AA Inter 3

,The Holy Church is little more than an engine fed with the souls of the red man – and his flesh also.’ by jovanovicstefan
October 5, 2012, 2:44 pm
Filed under: 2012-13

Many skins, many colors, but the open mouths were all the same: red, hungry. Looking up he saw eyes above fluttering fans and beaded veils. Luis Quinn strode around the ring, arms held high, receiving the praise of the people of Belém do Pará.

Whilst the ring eroded of the sound of the white man, somewhere not far off, the Pará rushed into the depths of the indío temple beneath the Ver-o-Peso market. Water went in, but it never left this engine fed by the soul of the deep river. And as the cheering slowly subsided, the rustle skewed and climbed, until only an angelic voice was heard, a melody from a different time. The voice gracefully began to die out, and the rushing sound of the river resumed, a rhythm fueling a motor.

It was the third time that day that Luis Quinn heard that strange, disquieting voice, a different melody every time. No one else seemed to notice it though, or maybe pretended not to notice it, like the chime of a church’s bell tower, a rhetoric sound embedded in the activities of day to day life. But he couldn’t help but feel that this was something different, unquantifiable, invisible to the naked eye, an ethereal protocol, perhaps the voice of God Himself. There were other things quite peculiar about Ver-o-Peso, the pattern of the river flow for instance. It seemed that the current split at the mouth of the river Pará by what seemed to look like an obelisk emerging from the surface of the water. It almost resembled the tip of a clock tower. Perhaps a church once stood where now there is only water…no, impossible thought the priest. Brazil is not as other places, and father Quinn was becoming too well aware of this, but the thought vanished as he turned around to the touch of someone’s hand.

  ‘Some men wear their sins on their face,’ said Bishop Vasco… Image

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