On leaving the caatinga caatinga, they found themselves on a plateau covered with xiquexiques xiquexiques, which Ulpino split open with his knife; inside was a bittersweet pulp that quenched their thirst. That day they came upon more groups of pilgrims going to Canudos, whom they soon left behind. Meeting up with these people in the depths of whose tired eyes he could glimpse a profound enthusiasm stronger than their misery did Gall's heart good. They restored his optimism, his euphoria. They had left their homes to go to a place where a war was about to break out. Didn't that mean that the people's instinct was always right? They were going there because they had intuited that Canudos embodied their hunger for justice and freedom. He asked Ulpino when they would arrive. At nightfall, if nothing untoward happened. Nothing untoward? What did he mean? They had nothing left that could be stolen from them, wasn't that so? "We could be killed," Ulpino answered. But Gall did not allow his spirits to flag. And, after all, he thought to himself with a smile, the stolen horses were a contribution to the cause.

They stopped to rest in a deserted farmhouse that bore traces of having been set afire. There was no vegetation or water. Gall ma.s.saged his legs, stiff and sore after the long day's trek on foot. Ulpino suddenly muttered that they had crossed the circle. He pointed in the direction where there had been stables, animals, cowherds and now there was only desolation. The circle? The one that separated Canudos from the rest of the world. People said that inside it the Blessed Jesus reigned, and outside it the Can. Gall said nothing. In the last a.n.a.lysis, names did not matter; they were wrappings, and if they helped uneducated people to identify the contents more easily, it was of little moment that instead of speaking of justice and injustice, freedom and oppression, cla.s.sless society and cla.s.s society, they talked in terms of G.o.d and the Devil. He thought that when he arrived in Canudos he would see something he'd seen as an adolescent in Paris: a people bubbling over with revolutionary fervor, defending their dignity tooth and nail. If he could manage to make himself heard, understood, he could indeed help them, by at least sharing with them certain things they did not know, things he had learned in his years of roaming the world.

"Doesn't it really matter to you at all whether Rufino kills your wife or not?" he heard Ulpino ask him. "Why did you steal her from him, then?"

He felt himself choke with anger. Stumbling over his words, he roared that he didn't have a wife: how dare he ask him something that he'd already answered? He felt hatred of him mounting, and a desire to insult him.

"It's beyond all understanding," he heard Ulpino mutter.

His legs ached so and his feet were so swollen that shortly after they started walking again, he said he needed to rest a while more. As he sank to the ground, he thought: "I'm not the man I was." He had also grown much thinner; as he looked at the bony forearm on which his head was resting, it seemed to be someone else's.

"I'm going to see if I can find something to eat," Ulpino said. "Get a little sleep."

Gall saw him disappear behind some leafless trees. As he closed his eyes he caught sight of a wooden board mounted on a tree trunk, with half the nails fallen out and a faint inscription: Caracata. The name kept going round and round in his head as he dropped off to sleep.

p.r.i.c.king up his ears, the Lion of Natuba thought: "He's going to speak to me." His little body trembled with joy. The Counselor lay on his pallet, absolutely silent, but the scribe of Canudos could tell from the way he was breathing whether he was awake or asleep. He began to listen again in the darkness. Yes, he was still awake. His deep eyes must be closed, and beneath his eyelids he must be seeing one of those apparitions that descended to speak to him or that he ascended to visit above the tall clouds: the saints, the Virgin, the Blessed Jesus, the Father. Or else he must be thinking of the wise things that he would say the following day, things that the Lion would note down on the paper that Father Joaquim brought him and that believers of the future would read as believers today read the Gospels.

The thought came to him that since Father Joaquim wouldn't be coming to Canudos any more, his stock of writing paper would run out soon and he would then have to write on those big sheets of wrapping paper from the Vilanovas' store that made the ink run. Father Joaquim had rarely spoken to him, and ever since the day he first saw him-the morning he entered c.u.mbe, scooting along at the Counselor's heels-he had noted in the priest's eyes, too, many times, that surprise, uneasiness, repugnance that his person always aroused, and that rapid movement of his head to avert his eyes and put the sight of him out of his mind. But the priest's capture by the Throat-Slitter's soldiers and his probable death had saddened him because of the effect that the news had had on the Counselor. "Let us rejoice, my sons," he had said that evening as he gave his counsel from the tower of the new Temple. "Belo Monte has its first saint." But later, in the Sanctuary, the Lion of Natuba had been aware of the sadness that had come over him. He refused the food that Maria Quadrado brought him, and as the women of the Choir made his toilet he did not stroke, as he usually did, the little lamb that Alexandrinha Correa (her eyes swollen from weeping) held within his reach. On resting his head on the Counselor's knees, the Lion did not feel his hand on his hair, and later he heard him sigh: "There won't be any more Ma.s.ses; we are orphans now." The Lion had a foreboding of catastrophe.

Hence he, too, was having difficulty falling asleep. What was going to happen? War was close at hand once again, and this time it would be worse than when the elect and the dogs had clashed at O Taboleirinho. There would be fighting in the streets, there would be more dead and wounded, and he would be one of the first to die. No one would come to his rescue, as the Counselor had rescued him in Natuba. He had gone off with him out of grat.i.tude, and out of grat.i.tude he had followed the saint everywhere, despite the superhuman effort those long journeys meant for him, since he was obliged to hop about on all fours. The Lion understood why many followers missed those bygone days of wandering. There were only a handful of them then, and they had the Counselor all to themselves. How things had changed! He thought of the thousands who envied him for being able to be at the saint's side night and day. Even he, however, no longer had a chance to be by himself with the Counselor and speak alone with the only man who had always treated him as though he were like everyone else. For the Lion had never noticed the slightest sign that the Counselor saw him as that creature with a crooked back and a giant head who looked like a strange animal born by mistake among human beings.

He remembered the night on the outskirts of Tepido, many years before. How many pilgrims were with the Counselor then? After they had prayed, they had begun to make confession aloud. When his turn came, in an unexpected rush of emotion the Lion of Natuba suddenly said something that n.o.body had ever heard him say before: "I don't believe in G.o.d or in religion. Only in you, Father, because you make me feel human." There was a deep silence. Trembling at his temerity, he felt the shocked gaze of all the pilgrims fall upon him. He now heard once again the Counselor's words that night: "You have suffered much more than even devils must suffer. The Father knows that your soul is pure because your every moment is an expiation. You have nothing to repent, Lion: your life is a penance."

He repeated in his mind: "Your life is a penance." But in it were also moments of incomparable happiness. Finding something new to read, for example, a few lines of a book, a page of a magazine, some little bit of printed matter, and learning the fabulous things that letters said. Or imagining that Almudia was still alive, still the beautiful young girl in Natuba, and that he sang to her, and instead of bewitching her and killing her, his songs made her smile. Or resting his head on the Counselor's knees and feeling his fingers making their way through his thick locks, separating them, rubbing his scalp. It was soothing; a warm sensation came over him from head to foot, and he felt that, thanks to that hand in his hair and those bones against his cheek, he was receiving his recompense for the bad moments he had had in his life.

He was unfair; the Counselor was not the only one to whom he owed a debt of grat.i.tude. Hadn't the others carried him in their arms when his strength had given out? Hadn't they all prayed fervently, the Little Blessed One especially, that he be given faith? Wasn't Maria Quadrado good, kind, generous to him? He tried to feel tenderness in his heart toward the Mother of Men as he thought of her. She had done everything possible to gain his affection. In their days as pilgrims, when she saw that he was worn out, she would ma.s.sage his body for a long time, just as she ma.s.saged the limbs of the Little Blessed One. And when he had attacks of fever, she had him sleep in her arms to keep him warm. She found him the clothes he wore, and the ingenious combination glove and shoe, of wood and leather, that made walking on all fours easier for him had been her idea. Why, then, didn't he love her? No doubt because he had also heard the Superior of the Sacred Choir accuse herself, when the pilgrims would halt for the night in the desert, of having felt repugnance for the Lion of Natuba and of having thought that his ugliness came from the Evil One. Maria Quadrado wept as she confessed these sins and, beating her breast, begged his forgiveness for being so wicked. He would always say that he forgave her, and called her Mother. But in his heart of hearts he knew he hadn't forgiven her. "I still bear her a grudge," he thought. "If there is a h.e.l.l, I shall burn forever and ever." At other times the very thought of fire terrified him. Tonight it did not trouble him.

He wondered, remembering the last procession, whether he should attend any more of them. How frightened he had been! How many times he had been nearly smothered to death, trampled to death by the crowd trying to get closer to the Counselor! The Catholic Guard had all it could do not to be overrun by believers who wanted to reach out their hands and touch the saint amid the torches and the incense. The Lion found himself being badly jostled, then pushed to the ground, and had to yell to the Catholic Guard to lift him up just as the human tide was about to engulf him. In recent days, he hardly dared set foot outside the Sanctuary, for it had become dangerous for him to be out on the streets. People rushed up to touch his crooked back, believing that it would bring them luck, and s.n.a.t.c.hed him away from each other as though he were a doll; or else they kept him at their houses for hours asking him questions about the Counselor. Would he be obliged to spend the rest of his days shut up between these four adobe walls? There was no bottom to unhappiness; the stores of suffering were inexhaustible.

He could hear by the Counselor's breathing that he was asleep now. He turned an ear in the direction of the cubicle where the women of the Choir spent the nights all huddled together: they, too, were sleeping, even Alexandrinha Correa. Was it the thought of the war that was keeping him awake? It was imminent: neither Abbot Joao nor Pajeu nor Macambira nor Pedrao nor Taramela nor those who were guarding the roads and the trenches had come to the counsels, and the Lion had seen the armed men behind the parapets erected around the churches and the ones going back and forth with blunderbusses, shotguns, bandoleers, crossbows, clubs, pitchforks, as though they were expecting the attack at any moment.

He heard the c.o.c.k crow; day was breaking between the reeds. When the water carriers began to blow their conch sh.e.l.ls to announce that water was being distributed, the Counselor awakened and fell to his knees. Maria Quadrado came into the Sanctuary immediately. The Lion was already up, despite the sleepless night he had spent, ready to record the saint's thoughts. The latter prayed for a long time, then sat with his eyes closed as the women washed his feet with a damp cloth and put his sandals on his feet. He drank the little bowl of milk that Maria Quadrado handed him, however, and ate a maize cake. But he did not stroke the little lamb. "It's not just because of Father Joaquim that he's so sad," the Lion of Natuba thought. "It's also because of the war."

At that moment Abbot Joao, Big Joao, and Taramela entered. It was the first time that the Lion had seen the latter in the Sanctuary. When the Street Commander and the head of the Catholic Guard rose to their feet after kissing the Counselor's hand, Pajeu's lieutenant remained on his knees.

"Taramela received news last night, Father," Abbot Joao said.

It occurred to the Lion that the Street Commander had no doubt not slept a wink all night either. He was sweaty, dirty, preoccupied. Big Joao downed with gusto the bowl of milk that Maria Quadrado had just handed him. The Lion imagined the two men running all night long from trench to trench, from one entrance to the town to another, bringing gunpowder, inspecting weapons, talking the situation over. "It'll be today," he thought. Taramela was still on his knees, crushing his leather hat in his hand. He had two shotguns and so many bandoleers around his neck that they looked like festive carnival necklaces. He was biting his lips, unable to get a word out. Finally, he stammered that Cintio and Cruzes had arrived, on horseback. One of the horses had been ridden so hard it died. The other one might be dead now, too, for when he had last seen it there were rivers of sweat running down its flanks. The two men had galloped for two days without stopping. They, too, had nearly died of exhaustion. He fell silent, abashed, not knowing what to say next, his little almond eyes begging Abbot Joao for help.

"Tell the Father Counselor the message that Cintio and Cruzes brought from Pajeu," the former cangaceiro cangaceiro prompted him. He spoke with his mouth full, for Maria Quadrado had given him a bowl of milk and a little corn cake, too. prompted him. He spoke with his mouth full, for Maria Quadrado had given him a bowl of milk and a little corn cake, too.

"The order has been carried out, Father," Taramela reported. "Calumbi was burned down. The Baron de Canabrava has gone off to Queimadas, with his family and some of his capangas capangas."

Struggling to overcome the timidity he felt in the saint's presence, he explained that, instead of going on ahead of the soldiers after he'd burned the hacienda down, Pajeu had positioned himself behind Throat-Slitter so as to fall upon him from the rear as he attacked Belo Monte. And then, without pausing, Taramela began to talk about the dead horse again. He had ordered that it be butchered for the men in his trench to eat, and that if the other one died it was to be given to Antonio Vilanova, so that he could distribute...But as at that moment the Counselor opened his eyes, he suddenly fell silent. The saint's deep, dark gaze made Pajeu's lieutenant feel even more unnerved; the Lion could see how hard his hand was crushing his sombrero.

"It's all right, son," the Counselor murmured. "The Blessed Jesus will reward Pajeu and those who are with him for their faith and courage."

He held out his hand and Taramela kissed it, holding it for a moment in his and looking at the saint with fervent devotion. The Counselor blessed him and he crossed himself. Abbot Joao gestured to him to leave. Taramela stepped back, nodding reverently the while, and before he left the Sanctuary, Maria Quadrado gave him some milk, in the same bowl that Abbot Joao and Big Joao had drunk out of.

The Counselor looked at them questioningly.

"They're very close, Father," the Street Commander said, squatting on his heels. He spoke in such a solemn tone of voice that the Lion of Natuba was suddenly frightened and felt the women shiver, too. Abbot Joao took out his knife, traced a circle, and then added lines leading to it to represent the roads along which the soldiers were advancing.

"There is no one coming from this side," he said, pointing to the entrance to town on the Jeremoabo road. "The Vilanovas are taking a great many of the old and the sick there so as to get them out of the line of fire."

He looked at Big Joao to indicate that he should tell the rest. The black pointed at the circle with one finger. "We've built a shelter for you here, between the stables and the Mocambo," he murmured. "A deep one, parapeted, with lots of stones so that it will be bulletproof. You can't stay here in the Sanctuary, because they're coming from this direction."

"They're bringing cannons with them," Abbot Joao said. "I saw them, last night. The guides sneaked me into Throat-Slitter's camp. They're big long-range ones. The Sanctuary and the churches are sure to be their first target."

The Lion of Natuba was so drowsy that the pen slipped out of his fingers. His head was buzzing, and he pushed the Counselor's arms apart and managed to rest his great mane on his knees. He barely heard the saint's words: "When will they be here?"

"Tonight at the very latest," Abbot Joao replied.

"I'm going to go to the trenches, then," the Counselor said softly. "Have the Little Blessed One bring out the saints and the Christs and the gla.s.s box with the Blessed Jesus, and have him take all the statues and the crosses to the roads along which the Antichrist is coming. Many people are going to die, but there is no need for tears. Death is bliss for the faithful believer."

For the Lion of Natuba, bliss arrived at that very moment: the Counselor's hand had just come to rest on his head. He immediately fell fast asleep, reconciled with life.

As he turns his back on the manor house of Calumbi, Rufino feels relieved: breaking the tie that bound him to the baron has suddenly given him the feeling of having more resources at his disposal to achieve his goal. Half a league farther on, he accepts the hospitality of a family he has known since he was a youngster. Without asking after Jurema or inquiring as to the reason for his having come to Calumbi, they give ample demonstration of their affection for him, and send him off the following morning with provisions for his journey.

He walks all day, and every so often along the way meets pilgrims heading for Canudos, who invariably ask him for something to eat. Hence by nightfall his provisions are all gone. He sleeps near some caves that he used to come to with other children from Calumbi to burn the bats with torches. On the following day, a peasant warns him that an army patrol has pa.s.sed that way and that jaguncos jaguncos are prowling all about the region. He walks on, with a feeling of foreboding. are prowling all about the region. He walks on, with a feeling of foreboding.

At dusk he reaches the outlying countryside round Caracata, a handful of shacks in the distance, scattered about amid bushes and cacti. After the burning-hot sun, the shade of the cajueiros cajueiros and and cipos cipos is a blessing. At that moment he senses that he is not alone. He is surrounded by a number of shadowy figures who have stealthily crept out of the is a blessing. At that moment he senses that he is not alone. He is surrounded by a number of shadowy figures who have stealthily crept out of the caatinga caatinga. They are men armed with carbines, crossbows, and machetes and wearing little animal bells and cane whistles around their necks. He recognizes several jaguncos jaguncos from Pajeu's old band, but the half-breed is not with them. The barefoot man with Indian features who is in command puts a finger to his lips and motions to him to follow them. Rufino hesitates, but a look from the from Pajeu's old band, but the half-breed is not with them. The barefoot man with Indian features who is in command puts a finger to his lips and motions to him to follow them. Rufino hesitates, but a look from the jagunco jagunco tells him that he must go with them, that they are doing him a favor. He immediately thinks of Jurema and the expression on his face betrays him, for the tells him that he must go with them, that they are doing him a favor. He immediately thinks of Jurema and the expression on his face betrays him, for the jagunco jagunco nods. He spies other men hiding amid the trees and brush. Several of them are camouflaged from head to foot in mantles of woven gra.s.s. Crouching down, squatting on their heels, stretched out on the ground, they are keeping a close watch on the trail and the village. They motion to Rufino to hide, too. A moment later the tracker hears a noise. nods. He spies other men hiding amid the trees and brush. Several of them are camouflaged from head to foot in mantles of woven gra.s.s. Crouching down, squatting on their heels, stretched out on the ground, they are keeping a close watch on the trail and the village. They motion to Rufino to hide, too. A moment later the tracker hears a noise.

It is a patrol of ten men in red-and-gray uniforms, headed by a young fair-haired sergeant. They are being led by a guide who, Rufino thinks to himself, is no doubt an accomplice of the jaguncos jaguncos. As though he had a sudden presentiment of danger, the sergeant begins to take precautions. Keeping his finger on the trigger of his rifle, he dashes from one tree to the other, followed by his men, who also take cover behind tree trunks. The guide moves forward down the middle of the trail. The jaguncos jaguncos around Rufino appear to have vanished. Not a leaf stirs in the around Rufino appear to have vanished. Not a leaf stirs in the caatinga caatinga.

The patrol reaches the first shack. Two soldiers knock the door down and go inside as the other men cover them. The guide crouches down behind the soldiers and Rufino notes that he is beginning to move back. After a moment, the two soldiers reappear and motion with their hands and heads to indicate to the sergeant that there is no one inside. The patrol advances to the next shack and goes through the same procedure, with the same result. But suddenly, in the door of a shack that is larger than the others, a woman with tousled hair appears, and then another, peering out in terror. When the soldiers spy them and point their rifles at them, the women make peaceable gestures, accompanied by shrill little cries. Rufino feels as dazed as when he heard the Bearded Lady mention the name Galileo Gall. Taking advantage of the sudden confusion, the guide disappears in the underbrush.

The soldiers surround the shack and Rufino sees that they are talking with the women. Finally, two men from the patrol follow them into the shack, while the rest of the men wait outside, rifles at the ready. A few moments later, the two who have gone inside come out again, making obscene gestures and egging the others to go in and do as they have done. Rufino hears laughter, shouts, and sees all the soldiers head into the house with gleeful, excited looks on their faces. But the sergeant orders two of them to stay outside to guard the door.

The caatinga caatinga round about him begins to stir. The men in hiding crawl out on all fours and stand up. He realizes that there are at least thirty of them. He follows them, breaking into a run, and overtakes the leader. "Is the woman who used to be my wife there?" he hears himself saying. "There's a dwarf with her, isn't that right?" Yes. "It must be her, then," the round about him begins to stir. The men in hiding crawl out on all fours and stand up. He realizes that there are at least thirty of them. He follows them, breaking into a run, and overtakes the leader. "Is the woman who used to be my wife there?" he hears himself saying. "There's a dwarf with her, isn't that right?" Yes. "It must be her, then," the jagunco jagunco says. At that moment a hail of bullets mows down the two soldiers guarding the door, immediately followed by shouts, screams, the sound of feet running, a shot from inside the shack. As he runs forward with the says. At that moment a hail of bullets mows down the two soldiers guarding the door, immediately followed by shouts, screams, the sound of feet running, a shot from inside the shack. As he runs forward with the jaguncos jaguncos, Rufino draws his knife, the only weapon he has left, and sees soldiers at the doors and windows firing at them or trying to make their escape. They manage to take no more than a few steps before they are hit by arrows or bullets or thrown to the ground by the jaguncos jaguncos, who finish them off with their knives and machetes. Just then, Rufino slips and falls. As he gets to his feet again, he hears the piercing wail of the whistles and sees the jaguncos jaguncos tossing out one of the windows the b.l.o.o.d.y corpse of a soldier whose uniform they have ripped off. The naked body hits the ground with a dull thud. tossing out one of the windows the b.l.o.o.d.y corpse of a soldier whose uniform they have ripped off. The naked body hits the ground with a dull thud.

When Rufino enters the shack, he is stunned by the violent spectacle that meets his eye. On the floor are dying soldiers, on whom knots of men and women are venting their fury with knives, clubs, stones, striking and pounding them without mercy, aided by jaguncos jaguncos who continue to pour into the shack. It is the women, four or five of them, who are screaming at the top of their lungs, and they who are ripping the uniforms off their dead or dying victims so as to insult them by baring their privates. There is blood, a terrible stench, and gaping holes between the floorboards where the who continue to pour into the shack. It is the women, four or five of them, who are screaming at the top of their lungs, and they who are ripping the uniforms off their dead or dying victims so as to insult them by baring their privates. There is blood, a terrible stench, and gaping holes between the floorboards where the jaguncos jaguncos must have been lying in wait for the patrol. Underneath a table is a woman with a head wound, writhing in pain and moaning. must have been lying in wait for the patrol. Underneath a table is a woman with a head wound, writhing in pain and moaning.

As the jaguncos jaguncos strip the soldiers naked and grab their rifles and knapsacks, Rufino, certain now that what he is looking for is not in that room, makes his way toward the bedrooms. There are three of them, in a row. The door of the first one is open, but he sees no one inside. Through the cracks in the door of the second he spies a plank bed and a woman's legs lying on the floor. He pushes the door open and sees Jurema. She is alive, and on catching sight of him, her face contorts in a deep frown and her entire body hunches over in shocked surprise. Huddled next to Jurema is the grotesquely terror-stricken, minuscule figure of the Dwarf, whom Rufino seems to have known as long as he can remember, and on the bed, the fair-haired sergeant. Despite the fact that he is lying there limp and lifeless, two strip the soldiers naked and grab their rifles and knapsacks, Rufino, certain now that what he is looking for is not in that room, makes his way toward the bedrooms. There are three of them, in a row. The door of the first one is open, but he sees no one inside. Through the cracks in the door of the second he spies a plank bed and a woman's legs lying on the floor. He pushes the door open and sees Jurema. She is alive, and on catching sight of him, her face contorts in a deep frown and her entire body hunches over in shocked surprise. Huddled next to Jurema is the grotesquely terror-stricken, minuscule figure of the Dwarf, whom Rufino seems to have known as long as he can remember, and on the bed, the fair-haired sergeant. Despite the fact that he is lying there limp and lifeless, two jaguncos jaguncos are still plunging their knives into him, roaring with each blow and spattering Rufino with blood. Jurema, motionless, stares at him, her mouth gaping, her face fallen, the ridge of her nose standing out sharply, and her eyes full of panic and resignation. Rufino realizes that the barefoot are still plunging their knives into him, roaring with each blow and spattering Rufino with blood. Jurema, motionless, stares at him, her mouth gaping, her face fallen, the ridge of her nose standing out sharply, and her eyes full of panic and resignation. Rufino realizes that the barefoot jagunco jagunco with Indian features has entered the room and is helping the others hoist the sergeant off the bed and throw him out the window into the street. They leave the room, taking with them the dead man's uniform, rifle, and knapsack. As he walks past Rufino, the leader mutters, pointing to Jurema: "You see? It was her." The Dwarf begins to utter disjointed phrases that Rufino hears but fails to understand. He stands calmly in the doorway, his face once again expressionless. His heart quiets down, and the vertigo he has felt at first is succeeded by a feeling of complete serenity. Jurema is still lying on the floor, too drained of strength to get to her feet. Through the window the with Indian features has entered the room and is helping the others hoist the sergeant off the bed and throw him out the window into the street. They leave the room, taking with them the dead man's uniform, rifle, and knapsack. As he walks past Rufino, the leader mutters, pointing to Jurema: "You see? It was her." The Dwarf begins to utter disjointed phrases that Rufino hears but fails to understand. He stands calmly in the doorway, his face once again expressionless. His heart quiets down, and the vertigo he has felt at first is succeeded by a feeling of complete serenity. Jurema is still lying on the floor, too drained of strength to get to her feet. Through the window the jaguncos jaguncos, both the men and the women, can be seen moving off into the caatinga caatinga.

"They're leaving," the Dwarf stammers, his eyes leaping from one to the other. "We should leave, too, Jurema."

Rufino shakes his head. "She's staying," he says softly. "You go."

But the Dwarf doesn't leave. Confused, afraid, not knowing what to do, he wanders about the empty house, amid the blood and the stench, cursing his lot, calling out to the Bearded Lady, crossing himself, vaguely praying to G.o.d. Meanwhile, Rufino searches the bedrooms, finds two straw mattresses, and drags them to the room in the front of the shack, from which he can see the one street and the dwellings of Caracata. He has brought out the mattresses mechanically, not knowing what he intends to do with them, but now that they are there, he knows: sleep. His body is like a soft sponge sopping up water. He grabs some ropes dangling from a hook, goes to Jurema, and orders: "Come." She follows him, without curiosity or fear. He sits her down next to the mattresses and ties her hand and foot. The Dwarf is there, his eyes bulging in terror. "Don't kill her, don't kill her!" he screams.

Rufino lies down on his back and without looking at him orders: "Go stand over there, and if you see anybody coming, wake me up."

The Dwarf blinks, disconcerted, but a second later he nods and hops to the door. Rufino closes his eyes. Before dropping off to sleep, he asks himself whether he hasn't killed Jurema yet because he wants to see her suffer or because now that he's finally caught up with her his hatred has subsided. He hears her lie down on the other mattress, a few feet away from him. He peers stealthily at her from beneath his lowered eyelashes: she is much thinner, her sunken eyes are dull and resigned, her clothes torn, her hair disheveled. There is a deep scratch on her arm.

When Rufino wakes up, he leaps from the mattress as though he were fleeing from a nightmare. But he does not remember having had a dream. Without so much as a glance at Jurema, he goes over to the Dwarf, who is still guarding the door and looking at him with mingled fear and hope in his eyes. Can he go with him? Rufino nods. They do not say a word to each other as the guide searches about outside for something to a.s.suage his hunger and thirst. "Are you going to kill her?" the Dwarf asks him as they are returning to the shack. He does not answer. He takes gra.s.s, roots, leaves, stems out of his knapsack and lays them down on the mattress. He does not look at Jurema as he unties her, or looks at her as though she weren't there. The Dwarf raises a handful of gra.s.s to his mouth and doggedly chews. Jurema also begins to chew and swallow, mechanically; every so often she rubs her wrists and ankles. They eat in silence, as outside the dusk turns to darkness and the buzz of insects grows louder. Rufino thinks to himself that the stench is like the one he smelled the night he once spent in a trap, alongside the dead body of a jaguar.

Suddenly he hears Jurema say: "Why don't you kill me and get it over with?"

Rufino continues to stare into s.p.a.ce, as though he has not heard her. But he is listening intently to that voice that is growing more and more exasperated, more and more broken: "Do you think I'm afraid of dying? I'm not. On the contrary, I've been waiting for you to end my life. Don't you think I'm sick and tired of all this? I would have killed myself before this if G.o.d didn't forbid it, if it wasn't a sin. When are you going to kill me? Why don't you do it now?"

"No, no," the Dwarf stammers, his voice choking.

The tracker sits there, without moving, without answering. The room is now nearly pitch-dark. A moment later, Rufino hears her crawling over to touch him. His entire body tenses, a prey to a feeling that is at once one of disgust, desire, contempt, rage, nostalgia. But he allows his face to betray none of this.

"Forget, I beg you, forget what's happened, in the name of the Virgin, of the Blessed Jesus," he hears her implore, feeling her body tremble. "He took me by force, it wasn't my fault, I tried to fight him off. Don't suffer any more, Rufino."

She clings to him and immediately the guide pushes her away, though not violently. He rises to his feet, feels about for the ropes, and ties her up again without a word. He sits down again in the same place as before.

"I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I'm tired, I don't want to live any longer," he hears her sob. "Kill me and get it over with."

"I'm going to," he says. "But not here. In Calumbi. So people will see you die."

A long time goes by, as Jurema's sobs grow quieter and finally die away altogether.

"You're not the Rufino you were," he hears her murmur.

"You're not the woman you were either," he says. "You have a milk inside you now that isn't mine. I know now why G.o.d punished you for so long, not letting you get pregnant."

The light of the moon suddenly filters obliquely into the room through the doors and windows, revealing the motes of dust suspended in the air. The Dwarf curls up at Jurema's feet and Rufino stretches out on his mattress. How long does he lie there with clenched teeth, thinking, remembering? When he hears the two of them talking, it's as though he were waking up, but he hasn't closed his eyes.

"Why are you staying here if n.o.body's forcing you to?" Jurema is asking the Dwarf. "How can you bear this stench, the thought of what's going to happen? Go off to Canudos instead."

"I'm afraid to go and I'm afraid to stay," the Dwarf whimpers. "I don't know how to be by myself, I've never been alone since the Gypsy bought me. I'm afraid of dying, like everybody else."

"The women who were waiting for the soldiers weren't afraid," Jurema says.

"Because they were sure they'd rise from the dead," the Dwarf squeals. "If I were that sure, I wouldn't be afraid either."

"I'm not afraid of dying and I don't know if I'm going to rise from the dead," Jurema declares, and Rufino understands that she is not speaking to the Dwarf now but to him.

Something awakens him when the dawn is scarcely more than a faint blue-green glow. The whipping of the wind? No, something else. Jurema and the Dwarf both open their eyes at the same moment, and the latter begins to stretch and yawn, but Rufino shuts him up: "Shhh, shhh." Crouching behind the door, he peeks out. The elongated silhouette of a man, without a shotgun, is coming down Caracata's one street, poking his head in each of the shacks. As the man is almost upon them, Rufino recognizes him: Ulpino, the guide from Calumbi. He sees him cup both hands about his mouth and call: "Rufino! Rufino!" He steps out from behind the door and shows himself. When he recognizes him, Ulpino's eyes open wide with relief and he calls to him. Rufino goes out to meet him, gripping the handle of his knife. He doesn't utter a single word of greeting. He can see, from the looks of him, that he has come a long way on foot.

"I've been searching for you since early last evening," Ulpino exclaims in a friendly tone of voice. "I was told you were on your way to Canudos. But then I met up with the jaguncos jaguncos who killed the soldiers. I've been walking all night long." who killed the soldiers. I've been walking all night long."

Rufino listens to him without opening his mouth, his face grave. Ulpino looks at him sympathetically, as though reminding him that they have been friends. "I've brought him to you," he murmurs slowly. "The baron ordered me to guide him to Canudos. But I talked things over with Aristarco and we decided that if I could find you, he was for you."

Rufino's face betrays his utter astonishment, his disbelief. "You've brought him to me? The stranger?"

"He's a b.a.s.t.a.r.d without honor." To emphasize his disgust, Ulpino spits on the ground. "He doesn't care if you kill his woman, the one he took away from you. He didn't want to talk about it. He lied and said she wasn't his."

"Where is he?" Rufino blinks and pa.s.ses his tongue over his lips. "It's not true," he thinks, "he hasn't brought him."

But Ulpino explains in great detail where he can be found. "Though it's none of my business, there's something I'd like to know," he adds. "Have you killed Jurema?"

He makes no comment when Rufino shakes his head in reply. For a moment he appears to be ashamed of his curiosity. He points to the caatinga caatinga stretching out in the distance behind him. stretching out in the distance behind him.

"A nightmare," he says. "They hung the ones they killed here in the trees. The urubus urubus are pecking them to pieces. It makes your hair stand on end." are pecking them to pieces. It makes your hair stand on end."

"When did you leave him?" Rufino cuts him off abruptly.

"Yesterday evening," Ulpino says. "He probably hasn't budged. He was dead tired. And what's more, he had no place to go. He not only lacks honor but endurance as well, and doesn't have any idea how to find his bearings..."

Rufino grabs him by the arm and squeezes it. "Thanks," he says, looking him straight in the eye.

Ulpino nods and frees his arm from Rufino's grasp. The tracker runs back into the shack, his eyes gleaming. The Dwarf and Jurema rise to their feet in bewilderment as he rushes into the room. He unties Jurema's feet but not her hands, and with swift, dexterous movements pa.s.ses the same rope around her neck. The Dwarf screams and covers his face with his hands. But he is not hanging her, only making a loop in the rope so as to drag her along behind him. He forces her to follow him outside. Ulpino has gone. The Dwarf hops along behind. Rufino turns around to him. "Don't make any noise," he orders. Jurema stumbles on the stones, gets tangled in the brush, but doesn't open her mouth and matches Rufino's pace. Behind them, the Dwarf rambles on deliriously about the soldiers strung up on the trees who are being devoured by vultures.

"I've seen many awful things in my life," Baroness Estela said, gazing down at the chipped tiles of the living-room floor. "There in the country. Things that would terrify people in Salvador." She looked at the baron, balancing back and forth in a rocking chair, unconsciously keeping time with old Colonel Jose Bernardo Murau, his host, as he swayed back and forth in his. "Do you remember the bull that went mad and charged the children as they were coming out of catechism? I didn't fall into a faint, did I? I'm not a weak woman. During the great drought, for example, we saw dreadful things, isn't that so?"

The baron nodded. Jose Bernardo Murau and Alberto de Gumucio-the latter had come from Salvador to meet the baron and baroness at the Pedra Vermelha hacienda and had been with them barely two hours-were trying their best to act as though it were an entirely normal conversation, but they could not hide how uncomfortable they were at seeing the baroness's agitation. That discreet woman, invisible behind her impeccable manners, whose smiles served as an impalpable wall between herself and others, was now rambling on and on, carrying on an endless monologue, as though she were suffering from some malady that had affected her speech. Even Sebastiana, who came from time to time to cool her forehead with eau de cologne, was unable to make her stop talking. And neither her husband nor her host nor Gumucio had been able to persuade her to go to her room to rest.

"I'm prepared for terrible catastrophes," she went on, her white hands reaching out toward them beseechingly. "Seeing Calumbi burn down was worse than seeing my mother die in agony, hearing her scream with pain, giving her with my own hands the doses of laudanum that slowly killed her. Those flames are still burning here inside me." She touched her stomach and doubled over, trembling. "It was as though the children I lost when they were born were being burned to cinders."

She looked in turn at the baron, Murau, Gumucio, begging them to believe her. Adalberto de Gumucio smiled at her. He had tried to change the subject, but each time the baroness brought the talk round again to the fire at Calumbi.

He tried once more to take her mind off this memory. "And yet, my dear Estela, one resigns oneself to the worst tragedies. Did I ever tell you what Adelinha Isabel's murder at the hands of two slaves was like for me? What I felt when we found my sister's badly decomposed body, with so many dagger wounds in it that it was unrecognizable?" He cleared his throat as he stirred restlessly in his chair. "That is why I prefer horses to blacks. There are depths of barbarism and infamy in inferior cla.s.ses and races that give one vertigo. And yet, my dear Estela, in the end one accepts the will of G.o.d, resigns oneself, and discovers that, even with all its calvaries, life is full of beautiful things."

The baroness's right hand came to rest on Gumucio's arm. "I am so sorry to have brought back the memory of Adelinha Isabel," she said tenderly. "Please pardon me."

"You didn't bring back the memory of her, because I never forget her." Gumucio smiled, taking the baroness's hands in his. "Twenty years have gone by, and yet it's as though it had been this morning. I'm talking to you about Adelinha Isabel so you'll see that the destruction of Calumbi is a wound that will heal."

The baroness tried to smile, but the smile turned into a pout, as though she were about to weep. At that moment Sebastiana came into the room, carrying the little vial of cologne. As she cooled the baroness's forehead and cheeks, patting her skin very delicately with one hand, she smoothed her mistress's ruffled hair with the other. "Between Calumbi and here she has ceased to be the beautiful, courageous young woman she was," the baron thought to himself. She had dark circles under her eyes, a gloomy frown, her features had gone slack, and her eyes had lost the vivacity and self-possession that he had always seen in them. Had he asked too much of her? Had he sacrificed his wife to his political interests? He remembered that when he had decided to return to Calumbi, Luiz Viana and Adalberto de Gumucio had advised him not to take Estela with him, because of the turmoil that Canudos was causing in the region. He felt extremely uneasy. Through his thoughtlessness and selfishness he had perhaps done irreparable harm to his wife, whom he loved more dearly than anyone else in the world. And yet, when Aristarco, who was riding at his side, alerted them: "Look, they've already set fire to Calumbi," Estela had not lost her composure; on the contrary, she had remained incredibly calm. They were on the crest of a hill, where the baron used to halt when he was out hunting, to look out across his land, the place he took visitors to show them the hacienda, the lookout point that everybody flocked to after floods or plagues of insects to see how much damage had been done. Now, in the starry night with no wind, they could see the flames-red, blue, yellow-gleaming brightly, burning to the ground the manor house to which the lives of all those present were linked. The baron heard Sebastiana sobbing and saw Aristarco's eyes brim with tears. But Estela did not weep, he was certain of that. She held herself very straight, gripping his arm, and at one moment he heard her murmur: "They're burning not only the house but the stables, the horse barns, the storehouse." The next morning she had begun talking about the fire, and since then there had been no way of calming her down. "I shall never forgive myself," the baron thought.

"Had it been my hacienda, I'd be there now: dead," Jose Bernardo Murau suddenly said. "They would have had to burn me, too."

Sebastiana left the room, murmuring, "Please excuse me." The baron thought to himself that the old man's fits of rage must have been terrible, worse than Adalberto's, and that before emanc.i.p.ation, he had undoubtedly tortured disobedient and runaway slaves.

"Not that Pedra Vermelha is worth all that much any more," he grumbled, looking at the peeling walls of his living room. "I've sometimes thought of burning it down myself, seeing all the grief it's causing me. A person has the right to destroy his own property if he feels like it. But I'd never have allowed a band of infamous, demented thieves to tell me that they were going to burn my land so it could have a rest, because it had worked hard. They would have had to kill me."

"They wouldn't have given you any choice in the matter. They'd have burned you to death before they set fire to the hacienda," the baron said, trying to make a joke of it.

"They're like scorpions," he thought. "Burning down haciendas is like stinging themselves with their own tails to cheat death. But to whom are they offering this sacrifice of themselves, of all of us?" He was pleased to note that the baroness was yawning. Ah, if only she could sleep, it would be the best possible thing to quiet her nerves. Estela hadn't slept a wink in these last few days. When they had stopped over in Monte Santo, she had refused even to stretch out on the bed in the parish house and had sat weeping in Sebastiana's arms all night long. That was when the baron began to be alarmed, for Estela was not a woman given to weeping.

"It's curious," Murau said, exchanging a look of relief with the baron and Gumucio, for the baroness had closed her eyes. "When you came by here on your way to Calumbi, my hatred was princ.i.p.ally directed against Moreira Cesar. But now I almost feel sorry for him. I have a more violent hatred of the jaguncos jaguncos than I ever had of Epaminondas and the Jacobins." When he was very upset, he moved his hands in a circle and scratched his chin: the baron was waiting for him to do so. But the old man just sat there with his arms crossed in a hieratic posture. "What they've done to Calumbi, to Poco da Pedra, to Sucurana, to Jua and Curral Novo, to Penedo and Lagoa is heinous, beyond belief! Destroying the haciendas that provide them with food, the centers of civilization of the entire region! G.o.d will not forgive such a thing. It's the work of details, of monsters." than I ever had of Epaminondas and the Jacobins." When he was very upset, he moved his hands in a circle and scratched his chin: the baron was waiting for him to do so. But the old man just sat there with his arms crossed in a hieratic posture. "What they've done to Calumbi, to Poco da Pedra, to Sucurana, to Jua and Curral Novo, to Penedo and Lagoa is heinous, beyond belief! Destroying the haciendas that provide them with food, the centers of civilization of the entire region! G.o.d will not forgive such a thing. It's the work of details, of monsters."

"Well, at last," the baron thought: Murau had finally made his usual gesture. A swift circle traced in the air with his gnarled hand and his outstretched index finger, and now he was furiously scratching his goatee.

"Don't raise your voice like that, Jose Bernardo," Gumucio interrupted him, pointing to the baroness. "Shall we carry her to her bedroom?"

"When she's sleeping more soundly," the baron answered. He had risen to his feet and was arranging the cushion so that his wife could lie back against it. He then knelt and put her feet up on a footstool.

"I thought the best thing would be to take her back to Salvador as quickly as possible," Adalberto de Gumucio said in a low voice. "But I wonder if it's not imprudent to subject her to another long journey."