Where the Pavement Ends Part 36

"Tell me that after a month in Funchal," I said. "I will teach you a new way of cooking cactus and how to steal sugar cane when the moon is full."

He regarded me solemnly and shook his head.

"How long have you been here?"

"So long I would surely slip on my ear if I should ever again walk on anything but cobbles."

"'Tis living among these islanders has taught you such simplicity. Mark me. For two days I have not eaten. I require food, liquor, and to be helped on my way. Your case is much the same, I take it. Good. Now I say--I, Angus Jones--that all these things shall be procured for the two of us.... Come, and let me restore your faith."

For the sake of the jest I bestirred myself and went with him, well knowing what he would find. We climbed to the deserted Rua Da Praia, past the red stone tower that is known as Benger's Folly, and in a cave-like office under the blue arms of the South American Line we approached its greasy little agent....

"Pa.s.sige? Pa.s.sige? Maybeso. Sometimes iss a trimmer or two dead coming up from Rio und they need a man to Hamburg. Only you must shovel coal all day and night. Ha, ha! How will you like that? Show me anyways your exit receipt und I will take down the names."

"My which?" asked Angus Jones.

"Have you not paid your exit, to the customs?"

"I propose to take my exit, not pay it," said Angus Jones.

"Ha, ha. But first, my friend, you must pay. Naturally you get no wages for a pa.s.sige, therefore We cannot advance it."

"But why should--"

The agent waved his arms and faded in the cave.

"I am busy," said he, "_Va-se'mbora_!"

We proceeded along the rua to the sign of the Elder-Dempsters....

"To s.h.i.+p?" A bilious Anglo-Portuguese behind the desk eyed us up and down. "Would a captain's cabin at forty pounds suit you?"

"Thanks," said Angus Jones. "I'll consider it. But in the meanwhile--"

"Have you paid the Government tax?"

"I am unable--"

"Enough," snapped the Anglo-Portuguese. "_Va-se'mbora!_"....

At the Booth Line agency we encountered a lank gentleman with a languid smile who further enlightened Angus Jones.

"Take on hands at Madeira? You're crazy. Do you suppose we want the port closed to us for s.h.i.+pping monarchist suspects? They always head for Brazil, and we're watched every minute."

"I am not a monarchist, nor yet a suspect," said Angus Jones.

"You're the only man around here who can say so. A word of advice. Go straight to the _alfandega_ and pay your tax. If any one hears you're trying to get away without squaring yourself with the authorities, you'll more likely get a free pa.s.sage to jail."

"Sir--!"

"And I'll ask you kindly not to hang about my place. Now, I've done my best for you. _Va-se'mbora!_"

In the street Angus Jones deigned to question me.

"What is this unlucky tax?"

"It is levied on every one who chooses to export himself from these salubrious sh.o.r.es," I explained. "It is a matter of five hundred reis."

That brought him to a dead halt in his tracks.

"How did you thrive in the mountains?" I was moved to ask.

"Moderately, as a corn doctor. It is their simple custom to wear shoes three sizes too small. The only drawback was the absence of currency.

When I came to collect, what was my grief to find they still rely on barter and exchange."

"Then you will be relieved to hear, possibly, that five hundred reis is no more than half a dollar."

"The simplicity of them!" cried Angus Jones. "Do you know, it is a relief. And yet, it scarce betters us, for he who lacks the penny also lacks the pound.

"However, we will concede the point of departure, temporarily. Remains the populace, the great and generous heart that animates the bosom of the native race. What is a steams.h.i.+p agent?... Man, he also is a stranger living on their simplicity."

We turned into a maze of cobbled ways behind the market, pa.s.sing between rows of shuttered shops. It was the offseason, and in this midday hour the city dozed.

"Here should be the local version of a delicatessen," said Angus Jones before the store of Joao Gomez. We entered where Joao sat intrenched amid sugar loaves and tinned goods and silvered sausages, beneath a flock of lard balloons no rounder nor s.h.i.+nier than his face.

"Good morning," said Angus Jones. "I hope you are quite well. I hope all your family are quite well. Behold in me, sir, a learned medico recently come from London with healing for these islands. Any and all ills to which flesh is heir are banished by a certain marvelous drug of which I am the happy possessor. Have you boils, fever, gangrene, distemper? Do you sneeze, palpitate, or feel pain in sinciput or occiput, tibia, diaphragm or appendix? Are you subject to measles, dropsy, pyromania, or falling arch?"

Joao Gomez had opened one eye far enough to envisage the eloquent intruder and to locate his broom.

"_Va-se'mbora_!" quoth Joao, and we were eager so to do, for the broom was the ancient kind made of switches, and it stung....

"Note the error in style," said Angus Jones with a slight frown. "My context is too sauced and savored. I must mend it. A crisper brevity serves our need with such simple people."

At the bazaar where Martinho Agostinho Sousa sold stamps, liquors, basketware, and curios of many sorts to the marauding tourist we reconnoitered.

"I like the name," declared Angus Jones. "There is a wistful dampness about it. That Agostinho, now. What piquant promise! And Sousa--if p.r.o.nounced in the simplest manner. Can this be an omen?"

Martinho was within and welcomed us with purrings and graceful gestures.

"Good morning," said Angus Jones. "I see you deal in many things fine and rare. I have here an article which I am forced to sell for a shade of its value. You can make a thousand per cent profit from the first collector. Give me a dollar and call it square."...

He opened a thin wallet and laid on the counter a faded internal-revenue stamp such as seals a packet of tobacco in a happier land. Martinho looked at it and from it to Angus Jones, and his suavity departed from him.

"What t' Sam Hill you take me for? And me that run a gin mill in Lawrence, Ma.s.s.! Do I look like a fall guy?... Beat it, you long-legged hobo! On your way!"