Brother Sam

Short Story

São Paulo, August 1964

The road was cobblestone and slanted up between stacked-together shanties. It was always hot here on August in Parelheiros, which was the poorest section of São Paulo. Everything here was stacked, the apartments, the shafts of green that were called trees, and above all the people. That was why a Young man walking up to cobblestone street was noticeable because usually groups of people walked together. After all, it was dangerous, especially at night. There was little enough money or anything of value for the local residents.

He was dressed in a raggie tank top with jeans that died before they reached his ankles. He would not have looked out of place except there should have been more of them. Walking up from a paid road and towards the sandy rut at the pinnacle and singing the favorite to of everyone in São Paulo. “She looks straight ahead not at he” came mumbling out of his dry lips. His hands moved with the unplayed saxophone. There was a slight wind, and it was blowing the dry sand around which meant his lips were constantly refreshed by the arid dust. There was water down below but not wet sand.

 Then he looked back and saw the local um bar where he had heard a singer and a saxophonist and bass violin wheezing out the samba. For at least approximating. He had to sell his saxophone many months ago.

There weren’t any scooters or motorbikes here, it was too poor for that. The only saving grace was that branches of the trees would occasionally mop over the rude brick buildings which were only one or two stories tall. There was a rumor that some time eventually there would be pavement, but there are always such rumors. Now that the president was from the military it was better that one not believe such things.

He passed by an opening which was red, white, and blue signaling that it was a barbershop but it was closed: the numbers were painted in black on the outside wall beneath the tin roof. Most buildings had tin rooves. He stopped and looked up the street and realized he was almost two in his room which was 3 m by 3 m. it was fortunate that it was on the top of the hill and could charge so little. They rather suspected that a avo had had little luck in renting the room so any money that she could get was a bonus.

And then all of a sudden, a bag was thrust over his head and he was rudely knocked over to lay in the back of the truck. He did not make any sound because he knew why they were taking him, it was no secret that he was attached to the Partido Comunista Brasileiro, the Revisionist Communist Party of Brazil. In truth what he really did was pilfer fruits and vegetables for as crianças, who had no money from their parents and were constantly slightly starving during the day. To were tossed in both of them on top and they wriggled to get air and to be slightly free.

 After several miles, he was rudely pushed up and walked forward. He could sense rather than see that he went from outside to inside because the wind stopped. Then he was put in a chair and stripped of the bag. On the other side was an officer with a fat clean-shaven face and ears that stuck out from his hat but there was no sunburn on them. He was clearly from the Army and was used to sitting.

He did not say anything, so the officer started:

“You know why you are here?” There was no formal salutation.

“I was just walking back to where I stay, major.” He caught the rank on the shoulder of the officer, but just barely.

“In with you to for this living yours?”

“I stand at the corner where they pick up trabalho diuron. So, I do whatever I am required to do for the day. Sir.” He knew he was going to be killed so it cost him nothing to be polite.

“I have several reports that say you take fruits and do not pay for them.”

“I don’t know anything about these.”

“It would be better for you if you confessed rather than deny.”

“I don’t have anything to confess. I do not believe that the United States would take kindly to this.”

“The United States cares only for the citizens of the United States. We are a long way from the United States and their government wants no trouble from Brasil.”

“And you are here to make sure there isn’t any trouble all the way down.”

“It’s called the broken window theory of International relations. And since the operation known as ‘Brother Sam’ decided that the president should be appointed by the military. It is the dominant theory in Brasil.”

“So do what you want with me don’t have any rights in this land of Brasil.”

“No, you do not.” The officer grunted. “Right now, I have a plane. It has several standing places it. When it comes back, it will come back nearly empty.” The officer left the words to hit their mark.

But the man did not flinch.

The officer looked and made a decision. “Goodbye my friend, it was nice meeting you.”

And then two men muscled him into a hallway where several other people were headed the same place he was.

In about two hours they were herded out to another truck and bussed to an unnamed runway on an airport without a name. It was, as was said, a “dark airport.”

The plane was a DC-3 and as old as the Second World War and then some. Again, they were herded up the letter and stacked vertically with very little room for even breathing. So, he put himself on the wall and amused himself by remembering the tunes from his youth.

Then out over the ocean, the work began. One by one each person was pulled in and then shoved out into the void. It was now dark, and the moon was shining over the wing. One could hear the screaming all the way down. A few people did not shriek but they were the exception.

The number of people became less and less until there was exactly one. He clasped his hands together and decided on a short prayer. He looked down and thought he saw the rip tides far below.

And he was at peace.

 But then something surprising happened, the door was shut, and the pilot called back and motioned him to come to the cockpit.

“I suppose you were wondering why you’re not with all of the others that I took.”

“Perhaps, yes, I am why do I deserve such generosity from you?”

“I noticed that you play an instrument, I believe it is the saxophone.”

“Yes, but so?”

“I cannot in good conscience condemn the man who plays an instrument. My brother needs a saxophone player for his band. Do you know how to play ‘The Girl from Ipanema’?”

“I would have to learn but it’s not a very difficult piece.”

“I’m sure you will learn; you know we comrades have to stick together. There are so many who disappear.” The Pilot turned away and took the controls.

“Why me and not all of the others?”

“I can only save a few, and most of them on my plane are not useful for the revolution.”

He was given a uniform and sat down on a chair. No one questioned who he was, and everyone was amazed that the brother of the pilot had found a saxophone player who was as good on such short notice.