Plantation Boy - Menino de Engenho - Chapter 26

I liked to watch the craftsmen at work, the cooper making his barrels and his buckets, the carpenter working the wood, making his wagon wheels. With an adze he would strip the bark, and with a plane he would pare and smooth the planks of cedar wood. Mr. Firmino, the carpenter, Pixito the cooper, Mr. Rudolph the mechanic, looked after the tools that were needed on the plantation. They spent the winter months scraping wood and beating iron. They liked me. Even though I liked to pick up and inspect their tools they never got cross with me.

What I liked most about my craftsmen friends was their conversation, their confessions.

Mr. Rudolph knew lots of things. Since he was a boy he had worked at a variety of plantations. And from each place he had a story or two. He had worked for an old sea dog on the plantation at Meio, for Major Ursulino at Itapuà, for Dr. Pedro at Miriri. Ursulino's negroes would get up each morning and thrash themselves to warm up the body and get the blood running through their veins. The old sea dog would sleep in a hammock clutching a bottle of brandy. In that plantation the distillery only supplied the people who lived in the main house.

Mr Rudolph also spoke about women. When he was at Jaburú he had caught a dose of the French disease, which had left his body covered in sores. Master Firmino would stop his work to listen to the end of these stories.

I would spend the whole day hanging around the workshop, listening in to their private conversations. They spoke of some carpenters who worked on the plantation at Brejo. The plantation owner gave them salted cod fish for both lunch and dinner, every day. They spent the whole day long drinking water, their mouths forever dry. One day they told the servant who brought the food that they couldn't stand salted cod anymore. The next day the servant brought a tray of food; it was turkey. And turkey in the evening too. The whole week long it was turkey!

One fine Sunday the owner was walking on his property when he saw a Negro with a pair of vultures slung over his shoulders.

"What's this, boy?"

"It's turkey for the carpenters."

The carpenters went to bed as normal that night, but they didn't wake up feeling so fine. Sores had broken out all over their bodies and for some time they were close to death.

Another story was told about old Duda of the Riachão who didn't like women. He had a daughter who had run off with a rascal from Recife. When older he had married for a second time and each time his wife gave birth the old man would wait by the bedroom door and ask the midwife for the news, boy or girl? If a child were a girl child he would say - "Kill her!"

Then there was Captain Quincas, old José Paulino's brother, who had a woman called Calu, a good looking wench who he brought to live with his wife Miss Germínia. Captain Quincas was the more extrovert of the two brothers. Their uncle, Manuel César had a reputation as a crazy guy who shouted at everyone. Once some animals escaped from Santa Rosa. When they were rounded up he had them tied up in a barn, night and day. The animals were eating everything up but nobody dared to bring them out. José Paulino respected his uncle. He was afraid of him too. But Captain Quincas, when he found out, went straight out of the house, went to the barn and cut them loose. Old Uncle Manuel César was outraged, but said nothing. Such was the boldness of my grandfather's younger brother.

Well, Captain Quincas's wench was bestowing her favours on one of the overseers, and he found out. One day the men were out in the fields, near the plum trees. The men were working hard, the overseer, Silvino, watching over them. The captain called the rascal over to him. The blacks stopped their work to watch.

"Insolent rogue!" he yelled, and cut open Silvino's face with his whip. The two of them began fighting, rolling on the ground, fists flying. The Negroes ran away. Captain Quincas ended up dead, with a knife stuck in his left side. The overseer handed himself in. They put him in the stocks, lashing him, wanting to kill him, but old Manuel Cesar had him sent to jail. He protected his nephew's assassin. But he got his revenge all the same. The killer would never be free again, sent to Fernando for thirty years.   

At lunch time the master craftsmen came to eat with us in the main house. Sat at table they told none of these stories. They fell silent, eating with their heads bowed. I used to look at them, impressed by their humble good manners. Seated at the end of the table it appeared as if they did not hear anything that was said. As far as conversation at the table went, they were deaf and dumb.

My grandfather's brother took his place in my pantheon of heroes. He had been quite unlike old José Paulino who governed his plantations with his heart. I never saw any weapons in my grandfather's rooms, only some old and useless rifles that we used to play with. I wanted the master of the plantation to protect murderers, to have bodyguards, men armed with rifles.

People spoke about Quincas of Engenho-Novo, about Ne de Cipo-Branco, who with his armed men broke open the prison to set free a man under his protection. These men really were masters of the plantations.

When some relations like Manuel Gomes of Riacho Fundo or Alvaro da Aurora, came to visit, their small children wearing boots and knives in their belts, I looked upon them as my role models.

My grandfather would speak of the elections held in the times of the monarchy, which took place inside churches. The plantation owners would go there armed and looking for trouble. They fought for their parties, profaning the temples of God, knocking over and even burning holy objects. In Brejo-de-Areia, Felix Antonio raised the people against the government. An army came from Goiana to attack Recife. The plantation masters were at its head, along with their blacks.

But old Jose Paulino was not a man for such things. He was feared for his kindness! Nobody had the courage to raise their voice against his gentle authority. He had no enemies in the district. What enemies there were, were more enemies of the family than his personally. He had inherited them with the plantation.

My ideal of a plantation owner was a man of a different kind. His brother who had died fighting, Captain Quincas Viera, was my ideal, the type of master who flattered my vanity.