Read Online The Double Death of Quincas Water-Bray by Jorge Amado - Free Book Online
Authors: Jorge Amado
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down. What the devil was he, Eduardo, doing there playing watchman? Wasn’t it enough to go to the burial? Wasn’t he paying part of the expenses? He was going beyond his brotherly duties, especially for a brother like Quincas, who was an annoyance to his life.
He stood up and moved his limbs about, opened his mouth in a yawn. Swifty was hiding the little green frog in his hand. Sparrow was thinking about Quitéria Goggle-Eye. A woman and lots of it.…
Eduardo turned to face them. “Tell me something…”
Corporal Martim, a psychologist by nature and by necessity, came to attention. “At your orders, commandant, sir.” Who knows, maybe the merchant would send out for some drinks to help pass the long night.
“Are you all planning to spend the night here?”
“With him? Yes, sir. We were friends.”
“Then I’m going to go home and get a little rest.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out a bill. The eyes of the corporal, Sparrow, and Swifty were following his movements. “Here’s something for you to buy some sandwiches with. But don’t leave him alone, not for one minute, eh?”
“You can rest easy. We’ll keep him company.”
Before they began their drinking, Sparrow and Swifty lit cigarettes and Corporal Martim one of those fifty-centavo cigars, black and strong, the kind only real smokers could appreciate. The powerful smoke passed across the black man’s nostrils, but not even then did Bangs wake up. As soon as they uncorked the cachaça (the disputed first bottle that, according to the family, the corporal had brought in under his shirt), Bangs Blackie opened his eyes and demanded a drink.
The first round brought out a critical spirit in the fourfriends. That stuck-up family of Quincas’s had shown itself to be stingy and greedy. They did everything halfway. Where were the chairs for visitors to sit in? Where were the usual food and drink they have at poor people’s wakes? Martim had served as watch for many wakes. He’d never seen one with such a lack of activity. Even at the poorest of them, they served at least coffee and a swig of cachaça. Quincas didn’t deserve such treatment. What did it get them to belch out their importance and then leave the dead man in that humiliation, with nothing to offer his friends? Sparrow and Swifty went to get something to sit on and some food. Corporal Martim thought it necessary at least to organize the wake with a minimum of decorum. Sitting in the chair, he gave orders: some crates and bottles. Bangs Blackie was on the kerosene can, and he nodded his approval.
It must be confessed, however, that with regard to the corpse itself, the family had behaved quite well. New clothes, new shoes—all of it elegant. And nice candles, the church kind. Even so, they’d forgotten the flowers. Where did you ever see a corpse without flowers?
“He looks like a gentleman,” Bangs Blackie said proudly. “An elegant dead man!”
Quincas smiled at the praise.
The black man returned his smile. “Little Papa…,” he said, lovingly poking him in the ribs, the way he used to when he’d just heard one of Quincas’s good stories.
Sparrow and Swifty returned with some crates, a chunk of salami, and some full bottles. They stood in a semicircle around the dead man, and then Sparrow suggested they say an Our Father together. He managed, with a surprising effort of memory, to remember the prayer almost in its entirety. The others followed along, showing little conviction. It didn’t look all that easy for them. Bangs Blackie knewsome drumbeats for Oxum and Oxalá, but his religious training hadn’t gone much further than that. It had been some thirty years since the last time Swifty had prayed. Corporal Martim considered prayers and churches weaknesses, not very much in keeping with military life. Even so, they made an attempt, with Sparrow leading the prayer and the others responding as best they could. Finally, Sparrow, who had knelt and lowered his head
He stood up and moved his limbs about, opened his mouth in a yawn. Swifty was hiding the little green frog in his hand. Sparrow was thinking about Quitéria Goggle-Eye. A woman and lots of it.…
Eduardo turned to face them. “Tell me something…”
Corporal Martim, a psychologist by nature and by necessity, came to attention. “At your orders, commandant, sir.” Who knows, maybe the merchant would send out for some drinks to help pass the long night.
“Are you all planning to spend the night here?”
“With him? Yes, sir. We were friends.”
“Then I’m going to go home and get a little rest.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out a bill. The eyes of the corporal, Sparrow, and Swifty were following his movements. “Here’s something for you to buy some sandwiches with. But don’t leave him alone, not for one minute, eh?”
“You can rest easy. We’ll keep him company.”
Before they began their drinking, Sparrow and Swifty lit cigarettes and Corporal Martim one of those fifty-centavo cigars, black and strong, the kind only real smokers could appreciate. The powerful smoke passed across the black man’s nostrils, but not even then did Bangs wake up. As soon as they uncorked the cachaça (the disputed first bottle that, according to the family, the corporal had brought in under his shirt), Bangs Blackie opened his eyes and demanded a drink.
The first round brought out a critical spirit in the fourfriends. That stuck-up family of Quincas’s had shown itself to be stingy and greedy. They did everything halfway. Where were the chairs for visitors to sit in? Where were the usual food and drink they have at poor people’s wakes? Martim had served as watch for many wakes. He’d never seen one with such a lack of activity. Even at the poorest of them, they served at least coffee and a swig of cachaça. Quincas didn’t deserve such treatment. What did it get them to belch out their importance and then leave the dead man in that humiliation, with nothing to offer his friends? Sparrow and Swifty went to get something to sit on and some food. Corporal Martim thought it necessary at least to organize the wake with a minimum of decorum. Sitting in the chair, he gave orders: some crates and bottles. Bangs Blackie was on the kerosene can, and he nodded his approval.
It must be confessed, however, that with regard to the corpse itself, the family had behaved quite well. New clothes, new shoes—all of it elegant. And nice candles, the church kind. Even so, they’d forgotten the flowers. Where did you ever see a corpse without flowers?
“He looks like a gentleman,” Bangs Blackie said proudly. “An elegant dead man!”
Quincas smiled at the praise.
The black man returned his smile. “Little Papa…,” he said, lovingly poking him in the ribs, the way he used to when he’d just heard one of Quincas’s good stories.
Sparrow and Swifty returned with some crates, a chunk of salami, and some full bottles. They stood in a semicircle around the dead man, and then Sparrow suggested they say an Our Father together. He managed, with a surprising effort of memory, to remember the prayer almost in its entirety. The others followed along, showing little conviction. It didn’t look all that easy for them. Bangs Blackie knewsome drumbeats for Oxum and Oxalá, but his religious training hadn’t gone much further than that. It had been some thirty years since the last time Swifty had prayed. Corporal Martim considered prayers and churches weaknesses, not very much in keeping with military life. Even so, they made an attempt, with Sparrow leading the prayer and the others responding as best they could. Finally, Sparrow, who had knelt and lowered his head
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