The Violent Land by Jorge Amado Read Free Book Online Page A

shoulders? Well, I’ve covered a lot of ground; I’ve spent ten years in those woods. Before that I was a soldier in the army and saw plenty of trouble, but nothing in the world to compare with the kind of trouble you see there. Did you ever hear of an ambush?”
    â€œYes!” exclaimed one of the men; “they say it’s where you lie in wait for someone and shoot the poor fellow from behind a tree.”
    â€œWell, then, see here. I know a man who made a bet of ten milreis with a friend of his. He bet the man to be killed would come from one direction and his friend bet he would come from the other; and the first one who came along got the bullet that was to decide the bet. Did you ever hear of anything as cursed as that?”
    The man from Ceará shuddered. One of the women could not believe her ears.
    â€œAnd they did that just to win a bet?”
    José da Ribeira spat once more as he went on to explain.
    â€œI’ve been there, I’ve seen a lot of the world, I was a soldier and I’ve seen things to make your hair stand on end. But I’ve never seen anything like what you see there. They’re real men, all right, but money is what talks. If you’re quick on the trigger, you get along well enough.”
    â€œAnd what do
you
do down there?”
    â€œI was a police sergeant for a while; then I got me a little grove, which is better than being on the force, and I live on it. I’ve been up to Bahia for a vacation and to buy a few things I needed.”
    â€œAnd you’re coming back third-class, Pop?” said the man from Ceará, banteringly.
    José smiled again, that ingrowing smile of his.
    â€œThe girls,” he confessed, “took all my money, son. The wildcat in the forest is what woman is in town. Whenever you see a white one in the capital, it seems to turn your head. They took me, cleaner than a whistle.”
    No one had any comment to make on this, for at that moment a short man with a whip in his hand and a sombrero on his head had stopped in front of them. José turned and spoke to him respectfully.
    â€œHow are you, Mr. Juca?”
    â€œHow are you, Dad? How goes the plantation?”
    â€œI’ve been away, going on a month. I aim to clear more woods this year, the Lord willing.”
    Juca Badaró nodded his head, eyeing the group as he did so.
    â€œYou know these people, Dad?”
    â€œI’m just getting acquainted with them, Mr. Juca. Is there any reason why you ask?”
    Instead of replying, Juca made his way into the centre of the group.
    â€œWhere are you from?” he said to one of them.
    â€œFrom Ceará, boss. From Crato.”
    â€œWhat were you, a mule-driver?”
    â€œNo, sir, begging your pardon. I had a little farm.” And without waiting for the question: “The drought finished me.”
    â€œDo you have a family or are you single?”
    â€œI have a wife, and a kid on the way.”
    â€œDo you want to work for me?”
    â€œYes, sir; thank you kindly.”
    Thus Juca Badaró went about, hiring hands: the man who was dealing the cards, one of the other players, the man from Ceará, the young lad, and Antonio Victor, who was gazing up at the sky with its thousands of stars. Many offered their services and he refused them. He had had a wide experience with men and could readily tell which ones would do for his plantation, for felling the forest, working the land, and looking after the crops.

8
    Captain João Magalhães had them bring down Portuguese wine. The travelling salesman accepted some, but the colonel declined; the swaying of the boat upset his stomach.
    â€œThat’s a devil of a wind. If I took any wine, I’d throw my guts up over the side of the ship.”
    â€œBeer, then? A cognac?”
    The colonel did not care for anything. João Magalhães was telling tall stories of his life in Rio, as an army captain and a rich business man as