School of Engineering at UFRJ, 1969, 4th-year Civil class. There were many students from other states. I became friends with Manuel Castelar Pinheiro Neto, from Ceará, a good student, friendly, charming, always well accompanied. He rented an apartment on Rua Farani in Botafogo, about 1 km from my house.
There was a second student from Ceará, Sérgio (Sesé), who had rented an apartment in Bairro Peixoto, in Copacabana.
By the end of the year, the three of us planned to study for an exam at Castelar's apartment, and when we finished, around 9:30 PM, Castelar decided to take Sesé to Bairro Peixoto and would drop me off at home on the way back, using his white Fusca. Castelar and Sesé in the front, me in the back. When we arrived at the central square of Bairro Peixoto, we encountered an unusual scene: a corpse in the middle of the asphalt, covered with newspapers, and about four candles lit around it, with many people observing from the sidewalks.
The position of the corpse didn’t block the passage but was close to doing so. Perhaps because of that, we decided to stop before and investigate. When we asked what had happened, we were told that it was a young man from the area who had been run over and died after hitting his head on the ground.
Sesé immediately became worried because his brother had arrived in Rio just a week earlier, and he, along with Castelar, lifted a corner of the newspaper to see the face of the corpse. At that moment, the "corpse" raised its arms and shouted. I, who was further behind, froze with the scare. Sesé "froze," Castelar was speechless. Everyone started laughing. We also began to laugh, nervous and trying to hide our embarrassment (back then, we didn’t say "paying for a fool," it was more about feeling a “vexame” or embarrassment).
Then, the folks from Bairro Peixoto said it was Sesé’s turn to lie down so the joke could continue. Sesé lay down, the newspapers were repositioned, the candles were relit, and the scene returned to what it had been 20 minutes earlier. Just then, two elderly women approached and tried to look at who the "victim" was, but they were stopped by one of the locals. Shortly after, a police car arrived (the Military Police at the time patrolled in pairs, nicknamed Cosme and Damião). The two officers got out of the Fusca, and it was unclear how they fit in the small car, as they were both large men, one white and the other black (at the time, black people were referred to as “preto”). They hurried toward the "corpse" and lifted the corner of the newspaper. There wasn’t time to react (although Sesé later accused us of being sadistic). Sesé screamed and raised his arms, just like the previous "corpse" had done.
The police officers froze—one turned white and the other turned black (if I’m mistaken, I apologize, let’s just say everyone went "pale," which seems like an elegant and fitting word). Everyone began laughing, they recovered, arrested Sesé, and took him to the police station. We followed behind in Castelar’s Fusca.
We arrived at the police station on Rua Hilário de Gouvêa (Civil Police). The PM car stopped in front, we followed, got out, and entered, wanting to show solidarity (to calm Sesé, who was accusing us of complicity for not stopping the police from being scared).
It was about 11:30 PM. There was no one at the desk, and from the comments, we were unsure if the Chief was sleeping, out for dinner, or on a date. But soon, the Chief appeared. Based on his expression, we interrupted one of three possibilities, probably one of the first two, as it was too quick for the third—unless, coincidentally, he was already coming...
The Chief needed no introduction; he had that "police chief" face, recognizable anywhere, in any country or corner. The PMs hastily wanted to report the "incident" and leave the prisoner at the station. They began recounting the story.
The Chief sat, or rather, sprawled in his chair, looking bored as he listened. When the PMs paused a bit, the Chief raised his voice to one of the staff, who seemed to be the clerk (I imagined his name was Palhares, as he had a "Palhares" look):
“Hey, Palhares (the character looked like a Palhares, so I remember the name I imagined), help me understand this: these two idiots—because if they weren’t idiots, they would have passed the exam for the Civil Police—are they telling us that they got mocked by students and now they’re here to tell us how dumb they are?”
Up until that point, we hadn’t analyzed the situation from this angle, the ridiculousness of the PMs, and I confess that the Chief’s sharpness surprised us (and at that time, we didn’t have Chapolin-Chavez). However, the PMs, although slow, began to realize that the Chief was making fun of them, and they started getting upset, putting their hands on their weapons. The situation quickly went from comedic to potentially dangerous. Tensions were rising.
While everyone argued whether the PMs were dumber than the Civil Police or vice versa, we managed to sneak away unnoticed (or at least we thought we did) and “escaped.” For us, that was the end of the story.
I heard that when Sesé returned to Ceará, he organized “corpse” events, but I can’t confirm that. Sesé graduated in Civil-Highways and I heard he went to work as an engineer on the Transamazon Highway. I never saw him again. I still saw Castelar for about ten years after graduation, but he also disappeared. Recently (I’m writing this in July 2015), a colleague from the Navy (Miguel de Castro Cunha), who is from Fortaleza, told me he hasn’t seen them but believes they are doing well. Come on, guys, make an appearance!
Miguel Fernández, engineer, columnist, and writer
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