he was also very handsome. He had smooth black hair, always nicely combed back, attractive dark eyes and skin that was dark from so much sun.
Within a short space of time, the news spread that he was betrothed to Helenice, daughter of the wealthiest man in Candeia—although this didn’t count for much. No one had expected it. As far as anyone knew, the girl led a cloistered life and was soon to enter the convent in Baturité. She wore long skirts and her hair tied back—or at least she did until Fernando walked around Candeia Square with her. Now she let her hair hang loose in public, making respectful gestures and exchanging glances of love. Yes, she truly did seem very much in love.
The wedding was set for the following year, for the day after the unveiling of the statue. Fernando went away, claiming that he was going to buy white silk for the bride’s dress—pure Chinese silk. His relatives were already packing their bags to travel to Candeia from Braga in Portugal. It would be the wedding of the century.
While everyday life went on all round the Candeia church, up at the top of the hill the saint’s body was already in place, from his feet up to his neck. Anyone passing from the road could see it. The head, meanwhile, was still disassembled, its pieces spread around on the ground. This was the point in the work when the lead engineer of M.J. Engineering was called off to an urgent job in the capital and had to be away for a week. Before leaving, he called a meeting with the priest and the mayor and announced that in his absence he would be leaving the work in the hands of “Meticuloso,” a local workman who had stood out for his intelligence. It was the engineer who’d given Meticuloso his nickname, awestruck at his natural tendency toward perfection, focus and attention to detail.
The engineer went away and Meticuloso couldn’t help having a brief celebration with his friends. Barbecue skewers and cachaça. A lot of cachaça. The following day, the eight men charged with assembling the saint’s head went to Meticuloso’s house at seven in the morning and found him still drunk. They asked him what they were supposed to do to start the construction of the head—whether they should await orders or begin at once.
“I’m the one who gives the orders round here. Didn’t you hear Mr. Engineer say so? You can put the head together on the ground, so that when he’s back he’ll find the whole saint finished.”
The stonemasons spent a week assembling the skull, the chin, the neck, the eyeballs, the mouth and the nose of the saint. It was all millimetrically perfect, under Meticuloso’s constant supervision. The inhabitants followed the progress of the face as it took shape, and there was a small gathering looking at the holy head when the engineer arrived. Meticuloso was so proud of what he had achieved that he took the liberty of marking the saint’s head with his signature, the letter
M
within a circle.
Then the crowd parted to let the engineer through, who was shouting and yelling: “You idiot!”
It took him some time to get his anger under control, and he had to be calmed down by the people. The usually well-mannered, incredibly polite engineer got into a terrible state and wanted to give Meticuloso a beating. He wanted to kill the man, and only afterward was he able to explain why: the head should have been assembled right up on top, on the neck, with the help of some scaffolding that was on its way. He was almost sure that this head, assembled down on the ground, could never be carried up to the top of the saint’s body.
His suspicion was confirmed by an expert who was brought over from Rio de Janeiro to assess the situation. The town hall didn’t even have the money for the man’s ticket, but the engineer paid for it out of his own pocket. It was the cost of rescuing a piece of work that could lead to prosperity or failure.
His name was Dr. Rubens, and everyone held him in high regard
Within a short space of time, the news spread that he was betrothed to Helenice, daughter of the wealthiest man in Candeia—although this didn’t count for much. No one had expected it. As far as anyone knew, the girl led a cloistered life and was soon to enter the convent in Baturité. She wore long skirts and her hair tied back—or at least she did until Fernando walked around Candeia Square with her. Now she let her hair hang loose in public, making respectful gestures and exchanging glances of love. Yes, she truly did seem very much in love.
The wedding was set for the following year, for the day after the unveiling of the statue. Fernando went away, claiming that he was going to buy white silk for the bride’s dress—pure Chinese silk. His relatives were already packing their bags to travel to Candeia from Braga in Portugal. It would be the wedding of the century.
While everyday life went on all round the Candeia church, up at the top of the hill the saint’s body was already in place, from his feet up to his neck. Anyone passing from the road could see it. The head, meanwhile, was still disassembled, its pieces spread around on the ground. This was the point in the work when the lead engineer of M.J. Engineering was called off to an urgent job in the capital and had to be away for a week. Before leaving, he called a meeting with the priest and the mayor and announced that in his absence he would be leaving the work in the hands of “Meticuloso,” a local workman who had stood out for his intelligence. It was the engineer who’d given Meticuloso his nickname, awestruck at his natural tendency toward perfection, focus and attention to detail.
The engineer went away and Meticuloso couldn’t help having a brief celebration with his friends. Barbecue skewers and cachaça. A lot of cachaça. The following day, the eight men charged with assembling the saint’s head went to Meticuloso’s house at seven in the morning and found him still drunk. They asked him what they were supposed to do to start the construction of the head—whether they should await orders or begin at once.
“I’m the one who gives the orders round here. Didn’t you hear Mr. Engineer say so? You can put the head together on the ground, so that when he’s back he’ll find the whole saint finished.”
The stonemasons spent a week assembling the skull, the chin, the neck, the eyeballs, the mouth and the nose of the saint. It was all millimetrically perfect, under Meticuloso’s constant supervision. The inhabitants followed the progress of the face as it took shape, and there was a small gathering looking at the holy head when the engineer arrived. Meticuloso was so proud of what he had achieved that he took the liberty of marking the saint’s head with his signature, the letter
M
within a circle.
Then the crowd parted to let the engineer through, who was shouting and yelling: “You idiot!”
It took him some time to get his anger under control, and he had to be calmed down by the people. The usually well-mannered, incredibly polite engineer got into a terrible state and wanted to give Meticuloso a beating. He wanted to kill the man, and only afterward was he able to explain why: the head should have been assembled right up on top, on the neck, with the help of some scaffolding that was on its way. He was almost sure that this head, assembled down on the ground, could never be carried up to the top of the saint’s body.
His suspicion was confirmed by an expert who was brought over from Rio de Janeiro to assess the situation. The town hall didn’t even have the money for the man’s ticket, but the engineer paid for it out of his own pocket. It was the cost of rescuing a piece of work that could lead to prosperity or failure.
His name was Dr. Rubens, and everyone held him in high regard
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