“Juca,” João whispered. “The coronel is stealing my land.”
The judge laughed so hard he fell off his chair. The sheriff bought João a beer. And Dona Isolina’s photograph on the mantelpiece glowed with approval.
“We’re still poor,” João whispered.
João led Carranca to a patch of grass. He placed a single, beautiful, ripe banana on the ground. “Carranca,” he said, “this banana is mine. Do not touch.”
“Yes, your honor,” João said, sweating.
João read the paper upside down (he never learned which way was up) and nodded sadly. “Coronel, this land has been in my family since before your grandfather learned to wear shoes. But I am a man of peace. I will go.”
João Pacífico was not a lucky man, but he was a persistent one. He lived in a small, crumbling house on the outskirts of Taubaté with his fat, lazy donkey named Carranca and a rooster that only crowed at midnight. He had a heart of gold and a pocket full of holes.