The air is damp with rain, leaving a slick dew on the leaves of a papaya tree, which shades the unkempt cemetery.
At the first toll of the funeral bell, everyone turns to the distant tower commemorating the Dragon-Slayer.
Except for Colonel Bastos, who stands at the end of the line.
Colonel: Papayas. I had thought this tree might never bear fruit.
None of those present could be said to be any younger than the one they'd laid to rest.
Elder I: What a dreadful season.
Elder II: You're not kidding ... it's been so damp and stifling. I feel like it's boiling my brain.
Old Quitéria: Hang in there. Remember, Nala made her special sweet and savory snacks today. They'll be waiting for us back at the home.
Elder I: Sweet and savory? So, she'll be serving burnt bananas or sweet potatoes, or will it be my favorite her "jawbreaker" cassava fritters.
Elder III: Ha-ha-ha, thank your lucky stars for her; she was sent from above like an angel. So what if she bumped her head along the way down?
Elder II: Did you hear her singing in the kitchen at four-thirty this morning?
Elder I: It wasn't too loud at least—She tried to be quiet. Was she already up making breakfast at that hour?
Old Quitéria: Making breakfast? I can only imagine the state of the kitchen!
Elder I: You shouldn't pile so much on her. She's bound to slip up sometimes with all that she does.
Elder II: You say that, but she's always the first to jump in when she sees something to do. And if I even try to stop her, she gets mad.
Elder II: Just like my little Ila. Ahh, she was so full of energy back then.
Old Quitéria: She was such a lovely child. I remember how her dark hair shimmered like silk in the sunlight.
Old Quitéria: Too bad Old Cinder will never get to enjoy Nala's hot bean porridge again.
The elders turn their gaze to the nearby grave. One lets out a small soft sigh.
The wooden coffin, suspended by hemp ropes, is lowered into the ground. And the first shovel of dirt is dumped on its lid.
Wild grassroots intertwine around the headstone, where the once unruly bougainvillea has been replaced by funeral lilies.
Colonel Bastos turns his singular eye to Nala, who is pushing a wheelchair. He joins her at the end, as they lay down the last flowers.
Colonel: How does my hair look? Took me half an hour to get it just right.
Anjo Nala: Don't worry, Colonel, your hair's holding up fine.
Anjo Nala: —But …
Nala looks up at the sky.
Anjo Nala: Is he watching over us from up there?
She thinks for a moment, then quietly waves upward.
Anjo Nala: Here we are, Old Cinder.
Lilies cover the freshly dug soil. The soul within awaits their song.
Old Quitéria props up her accordion. As the colonel often says, a good accordion is never in bad taste.
Just as they have some many times before, they sing one more song for their departed friend.
The Caregivers: Joyful, beautiful, my homeland,
The Caregivers: Under a lone canoe in the night sky, I long for that eternal river,
The Caregivers: Are there swaying palms there, are there robins singing?
The Caregivers: Sleep now, oh traveler, in your homesick dreams, you'll bring joy to your family.
Anjo Nala: May he rest in peace.
Crowd: May he rest in peace.
Colonel: After all these years, Old Cinder is the first of us to go.
Colonel: Who still remembers him leading from the front—across all four thousand miles. By the end of it, his boots were so caked up they were as heavy as lead.
Colonel: Always have to be ahead of us—even when it comes to death.
Elder II: Maybe we can hold a spirit-calling ceremony for him in a few weeks.
Elder I: Not another one of your "ceremonies." Last time you messed it up, and that spirit kept bothering us for hours! It scared off the pigeons, and drank all my maté!
The funeral does not so much end as fade into the background, as the elderly veterans return to their bantering.
They share the same sense of perseverance, even now, that saw them through so many battles together.
At that moment, in the dense weeds, a pair of thick-treaded boots thud over the muddy soil, and a Revolver is cocked.
Soldier I: What now, Captain? We going over?
The shadows in the jungle tremble slightly, the soft whinny of a horse breaking their silence.
The captain looks back at his team and lowers his head.
???: There's no other choice ...
The elders prepare to leave, completely unaware that Nala has hidden herself.
Except for one.
Old Quitéria: You know, my dear, it's not polite to stuff yourself like that at a funeral.
Anjo Nala: …?!
She wipes her mouth.
Old Quitéria: So, that's why the chickens were disappearing from the coop.
Anjo Nala: —No one else has noticed, have they?
Old Quitéria: Oh, of course not.
Anjo Nala: Then there's hardly a problem, is there? He-he!
Anjo Nala: —Ugh I've positively gorged myself, but I still feel so hungry …
Anjo Nala: And a bit dizzy.
Old Quitéria: Oh dear, you don't look well. Have you gotten heatstroke?
Anjo Nala: Not sure ... hic
She shakes her head and sniffs the air.
Anjo Nala: Hmm, ah! It must be the mesquite trees. I always feel ill around them when they bloom. The smell makes me dizzy.
Old Quitéria: Well my dear, you've been doing so much to organize the funeral. Just don't push yourself too hard. Old Cinder would never forgive us if we didn't take good care of you.
Anjo Nala: Don't worry, Quitéria! I-I'm still strong!
Nala cheerfully flexes her arm as she straightens out her stance.
Just as the old woman is about to speak, a rustling breaks out from the nearby jungle, startling the long-tailed monkeys in the trees.
Not far away, the other elders walk in close step, beneath the cover of their umbrellas.
Anjo Nala: —!!!
Colonel: Who's there?!
Crowd: Be careful!
Elder I: Watch out! Someone's hiding over there!
Soldiers emerge from the jungle leading a few thin horses, their clothes are tattered, their faces exhausted. The leading officer raises both arms and moves forward.
Led by their old colonel, the veterans fall back into a battle-ready stance, all scanning the newcomers carefully.
???: Desculpa … we didn't mean to intrude; we just need a place to rest. We haven't had a proper meal in a week. We can't go on much longer.
Elder I: Who are you? Why are you out here?
???: We're a patrol unit. We got lost in the jungle during a clearing mission.
This answer causes murmurs among the elders.
Elder I: You're Shorty's men, then?
Elder II: You got holes in your head? It's been ages since they took out Shorty. The military is in charge now.
Elder III: Don't trust a word out of the mouths of these leeches!
The elders grumble, but most shrink back, blinking at the unwelcome guests.
???: Wait, wait, please let me explain ...
The speaker takes a step forward, eyes darting over each elder's face.
His eyes widen, like a man discovering a hidden treasure.
???: I've hit the jackpot! Meu Deus! You're Colonel João Bastos!!
Colonel: … ?!
The colonel lifts his eyebrows, his singular eye shifting wide open.
Colonel: Who's that?
???: The Rio Grande do Sul Uprising! General Protus's right-hand man? Could that really be the same face looking at me?
Colonel: The very same, but with one eye fewer.
???: cough
The other man respectfully salutes the colonel.
Moacir: Lieutenant Mondinho Moacir, Moacir of Bahia, Colonel.
Colonel: Bahia? Were you stationed by the Cachoeira River?
Moacir: Yes, Colonel.
Colonel: That's all wasteland now, isn't it?
Moacir: Yes, Colonel.
Colonel: Where the purslane grows wild and the brazilwood stacks higher than the piles of corpses that it took to claim that land.
Moacir: Colonel, you have no idea how many times I heard your name on my father's lips. You really taught those bullies a lesson.
Colonel: ...
Moacir: The papers said you still have that bullet in your head.
Colonel: It's all in the past now.
Moacir: Yes—so now my brothers and I are fighting for that honor too. Any violence and destruction you face here will be done away with!
The colonel's face changes.
Colonel: So, then you're the ones causing all the trouble around here?
Moacir: Trouble? No, Colonel, we're just following our orders. We're here to deal with what's left of the traitors and criminals.
Colonel: Don't give me that excuse. I know what your leaders are up to.
Colonel: Go back to the Capital and tell your commander that Bastos sends his regards. Tell him I don't approve of what they're doing.
Colonel: You're just feeding your youthful ambitions.
Moacir: Colonel, those are dangerous words.
Colonel: Come then, arrest me.
The colonel casts a stern and baleful glare at the young man.
Colonel: Although you may know me, boy, you and your men can't stay around here.
Moacir: Colonel ...
Moacir: We've been fighting for three months. Our rations are depleted. We have many injured.
Lieutenant Moacir rummages through his pockets, offering up a rain-soaked pack of cigarettes to Colonel Bastos.
The colonel remains motionless and unflinching.
Silent as a mountain.
Old Quitéria: I say—
The old caregiver breaks the silence, casting a frown at the colonel.
Old Quitéria: These boys have suffered enough. Is there any harm in bringing them inside for a little food and rest?
Old Quitéria: Look at the state of them. Most of them can't stand up straight; some of these injuries are near to turning gangrenous. Colonel, they'll never make it back to the capital like this!
Colonel: … They …
Old Quitéria: What about them?
Old Quitéria: Stop, whatever old friendships or grudges you have, all I see are injured boys in need of care.
Old Quitéria: If people need help, we help them. That's how we do things at the Heartfelt Home.
Elder I: She's right. We would be monsters to turn them away like this.
Elder II: But these aren't just ordinary people; we don't know their deal. Besides, we're struggling to keep all of us fed as it is!
Voices of support and opposition arise from the old veterans, until they've formed a deadlock.
Anjo Nala: Sir, I, um, I mean, Captain.
A soft voice, scarcely louder than a mosquito's buzz, chimes in.
Anjo Nala: Sorry to interrupt, but ... You should reconsider your offer. You won't move the colonel with those.
She moves in front of the colonel, pushing Moacir's cigarettes back with a weakly shaking hand.
Anjo Nala: The colonel only smokes one brand of cigarettes.
Anjo Nala: They're called "Green Papayas" ...
Moacir: …?
Moacir: He frowns.
Moacir: You ...
Anjo Nala: What? Is there s-something?
Her heart suddenly tightens.
Anjo Nala: Ah ...! Ooh ...
There's noise, endless noise, then shouting, footsteps and panting, then the thrill of a predator in chase. A nightmare in her waking eyes.
Crowd: Oh, dear!
With everyone's exclamations, before Moacir could react, Nala sways a little and then collapses.
Elder I: She's fainted!!!
Elder II: Oh, dear. Someone check on her. The poor thing, it must be over-exhaustion!
Elder I: Could be, but then—she used to have panic attacks. It might be something similar.
Soldier I: Hold on, we might have a stretcher that can be of use …
Moacir: Bring it over, quickly!
Moacir: Is this girl your caregiver?
Old Quitéria: Yes, and our very own little fool.
GAMEPLAY
Old Quitéria: Come on, let's all carry her back. You boys are welcome to rest at the Heartfelt Home for now!
Moacir: Vamos—
The troops give a small cheer, springing up like dried grass after a long-awaited rain.
The colonel grimaces, wheeling about and moving past Moacir wordlessly.
The misfit band of the wounded and the elderly trudge toward the house in the distant mist marked "Heartfelt Home."
Elder II: I'm not sure that letting this pack of wild half-grown puppies into the house is a proper choice. Hungry dogs bite.
Elder III: Ah, clam it up! Look at them. They're not so different to how we were back then.
Elder II: They don't even look like proper soldiers.
Elder I: Are you saying we did?
They trudge forward up the muddy hill, stopping to complain now and then, their rasping voices covered by birdsong.