He is tall, slim, hair greying at the temples.  From a distance he looks to be in his late forties but close to he could be much younger.  He has a small shop and a house next to the stone steps that lead to the D Sesnando Restaurante so we see him and his family quite often although we have only ever exchanged two words: I say, “Boa Tarde” and he replies, “Boa Tarde”.  Sometimes it is the other way around.  We call him “The Water Bearer”.

 At least once each week, sometimes more often, we hear the bell toll from the steeple at São Miguel.  It is a bizarre, discordant sound, signifying that a funeral procession is about to begin.  I imagine a bellringer leaning against a wall, reading a book whilst he pulls unevenly on the bell rope with his free hand.  I can’t imagine that whoever is pulling the rope is actually using two hands.  The bell tolls from the beginning of the procession as it forms outside of the church until the procession has woven its way through the town to the cemetery on the outskirts, leading past our little terrace.  So we see a fair number of funeral processions.  We know when they have reached us because we see the tips of the processional crosses and hear the murmur of prayers as they pass by.

 The funerals are usually well attended.  First come the crosses, held aloft by cross bearers wearing either red or black robes.  I don’t yet know what the difference is – perhaps it is to do with which of the outlying churches the deceased belonged or a confraternity.  Then the hearse, followed by the priest and acolytes and then the mourners – often into the hundreds.  It is always a solemn and dignified walk and not easy for all of the mourners, many of whom are quite elderly.

 Our Water Bearer carries the holy water that the priest uses at the cemetery.