• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 2056 0

or kneel: his mission exempted him even from joining in the devotions. The Little Blessed One had instructed him to remain on the alert, in case one of the prayers that the saint recited turned out to be a “revelation.” But that morning the Counselor prayed silently in the dawn light, growing brighter by the second as it filtered into the Sanctuary through the chinks in the roof and the walls and the door, strands of gold shot through with motes of dust. Little by little, Belo Monte was waking: roosters, dogs, human voices could be heard. Outside, doubtless, the usual small groups had already begun to gather: pilgrims and members of the community who wished to see the Counselor or ask his favor.

Once the Counselor rose to his feet, the women of the Sacred Choir offered him a bowlful of goat’s milk, a bit of bread, a dish of boiled cornmeal, and a basketful of mangabas. But all he took was a few sips of the milk. Then the women brought a bucket of water so as to wash him. As they silently, diligently circled round his pallet, never once getting in each other’s way, as though they had practiced their movements, sponging his hands and face and vigorously scrubbing his feet, the Counselor sat there without moving, lost in thought or in prayer. As they were placing on his feet his shepherd’s sandals that he had removed to take his night’s rest, the Little Blessed One and Abbot João entered the Sanctuary.

The outward appearance of those two was so different that the former always looked even frailer, more absorbed in his reflections, and the latter more corpulent, when the two of them were together. “Praised be the Blessed Jesus,” one of them said, and the other: “Praised be Our Lord Jesus Christ.”

“Praised be He.”

The Counselor extended his hand, and as they kissed it, he asked them in an anxious tone of voice: “Is there any news of Father Joaquim?”

The Little Blessed One replied that there was none. Although he was painfully thin, in delicate health, and old before his time, his face revealed that indomitable energy with which he organized all the worship services, took charge of receiving the pilgrims, planned the processions, saw to it that the altars were properly cared for, and found the time to compose hymns and litanies. His dark brown tunic was draped with scapulars and full of holes through which one could see the wire circling his waist, which, people said, he had never once removed since that day in his tender years when the Counselor had first knotted it round him. He stepped forward now to speak, as Abbot João, whom people had started calling Leader of the Town and Street Commander, stepped back.

“João has an idea that’s inspired, Father,” the Little Blessed One said in the shy, reverent tone of voice in which he always addressed the Counselor. “There’s been a war, right here in Belo Monte. And while everybody was fighting, you were all alone in the tower. There was nobody protecting you.”

“The Father protects me, Little Blessed One,” the Counselor murmured. “As He protects you and all of those who believe.”

“Though we may die, you must live,” the Little Blessed One insisted. “Out of charity toward all mankind, Counselor.”

“We want to organize a guard to watch over you, Father,” Abbot João murmured. He spoke with lowered eyes, searching for words. “This guard will see to it that no harm comes to you. We will choose it the way Mother Maria Quadrado chose the Sacred Choir. It will be made up of the best and bravest men, those who are entirely trustworthy. They will devote themselves to serving you.”

“As the archangels in heaven serve Our Lord Jesus,” the Little Blessed One said. He pointed to the door, the mounting din. “Every day, every hour, there are more people. There are a hundred of them out there waiting. We can’t be personally acquainted with each and every one of them. And what if the Can’s men make their way inside to harm you? The corps of guards will be your shield. And if there’s fighting, you’ll never be alone.”

The women of the Sacred Choir sat squatting on their heels, quietly listening,