Free The Head of the Saint by Socorro Acioli Page B

explain this miracle.
    “I lied to this woman,” Samuel confessed. “I deceived poor Madalena, telling her to eat fruit for a fortnight, to walk here, there and everywhere, and now I hear about this miracle. I don’t do miracles, Father, nothing of the sort, I came to Candeia at the request of my mother.”
    “What did you feel when you talked to Madalena? Any dizziness, any light-headedness, some sixth sense? Did you feel anything strange?”
    “I did. That day I had a stomachache. I was blown up like a balloon, full of gas. What’s happening, Father?”
    “I don’t know, my child. None of the books I’ve read describe anything like it. But I shall pray to God to forgive you, for whatever it may be.”
    “I think it’s best for me to leave. I wanted to go sooner.”
    “You want to leave?”
    “Yes, I only came to look for my father, but I soon realized I’m never going to find him.”
    “So what kept you in Candeia?”
    “The Singing Voice. It’s a girl whose voice sings inside the saint’s head, and I wanted to find out who she is. It’s the only thing that makes me happy.”
    “Maybe it’s just an illusion. The Devil is filled with cunning wiles.”
    —
    By now there was electricity in Candeia, though the mayor had nothing to do with it; it was being taken from the lampposts along the highway. Still, the mayor was due to arrive at any moment, alarmed from hearing the news about how much had happened during his absence and in such a short space of time.
    The second wedding took place. And a third, fourth and fifth. All the women who had consulted the saint’s messenger had then, inexplicably, found the love of their lives. Samuel was invited to be the best man for every one of the weddings, until Francisco explained to the brides that this would no longer be possible. There were three or four weddings a day, and he was needed at the saint’s head for the consultations. The guests of all the happy couples helped to fill the town.
    The owners of the recently established restaurants, hostels and cafés were only interested in their trade, filling their pockets with money, then redecorating the buildings to attract more customers. Now the town had houses painted in different colors, street lighting and a blue church, and the main square was being redeveloped.
    One of the couples who celebrated their ceremony in the little Candeia church came from Baturité. They stayed in the town for their honeymoon, along with the bride’s parents, who declared they had never seen anywhere so beautiful.
    No one could understand why the family spent their whole holiday taking measurements of a small dark house that had all its windows bricked up and tidying and sweeping around it. The strangest part was when a car from a construction firm showed up and unloaded more than ten gallons of black paint.
    “Black? They didn’t get any other color? Must be for some kind of witchcraft,” someone said loudly.
    The couple went away for a few days. Enough time for those who were curious to go into the house and see what was going on. All the internal walls had been knocked down and everything inside painted black.
    “It must be something satanic,” said Gerusa, Francisco’s mother.
    “We won’t let anything bad happen,” said Father Zacarias, though he was fearful.
    The couple returned early the next morning, before sunrise. They arrived with a van full of chairs, a large piece of unfamiliar equipment and a big black sign, which they hung above the front door of the house.
    With the help of a stepladder, the father of the bride climbed up while his wife remained on the ground and handed him enormous white letters, one by one.
    When day broke, people flocked to the house to read what was written there. Two short words: “Cine Rex.”

A cinema in Candeia. Nothing at all to do with witchcraft or dark rites. The room had been painted black to provide perfect viewing conditions.
    The couple set the opening for a week later.