The railway line ran along the other bank of the river. From the
plantation we could hear its whistle blow. The train was a sort of clock for
us; before the ten o'clock train, after the two o'clock train, and so on.
We liked to go up close to the railway line to see the passenger trains
close up. You would think trains had just been invented, we were so fascinated.
In fact we were forbidden to go near the railway track, and for good
reason. One of the worst moments of my childhood happened on one of our
excursions to the trackside.
My cousin Silvino had planned to overturn the engine on the incline at
Caboclo. Once before, on seeing one of the black boys with a red cloth hoisted
on a stick, we had got the driver to stop the ten o'clock train.
But now my cousin wanted a proper disaster. So he placed a stone on the
track on a bend. We remained on the look-out, waiting for the train. When I saw
it snaking along I felt a terrible anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I thought
that within a few minutes all around me would be pieces of dead people, heads
rolling along the ground, blood flowing from the crushed iron of the engine.
Instinctively, seeing the train come growling down the track, I ran to the
stone and, with all my strength, I pushed it out of the way. A moment later I
heard the roar of the engine as it passed.
I was alone there by the railway line. My cousins and the black boys had
all run away. My heart was beating harder than a piston. It seemed that I was
the only one guilty of the disaster that never happened. I began to cry from
fear in the silence. And bathed in tears I went home. Never again in my life have
I been tempted to perform an act of such heroism.
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