an elegant dinner presentation.”
“Th-th-thank you, Cavaleiro Francisco. It is in large part my late m-m-mother’s legacy.”
“I particularly like your centerpiece,” his wife added.
“It is a family . . . heirloom.” The piece in question was a massive flowerpot.
Henrique had hired extra servants for the occasion. They brought in one serving after another. First came a mingau porridge, followed by a farinha -sprinkled pirarucu , caught earlier that day. There were Brazil nuts, palm hearts, and mangoes, too. The meal ended with a sweet tapioca tortilha.
“So what are you doing with those Indians?”
Henrique had known this question would come, and had rehearsed his answer with Maurício, to make sure he could deliver it smoothly.
“There is a tree that produces a milky sap. They tap the tree, a bit as you would a pine tree to collect turpentine. The sap hardens into a substance which is waterproof, and can stretch and . . . bounce.” Grrr , Henrique thought. I almost made it through my spiel. I hate B’s.
“Bounce?”
“Wait.” He left, and returned with a rubber ball. He dropped it, and it returned to his waiting hand, much to their amazement.
“So, there’s a market for this?”
“Somewhat. The rubber can be used to make hats and b-b-boots to protect you from the rain. And I understand that it can be applied in some way to ordinary cloth so that the fabric stays dry, but I don’t how that’s done.
“I could produce and sell more, if only I had enough tappers.”
“Perhaps I can help you there. I can demand labor from the Indians at the aldeia of Cameta. We just need to agree on a price.”
* * *
“What are you doing here, B-B-Bento?” Henrique had seen the slaver, followed by several of his buddies, saunter into the village clearing. Henrique kept his hand near the hilt of his facão .
“Just paying a friendly visit to these Indian friends of yours, H-H-Henrique,” Bento said, imitating Henrique’s stutter as usual.
“You’ve been making life difficult for folks, Henrique. I hear you’re paying your tappers ten varas of cloth a month. It’s making it tough to get Indians to do real work.”
“Ten varas isn’t much, Bento.” A vara was about thirty-three inches. The largesse had not entirely been of Henrique’s choosing, although he was known to be sympathetic to the Indians; he had specific instructions about wages from Lisbon.
“It is when the Indians are accustomed to working for four. Or three. Or two.”
“Or none, in your case.”
“Yes, well, it’s my natural charisma. Anyway, dear Henrique, you want to watch you don’t end up like Friar Cristovão de Lisboa.” Cristovão had preached a sermon against settlers who abused the Indians, and later someone had shot at him.
“I assure you that I am extremely careful.” Henrique’s own men had in the meantime flanked Bento’s party. Bento affected not to notice, but several of his men were shifting their eyes back and forth, trying to keep track of Henrique’s allies.
“So I thought I’d have a palaver with the big chief here. Mebbe he’s got some enemies he’d like to ransom.” If a Portuguese bought a prisoner condemned to ritual execution, he was entitled to the former captive’s life; that is, he had acquired a slave. An “Indian of the cord.”
“You know the Tapajós don’t ransom. How many times have you tried this?”
“Aw, can’t hurt to ask. And look at this bee-yoo-tiful cross I brought the chief, as a present. Hey chief, you want this? It would look real sweet right in the center of your village.”
The chief gave Henrique a questioning look. Henrique shook his head, fractionally.
“Sorry, no,” said the chief. “It is too beautiful for our poor village, it would make everything else look drab.”
Henrique thought, Good for you . The cross was a scam. If the cross fell, or was allowed to fall into disrepair, then it was evidence that the tribe opposed the Catholic Church, and
“Th-th-thank you, Cavaleiro Francisco. It is in large part my late m-m-mother’s legacy.”
“I particularly like your centerpiece,” his wife added.
“It is a family . . . heirloom.” The piece in question was a massive flowerpot.
Henrique had hired extra servants for the occasion. They brought in one serving after another. First came a mingau porridge, followed by a farinha -sprinkled pirarucu , caught earlier that day. There were Brazil nuts, palm hearts, and mangoes, too. The meal ended with a sweet tapioca tortilha.
“So what are you doing with those Indians?”
Henrique had known this question would come, and had rehearsed his answer with Maurício, to make sure he could deliver it smoothly.
“There is a tree that produces a milky sap. They tap the tree, a bit as you would a pine tree to collect turpentine. The sap hardens into a substance which is waterproof, and can stretch and . . . bounce.” Grrr , Henrique thought. I almost made it through my spiel. I hate B’s.
“Bounce?”
“Wait.” He left, and returned with a rubber ball. He dropped it, and it returned to his waiting hand, much to their amazement.
“So, there’s a market for this?”
“Somewhat. The rubber can be used to make hats and b-b-boots to protect you from the rain. And I understand that it can be applied in some way to ordinary cloth so that the fabric stays dry, but I don’t how that’s done.
“I could produce and sell more, if only I had enough tappers.”
“Perhaps I can help you there. I can demand labor from the Indians at the aldeia of Cameta. We just need to agree on a price.”
* * *
“What are you doing here, B-B-Bento?” Henrique had seen the slaver, followed by several of his buddies, saunter into the village clearing. Henrique kept his hand near the hilt of his facão .
“Just paying a friendly visit to these Indian friends of yours, H-H-Henrique,” Bento said, imitating Henrique’s stutter as usual.
“You’ve been making life difficult for folks, Henrique. I hear you’re paying your tappers ten varas of cloth a month. It’s making it tough to get Indians to do real work.”
“Ten varas isn’t much, Bento.” A vara was about thirty-three inches. The largesse had not entirely been of Henrique’s choosing, although he was known to be sympathetic to the Indians; he had specific instructions about wages from Lisbon.
“It is when the Indians are accustomed to working for four. Or three. Or two.”
“Or none, in your case.”
“Yes, well, it’s my natural charisma. Anyway, dear Henrique, you want to watch you don’t end up like Friar Cristovão de Lisboa.” Cristovão had preached a sermon against settlers who abused the Indians, and later someone had shot at him.
“I assure you that I am extremely careful.” Henrique’s own men had in the meantime flanked Bento’s party. Bento affected not to notice, but several of his men were shifting their eyes back and forth, trying to keep track of Henrique’s allies.
“So I thought I’d have a palaver with the big chief here. Mebbe he’s got some enemies he’d like to ransom.” If a Portuguese bought a prisoner condemned to ritual execution, he was entitled to the former captive’s life; that is, he had acquired a slave. An “Indian of the cord.”
“You know the Tapajós don’t ransom. How many times have you tried this?”
“Aw, can’t hurt to ask. And look at this bee-yoo-tiful cross I brought the chief, as a present. Hey chief, you want this? It would look real sweet right in the center of your village.”
The chief gave Henrique a questioning look. Henrique shook his head, fractionally.
“Sorry, no,” said the chief. “It is too beautiful for our poor village, it would make everything else look drab.”
Henrique thought, Good for you . The cross was a scam. If the cross fell, or was allowed to fall into disrepair, then it was evidence that the tribe opposed the Catholic Church, and
Similar Books
The Gift of Fire
Dan Caro
Billionaire Kink
Virginia Wade
The Super Spies and the Cat Lady Killer
Lisa Orchard
Queen by Right
Anne Easter Smith
Bradbury Stories
Ray Bradbury
The New World (The Last Delar)
Matthew Cousineau
Thursdays At Eight
Debbie Macomber
Sure Thing
Ashe Barker
The Grey Man
John Curtis
Hotel Living
Ioannis Pappos