Part 2: Parrots and Swamps

By noon the next day, her nightmare has passed.
The girl who fainted yesterday springs back into action.
Anjo Nala: 6 a.m., go to the post office and collect the day's copy of The Morning Insight—check.
Anjo Nala: Seven a.m., breakfast; cornflakes, with fried bananas, sweet potatoes—check.
Anjo Nala: Next, uh, change the sheets. Oh, which side is the right side? What was it that Old Quitéria taught me?
Anjo Nala: All done for today. Ah, just one last thing.
She frowns and straightens her hair in the mirror.
Anjo Nala: Alright! Story time!
Stories, yes, the most interesting ones can be heard in the tearoom. These always bring together both the elders and their eager young listener.
Elder I: When I first came to this place, not a single road was paved, and the dock? Forget it! We waded to shore. People didn't even know what a newspaper was!
Anjo Nala: Didn't you say last time that some people had already arrived looking to start a transport company?
She responds as she wipes the coffee cups with a handkerchief.
Elder II: Yes, right! I did, but they couldn't find anything to transport back then. How times have changed, eh? Now they're making record profits hauling cocoa and fruit!
Anjo Nala: Here's your maté. Careful, it's hot. Just think what might have happened if you invested, you'd have made a fortune—
Elder III: He's just sour over not buying that land when he had the chance. Next, he'll tell you he won it all in a brawl, but I happen to know the notary. He never owned a damn thing.
Anjo Nala: And this is yours—one cafézinho. It's lucky you have so many knowledgeable friends.
Elder III: Of course, back then, I wore Sete Léguas boots and drank Port wine. Everyone wanted to be friends with me.
Elder I: See, this is what I call nepotism. There's too much of it these days, Nala.
Elder I: We carved this place out of the jungle by sweat alone. Grew the cocoa trees by hand until they were tall and thick; we managed the climate and seasons well. That's the secret to our success.
Elder I: But now? All people talk about is "progress, progress." If you ask me, everything is moving too fast!
Anjo Nala: Alright, alright, calm down. Don't make me add an ao-ao egg to your caipirinha ...
Elder I: Hah—ha-ha-ha, oh, Nala—
The elder laughs heartily, taking the offered liquor.
As at the same time, there comes a sudden crash from another room.
Anjo Nala: Hm? There seems to be a lot of commotion over there!
Nala runs off to investigate, and the three elders watch her leave.
Elder II: Ei! My story's not finished yet.
Elder III: Where's she going?
But she didn't look back.
Elder III: ...
Elder I: Admit it, we couldn't get by without her.
The three elders exchange glances.
Elder III: That my coffee, then?
The elder passes the cup.
Elder II: And is that my maté?
The elder holding the maté tea hands it over to the one who was served liquor.
Elder III: And that's my liquor. Thank you very much.
They sigh contentedly as they at last receive their intended drinks.
Each takes a small sip.
Anjo Nala: Colonel! What's going on?
In one corner of the terrace, a macaw in a birdcage tilts its head, watching the odd scene—a scuffle between Colonel Bastos and a soldier.
Moacir: What's wrong?
Seeing Moacir approaching, Nala instinctively hides behind the colonel.
Soldier I: Sir, we were playing chess with Colonel Bastos, he, he couldn't pay up …
Colonel: You little whelp, open your damned eyes and tell me what this is, if not money!
Soldier I: But Colonel, we don't use "conto" and "réis." This isn't money ... anymore.
Moacir: Shouldn't you be resting, soldier? Get moving—Vamos, corporal!
Soldier I: Yes, sir!
The colonel's gray mustache quivers slightly in the air.
Colonel: Nala, how much longer are these rascals staying?
Anjo Nala: Quitéria said they shouldn't leave this month. With the weather so hot and damp, it won't be good for their wounds.
Anjo Nala: But I can make them disappear if you like. All it takes is one simple trick.
Moacir steps forward.
Moacir: Sir.
Moacir: I'm deeply sorry that my men caused you trouble.
Moacir: Perhaps you might do me the honor of another game?
Colonel: …?
Moacir: I'm sure the colonel would not begrudge a small wager.
Moacir: If I lose, we promise to leave within a week; if you lose ...
He looks over at Nala standing nearby.
Moacir: I'd like to taste the lady's cocktails—shall we say, a caipirinha?
The macaw ruffles its feathers while watching the little drama unfold.
Macaw: Quiet, quiet!
Colonel: Sure.
Colonel: Alright. But if you lose, you better keep your word and clear out in three days.
One game to determine whether these soldiers stay and rest at their leisure, or leave to face the dangerous trek home.
Elder I: Come and see, Old Bastos is playing chess against the captain.
Elder II: I bet a sagüi that our Old Bastos will destroy him.
Elder II: Shh, quiet.
It seems like the spectators are more nervous than the players.
Nala bites her collar, her gaze jumping between the two men.
Moacir: cough
Soldier II: The captain's wound is bleeding. I hope that won't affect his focus.
Elder I: Why did he decide on chess! Bastos never wins at chess! He's going to lose again, isn't he?
Anjo Nala: So, the colonel moves, then the captain. Then the colonel, then the captain.
Anjo Nala: It's really rather boring. I'm sure I have something else to do.
No one notices Nala slipping away from the crowd.
The spectators stand frozen with rapt attention, the silence only broken by the occasional flutter of the parrot's wings. The suspense ends with a simple phrase.
Colonel: Checkmate.
In 37 matches today, this was the colonel's only win.
All pause for a moment, but soon, the elders burst into cheers.
Elder I: Alright! Old Bastos, now they've learned, just because we're old, doesn't mean we don't know our stuff!
The colonel lifts his head, not a hair out of place.
Colonel: How about that, kid?
Colonel: Pick up your rifle, and let's part ways.
Moacir: ...
Moacir: What ...
Moacir: Haha, alright!
Soldier I: Bu-but, Captain—
Moacir: Let's go, boys, it seems we're not welcome here anymore.
The spectators shuffle away, the soldiers looking downcast with eyes watering at the prospect of their long march ahead.
Anjo Nala: Huh?
Nala runs out of the kitchen with a half-filled glass of liquor, a small trail of spills following behind her.
Anjo Nala: Is it over?
Elder I: That's right. Just before you got back! Old Bastos proved his chops once more.
Anjo Nala: Oh?!
Anjo Nala: You're leaving already? But I just made you a caipirinha.
Colonel: ...
Colonel: Nala?
The colonel looks at Nala from an old, incredulous eye. Nala tilts her head to the side in reply.
Moacir adjusts his military coat and approaches Nala with an officer's grace.
Moacir: Oh! Thank you, that's lovely—
Moacir: Miss.
Moacir takes the glass and drinks it in a single gulp.
Macaw: Quiet! Quiet!
Anjo Nala: ...
Moacir: Delicious. That cardamom, it's dreamlike ... it reminds me of my childhood.
Moacir: Thank you, Miss.
Anjo Nala: …!
Moacir sets down the glass, turns, and prepares to leave.
Moacir: Alright, we've overstayed our welcome here. Move out!
Anjo Nala: ...
Colonel: ...
The colonel looks out over the gathered soldiers preparing to leave, his eye looking out past them and into a place distant in time and memory.
Colonel: sigh Wait.
His voice is hoarse and dry.
Colonel: Wipe up.
He hands Moacir a handkerchief.
Colonel: A few of your men are still feverish. The wiry-haired kid who threw those dice with me still has a crooked jaw.
Colonel: Your families wouldn't want to see you like this.
Elder I: Bastos?
Soldier I: Co-Colonel?
Anjo Nala: Colonel! Thank you!
Macaw: Quiet! Quiet!
Elder I: Letting those boys stay is a mistake.
Elder III: That's surprising. Hard to believe the old cyclops agreed to it.
The elders light their old quail pipes, as they look over the terrace.
Fiery bougainvillea twines around the window grilles, and below them laughing young soldiers.
Anjo Nala: No, wait, come on. Show me the medal. I want to see it.
Anjo Nala: I only mean that, I make bean porridge for everyone every day. Don't you think I deserve a little reward?
Anjo Nala: The Progress Club? Don't lie, they'll really throw a party for me?
Soldiers: Ha-ha-ha-ha, oh, Nala, Nala—
Anjo Nala: Why don't we go to the procession together? It'll be great fun!
Colonel Bastos sits under the mottled shadows by the limestone wall,
swatting flies with a fan made of parrot feathers.
Elder I: Your tea can's moldy. How long has it been since you made tea?
Elder II: I suppose I was just waiting for Nala to wash it out.
Elder III: But ... she's been busy.
...
Elder II: She's been—
Elder III: She's different from before.
Macaw: Quiet! Quiet!
...
Elder I: Does anyone know what that bird's actually saying?