Today is a very happy day inside the Devil's Caldron. Very soon, family and friends of the prisoners will start to arrive. Tomorrow will begin the long weekend festivities for Father's Day. Before this starts, I want to photograph the C.V. leaders. Afterwards, they will be too busy with their lovers.

I arrive at the prison late in the afternoon. Contrary to the first days, I am now welcome to freely enter and circulate inside the Caldron. As soon as Paulinho sees me, he walks in my direction, smiling. Paulinho and I have become very good friends. I give him my walkman, some cassette tapes, and an American baseball shirt. He gives me a wood carving with my name and my girlfriend's name on it. The carving was made by the same prisoner-artist who I had visited. Anxious, Paulinho also tells me the news. "The fugitive was found and he is in solitary."

The samba group rehearses for the last time. When the leader of the band sees me, he gets the microphone and salutes my arrival at the prison. For a moment, all of the musicians stop and applaud me. I feel moved. The band resumes playing and singing. It seems as if the party has already started.

Chiquito is by himself on the roof that connects the main entrance gate to the building. Proudly, he admires the patio on which he worked so hard to transform into a beautiful and attractive place for the party. Now there is a red stage covered with palm tree leaves. The walls are completely decorated with cartoon personalities. Hundreds of colorful paper flags hang from side to side, and a huge barbecue in the middle of the patio stands ready to cook the much anticipated pig.

I look at Chiquito crouched up there. I smile and ask by gestures for us to talk. With signs he invites me to climb up. I believe that Chiquito presumes that I will ask him to pose for me. Lately, while I photographed, he had already let himself be in the view of my lens, but never as the main subject. With the help of some inmates, I climb up onto the passage cover. Without a shirt and with bare feet, Chiquito is wearing the same beige velvet shorts that I have seen on him since the first day we met. He continues to crouch. I sit by his side. He takes a long drag on his cigarette, looks down to the patio and, before I say a word, calls to a prisoner who is walking by. "Hey you, tell my friend here how many crimes have I committed inside this prison.", screams the leader of the Caldron. The man looks up, protecting his eyes from the sun with his hands, and answers "Nineteen."

The 19 crimes make me even more interested in taking his photo. "Wow, Chiquito, so many like that?", is the only comment that I make. I look to the top of the dormitory building and invite him to go up there. Chiquito continues facing the patio, thinks a little bit and screams to his friend. "Paulinho, lend me your C.V. medal because we are going to take some pictures."

The passage that will lead us to the roof is in a room on the third and last floor where the Comando headquarters is situated. It is a clean and small place. On a little wooden table rests an old typewriter. On the shelf, folded, is a pile of soccer tee shirts. Hanging on the wall, is a large pencil drawing of Bagulhão's face. The frame of carved wood has the inscription, "God gives you the glory of His Kingdom - C.V.R.L.".

Chiquito takes the picture from the wall. Paulinho, Chiquito and I help each other climb some stairs that end on the roof. In that open space, there is an extraordinary view of the whole beach, the village, and the mountains where the jungle extends.

Chiquito and Paulinho light their cigarettes and are absorbed looking at the beautiful view. Behind Chiquito, the sun sets and small clouds form colorful patterns with the rays of the late afternoon light. The leader of the prison holds the drawing of Rogério as if he was Moses with the tablets of the 10 commandments. Paulinho then takes back his necklace and kisses the medal. Finally, Chiquito, who feels comfortable, poses with his face only six inches from my camera.

I feel like I am tasting the blood of the dragon in each photo taken. Somehow, the session also seems to be a victory for the leaders of the Comando. Chiquito and his friends go down through the building acting like they have done something that deserves commemoration. They invite each member of the leadership to go to a visitor's room that is not occupied.

This little room has only one bed and a single window which is blocked with pieces of wood. They invite me to sit. Some of the C.V. leaders then arrange themselves like a traditional Indian meeting. They close the door and... somebody from my left side lights up an enormous marihuana cigarette. At the same time, from my right side, another huge baseado. also begins to circulate Both were rolled in magazine paper. I know that I am going to get stoned with so much smoke inside this closed space. There is nothing that I can do. "If I get stoned, I see beauty everywhere and I can take dozens of photos just inside this room.", I say. I point out deteriorated cracks on the old walls, and they all pause to stare at these colorful faults. "Wow..., wow..., wow....." is all that I hear.

One asks me if, before I entered the prison, I thought that I would be able to complete all of my photography project. "I always believed that it would happen.", I answered. Curious, they also ask me about the prisons in California and I give them some information from different books that I have read back in the States.

Chiquito confides in me,"Do you know what my dream is? It's to take a bus over on the continent, go straight to that huge Maracanã Soccer Stadium, watch my Botafogo team play a game, and then come back here." Another member of the C.V., Alfredo Dedinho, asks me for a favor. "André, if you use my picture in a book don't forget to write underneath it that I was the biggest bank robber of the 80's.", Dedinho says proudly. "At that time, there was not one bank that didn't have my picture on their walls. I only had to show my face and the clerks, afraid of me, would give me sacks of money... I remember going up to my favela carrying those sacks and throwing some of the money into the air. The kids would follow behind me, grabbing the notes and staring at them. Those were the highest value papers that they had ever had in their hands."