2 Bom Jesus One Hundred Years Without Water To com sede I thirst Popular graffito in Bom Jesus da Mata ‘The cars, motorbikes, and brightly painted wooden trucks with their sugary cargo were backed up for at least two blocks waiting for the tail end of the parade—the two sanitary engineers of the state health post—to wind through the main street of Bom Jesus da Mata. The single traffic light had never in the memory of any residents functioned since its much celebrated installation ten years earlier in 1972 and hence was of no help on this day cither. Meanwhile, in the sad little plaza named after Euclides da Cunha, the twenty-four-piece Seventh of September band dressed in workaday tan uniforms had positioned its tiny stools. Once seated, band members began to blast the first discordant notes of a Sousa march, to the dismay of the irritable crowd crushed in below the bandstand. Seu Floriano, the touchy maestro, realizing his mistake, frowned and brought the march to such an abrupt conclusion that it unseated tall Seu Jodo in the back row. But as soon as the band, urged on by maestro Floriano, struck up the more familiar chords of a wild Nordestino frevo, the crowd cheered appreciatively. Quickly ‘warming, people began to sway until, despite the oppressive heat and the jostling for space, a few managed to jump, throwing themselves into the air with the ease and abandon characteristic of Nordestinos, delighted to “play” ‘carnaval even in the decidedly off-season of late May. The frevo, too, however, came to an abrupt halt as a line of somber male dignitaries was sighted making its way to the bandstand and as the crowd reluctantly parted, making way for the “big men,” the “somebodies,” to pass. The Barbosa family, which has controlled Bom Jesus since the revolu- tion of the 1930s, was well represented for the day’s festivities marking the centenary of the municipio. There was Seu Félix, of course, the small, volatile mayor, the prefeito of Bom Jesus, uncomfortable in his ill-fitting, off-white formal suit. Close behind the prefeito imperfeito, as he was affec- 6566 = / ~~ Bom Jesus tionately called by friends and foes alike, came the real chief, the real dono of the municipio and of the entire region of the zona da mata, Dr. Urbano Barbosa Neto, state senator and speaker of the Pernambucan House of Representatives. The firstborn grandson of the original Coronel Barbosa and the older brother of Seu Félix, Dr. Urbano was as cool and polished as his younger brother was crumpled and hotheaded. Where Dr. Urbano was known for his oratorical style, sprinkled with allusions to Cicero and Phae- drus, Seu Félix was fond of telling his constituency, composed primarily of the “humble” population of Bom Jesus, that he, like them, was mostly illiterate. Of his many boasts this one, at least, went unchallenged even by his sharpest critics, of whom there were a good many, yet never so many as to loosen the firm hold of the “first family” over the municipio. Before climbing the rickety steps to the makeshift bandstand, Dr. Urbano dropped his protective hand from his younger brother's shoulder to turn and sive an affectionate abraco to his second cousin once removed, Dr. Gustavo, the federal senator who had flown in from Brasilia in a generous display of family solidarity. Dr. Gustavo, however, unprepared for the enthusiastic bear hug, stepped back quickly onto the toes of Dr. Francisco, the currently out of favor secretary of health of the municipio, who suppressed a cry of pain and turned away to make small talk with Fabiano, the flush-faced and cager-to-please editor of the local newspaper, the Diario de Bom Jesus The decorous silence was short-lived, however. Impatient rustling and chatter in the crowd reflected the political chiefs’ uncertainty about when and how to initiate the formal ceremonies in the glaring absence of the parish priest. In the “old days” Monsenhor Marcos would have been counted ‘on to open the events with a Latin benediction followed by a few kind words honoring the leading family of Bom Jesus. But times had changed since the arrival in 1981 of the young Padre Agostino Leal, who was given to “making, politics” from the altar of Nossa Senhora das Dores. He preached to the now almost entirely poor and rural congregation that agrarian reform was the New Jerusalem, the first step on the road toward the Kingdom of God on earth, Consequently, relations between the secular and the religious authorities of Bom Jesus were strained. Public ceremonies such as this one were vastly. ‘more secular than in the old days, save for the recognition always extended to Madre Elfriede, the frail and ancient German nun who had come to Bom Jesus with a half dozen permanently dazed and culture-shocked young. postulants to build the Colégio Santa Lticia in the 1940s. The Colégio, founded as a finishing school for the daughters of the landed aristocracy of Bom Jesus, was sustained through foreign mission collections in Stuttgart and through the unwavering moral support of the Barbosa family.Bom Jesus / 67 Nevertheless, even in 1982 nuns could not be called on to speak on behalf of Holy Mother the Church, so the ceremonies would have to begin with a few mumbled and inarticulate words from the prefeito. But before even his first sentence was completed, Seu Félix was interrupted by shouts that sounded alarmingly like “WATER!” The prefeito looked about quickly. Was there a fire on the old bandstand? But no. Meanwhile, more in the crowd began to raise their voices in what now sounded like a chant calling for “égua, gua,” so that Seu Félix was quite drowned out by the din. Then he spotted two rather tall figures standing on a park bench in the plaza. They had unfurled a large red banner with the legend: BOM JESUS DA MATA CEM ANOS E SEM AGUA Bom Jesus da Mata, One Hundred Years Without Water “Bull's sperm!” spewed the prefeito under his breath, for he very rarely cursed. “What next?” ““Ir’s those two commie-faggots again, Joio Mariano and Chico,” hissed the partisan journalist, Fabiano, with a slight lisp. Very red in the face, he turned to the hefty but soft-looking young men standing behind the older family members. “Do something,” he demanded between clenched teeth The crowd was abuzz with the commotion in the plaza and on the bandstand, and as the word spread from one to the other—from those who could barely read to those who could not read at all—and as the meaning of the banner was grasped, the crowd convulsed in a riot of unrestrained laughter. It would take the maestro another impromptu frevo while the young Barbosa sons and nephews descended into the crowd to disperse the irreverent “radical agitators” before it was safe enough for Dr. Urbano Neto to begin his prepared and eloquent oration on “Bom Jesus—the first hun- dred years.” But by then most people had already gone home to escape the heat of midday. Besides, the party was over. Vidas Secas CChegariam a uma terra distante, esqueceriam a catinga onde havia montes baixos, cascalhos, rios secos, espinhos, urubus, bichos morrendo, gente morrendo. Nao voltariam nunca mais, resistiriam a saudade que ataca os sertanejos na mata. Entao cles era bois para morrer tristes por falta de espinhos? They would arrive ata distant land where they would forget the stunted, sparse forest [of the sertdo] with its low hills, rocks, dry riverbeds, thorns, vultures, dying beasts, dying,