well attended.
Then Sira came in. Wearing a black shawl and large silver hoop earrings inlaid with jet. She looked around, her head raised, then removed her shoes.
‘I would like to dedicate the first song of the night to the dance’s finest couple,’ she said. ‘The one from the Civil Guard!’
She’d done this before. No one was surprised. Sergeant Montes smiled with satisfaction. Hungered after the singer. And the
fado
began, ‘I had the keys of life, but didn’t open the doors where happiness lived’, at which point all the other details lost their meaning. Sira, Sira’s voice, captivated every nook and cranny, every glance. The door of the dance hall opened and in came Mariscal, who walked diagonally without taking in the stage. At the buffet, he gestured in greeting to the guards with his hat. Whispered something to Rumbo, who nodded and offered the guards a second drink. Imported whisky. Johnnie Walker. They were grateful and raised their glasses in a toast.
And while Sira sang ‘Chaves da vida’, Brinco left the dance hall. Followed by Leda and Fins.
Brinco ran towards the beach, abandoned the dance hall, in an attempt to escape his mother’s charming voice. He realised there were two hangers-on. Stopped and turned around with an angry expression. ‘What? Always sniffing around my bottom.’
‘We belong here as much as you!’ said Leda defiantly.
‘You really never stop talking. My mother’s right.’
Brinco knew how to wound with his tongue, but this time he realised that his last sentence was an arrow aimed at himself. He set off running. Leda’s voice chased after him, ‘Well, look who’s doing the talking, mummy’s boy!’
The whore who gave birth to her, he thought, how well she knew how to hit the spot. He came to the beached boat where two men were waiting, the veteran Carburo and younger Inverno. Garbled the message, tripping on his words because of all the running and the annoyance caused by the others, like carrying along a string of cans. ‘Rumbo says you can start unloading!’
‘Unloading what?’ asked Carburo. The boy needed training.
‘The tuna, of course!’
The other two approached, running.
‘And these two Martians?’ asked Inverno.
‘Oh, these two will work for free.’
The two men laughed. ‘Well, aren’t we the lucky ones?’
The group started walking with Carburo at the front. His large head, his body slightly bowed. A sculpted figure wounding the night. Leda heard what Brinco said to Inverno and reacted bravely. ‘Free, my arse.’
‘She’s a wild one,’ said Inverno. ‘That’s it, girl, make sure you protect your interests.’
In a whisper, to Brinco, ‘That girl, in a few years’ time, will be pure dynamite.’
From the end of the breakwater, a man signals in Morse with a torch. Another replies from a boat not far out at sea. It’s summer and the sea is calm. Shortly afterwards there is the sound of a nautical engine, and the silhouette of a fishing boat comes into view.
The fishing boat docks. Heavily laden, fore and aft, with large shapes covered in nets and other fishing tackle, such as buoys and creels. When the sailors remove the camouflage, cardboard boxes containing smuggled tobacco are revealed. Mussel-raft blond. More people have arrived, mostly men, but also some women, moving between the darkness of the nearby pine groves and the light of the moon, which illuminates the ramp of the old harbour.
A Mercedes turns up and out gets Mariscal. All the carriers take up position, quickly forming a well-spaced human line. Mariscal follows their movements from the promontory. He has a good panoramic view, but he also knows that he is visible. Raised in the night. The mouth that talks.
‘Everything all right, Gamboa?’
‘Everything OK, boss.’
‘Carburo, get these people moving!’
‘Everybody listen. At full speed. In order and in silence. There’s no need to worry. The guards are still at the dance.’
One of the women
Then Sira came in. Wearing a black shawl and large silver hoop earrings inlaid with jet. She looked around, her head raised, then removed her shoes.
‘I would like to dedicate the first song of the night to the dance’s finest couple,’ she said. ‘The one from the Civil Guard!’
She’d done this before. No one was surprised. Sergeant Montes smiled with satisfaction. Hungered after the singer. And the
fado
began, ‘I had the keys of life, but didn’t open the doors where happiness lived’, at which point all the other details lost their meaning. Sira, Sira’s voice, captivated every nook and cranny, every glance. The door of the dance hall opened and in came Mariscal, who walked diagonally without taking in the stage. At the buffet, he gestured in greeting to the guards with his hat. Whispered something to Rumbo, who nodded and offered the guards a second drink. Imported whisky. Johnnie Walker. They were grateful and raised their glasses in a toast.
And while Sira sang ‘Chaves da vida’, Brinco left the dance hall. Followed by Leda and Fins.
Brinco ran towards the beach, abandoned the dance hall, in an attempt to escape his mother’s charming voice. He realised there were two hangers-on. Stopped and turned around with an angry expression. ‘What? Always sniffing around my bottom.’
‘We belong here as much as you!’ said Leda defiantly.
‘You really never stop talking. My mother’s right.’
Brinco knew how to wound with his tongue, but this time he realised that his last sentence was an arrow aimed at himself. He set off running. Leda’s voice chased after him, ‘Well, look who’s doing the talking, mummy’s boy!’
The whore who gave birth to her, he thought, how well she knew how to hit the spot. He came to the beached boat where two men were waiting, the veteran Carburo and younger Inverno. Garbled the message, tripping on his words because of all the running and the annoyance caused by the others, like carrying along a string of cans. ‘Rumbo says you can start unloading!’
‘Unloading what?’ asked Carburo. The boy needed training.
‘The tuna, of course!’
The other two approached, running.
‘And these two Martians?’ asked Inverno.
‘Oh, these two will work for free.’
The two men laughed. ‘Well, aren’t we the lucky ones?’
The group started walking with Carburo at the front. His large head, his body slightly bowed. A sculpted figure wounding the night. Leda heard what Brinco said to Inverno and reacted bravely. ‘Free, my arse.’
‘She’s a wild one,’ said Inverno. ‘That’s it, girl, make sure you protect your interests.’
In a whisper, to Brinco, ‘That girl, in a few years’ time, will be pure dynamite.’
From the end of the breakwater, a man signals in Morse with a torch. Another replies from a boat not far out at sea. It’s summer and the sea is calm. Shortly afterwards there is the sound of a nautical engine, and the silhouette of a fishing boat comes into view.
The fishing boat docks. Heavily laden, fore and aft, with large shapes covered in nets and other fishing tackle, such as buoys and creels. When the sailors remove the camouflage, cardboard boxes containing smuggled tobacco are revealed. Mussel-raft blond. More people have arrived, mostly men, but also some women, moving between the darkness of the nearby pine groves and the light of the moon, which illuminates the ramp of the old harbour.
A Mercedes turns up and out gets Mariscal. All the carriers take up position, quickly forming a well-spaced human line. Mariscal follows their movements from the promontory. He has a good panoramic view, but he also knows that he is visible. Raised in the night. The mouth that talks.
‘Everything all right, Gamboa?’
‘Everything OK, boss.’
‘Carburo, get these people moving!’
‘Everybody listen. At full speed. In order and in silence. There’s no need to worry. The guards are still at the dance.’
One of the women
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