Did you know, Fernão, that sugar cane takes a whole year to be harvested? Dália taught me that. Try to imagine: two wretched pirates like you and me investing in a business that would take twelve months to make money. It would never happen. Now that I think about it, I believe that Calypso herself knew what was coming and got us caught up in her destiny, just like a boat can push a fish school until it willingly enters a net.
But let me go over the facts. My version of the events can be a little different from what you remember and I don’t want to be unfair.
We docked in Pernambuco with empty pockets. Our ambitions, on the other hand, were vast. New Holland was prospering, the sugar being drained under the skirts of the Portuguese. By the docks, gossip was that the new Governor, in addition to his taste for art and architecture, also enjoyed exotic collections (we should have imagined: what kind of man has “building a zoo” as a priority?). Being in good terms with Maurício de Nassau was the ideal starting point. If everyone could close their eyes and call that invasion a colony, they could also address two bastard sailors by “Your Grace.” A new government that rises burns the paperwork of the previous one, and then the cheaters and the scoundrels can also rise, you used to say. It was true… guess still is.
We had little to offer to the Governor, but that little we had was exclusive. We were both crazy enough to accept the kind of work other sailors refused. Years at the sea had made us brothers. We had hunted sharks, made whale bones pose as unicorn horns, and even obtained the skin of an old selkie from the icy seas. We had fought wars and transported their fugitives. Sure, we could find an unparalleled treasure for Nassau.
I remember when I saw Dália for the first time. I was still unable to distinguish smells and flavors other than salt, weak from months working with the crew. And then she ran into me on the wooden pier, that little thing, the raw skirt tied to the side so that it worked like trousers. Her arms painted grey from the mangrove mud. On her shoulder, a long rod supporting crab ropes, the creatures still alive trying to free themselves from the knots.
“Do you want to buy them, lad?” she asked, looking up at me. And I was so dizzy, so unaccustomed to the sight of a woman that I simply shook my head. I noticed she had a small swirl drawn on her forehead, a symbol of Calypso, the crustacean goddess. I stared at the crab ropes as Dália walked away.
“Idiot,” you whispered, slapping the back of my head. “She was the contact of that information network. You should have bought a rope. That was the code!”
I ran through the crates and sugar bags until I reached Dália at the end of the dock. I made her turn with a hand on her shoulder.
“I want…” I said, breathing hard. “To buy.”
As you know, Fernão, I had almost no money with me at the time, so I removed one of my golden earrings and put it in her hand. Dália smiled.
“A rope for the lad,” she said, choosing one of the lines with the crustaceans hanging. I held the creatures without really knowing what to do. What a sad figure I must have looked, because Dália burst out laughing before she squeezed my arm and said, in that voice like cane juice, “And does the lad happen to know how to cook crab?”
“I suppose throwing them into a pan is enough,” I replied, smiling with a little more confidence, hoping that the question was not some other type of code that I’d ignored.
“Sure…” she teased. Her hand slipped around my arm and entangled her fingers with mine. “Come visit us tonight at the mangrove. We’ll prepare the crabs for you. And bring your friend along, he keeps looking at me.”
That was it. I felt very gallant at that time, and, today I know, was also quite naive. Doesn’t it seem incredible, Fernão, that a golden earring and a pair of smiles could change everything?
That night, we got out of our beds and sneaked down the alleys, following the direction of the clam collectors, healers, and weavers. It seemed that everyone was already waiting for us. Do you remember how they showed us the way?
Finally, we identified a fire pit in the middle of the mangrove. Dália was there, as well as other men and women, the eyes and ears of the departing ships. We quickly made ourselves comfortable; living with a crew teaches you how to deal with all kinds of people. Between one sip or two of cachaça, I let you do what you did best: chatting with others and obtaining advantages. For a price, of course, but you had a way of raising your eyebrows to seem interested that people just couldn’t stop talking. I always envied that.
Anyway, Fernão, I apologize. I should have stayed by your side to set up the plans. But I trusted you, and that night I only had eyes for the crab seller woman.
Dália bewitched me.
Because I had made a fool of myself earlier, I felt an urge to impress her, to make her think good of me. I followed her smiles and made my intentions pretty clear. I waited for her to call on me. And then, when we lay down together with the sky above us already shining at dawn, Dália traced the reddish scar on my chest with the tip of her finger.
“What happened to your heart?” she asked, more a joke than a serious question.
I pressed her hand against the uneven edges left by the harpoon that had almost killed me.
“I pulled it out and hid it,” I replied. “So no crab seller can steal it without my permission.”
I will spare you, Fernão, from the details of what we did that night, since the next day you spent a couple hours complaining about the subject. You didn’t like Dália. You said that she distracted me, that she messed up my priorities, and that we should be totally faithful to our partnership. And I believed you were talking about business… At that time, I didn’t realize the extent of your feelings. I thought those few caresses we exchanged, from time to time on the high seas, were just crumbs of affection between two lads in need of human contact. A common story among sailors.
The truth is that we remained a good team, even though you seem increasingly distant. We got money to please the right pockets. It didn’t take long for us to arrange an audience at the palace.
The Governor was not what I expected. Or he was, I don’t know. Of all the adjectives I could have used to describe him, I think the word that came to mind is “clean.” Nassau looked like the scraps of cloth from an apothecary surgeon: white, unstained, and organized. I always laughed when you mimicked him.
“I heard that you gentlemen have a reputation in recovering items that no one else can,” the Governor said. “I confess that I’m impressed.”
“Flattering of you, Your Grace,” you replied, and I’m not even sure we used the right pronouns. You looked at the carved elephant tusks that hung from an arch on the ceiling. “I wonder if there is any treasure that is not in such a beautiful collection…”
“Oh, the world is vast…” Nassau replied with a sigh. “My concern is more about the price.”
“Governor, my friend here is also a Dutch, a New Holland enthusiast. We ask cheap.”
“One life,” I said. “Not an existence, you see. We want a real life.” And, perhaps because living with you had taught me some sagacity, I reinforced the request by crossing my legs like a lord and stirring my cup of tea in the most refined way.
Nassau nodded with a smile. He got it.
“Well,” the Governor said. “There is a rarity right here in these lands, one that I am very interested in. Fishermen say that, following the Capibaribe, an incomparable terror lurks. The very soul of these marshes. Would you be familiar with the stories about the Giant Guaiamum?”
But we were the ones who did the impossible. How many days did we spend in the mangrove, Fernão? Twelve? Fifteen? Miserable hours for two Europeans full of mosquito bites. Mud and sand made walking difficult, our feet sinking all the time. At night, we lit torches and stared into the unknown eyes that watched us from the trees. It was just the two of us: we didn’t think it was a good idea to get people’s attention about the prize. For safety, Dália had also been left behind, and I missed her deeply. You could see it on my face, couldn’t you?
Then we found the first signs of the monster. We asked some questions, pretending to be drunk so that no one would take us seriously. Fishermen told us about the Giant Guaiamum, lord of all crabs, protector of the mangrove. We learned to read the tracks with its smaller cousins, eight legs always accompanied by the dragging of two claws.
As we got closer, you became more agitated. Our words became harsh. I asked if it had anything to do with Dália, and you replied that perhaps it would be better if I returned to my lover and let you handle the monster alone.
I’m not gonna lie, Fernão, I seriously thought about it.
But I decided to stay with you. Call it loyalty or even respect for the old days, I don’t know. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you. So, although I didn’t say it at the time, I say it now: in the mangrove, I decided that the giant crab would be our last mission. I just couldn’t imagine that, a few steps forward, you were thinking the same thing while setting the traps.
The monster came out of nowhere. I wasn’t prepared to behold it. The grey and blue shell, almost purple in the first light of dawn, the claws the size of a man and weighing like three. The Giant Guaiamum started to hiss as soon as it noticed us. Its eyes, so small for the rest of the body, were completely black.
You attracted the monster, dodging the claws, hitting the back of the carapace with small thrusts that served more to irritate the creature than to encourage it to fight. I went around, climbed on the trees, and waited. The branches bent when the Guaiamum bumped sideways, and I took the opportunity to throw myself over the monster, clinging to the blind spot just behind the stems of its eyes. I grabbed one end of the huge ship ropes that we had previously buried.
I did the way Dália had taught me, above and below, forming a loop with the rope until one of the legs was forced to retract close to the body. From below, you did the same with the other claws. We were like spiders working our prey; whenever one claw broke a string, we entangled two more to compensate. In the end, we managed to immobilize it. The giant was now a round, motionless silhouette. We secured the ropes to the ground.
“Quick, put a spear through the shell!” you shouted, pointing at the beast’s only vulnerable spot.
I grabbed a thin, sturdy branch, carved at the end. Fishermen said guaiamum meat is sweet. I prepared to run and pierce the creature with all my strength. But then, I froze.
I didn’t make it. There is a peaceful acceptance that emanates from crabs, you know. It’s almost like they’re not really there. Almost as if the strings were just a momentary inconvenience, a nuisance they will eventually get rid of. They don’t know they are going to die. I thought it was a shame to end it.
“What are you doing?!” you shouted.
“Let Nassau be happy with one claw,” I smiled, cutting off the largest of the legs with a series of blows. I knew how these wonderful beings could grow their limbs again. “Let the mangrove have it.”
I stopped to contemplate my achievement, feeling proud and euphoric with the decision. That was my mistake: thinking too much about myself and letting my guard down. Without notice, you loosened the ropes, freeing the creature. The remaining claw crossed the air in a precise movement. The clean cut tore my throat and dyed the crab in red.
“Fernão,” I tried to say, half a question and half a plea, but the wounded neck prevented the words from coming out. I dropped to my knees. The Guaiamum fled to the forest.
“You made your choice,” you said, tears streaming down your sunburned face. “And I made mine. She changed you. This is not how I want to remember us.”
I can’t recall exactly what came after that. I suppose you did drag the detached claw back to the palace. I can’t explain what it’s like to be dead either, because, suddenly, I wasn’t dead anymore. I remember feeling the stinging, burning pain first; it hurt much more than the wound that had caused my downfall. Then the voice. Dália’s voice.
I don’t know how she found me. I imagine she followed us a few steps behind, afraid that something bad might happen. I wonder what she would do if she knew it was you. I didn’t tell her. I didn’t have the courage, nor a throat.
Dália spoke in a language I didn’t comprehend. Her knife opened my chest right on the scar, separating skin and muscle, opening the ribs one by one until my heart cavity became exposed. I won’t try to explain the pain; there aren’t enough words to capture it. But, in the midst of all that anguish, I felt myself breathing again.
“My love,” Dália called, and I opened my eyes. First, I stared at her face, bathed in tears. Then I looked down. My heart was beating, timidly, impossibly separated from the rest of the body in the woman’s bloody hands. Dália began to pray, her tone almost dreamlike: “My dear, I offer you to Calypso as lover and companion, as servant and ally, so that she can save you from the arms of death and drown you in her whirlwind which is both storm and calm.”
Crabs sprouted around us as Dália repeated the words, coming out from under the rocks, from the holes in the ground, and among the roots. Drowned in my own blood, I couldn’t speak. The crabs danced as my heart beat.
Calypso’s embrace came without warning. One of the crustaceans climbed up my chest and cuddled inside, retracting its body and making it as round and massive as the red organ I had lost. Suddenly, the goddess was in my gut, turning my thoughts, twisting my tongue. Calypso bargained, explained the details of our agreement, the terms of my servitude. Today, I believe perhaps I should have just died, but that is not how the wounded, especially those in love, reason. I threw myself into her arms of foam and swore to Calypso my eternal loyalty. The goddess allowed me a few last minutes to say goodbye. Then I was dragged, just like the flotsam along the beach. I left Dália still holding my heart. At least I left it with the right person.
And so we conclude, Fernão, the events that brought us to the present moment. A golden earring, a smile, one claw, and a betrayal. I heard that Nassau kept his promise, that you are now a plantation master in your beloved Recife. I heard you attend the best dining rooms these days, a Portuguese reigning among the Dutch. I heard you have slaves too. I know everything, because it’s what they tell me, those who sink in the heart of the sea and then ask me for help. Do you know what they call the ocean floor now? Davy Jones’ Locker. I still think it’s funny.
Ten years of service, one day of land, that’s the contract. Calypso watches over me day and night with attentive eyes and a steady, yet gentle hand. When I feel the sand under my feet again, Dália will have moved on with her life (I hope). The docks will be different. Someone else will try to sell me crabs, urchins, dried seaweed. You may not know this at the moment, but I don’t think Nassau will be in charge when I set foot in Mauritsstad again. On the ships, men are talking of Henrique Dias and Filipe Camarão.
But this piece of future doesn’t matter. What really matters, Fernão, is what I’m going to do on my first day off. I will hunt you down, brother, and make you pay for everything you stole from me. I will take your heart and you will serve on my ship. Forever partners, just like you wanted.
I imagine that, by the time this letter reaches you, we’ll have five years left until our meeting. The sugar cane will go up and down five more times, your pockets will be full and maybe you’ll have children. Don’t worry, my friend, don’t bother hiding. There isn’t a piece of land that isn’t surrounded by the sea. Don’t make the mistake of taking your own life, either: a sailor’s soul always belongs to Calypso. Live, as I could not. Be happy, as Dália and I couldn’t. And then wait for me.
With your friendship always in my heart,
Jones
 |
Fernanda Castro is a Brazilian writer from Recife. She lives near the beach with her husband, surrounded by birds, plants, and paranoia. Her fiction has been published in Strange Horizons and elsewhere, and she has one novella and two books published in Portuguese. Follow her on Twitter: @fernandaversa. |