Visions & Vengeance

Among Latin America's Roman Catholics, the cult of the saint plays a more vivid role in people's lives than the Mass itself. The feast days honoring patron saints often surpass Christmas in religious fervor, and shrines and grottoes, where miracle seekers pray to their saints, dot the landscape. The church often has to discourage believers in supposed miracles and newly "sainted" beings. Sometimes, as in Brazil last week, this eagerness to accept new visions takes a macabre turn.

The Rise. Constantino de Castro Ribeiro was a clever and ambitious youth of 17 when he arrived in Brazil in 1920 from his native Portugal. He married a wealthy girl, opened a dry-goods store in Sao Paulo and soon expanded by adding a canning factory. Before long curious things began to happen.

In the mirror one day, his wife saw a strange face, that of a very young girl--saintly, fair, rather sad. From his wife's description, Constantino knew instantly who it was: his own beloved sister Izildinha, who had died back home in 1911 at the age of 13. Izildinha, rumor had it, was so devout that Jesus once visited her. Again and again, Senhora Ribeiro's visions returned, and as Izildinha's fame spread, so did Constantino's business.

By 1934 Constantino owned the biggest preserve and canning factory in Sao Paulo. Several of Constantino's customers who prayed to Santa Izildinha reported a series of "miracles": a man run over by a car was uninjured because his wife invoked Izildinha's name; a tubercular was cured after doctors had given up hope; a chronically sick child suddenly bloomed with health. In 1944 Constantino's saintly connections so impressed the townfolk of Monte Alto, 250 miles northwest of Sao Paulo, that they gave him land for a big food-processing plant. In a carnival of publicity, Constantino turned out canned peas, oatmeal and other foods --plastering each container with his Izildinha trademark and picture.

Then he had a new idea. Why not bring over Izildinha's casket from Portugal? The townfolk of Monte Alto eagerly agreed to build a mausoleum. On the great day of her arrival in 1958, some 10,000 people lined the streets, and dozens of white-frocked little girls named Izildinha scattered rose petals ahead of the pallbearers. There were speeches and fireworks; Constantino was hoisted on the shoulders of townsmen and officially named "honorary citizen of Monte Alto."

And Fall. But before long, things began to go wrong. Constantino accused his managers in Monte Alto of embezzling company funds, announced he wanted nothing more to do with the town, sold his factory, and demanded the return of his sainted sister's body--back to Sao Paulo, "where she belongs with her family." Monte Alto's town fathers pleaded, even held a festival in Constantino's honor last year. They named a street after him, dedicated a bust to his late wife. But there was no placating Constantino.

Last October he sent a truck to Monte Alto, loaded it up with a cargo of Izildinha medals, books, banners and photos that the town had printed. Monte Alto's town fathers let him take them away--but not Izildinha. Legally and in writing, Constantino had donated her to Monte Alto. "The body belongs to us," said a former mayor of Monte Alto. "Even if she is not a saint, she is still something for the people to cling to." Recently, 5,000 citizens turned out in a mass demonstration against Constantino. "Respect Our Faith: Don't Steal Our Soul," read the banners. Constantino, now 59, is ready to go to the Supreme Court, if necessary, to get her remains back. "If they want a body so bad," he said, "why don't they get one of their own and put it there?"

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