The Água Doce farm was a place of harsh sun and short shade, a piece of land in the middle of nowhere, where Colonel Lacerda’s will was more rigid than God’s law. Do not think it was a paradise; no. It was an anthill of hard labor and sweat, a place where we learned early on that life was not worth the weight of the sugarcane we cut.
And, amidst all this suffering, there was Kanga. Look closely; Kanga was no ordinary slave. He was a giant. He wasn’t just tall; he was broad. He seemed to have been carved from a tree trunk. His shoulders could carry an ox without complaining. And Kanga’s hands, ah, Kanga’s hands were the size of bricks.
He was the brute force of the farm, the man who did the work of five. Because of this, he received slightly different treatment. He wasn’t whipped for every little thing because the colonel knew Kanga was worth his weight in gold at the job. But make no mistake, he was property, and the colonel made sure to remind him of that.
Kanga was silent, almost never speaking. He walked with a sadness in his eyes that seemed to have come from another continent, a pain that could not fit in that enormous body. He spent his days in the blacksmith’s shop hammering, turning cold iron into hot tools. The sound of that hammer was the rhythm of the farm, a constant “tump-tump” that drowned out the groans and cries.
But the story I want to tell you is not about Colonel Lacerda, the owner of everything. It is about his son, Tonico, and the day Kanga’s silence was broken. Tonico, the heir, was the very image of petty wickedness, the kind born of boredom and the certainty of impunity. He was thin, pale, with a thin mustache that tried to give him a manly air, but he was just a spoiled and perverse boy.
The colonel was tough, but he had rules. Tonico had no rules at all. He was the poison that ran through the farm’s veins. When the colonel traveled—and he traveled a lot to take care of business in the capital—Tonico became king. And then, my friends, chaos set in. Things got much worse when Tonico started drinking more cachaça than water.
He spent his afternoons on the big house veranda, feet up, looking at the slave quarters with the gaze of someone choosing a fruit to crush. And the fruit he had been choosing for months was Miralda. Miralda was young, perhaps about 17 years old. She worked in the big house serving coffee.
She was small, agile, and possessed a delicate beauty that was more dangerous than a fever on the farm. Beauty there was an invitation to disaster. Kanga, from the blacksmith’s shop, saw Miralda pass every day carrying basins, lowering her head to avoid looking at anyone. She was the only one who, upon passing him, did not tremble with fear at his size, but gave him a discreet nod, a smile at the corner of her mouth, a rare kindness.
That day, the sun was scorching. The air felt heavy, as if the very atmosphere was anticipating disaster. Colonel Lacerda had left early in the morning, promising to return only at the end of the week. The news spread through the farm like fire in straw. Tonico was in charge. By around 2 p.m., the big house was strangely quiet.
The birds didn’t even sing. Kanga was in the shop, sweat running down his chest, the hammer beating incessantly. He was focused on a large hinge, the hot iron throwing off sparks. Suddenly, the rhythm of the hammer failed. Kanga stopped. He saw Tonico come out onto the veranda, staggering slightly, his shirt open at the chest.
The smile on the young man’s face was not one of joy; it was that of a hunter who smells his prey. Tonico whistled that low, disgusting whistle he used when he wanted to humiliate someone. Miralda was cleaning the stairs. She shrank away.
“Hey, Miralda, come here quickly,” Tonico called, his voice slurred by cachaça.
Miralda hesitated to answer, which was already an affront.
“Yes, Mr. Tonico.”
“I want you to go to the back room, the one next to the flour pantry. The room is dusty, go there and clean it. And I don’t want anyone around, understand? It’s delicate work. If I see anyone snooping, the whipping will be doubled.”
Everyone on the farm knew what the back room meant. It was the place where the colonel’s rules were broken, where Tonico’s power was exercised without witnesses. It was the grave. Miralda turned as white as a sheet. She looked around for help but only found downcast eyes and faces full of fear. No one could intervene.
To intervene meant certain death, not just for the one who tried, but for their entire family. Miralda tried to argue, her voice trembling like a leaf.
“But, Mr. Tonico, the overseer said I had to finish…”
“Shut up! I am the master here now. Hurry, before I lose my patience and drag you by your hair.” His voice rose, cutting through the afternoon silence.
Miralda knew there was no escape. She turned, shoulders slumped, and began to walk slowly toward the back of the big house. Kanga, from the shop, saw the whole scene. He saw the fear etched into the girl’s skin. He gripped the hammer handle so hard his knuckles turned white. Kanga was used to seeing injustice.
He had witnessed beatings, humiliations, deaths. He had swallowed it all. That was the rule of life. But Miralda, there was something about her that touched him deep in his giant soul. Perhaps it was a memory of a sister, of a life he had lost a long time ago. Tonico gave a victorious smile and followed Miralda, hurrying her along with a slight touch on her back that made her stumble.
Kanga let out a heavy sigh that seemed to come from the center of the earth. He tried to go back to work. Tump, tump. The sound came out weak, without conviction. He picked up the iron and tried to mold it on the anvil, but the image of Miralda, walking into darkness, burned in his mind.
He thought about what would happen. He knew that in minutes the muffled screams would begin. He knew that Miralda would return from there with empty eyes, like so many others. And he, Kanga, the giant, the man who could knock down walls, would be there hitting the iron, pretending not to hear. Suddenly, the air turned colder, despite the heat. Kanga dropped the hammer.
The sound of the metal falling onto the packed earth floor was deafening in the farm’s silence. It was a sound of surrender and, at the same time, of defiance. The other slaves working nearby at the mill stopped. They looked at Kanga. They knew he had heard, that he had seen.
They knew what was happening in the back room. And they knew what Kanga’s sudden stop meant. His eyes, normally dulled by resignation, now had a strange and dangerous glow. He looked to the sky, as if asking for forgiveness from his ancestors for what he was about to do and, at the same time, asking for strength to endure what would come.
Kanga was a man of few words, but of decisive actions. He knew that by taking the next step, he would be signing his own death warrant, or at least entering a state of pain that would make death seem like a relief. But Miralda’s dignity, that small flame of humanity he saw in her, was worth more than his own future.
He took off his thick leather apron, which was almost like armor, and threw it on the ground. The soil trembled slightly with the fall. He straightened his spine, and his size became even more frightening. He looked like a monument made of flesh and bone. One of the older slaves, a man named Juba, gestured frantically with wide eyes, trying to warn Kanga not to do it.
“Don’t interfere, Kanga. It’s not worth it.”
Kanga simply shook his head, rejecting the silent warning. He wasn’t doing it out of courage; he was doing it out of a necessity of the soul. He began to walk. Kanga’s movement was not hurried, but firm, inexorable, like the rising tide. Each of his steps on the packed earth sounded like a drum.
He left the slave quarters and began to cross the open courtyard toward the big house. The slaves at the mill, in the kitchen, in the nearby plantations, all stopped. The silence that fell over the Água Doce farm was deep and heavy, a silence of bad omens. No one dared to breathe loudly. They saw the giant Kanga moving toward power, toward the master’s house, and they knew they were about to witness something that would change all their lives forever.
He reached the side of the big house. The back room window was closed, but one could hear very faintly. A sound, a muffled sound of struggle, a desperate murmur. Tonico had already started. Kanga stopped at the service entrance. He didn’t knock; he just reached out.
And Kanga’s hand, my friends, was not made to ask for permission; it was made to break. He grabbed the bronze doorknob. The metal groaned with a single pull, a dry and rapid movement. Kanga ripped the service door off its hinges. He didn’t open it; he shattered it, with pieces of wood and splinters flying in every direction.
The noise was like thunder in the middle of that silent afternoon. The entire farm saw it. Inside, in the back room, silence also fell, but a shocking silence. Tonico, who was about to carry out his evil plan, stopped in the middle of the act. Miralda let out a stifled cry, but not of pain, rather of astonishment. Kanga entered the room.
The giant filled the space. The light coming through the broken door illuminated his face, which showed neither hatred nor fury, only a cold and dangerous determination. Tonico turned. He was livid, the cachaça evaporating instantly. Replaced by terror, he saw Kanga, the strongest slave on the plantation, before him, challenging the established order.
“What are you doing, Kanga? Get out of here. You will be whipped to death,” Tonico shouted, trying to regain the authority that had just been crushed along with the door.
Kanga did not answer. He looked at Miralda, who was huddled in the corner, tears running down her face, but unharmed. He confirmed that the injustice had been interrupted in time.
He took a step toward Tonico. Tonico grabbed the first object he saw, a heavy bronze candelabra, and raised it, trembling.
“Don’t come any closer. I am the colonel’s son. I am the law.”
Kanga took another step. The voice that emerged from the giant’s throat, after years of silence, was hoarse and deep, like the friction of two gigantic stones.
“You are not the law.”
Those four words, spoken with deadly calm, made Tonico drop the candelabra. The sound of the object hitting the floor echoed through the big house. Tonico lost all color, all breath. He was facing something he never thought possible: a slave who no longer feared death.
Kanga did not make a sudden move. He didn’t need to. He simply extended his enormous arm and, with his thumb and forefinger, grabbed Tonico by the shirt collar, lifting the boy off the floor as if he were a sack of feathers. Tonico struggled, suffocated by the firm grip, his eyes bulging from their sockets.
The heir to the Água Doce farm, the man who thought he was God, was suspended in the air, in the hands of his slave. Outside, the other slaves stood paralyzed, watching the broken door. They couldn’t see what was happening inside, but the silence coming from the room was more terrifying than any scream. It was the silence of the law being broken, of the order being inverted.
Kanga looked at Tonico, who was desperately trying to breathe.
“You will not touch her,” Kanga said, his voice low but firm.
And then, to Tonico’s horror and Miralda’s silent astonishment, Kanga did something that sealed their fate. He didn’t hit Tonico, he didn’t throw him to the floor.
He simply turned his back, still holding the heir like a broken toy, and left the back room. Walking with Tonico hanging from his wrist toward the farm’s main courtyard, he left the big house and walked to the center of the yard, where all the slaves could see. It was at that moment that the silence on the farm became absolute.
Thousands of eyes were fixed on the giant carrying the colonel’s son. That was the point of no return. The giant had interrupted the injustice and was now exposing the act, displaying his revolt for everyone to see. That was the beginning of the end. What would he do now? No one knew. But everyone felt the same chill down their spine, knowing that the Água Doce farm would never be the same after that scorching day.
The giant Kanga was center stage, and the spectacle of disobedience was about to begin. The fear was palpable, but beneath the fear, a dangerous spark began to ignite: hope.
Tonico, suspended in the air, stopped struggling for a moment because air could not reach his lungs. His face was purple, his eyes wide, fixed on Kanga’s enormous chest. He was no longer the master; he was a puppet hanging on a wall. Kanga tightened his grip on the collar. Not much force was needed to crush Tonico’s neck. Just the intent was enough.
But Kanga had a reason not to do it. A reason that went beyond simple revenge. He needed everyone to see. He needed the farm to understand what had happened there, not as a hidden act, but as an exposed truth. He walked a few slow steps to the large tree trunk that stood in the center of the yard, used to tie up animals.
“Look,” Kanga’s voice reverberated, still hoarse and deep, but now directed at the silent crowd of scared faces that crowded the entrances of the slave quarters and the mill. No one dared to look away. They were watching a hierarchy built over years crumble in an instant.
“This man,” Kanga said, lifting Tonico a little higher, as if he were showing off a slaughtered animal. “This man was going to do what must not be done.”
Tonico managed to let out a strangled sound.
“Let me go, you animal. My father will kill you slowly.”
Kanga ignored the threat, which to him was just the sound of a mosquito.
He looked at Miralda, who had come out of the destroyed room and was now standing at the door of the big house, hugging herself, her tears dried by the shock. She was the center of everything.
“He will never touch her again,” Kanga declared.
And then came the moment that sealed Tonico’s fate. Kanga did not use force to torture, but to humiliate and incapacitate.
He released the collar, but before Tonico could fall, he grabbed the boy by the left arm, just above the elbow, with a movement that seemed slow for the giant, but was a flash of pain for Tonico. Kanga twisted the boy’s arm backward, forcing it beyond its natural limit. The sound was low but sharp: a dry snap of breaking bone.
Tonico let out a shrill scream, a sound not of a man, but of a scared child, a roar that tore through the afternoon silence and echoed throughout the Água Doce farm. Kanga released Tonico, who collapsed onto the packed earth, writhing and crying, holding the arm that now hung at a strange and painful angle. Tonico’s scream was the proof.
The proof that the giant was not playing. The proof that Colonel Lacerda’s power had been challenged and wounded in his own backyard. The silence returned, but it was a different kind of silence now. It was not passive fear, but active terror, because everyone knew what was coming next. It didn’t take a minute for the colonel’s guard dogs to appear.
The first to arrive was Inácio, the head overseer. Inácio was a short, thin man with a twisted mustache and viper eyes. He wasn’t as strong as Kanga, but he was cruel and carried a raw-hide whip he knew how to use with surgical precision. He came running from the mill, followed by two slave catchers armed with pistols and machetes.
Inácio stopped abruptly upon seeing Tonico on the ground, crying and groaning, his arm broken, and Kanga standing over him, the calmest and most imposing figure he had ever seen.
“But what is this? What does this mess mean, Kanga?” Inácio shouted, his voice thin and hysterical, trying to regain control of a situation that had already spiraled out of control.
Kanga turned his face toward Inácio. He didn’t move.
“Did you see what he did to Mr. Tonico? You animal, you are dead. Dead! Do you hear me?” Inácio pulled the whip from his waist. The leather cracked in the air. Miralda, seeing the overseers arrive, ran back to the big house, but Kanga called her back without even looking behind him. “Miralda, stay here.”
The girl hesitated, but the authority in Kanga’s voice was unquestionable. She ran toward him, hiding behind his massive figure.
“You’d better hand that little wench over to me right now and kneel,” Inácio took a step forward.
Kanga finally spoke, and his voice made Inácio take a step back, not out of fear, but out of surprise. That slave never spoke.
“I will not kneel, and I will not hand over Miralda,” Kanga said. “He tried to take her by force; I stopped him.”
The open confession in front of all the slaves was an act of rebellion that Inácio had never imagined. Slaves who defended themselves usually fled to the woods. They did not stay in the middle of the yard, protecting a woman and breaking the heir’s arm.
“You have gone completely insane. Take him, take him now!” Inácio ordered the henchmen.
The two men, called Zé and Damião, were brutes used to bloodshed. They advanced on Kanga. Zé, the faster one, tried to flank him on the right, drawing his machete. Damião readied his pistol but hesitated to shoot, fearing he might hit Tonico, who was nearby, or worse, miss and be overpowered by that giant.
Kanga was unarmed, but he was in his element, the plantation. He knew exactly where to step. When Zé approached, Kanga stepped to the side, dodging the machete strike; the movement was surprisingly agile for a man of that size. And then, Kanga used his hand, which felt like a brick. He didn’t throw a punch; he grabbed.
He grabbed Zé’s wrist with his right hand. Zé tried to scream, but the grip was like an iron press. Kanga bent the henchman’s wrist until the machete fell to the ground with a dry thud. Before Zé could react, Kanga lifted him into the air, using only the strength of his arm. Zé weighed about 80 kg, but Kanga swung him like a sack of flour.
“Let him go!” Damião shouted, raising his pistol.
Kanga used Zé as a shield and then as a battering ram. He threw the henchman’s body with all his strength against Damião. The impact was devastating. The two men fell into a heap of arms and legs. Damião’s pistol fired, but the shot hit the ground, kicking up dust and smoke.
Inácio, the overseer, saw what happened in seconds and backed off, whip in hand, paralyzed in mid-air. That was not a slave; it was a war machine. Kanga’s strength was legendary, but to see the controlled ferocity, the coldness in the attack, was something completely different. Kanga looked at the two fallen henchmen, groaning. They were stunned, but not dead.
Kanga didn’t want to kill yet. He wanted to protect himself. He picked up the machete Zé had dropped. The metal looked small in his gigantic hand.
“Inácio, go away,” Kanga ordered.
Inácio was trembling. He saw Tonico crying on the ground, his arm broken. He saw his two best henchmen neutralized. He knew that if Kanga wanted to, he could rip Inácio’s head off with his bare hands. But Inácio was loyal to the colonel and knew that fleeing would be signing his own death warrant for cowardice. He had to act, but he couldn’t win that direct confrontation.
“You will pay for this, Kanga. You and her. The colonel will return and tear you apart,” Inácio shouted, taking another step back toward the big house, where the heavier weapons and the alarm bells were kept. “The entire farm will hunt you.”
Kanga simply watched Inácio flee, stumbling over his own fear. The courtyard was in a silent pandemonium. Time seemed to have stopped. The slaves who witnessed the scene didn’t know whether to run or stay. They were terrified, but also awestruck. Kanga had done what everyone dreamed of doing: face power and win, even if only for a moment.
Kanga gently took Miralda by the arm and pulled her close.
“Come, we need to go to the blacksmith’s shop,” he said.
The blacksmith’s shop was the most logical place. It was his domain, full of iron, fire, and heavy tools that could serve as both barricades and weapons. Besides, it was a little away from the big house, giving them time. As they walked, Miralda looked back. To Tonico, who continued to groan and roll in the dust, and to the henchmen who were trying to get up.
“They will kill us, Kanga,” Miralda whispered, her voice thin with despair.
“They will try,” he replied.
His calm was a strange balm amidst the chaos, but not for long. They needed to organize. They reached the shop. Kanga pushed Miralda inside. The smell of charcoal, smoke, and oil was strong.
“Stay behind the anvil,” he instructed.
Kanga quickly began to prepare his defense. He picked up his forge hammer, the 10 kg sledgehammer he used to beat the hardest iron. It was a weight that an ordinary man could barely lift, but Kanga held it as if it were a twig. He also picked up a pair of long, heavy tongs and some freshly forged iron bars that were still hot.
The giant was not planning to flee into the woods. He was entrenching himself. He was declaring that this piece of land, his workplace, was now a sanctuary and he was its guardian. Outside, the plantation began to stir. Inácio, the overseer, had already reached the big house. He rang the emergency bell three times, a shrill and sinister sound that meant revolt, help.
Upon hearing the bell, the slaves knew that the moment of decision had arrived. Many ran to the slave quarters, locking themselves in their huts, praying that the overseers’ fury would not fall upon them. Others, braver or more desperate, stood watching, waiting for the tragedy to unfold. Kanga, at the shop door, saw the movement.
Inácio was coming back, but this time he was not alone. He brought with him the farm’s foreman, a man named Lourenço, and three more armed men. They now carried hunting shotguns, firearms that made the machete look like a toy. They positioned themselves about 50 meters from the shop, forming a tense line. Lourenço, the foreman, was calmer than Inácio, but equally cruel.
He raised his voice to be heard above the distant noise of the panicked farm.
“Kanga, surrender. Hand over the girl. You have a chance to receive only punishment, but remain alive.”
Kanga left the shop, stopping at the threshold. The forge hammer rested on his shoulder as if it were a feather. Miralda was hidden, but he knew she was safe for the moment.
Kanga did not answer, the short and definitive word cutting the proposal like an ax: “No.”
“Don’t be a fool, giant. You cannot fight against all of us. The colonel will hear about this. Think about your life!” Lourenço shouted.
Kanga looked to the sky again. The sun was setting, painting the horizon orange and red, a color of blood.
“The life you give me is not worth the fear you want me to feel,” Kanga declared.
This was not just a refusal; it was a philosophy, a total rejection of slavery. The overseers exchanged glances. That slave was not just defending a woman; he was declaring himself free, at least in spirit. Impatient, Inácio pointed his shotgun at Kanga.
“Last chance, Kanga, get out of there.”
Kanga picked up one of the hot iron bars leaning against the door. The tip was still glowing red.
“If I am to die, I will die here, but come and get me,” Kanga challenged.
Inácio didn’t wait; he fired. Bang! The shotgun blast echoed through the farm. Smoke rose. Kanga stepped back but did not fall. A bullet, likely of coarse lead, hit him in the left shoulder. The impact made him stagger, and he let out a roar of pain. But the muscle mass and the thick leather he wore for work dampened the worst of it. He was wounded but standing.
“Shoot again!” Lourenço shouted.
But Kanga was faster. He used the glowing iron bar he held in his hands and threw it. It wasn’t a dart; it was a heavy projectile, propelled by immense strength. The bar flew in a straight line, spinning, and hit Lourenço in the chest with the force of a horse’s kick. The foreman let out a horrible scream, mixed with the hissing of the iron burning his shirt and skin. He fell backward, the shotgun flying far away.
That act of brutal and unexpected strength froze the other overseers. They saw that that giant was not fighting like a man, but like a force of nature. Inácio and the other two men retreated further, dragging the wounded Lourenço. They needed a plan. The shop, with Kanga inside, was a fortress that could not be taken in a hurry.
The sun finally set, and darkness began to swallow the Água Doce farm. Kanga entered the shop, closing the door he had destroyed earlier, using the iron bars and the anvil to create an improvised blockade. The metal scraped against the floor. He was panting, feeling the warm blood run down his shoulder. Miralda ran to him, her eyes full of horror.
“You are wounded.”
“It’s just a scratch,” Kanga lied, the pain pulsing in waves.
He leaned against the cold stone wall. He looked at the window, a small, high opening. Night had fallen and, with it, the danger increased. They were alone, yet surrounded. Kanga knew he had bought time, but that the revenge would come, and it would be terrible. Inácio and the others would not rest while he was alive and Tonico was humiliated.
“They will surround the shop,” Kanga said, “more for them than for Miralda.”
“They will wait for dawn and burn us alive.”
Miralda, in the dark corner, began to cry softly, not out of fear of what Tonico would do, but out of fear of what the colonel would do to Kanga for defending her.
“Why did you do it, Kanga? Why risk everything?” she asked, her voice choked with emotion.
Kanga took the hammer off his shoulder and placed it on the floor. The sound was heavy. He looked at Miralda and, for the first time, the sadness in his eyes gave way to a spark of paternal love.
“Because I couldn’t stand the silence anymore,” he replied. “And you? You are the only one who didn’t look at me as if I were an animal.”
He sat on the floor, leaning his back against the wall, trying to stem the bleeding with a piece of dirty cloth.
“They will bring the colonel back,” Miralda whispered. “He will want to see you suffer.”
Kanga closed his eyes for a moment. He knew that. Colonel Lacerda would not forgive an attack on his heir and his authority.
“We will not wait for the colonel,” Kanga said, opening his eyes. “We have to leave here before dawn. But since they are out there, will they shoot at us?”
Kanga stood up, staggering slightly due to the wound. He looked around the forge. There was charcoal, water, fire, and, most importantly, the secret passage. Most slaves didn’t know, but Kanga, having worked there for years, had discovered a secret of the plantation’s construction. The forge had been built over an old clay mine abandoned decades ago. There was a narrow ventilation tunnel, covered by a pile of old coal, that led outside the walls of the slave quarters toward the woods.
Kanga began to move the charcoal bags; the effort caused a cold sweat to run down his forehead.
“We will use the tunnel,” he explained, pulling a piece of rotten wood that hid the opening.
The hole was narrow; an ordinary man could barely fit through. For Kanga, it would be a struggle.
“It is too small,” Miralda exclaimed.
“You go first,” Kanga said. “I will follow. I will clear the way if necessary.”
He knew it would be difficult. He would have to crawl, and the wound in his shoulder would be excruciatingly painful. But it was their only chance. While Kanga prepared to move the heavy anvil to clear more space at the tunnel entrance, outside in the darkness, the overseers’ movements ceased. They were regrouping, waiting for reinforcements and, likely, waiting for the colonel’s return.
One of the older slaves, Juba, who had tried to warn Kanga, crawled to the fence of the slave quarters, looking toward the forge. He saw the giant’s shadow moving inside. Juba knew that if Kanga escaped, the overseers would unload their anger on whoever remained. But if Kanga stayed, he would die. Juba made a terrible and courageous decision. He knew he needed to buy time for the giant.
He stood up and crawled to the big house, where Tonico was still lying down, groaning, being attended to by an old slave woman. Juba needed to ensure the colonel knew… The right story, the story that justified Kanga’s actions, so that the revenge would be directed and not generalized.
While Juba risked his life outside, Kanga forced his way into the tunnel. He had already made Miralda crawl inside. She was trembling with dust, but she was moving forward. Kanga looked at the forge hammer, his companion for years. He picked it up and put it in his belt, even knowing it would be difficult to carry it in the tunnel. It was his talisman, his last weapon. He took a deep breath, feeling the pain in his shoulder.
“I’m coming in, Miralda. Keep crawling,” he whispered.
Kanga lay on the floor of the forge, amidst the smoke and charcoal, and began to crawl into the darkness of the tunnel. The sound of his heavy breathing was the only audible sound on the now-silent and besieged farm. The giant was fleeing, but he was not defeated. He was just preparing for the next battle. A battle that would begin in the dark freedom of the forest.
The hole was tight, my God, as tight as the grave of a dead person who still breathes. Kanga dragged himself, his giant body scraping against the damp earth and hard roots. The smell of old charcoal and mold was suffocating. Miralda was in the lead. Small as she was, she could move faster, but the fear paralyzed her. Sometimes she felt panic, the darkness swallowing her, but each time she stopped, she felt Kanga’s heavy breathing right behind her, and that forced her to continue. His presence, even in the tunnel, was an anchor.
For Kanga, that was pure torture. The forge hammer he insisted on carrying battered his ribs, hip, and shoulder. The wound Inácio’s shotgun had inflicted throbbed as if a brazier were burning inside. Each dragging movement was a stab of pain. He had to breathe through his mouth, letting out low, guttural groans that he tried to stifle so as not to scare anyone.
“Miralda, is it close?” he managed to ask, his voice rasping against his dry throat.
“I don’t know, Kanga. It’s very dark. I don’t see the end,” Miralda replied, her voice thin and tearful.
They knew they needed to get out before the overseers could organize and check the forge. If they discovered the tunnel, it would be the end. It would be like hunting rats in a hole. Outside, the farm was seething with fear, but Inácio acted with the coldness of someone who knows that the punishment for failure would be worse than death. He had left Lourenço, the wounded foreman, and the other henchmen at the big house, caring for Tonico. Now he was returning to the forge, bringing lanterns and a larger group of men, some of them trusted slaves of the colonel, who were forced to obey him.
Inácio arrived at the shop and saw the improvised door.
“They are inside. It must have been Kanga who broke Lourenço’s arm. That demon is strong. Surround the place. No one gets in and no one gets out.”
They began to build a bonfire near the entrance. Inácio wanted to force Kanga to come out by the smoke or wait until dawn. Meanwhile, Juba, the old slave, was at the big house, observing the chaos. Tonico was screaming in pain, his arm immobilized by rags and branches. Juba approached, feigning concern, but in reality, he calculated every word. Juba was a man who had witnessed 20 years of folly, and he knew that the truth was malleable, depending on who told it.
“My poor Mr. Tonico,” Juba lamented, shaking his head. “What a disaster! That Kanga, he was always a wild creature, but he was very concerned about order, you know? He said the colonel wouldn’t like what was happening, that there would be a big fight.”
Tonico, delirious with pain and humiliation, barely heard.
“Shut up, Juba. My father will hang him by his testicles. He broke my arm.”
“He broke it, he broke it, but he broke it to save the honor of the big house, sir,” Juba insisted, speaking self-importantly so that the old slave woman caring for Tonico could hear. “Colonel Lacerda doesn’t like scandal. And that fellow, he saw that you were very drunk and were going to do something stupid that would cause a lot of talk on the neighboring farms. He acted like a misguided watchdog to protect the colonel’s property.”
Juba planted the seed. He was transforming Kanga’s rebellion into an exaggerated reaction, a distorted act of loyalty. He knew that the colonel valued reputation and money more than any slave’s life. If Kanga could be portrayed as a zealous and foolish protector, the colonel’s fury would be more focused, and perhaps the revenge would not fall on everyone.
In the tunnel, Kanga felt the air get hotter and heavier. He heard the sound of voices and the crackling of burning wood. They were trying to smoke them out.
“Miralda, quick, they are lighting a bonfire!” Kanga shouted, forcing his body to move faster. His left shoulder felt like it was tearing apart.
Terrified, Miralda began to crawl with desperate speed. She felt the thin smoke begin to enter the tunnel. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Miralda let out a sigh of relief.
“Kanga, I see the light. It’s the exit.”
The opening was small, covered by a tangle of vines and earth. Miralda forced her passage and twisted through, collapsing onto the cold grass of the night. She was outside the slave quarter walls, at the edge of the cornfield, which bordered the woods. Kanga came right after her. It was a brutal fight against the earth and the pain. He had to use the strength of his leg to push himself up, his body seeming trapped in a straitjacket of earth.
When he finally managed to pull his shoulders out, he let out a roar of pain and relief. He was bleeding, exhausted, but free. He staggered to his feet. The darkness of the night was a protective cloak, but also an invitation to danger. They could hear the overseers’ shouts at the forge about 200 meters away.
“Quick, to the woods!” Kanga whispered, pulling Miralda.
They ran. It was not easy for Kanga to run. His shoulder ached, and exhaustion pulled him toward the ground. But the idea of being caught there, after everything, pushed him forward. They entered the dense forest. The air was fresh, smelling of earth and dead leaves. The undergrowth was thick, thorns clung to their clothes, but with each step, they moved further away from the Água Doce farm and its terror. Kanga stopped when he thought they were at a safe distance, perhaps a kilometer into the woods. He could barely breathe. He leaned against a thick tree and collapsed. Miralda, despite the shock, saw his condition.
The wound on his shoulder was open and bleeding heavily.
“Kanga, you need to stop the bleeding,” she said, removing the scarf from her head.
Kanga, used to taking care of himself, nodded. He knew a fever would come if he didn’t clean the wound. He took some cold mud and leaves that he chewed, and Miralda helped him apply the improvised paste to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
“We have to go north,” Kanga murmured weakly. “To the quilombo! It’s the only chance.”
The Quilombo da Pedra was a legend, a place of freedom in the mountains, a three-day fast walk away. To them, wounded and exhausted, it seemed like the moon. While Kanga recovered, the Água Doce farm erupted in fury. Inácio and his men finally broke down the shop door and discovered the tunnel.
Inácio’s anger was palpable.
“The giant fled, he and the little wench!” Inácio shouted, kicking the forge hammer Kanga had dropped. “He can’t have gone far. He is wounded. Bring the dogs. Let’s hunt.”
The night turned into a frantic race. The barking of the hounds echoed through the farm, a sound that announced the hunt. But the real storm was about to arrive. It was still early morning, the sky beginning to clear into a dirty gray, when Colonel Lacerda’s entourage arrived. The colonel did not travel alone. He came with two trusted henchmen, men of few words and quick triggers. Colonel Lacerda was a man who didn’t need to shout to be frightening.
He was short, but had an iron presence with small, hard eyes that seemed to pierce the soul. He dismounted from his horse, and the first thing he saw was the side of the big house, the service door ripped off its hinges. Hanging at a ridiculous angle, fury began to accumulate in his chest, silent and cold.
He entered the big house and found Tonico, pale and crying, lying on the sofa with his broken arm.
“What the hell happened here?” the colonel growled. His voice was low, but it cut the air like a whip.
Inácio, sweating and trembling, knelt before the colonel.
“Sir, it was Kanga. The giant went insane. He broke Mr. Tonico’s arm and fled with the slave Miralda.”
Colonel Lacerda didn’t even look at Inácio. He went to Tonico.
“Tonico, get up. Tell me what that demon did to you.”
Tonico, crying, tried to explain, but the pain and humiliation made him stutter.
“Father, I just asked her to clean the room and he invaded and attacked me. He humiliated me in front of everyone.”
The colonel clenched his fists. For a slave to raise his hand against his son was more than a crime; it was the destruction of his authority.
“Gather all the men, all the dogs. I want Kanga alive, but I want him tied up. I will cut him into pieces myself in front of everyone, and the woman will join him.”
The colonel was about to explode into a blind fury that would make the farm tremble. But it was at that moment that Juba, the old slave, approached, bowing as low as he could, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Excuse me, Colonel, permit this old man to speak.”
The colonel stared at him impatiently.
“Speak, Juba, if it is nonsense, you will work the mill until you die of exhaustion.”
Juba swallowed hard, but remained focused. He needed to be convincing.
“It is not nonsense, Colonel. It is the truth that Inácio and Mr. Tonico cannot see because of the pain and the fright.”
Juba knelt again, speaking in a tone of lament and forced loyalty.
“Kanga is an animal, yes, but he is your animal, Colonel. He was working in the shop when he saw Mr. Tonico, very drunk, taking Miralda to the room. Kanga is not stupid. He knows Miralda is a young girl and that you have plans for her, perhaps selling her for a good price or using her for service in the big house. He saw that Mr. Tonico was going to ruin the merchandise, was going to ruin your property, Colonel.”
Colonel Lacerda stopped. He hated Tonico when he was drunk and did stupid things. The word “property” resonated in the colonel’s head. He thought in terms of profit, not morality. Kanga had acted like a watchdog, biting the owner’s son who tries to steal the meat. Juba continued in a low and firm voice. He was not rebelling against the colonel.
“He was defending the colonel’s property against Mr. Tonico’s imprudence. He broke the arm trying to stop Mr. Tonico, not to kill him, but to stop him from causing a scandal that would devalue the girl and cause problems for the colonel.”
Colonel Lacerda remained in absolute silence. He looked at Tonico, who was pale from pain and now from fear.
“That is a lie, father. He is making it up to protect the giant!” Tonico shouted in despair.
“Shut up, Tonico!” the colonel shouted. But it was not the fury he had shown before; it was a calculated rage. The colonel looked at Inácio. “Inácio, did you see Tonico drunk?”
Inácio hesitated, knowing the answer could cost him dearly.
“Yes, Colonel. He had been drinking since early.”
The scale weighed. The colonel did not forgive disobedience, but he hated stupidity and causing loss even more.
“So, the giant acted like an animal protecting its territory, not like a rebel,” the colonel concluded. The voice was still cutting, but now logical, cold. “He went too far, attacking my son, but the root of the problem was the imprudence. He did not want to face me. He wanted to protect what is mine.”
Juba had managed to turn the game around. He transformed Kanga from a rebel into a super-protective figure. This did not save Kanga from death, but changed the nature of the hunt. It was no longer a slave revolt; it was the hunt for a dangerous fugitive who had committed a crime, but who did not pose an ideological threat to the plantation’s order.
“Very well, the giant has fled. He is wounded. He won’t go far,” the colonel declared, turning to Inácio. “Inácio, you and the henchmen go after him. Take the dogs. I want Kanga back, but I want him alive so he can be useful before he dies. He needs to understand that, even acting in my name, he cannot touch my blood.”
The hunt was official, but now the colonel had a clear objective: recover the giant so he could use him before killing him and show everyone that his authority was unbreakable.
While the colonel gave orders at the big house, Kanga and Miralda moved slowly through the darkness of the woods. Kanga was weak. The blood loss made him dizzy. He knew they needed water and shelter. They found a shallow stream with clean water. Kanga drank greedily and washed the wound. The pain was excruciating, but the cold water helped lower the fever.
“We need to rest a bit, Kanga. You won’t last,” Miralda implored.
Kanga looked at the sky, which was already almost completely clear. Day had arrived and, with it, the hunt.
“We can’t stop. The dogs will find us. They are close,” he said, trying to stand, but could not. His legs gave way and he fell to his knees. The giant’s body, which seemed invincible, was on the verge of collapse. “I can’t go faster,” he admitted, his voice full of frustration.
Miralda, who had been protected and guided, now had to take the lead. She helped him stand, using her small strength to support his massive body.
“We will go slowly, then, but we will continue moving forward,” she said. The determination in her voice was new, forged in the fire of that night.
They moved slowly, following the stream, trying to erase the tracks for the dogs. Kanga, despite the pain, still held his forge hammer, a dead weight, but a symbol of his resilience. The woods were treacherous, with fallen tree trunks, thorns, and the fear of snakes, but it was preferable to the farm. They heard the sound behind them. Distant at first, but approaching, relentless. The barking of the hounds. Colonel Lacerda had sent the best hunter and the best sniffer dogs. They were following Kanga’s blood trail.
“They are coming,” Kanga whispered. They needed to find a hiding place or they would be surrounded in the open field.
Miralda saw a rock formation, a small cave that seemed to have been carved by the water, hidden by a curtain of ferns.
“There, Kanga, quick.”
They crawled inside the cave. It was a damp and dark space, but it offered protection. They barely had time to settle when they heard Inácio shouting, his voice approaching rapidly.
“They are around here. The trail is hot, dogs. Let’s go.”
The barking was deafening. The dogs passed a few meters from the cave, sniffing frantically at the ground. Kanga and Miralda held their breath. The giant knew it was only a matter of minutes until one of the dogs or one of the men stumbled upon the cave entrance. He was trapped, wounded, and without exit. He gripped the handle of the hammer. If he was to die, it would not be easy. He would deliver the final blow, the last charge, right there in the heart of the forest against his hunters.
The giant expected death, but what he didn’t know was that Juba’s turnaround at the farm had changed the game. Colonel Lacerda had given Inácio a specific order: Kanga should be captured, not killed. They needed Kanga for one last job before the final punishment. Kanga and Miralda’s fate was sealed, but the manner of their death or the possibility of their survival would depend on a plan the colonel was already hatching. A plan that involved exploring the giant’s last vestiges of utility before destroying him.
Colonel Lacerda, now sitting at the table in the big house, drank his coffee. Fury under control. He looked at Tonico, who was still groaning, and at Juba, who awaited orders.
“Juba,” the colonel called in a calm and deadly voice. “You have been a good storyteller. Now tell me: if Kanga is defending my property, it is because he fled with the merchandise.”
Juba knew he needed a perfect answer.
“Colonel, he did not flee. He got scared. He knows he broke your son’s arm. He fled out of fear of punishment, but he won’t go far. He is not a man of the woods, he is a man of iron. Either he will surrender, or he will die of fright, but he will not sell the girl. He sees this as his responsibility, the property he saved.”
The colonel smiled, a thin and dangerous smile.
“So he feels responsible. Excellent. Inácio will hunt him. But if Inácio kills him, Inácio dies. I want Kanga alive. I have a job for this giant. One last job that only he can do.”
The colonel had a plan, and that plan was crueler than immediate death. Kanga could not know, but he was being hunted not only to be punished, but to be used one last time. And the giant, hidden in the cave, barely knew that his strength, which had given him freedom, would be the same thing that would bring him back into the colonel’s clutches.
The struggle was just beginning, and Colonel Lacerda was in control, cold and calculating, waiting for the right moment to tighten the knot of the rope. The smell of damp earth and mold was the last thing Kanga felt before preparing to die. He was squeezed in the cave, hammer in hand, Miralda’s small, quick breathing echoing beside him.
Outside, the dogs’ barking was deafening a few meters away. Kanga knew it was the end of the line. He had interrupted the injustice, broken the order, and now would pay the price. But he would not die in silence. Suddenly, the barking changed. They were no longer frantic hunting barks, but controlled whimpers, as if the animals had been pulled by a short chain.
Then came Inácio’s voice, loud and sharp, but strangely cautious.
“Kanga, I know you are in there. The colonel is back. He knows everything, giant. Come out now, and I promise the death will be quick.”
Kanga did not move. He did not trust the overseers’ promises.
“Don’t be stupid, Kanga. The colonel doesn’t want you dead yet. He has a service for you. If you come out now, you will only die after you finish the work. If I have to drag you out of there, I will drag you in pieces.”
The phrase hit Kanga like a punch. “He doesn’t want you dead yet.” This confirmed what he already suspected. His strength was more valuable than his immediate punishment. Colonel Lacerda was a businessman, and a giant was worth more alive, even wounded, than dead. Kanga looked at Miralda. She was pale, eyes full of terror.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
“We are going out,” Kanga said, his voice hoarse. “If he wants me alive, I have a chance to get you out of here.”
He knew that by surrendering, he was trading a quick death for a slow one, but he was buying time. Time for Miralda. Kanga crawled out of the cave, pushing and moving the ferns away. He stepped out into the faint light of the morning, panting, blood dried on his shoulder. Inácio was there with three armed henchmen and the dogs tied up. Upon seeing Kanga, Inácio recoiled instinctively, but then recovered.
“Finally, you animal, lie down,” Inácio snapped.
Kanga did not lie down. He stood, the forge hammer still in his right hand, resting on the floor. Miralda came right after him, clinging to his pants.
“I will go with her,” Kanga said, pointing to Miralda.
Inácio smiled, a cruel smile.
“Of course you will, giant. You two will go to punishment together. Tie him up.”
Kanga could not resist being tied up. He was exhausted and knew that fighting there would be useless. He allowed the thick ropes to be tightened around his arms and neck, but he did not release the hammer. He let it drop to his side on the floor. One of the henchmen grabbed it and handed it to Inácio.
“That thing won’t protect you anymore, big guy,” Inácio said, throwing the tool to a nearby slave.
Miralda was tied separately, but more loosely. They were dragged back to the Água Doce farm. The return was a silent procession of terror. The sun was already high when Kanga and Miralda were taken to the center of the yard. All the slaves were gathered, forced to watch. The silence was total. They saw the giant, the hero of the night, now tied up, wounded, but still imposing. Colonel Lacerda was on the big house veranda, beside Tonico, who was sitting in a chair, his broken arm bandaged, his face pale with pain and hatred.
The colonel came down the steps and stopped in front of Kanga. He was not shouting; he was calm, and that calm was terrifying.
“You caused me enormous loss,” the colonel began, his voice low but reaching every person in the yard. “You broke down the door, wounded my son and my henchmen. You broke the law.”
Kanga simply stared at the colonel. He had nothing to say, but the colonel continued, and the word hung in the air.
“Old Juba told me an interesting story. He said you acted to protect my property, frightened by my son’s imprudence. You acted like a super-protective, yet loyal, watchdog.”
The colonel took a dramatic pause, looking at the crowd.
“I do not tolerate violence against my blood, but I value loyalty, even if it is foolish.” He pointed to Miralda, who was trembling beside Kanga. “This girl is valuable. She is worth a lot of money. Tonico, in his drunken stupor, was going to ruin everything. You protected her. You did my work, Kanga.”
Tonico tried to protest.
“Father, he attacked me…”
“Shut up, Tonico. Your drunkenness cost us a broken arm and the loss of control over the farm for a night. Learn to have composure,” the colonel scolded his son, confirming Juba’s version of the facts. The colonel turned to Kanga. “You will be punished, Kanga, and the punishment will be death. But you will not die today. You have one last favor to do for me. A service that only a giant can provide.”
Colonel Lacerda gestured toward the farm, where the old sugar mill was located, which had been inactive for years.
“The old mill is falling to pieces. The main beam, that Jequitibá trunk over 100 years old that holds up the roof, is rotten and needs to be removed. It weighs more than 3 tons. If it falls, it will destroy the new sugar warehouse we built next door. No crane can get there. No man. Only you, Kanga.”
Kanga looked in the indicated direction. He knew that beam. It was a monster of wood. An engineering challenge, even just to cut it.
“You will go in there, tie that beam, and, with your strength, you will pull it out, controlling the fall. If it falls on the warehouse, I will burn you and all your friends who tried to help you. If you succeed, you will have a quick and clean death at the end of the day.”
The colonel looked at Miralda.
“And if you succeed, Kanga, I promise you: Miralda will be sold to a farm far away from here, in the south, where Tonico will never find her. She will have a life of labor, but she will be safe.”
Colonel Lacerda was offering Kanga a terrible challenge: exchange his own life for the safety of the only person he liked. It was the ultimate manipulation, using Kanga’s heroism against himself. Kanga, exhausted and wounded, looked at Miralda. She shook her head, begging him not to accept the deal, to fight. But Kanga knew the final battle was not against the colonel, but rather ensuring her survival. He felt his head grow heavy, and he accepted the deal.
“I will do the service, but if the colonel touches her before then, I will bring the whole contraption down on top of you.”
The threat was real. The colonel smiled, satisfied.
“Release him and bring the hammer back. He will need his tools.”
Kanga was taken to the deactivated mill. He was released but surrounded by armed henchmen who watched him from afar. Miralda was placed under the watchful eye of an old slave woman in the big house kitchen. The giant didn’t eat or drink. He just looked at the task. The mill was an old and dark structure, full of cobwebs and smelling of mold. The Jequitibá wood beam was in the center, cracked and rotten, but still massive, holding the weight of the roof. Kanga asked for the tools. He needed chains, steel cables, and, of course, his forge hammer.
He spent the next hours working, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He used the hammer to forge reinforced steel hooks, using the improvised workshop that was still on-site. The beat of his hammer echoed again on the farm, but now it was a sound of announced death, a requiem. The slaves watched from afar. They understood Kanga’s sacrifice. He was working to save the girl.
Around 3 p.m., Kanga was ready. He had attached the chains to the beam, passing them through improvised supports. He needed to pull the beam in the direction opposite to the sugar warehouse, ensuring it would fall into the open field. Colonel Lacerda, Tonico, and all the overseers came to watch. It was a spectacle of power and servitude.
Kanga took his position. He took a deep breath, concentrating all his strength, all his rage, and all his hope in the moment. He grabbed the steel cables with his gigantic hands.
“Pull, giant! Pull your destiny!” the colonel shouted.
Kanga pulled. The effort was superhuman. Kanga’s muscles swelled, the veins in his neck popped. He roared, a sound that came from the depths of his soul, not out of pain, but out of pure effort. The Jequitibá beam groaned, the mill roof cracked, the entire farm fell silent, awaiting disaster. Kanga pulled inch by inch; the floor trembled. He felt his shoulder tear. The wound was reopening, but he ignored it. He only saw her face and the promise that she would be far from Tonico.
With a loud crack, the rotten trunk came loose. The mill roof collapsed in a cloud of dust and broken tiles. The beam, controlled by Kanga’s strength, was pulled out, falling with a deafening crash in the open field, far from the sugar warehouse.
The giant had succeeded. The dust settled. Kanga was panting and hunched over. His body was covered in sweat and fresh blood. A murmur ran through the farm. The slaves were stunned. Colonel Lacerda applauded slowly.
“Magnificent, Kanga, you are indeed the strongest.” He approached Kanga with a predatory smile. “You did your part. Miralda will be sold tomorrow to the south. She will live. And you, my giant? Well, you have completed your last service.”
Kanga knew what was coming next. The colonel gave a signal to Inácio and the two gunmen, who raised their shotguns, pointing at Kanga’s exhausted chest. But Kanga was not just exhausted; he was waiting. He had a forge hammer in his hand. He had recovered it and kept it hidden behind his body while he pulled the beam. He no longer had the strength to fight, but he had the strength for one last and decisive act.
Kanga looked toward the big house, where Miralda was being watched. He knew the colonel wouldn’t let her go before being sure he was dead. So, Kanga did what only a giant could do. He didn’t attack the colonel; he attacked the farm.
With a cry of fury and despair, Kanga swung the forge hammer above his head and threw it, not toward the demons, but toward the base of the old stone mill that stood right next to the mill. The hammer, propelled by his final strength, hit the stone base of the mill with the force of a small cannon.
The structure of the mill, which was already old, collapsed. The entire mill, with its gigantic stones, began to tip. Chaos followed instantly. The mill collapsed with a roar, raising a cloud of dust and destruction. The screams of the overseers and the colonel mixed with the sound of the fall. The collapse of the mill was the distraction Kanga needed.
Amidst the dust and confusion, the colonel shouted: “Kill him! Kill the giant!”
The henchmen fired their shotguns. Kanga felt the impact in his chest and stomach. He staggered, blood gushing from his mouth, but he used his last seconds of life to look at Miralda, who was on the big house veranda, paralyzed with terror.
He shouted, his voice choked with blood, but loud enough for her to hear:
“Run, flee!”
The scream, mixed with the noise of the collapse, was Kanga’s final order. Miralda woke up. She saw the giant fall, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud, silence returning to the farm for good. But she didn’t stop to cry. She ran through the confusion of the collapsed mill, with the gunmen focused on Kanga’s fallen body. Miralda ran to the side of the big house, jumped the yard fence, and bolted into the bushes in the direction opposite the stream, confusing the dogs that were still tied up.
Colonel Lacerda, covered in dust, saw the girl flee.
“Get her, get that little wench!” he shouted, but it was too late.
Chaos reigned, and the men were more concerned with assessing the damage to the mill and ensuring the giant was dead. The giant Kanga lay dead on the floor, beside the destruction he himself had caused. His hammer, his last weapon, was buried under the rubble of the mill.
The Água Doce farm was in a sepulchral silence. It was not the passive silence of fear from before; it was the silence of deep shock. They had witnessed the giant, even condemned, use his strength not only to save a life, but to cause destruction that would cost the colonel months of work and money. Colonel Lacerda looked at Kanga’s body and then at the dark woods where Miralda had disappeared. He had won. The giant was dead, but he had lost the merchandise, the control, and, most importantly, he had lost his honor, for the entire farm knew that the giant had died protecting the girl from the colonel’s son’s perversity.
The giant Kanga had broken his years of silence and died for it. But, by breaking the mill, he had broken much more. He had shattered the certainty of impunity and, with his supreme sacrifice, had bought Miralda’s freedom. The girl ran into the woods without looking back. She had nothing but the clothes on her back and the memory of the man who traded his life for hers.
She was free, and her freedom, won with the giant Kanga’s blood and strength, was the supreme proof that, even in the deepest darkness, heroism can be born and injustice can be stopped, even if only for a moment of fire and fury. And that moment, my friends, would echo forever in the history of the Água Doce farm.
