The War Of The End Of The World Part 23

Yes, they have located it. Pajeu confirms that they have, on meeting Joao and his men at Fazenda Velha. A Matadeira is on the first rise, immediately behind Monte Mario, alongside the first column's other cannons. They have placed them in a line, between bags and barrels filled with stones. Two "youngsters" have crawled up there and, after crossing through no-man's-land and the line of dead sharpshooters, counted three sentry posts on the almost vertical sides of A Favela.

Big Joao leaves Abbot Joao and the Macambiras with Pajeu and slips through the labyrinth that has been excavated along this stretch of land bordering the Vaza-Barris. From these tunnels and dugouts the jaguncos jaguncos have inflicted their worst punishment on the soldiers who, once they reached the heights and spied Canudos, rushed down the mountainsides to the city lying at the bottom of them. The terrible fusillade stopped them in their tracks, made them turn tail, run about in circles, collide with each other, knock each other down, trample each other as they discovered that they could neither retreat nor advance nor escape on the flanks and that their only choice was to throw themselves flat on the ground and set up defenses. Big Joao picks his way between sleeping have inflicted their worst punishment on the soldiers who, once they reached the heights and spied Canudos, rushed down the mountainsides to the city lying at the bottom of them. The terrible fusillade stopped them in their tracks, made them turn tail, run about in circles, collide with each other, knock each other down, trample each other as they discovered that they could neither retreat nor advance nor escape on the flanks and that their only choice was to throw themselves flat on the ground and set up defenses. Big Joao picks his way between sleeping jaguncos jaguncos; every so often, a sentry jumps down from the parapets to talk to him. He awakens forty men of the Catholic Guard and explains to them what they are to do. He is not surprised to learn that there have been practically no casualties in this maze of trenches; Abbot Joao had foreseen that the topography would offer the jaguncos jaguncos more protection there than anywhere else. more protection there than anywhere else.

On his return to Fazenda Velha with the forty Catholic Guards, he finds Abbot Joao and Joaquim Macambira in the midst of an argument. The Street Commander wants the Macambiras to put on soldiers' uniforms, claiming that this will better their chances of getting to the cannon. Joaquim Macambira indignantly refuses.

"I don't want to be condemned to h.e.l.l," he growls.

"You won't be. It's so that you and your sons will get back alive."

"My life and my sons' are our business," the old man thunders.

"Do as you please," Abbot Joao says resignedly. "May the Father be with you, then."

"Praised be Blessed Jesus the Counselor," the old man says in farewell.

As they are entering no-man's-land, the moon comes out. Big Joao swears under his breath and he hears his men muttering. It is an enormous round yellow moon whose pale light drives away the shadows and reveals the stretch of bare ground, without vegetation, that disappears from sight in the pitch-blackness of A Favela above. Pajeu accompanies them to the foot of the slope. Big Joao cannot help mulling over the same thought as before: how could he have slept when everyone else was still awake? He takes a sidelong glance at Pajeu's face. How many days has he gone without sleep now-three, four? He has hara.s.sed the dogs all the way from Monte Santo, he has sniped at them at Angico and at As Umburanas, has gone back to Canudos to harry them from there, which he has been doing for two days now, and here he is, still fresh, calm, distant, guiding him and the others along with the two "youngsters" who will take his place to guide them up on the slope. "He wouldn't have fallen asleep," Big Joao thinks. "The Devil made me fall asleep," he thinks. He gives a start; despite the many years that have gone by and the peace the Counselor has brought him, every so often he is tormented by the suspicion that the Demon that entered his body on that long-ago afternoon when he killed Adelinha de Gumucio is still lurking in the dark shadows of his soul, waiting for the right moment to d.a.m.n him again.

The steep, nearly vertical face of the mountain suddenly looms up before them. Joao wonders if old Macambira will be able to scale it. Pajeu points to the line of dead sharpshooters, clearly visible in the moonlight. There are many of them; they were the vanguard and they all fell at the same height on the mountainside, mowed down by the jaguncos jaguncos' fusillade. Big Joao can see the studs on their chest belts, the gilt emblems on their caps gleaming in the half light. Pajeu takes his leave of the others with an almost imperceptible nod and the two "youngsters" begin to clamber up the slope on all fours. Big Joao and Joaquim Macambira follow after them, also on all fours, and after them the Catholic Guards. They climb so cautiously that even Joao can't hear them. What little noise they make, the clatter of the pebbles they send rolling down the mountainside, seems to be the work of the wind. At his back, down below, he can hear a constant murmur rising from Belo Monte. Are they reciting the Rosary in the church square? Is it the hymns that Canudos sings as it buries the day's dead each night? He can now see figures, lights, and hear voices up ahead of him, and tenses all his muscles, ready for whatever may happen.

The "youngsters" signal to them to halt. They are near a sentry post; four soldiers standing, and behind them many soldiers silhouetted against the glow of a campfire. Old Macambira crawls over to him and Big Joao hears his labored breathing and the words: "When you hear the whistle, fire away." He nods. "May the Blessed Jesus be with you all, Dom Joaquim." He sees the shadows swallow up the twelve Macambiras, bent under the crushing weight of their hammers, crowbars, and axes, and the "youngster" who is guiding them. The other "youngster" stays behind with Big Joao and his men.

His every nerve taut, he waits there among them for the whistle signaling that the Macambiras have reached A Matadeira. It is a long time coming, so long that it seems to Big Joao that he is never going to hear it. When-a sudden long wail-it drowns out all the other sounds, he and his men all fire at once at the sentries. An earsplitting fusillade begins all round him. Chaos ensues, and the soldiers put out their campfire. They shoot back from above, but they have not spotted them, for the shots are not aimed in their direction.

Big Joao orders his men to advance, and a moment later they are shooting and setting off petards in the dark against the camp, where they hear feet running, voices, confused orders. Once he has emptied his rifle, Joao crouches down and listens. There also seems to be shooting up above, in the direction of Monte Mario. Are the Macambiras having a skirmish with the artillerymen? In any event, it's no use going up there; his men, too, have used up all their ammunition. With his whistle, he gives the order to withdraw.

Halfway down the mountainside, a slight little figure catches up with them, running hard. Big Joao puts his hand on the long, tangled locks.

"Did you take them to A Matadeira?" he asks the boy.

"Yes, I did," he answers.

There is loud rifle fire behind them, as though the war was raging all over A Favela. The boy says no more and Big Joao thinks, yet again, of the strange habits of sertanejos sertanejos, who would rather keep still than talk.

"And what happened to the Macambiras?" he finally asks.

"They were killed," the boy says softly.

"All of them?"

"I think so."

They have already reached no-man's-land, halfway back to the trenches.

The Dwarf found the nearsighted man hunched over in a fold in the terrain of Cocorobo weeping as Pedrao's men were withdrawing. He took him by the hand and guided him along among the jaguncos jaguncos hurrying back to Belo Monte as fast as they could, convinced that the soldiers of the second column, once they had broken through the Trabubu barrier, would attack the city. The following morning, as they were going along a trench in front of the goat pens, they came upon Jurema in the midst of a great throng: she was walking along between the Sardelinha sisters, prodding an a.s.s loaded with panniers. Filled with emotion, the three of them embraced each other, and the Dwarf felt the touch of Jurema's lips on his cheek. That night, as they lay on the floor of the store behind the barrels and boxes, listening to the gunfire raking Canudos without letup, the Dwarf told them that, as far as he could recall, that kiss was the very first one anyone had ever given him. hurrying back to Belo Monte as fast as they could, convinced that the soldiers of the second column, once they had broken through the Trabubu barrier, would attack the city. The following morning, as they were going along a trench in front of the goat pens, they came upon Jurema in the midst of a great throng: she was walking along between the Sardelinha sisters, prodding an a.s.s loaded with panniers. Filled with emotion, the three of them embraced each other, and the Dwarf felt the touch of Jurema's lips on his cheek. That night, as they lay on the floor of the store behind the barrels and boxes, listening to the gunfire raking Canudos without letup, the Dwarf told them that, as far as he could recall, that kiss was the very first one anyone had ever given him.

How many days was it that the cannons roared, rifles cracked, grenades exploded, blackening the air and chipping the towers of the Temple? Three, four, five? They wandered around the store, saw the Vilanova brothers and the others come in by day and by night, heard them talking together and giving orders, and didn't have the least idea what was going on. One afternoon, as the Dwarf was filling little pouches and horns with gunpowder for the blunderbusses and flintlock muskets, he heard one of the jaguncos jaguncos say, pointing to the explosives: "I hope your walls are solid, Antonio Vilanova. Just one bullet could set all this off and blow the whole neighborhood to bits." The Dwarf did not pa.s.s that on to his companions. Why make the nearsighted man more terrified than he already was? The things they had lived through together up here had made him feel an affection for the two of them that he had never felt even for the circus people with whom he got along best. say, pointing to the explosives: "I hope your walls are solid, Antonio Vilanova. Just one bullet could set all this off and blow the whole neighborhood to bits." The Dwarf did not pa.s.s that on to his companions. Why make the nearsighted man more terrified than he already was? The things they had lived through together up here had made him feel an affection for the two of them that he had never felt even for the circus people with whom he got along best.

During the bombardment he went out twice, in search of food. Hugging the walls, like everyone else out in the streets, he went begging from door to door, blinded by the dust in the air, deafened by the gunfire. On the Rua da Madre Igreja he saw a child die. The little boy had come chasing after a hen that was running down the street flapping its wings, and after just a few steps his eyes opened wide and his feet suddenly left the ground, as though he had been yanked up by the hair. The bullet hit him in the belly, killing him instantly. He carried the dead body into the house that he had seen the boy run out of, and since there was no one there he left it in the hammock. He was unable to catch the hen. The morale of the three of them, despite the uncertainty and the death toll, improved once they had food again, thanks to the animals that Abbot Joao had brought back to Belo Monte.

Night had fallen, there was a letup in the barrage, the sound of prayers in the church square had died away, and they were lying awake on the floor of the store, talking together. All of a sudden, a silent figure appeared in the doorway, with a little clay lamp in its hands. The Dwarf recognized by the scar and the steely eyes that it was Pajeu. He had a shotgun over his shoulder, a machete and a dagger in his belt, and two cartridge belts across his shirt.

"With all due respect," he murmured, "I would like you to be my wife."

The Dwarf heard the nearsighted man moan. It struck him as an extraordinary thing for that man-so reserved, so gloomy, so glacial-to have said. He sensed a great anxiety behind that face pulled taut by the scar. No shooting, barking of dogs, reciting of litanies could be heard, only the buzzing of a b.u.mblebee b.u.mping against the wall. The Dwarf's heart was pounding; it was not fear but a feeling of warmth and compa.s.sion toward that man with the disfigured face who was staring intently at Jurema by the light of the little lamp, waiting. He could hear the nearsighted man's anxious breathing. Jurema did not say a word. Pajeu began to speak again, uttering each word slowly and distinctly. He had not been married before, not in the way the Church, the Father, the Counselor demanded. His eyes never left Jurema, they didn't even blink, and the Dwarf thought that it was stupid of him to feel pity for a man so greatly feared. But at that moment Pajeu seemed like a terribly lonely man. He had had pa.s.sing love affairs, of the sort that leave no trace, but no family, no children. His way of life had not permitted such a thing: always moving about, fleeing, fighting. Hence he understood the Counselor very well when he explained that the weary earth, exhausted from being made to bring forth the same thing again and again, one day asks to rest in peace. That was what Belo Monte had been for Pajeu, something like the earth's repose. His life had been empty of love. But now...The Dwarf noticed that he was swallowing hard and the thought crossed his mind that the Sardelinha sisters had awakened and were lying in the dark listening to Pajeu. It was a worry of his, something that woke him up in the night: had his heart hardened forever for lack of love? He stammered and the Dwarf thought: "Neither the blind man nor I exist for him." No, it had not hardened: he had seen Jurema in the caatinga caatinga and suddenly realized that. Something strange happened to his scar: it was the flame of the little lamp, which as it flickered made his face look even more disfigured. "His hand is trembling," the Dwarf thought in amazement. That day his heart, his feelings, his soul began to speak. Thanks to Jurema he had discovered that he was not hard inside. Her face, her body, her voice were always present here and here. With a brusque gesture, he touched his head and his breast, and the little flame went up and down. Again he fell silent, waiting, and the bee could again be heard buzzing and thudding against the wall. Jurema still said nothing. The Dwarf looked at her out of the corner of his eye: sitting there all hunched up as though to protect herself, she was gravely meeting the and suddenly realized that. Something strange happened to his scar: it was the flame of the little lamp, which as it flickered made his face look even more disfigured. "His hand is trembling," the Dwarf thought in amazement. That day his heart, his feelings, his soul began to speak. Thanks to Jurema he had discovered that he was not hard inside. Her face, her body, her voice were always present here and here. With a brusque gesture, he touched his head and his breast, and the little flame went up and down. Again he fell silent, waiting, and the bee could again be heard buzzing and thudding against the wall. Jurema still said nothing. The Dwarf looked at her out of the corner of his eye: sitting there all hunched up as though to protect herself, she was gravely meeting the caboclo caboclo's gaze.

"We can't get married right now. Right now I have another obligation," Pajeu added, as though in apology. "When the dogs have gone away."

The Dwarf heard the nearsighted man moan. This time, too, the caboclo caboclo's eyes never left Jurema to look at her neighbor. But there was one thing...Something he'd thought a lot about, these days, as he tracked the atheists and shot them down. Something that would gladden his heart. He fell silent, was overcome with embarra.s.sment, struggled to get the words out: would Jurema bring food, water, to him at Fazenda Velha? It was something he envied the others for, something that he, too, would like to have. Would she do that?

"Yes, yes, she'll do it, she'll bring them to you," the Dwarf, to his stupefaction, heard the nearsighted man say. "She'll do it, she'll do it."

But even this time the caboclo caboclo's eyes did not turn his way. "What is he to you?" the Dwarf heard him ask Jurema, his voice as cutting as a knife now. "He's not your husband, is he?"

"No," she answered very softly. "He's...like my son."

The night rang with shots. First one volley, then another, extremely heavy fire. They heard shouts, feet running, an explosion.

"I'm happy to have come, to have talked to you," the caboclo caboclo said. "I must go now. Praised be the Blessed Jesus." said. "I must go now. Praised be the Blessed Jesus."

A moment later the store was plunged into total darkness again and instead of the b.u.mblebee they heard scattered shots, far off, then closer. The Vilanova brothers were in the trenches and appeared only for the meetings with Abbot Joao; the Sardelinha sisters spent most of the day working in the Health Houses and taking food to the combatants. The Dwarf, Jurema, and the nearsighted man were the only ones who stayed in the store all the time. It was again full of ammunition and explosives from the convoy that Abbot Joao had brought in, and sandbags and stones were piled against the facade to protect it.

"Why didn't you answer him?" the Dwarf heard the blind man say in an agitated voice. "He was terribly nervous, and was forcing himself to tell you all those things. Why didn't you answer him? In the state he was in, his love might have turned to hatred, he might have beaten you, killed you, and us, too-didn't you see that?"

He suddenly fell silent so as to sneeze, once, twice, ten times. By the time his sneezing fit had ended, the shooting had ended, too, and the nocturnal b.u.mblebee was hovering round above their heads.

"I don't want to be Pajeu's wife," Jurema said, as though it were not the two of them she was speaking to. "If he forces me to be, I'll kill myself. The way a woman at Calumbi killed herself, with a xiquexique xiquexique thorn. I'll never be his wife." thorn. I'll never be his wife."

The nearsighted man had another sneezing fit, and the Dwarf felt panic-stricken: if Jurema died, what would become of him?

"We should have made our escape while we still had a chance to," he heard the blind man moan. "We'll never get out of here now. We'll die a horrible death."

"Pajeu said the soldiers would go away," the Dwarf said softly. "From his tone of voice, he was convinced of that. He knows what he's talking about, he's fighting, he can see how the war is going."

At other times in the past, the blind man argued with him: had he gone mad like all these poor deluded dreamers, did he, too, imagine that they could win a war against the Brazilian Army? Did he believe, as they did, that King Dom Sebastiao would appear to fight on their side? But he said nothing now. The Dwarf was not as certain as the nearsighted man was that the soldiers were invincible. Hadn't they been able to enter Canudos? Hadn't Abbot Joao managed to steal their arms and their cattle? People said that they were dying like flies on A Favela, being shot at from all directions, without food, and using up the last of their ammunition.

Nonetheless, the Dwarf, whose nomad existence in the past made it impossible for him to stay cooped up and drove him out of doors despite the shooting, could see, in the days that followed, that Canudos did not have the air of a victorious city. He frequently came across someone lying dead or wounded in the streets; if there was heavy gunfire, hours would go by before they could be brought to the clinics, which were all located on Santa Ines now, near the Mocambo. Except for the times when he helped the medical aides transport them to these new Health Houses, the Dwarf avoided that section of town, for during the day the dead bodies piled up along Santa Ines-they could only be buried at night because the cemetery was in the line of fire-and the stench was overpowering, not to mention the moans and groans of the wounded in the Health Houses and the sad spectacle of the little old men, the disabled and infirm unfit for combat who had been a.s.signed the task of keeping off the black vultures and the dogs from devouring the corpses swarming with flies. The burials took place after the Rosary and the counsels, which were held regularly each evening at the same hour once the bell of the Temple of the Blessed Jesus had called the faithful together. But they took place in the dark now, without the sputtering candles of the time before the war. Jurema and the nearsighted man always went with him to the counsels. But unlike the Dwarf, who then went out with the funeral processions to the cemetery, the two of them returned to the store once the Counselor had delivered his last words of the evening. The Dwarf was fascinated by these burials, by the curious concern of the families of the dead that their loved one be buried with some bit of wood above the mortal remains. Since there was no longer anyone available to make coffins because everyone's time was taken up by the war, the bodies were buried in hammocks, sometimes two or three in a single one. The relatives placed a little end of board, a tree branch, any and every sort of wooden object in the hammock to show the Father their sincere desire to give their departed a proper burial, in a coffin, though the adverse circ.u.mstances of the moment prevented them from doing so.

On his return to the store from one of his trips outside, the Dwarf found Jurema and the blind man talking with Father Joaquim. Since their arrival, months before, they had never once been alone with him. They would often see him standing at the Counselor's right in the tower of the Temple of the Blessed Jesus reciting Ma.s.s, leading the mult.i.tude in reciting the Rosary in the church square, in processions, surrounded by a ring of Catholic Guards, and at graveside services, chanting the prayers for the dead in Latin. They had heard that his disappearance meant that he was off on travels that took him all over the backlands, doing errands for the jaguncos jaguncos and bringing them the things they needed. After war broke out again, he could often be seen in the streets of Canudos, in the Santa Ines quarter in particular, on his way to confess and give the last sacraments to those on their deathbeds in the Health Houses. Although he had run into him several times, the Dwarf had never had a conversation with him; but on seeing the Dwarf come into the store, the little priest had held out his hand and spoken a few kindly words to him. The cure was now perched on a milking stool, and sitting cross-legged in front of him were Jurema and the nearsighted man. and bringing them the things they needed. After war broke out again, he could often be seen in the streets of Canudos, in the Santa Ines quarter in particular, on his way to confess and give the last sacraments to those on their deathbeds in the Health Houses. Although he had run into him several times, the Dwarf had never had a conversation with him; but on seeing the Dwarf come into the store, the little priest had held out his hand and spoken a few kindly words to him. The cure was now perched on a milking stool, and sitting cross-legged in front of him were Jurema and the nearsighted man.

"Nothing is easy, not even what seems to be the easiest thing in the world," Father Joaquim said to Jurema, in a discouraged tone of voice, clucking his cracked lips. "I thought I'd be bringing you great joy. That this time I would be received in people's houses as a bearer of glad tidings." He paused and wet his lips with his tongue. "And all I do is visit houses with the holy oils, close the eyes of the dead, watch people suffer."

The Dwarf thought to himself that the cure had aged a great deal in the last few months and was now a little old man. He had almost no hair left and his tanned, freckled scalp now showed through the tufts of white fuzz above his ears. He was terribly thin; the neck opening of his frayed ca.s.sock faded to a dark blue bared his protruding collarbones; the skin of his face hung down in yellow folds covered with a milky-white stubble of beard. His eyes betrayed not only hunger and old age but also immense fatigue.

"I won't marry him, Father," Jurema said. "If he forces me to, I'll kill myself."

She spoke in a calm voice, with the same quiet determination as on that night when she had talked with them, and the Dwarf realized that the cure of c.u.mbe must have already heard her say the same thing, for he did not look surprised.

"He's not trying to force you," he mumbled. "It's never once entered his mind that you would refuse him. Like everyone else, he knows that any woman in Canudos would be happy to have been chosen by Pajeu to form a home and family. You know who Pajeu is, don't you, my girl? You've surely heard the stories people tell about him?"

He sat there staring down at the dirt floor with a regretful look on his face. A little centipede crawled between his sandals, through which his thin yellowish toes, with long black nails, peeked out. Instead of stepping on it, he allowed it to wander off and disappear among the rows of rifles lined up one next to the other.

"All those stories are true, or, rather, they fall short of the truth," he added, in a dispirited tone of voice. "The violent crimes, the murders, the thefts, the sackings, the blood vengeances, the gratuitous acts of cruelty, such as cutting off people's ears, their noses. That whole life of h.e.l.l and madness. And yet here he is, he too, like Abbot Joao, like Taramela, Pedrao, and the others...The Counselor brought about that miracle, he turned the wolf into the lamb, he brought him into the fold. And because he turned wolves into lambs, because he gave people who knew only fear and hatred, hunger, crime, and pillaging reasons to change their lives, because he brought spirituality where there had been cruelty, they are sending army after army to these lands to exterminate these people. How has Brazil, how has the world been overcome with such confusion as to commit such an abominable deed? Isn't that sufficient proof that the Counselor is right, that Satan has indeed taken possession of Brazil, that the Republic is the Antichrist?"

His words were not tumbling out in a rush, he had not raised his voice, he was neither furious nor sad. Simply overwhelmed.

"It's not that I'm stubborn or that I hate him," the Dwarf heard Jurema say in the same firm tone of voice. "Even if it were someone else besides Pajeu, I wouldn't say yes. I don't want to marry again, Father."

"Very well, I understand," the cure of c.u.mbe sighed. "We'll see that things turn out all right. You don't have to marry him if you don't want to, and you don't have to kill yourself. I'm the one who marries people in Belo Monte; there's no such thing as civil marriage here." A faint smile crossed his lips and there was an impish little gleam in his eyes. "But we can't break the news to him all at once. We mustn't hurt his feelings. People like Pajeu are so sensitive that it's like a terrible malady. Another thing that's always amazed me about people like him is their touchy sense of honor. It's as though they were one great open wound. They don't have a thing to their names, but they possess a surpa.s.sing sense of honor. It's their form of wealth. So then, we'll start by telling him that you've been left a widow too recently to enter into another marriage just yet. We'll make him wait. But there is one thing you can do. It's important to him. Take him his food at Fazenda Velha. He's talked to me about that. He needs to feel that a woman is taking care of him. It's not much. Give him that pleasure. As for the rest, we'll discourage him, little by little."

The morning had been quiet; now they began to hear shots, scattered gunfire far in the distance.

"You've aroused a pa.s.sion," Father Joaquim added. "A great pa.s.sion. He came to the Sanctuary last night to ask the Counselor's permission to marry you. He also said that he would take in these two, since they're your family, that he would take them to live with him..." He rose to his feet abruptly.

The nearsighted man went into a sneezing fit that made him shake all over and the Dwarf burst into joyous laughter, delighted at the idea of becoming Pajeu's foster son: he would never lack for food again.

"I wouldn't marry him for that reason or for any other," Jurema said, as unyielding as ever. She added, however, lowering her eyes: "But if you think I should, I'll bring his food to him."

Father Joaquim nodded and had turned to leave when suddenly the nearsighted man leapt to his feet and grabbed his arm. On seeing the anxious expression on his face, the Dwarf guessed what he was about to say.

"You can help me," he whispered, peering all about fearfully. "Do it because of what you believe in, Father. I have nothing at all to do with what is happening here. It's by accident that I'm in Canudos; you know that I'm not a soldier or a spy, that I'm a n.o.body. Help me, I implore you."

The cure of c.u.mbe looked at him with commiseration. "To get out of here?" he murmured.

"Yes, yes," the nearsighted man stammered, nodding his head. "They've forbidden me to leave. It isn't right..."

"You should have made your escape," Father Joaquim whispered. "While it was still possible; when there weren't soldiers all over everywhere."

"Can't you see the state I'm in?" the nearsighted man whined, pointing to his bulging, watery, unfocused red eyes. "Can't you see that without my gla.s.ses I'm totally blind? Could I have escaped by myself, fumbling my way through the backlands?" His little voice rose to a screech: "I don't want to die like a rat in a trap!"

The cure of c.u.mbe blinked several times and the Dwarf felt a chill down his spine, as he always did whenever the nearsighted man predicted the imminent death of all of them.

"I don't want to die like a rat in a trap either," the little priest said, lingering over each syllable and grimacing. "I, too, have nothing to do with this war. And yet..." He shook his head, as though to banish an image from his mind. "I can't help you, even though I'd like to. The only ones to leave Canudos are armed bands, to fight. I trust you don't think I could join one of them?" He gave a bitter little wave of his hand. "If you believe in G.o.d, put yourself in His hands. He is the only one who can save us now. And if you don't believe in Him, I'm afraid that there's no one who can help you, my friend."

He went off, his feet dragging, stoop-shouldered and sad. They did not have time to discuss his visit since at that moment the Vilanova brothers came into the store, followed by several men. From their conversation, the Dwarf gathered that the jaguncos jaguncos were digging a new line of trenches to the west of Fazenda Velha, following the curve of the Vaza-Barris opposite O Taboleirinho, for part of the troops had pulled out of A Favela and were gradually encircling O Cambaio, probably to take up positions in that sector. When the Vilanovas left, taking arms with them, the Dwarf and Jurema consoled the nearsighted man, who was so upset by his conversation with Father Joaquim that tears were running down his cheeks and his teeth were chattering. were digging a new line of trenches to the west of Fazenda Velha, following the curve of the Vaza-Barris opposite O Taboleirinho, for part of the troops had pulled out of A Favela and were gradually encircling O Cambaio, probably to take up positions in that sector. When the Vilanovas left, taking arms with them, the Dwarf and Jurema consoled the nearsighted man, who was so upset by his conversation with Father Joaquim that tears were running down his cheeks and his teeth were chattering.

That same evening the Dwarf accompanied Jurema as she went to take food to Pajeu at Fazenda Velha. She had asked the nearsighted man to come with her too, but he was so terrified by the caboclo caboclo and the thought of the risk he'd be running by going all the way across Canudos that he refused. The food for the and the thought of the risk he'd be running by going all the way across Canudos that he refused. The food for the jaguncos jaguncos was prepared in the little street of Sao Cipriano, where they slaughtered the cattle still left from Abbot Joao's raid. They stood in a long line till they reached Catarina, Abbot Joao's gaunt wife, who, along with the other women, was handing out chunks of meat and manioc flour and water from leather canteens that "youngsters" went to the water source of Sao Pedro to fill. The Street Commander's wife gave them a basket full of food and they joined the line of people going out to the trenches. They had to go along the little narrow street of Sao Crispim and then hunch over or crawl on all fours along the ravines of the Vaza-Barris, whose dips and hollows served them as cover from the bullets. From the river on, the women could no longer make their way in groups, but instead went on one by one, running in a zigzag line, or-the most prudent of them-crawling on their hands and knees. It was about three hundred yards from the ravines to the trenches, and as he ran along, clinging to Jurema's skirts, the Dwarf could see the towers of the Temple of the Blessed Jesus, crawling with sharpshooters, on his right, and on his left the mountainsides of A Favela, where he was certain there were thousands of rifles aimed at them. Drenched with sweat, he reached the edge of the trench, and two arms lifted him down into it. He caught sight of Pajeu's disfigured face. was prepared in the little street of Sao Cipriano, where they slaughtered the cattle still left from Abbot Joao's raid. They stood in a long line till they reached Catarina, Abbot Joao's gaunt wife, who, along with the other women, was handing out chunks of meat and manioc flour and water from leather canteens that "youngsters" went to the water source of Sao Pedro to fill. The Street Commander's wife gave them a basket full of food and they joined the line of people going out to the trenches. They had to go along the little narrow street of Sao Crispim and then hunch over or crawl on all fours along the ravines of the Vaza-Barris, whose dips and hollows served them as cover from the bullets. From the river on, the women could no longer make their way in groups, but instead went on one by one, running in a zigzag line, or-the most prudent of them-crawling on their hands and knees. It was about three hundred yards from the ravines to the trenches, and as he ran along, clinging to Jurema's skirts, the Dwarf could see the towers of the Temple of the Blessed Jesus, crawling with sharpshooters, on his right, and on his left the mountainsides of A Favela, where he was certain there were thousands of rifles aimed at them. Drenched with sweat, he reached the edge of the trench, and two arms lifted him down into it. He caught sight of Pajeu's disfigured face.

The former cangaceiro cangaceiro did not seem surprised to see him there. He helped Jurema down into the trench, picking her up as though she were as light as a feather and greeting her with a nod of his head, without smiling, his manner so natural that anyone would have thought she had been coming there for many days now. He took the basket and motioned to them to move to one side, since they were in the way of the women who were working. The Dwarf walked about amid did not seem surprised to see him there. He helped Jurema down into the trench, picking her up as though she were as light as a feather and greeting her with a nod of his head, without smiling, his manner so natural that anyone would have thought she had been coming there for many days now. He took the basket and motioned to them to move to one side, since they were in the way of the women who were working. The Dwarf walked about amid jaguncos jaguncos who were squatting on their heels eating, talking with the women who had just arrived, or peeking out through lengths of pipe or hollowed-out tree trunks that allowed them to shoot without being seen. The redoubt finally widened out into a semicircular s.p.a.ce. There was room for more people there, and Pajeu sat down in one corner. He motioned to Jurema to come sit down alongside him. Seeing the Dwarf hesitate, not knowing whether to join them, Pajeu pointed to the basket. So the Dwarf sat down next to them and shared the water and food in it with Jurema and Pajeu. who were squatting on their heels eating, talking with the women who had just arrived, or peeking out through lengths of pipe or hollowed-out tree trunks that allowed them to shoot without being seen. The redoubt finally widened out into a semicircular s.p.a.ce. There was room for more people there, and Pajeu sat down in one corner. He motioned to Jurema to come sit down alongside him. Seeing the Dwarf hesitate, not knowing whether to join them, Pajeu pointed to the basket. So the Dwarf sat down next to them and shared the water and food in it with Jurema and Pajeu.

For some time, the caboclo caboclo didn't say a word, sitting there eating and drinking without even looking at the two beside him. Jurema did not look at him either, and the Dwarf thought to himself that it was stupid of her to refuse to marry this man who could solve all her problems. Why should she care if he was ugly-looking? Every so often, he looked at Pajeu. He found it hard to believe that this man who was sitting there coldly and doggedly chewing, with an indifferent expression on his face-he had leaned his rifle against the side of the trench but did not remove the knife and the machete tucked into his belt or the cartridge belts across his chest-was the same man who had said all those things about love to Jurema in a trembling, desperate voice. There was no steady gunfire at the moment, only occasional shots, something the Dwarf's ears had grown accustomed to. What he couldn't get used to was the sh.e.l.ling. The deafening explosions always left in their wake clouds of dirt and dust, falling debris, great gaping craters in the ground, the terrified wails of children and, often, dismembered corpses. When a cannon roared, he was the first to fling himself headlong and lie there with his eyes closed, drenched with cold sweat, clinging to Jurema and the nearsighted man if they were close by, and trying to pray. didn't say a word, sitting there eating and drinking without even looking at the two beside him. Jurema did not look at him either, and the Dwarf thought to himself that it was stupid of her to refuse to marry this man who could solve all her problems. Why should she care if he was ugly-looking? Every so often, he looked at Pajeu. He found it hard to believe that this man who was sitting there coldly and doggedly chewing, with an indifferent expression on his face-he had leaned his rifle against the side of the trench but did not remove the knife and the machete tucked into his belt or the cartridge belts across his chest-was the same man who had said all those things about love to Jurema in a trembling, desperate voice. There was no steady gunfire at the moment, only occasional shots, something the Dwarf's ears had grown accustomed to. What he couldn't get used to was the sh.e.l.ling. The deafening explosions always left in their wake clouds of dirt and dust, falling debris, great gaping craters in the ground, the terrified wails of children and, often, dismembered corpses. When a cannon roared, he was the first to fling himself headlong and lie there with his eyes closed, drenched with cold sweat, clinging to Jurema and the nearsighted man if they were close by, and trying to pray.

To break this silence, he timidly asked whether it was true that Joaquim Macambira and his sons had destroyed A Matadeira before they were killed. Pajeu answered no. But A Matadeira blew up on the Freemasons a few days later, and apparently three or four of the gun crew were blown up with it. Maybe the Father had done this to reward the Macambiras for their martyrdom. The caboclo caboclo's eyes avoided Jurema's, and she did not seem to hear what he said. Still addressing him, Pajeu added that the situation of the atheists on A Favela was becoming worse and worse; they were dying of hunger and thirst and desperate at suffering so many casualties at the hands of the Catholics. Even here, they could be heard moaning and weeping at night. Did that mean, then, that they'd be going away soon?

Pajeu looked dubious. "The problem lies back there," he murmured, pointing toward the south with his chin. "In Queimadas and Monte Santo. More Freemasons, more rifles, more cannons, more livestock, more grain shipments keep arriving. There's another convoy on the way with reinforcements and food. And we're running out of everything."

The scar puckered slightly in his pale yellow face. "I'm the one who's going to stop the convoy this time," he said, turning to Jurema. The Dwarf suddenly felt as though he'd dismissed him, sent him many leagues away. "It's a pity I must leave just at this time."

Jurema gazed back at the former cangaceiro cangaceiro with a docile, absent expression on her face, and said nothing. with a docile, absent expression on her face, and said nothing.

"I don't know how long I'll be away. We're going to take them by surprise up around Juete. Three or four days, at least."

Jurema's lips parted but she did not say anything. She had not spoken a word since she arrived.

At that moment there was a commotion in the trench, and the Dwarf saw a whole crowd of jaguncos jaguncos coming their way, with much yelling and shouting. Pajeu leapt to his feet and grabbed his rifle. In a rush, knocking over others sitting down or squatting on their heels, several of the coming their way, with much yelling and shouting. Pajeu leapt to his feet and grabbed his rifle. In a rush, knocking over others sitting down or squatting on their heels, several of the jaguncos jaguncos reached their side. They surrounded Pajeu and stood there for a moment looking at him, none of them saying a word. reached their side. They surrounded Pajeu and stood there for a moment looking at him, none of them saying a word.

Finally an old man with a hairy mole on the nape of his neck spoke up. "Taramela's dead," he said. "He got a bullet through the ear as he was eating." He spat, and looking down at the ground he growled: "You've lost your good luck, Pajeu."

"They rot before they die," young Teotonio Leal Cavalcanti says aloud, believing that he's merely thinking to himself, not speaking out loud. But there is no danger of his being overheard by the wounded. Even though the field hospital of the first column, which has been set up in a cleft between the peaks of A Favela and Monte Mario, is well protected from gunfire, the din of the fusillades and, above all, of the artillery fire echoes and reechoes down here, amplified by the semivault formed by the mountainsides, and it is one torture more for the wounded, who must shout to make themselves heard. No, no one has heard him.

The idea of rotting torments Teotonio Leal Cavalcanti. He was a student in his last year of medical school at the University of Sao Paulo when, out of fervor for the republican cause, he enrolled as a volunteer in the army that was leaving to defend the Fatherland up in Canudos; so this, naturally, is not the first time that he has seen people injured, dying, dead. But those anatomy cla.s.ses, those autopsies in the dissecting room at the School of Medicine, the injured in the hospitals where he was learning to do surgery-how could they be compared to the inferno that this rat trap of A Favela has turned into? What stupefies him is how quickly wounds become infected, how in just a few hours a sudden restless activity can be seen in them, the writhing of worms, and how a fetid suppuration immediately begins.

"It will be of help in your career," his father said to him at the Sao Paulo railroad station as he was seeing him off. "You will have intensive practice in administering first aid." What it has been, however, is intensive practice in carpentry. He has learned one thing at any rate in these three weeks: more men die of gangrene than of the wounds they have received, and those who have the best chance of pulling through are those with a bullet or bayonet wound in an arm or a leg-parts of the body that a man can do without-so long as the limb is amputated and cauterized in time. There was enough chloroform to perform amputations humanely only for the first three days; on those days it was Teotonio who broke the ampoules open, soaked a wad of cotton in the liquid that made him light-headed, and held it against the nostrils of the wounded man as the chief field surgeon, Alfredo Gama, a doctor with the rank of captain, sawed away, panting. When their supply of chloroform ran out, the anesthetic was a gla.s.s of cane brandy, and now that the brandy has run out, they operate cold, hoping that the victim will faint dead away immediately, so the surgeon can operate without the distraction of hearing the man scream. It is Teotonio Leal Cavalcanti who is now sawing and lopping off feet, legs, hands, and arms in which gangrene has set in, as two medical aides keep the victim pinned down till he has lost consciousness. And it is he who, after having finished amputating, cauterizes the stumps by sprinkling a little gunpowder on them and setting it afire, or pouring boiling-hot grease on them, the way Captain Alfredo Gama taught him before that stupid accident.

Stupid, yes, that's the right word. Because Captain Gama knew there are plenty of artillerymen but there aren't anywhere near enough doctors. Above all, doctors like himself, with a great deal of experience in the sort of medicine practiced in the field, which he learned in the jungles of Paraguay, where he served as a volunteer when he was in medical school, just as young Teotonio has come to serve in Canudos. But in the war against Paraguay, Dr. Alfredo Gama unfortunately caught, as he himself confessed, "the artillery bug." It was a bug that killed him a week ago, leaving his young a.s.sistant saddled with the crushing responsibility of caring for two hundred sick, wounded, and dying who are lying one on top of the other, half naked, stinking, gnawed by worms, on the bare rock-only a few of them have so much as a blanket or a straw mat-in the field hospital. The medical corps of the first column has been divided into five teams, and the one to which Captain Alfredo Gama and Teotonio were a.s.signed is in charge of the north zone of the hospital.

Dr. Alfredo Gama's "artillery bug" kept him from concentrating exclusively on his patients. Often he would abruptly break off a treatment to go feverishly clambering up to the Alto do Mario, the area on the very crest line to which all the cannons of the first column had been hauled up hand over hand. The artillerymen would let him fire the Krupps, even A Matadeira. Teotonio remembers his mentor prophesying: "It is a surgeon who will make the towers of Canudos come tumbling down." The captain returned to the cleft in the mountainsides below with his spirits refreshed. He was a stout, ruddy, jovial man, devoted to his calling, who took a great liking to Teotonio Leal Cavalcanti from the first day he saw him enter the barracks. His outgoing personality, his cheery good spirits, his adventurous life, his picturesque anecdotes so charmed the student that on the way to Canudos he thought seriously of staying in the army once he received his medical degree, as his idol had. During the regiment's brief stay in Salvador, Dr. Gama showed Teotonio around the medical school at the University of Bahia, in the Praca da Basilica Cathedral, and opposite the yellow facade with tall blue ogival windows, beneath the coral trees, the coconut palms, and the crotons, the doctor and the student had sat drinking sweetish brandy in front of the kiosks set up on the black-and-white mosaic pavement, amid the vendors hawking trinkets and women selling hot foods from braziers. They went on drinking till dawn, which found them, beside themselves with happiness, in a brothel of mulattas. As they climbed onto the train to Queimadas, Dr. Gama had his disciple down an emetic potion, "to ward off African syphilis," he explained to him.

Teotonio mops the sweat from his brow as he gives quinine mixed with water to a patient with smallpox who is delirious from fever. To one side of him is a soldier with his elbow joint exposed to the air, and on the other a soldier with a bullet wound in his lower belly and his sphincter shot away so that his feces are leaking out. The smell of excrement mingles with that of the scorching flesh of the corpses being burned in the distance. Quinine and carbolic acid are the only things left in the pharmacopoeia of the field hospital. The iodoform ran out at the same time as the chloroform, and for lack of antiseptics the doctors have been making do with subnitrate of bis.m.u.th and calomel. But now these are gone, too. Teotonio Leal Cavalcanti now cleanses wounds with a solution of water and carbolic acid. He squats down to do so, dipping the solution out of the basin in his cupped hands. He gives others a bit of quinine in half a gla.s.s of water. They have a large supply of quinine on hand, since many cases of malaria were expected. "The great killer of the war against Paraguay," Dr. Gama used to say. It had decimated the army there. But malaria is nonexistent in this extremely dry climate, where mosquitoes do not breed except around the very few places where there is standing water. Teotonio knows that quinine will do the wounded no good, but it at least gives them the illusion that they are being treated. It was on the day of the accident, in fact, that Captain Gama had begun giving out quinine, for lack of any other medicines.

Teotonio thinks of how the accident happened, of how it must have happened. He was not there; they have told him about it, and since then, this and the dream about the rotting bodies have been the nightmares that have most disturbed the few short hours of sleep that he manages to s.n.a.t.c.h. In the nightmare the jolly, energetic surgeon-captain ignites the fuse of the Krupp 34 cannon. In his haste he has failed to close the breech properly, and when the fuse detonates the charge, the explosion in the half-open breech ignites a barrel of projectiles standing next to the cannon. He has heard the artillerymen tell how Dr. Alfredo Gama was catapulted several yards off the ground and fell some twenty paces away, a shapeless ma.s.s of flesh. First Lieutenant Odilon Coriolano de Azevedo, Second Lieutenant Jose A. do Amaral, and three artillerymen were also killed, and five artillerymen received burns in the explosion. When Teotonio arrived at Alto do Mario, the dead bodies were being cremated, in accordance with a procedure suggested by the medical corps in view of the difficulty of burying the dead: digging a grave in this ground that is living rock represents a tremendous expenditure of energy, for the shovels and pickaxes become dented and shatter on the solid rock without breaking it up. The order to burn corpses has given rise to an extremely heated argument between General Oscar and the chaplain of the first column, Father Lizzardo, a Capuchin, who calls cremation "a Masonic perversion."

Young Teotonio has a memento of Dr. Alfredo Gama that he treasures: a miraculous ribbon of Our Lord of Bonfim, sold to them that afternoon in Bahia by the tightrope walkers in the Praca da Basilica Cathedral. He is going to take it to his chief's widow, if he ever gets back to Sao Paulo. But Teotonio doubts that he will ever again set eyes on the city where he was born, went to school, and enlisted in the army in the name of a romantic ideal: serving his country and civilization.

In these past months, certain beliefs of his that seemed rock-solid have been profoundly undermined. His notion of patriotism, for instance, a sentiment which, when he volunteered, he had believed ran in the blood of all these men come from the four corners of Brazil to defend the Republic against obscurantism, a perfidious conspiracy, and barbarism. His first disillusionment came in Queimadas, in that long two months of waiting, in the chaos that had resulted when that hamlet in the backlands had been turned into the general headquarters of the first column. In the medical facilities, where he had worked with Captain Alfredo Gama and other physicians and surgeons, he discovered that many men were trying to get out of combat duty by malingering. He had seen them feign illnesses, learn the symptoms by heart and recite them with the consummate skill of professional actors so as to get themselves declared unfit for service in the front lines. The doctor and would-be artillery officer taught him to see through their stupid tricks for making themselves run fevers, vomit, suffer attacks of diarrhea. The fact that there were among them not only troops of the line-that is to say, men of no education or background-but also officers had come as a great shock to Teotonio.

Patriotism was not as widespread as he had supposed. This idea has been borne in on him in the three weeks that he has been in this rat hole. It is not that the men don't fight; they have fought, and they are fighting now. He has seen how bravely they have withstood, ever since Angico, the attacks of that slippery, cowardly enemy that refuses to show its face, that does not know the laws and customs of warfare, that lies in ambush, that attacks from odd angles, from hiding places, and vanishes into thin air when the patriots go to meet them head-on. In these three weeks, despite the fact that one-fourth of the expeditionary troops have been killed or wounded, despite the lack of rations, despite the fact that all of them are beginning to lose hope that the convoy of reinforcements will ever arrive, the men have gone on fighting.

But how to reconcile patriotism with business deals? What kind of love for Brazil is it that leaves room for this sordid traffic between men who are defending the most n.o.ble of causes, that of their country and civilization? This is yet another reality that demoralizes Teotonio Leal Cavalcanti: the way in which everyone makes deals and speculates because everything is in such short supply. In the beginning, it was only tobacco that was sold and resold at more and more astronomical prices. Just this morning, he has seen a cavalry major pay twelve milreis for a mere handful...Twelve milreis! Ten times more than what a box of fine tobacco costs in the city! Since those first days, the price of everything has reached dizzying heights, everything has become something to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Since they are receiving almost no rations at all-the officers are being handed out ears of green maize, without salt, and the soldiers the feed for the horses-food is fetching fantastic prices: a quarter of a goat is going for thirty and forty milreis, a loaf of hard brown sugar for twenty, a cupful of manioc flour for five, an imbuzeiro imbuzeiro root or a "monk's head" cactus with edible pulp for one and even two milreis. The cigars known as root or a "monk's head" cactus with edible pulp for one and even two milreis. The cigars known as fuzileiros fuzileiros are bringing a milreis, and a cup of coffee, five. And, worst of all, he, too, has succ.u.mbed to this trafficking. Driven by hunger and his craving for tobacco, he has been spending all the money he has, paying five milreis, for instance, for a spoonful of salt, a commodity he has never before realized a person could miss that badly. What disgusts him most of all is knowing that a good part of these things that are being trafficked have been come by dishonestly, either stolen from the column's quartermaster stores or as thefts of thefts... are bringing a milreis, and a cup of coffee, five. And, worst of all, he, too, has succ.u.mbed to this trafficking. Driven by hunger and his craving for tobacco, he has been spending all the money he has, paying five milreis, for instance, for a spoonful of salt, a commodity he has never before realized a person could miss that badly. What disgusts him most of all is knowing that a good part of these things that are being trafficked have been come by dishonestly, either stolen from the column's quartermaster stores or as thefts of thefts...

Isn't it surprising that in circ.u.mstances such as these, when they are risking their lives at every second, in this hour of truth that should purify them, leaving within them only what is most lofty and most n.o.ble, they should give proof of such a base urge to make deals and acc.u.mulate money? "It is not what is most sublime, but what is most sordid and abject, the hunger for filthy lucre, greed, that is aroused in the presence of death," Teotonio thinks. His image of humanity has abruptly darkened in these past weeks.

He is roused from his thoughts by someone weeping at his feet. Unlike the others, who are openly sobbing, this one is weeping in silence, as though ashamed of his tears. He kneels down beside him. The man is an old soldier who has found his itching unbearable.

"I've been scratching myself, sir," he murmurs. "I don't give a d.a.m.n any more whether it gets infected-or whatever, Doctor."

He is one of the victims of that diabolical weapon of those cannibals that has eaten away the epidermis of a fair number of patriots: the ants known as cacaremas cacaremas. At first it appeared to be a natural phenomenon, simply a terrible misfortune that these fierce insects which perforate the skin, produce rashes and a hideous burning sensation, should leave their nests in the cool of the night to attack sleeping men. But it has been discovered that their anthills, spherical structures built of mud, are being brought up to the camp by the jaguncos jaguncos and smashed there so that the savage swarms thus let loose wreak their cruel havoc on sleeping patriots...And the ones the cannibals send creeping into the camp to deposit the anthills there are mere youngsters! One of them has been captured: young Teotonio has been told that the "little and smashed there so that the savage swarms thus let loose wreak their cruel havoc on sleeping patriots...And the ones the cannibals send creeping into the camp to deposit the anthills there are mere youngsters! One of them has been captured: young Teotonio has been told that the "little jagunco jagunco" struggled like a wild beast in his captors' arms, insulting them like the most foul-mouthed ruffian imaginable...

On raising the old soldier's shirt to examine his chest, Teotonio finds that what yesterday were black-and-blue spots are now a huge bright-red patch with pustules teeming with activity. Yes, the ants are there, reproducing, burrowing under his skin, gnawing the poor man's innards. Teotonio has learned to dissimulate, to lie, to smile. The bites are better, he tells the soldier, he must try not to scratch himself. He gives him half a cup of water with quinine to drink, a.s.suring him that this will lessen the itching.

He continues on his rounds, imagining the youngsters whom those degenerates send into the camp at night with the anthills. Barbarians, brutes, savages: only utterly depraved people could pervert innocent children as they have done. But young Teotonio's ideas about Canudos have also changed. Are they really monarchists bent on restoration? Are they really working hand in glove with the House of Braganca and former slaveowners? Is it true that those savages are merely a tool of Perfidious Albion? Although he hears them shouting "Death to the Republic," Teotonio Leal Cavalcanti is no longer so sure of all this. Everything has become confused in his mind. He expected to find English officers here, advising the jaguncos jaguncos, teaching them how to handle the completely modern, up-to-date arms known to have been smuggled in by way of the sh.o.r.es of Bahia. But among the wounded that he is pretending to treat are victims of cacarema cacarema ants, and also of poisoned arrows and of sharp-pointed stones hurled with slings, the weapons of cavemen! So that business about a monarchist army, reinforced by English officers, now seems to him to be some sort of fantastic story invented out of whole cloth. "What we're up against is primitive cannibals," he thinks. "Yet we're losing the war; we would already have lost it if the second column hadn't arrived to reinforce us when they ambushed us in these hills." How to explain such a paradox? ants, and also of poisoned arrows and of sharp-pointed stones hurled with slings, the weapons of cavemen! So that business about a monarchist army, reinforced by English officers, now seems to him to be some sort of fantastic story invented out of whole cloth. "What we're up against is primitive cannibals," he thinks. "Yet we're losing the war; we would already have lost it if the second column hadn't arrived to reinforce us when they ambushed us in these hills." How to explain such a paradox?

A voice interrupts his train of thought. "Teotonio?" It is a first lieutenant whose tattered tunic bears the still decipherable insignia of his rank and unit: Ninth Infantry Battalion, Salvador. He has been in the field hospital since the day the first column arrived in A Favela; he was in one of the vanguard corps of the First Brigade, the ones that Colonel Joaquim Manuel de Medeiros led in a mad charge down the mountainside of A Favela to attack Canudos. The carnage dealt them by the jaguncos jaguncos from their invisible trenches was frightful; the front line of soldiers can still be seen, lying frozen in death, halfway up the slope where it was mowed down. First Lieutenant Pires Ferreira was. .h.i.t square in the face by a projectile; the explosion ripped off his two raised hands and left him blind. As it was the first day, Dr. Alfredo Gama was able to anesthetize him with morphine as he sutured the stumps and disinfected his face wounds. Lieutenant Pires Ferreira is fortunate: his wounds are protected by bandages from the dust and the insects. He is an exemplary patient, whom Teotonio has never heard weep or complain. Every day, when he asks him how he is feeling, his answer is: "All right." And "Nothing" is his answer when he asks if there is anything he wants. Teotonio has fallen into the habit of coming to talk with him at night, stretching out alongside him on the stony ground, gazing up at the myriad stars that always stud the sky of Canudos. That is how he has learned that Lieutenant Pires Ferreira is a veteran of this war, one of the few who have served in the four expeditions sent by the Republic to fight against the from their invisible trenches was frightful; the front line of soldiers can still be seen, lying frozen in death, halfway up the slope where it was mowed down. First Lieutenant Pires Ferreira was. .h.i.t square in the face by a projectile; the explosion ripped off his two raised hands and left him blind. As it was the first day, Dr. Alfredo Gama was able to anesthetize him with morphine as he sutured the stumps and disinfected his face wounds. Lieutenant Pires Ferreira is fortunate: his wounds are protected by bandages from the dust and the insects. He is an exemplary patient, whom Teotonio has never heard weep or complain. Every day, when he asks him how he is feeling, his answer is: "All right." And "Nothing" is his answer when he asks if there is anything he wants. Teotonio has fallen into the habit of coming to talk with him at night, stretching out alongside him on the stony ground, gazing up at the myriad stars that always stud the sky of Canudos. That is how he has learned that Lieutenant Pires Ferreira is a veteran of this war, one of the few who have served in the four expeditions sent by the Republic to fight against the jaguncos jaguncos; that is how he has found out that for this unfortunate officer this tragedy is the culmination of a series of humiliations and defeats. He has thus realized the reason for the bitterness that haunts the lieutenant's thoughts, why he endures so stoically sufferings that destroy other men's morale a