Vinganca E Castigo Page

Revenge, Joaquim told himself, was not fire. Revenge was geometry. The Thursday came—the anniversary of Tomás’s death. Joaquim rowed his skiff to the channel in the blind mist. He lowered the device. He set the depth. He whispered his son’s name.

The police, paid by Gaspar, ruled it an “unfortunate accident due to negligence.” For three years, Joaquim became a ghost. He stopped fishing. He sat on the cliff above the Inferno rocks, staring at the white water. Sofia brought him bread and fish, but he ate little. She brought him the parish priest, but Joaquim only whispered, “God’s justice is too slow. I will be His hand.” vinganca e castigo

The punishment was not for Gaspar. It never had been. Revenge, Joaquim told himself, was not fire

One autumn night, after Joaquim refused to sell his mooring for a pittance, Gaspar sent his men. They didn’t burn the boat. That would be too quick. Instead, they cut the Esperança loose during a sudden squall, after sabotaging its rudder. The boat was found at dawn, splintered against the black teeth of the Inferno rocks. Joaquim’s only son, Tomás—a boy of seventeen who slept on the boat to guard it—was gone. The sea gave back only his woolen cap. Joaquim rowed his skiff to the channel in the blind mist

A small, windswept fishing village on the coast of Portugal, named Santa Maria da Boca do Inferno (Saint Mary of the Mouth of Hell). The year is 1958.

Joaquim ran down the cliff, his legs failing him. He arrived as the firemen were pulling out the last of the bodies. He saw her hand first, still clutching the silver locket he had given her for her fifteenth birthday.

He did not scream. He did not cry. He simply fell to his knees in the muddy, ash-strewn square. Gaspar Mendes, miraculously, had been thrown clear of the Fortuna before the second explosion. He was found clinging to a piece of wreckage, burned but alive. He was taken to the mainland to recover, his fortune ruined, his fleet sold to pay for the damage claims, but alive.