The Head of the Saint (15 page)

Chico the Gravedigger hugged Manoel, but Samuel held back. He didn't recognize this man as his father. It wasn't a reunion—there was no question of love, no feeling of missing him to appease. His sixteen days' walking was intended to bring him to Candeia to kill this man who was standing in front of him, who gave his mother a child. Manoel, Meticuloso, who was responsible for the curse upon Candeia. The wheel had come full circle: Samuel had found his father. He gave up his initial plan straightaway—you don't kill someone who has already been so abandoned by life. Perhaps Manoel had only remained barely alive thanks to an intervention by the saint. Not that Samuel was now a man of faith, but he couldn't deny that St. Anthony had certain tricks up his sleeve.

While Adriano nervously sat the man down on the floor to examine him, Samuel went over to the hole out of which his father had appeared a few seconds earlier. He was the same height and almost the same weight, so he was able to get through it to the inside of the statue.

It was clear that the body of the saint was Manoel's house, and had been for many years. He'd used his skill in design and building work to make the hollow body, open at the neck, into a spacious home, with conditions that were basic but comfortable.

In the corner Samuel could see a stash of bits of wood, bottles of water, pieces of cloth, old clothes—material used to make this home's furniture. Manoel had an old mattress as his bed; it was covered with a bedspread, tidily made. A stove, still smoking, was topped by an old pan with watery soup made of who knew what. Apart from its grotesque location, the house was well set up. All organized, everything in its little place. It seemed Manoel must creep out of his hiding place in search of rubbish, for the results of his foraging could be seen in his furniture, in the blankets made up of old scraps. Perhaps the cold night wind drove Manoel under those improvised covers. Perhaps from there, by the saint's feet, he could see the moon. Alone, for years, in this strange house inside a saint.

The hollow body was well ventilated and suffocating at the same time. More beautiful and frightening—much more—than the head of the saint. This is my father's house, Samuel thought. This is where he has lived all this time.

It was lovely looking up and seeing the clouds go by, peacefully, through the hole in the neck. Samuel felt a sense of calm as he watched them, distracting himself by trying to guess at their shapes. They kept moving, in slow motion, without the slightest interest in what was happening down below.

Adriano called out to Samuel, who hurried out of the body.

From up high on the hill they could see that Osório had brought in reinforcements from the neighboring police forces, and judging by the movement of men approaching and entering one house after another, Samuel guessed they were looking for him. Did Helenice and Osório know that he hadn't yet left, that he hadn't taken the chance that they'd given him to leave right away?

Samuel understood that he couldn't fight against Osório's dangerous weapons; he wouldn't be able to avoid an agonizing spell in prison. He had found his father. Now he had to run away.

They went back down the hill as quickly as they could, carrying Manoel Meticuloso, who didn't take his eyes off his son. The man's appearance was frightening. A beard grown over many years, yellowish, sunken cheeks, thin, decrepit body, with hardly any resemblance to a human being, almost as much an animal as were his dogs.

“Let's go straight to our place,” said Chico.

Manoel disagreed.

“I want to go to my mother's house.”

“Maybe it'd be safer,” said Samuel. “No one dares go in there.”

“I don't either,” said Madeinusa. “No way am I setting foot in that place.”

“I'm staying with her.” Adriano was losing his nerve, too.

“We three can go, Samuel.” Chico the Gravedigger was hardly afraid of anything.

During the descent they could see that almost the whole town was standing around the head, waiting for the explosion, which was the only reason the three of them were able to get to Niceia's house without being noticed.

Perhaps they all imagined the house would be filthy, dark, rat-infested, overgrown by the forest, but they were surprised to find a living room that was tidy and clean, as though the flow of life here had never stopped.

At last Samuel was going into his grandmother's house, and this time it wasn't sealed up. As though she was expecting them, the gate was open, no chain, just like all the gates and doors on the abandoned houses. And Samuel's grandmother was not at home. He called out to her, to no avail. In the first bedroom they came to, there was a red crocheted bedspread covering the single bed, on which they placed Manoel. Chico told Samuel to stay with his father while he went to find some water.

The old man motioned for his son to sit down on a stool next to the bed.

“What I wanted to do was go back to your mother….”

“Chico told me. I know the whole story.”

“Did your mother forgive me?”

“Before she died she asked me to come and find you. You never went there, not even for a visit.”

“I couldn't. I was so ashamed after I'd ruined the lives of all these people. My life fell apart. But you came to save the town?”

“What do you mean, save it? All I did was deceive these people.”

“I know you really could hear them.”

“How do you know?”

“Everything you said in the head I could hear in the body. At first I didn't know who you were, but my mother came to tell me.”

Chico the Gravedigger and his wife returned with water and food and interrupted the conversation. Francisco stayed outside the house, having lost his nerve since the cameraman's experience, but he asked for his friend to come out and talk to him at the gate.

“They've delayed the explosion till tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Apparently there's some TV crew coming from Rio de Janeiro. They decided to wait.”

“I don't want to see it,” said Samuel.

“And you can't. The law is looking for you, you've got to run. They've made up all kinds of things—they say we stole money from all those ignorant people. I tried to say it was all my fault, but no one believes me,” explained Francisco.

“You lie so often there's no longer any point trying to be honest.”

They both laughed.

“There's something else. The whole town somehow already knows Meticuloso was living in the body of the saint. Soon the authorities will be looking for him, too.”

Francisco passed on a hug and a message from Madeinusa: there was no sign of Rosário. But she wouldn't give up on the search and hoped that one day she'd find her. Now, without any access to the head, she had lost the only clue to her sister's whereabouts. It might be impossible, but she would try.

Samuel nodded, glad someone would continue his search. He looked over at the town. All he could see were bright spotlights illuminating the head in anticipation of the explosion.

“It's like a horror film.”

“What's the old lady's house like inside?”

“Normal. Nice and tidy.”

“Really? I never would have thought it!”

They heard the sound of people approaching. Francisco started to hurry.

“Aécio told me to tell you that he'll come here at four in the morning to take you away. He's got hold of a hat, glasses, even a wig.”

“I'll spend the night here, it's safest.”

“Oh, it couldn't be safer. Even I don't dare go in.”

An infinite silence, that in reality lasted just fractions of a second, made them realize that what they were experiencing was a goodbye. Samuel was confused and tired, and in a few hours he would no longer have the company of Francisco, the most loyal and faithful friend he would ever meet.

A police car drove past Niceia's house. Samuel ducked so as not to be seen. Francisco walked along the pavement and crossed the road.

Back inside the house, Manoel and Chico didn't stop talking and crying as night drew in. Even though Samuel needed to sleep, even though he could hardly bear the tiredness of that difficult day, he gave in to his curiosity and walked all around Niceia's house with a candle in his hand.

Nothing different or unusual to see. Nothing to justify the desperate terror of the cameraman, who had never told anyone what he'd witnessed inside. He went along the corridor, through the kitchen, the yard, the bedrooms, the living room, the bathrooms. All tidy, a living house, with water in the taps, no dust on the furniture.

Samuel came into his father's bedroom to say goodbye to him and to Chico the Gravedigger.

Manoel was asleep. Samuel could only give him a glance, no more than that. He looked at the fragile figure of the man who had been living inside a hollow body all the time Samuel was growing up, all the time Mariinha was dying.

Chico the Gravedigger got up to give Samuel the hug he needed. They thanked each other for everything. Chico said Dr. Adriano had promised to take care of his father until he was restored to normal strength. Dr. Adriano didn't know how he had survived, actually. His body bore signs of snakebites, malnutrition, skin diseases and possibly lung damage, too.

Chico the Gravedigger tried to convince Samuel to think about another way out.

“If you stay, here in this house, maybe no one will come in. Everyone's scared. We'll even help to spread more rumors about ghosts, just until the mayor gives up.”

“It's not as easy as that, Chico—he's not going to give up, not ever. What he wants is to get rid of everyone and sell Candeia.”

“And Rosário?”

“What about her?”

“Don't you want to find Rosário?”

“The head's filled with explosives. How am I supposed to go in there to hear any news of her? It's over, Chico. I wasn't born to have a happy ending.”

“The ending—the real ending, Samuel—doesn't come till I lower your coffin into the grave. There's still time.”

“You're a real dreamer, Chico.”

“I learned that from death. The time to dream is when you're still aboveground.”

Just then, Manoel awoke babbling, crying from his pain. A pain that he called Mariinha. Chico brought a glass of water to the man's mouth, but he choked, then turned purple, and then he calmed down and went back to sleep. After that, Chico the Gravedigger left.

Samuel set up a green hammock beside his father's bed. He chatted to him, talked about this and that in his life, suspecting his father wasn't following any of it. They fell asleep at last, defeated by their fatigue.

Through the early hours Samuel awoke several times, sure that he'd heard the voice of his grandmother, who still hadn't appeared since Manoel's return. Each time he looked, he found no one in the house. He looked in the living room, in the kitchen, in all the bedrooms.

Almost all. The fifth time he woke, he investigated the house yet again and noticed that on the left-hand side there was a locked door. At first he thought it must be a cupboard for storing bits and pieces, but then he felt a need to open it. He had to force the door, but once it was open he found a bedroom containing a large double bed covered in a black crocheted bedspread with a tulle mosquito net over the top.

As he came as close as he could, he saw the mummified body of an elderly woman, in the dress Niceia had been wearing every time she had met him. This woman—it was Niceia herself—had been dead for many years. Her sparse white hair was spread over her skull, which was covered in dry, skinlike strips of dried beef. Her hands, clasped together, held a Mother of God rosary that hypnotized Samuel: amid the blue beads, he could see the one green bead from the rosary that had belonged to Mariinha.

Faced with the dead body of his grandmother, he wept at the misfortune of his crooked fate. It was true that life hadn't given him very many chances to dream, but he did stubbornly insist on it. He had wanted to leave Juazeiro and carry on to the sea. He'd wanted to see that massive expanse of water and swim out against the waves. He'd always thought of Candeia as a quick stop on the way to his final destination.