The Head of the Saint (14 page)

“You're as strong as I am. You cannot deny that you are my grandson.”

Samuel was hungry, thirsty, uneasy and could find no trace of strength in his condition. His feelings for the crazy old woman were confused. He was scared, he was angry, but it still mattered to him that she remained the only living link to his past. He smiled a little, trying to acknowledge her presence.

“How did you get in here?”

“You must fulfill the promises you made to your mother.”

She annoyed him when she ignored his questions.

“I've done that already.”

“Not everything.”

“What's missing?” Samuel asked, though he did remember—he would never forget his mother's last words. He was only asking to test the old woman.

“The candles. You only lit the one for Father Cicero. There's still the one for St. Anthony, and another for St. Francis.”

“I've carried out the most important request.”

“You have. You came here to Candeia.”

“I came just to suffer.”

“You are brave. You bore it all. You were a real man.”

“And I'm going to leave just the way I arrived: pushed out as if I were a filthy rat.”

“That's not true.”

“You don't know anything. I went hungry for sixteen days, I got sick, I had no one to give me shelter, and I got myself involved with this madness around the saint.”

“Are you angry with the saint?”

“Very! I've always been angry with the saints and I'm even angrier now. They're only good for deceiving stupid people into parting with their money.”

“Your mother thought differently.”

“She was too good. She lived and died never seeing any malice in the world. Poor and wretched and buried in a hammock.”

Samuel wept. He hated crying, but he cried in front of his grandmother, that decrepit old woman who, yet again, was unable to help.

“She asked you to light a candle for St. Anthony. You have to do so before you leave.”

“I don't want anything to do with any saint now.”

“Mariinha said she wanted the candles lit at the saints' feet. You'll have to climb the hill to light the one to St. Anthony.”

“I'm locked up, so that will be easy,” said Samuel with a note of sarcasm.

“You'll be released in a few hours.”

“If I climb that hill, I'll get bitten again, and I'll get locked up again.”

“The dogs are mine. They won't bite you. And you won't be locked up again if you say you're leaving. Go up, light your candle and say a prayer to the saint.”

Samuel laughed contemptuously.

“Pray? Me? Lady, you really are crazy.”

“Praying is saying what you feel.”

“I feel hatred.”

“Then that's what you should say. Shout it good and loud; don't leave out a thing when you're talking to the saint.”

“I may have your blood, but I'm not as crazy as you yet. I'm not going to do that.”

Niceia was upset and moved closer to the bars.

“You can't leave here without lighting the candle your mother asked you for.”

In those last words her voice took on a serious tone, and she looked Samuel in the eye: this was an order. And Mariinha's requests were the only laws in force in Samuel's life. Apart from them, there was nothing left.

“They're going to release you tomorrow morning. They want to know what route you're going to take. Tell them you're going that way, you're going over the hill and on through Inhamuns. There will undoubtedly be people following you. Everyone already knows you're going to be thrown out of town, that's the only thing they're talking about on the radio now.”

“And whose side are the people on?”

“On the side of St. Anthony's messenger. When you leave, there will be crowds outside the police station. Your friend Francisco hasn't stopped fighting for you. But nobody has any power without the law on their side.”

“Are they going to blow up the head?”

“It's all set. They're going to wait for you to leave.”

“I don't want to see it.”

“I don't think you should, either.”

Samuel looked at Niceia with the numbness of a goodbye. She moved away, about to leave. He knew it was too late to ask about his father.

“Thank you,” he said. “I'll light my mother's candle because she asked me to. I don't know what will become of my life after I've crossed that hill. So, goodbye, then.”

“Don't forget to pray. I'm asking that of you. Mariinha would ask you, if she were here. Farewell, Samuel, I hope you will be very happy.”

It was the first time Samuel had seen Osório. Up to that point he had only met his henchmen and heard of his reputation as a crook. The mayor came into the police station accompanied by Helenice and Father Zacarias. One of the henchmen opened the door to Samuel's cell and ordered him to remain seated. He needn't have bothered: Samuel barely had the strength to open his eyes. Helenice started firing off insults straightaway: “I don't know where the hell you've come from, but you're headed back there now. Nothing worthwhile can ever come from bad people. Just when we thought we were free of the misfortune, Meticuloso's son shows up to bring it back all over again.”

Samuel said nothing. He wanted to speak, but Father Zacarias put his index finger to his lips, gesturing for Samuel to keep to himself whatever he had been thinking of saying.

“My child, I've been talking to Helenice and Osório and asked them to give you a chance. The head is going to be blown up at five o'clock tomorrow afternoon, and they want you to be out by then.”

“And never come back,” said the woman with loathing. “The blood of the Vale family is tainted with the Devil's ink.”

Osório was also glaring at Samuel, hatred in his eyes. The priest asked him something quietly; the mayor said yes grudgingly. Zacarias went over to the door and returned with Dr. Adriano, to examine Samuel, and Madeinusa, who had brought him milk, coconut water and a chicken broth.

While Dr. Adriano checked Samuel's pressure and heart rate, Madeinusa fed him, holding the straw of the glass of milk close to his mouth. He looked down at his belly. It was not clinging to his ribs.

“She's another one who inherited bad blood from her father,” said Helenice, receiving a look of contempt from her own daughter.

This time it was Adriano who asked everyone to keep calm.

Samuel quickly recovered, and got up to leave and keep to the plan. There were indeed a lot of people outside the police station. The faithful, his friends, TV broadcasters, reporters, a sea of people dressed in brown.

An emotional Francisco ran forward to hug his friend. He recalled the day he'd seen him for the first time. By now the whole town knew of Osório's orders; the explosives were in place, and no one was allowed to get close to the head of the saint anymore.

With each step he took, Samuel was getting stronger. They walked, all of them, toward the house of Chico the Gravedigger: that would be the place from which he would set off, leaving town once and for all.

“Before I leave, I need to go to the saint's feet to light a candle.”

Francisco thought this was funny.

“To St. Anthony?”

“I was asked to do it.”

“You sure you can make it up there?” asked Madeinusa.

“I've got to. I can't leave Candeia without doing this.”

“I've got a candle and matches,” said Chico the Gravedigger.

“We'll go with you,” said Adriano.

They stopped awhile to eat, have a bath, rest. Setting off to the top of the hill would be less obvious from there. Having woken up and eaten a good lunch of bean stew with curd cheese and cashew-fruit juice, Samuel felt ready for the climb. The walk would take a little over half an hour.

Adriano, Madeinusa and Chico the Gravedigger went with him, round the back of the hill so as not to attract the attention of the town's inhabitants—who fortunately were all gathered in front of the saint's head.

The closer they got to the decapitated body, the weirder the whole thing seemed. Down there was Candeia. The people looked like ants surrounding St. Anthony's head.

The pack of dogs that guarded the saint's body appeared. There were more than ten of them, and they were nice and calm. They looked at Samuel as though he was someone they knew, without barking, without threats. The dog that had bitten him approached, wagging its tail. He recognized it from the marking on its forehead, the smudge in the fur that looked like a deformed star.

Chico the Gravedigger handed Samuel the box of matches and the candle. Now the dogs got nervous, barking as though they wanted to say something, walking toward the saint's feet. Samuel remembered that the candle had to be lit at the feet. He remembered Niceia asking him to express his anger about everything to the saint, and asked his friends to move back down the hill a little to allow him to pray for the first and last time in his life.

“I don't know how to pray, Mr. Saint. All I know is that up till now my life has been nothing but misfortune and it's your fault. You see all that, all that happening down there? You see these marks on my arm, from being scratched, from being punched? All your fault.”

The candle wouldn't stay alight in the wind. As he tried to find some way to get it to burn so that he could leave, he kept talking: “I have no faith at all, old man. Even the candle I'm lighting isn't strong enough to keep its flame. This business of faith is what ruins poor people like me. I did actually believe, at first. When I saw those people getting married, I did believe in the miracle. Damned miracle.”

Samuel started shouting. The dogs took fright.

“Damned miracle! There's no saint, there's no miracle.”

Adriano wanted to go over to him, but Madeinusa prevented him. “Let the poor thing get it off his chest.”

Samuel had anger in his voice, in his body, in his movements, in his feet as they kicked the enormous unfinished statue of St. Anthony.

“And this bloody candle still won't stay alight. Damned candle, damned saint, who ruined my life and my mother's life, too. The poor thing, she died still believing. You ruined the people of Candeia. Just look at this town. It's your fault. I hate this whole lie about St. Anthony. Hate it! I never want to see another saint in my life. Next time I see a saint's statue I'm going to smash it, I'm going to demolish it.”

Samuel was getting more upset every minute. The dogs, which till that point had been lying on the ground around him, jumped to their feet. Some barked at Adriano, Madeinusa and Chico the Gravedigger, who were farther off now, nearly halfway down the hill.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

The voice was coming from the feet of the saint.

“Who said that?”

Samuel was scared. He yelled again: “Who said that?”

“I never meant to hurt you, nor your mother, nor anybody in Candeia,” answered the voice that came from the saint's feet.

“I've gone mad. Oh, Mother, I've gone mad! I don't want to hear any more voices.” Samuel knelt on the ground, hands over his ears.

“For the love of God, forgive me! I so badly need to ask you for forgiveness, Samuel.”

“How do you know my name, damned saint?”

“Because of the love I feel toward you.”

Samuel had never imagined anything so scary could happen to him. After getting access to the women's prayers, now he could hear the voice of the saint? Coming from the toes of his decapitated body? He was going crazy, he was sure of it. All of a sudden the fear passed. Yes, he had been afraid at first, not knowing where that voice was coming from. But now he believed it could be the saint's voice. Only crazy people talk to saints. That being so, he thought, let's talk.

“That's just perfect. So the famous St. Anthony talks out of his feet?”

“I need to hear you say you'll forgive me.”

“I thought it worked the other way round, that sinners asked saints for forgiveness. My poor mother, she died believing that.”

“Mariinha was a saintly woman.”

“And she died like an animal, scrawny, deep inside the hammock, thinking you or some other saint was going to turn up and save her from her wretchedness.”

Samuel was almost crying. He remembered how he had only been happy when he was living beside his mother. He saw the road on which he had arrived, and along which he would be leaving. From the top of the hill he could see the statue of St. Francis in Canindé. “It serves you right that they're going to blow up that head. I hope they blow up this body, too. A saint who talks out of his feet doesn't deserve a statue.”

“Are they going to blow up the body?”

“Aren't you supposed to know everything?”

“Did they say they're going to blow up the body? What's going to happen to me?”

The dogs had become very agitated. They approached the saint's left foot, barking loudly. Samuel went with them. There was forest all around, and they barked and barked, and the voice kept on talking, getting louder and louder, closer and closer. With the barking of the dogs it was impossible to hear what it was saying.

Madeinusa, Adriano and Chico the Gravedigger walked back up to the top of the hill to find out what was happening. The barking dogs were facing away from them and didn't see them approach. Samuel was in a cold sweat, pale. Dr. Adriano was concerned.

“You mustn't put yourself under this stress. We should go back down.”

“Can you all hear the voice, too?” asked Samuel.

“Let's get out of here.” Madeinusa was afraid.

The bushes next to the saint's foot moved suddenly, pushed aside by a human foot with long toenails that emerged from a hole in the statue. The diameter of the hole was just right for a very thin man to get through, and one did—in a pair of old trousers tied at the waist with an electric cable that served as a belt.

He looked confused, and covered his eyes with his hands to protect himself from the glare. The dogs gathered round him, no longer barking now. He was their master.

Samuel, Adriano and Madeinusa were afraid and drew back. Chico the Gravedigger did the opposite. He came closer, gradually, till the man moved his hands from his face and he was able to be sure of what he'd suspected.

“Samuel, it's your father! It's your father, Manoel Meticuloso!”