Captains of the Sands by Jorge Amado Page B

João in three games) took up a collection to buy half a gallon of gasoline:
    “I’ll bring it.”
    But Sunday afternoon brought the arrival of Father José Pedro, who was one of the very few people who knew where the most permanent abode of the Captains of the Sands was. Father José Pedro had become their friend a long time ago. The friendship had come about through Good-Life. The latter had gone one day, after mass, into the sacristy of a churchwhere Father José Pedro served. He had gone in out of curiosity more than anything else. Good-Life wasn’t one of those who worked to stay alive. He liked to let life run on without worrying too much. He was more of a parasite on the group. One day, when he felt like it, he would go into a house and bring out something of value or lift a man’s watch. He almost never put them into the hands of a fence himself. He would bring them back and give them to Pedro Bala, as a contribution to the gang. He had a lot of friends among the stevedores on the docks, in several poor houses in the Cidade de Palha, in a lot of places in Bahia. He would eat in one person’s house, then in that of another. In general he didn’t dislike anybody. He was content with Cat’s leftover women and he knew the city better than anyone, its streets, its strange places, a party where you could eat and dance. When it had been some time that he hadn’t contributed to the economy of the gang with some object of value, he would make an effort, arrange something that would bring in money, and give it to Pedro Bala. But he really didn’t like any kind of work, honest or dishonest. What he liked was to lie on the sands of the waterfront hours on end watching the ships, squatting by the doors of the harbor warehouse listening to stories of brave deeds. He dressed in rags, because only providence could give him something to wear when his clothes started falling apart. He liked to stroll at his leisure along the streets of the city, going into parks to smoke a cigarette sitting on a bench, entering churches to look at the beauty of the old gold, sauntering along the streets paved with large black stones.
    On that morning when he saw the people coming out of mass, he went into the church indifferently and moved about up to the sacristy. He was looking at everything, the altars, the saints, he laughed at the black Saint Benedict. There was nobody in the sacristy and he saw a gold object that must have been worth a lot of money. He looked around again, he didn’t see anyone. He was reaching out his hand when someone touched him on the shoulder. Father José Pedro had just come in:
    “Why are you doing that, my son?” he asked with a smile as he took the golden reliquary out of Good-Life’s hand.
    “I was only taking a look, Reverend. It’s great,” Good-Life replied with a certain apprehension. “It’s real great. But I wasn’t thinking of taking it. I was just about to put it down. I come from a good family.”
    Father José Pedro looked at Good-Life’s clothes and laughed. Good-Life also looked at his rags:
    “It’s just that my father died, you know. But I was even in a good school…I’m telling the truth. Why should I rob something like that?” he pointed to the reliquary. “In a church besides. I’m not a pagan.”
    Father José Pedro smiled again. He knew perfectly well that Good-Life was lying. For a long time he’d been waiting for an opportunity to establish relations with the abandoned children of the city. He thought that was the mission he was meant to have. He’d already made so many visits to the Reformatory for Minors but there he raised all kinds of difficulties because he didn’t espouse the ideas of the director that it’s necessary to whip a child in order to correct errors. And the director even had his own ideas about errors. Father José Pedro had heard people talk about the Captains of the Sands for some time and he had a dream of getting in contact with them, to be able to