Childhood of the Dead by Jose Louzeiro, translated by Ladyce Pompeo de Barros

bedroom, opened the closet, searched for a shirt, changed, combed his hair, fixed his eye bandage, turned off the light and closed the door from the outside.
    Manguito put all the money in his pocket. They joined Smokey, who’d remained seated at the doorpost.
    â€œEverything OK?”
    â€œBetter than we expected,” Dito answered.
    â€œNow, we only gotta get away,” Manguito stressed.
    Outside, they hailed a cab passing by and disappeared.
    In the early morning hours they were asleep on benches in the train station. Dito had already got the information about a freight leaving at five for Rio. He tipped the clerk and even discovered the train’s number. By four o’clock he would wake up Smokey. They would disappear in the sidings and get into a wagon. They wouldn’t return to Sao Paulo soon, at least until the large police chief had forgotten them. Thinking about these things, Dito leaned his head back on the seat and fell asleep for some moments.
    VI
    He woke up with the arrival of a passenger train, the first departing train of the day. If only they had permits for travelling minors, they could have got tickets easily. But he hadn’t wanted to risk it. Any carelessness could result in prison for sure. An old man carrying a bag and a suitcase stopped close by, setting his load on the ground. There were two girls and a boy with him. The older girl stared at Dito whenever he was not paying attention. When he looked at her, she turned her eyes away. A man selling candies and sweets came by; Dito offered some to the girl and her brother. The little boy accepted it, dividing the chocolate bar with his sisters while the old man looked at Dito thankfully.
    â€œDo you know if the second class coach has arrived, already?”
    Dito shook his head. He didn’t know. “Where are you going?”
    â€œItapecirica. We’re coming from Joao Pessoa. A long ways!”
    The station was filling up with people, the railroad workers arrived, the women who swept the cigarret butts from the floor started to work. Dito decided to wake up Smokey and Manguito.
    â€œCome on, it’s almost morning.”
    Once again he looked at the pale girl with long straight hair. He walked to the end of the platform, jumped over the tracks, closely followed by his friends. They stopped behind a partial wall and looked to see if they were being followed. They eventually reached the sidings and the train. There were fifteen cars, more or less, pulled by only one locomotive. They slid below the wagons, and climbed over couplers. They forced the first door they found unlatched and sat down among bales of merchandise.
    â€œYour eye is getting to be all purple, man,” Manguito said.
    â€œBy the time we get get there it should be better.”
    Manguito cut his speech short, understanding that Dito didn’t like that observation. He then reclined against a bale, playing with some kernels of grain he had found loose. Smokey was joking around. Manguito smiled. Dito was distant. His thoughts were scattered among Crystal, Pichote and the girl with straight hair. He tried to cheer up, to laugh at Smokey’s sillines, but what he saw was Crystal gesticulating, talking smoothly, rubbing the chalk on the end of his cue stick for one more play. Above this calm image of calculated words, Pichote ran: thin legs, the fabric of his cheap shirt quivering on his back, a baby-toothed smile. Why did they kill him? Why, when they had only been crossing through, to avoid the snitches and criminals? He couldn’t find an explanation, however much he thought about it. “We should have bought a sandwich,” said Smokey.
    â€œWhen the train stops, we can buy bananas,” Manguito said.
    â€œAnd until then?”
    Manguito found the boy’s worry comical.
    â€œYou dream that you’re drinking coffee with milk, eating buttered bread. That’s all you need to do and your hunger will go