Read Online The Head of the Saint by Socorro Acioli - Free Book Online

were now smoking in the pan. She climbed up onto the saint’s chin and threw the foul-tasting liquid into his gigantic mouth.
    “Isn’t there a big cloth we can use to cover his eyes? In this hot sun a migraine will only get worse,” she called from her perch on his nose, where she was now massaging pork fat between his two huge eyes.
    Francisco and his father arranged four sheets and blankets, also taken from the abandoned houses, to cover his eyes. Samuel gave him another dose of tea, and bit by bit the vibrations began to abate. It was already nearly noon when the women asked whether there was somewhere nearby that served food. Only Helenice’s place, Francisco replied. The women went there, but their journey was in vain.
    “I’m not serving anyone who’s come here to trouble Candeia. That there’s the work of The Enemy, and God protect me from being any part of it,” said Helenice.
    “But we’ve got nothing to eat!”
    “You can starve to death as far as I’m concerned. You’re not getting a grain of rice out of me.”
    Only later did Samuel let out a little laugh when Francisco told him about this bit of defiance on Helenice’s part.
    “Leave it to me. I know how to persuade that poisonous snake.”
    The news that these women were surrounding the saint’s head in search of a love miracle attracted the Canindé radioman again, who went over to record interviews for his show.
    Seeing Aécio Diniz’s big car with the trunk open gave Francisco an idea. Francisco persuaded the driver to take him and his father to buy food in Canindé. There would be rice, green beans, onions, coriander, curd cheese, dried beef. A good stew would assuage everyone’s hunger nicely.
    They soon returned with the ingredients and asked Francisco’s mother to take charge of the catering. They took over the kitchen of the old Candeia school, which had been out of action for many years. Father Zacarias had kept the key. It was the door he had been sorriest to close. The few children who’d stayed behind had gone to school in Canindé. But now the men took turns at repairing and cleaning the place to get rid of all the bugs and plants that had invaded. They fetched firewood and set everything up in the kitchen as best they could—at least enough to prepare a meal.
    “Resurrection,” the priest was saying.
    Around four in the afternoon, two huge steaming pans of stew were carried out to the front of the school and served on the plastic plates they had found inside.
    “It’s one
real
for each plate of stew!” said Francisco with confidence.
    “You’re going to charge these people for food?” complained the priest.
    “If I don’t charge them, how am I expected to pay for what I bought in Canindé, Father? The man let us have it on credit, but we agreed that I’d return with the money tomorrow.”
    What Francisco managed to get from the women who ate the St. Anthony stew, as he called it, was enough to pay off the debt and buy more food for the following day. He and his father also bought two tanks for storing water to sell at ten cents a cup, and they used plates, cups and cutlery from the abandoned homes of Candeia.
    Francisco and the radioman formed a partnership. Bit by bit the area surrounding St. Anthony’s head became a small pilgrim village. Samuel, confused and disturbed, remained in the head, trying to hear the Singing Voice that had disappeared in all the commotion. He had lost his music, the sweet singing, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave before he knew who had made it.
    Whilst supervising the reopening of the school kitchens and ministering spiritual support to the faithful, Father Zacarias sensed that Samuel was in great need of his guidance. While the women respected his orders not to invade the head of the migraine-prone saint, the parish priest talked to Samuel about the miracles, trying to understand what was going on. He wanted to know more about Samuel’s life, to understand where his gift had