glasses. Nhôzinho came up to serve them, for Juca had a dislike for the two waiters because they were pederasts, and so the proprietor himself always waited on him. And inasmuch as Juca Badaró was in the habit of spending large sums, Nhôzinho was extremely respectful, putting himself out to be of service. Ferreirinha had left the table to dance with a very young girl—she did not look a day over fifteen. She could not have been a prostitute for long, and Ferreirinha was crazy over young ones like her, “so green and tender,” as he put it to João Magalhães. A woman who was getting along in years came over to sit down beside Manuel de Oliveira.

  “Will you buy me one, Manú?” she asked, pointing to the whisky. Manuel glanced at Juca and, when the latter nodded approval, called Nhôzinho over.

  “Bring a whisky for the lady and be quick about it,” he said in an authoritative tone of voice.

  The orchestra had stopped playing, and Ferreirinha, who was back at the table again, had begun telling of something that had happened to him a long time ago.

  “Down here, captain, you have to be a little of everything. You, sir, are a military engineer, and here you are, going to do a surveyor’s job. And I, who am only an ignorant farmer, have already had to play the part of a surgeon.”

  “A surgeon?”

  “Yes, a surgeon. One of the labourers on my plantation swallowed a rabbit bone, and it got lodged in the poor fellow’s stomach and was killing him—he couldn’t even do his duties. There wasn’t time to send to the city for a doctor, and so there was nothing for it but for me to operate myself.”

  “But how did you manage it?”

  “I rigged up a long, heavy piece of wire and made a hook on the end of it. I washed it in alcohol first, of course. Then I turned the poor wretch on his face and dug the wire into him. It worked. A lot of blood came out and the bone with it, and he’s alive and well to this day.”

  “Remarkable, eh!”

  “Oh, I tell you, that fellow Ferreirinha—”

  “The worst of it was, captain, the reputation that it got me. People came from miles around wanting me to treat them. If I had cared to open an office, I’d have been the ruin of many a good doctor.” He laughed and the others joined in.

  “That’s right,” said Juca Badaró, “you do have to be a jack of all trades in these parts. You’ll find a backwoodsman here, captain, who can give lessons to a lawyer.”

  “It’s the coming country, no doubt of that,” said João, with befitting admiration.

  Manuel de Oliveir
a was making a date with the aged prostitute, but Juca had eyes only for Margot, who was seated at a table with Virgilio. Astrogildo followed his friend’s gaze; he thought that Juca was looking at the lawyer.

  “There’s that so-and-so of a Dr. Virgilio who entered that survey for the ouster.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m acquainted with him.”

  João Magalhães also glanced in Margot’s direction and gave her a nod.

  “Do you know her, sir?”

  “Do I know her? Why, she used to be around all the time with a little thing that I had in Bahia, by the name of Violeta. She’s been with Dr. Virgilio for two years now.”

  “She’s pretty,” said Juca, and João knew that he was interested in the woman; he could tell that by the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice. The captain was wondering what he could get out of it for himself.

  “She’s a nice little piece—great friend of mine.” Juca turned to look at him as João went on, very casually: “She’s stopping at Machadão’s place. Tomorrow, when she’s alone, I shall drop around and see her. I don’t like to go when the doctor’s there, for he’s very jealous. She’s a good sort, very affectionate.”

  “But you can’t go tomorrow, captain. Early tomorrow morning we’re leaving for the plantation, on the eight o’clock train.”

  “That’s right. Well, then, when I come back.”

  “She’s some woman!” was Astrogildo’s comment.

  At the next table Margot and Virgilio were engaged in an animated conversation. She was greatly agitated and kept moving her arms and head.

  “They’re quarrelling,” said Juca.

  “That’s all they do,” said the old woman who was with Manuel de Oliveira.

  “How do you happen to know?”

  “Machadão told me. It’s a scandal.”

  They ordered another round of whisky. The orchestra struck up, and Margot and Virgilio went out on the floor; but they did not talk as they danced. In the middle of the piece she dropped his arm and went over and sat down. He stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do, then called the waiter, paid his bill, took up his hat from a chair, and left.