The Violent Land by Jorge Amado Page A

was banker, and each one bought five hundred milreis’ worth of chips. João was studying Totonho attentively. The latter had a vacant eye and wore three rings on one of his hands. He was silent and sombre-looking. It would be well to give him the cards. The captain had made up his mind not to cheat, but to play fairly, even foolishly if possible, to lose a little something. That way he would have these fellows for another game which would pay a good deal better.
    He held a pair of kings, and made his bet; Maneca Dantas raised him sixteen; Ferreirinha passed, Totonho stayed, and João “saw” the raise. Ferreirinha dealt the cards; Maneca drew two, Totonho one.
    â€œIt’s up to you gentlemen,” said João.
    Totonho threw down his cards; Maneca bet, but no one “saw” him, and he took the pot. He was bluffing and could not refrain from showing his hand.
    â€œA three-wheeler,” he said. He held a king, a queen, and a jack and had drawn for a straight. João Magalhães laughed and slapped him on the back.
    â€œVery good, colonel; that was very good.”
    Totonho was eyeing him grimly, but said nothing. The captain proceeded to lose all he had to the other players. There was no doubt of it, he would make a fortune in the land of cacao.

9
    Tired of watching the game, the travelling salesman went up on, deck, where Margot stood leaning over the rail, drenched in moonlight and lost in thought. The sea was dark green, and the last of the city’s lights had long since disappeared. The boat was tossing, and nearly all the passengers had retired to their cabins or were lying stretched out on deck-chairs, wrapped in heavy blankets. In third-class the harmonica again was playing a languid air. The moon was in the centre of the heavens now, and a cold gust of wind blew in from the south, lifting Margot’s blond locks. She grasped the rail as her hair floated on the breeze. When he saw that she was alone, the salesman whistled softly to himself and approached her gradually. He had no definite plan of action, no more than a vague hope in his heart.
    â€œGood evening.”
    Margot turned, putting up a hand to her hair.
    â€œGood evening.”
    â€œTurning cool, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    Once more she gazed at the sea, where the stars were reflected. Drawing a kerchief over her head to restrain her hair, she moved over to make room for the salesman at the rail. There was a prolonged silence. Margot appeared not to be aware of his presence, being lost in contemplation of the mystery of sea and sky. It was he who finally spoke.
    â€œYou are going to Ilhéos?”
    â€œYes, I am.”
    â€œGoing to stay down there?”
    â€œI don’t know. If I make out all right—”
    â€œYou were in Lisia’s place, weren’t you?”
    â€œUh-huh,” and she nodded her head.
    â€œI saw you there, last Saturday. You were with Lawyer—”
    â€œI know.” She turned back to gaze at the sea, as if she did not care to continue the conversation.
    â€œIlhéos is the land of money, big money. A kid as pretty as you ought to get herself a grove. There can’t fail to be a colonel among the customers.”
    She took her eyes away from the sea and looked hard at her companion. It was as if she were doubtful whether she ought to speak or not. Then she gazed back into the water without saying a word.
    â€œJuca Badaró,” the salesman continued, “was talking to you a little while ago. Better be careful.”
    â€œWho is he?”
    â€œHe’s one of the rich men of the country—a brave one, too. The workers on his plantation are a hell-raising lot, they say. They are bullies and braggarts; they run over other people’s land and kill folks right and left. He’s the master of Sequeiro Grande.”
    Margot was interested, and he went on.
    â€œThey say the whole family is brave, men and women alike,