nervo torto ao seu lugar
twisted nerve back in its place
encontrosdaimagem.com
Three laps round the equestrian statue, run by flirtatious young women
— and the promised marriage springs up of its own accord.
Three little hops to implore the Saint that the lost object may reveal itself to their eyes.
In a land cultivated by faith, it would have been strange indeed if devotions and petitions had not been built up to the most varied patron saints
—
no disrespect intended
—
which seem to cut across the whole of Portugal, later adapted to regional customs and local traditions.
Born in the Alentejo, from an early age I was confronted with a certain form of folk medicine chanted away, which, as a curious child, evoked in me reactions ranging from stifled laughter to motionless astonishment
—
I used to listen to a healer.
I stitch!
Broken flesh, twisted nerve!
For that very reason, I stitch you.
Grandson, I would listen to her whilst making the sign of the cross on the palm of my hand.
I stitch!
I grew accustomed, quite involuntarily, to performing the ritual.
✸
Saint Antoninho rose to his feet
He asked, ‘what are you doing, Luzia?’
How might this ailment be cured?
With three sprigs of rosemary
And the oil of agony
‘Forga bisonga’, she said to him three times,
‘Torga’ witches and sorceresses, out of my house
I bless you, Mary of the moon and of bewitching
I bless you, Mary of praise
And from tears, take away this evil
Bewitching, if you have passed this way
And taken Mary's health with you
If you are bewitched, may God bless you
O thread that you have unravelled
O cane that you have torn
O bone that you have shattered
2026