street, the boats in the bay, the people coming and going. He got the feeling of a sudden emptiness, couldn’t hear the birds in the cages nearby in a vendor’s stall.
He wasn’t a man for weeping; a soldier doesn’t cry, even after he’s put aside his uniform. But his eyes grew tiny, his voice changed, he lost all his bluster. It was almost with the voice of a child that he asked, “How could it have happened?”
After picking up his cards, he joined the other two. They still had to look for Swifty. He had no certain perch, except on Thursday and Sunday afternoons when invariably he would be performing in Valdemar’s capoeira ring on the Estrada da Liberdade. Outside of that, his profession carried him off to distant places. He hunted for rats and toads to sell to laboratories for medical tests and scientificexperiments—which made Swifty a figure to be admired in the opinion of the most respected people. Wasn’t he a bit of a scientist himself? Didn’t he talk to doctors, know big words?
Only after lots of walking and drinking did they come upon him, all wrapped up in his big coat as though it were cold, mumbling to himself. He’d gotten the news through other channels, and he was also looking for his friends. When he met them he put his hand into one of his pockets. To take out a handkerchief to wipe away his tears, Sparrow thought. But out of the depths of his pocket Swifty had pulled a small green bullfrog, gleaming like an emerald.
“I was keeping it for Quincas. I never found one so pretty.”
9
When they appeared at the door of the room, Swifty thrust out his hand, in the extended palm of which rested the frog with its bulging eyes. They stayed there standing in the doorway, one behind the other. Bangs Blackie stuck in his big head to take a look. Swifty, embarrassed, put the creature back in his pocket.
The family halted their animated conversation. Four pairs of hostile eyes stared at the shabby group. That’s all we needed, thought Vanda. Corporal Martim, who in matters of etiquette was second only to Quincas himself, took off his filthy cap and greeted those present.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We just wanted to view him.”
He took a step inside. The others followed. The family backed away. They had been standing around the coffin. Sparrow got the thought that it was a trick, that the dead man wasn’t Quincas Water-Bray. He recognized him by only his smile. The four of them were dumbfounded. They never could have imagined Quincas so clean and elegant, so well dressed. They instantly lost their self-assurance, and their tipsiness disappeared as if by magic. The presence of the family—the women especially—left them fearful and timid, not knowing how to act, where to put their hands, how to behave before the dead man.
Sparrow, so ridiculous with his face painted red and wearing his shabby frock coat, looked at the other three, suggesting that they get away from there as fast as possible. Corporal Martim was hesitating, like a general on the eve of battle, assessing the enemy’s strength. Swifty made a step toward the door. Only Bangs Blackie, still bringing up the rear, lifting his big head up to see, didn’t hesitate for a second. Quincas was smiling at him, and the black man smiled back. There was no human force capable of dragging him away from there, from beside little Papa Quincas. He grabbed Swifty by the arm, answered Sparrow’s request with his eyes. Corporal Martim understood; a soldier doesn’t flee the field of battle. The four of them drew back from the coffin to a corner of the room.
There they all were now, in silence: on one side the family of Joaquim Soares da Cunha—daughter, son-in-law, brother, and sister—and on the other side the friends of Quincas Water-Bray. Swifty put his hand into his pocket and felt the frightened frog, as though he wanted to show it to Quincas. With a movement that looked like ballet, the friends drew back from the coffin and
He wasn’t a man for weeping; a soldier doesn’t cry, even after he’s put aside his uniform. But his eyes grew tiny, his voice changed, he lost all his bluster. It was almost with the voice of a child that he asked, “How could it have happened?”
After picking up his cards, he joined the other two. They still had to look for Swifty. He had no certain perch, except on Thursday and Sunday afternoons when invariably he would be performing in Valdemar’s capoeira ring on the Estrada da Liberdade. Outside of that, his profession carried him off to distant places. He hunted for rats and toads to sell to laboratories for medical tests and scientificexperiments—which made Swifty a figure to be admired in the opinion of the most respected people. Wasn’t he a bit of a scientist himself? Didn’t he talk to doctors, know big words?
Only after lots of walking and drinking did they come upon him, all wrapped up in his big coat as though it were cold, mumbling to himself. He’d gotten the news through other channels, and he was also looking for his friends. When he met them he put his hand into one of his pockets. To take out a handkerchief to wipe away his tears, Sparrow thought. But out of the depths of his pocket Swifty had pulled a small green bullfrog, gleaming like an emerald.
“I was keeping it for Quincas. I never found one so pretty.”
9
When they appeared at the door of the room, Swifty thrust out his hand, in the extended palm of which rested the frog with its bulging eyes. They stayed there standing in the doorway, one behind the other. Bangs Blackie stuck in his big head to take a look. Swifty, embarrassed, put the creature back in his pocket.
The family halted their animated conversation. Four pairs of hostile eyes stared at the shabby group. That’s all we needed, thought Vanda. Corporal Martim, who in matters of etiquette was second only to Quincas himself, took off his filthy cap and greeted those present.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We just wanted to view him.”
He took a step inside. The others followed. The family backed away. They had been standing around the coffin. Sparrow got the thought that it was a trick, that the dead man wasn’t Quincas Water-Bray. He recognized him by only his smile. The four of them were dumbfounded. They never could have imagined Quincas so clean and elegant, so well dressed. They instantly lost their self-assurance, and their tipsiness disappeared as if by magic. The presence of the family—the women especially—left them fearful and timid, not knowing how to act, where to put their hands, how to behave before the dead man.
Sparrow, so ridiculous with his face painted red and wearing his shabby frock coat, looked at the other three, suggesting that they get away from there as fast as possible. Corporal Martim was hesitating, like a general on the eve of battle, assessing the enemy’s strength. Swifty made a step toward the door. Only Bangs Blackie, still bringing up the rear, lifting his big head up to see, didn’t hesitate for a second. Quincas was smiling at him, and the black man smiled back. There was no human force capable of dragging him away from there, from beside little Papa Quincas. He grabbed Swifty by the arm, answered Sparrow’s request with his eyes. Corporal Martim understood; a soldier doesn’t flee the field of battle. The four of them drew back from the coffin to a corner of the room.
There they all were now, in silence: on one side the family of Joaquim Soares da Cunha—daughter, son-in-law, brother, and sister—and on the other side the friends of Quincas Water-Bray. Swifty put his hand into his pocket and felt the frightened frog, as though he wanted to show it to Quincas. With a movement that looked like ballet, the friends drew back from the coffin and
Similar Books
