because he was part of the firm in charge of maintaining the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro. His opinion would be definitive.
After a few days of examination, analysis, calculation and phone calls, Dr. Rubens gave his diagnosis. Carrying the head up to the body would be impossible. There wasn’t a crane in the world able to bear that much weight. The only solution was to make a new head.
Dr. Rubens left and couldn’t help giving a little laugh when he saw, from a distance, the headless body on top of the hill.
“Idiots.”
The mayor had no more money to create another head; the local council had accumulated ridiculous debts, they were behind on their installments and there were no more creditors with any inclination to lend so much as a cent to anybody in the town. The unveiling party was canceled. News spread by word of mouth, because the mayor had gone to the capital, rarely to return, lacking the courage to face the people of Candeia.
Unhappiness. Misfortune. Despair.
Meticuloso, who’d been left in charge, vanished. All that remained was his signature, the
M
in a circle, recording for all time the man responsible for Candeia’s ruin.
The description of Samuel’s injured neck, his one closed eye and the blood coming out of his nose spread very quickly around the pilgrims in the town and to everyone who was on their way there. It was nearly time for the pilgrimage to St. Francis in Canindé, and a lot of people took advantage of their journey to stop off in Candeia to ask St. Anthony’s messenger for a wedding.
It was hard to keep in check all the people who accompanied Francisco as he carried Samuel to the home of his parents, Chico and Gerusa. They had to cross the cemetery to reach the little house on the far side. They had no choice but to close the cemetery gate behind them and secure it with a chain. It would only be unlocked when the inhabitants calmed down, which was taking some time to happen.
The efficiency with which the news spread meant that it didn’t take long for Dr. Adriano to arrive, even though this wasn’t one of his surgery days. He brought medical supplies, medicines and, most of all, his friendship.
“I still can’t understand it,” said the doctor.
“It must be Osório, Dr. Adriano. It was because of the pamphlet,” Samuel replied in hatred. He wondered whether the mayor knew where Meticuloso was—the man responsible for the
M
in the circle on the head, responsible for the town’s misfortune.
“I heard the rumors. The pamphlet is the one thing everyone’s talking about everywhere.”
“Osório must think Samuel is obstructing his plans,” said Chico the Gravedigger. “People think he wrote the pamphlet.”
“You’ve got to be really careful, Samuel. Best not go back to the head.”
“Where am I supposed to go, Dr. Adriano?”
“You can come with me and Madeinusa, we’ll work something out.”
“You can stay here with us, hidden. It’s safer here in the cemetery,” said Gerusa, arriving with a plate of chicken broth for Samuel.
As he struggled to drink his soup lying on the sofa, everyone else sat at the table to have their lunch—Francisco with his father, mother and little sister, Diana. Dr. Adriano left, promising to come back the following day.
In the presence of the girl, they all changed the subject. They behaved just as they did on any other day, listening to her chatterings, laughing at nonsense, trying to keep things as light as they could.
The family all interacted with a natural affection and unpretentious love for each other, in their looks, their expressions. Samuel watched from the sofa, and his heart was split between gratitude at the welcome they were giving him and a deep sadness that he was not a part of that life, that he had no family of his own. No mother, no father, no siblings.
Outside there were hundreds of pilgrims praying for him. The rumors about his ailments grew and became increasingly sophisticated. Some said
After a few days of examination, analysis, calculation and phone calls, Dr. Rubens gave his diagnosis. Carrying the head up to the body would be impossible. There wasn’t a crane in the world able to bear that much weight. The only solution was to make a new head.
Dr. Rubens left and couldn’t help giving a little laugh when he saw, from a distance, the headless body on top of the hill.
“Idiots.”
The mayor had no more money to create another head; the local council had accumulated ridiculous debts, they were behind on their installments and there were no more creditors with any inclination to lend so much as a cent to anybody in the town. The unveiling party was canceled. News spread by word of mouth, because the mayor had gone to the capital, rarely to return, lacking the courage to face the people of Candeia.
Unhappiness. Misfortune. Despair.
Meticuloso, who’d been left in charge, vanished. All that remained was his signature, the
M
in a circle, recording for all time the man responsible for Candeia’s ruin.
The description of Samuel’s injured neck, his one closed eye and the blood coming out of his nose spread very quickly around the pilgrims in the town and to everyone who was on their way there. It was nearly time for the pilgrimage to St. Francis in Canindé, and a lot of people took advantage of their journey to stop off in Candeia to ask St. Anthony’s messenger for a wedding.
It was hard to keep in check all the people who accompanied Francisco as he carried Samuel to the home of his parents, Chico and Gerusa. They had to cross the cemetery to reach the little house on the far side. They had no choice but to close the cemetery gate behind them and secure it with a chain. It would only be unlocked when the inhabitants calmed down, which was taking some time to happen.
The efficiency with which the news spread meant that it didn’t take long for Dr. Adriano to arrive, even though this wasn’t one of his surgery days. He brought medical supplies, medicines and, most of all, his friendship.
“I still can’t understand it,” said the doctor.
“It must be Osório, Dr. Adriano. It was because of the pamphlet,” Samuel replied in hatred. He wondered whether the mayor knew where Meticuloso was—the man responsible for the
M
in the circle on the head, responsible for the town’s misfortune.
“I heard the rumors. The pamphlet is the one thing everyone’s talking about everywhere.”
“Osório must think Samuel is obstructing his plans,” said Chico the Gravedigger. “People think he wrote the pamphlet.”
“You’ve got to be really careful, Samuel. Best not go back to the head.”
“Where am I supposed to go, Dr. Adriano?”
“You can come with me and Madeinusa, we’ll work something out.”
“You can stay here with us, hidden. It’s safer here in the cemetery,” said Gerusa, arriving with a plate of chicken broth for Samuel.
As he struggled to drink his soup lying on the sofa, everyone else sat at the table to have their lunch—Francisco with his father, mother and little sister, Diana. Dr. Adriano left, promising to come back the following day.
In the presence of the girl, they all changed the subject. They behaved just as they did on any other day, listening to her chatterings, laughing at nonsense, trying to keep things as light as they could.
The family all interacted with a natural affection and unpretentious love for each other, in their looks, their expressions. Samuel watched from the sofa, and his heart was split between gratitude at the welcome they were giving him and a deep sadness that he was not a part of that life, that he had no family of his own. No mother, no father, no siblings.
Outside there were hundreds of pilgrims praying for him. The rumors about his ailments grew and became increasingly sophisticated. Some said
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