Read Online The Violent Land by Jorge Amado - Free Book Online

which he stroked every other minute.
    â€œYou’ll catch cold like that, young lady.”
    Margot made no reply.
    â€œWhere are you staying in Ilhéos?” the other asked. “At Machadão’s place?”
    â€œWhat business is it of yours?”
    â€œDon’t be stuck up, miss. It’s off folks like us that you’re going to make a living, ain’t that right? Look, my friend Moura here can fix you up in fine style.”
    The short man tugged at his moustache. “And I’ll come around, too, my dear. All you have to do is say the word.”
    They saw Juca Badaró approaching.
    â€œExcuse me.”
    â€œGood evening, Juca.” And the two of them slipped away.
    Juca nodded, then turned to Margot.
    â€œIt’s time you were asleep, young lady. It’s better to sleep than to stand here gabbling with everyone who comes along.” He gazed resentfully at the backs of the retreating pair, but Margot stared straight at Juca.
    â€œWho gave you the right to meddle in my life?”
    â€œBetter look sharp, young lady. I’m going below to see how my wife’s getting along in the cabin; but I’ll be back, and if I find you here, there’s going to be a rumpus. A woman of mine does what I say.” And with this he left.
    â€œA woman of mine—” Margot repeated to herself contemptuously. Then, taking her time about it, she went down to her stateroom. As she passed, she heard the short man with the moustache saying:
    â€œThat fellow Juca Badaró has a good lesson coming to him.”
    Of a sudden she felt as if she were Juca’s woman.
    â€œThen why don’t you teach it to him?” she asked.

12
    A deepening silence lay upon the ship as it ploughed through the night sea. The harmonicas and guitars in third-class had stopped playing, and no voice sang the sad, sad songs of love and longing. Margot had gone to her cabin, and no musing passenger leaned on the ship’s rail. The words of the poker-players were lost before they reached the sea. Suffused in the red and ominous light of the moon, the boat ploughed on, blanketed now in silence. The night aboard ship was filled with sleep—with sleep and dreams and the hopes of men.
    The captain came down from the bridge, accompanied by the first mate. Together they made their way through the cluster of first-class passengers, asleep beneath their blankets. Now and then one of the figures would mutter a word; he was dreaming of cacao plantations laden with fruit. The skipper and the first mate descended the narrow stairs to third-class, where men and women lay huddled against one another for warmth. The skipper was silent. The second officer whistled a popular tune. Antonio Victor had a beatific smile on his lips, as he dreamed of an easy fortune won in the land of Ilhéos and of his return to Estancia in quest of Ivone.
    The captain halted and looked at the sleeping mulatto.
    â€œYou see?” he said, turning to the mate. “He won’t smile so much when he gets down there in the woods.” And with his foot he pushed Antonio Victor’s head. “I feel sorry for them.”
    They came up to the rail in the stern of the ship. The waves were tossing high and the moon was red. They were silent as the second officer lighted his pipe. It was the skipper who spoke at last.
    â€œYou know,” he said, “there are times when I feel like the captain of one of those slavers in the old days.” As the mate did not reply, he went on to explain. “One of those ships that brought blacks over to sell them as slaves.” He pointed to the sleeping figures, to Antonio Victor, who was smiling still. “What difference is there?”
    The first mate shrugged his shoulders, gave a puff on his pipe, but said nothing. He was gazing out over the sea, the immensity of the night, and the heaven of stars.

II
    THE FOREST

1
    The forest lay sleeping its never interrupted