(Photo by António de Paiva)
The chapel bell keeps time in the village, ringing out each hour, one chime at a time. Though this past weekend, its cadence changed as it double-clanged insistently and fast during an hour-long march, which has been a tradition for as long as anyone can remember.
The bell kept time for the present and the past.
The procession for a saint's day seemed to flow from Mass inside the chapel to the narrow cobblestoned streets outside. I don't recall the priest giving the customary blessing at the end of the service.
One . . . three . . . seven religious statues, profusions of flowers hiding the feet of the deified, left the church on platforms shouldered by men and women parishioners in a village in Oliveira do Hospital. They rested directly outside of the chapel along with a gaggle of people, including junta officials and an orchestra.
Finally, the procession was organized, and it wound around the chapel and through the village.
We stopped at every street and more. Reaching over quilts, most handmade, draped over balcony balustrades, villagers threw petals of red roses and purple and yellow flowers. The whiff of roses kissed the air when we trod on the flowers.
We also passed homes, where no one stood and a few where broken windows greeted us. Empty houses.
Yet, somehow the spirits of the houses were very much alive because this annual procession included and blessed everyone who lived in the village or had ever lived there.
The chapel bell keeps time in the village. For the saint's day procession, it double-clanged insistently and fast.
António Zambujo sings Fernando Pessoa's poem, O Sino da Minha Aldeia (The Bell of My Village).
O Sino da Minha Aldeia The Bell of My Village
O sino da minha aldeia, The bell of my village,
Dolente na tarde calma, Sorrowful in the calm afternoon,
Cada tua badalada Each of your chimes
Soa dentro da minha alma. Sounds within my soul.
E é tão lento o teu soar, And your ringing is so slow,
Tão como triste da vida, As sad as life.
Que já a primeira pancada That even the first strike
Tem o som de repetida Has the sound of repetition.
Por mais que me tanjas perto No matter how close you ring to me
Quando passo, sempre errante, When I pass by, always wandering,
És para mim como um sonho You are like a dream to me.
Soas-me na alma distante. You ring in my distant soul.
A cada pancada tua Each of your strikes
Vibrante no céu aberto, Vibrating in the open sky,
Sinto mais longe o passado, I feel the past more distant,
Sinto a saudade mais perto, I feel the longing more close.
Por Fernando Pessoa
I feel the longing more closer.
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