Of Love and Shadows by Isabel Allende Page A

it unleashes the ire of our Lord God Almighty. Our times are like the times of Sodom and Gomorrah, man has fallen into the dark paths of error, and now he is harvesting his measure of punishment for having turned his back on his Creator. Jehovah is sending His warning in order that we may reflect on our ways and repent of our loathsome sins—”
    â€œExcuse me, Reverend, would you like some refreshment?” Evangelina interrupted, cutting the thread of inspiration with flaws still to be enumerated.
    One of the Protestant disciples, a squat and cross-eyed woman, went over to Irene to explain her theory about the Ranquileos’ daughter: “Beelzebub, prince of devils, has entered her body. Write that in your magazine, señorita. He likes to aggravate Christians, but the Salvation Army is stronger than he is, and we will vanquish him. Put that in your magazine—don’t forget.”
    Father Cirilo heard her last words, took Irene by the arm, and led her aside. “Pay no attention to her. These evangelicals are ignorant as sin, my daughter. They are not of the true faith, although they have some good qualities, we can’t deny that. Do you know they are abstemious? In that sect even confirmed alcoholics stop drinking. I respect them for that. But the Devil has nothing to do with this. The girl is crazy, pure and simple.”
    â€œAnd the miracles?”
    â€œWhat miracles are you talking about? Don’t believe that humbug!”
    Minutes before noon, Evangelina Ranquileo left the patio and went into the house. She unbuttoned her sweater, let down her hair, and seated herself on one of the three beds. Outside, everyone fell silent, moving to the small gallery to watch through the door and the window. Irene and Francisco followed the girl inside, and while he adjusted his camera to the darkness Irene readied the tape recorder.
    The Ranquileo home had a dirt floor, so tamped down, dampened, and tamped down again that it had acquired the consistency of cement. The sparse pieces of furniture were of ordinary unfinished wood; there were a few rush chairs and stools, a rough, homemade wooden table, and, as the only decoration, an image of Jesus with a flaming heart. The girls’ beds were curtained off from the rest of the room. The boys slept on pallets on the floor in an adjacent room with a separate entrance, thus avoiding promiscuity among brothers and sisters. Everything was scrupulously clean and smelled of mint and thyme; a bunch of red geraniums in a jar brightened the window, and the table was spread with a green linen cloth. Francisco saw in these simple elements a profound aesthetic sense and decided that later he would take a few photographs for his collection. He was never able to do so.
    *  *  *
    At twelve o’clock noon Evangelina fell back on the bed. Her body trembled and a deep long moan, like a love call, ran through her. She began to shake convulsively; her body arched backward with superhuman force. The girlish expression of a few minutes earlier was erased from her disfigured face and she was suddenly years older. A grimace of ecstasy, pain, or lust marked her features. The bed was rocking, and Irene, terrified, could see that a table a few feet from it was moving with no visible cause. Fear conquered her curiosity and she moved toward Francisco, seeking protection; she took his arm and pressed close to him, mesmerized by the spectacle of madness taking place on the bed, but her friend gently disentangled himself in order to operate the camera. Outside, the dogs howled an interminable lamentation of catastrophe in accompaniment to the sounds of song and prayer. Tin utensils danced in the cupboard, and a strange clatter lashed the roof tiles like a hailstorm of pebbles. A continuous tremor shook a platform in the rafters where the family stored their provisions, seeds, and work tools. From overhead a rain of maize was escaping from the seed sacks, contributing