Chapter 2
Brasilia was alive with activity. The city was in a fever pitch in anticipation of the World Cup football matches that were about to be played in Mexico. Brazil’s national team was one of the top contenders in the world tournament that was held only once every four years. The national hero was Pelé, who had helped bring two World Cup titles to Brazil in 1958 and 1962. The national team faltered in 1966, but they were poised to win their third title with a much-improved squad this year.
Children of all ages all over the country played football every day with dreams of being the next star on the national team. Some were lucky enough to make it, but most of them just dreamed of it. And they were all eager to see their team in the next World Cup. It was almost a national holiday that lasted two weeks every four years. Countries across the globe were always excited when it came to the year of the World Cup. So it was for every kid, and adult, across Brazil.
On a dusty, dirt lot in the shanty neighborhoods of southern Brasilia, teenage boys ran up and down the pitch playing their afternoon match. Some neighborhood kids and evens some adults stood by to watch the game. They played in old shoes, worn t-shirts and shorts. Some even wore their school clothes and didn’t care about how dusty they became.
On one corner of the field were a small set of old wooden bleachers with a few ladies and young kids sitting on them, watching the boys play. Underneath the bleachers sat a young girl just over seventeen years of age. She sat on the ground in the shade reading her textbooks from school, paying little attention to the game behind her. Her name was Rosa. She heard the players running behind her on the field, so she turned around and looked between the bleachers, and legs of spectators, to see her boyfriend, Rodrego, kicking the ball perfectly down in front of the goal for his teammate to head through the net. She smiled at seeing him having fun. She also knew he was an excellent player. Everyone knew him as Rego, and his teammates began chanting his name after his heroic assist.
Rosa and Rego had known each other all their lives in school and in the neighborhood. She grew to love him over the years after she saw the tragedies he had to endure in his young life. His parents were murdered in a thoughtless street crime when he was only six. He lived with his grandparents from then on. His grandfather died of cancer when he was still at the young age of eleven. After that tragedy occurred, his grandmother was only a shadow of herself. She sat hours upon hours in front of the TV, sometimes watching it, and most of the time napping in front of it. She always had her eyes closed, even when she would talk to Rego. He would prepare her something to eat and bring it to her on a tray for her to nibble on while she sat in her easy chair. He never knew if she were awake or asleep since she always had her eyes closed. So, he talked to her regardless.
His grandmother, Maria, had less and less time or energy to talk with her remaining family. As her health declined, she felt embarrassed to talk to her sister and brother. She didn’t want to be a bother to them. Bu, Maria felt it was her duty to watch over Rego and make sure he grew up responsibly. She kept him in school and helped him with his studies, even though Rego had a poor head for study. But, she knew he tried hard and always mixed in humor with the tragedies that he had to endure. When her husband died of cancer seven years earlier, she held Rego’s hand while she sat in front of the casket. She noticed that Rego was not taking the death of his grandfather very well, so she began to cry a little and shake her head.
“Grandma, are you ok?” asked a concerned Rego.
His grandmother just smiled and continued shaking her head. “Oh Rego, I knew this day would come. He kept telling me there was something wrong with my cooking!” Rego laughed as he cried with his arms around his grandmother. She always knew how to cheer him up, even at his grandfather’s funeral.
It was a tough way for him to grow up, but despite everything, he faced it all with a humor and joy of life that drew Rosa to him. He was her protector in school from the bullies that picked on her. She always did well in her studies though he never did. And he was her dearest friend. However, she liked to torment him, in a teasing way, even though she loved him.
The game had finally ended and the players began to head to their homes. It was nearing sunset and the streets grew dark, for there were very few street lights in the neighborhood.
Rego jogged over to the bleachers and walked behind them, carrying a cup of water. “Are you in there, pretty eyes?” he called out.
“No! Go away,” he heard from the voice under the bleachers.
Rego peered underneath and crawled in and sat next to Rosa. “I told you not to come in here. I’m reading!” she said firmly.
“What are you reading?” he asked, stretching out on the ground next to her. He was covered in sweat and his shirt was soaked through.
“None of your business,” she retorted.
He sat next to her and sipped from his cup of water. He stretched one knee on the ground and propped his cup over the other. He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.
“Stop it, you’re getting sweat all over me!” she protested.
“You want some of my water?” he offered.
“Yes,” she said quietly. He gave her the cup and she drank the rest of the water in one gulp.
“Hey, not all of it!” Rego protested. She laughed at him and gave him the empty cup. He looked at it with contempt.
“The first match for the national team is in a week,” he said excitedly. “I can’t wait to see it. Pelé will win it for us for sure this time. You’re going to watch them with me aren’t you?”
“Yawn!”
“Ah, you’ll be there. Everybody will.” He crawled out from under the bleachers and started to pretend he was on the field again. “Rego dribbles downfield, the match is tied, and time is running out! He passes to wing, the wingman lofts it back in front of the goal, and….” He jumped into the air and acted as if he was heading the invisible ball into the nets. He threw his arms in triumph and shouted “GOAL!!!! Brazil wins the World Cup!” as he trotted around blowing kisses to the invisible fans. “Rod-reeeego! Rod-reeego!”
Rosa stopped reading her book and looked at him, shaking her head. She gathered her books and crawled out from the bleachers. “Come on Pelé, walk me home.” He trotted next to her and put his arm around her.
“Get your sweaty arms off of me. Here, carry these books.” He grudgingly took her books and walked with her towards her home.
The sun had gone down and the streets were now dimly lit. Rosa and Rego stopped at the foot of a staircase that led to the building where her family’s apartment was.
“I’ll see you at seven, then?” Rego asked her.
“No, eight. I have to wash my hair,” she said. Rego frowned at her. He handed her the school books he was carrying. He leaned in to kiss her. “Not here,” she said pulling back. Then she walked up the stairs and went inside.
He headed down the street and turned the corner at the next block. He walked a few more blocks then sensed someone was following him. He began to walk faster towards his building, but it was still a few blocks away. He turned around but saw no one behind. No one was in front of him either. He stood there for a moment, and then shook his head. “I must be getting paranoid,” he thought to himself.
He crossed the street and finally made it to his block, when suddenly he heard a crash coming from the alley behind his building. At that moment his curiosity overwhelmed him. He had to find out what was going on. He ran a few steps out into the street and slowly approached the alley. He crept near the corner and peered down the narrow passage. Suddenly, out of the darkness, came an older man with grey hair, stumbling in agony. Rego jumped in surprise as the man stumbled towards him. His shirt was covered in blood. He tripped once more and fell right into Rego, but he caught him just in time and held him up.
“Sir! Are you alright? You’re bleeding!” The old man
tried to catch his breath, but he was in terrible pain. His eyes rolled as he looked up at Rego.
“Oh shit, you’ve been shot!” Rego exclaimed as he helped the man to the pavement and saw the blood all over his back as well. “Wait here, I have to get help!”
“No,” the old man whispered. “There is no time, they’ll find me.”
“Who??” Rego asked urgently.
“Rego, you must take this,” the old man said coughing. He put his hand down on the leather satchel still hanging from his shoulder.
“How did you know my name? Who are you?” Rego said quietly and feeling very scared now.
“You have to hurry, there is no time. You have to take this with you.” Jacomé tried to pull the satchel off of his shoulder but he was too weak. “Take it quickly!”
Rego sat shaking, and slowly slid the strap off Jacomé’s shoulder. “I need to get you some help, sir.”
“No, leave me here. Listen to me. Take the satchel. Take it to the Sister of St. Paul.” He stopped to cough some more and his head rolled back and lay against the wall.
“The what? Sir, you need help. I need to get a doctor before it’s too late!” Rego kept insisting.
“It’s already too late,” he said weakly. He lifted his head and looked straight at Rego. “You must do this Rego. Take it to the Sister of St. Paul at Mdina. And whatever happens, never open it.” His eyes rolled back and his head fell backwards again. His eyes closed and he coughed two more times. Then, he breathed his last.
“Mister, wake up! What is Mdina? I don’t understand! Please, you must wake up,” he said sobbing.
He heard another noise coming from the alley. There were footsteps coming. He jumped and began to run down the street the other way. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. The satchel! Should I go back for it? he asked himself. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. He quickly ran back to Jacomé where he lay dead on the pavement, and grabbed the satchel. He looked at him one last time. Then, he ran down the street and around the corner and stopped to keep from view, hiding behind the corner.
The man in the overcoat came dashing out of the alley and slid to a stop when he saw the body of Jacomé lying on the ground. He pulled him away from the wall, looking all around him. Rego peered around the corner to see who it was. The man’s name was Coutier. He had followed Jacomé all the way from Salvador.
“Shit! Where is it?” Coutier hissed under his breath
Rego quickly moved out of view. He pressed his head firmly up against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. Who is this man? the question darted through his mind. He made a dash for the staircase that led to his grandmother’s apartment building. The door slammed behind him. Coutier heard the door slam and ran towards the street corner. The street was empty. But, there were dozens of staircases that led to the residences. He could never guess which one the noise came from. He snarled under his breath. “Somebody, somewhere in these buildings has that case!” He turned and walked away down the street, leaving Jacomé behind. He would wait until the next day to start investigating all who lived there.
Rego ran into the apartment and shut the door quickly, locking it behind him. Tears ran down his face. He looked at the leather satchel and saw it had streaks of blood on it. He looked into the room where his grandmother sat. The TV was on but her eyes were closed. He went into the kitchen and put some water on some paper towels and wiped the blood from the satchel. It came clean and did not leave a stain. He stuffed the blood red paper towels deep into the wastebasket. He went into his bedroom and closed the door. He put the satchel on a desk across from his bed. He sat on the bed as his thoughts raced over in his mind everything that had just happened. He put his head down in his hands and closed his eyes.
After a few moments, he gathered himself and walked into the bathroom and threw some water on his face. His grandmother never moved from her chair after he had come in. He finished washing up and put on a clean shirt. He looked at the clock in the hall and it read 7:40. Rosa was the only one he could think of to talk to about what had happened. He couldn’t wait for her to come over.
Just a few minutes before eight o’clock, a knock came upon the door. Rego quickly walked to the door and opened it. He pulled Rosa inside and then looked outside in the hallway to see if anyone else was there.
“Why are you rushing me inside like that? Calm down,” she protested as he closed the door behind her. She could tell something was wrong with him by the look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Shh,” he whispered to her and led her to his room. They both went inside and closed the door. “I don’t want her to hear.”
“I didn’t even get to say hello to her. She will think I am rude,” Rosa said.
“It’s ok, she’s probably asleep anyway. I am very glad to see you,” he said as he sat on the edge of his bed.
“Why? What happened? You look pale,” she said, putting her hand to his forehead. She sat on the chair by his desk and saw the leather satchel sitting on it. “Where did you get this?”
“That’s why I am so flipped out right now,” he said finally. “Rosa, I saw a man die tonight.”
“What? What are you talking about?” She knew he was serious. He joked about a lot of things but she knew he wasn’t joking about this.
“Didn’t you see him by the alley? Oh man, I shouldn’t have left him there!” He pressed his hands up against his head in panic.
“I didn’t see anyone,” she said emphatically. “You saw a man die? Who? You left him there?”
“I didn’t have any choice,” he explained. “Some crazy guy was after him, so I ran away. Now he probably thinks I killed the guy. Somebody shot him, he had blood all over, and he ran right up to me!” Rosa was dumbfounded. She came across the room and sat next to him. “He died, Rosa. He died right there in front of me,” he said quietly. Rosa had never seen Rego so spooked before. She knew he wasn’t making it up.
“What’s in the case? What’s it for?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He told me all these crazy things.” Rego stood up and paced around the floor. “He said I should never open it.”
“Oh c’mon. Let me see this thing, we’ve got to see what’s in it at least,” she said as she picked up the satchel. “We need to take it and hand it over to the police. You need to tell them you didn’t do anything,” Rosa insisted.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said quickly and took the satchel out of her hands and put it back on the desk. “That’s the last thing I want to do. You don’t understand. He knew who I was.”
“He did? Who was he?” she asked. Her curiosity and concern was quickly growing.
“I have no idea,” he said helplessly. “He didn’t tell me his name. But, he sure knew who I was. He knew my name and he told me very specific things. And, he said I was the one who should do them. Oh Rosa, I’m going crazy here!” His mind was racing.
“Calm down, Rego,” she said softly. “Come here, sit down. What did he tell you that you should do?”
Rego sat next to her and stared at the floor. “It didn’t make any sense, Rosie. He told me to take the case and bring it to the Sister of St. Paul at Mdina.”
“Mdina? What’s that?” she thought out loud.
“I have no idea! I don’t know what or where it is. But, he said it twice and said I must go there with the case.” He sat up and shook his head and started to come back down to Earth. “I didn’t even know St. Paul had a sister.”
Rosa laughed and was glad to see him calming down. She put her arm around him. “We’ll figure this out, Rego. Don’t worry. You need to rest now.” They sat against the headboard of his bed and propped their feet up on the bed. They both just sat and stared at the leather satchel across the room.