It is midnight, and Captain Moacir is preparing to go out when he sees the colonel sitting in the chapel, cleaning his gun.
Colonel: This rifle fought by my side from Rio Grande do Sul to São Paulo. It's almost my third arm.
Colonel: A G43 semi-automatic rifle, Shorty used it once. He said it was quite handy.
Colonel: A Springfield rifle, with magnified sight.
Colonel: MAS-36 carbine, the last one, seized from our prisoners of war.
Colonel: And finally, a .357 Magnum revolver, just like the one in your hand.
He seems to have anticipated Moacir's arrival.
Moacir: They're well maintained.
Colonel: Yes, but they're all empty.
Moacir: No matter, at least they're good for show.
...
Colonel: I heard you're leaving after the procession tomorrow.
Moacir: Yes, our wounded have recovered well, thanks to your nurses here.
Moacir: Knowing that you're living well under their care gives me peace of mind.
Moacir: This is a country growing stronger by the day. I hope one day soon, we will be able to ensure the welfare of all our elders like you.
Colonel: Hmph.
He lets out a sneer.
Moacir: Did I say something wrong?
Colonel: No. My nose itches.
Moacir: Alright, alright.
Moacir: Then I should go check on the horses in the stable. After all this rest, they might need a new shoeing, and we're hitting the road in a couple of days.
Moacir takes two steps out, then the colonel speaks again.
Colonel: I know that bay horse.
Colonel: And I knew its owner. It wasn't you.
Moacir: Oh, oh, yes, Colonel, you have sharp eyes.
Colonel: I happen to know its former owner, and his fate was not ideal.
Moacir: Well, I suppose that depends on your definition.
The colonel doesn't respond. It dawns on Moacir that he hasn't looked at him once through their conversation.
He just stares at the barrel, unflinching.
Moacir waits a while, then, realizing the colonel has nothing more to say, turns back.
But he stops again after two steps.
Moacir: You know, you're very much like my father.
Colonel: Heh, then I apologize.
Moacir: He always preferred riding horses, even as the cars took over the roads. "A horse is an extension of a man's spirit," he said.
Colonel: Well said.
Moacir: He died on horseback in the end.
...
Moacir: Sir, pardon my boldness, but may I ask, do you have children?
Colonel: A son, yes.
Moacir: Well, then perhaps I could recommend him for a position in the government. If he's willing to learn and works hard, he could get a post in no time.
Colonel: He died.
Moacir: …?
Moacir: I'm sorry.
The colonel uncomfortably moves his jaw, trying to adjust it.
Colonel: That day, his mother told him to go find work, but instead, he went to the San Sebastian Square to watch the cockfighting.
Colonel: That day, there was some chaos in the square, a fight—a bloody fight.
Colonel: He was shot dead.
Colonel: To this day, I still don't know what happened. Now, I can't even remember the last thing he said to me.
Colonel: A bullet, it may have different calibers, different materials, but none of them carry their owner's name on it. Do they?
Colonel: It's strange, isn't it? That after living a life of war, it is my son that dies in peace.
Colonel: In everything, there should be cause and effect. A reason, but so often it seems things happen for no reason at all. We see the effect but cannot find the cause.
Moacir: I suppose so, but you are a man of war, Colonel. You must have learned that harsh lesson long ago.
Colonel: Of course. He was a foolish young boy. He got what he deserved.
Moacir: There's no need to say that.
Moacir: But I must disagree. Everyone dies for a reason.
Colonel: Including the people you've executed?
Moacir: Yes.
Moacir: I know every one of their crimes and exactly which level of hell they're destined for.
Colonel: Their crimes paved the way for your future.
...
Moacir: Sir.
Moacir's tone turns harsh.
Moacir: I still don't understand where your hostility comes from.
The colonel chuckles softly.
Colonel: Stellina.
Colonel: You've been around long enough; you should know what life is like here.
Colonel: For the old, it is all gossip and griping. We watch the cocoa grow, whiling away our twilight years with trivialities.
Colonel: But when it comes to a young man, it's different.
Colonel: They should've gotten their diploma, had a good career, and made this city more prosperous than the most luscious cacao tree.
Colonel: Instead, boys find themselves embroiled in brawls over honor and retribution, chasing dreams of titles and glory. It's the same stupid games they play everywhere. Politics and machismo.
The colonel pauses, looking up at Moacir.
Colonel: You tell others you have a brother, but what you don't mention is that you put him in prison yourself.
Moacir: Tsk.
Moacir: Colonel, eavesdropping is beneath a man like you.
The colonel doesn't reply.
Faces he hasn't thought of for years float before him, the line between life and death blurs.
Colonel: You may think you've got a winning hand,
Colonel: but there'll come a day when you realize it can't protect you from true danger.
Moacir: See, Colonel, that's where you and I differ. I don't play the game.
Moacir: I set the table.
Moacir: Whoever sets the rules controls the outcome.
Moacir: When Pedro II decided to stay, when he received the reply, "The apple is ripe," when he gave the "Cry of Ipiranga"—
Moacir: He won not with a sword but with a crown.
Moacir: In fact, Colonel, we've never been part of a true revolution. We only passed through one skirmish after another.
Moacir: Only fools believe in seizing power. No, when you know the game, power finds you.
Moacir: Control the cause, and you control the effect.
Moacir: See? This is how we differ.
Captain Moacir loads two bullets into the colonel's rifle.
He pulls the trigger.
The weapon is clearly well preserved and finely maintained.
But as the hammer falls, and the bullet stays inert in the chamber.
Moacir: What a shame—your rifle is broken, Colonel.
Time, a vast, solemn, stirring graveyard.
Having walked this graveyard for half a century, the old man finally lets out a silent sigh.
Colonel: We've conquered the wilderness of this land, yet somehow, we failed to coexist with civilization.
Bastos turns and steps into the silent darkness.
First, he raises one hand and waves behind him.
Then, he lifts both hands above his head.
