'Pecado,' he said. 'Is it really you?'

'Pecado was my father. I am his son.'

'I remember him,' Alfredo Bomba said dreamily. 'You look a lot like him. But he didn't have a crooked moustache under his nose.'

'Here we are. Let me help you ashore.'

Pecado's son helped the feeble Alfredo Bomba out of the boat. For a moment they were wrapped in the sea, which resembled a blue silk cloth. They waded a short distance before stepping ashore. The light was now quite strong, as if the sun had grown and was shining with many eyes above his head. Pecado's son set Alfredo Bomba down in a deckchair and opened a parasol over his head. The dog lay down at his side again; the boat and the crocodile had disappeared. It was very quiet.

'What happened to your father?' asked Alfredo Bomba, who felt the silence on the little sandy island carrying him back in time with dizzying speed.

'It was my son who led you here,' Pecado said. 'I am his father.'

Alfredo Bomba looked at him in surprise. Then he noticed that the moustache under his nose was gone. It really was Pecado who was standing next to him.

'Everything seems so long ago,' said Alfredo Bomba, and he felt the sea slowly beginning to seep into his body. A wave had started rippling inside his skin.

'You've grown old too,' he continued, still looking, at Pecado in amazement.

Pecado smiled. Then he pointed at the river. Alfredo Bomba squinted in the glare of the sunlight. He saw Nelio wading towards him with his trouser legs rolled up. At his side were Nascimento, Mandioca and Tristeza. Soon they had gathered around him. He saw that they were all old, just like him.

'I thought we would never see each other again,' said Alfredo Bomba. 'I no longer understand what I was always so afraid of

'We're here,' Nelio said. 'Wherever friends gather, there is never room for fear.'

Alfredo Bomba felt the wave inside him growing stronger and stronger. It was about to carry him away towards something unknown but not yet feared. The water was warm, and he felt pleasantly drowsy. The sunlight was dazzling, and the faces around him were slowly being erased.

'Who brought me here?' he asked. 'I should thank the man who stood at the helm.'

'It was your mother,' said the voice that belonged to Nelio, although Alfredo could no longer see his face.

'Where is she?' asked Alfredo Bomba. 'I can't see her.'

'She's standing behind you,' someone said, and now it was the dog lying next to him who was talking.

Alfredo Bomba didn't have the strength to turn his head. But he felt her warm breath on his neck. The wave rippled inside him, he was very tired, and he thought that it was a long time since he had had any sleep. He closed his eyes, his mother was sitting right behind him on the sand, and he now knew that he had been afraid for no reason. What had happened would keep on happening: his friends would always be with him.

Then the suns were extinguished around him, one after the other. He smiled at the thought of the strange dog that had human hands instead of paws. He must remember to tell Nelio when he woke up. A dog that had hands instead of paws…

They stood around him, watching him sleep.

'He's smiling,' Nascimento said. 'But he didn't applaud. I think he was afraid of the monster.'

'Be quiet,' Nelio said. 'You talk too much, Nascimento.'

Nelio looked at Alfredo Bomba's face. He wore an expression that he had never seen before. Then he understood that Alfredo Bomba was dead. He took a step back.

'He's dead,' said Nelio.

At first they didn't understand what he meant. Then they saw for themselves that Alfredo Bomba was no longer breathing, and they backed away.

'Were we that bad?' said Mandioca.

'I think we did the best we could,' replied Nelio, and his voice was thick with sorrow.

None of them said a word. Nascimento had turned his back and fled inside the monster's head.

A rat rustled under the stage.

Then everything happened very fast.

The doors at the back of the theatre were flung open. Someone screamed. In the harsh glare of the spotlights they couldn't see who it was. Everyone except Nelio ran to the wings. Someone kept on screaming. Nelio understood that he should put up his hands, that he should surrender. He stood in front of Alfredo Bomba, who was lifeless in his deckchair, and thought that even a dead street kid deserved to be defended. Nelio walked towards the footlights to explain that nothing was going on. Two shots rang out in rapid succession. Nelio was thrown backwards and lay full-length on the stage, at Alfredo Bomba's feet. He felt his vision grow hazy and he began to sink. He vaguely sensed that someone was looking down at him. Maybe it was Julio, one of the watchmen from outside the theatre. But the face was blurred, and he wasn't positive that he recognised the voice either. It might also be the transparent face of death, which had come for Alfredo Bomba, but had now decided to take him too – that's what he thought.

The face that was bending over him vanished. He heard footsteps running, fading into the distance. Then it was quiet again. The light from the spotlights was dazzling. He closed his eyes. Every time he took a breath, pain sliced through him. It felt as if he had a hole all the way through his body. In spite of the pain, he tried to work out what had happened. It must have been the thunder, he thought. I should have known that the sound of someone rattling and shaking the thunder sheets would be heard out on the street. The watchmen would start to wonder, and they would think we were thieves who had broken in. And they started shooting because they were afraid of being shot themselves. If I had stood perfectly still, they might have noticed that I'm only a child.

He heard footsteps again. This time they were familiar. Thin paws were cautiously treading across the stage. The group had come back. Nelio opened his eyes and saw their terrified faces. He did his utmost to hide from them how much pain he was in.

'You have to take Alfredo Bomba away,' he said. 'You can't leave him lying on the street or in a ditch. You have to see to it that he has a proper burial. Take him to the morgue and give the nightwatchman the money we have left. Then they'll take him to the cemetery tomorrow after it gets light. But before you leave, you have to put everything back the way it was when we came.'

Are you going to stay here?' Nascimento asked him.

'I'm just going to rest,' replied Nelio. 'I'll come later. Now do what I say. Even though I'm bleeding a lot, it's not as serious as it looks. Hurry. Dawn is almost here.'

They did as he said. They hung the costumes back in place, they lifted up Alfredo Bomba, and then they carried him away.

All was quiet around Nelio again. He tried to sense whether he was going to die soon, or whether it was going to take time. The hole in his body didn't seem to be getting bigger. It hurt terribly when he breathed, but he wasn't going to die right away. He was not yet ready to follow Alfredo Bomba.

Nelio had been talking with his eyes closed. Now and then his voice was so faint that I had great trouble understanding what he was saying. But now he opened his eyes and looked at me.

'You know the rest,' he said. 'I lay there on the stage, you came, and you carried me up here to the roof. How long I've been here, I don't know.'

'This is the ninth night,' I said.

'The ninth night, and the last. I can tell I won't be able to hold out much longer. I'm already starting to leave my body.'

'I have to take you to the hospital,' I said. 'There are doctors who can make you well.'

Nelio looked at me for a long time before he replied.

'No one can make me well. You know that.'

I gave him some water. There was nothing else I could do.

Somewhere out in the darkness I could hear two drunks quarrelling. I put my hand on Nelio's forehead and felt that it was very hot.