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By Root 2166 0

he hears his men muttering. It is an enormous round yellow moon whose pale light drives away the shadows and reveals the stretch of bare ground, without vegetation, that disappears from sight in the pitch-blackness of A Favela above. Pajeú accompanies them to the foot of the slope. Big João cannot help mulling over the same thought as before: how could he have slept when everyone else was still awake? He takes a sidelong glance at Pajeú’s face. How many days has he gone without sleep now—three, four? He has harassed the dogs all the way from Monte Santo, he has sniped at them at Angico and at As Umburanas, has gone back to Canudos to harry them from there, which he has been doing for two days now, and here he is, still fresh, calm, distant, guiding him and the others along with the two “youngsters” who will take his place to guide them up on the slope. “He wouldn’t have fallen asleep,” Big João thinks. “The Devil made me fall asleep,” he thinks. He gives a start; despite the many years that have gone by and the peace the Counselor has brought him, every so often he is tormented by the suspicion that the Demon that entered his body on that long-ago afternoon when he killed Adelinha de Gumúcio is still lurking in the dark shadows of his soul, waiting for the right moment to damn him again.

The steep, nearly vertical face of the mountain suddenly looms up before them. João wonders if old Macambira will be able to scale it. Pajeú points to the line of dead sharpshooters, clearly visible in the moonlight. There are many of them; they were the vanguard and they all fell at the same height on the mountainside, mowed down by the jagunços’ fusillade. Big João can see the studs on their chest belts, the gilt emblems on their caps gleaming in the half light. Pajeú takes his leave of the others with an almost imperceptible nod and the two “youngsters” begin to clamber up the slope on all fours. Big João and Joaquim Macambira follow after them, also on all fours, and after them the Catholic Guards. They climb so cautiously that even João can’t hear them. What little noise they make, the clatter of the pebbles they send rolling down the mountainside, seems to be the work of the wind. At his back, down below, he can hear a constant murmur rising from Belo Monte. Are they reciting the Rosary in the church square? Is it the hymns that Canudos sings as it buries the day’s dead each night? He can now see figures, lights, and hear voices up ahead of him, and tenses all his muscles, ready for whatever may happen.

The “youngsters” signal to them to halt. They are near a sentry post; four soldiers standing, and behind them many soldiers silhouetted against the glow of a campfire. Old Macambira crawls over to him and Big João hears his labored breathing and the words: “When you hear the whistle, fire away.” He nods. “May the Blessed Jesus be with you all, Dom Joaquim.” He sees the shadows swallow up the twelve Macambiras, bent under the crushing weight of their hammers, crowbars, and axes, and the “youngster” who is guiding them. The other “youngster” stays behind with Big João and his men.

His every nerve taut, he waits there among them for the whistle signaling that the Macambiras have reached A Matadeira. It is a long time coming, so long that it seems to Big João that he is never going to hear it. When—a sudden long wail—it drowns out all the other sounds, he and his men all fire at once at the sentries. An earsplitting fusillade begins all round him. Chaos ensues, and the soldiers put out their campfire. They shoot back from above, but they have not spotted them, for the shots are not aimed in their direction.

Big João orders his men to advance, and a moment later they are shooting and setting off petards in the dark against the camp, where they hear feet running, voices, confused orders. Once he has emptied his rifle, João crouches down and listens. There also seems to be shooting up above, in the direction of Monte Mário. Are the Macambiras having a skirmish with the artillerymen? In any event, it’s no use going up there; his men, too,