Captains of the Sands by Jorge Amado

yet?”
    “Tomorrow I’m going to learn…” Legless said with a certain displeasure. “Tomorrow Mr. Nhôzinho is going to teach me.”
    “Then tomorrow, when the show is over, you can start it turning with just us. You get the thing started and we’ll get on board.”
    Pedro Bala supported the idea enthusiastically. The others anxiously awaited Legless’s answer. Legless said yes and then some of them clapped, others cheered. It was when Dry Gulch left the horse Lampião had ridden and came over to them:
    “Do you want to see something nice?”
    They all wanted to. The boy from the backlands got up onto the carrousel, wound up the Pianola, and the music of an old waltz started up. Dry Gulch’s somber face opened up in a smile. He was watching the Pianola, watching the boys wrapped in joy. They were listening religiously to that music coming from the bowels of the carrousel in the magic of the night of the city of Bahia only for the adventurous and poor ears of the Captains of the Sands. They were all silent. A worker who was coming along the street, seeing the group of boys on the square came over to them. And he stood there too, listening to the old music. Then the light of the moon spread out over them all, the stars shone even brighter in the sky, the sea grew completely calm (perhaps Iemanjá had also come to listen to the music) and the city was like a giant carrousel on which the Captains of the Sands were spinning on invisible horses. In that musical moment they felt themselves masters of the city. And they drew close to each other, they felt like brothers because all of them were without love or comfort and now they had the love and comfort of the music. Dry Gulch certainly wasn’t thinking about Lampião at that moment. Pedro Bala wasn’t thinking of someday being leader of the city’s whole underworld. Legless about jumping into the sea where dreams are all beautiful. Because the music was coming out of the belly of the old carrousel just for them and for the workmanwho had stopped. And it was an old sad waltz, long forgotten by all the men in the city.

    People are pouring out of all the streets. It’s Saturday night, tomorrow men won’t have to go to work. They can hang around the street tonight. A lot of them prefer going to bars, the Gate of the Sea is full, but the ones with children had taken them to the poorly lighted square. In compensation, the lights of the carrousel are spinning there. The children look at them and clap their hands. In front of the ticket office Dry Gulch is doing animal imitations and calling for customers. He’s wearing a cartridge belt, as if he were in the backlands. Nhôzinho França thought that would attract people’s attention and Dry Gulch looks just like a
cangaceiro
with his leather hat and crossed cartridge belts. And he imitates animals until men, women, and children gather in front of him. Then he offers tickets that the children buy. A joy spreads out over the whole square. The lights of the carrousel make everyone happy. In the center, squatting down, Legless helps Nhôzinho França get the motor started. And the carrousel spins, loaded with children, the Pianola plays its old waltzes. Dry Gulch sells tickets.
    Couples in love stroll about the square. Mothers buy popsicles and sherbets, a poet sitting facing the sea composes a poem about the lights of the carrousel and the children’s joy. The carrousel lights up all the square and all the hearts. At every moment people come out of streets and alleys. Dry Gulch, dressed as a bandit, imitates animals. When the carrousel stops spinning, the children invade it, waving their tickets of admission and it’s hard to count them. When one of them can’t find a place his face grows sad with disappointment and he impatiently awaits his turn. And when the carrousel stops those on it don’t want to get off and Legless has to come and say:
    “Everybody off! Everybody! Or buy another ticket.”
    Only then do they