Free The Invisible Ones by Stef Penney

holy— it’s supposed to come from the spring under the grotto, but it could come from the river—how can you tell? And lots of people have splashed it around, so I don’t think it can be that precious. All in all, I reckon that, a) it’s fine to fill the jerry cans, and anyway, b) Christo’s illness is quite severe, so he probably needs more than most people.
    The downside is that afterward I am staggering along with two full jerry cans of water. I take them back to the trailers and leave them, along with a big note saying it’s holy water and not to be used for washing up (exclamation mark!). I draw a little picture of Mary with a halounderneath, just to be on the safe side, although everyone in my family, except Christo, can read, at least a bit. Belt and braces, as Gran always says, twice. Belt and braces!
    I go back to the grotto to find Gran, who is waiting on a bench by the river. There’s no sign of the others. She’s worrying about Great-uncle, but I’m so hungry I can’t worry about anything until I’ve eaten, so we walk off to find lunch. Eventually we find a place—it’s almost in the town itself, where we can get a bit of lunch for a prix fixe (even Gran understands this) of only fifteen francs, which is cheap. It’s delicious—an omelette and a pile of thin, crispy chips, which they serve with mayon-naise on the side. Weird but nice. Gran eats it, which surprises me, as normally she won’t touch gorjio food. She’s in such a good mood that I bring up the idea of living in France. She smiles in a tired sort of way, like she does when I’m talking amusing nonsense. I don’t think she realizes that I actually mean it.
    Later that evening, after Great-uncle reappears—he found a bar and talked to a French Gypsy—and Ivo and Christo have come back from the bathhouse, we all go back to the grotto. After dark, it’s much nicer—the candles on the candleholder are all lit, and a soft light shines on the statue of Mary, so that it no longer looks plasticky but could almost be a real person—or a vision, like the one that appeared to Bernadette at night, all those years ago. All around us, around the town, there are lights on the steep wooded hills, and on the highest one, far above us, a huge lighted cross. It’s a warm, mild, beautiful night. There are insect noises in the trees, and millions of stars—far more, and brighter, than I’ve ever seen at home.
    A priest gives some sort of service. His voice is beautiful—he sort of sings the words, rather than talking. Gran keeps annoying me by asking me what he’s saying, but I don’t know. I catch maybe one word in ten, but I like not being able to understand what he says—it makes my mind wander to new places, freed from its usual boring habits. I look up at thelighted cross and the stars, and the statue and the candles. All the people around us are murmuring answers to the priest. Then some music starts up from somewhere—soft, soothing music, with a woman singing. I want this to work so much, I don’t dare look at Christo anymore. It actually makes me cry. Gran puts her arm around my shoulders. She’s crying, too.
    At that moment, I really believe it. I believe it all.
    Eventually, we have to leave the grotto to get something to eat. Gran pushes Great-uncle up ahead, and Ivo carries Christo, who has fallen asleep in his arms. He must be really tired after all that holy stuff. Ivo gives me a cigarette. He seems much calmer now.
    “Was it good—the baths?” I ask. I can’t really picture what must have taken place in there.
    “Yeah. It was good.”
    “It’s good it’s so warm, isn’t it? I’m sure Christo is fine.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Was it the same as when you came before?”
    “Yeah, pretty much. They have more helpers now.”
    He stares off into the dark night.
    “Could you tell at the time—when you were there, I mean—that you were being cured?”
    “Not at the time. It was just water. Just like any water. Quite