The only time I saw a white priest in the neighborhood was when one of the altar boys at the Church of São José de Lhanguene had his birthday. The ladies of the neighborhood had hung out in their backyards and were picking up little scraps of blessings, in the shape of a cross, which Father Pestana threw into every alley. They fought over the blessings like bitches over a bone.

Father Pestana sang, prayed and blessed the altar boy. And we, stretched out on the altar boy's backyard, watched as the priest, with his eyes closed, poured blessings, open-handed, over tureens of feijoada and a tray of wilted lettuce salad with fly corpses floating on their legs.

Then it was time for the priest to leave. Jesus Christ was asked by a prayer to accompany the priest. It was late and Jesus Christ must have been asleep, because the priest was accompanied by two fat ladies from the church.

Outside an old warehouse, two guys blocked the priest's way. They kicked the ladies out of the way, snatched the priest's silver watch, took a rosary off the priest's neck and Jesus Christ, with his hands open on the small cross, surrendered to the assault.

"They're killing Padre Pestana," the two ladies shouted, and the whole neighborhood went out into the alley. 2 Pac, a big mugger from the neighborhood, managed, after hours of chasing, to bring down one of the thieves wrapped in a rope and holding a rosary. When the police arrived, they found a bloody corpse in the robber's place.

And the next day, at Mass, the priest prayed for the soul of the thief and asked God to give 2Pac prosperity in the name of the rosary he had recovered: "may the work of this man multiply".

And 2Pac's work multiplied in the neighborhood. He went from stealing pots and pans in the neighborhood to stealing stoves and gas cylinders. In his spare time, he raped girls and, from time to time, filled bags with wet clothes from the clotheslines. His work multiplied in other nearby neighborhoods and spilled over into police stations.

And 2Pac, for his success in robberies, for his impressive escapes from police raids, was given a new name "The Blessed One by Father Pestana". Years and years the police searched for the Blessed One and came up empty.

When I was 15, Abençoado was shot in the Luís Cabral neighborhood. On the verge of death, in José Macamo hospital, Father Pestana's watch was seen on the Blessed One's wrist. The watch marked the right time for the Blessed One's departure and the end of his work, which was constantly multiplying.