Chiquito emerges bare footed, without a shirt, wearing only beige velvet shorts. His body is dirty with colorful drops of paint. In his right hand, he holds one small brush, in his left, a cigarette. Chiquito appears to be little more than 40 years old. He is skinny, tall and strong. His eyes are light green. His face, with a greying beard, reminds me of an image of Jesus Christ.

Mr. Cantuária introduces me to Chiquito saying that I have good intentions. "André is a photographer who lives in the United States. He will explain to you what he wants here. I ask you to help him, right?", says the Chief of Security to the leader of the Command. Chiquito answers that there is no problem.

Chiquito and I walk side by side leaving the entrance door behind. We come to a patio with a beach sand floor that is between the front wall and the prisoner's main building. This is one of the areas in which the inmates and their visitors can walk freely. I see children playing on swings and with dogs. A woman hangs washed clothing while others caress and kiss their men.

We stop near the main building. Chiquito sits down. I remain standing, looking at an enormous dark green mass that spreads over the dormitory wall. It is moss and water trickles from it constantly. Between the first and the second floor, a papaya tree seems to have grown from the concrete. Chiquito notices my observations, lights another cigarette, and tells me with his tenor voice: "Here, they say that the walls cry." Then he points to the papaya tree, which already has some fruit. "Do you know how this tree was born over there? She was born from the shit of one of the prisoners. The shit accumulates in the piping that is all decrepit." Curious, I ask if they are going to eat the papaya from the tree. "Of course.", he responds.

I look behind me towards the Caldron's wall. Inspired by the cartoonist Mauricio de Souza, some inmates are painting the wall with characters from "Monica Group", a famous Brazilian children's cartoon. Their activity is part of the preparation for the Father's Day party.

Suddenly, Chiquito starts to complain about inhuman conditions in the prison. Without giving me any chance to speak, he asks one prisoner to call the other C.V. leaders and continues to complain. He makes accusations, and blames the system for putting people like himself into this situation. There is pain in his declarations. Almost murmuring, he tells me of his discontent, resentment and regrets, as if he is seeking my compassion.

One by one, the leaders of the Comando arrive by Chiquito's side. Chiquito introduces me to the first and walks aside to allow us to have a private conversation. He proceeds the same way with the others, leaving me alone for a few minutes with each one. I do not understand why.

In the end, they all tell me practically the same thing. Most speak very well about the Comando and blame the government for the lack of opportunity that the poor people have in society.

I listen to all of them for almost an hour until I recall what the general director of the DESIPE, Julita, had told me, "Sometimes the prisoners don't like reporters." I realize that they could be thinking that I am a reporter. Uncomfortable with the situation, I open my portfolio and start to explain my project. Little by little, the seven leaders of the C.V. surround me and start to look curiously at my photos.

While I am speaking, I notice that I captivate some of them with my work. These men become interested in my project. Others, however, continue to look at me suspiciously until one of them, Marquinhos, says to his colleagues: "I know what he will do with the photos. I have a friend that does exactly what he wants to do here. He makes money selling photos to the Americans..." At this exact moment, all of them look at me with expressions that are not so friendly. "Is it truth or not?", asks Marquinhos. There exists a partial truth in his observation. "Yes, but..." I try to answer and immediately I am interrupted. "Do you see? My friend does the same thing. I knew...", Marquinhos proclaims to the others.

It is now my turn to cut him off. "What do you think those Americans would prefer to hang in their living room: a picture of the sunset over Sugar Loaf in Rio or your portrait taken here in this penitentiary?", I ask. "I hope to sell some images, but honestly, I can't imagine selling photos sufficient enough to pay for my plane tickets and all the expenses that I have.", I continue with confidence until I conclude. "Maybe you are right, I should be in Copacabana or Ipanema beach photographing the tan bum buns of the Brazilian girls. Then, for sure, I would sell many more photos and have more fun too." There is a quiet moment.

Laughing, Chiquito breaks the unpleasant atmosphere. He introduces me to his black dog "Negão", the Big Negro, who had just approached us. The playful animal has red stripes, probably painted by one of the artists who is at work decorating the walls. Chiquito explains that the red paint is to show that his dog is also a member of C.V., "The Red Command". The inmates have a great affection for dogs and at least ten of them are circulating in this area of the Caldron. Chiquito finally points to another dog that they have named "C.V.". It is considered the most ferocious of all the ones living in the prison.