All smiles freeze.
From that second on, the world begins to rewind, rewind infinitely, back to its very inception, its first breath.
Anjo Nala's lifeless pupils reflect all the dead souls buried in San Jeronimo Cemetery throughout history.
And in the next moment, time snaps back.
She vanishes from where she stands, as if she had only been a rumor.
Everyone sees a toy fall to the ground.
She lies there absurdly, comically, grotesquely.
A shadow suddenly darts by, snatching the toy from in front of their eyes, before disappearing into the crowd.
Crowd: Nala!!!
Crowd: Where did she go?!
Crowd: What just happened?!
Crowd: What the hell?!
Crowd: It was a shooting!!! I heard the gunshot!
The furious crowd is unable to contain their rage. They rush toward the nearby soldiers.
Crowd: What are you doing!!!
The soldiers in the crowd shoulder their rifles in unison.
Soldier I: Stop there! Stand down!
Soldier II: Anyone moves, I'll blow their brains out!!!
No one dares, even the flames on the candles seem to hold still.
Soldier II: You are all guilty of harboring a fugitive.
Soldier II: But as you allowed us to rest and heal in your quaint little town, the captain has decided to show you mercy.
The soldiers, holding their guns, fall back toward a singular point. Their escape route taking them toward the palm grove beyond the square.
Colonel: Oi, kid.
The colonel's voice is hoarse as he rolls out from the crowd in his wheelchair.
Colonel: Put down that gun, or shoot me.
There is a menace in the words that shocks the soldiers, who back away cautiously, whispering among themselves.
Soldier I: What's wrong? Does he have a gun?
Soldier II: No way, he couldn't have a gun.
Soldier I: Then why is he …?
The soldiers keep their eyes fixed on the colonel.
Soldier I: Hand over your gun, or everyone here dies.
Colonel: I'm not carrying a damned gun.
Soldier I: Then raise your hands and go back.
Colonel: Why?
Soldier I: Why? Because I DO have a gun.
Colonel: So what?
The young soldier has no answer for the veteran. He begins to sweat, fumbling over the trigger.
He takes aim.
Soldier I: Old man, I didn't want it to come to this.
Colonel: Go on, pull the trigger.
Colonel: Or else I'll—
The colonel suddenly reaches into his coat, as if to pull something out.
"Bang—" The bullet fires, but the soldier's gun is yanked upward, pointing straight to the sky.
Old Quitéria, using the strength that has delivered 267 babies, strikes quickly from behind, wrenching the soldier's gun upward.
The shot startles the birds in the nearby grove, and a flock of toucans bursts out, cutting over the sunset sky.
It is a signal—at once villagers, elders, and soldiers all fall into chaotic violence.
The Elders: You heartless bastards, I'll gut every last one of you!!!
The Elders: I will @#$%^& !!!
Vulgar and unrepeatable curses fill the air as bowls spill and the sounds of gunfire, smashing pottery, and screams erupt together.
The elders swing canes, pots, pans, and even their own wheelchairs, striking with aged precision at their heads; Old Quitéria pants as she chokes a soldier from behind with her ruffles of her apron.
They haven't fought in years, but now they will fight as if it was their last stand.
The sky is red as if an arrow had pierced the sun. Below, people flee the scene in a panic.
Colonel: You sons of b*****s.
The one-eyed Colonel João Bastos grabs an iron pot, maneuvering his rusty wheelchair with astonishing speed as he catches up with a soldier retreating into the palms and smashes his head in.
Then he charges deeper into the grove.
Moacir: I never intended for things to escalate like this.
Soldier III: Shoot! Those old folks just went nuts.
Moacir: They're not crazy; don't underestimate them.
Colonel: —?!
The colonel's single eye catches a familiar sight.
Colonel: Hey!!!
Soldier III: It's the colonel. He's coming after us!
Moacir stands still, giving no reaction to the soldier.
Soldier III: Captain?
Moacir: You men go ahead. Go on. I'll handle this. Vamos.
He waves the wind-up toy in his hand and walks toward the colonel.
Moacir: She wasn't just a caregiver, Colonel.
He seems pleased with the colonel's expression.
Moacir: She's a demon.
Meanwhile, just beyond the grove, the square is filled with screams.
Soldier I: Ahhhhh!!!
Old Quitéria swings her cane at a soldier, one she had only just patched up, hammering down on his bandaged leg.
*bang*
Moacir: Mata Hari's sister, Nala Hari.
Old Quitéria: No mercy! You hear me? I will break you just the same as I healed you.
Old Jorge grabs a soldier by the hair, dragging him to the fountain. Under the gaze of the Dragon Slayer, he holds his head underwater until he stops struggling.
Moacir: With the battle going on between the government and the Foundation, her bounty will be worth more than every last bean of cocoa in this entire country.
Old Quitéria: cough Phew!
Soldier I: pant
Soldier II: Damn, these old bastards, they're so strong.
Old Quitéria: Hah, bleh!
San Sebastian Square is covered in spatters and pools of blood as thick as a heavy rain.
The bodies of elders and soldiers lie scattered on both sides, facing up to the dimming sky.
Her furious roar echoes in the sky, causing Moacir to pause.
Moacir: At first, I wasn't sure. She looked familiar. I'd seen that wanted poster—yes, who hadn't seen it? Such a beautiful face seemed almost like a fantasy.
Moacir: But I made sure, sure that she was the girl on the wanted poster.
Moacir glances back at it all, as if the blood-red square has nothing to do with him.
Moacir: Do you know how I felt when I found her?
Moacir: Astonished, utterly astonished. It has been twenty-five years, and she looks as if she hasn't aged a day.
Moacir: Yet she was as foolish and as evil as ever. There was a difference though, something broken inside her. She'd do anything to feel valued, she'd let anyone use her.
Moacir: But once I learned her true identity, she became wary of me. Her vigilance kept me at a distance.
Moacir: This mess wasn't my intention. You see, but it was beyond my control.
The colonel looks at the man, wishing now he had brought his cigarettes with him.
Colonel: So you aren't a government soldier. You're just a hitman.
Moacir: Yes and no.
The colonel could feel his age, his breath was thin.
Colonel: This won't make your father and brother proud.
Moacir: Who cares?
Moacir: He's dead. They're both dead.
Moacir: They paid for their mistakes.
Colonel: cough Hahahahaha!
The colonel coughs twice, then bursts into laughter.
Moacir: Hahahahaha!
The captain-turned-hitman returns the laughter.
Moacir: Now, let's call a truce, what do you say?
Moacir: I'll take my billions and leave, while you can continue living peacefully in your little welfare home.
Moacir: We go on as if nothing has happened, you and all your friends can go back to living as you had before.
Moacir: It's like a marvelous story full of conflict, violence, and blood, but in the end, the audience sees that it's about love and peace. How grand.
Moacir: Think of it as a way to have a second son. I'll look after you, old man, I promise.
Moacir: As for me. I suppose I've always wanted a chance to make peace with my father.
Moacir: Goddamn, I'm a great storyteller, aren't I?
A yellow butterfly, from who knows where, gently lands on the colonel's shoulder.
The colonel smiles, feeling as if a great weight has been lifted from him, light as air.
Colonel: We're the children of our homeland. And in its embrace, we've shed blood, sweat, and tears.
Colonel: We are betrayed by it, exploited by it, furious at it till our deaths.
Colonel: But we embrace it, love it, treasuring it with bitter tears. We help it, change it, build it with their own hands. Only we can endure the tears and loneliness of this land.
Colonel: Guided by the stars, they paddle their canoes, drinking the sap of the rubber tree. In every quiet night, they are one with it.
Colonel: I didn't understand why you didn't get it before. Now I do.
Colonel: You'll never be one of us.
Moacir trembles.
Colonel: Perhaps you're right. It is a good story.
Colonel: But it doesn't end well for you—you worthless dog.
The colonel pulls out a revolver from his coat, one he'd so long been reluctant to use. But now—
—now he loathes it.
But the captain's young reflexes move faster, firing a shotgun blast into the colonel's abdomen.
The crack of gunfire sends the birds and butterflies in town careening into the air, but as the moment calms, so too does the rain.
Colonel: Uh!
Moacir: ...
Moacir: A worthless dog? Hah.
Moacir: Was that really the best an esteemed member of the literary society could manage?
Colonel: Heh heh.
Colonel: I couldn't be bothered …
Moacir: What?
The colonel's voice is so faint that he instinctively moves closer to listen.
Colonel: At my age … why waste time … choosing words!
The colonel suddenly lunges, biting his ear and tearing it off in a moment of savage aggression.
Moacir: Aahhhh—!!!
Moacir: You ****! I'll **** your whole family!!!
He raises his shotgun, racking a round before firing into the colonel once more, then grabs the toy, and flees.
The colonel could hold on no longer, collapsing into the blood-soaked mud.
"Bang—" "Bang—" "Bang—" "Bang—"
Using his last bit of strength, the colonel fires every round in his revolver, the pain is so great he can hardly tell where he's aiming.
He hopes for a miracle.
Colonel: Give her ... back to me ...
But it is in vain.
Far away, he sees a piece of paper fall out of the wind-up toy's mouth.
Colonel: Dear Colonel Bastos ...
Letter: I'm so glad to know that you're still alive. This news is even more exciting than that of your victory at sea many years ago!
Letter: As for me, my life remains largely the same. Old Cassia takes good care of me. I'm healthy and free from sickness. I'm just as you knew me, really. I love rather than hate; fight for freedom and oppose slavery; advocate for discussion over violence ...
Letter: I hope you are the same. Time won't turn us into someone else, I always believe that.
Letter: In fact, every time I look back at those tumultuous years, I feel another surge of emotion.
Letter: Your fight proved the supreme courage and devotion in your heart. You shed blood and sweat to protect peace, humanity and the honor of your country. Your efforts were not in vain, and your struggle is remembered by all.
Letter: Therefore, I will specially commend you, Colonel Bastos, and your regiment. You will soon receive a government pension that will ensure your security and prosperity for the rest of your life.
Letter: And a pure gold medal will be awarded to you at San Sebastian Square.
Letter: Please do attend the ceremony. I believe it will be a grand event.
Letter: I admit, I've grown to like the nickname. It is fitting after all.
Letter: Yours, Shorty
The colonel lies in the mud, reading the letter, pain searing through his body in equal reaction to the cold numbness.
Colonel: ...
Colonel: Silly girl.
Colonel: Shorty has been dead and buried for a long time.
Colonel: And I can't imagine he ever would have come around to that nickname.
