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MOVE OFF, SOLDIERS: TO THE REAR. |
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2 |
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SPOILS OF THE FIRST BATTLE |
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“Everything calls me: the
door, the stairs, the walls, |
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the flagstones over the still-living
dead, |
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from their own uncertain
affairs.” |
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The Frenchman was doing some calculations and explaining to colonel Camisão that the great difficulties of this war were not the enemy’s fortifications – which were increasing all the time – nor their artillery, nor the forests, the mountains or the marshlands. “In addition to us invading a country with which we are unfamiliar, there is another important factor to consider, colonel. Two thousand miles separate Rio de Janeiro from Asuncion.” “Correct”, the colonel was saying: “However swiftly you travel, that journey takes 14 days. By boat. Overland it takes 14 months”. “And another thing”, the Frenchman, as ever defeatist: “You wage a war with men, with weapons and with money”. And Camisão: “Money, the Empire has”. “I’m not sure if it has enough, colonel. The invasion of Mexico cost France one million francs. The English spent 500 million pounds in Abyssinia.
They were talking about soldiers, weapons and money – three items which shrink before your very eyes, when corporal Argemiro brought the bad news: “We were attacked up ahead. Only a few of us made it back. There are missing, dead and many deserters”. “Gather the men”, Camisão ordered. “What now? In the dark?” the Frenchman said alarmed.
Those who managed to return explain the events. They have few words to say. Some are bleeding, others are wailing, they complain, they let out terrible screams as they receive first aid. Everyone is dripping with sweat, including those who never left the camp. A soldier opens a hemp bag and empties its contents in front of everyone. There are a number of severed heads. Another soldier enters the circle where everyone is listening to the colonel’s speech, with a straw basket on his back. Camisão does not stop speaking, looking at the heads with a certain air of horror. A man accustomed to the sinister events of other military campaigns, he is nevertheless unable to hide his nausea at the sight of the heads. He is still talking when the soldier who arrived with the straw basket tips out the contents next to the heads. It’s a collection of penises and testicles. At this moment, two Indians approach, carrying a blood-soaked hammock. It appears to be quite heavy, as the two of them are gasping for breath, sweating and groaning more than the others. With the tip of his sword and his foot, the second in command, Juvêncio unravels the hammock. Now, it’s more than a few who vomit, with their backs to the cordon that has formed around the commanding officer. The hammock contains arms and legs hacked to pieces. “The heads are ours”, explains the leader of the ambushed platoon. “The cocks are the enemies.” He catches his breath and adds: “It wasn’t my idea to bring back the arms and legs. I wasn’t able to stop some of my men’s excesses and they quartered some of the women, those whores who keep company with the Paraguayan soldiers. They raped the poor souls beforehand. That too I wasn’t able to stop.”
The commanding officer lets out a roar in the middle of the night: “But what purpose does such a spectacle serve?” “That’s not the end of it yet”, says corporal Argemiro. Indeed another soldier approaches with yet another bag covered in blood. Something is moving inside it. Colonel Camisão, a little puzzled, interrupts his somewhat exasperated speech and his words of advice and warning on the “proper art of waging war, without excesses”, and waits for the surprise. The soldier raises the bag to the height of his shoulders and empties a heap of toads which, even more frightened than the soldiers gathered there, leap off in all directions. In terror, the soldiers begin firing at the toads. Others shoot at each other, running off terrified. The speech is over, the debriefing on the ambush in disarray, if just for a moment, complete anarchy reigns.
Shortly after, they all gather together again. They are laughing. Some are making fun of the others, declaring they are strangers to fear. In the midst of the general tumult the commanding officer wants to know whose was the “unsavory idea” to bring the heads of our people and not those of the enemy. Looks are exchanged all round. On many faces a trace of wavering respect for the colonel’s the authority. The second-in-command, Juvêncio, takes a step forward. “I thought it was a way of being sure who was actually dead, and knowing for certain who had deserted”. “But, what the devil are you saying, man?” the commanding officer asks. “Do you mean to say that those whose heads are not here, cut off or stuck on the necks of those who came back, must have deserted?” “That’s correct, colonel.” “But you’re forgetting those who were taken prisoner.” “The Paraguayans don’t take prisoners”, says Juvêncio. Camisão doesn’t know what to do, various aides sense a deepening unease. An unspoken power struggle is occurring within the column.
The commanding officer orders that all the remains be buried. He dismisses everyone. Junior officers make a point of clearly posting sentries. Finally the troops will be able to sleep in peace. An owl hoots nearby. The night is, as always full of sounds. Groups of soldiers moving in the shadows had witnessed the scene from a distance without really understanding what was going on. They are preparing to surprise the Brazilians when they are fast asleep.
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