announcements seemed particularly curious.
The mayor and his wife climbed up to the platform. Someone adjusted the microphone on its stand, but the mayor was whispering something to one of his advisers and hadn’t yet begun to speak. But now the eccentric young Father Zacarias was running toward them nimbly, climbing the steps to the platform two at a time and smiling like never before. He had recently arrived in the town and seemed to be full of new ideas.
“People of Candeia,” began the mayor at last. “Good evening! We’re all gathered here at this feast-day celebration to praise our patron saint, St. Anthony of Padua, the Portuguese nobleman who left our town as the greatest example of his passage here on earth…”
He gave a long pause. His lower lip was trembling. The mayor had learned this from an American film and thought it was lovely.
“…his Christian, crystalline love. But I believe St. Anthony is not happy with us. In fact, I think our poor saint must be fed up with each and every one of you, people of Candeia.” The audience exchanged appalled glances. The mayor went on, undisturbed: “How is it possible that a town that has St. Anthony as patron saint should go on despite the shame of not having a single big statue in his honor? Well, I have come to you today, people of Candeia, to announce that I have signed a contract with the firm of M.J. Engineering, which has built many exceptionally beautiful sacred monuments all over Brazil, to construct a twenty-meter-high statue of St. Anthony to go up on the hill.”
The townspeople were thrilled.
“We are going to make Candeia St. Anthony’s third homeland. First comes Lisbon, where he was born. Then Padua, where he died. And now Candeia, where he has returned to live forever!”
Nothing that had ever happened before had awoken such a commotion in Candeia. Anyone who was not nearby when the speech began was attracted by the crowd. Fascinated, Candeians were delighted at the news.
“Along with the federal government, I have managed to secure authorization for a credit line for any entrepreneurs who want to set up a small business. Just look at Canindé, with so many people to shelter, to feed, to accommodate. Set up your inns, your restaurants, your little shops. Let’s make Candeia prosper!”
The uproar was uncontrollable. Building a giant statue of St. Anthony was so impossible that no one else had even been able to dream of such a thing. The people expected the change to be quick and dramatic. The date for the unveiling of the statue was a year away—allowing enough time for the town to sort itself out and spread the word.
The new businesses began to spring up, with their names painted onto the fronts of houses: “St. Anthony Barber’s,” “St. Anthony Snack Bar,” “St. Anthony Hostel,” “St. Anthony Restaurant.”
The promise of a successful new town attracted outsiders into Candeia. People interested in the new Candeia showed up from everywhere. They formed partnerships, but they weren’t all successful. Some stayed, others were kicked out. But of all of these, none was a bigger hit than Fernando, a Portuguese businessman who was passing through the backlands and who smelled prosperity in that place.
Fernando sold fabrics and traveled the whole world. He dealt in cloth, from small pieces to large-scale orders. He negotiated between companies in São Paulo and Senegal, traded lace from Ceará for Chinese silk. He dispatched imported Indian saris to shops in Rio de Janeiro. And he spoke several languages. His talk was intoxicating, that’s what they said. He couldn’t get into a negotiation without the outcome ending up to his advantage, and he was always smiling, his almond eyes dancing as he spoke to his customers.
In a town full of young girls who were desperate to marry, Fernando’s arrival had an even bigger effect than the announcement of the construction of the statue of the saint. For besides being a good talker,
The mayor and his wife climbed up to the platform. Someone adjusted the microphone on its stand, but the mayor was whispering something to one of his advisers and hadn’t yet begun to speak. But now the eccentric young Father Zacarias was running toward them nimbly, climbing the steps to the platform two at a time and smiling like never before. He had recently arrived in the town and seemed to be full of new ideas.
“People of Candeia,” began the mayor at last. “Good evening! We’re all gathered here at this feast-day celebration to praise our patron saint, St. Anthony of Padua, the Portuguese nobleman who left our town as the greatest example of his passage here on earth…”
He gave a long pause. His lower lip was trembling. The mayor had learned this from an American film and thought it was lovely.
“…his Christian, crystalline love. But I believe St. Anthony is not happy with us. In fact, I think our poor saint must be fed up with each and every one of you, people of Candeia.” The audience exchanged appalled glances. The mayor went on, undisturbed: “How is it possible that a town that has St. Anthony as patron saint should go on despite the shame of not having a single big statue in his honor? Well, I have come to you today, people of Candeia, to announce that I have signed a contract with the firm of M.J. Engineering, which has built many exceptionally beautiful sacred monuments all over Brazil, to construct a twenty-meter-high statue of St. Anthony to go up on the hill.”
The townspeople were thrilled.
“We are going to make Candeia St. Anthony’s third homeland. First comes Lisbon, where he was born. Then Padua, where he died. And now Candeia, where he has returned to live forever!”
Nothing that had ever happened before had awoken such a commotion in Candeia. Anyone who was not nearby when the speech began was attracted by the crowd. Fascinated, Candeians were delighted at the news.
“Along with the federal government, I have managed to secure authorization for a credit line for any entrepreneurs who want to set up a small business. Just look at Canindé, with so many people to shelter, to feed, to accommodate. Set up your inns, your restaurants, your little shops. Let’s make Candeia prosper!”
The uproar was uncontrollable. Building a giant statue of St. Anthony was so impossible that no one else had even been able to dream of such a thing. The people expected the change to be quick and dramatic. The date for the unveiling of the statue was a year away—allowing enough time for the town to sort itself out and spread the word.
The new businesses began to spring up, with their names painted onto the fronts of houses: “St. Anthony Barber’s,” “St. Anthony Snack Bar,” “St. Anthony Hostel,” “St. Anthony Restaurant.”
The promise of a successful new town attracted outsiders into Candeia. People interested in the new Candeia showed up from everywhere. They formed partnerships, but they weren’t all successful. Some stayed, others were kicked out. But of all of these, none was a bigger hit than Fernando, a Portuguese businessman who was passing through the backlands and who smelled prosperity in that place.
Fernando sold fabrics and traveled the whole world. He dealt in cloth, from small pieces to large-scale orders. He negotiated between companies in São Paulo and Senegal, traded lace from Ceará for Chinese silk. He dispatched imported Indian saris to shops in Rio de Janeiro. And he spoke several languages. His talk was intoxicating, that’s what they said. He couldn’t get into a negotiation without the outcome ending up to his advantage, and he was always smiling, his almond eyes dancing as he spoke to his customers.
In a town full of young girls who were desperate to marry, Fernando’s arrival had an even bigger effect than the announcement of the construction of the statue of the saint. For besides being a good talker,
Similar Books
