Avenue of Mysteries (69 page)

As he lay down beside Dorothy—at least it seemed to Juan Diego that Dorothy was really there—perhaps the
journey
word reminded him of something before he could fall back to sleep and fully return to the past. Where had he put that round-trip ticket to Kowloon Station? He knew he’d saved it, for some reason; he’d written something on the ticket with his ever-present pen. The title for a future novel, perhaps?
One Single Journey
—was that it?

Yes, that was it! But his thoughts (like his dreams) were so disjointed, it was hard for him to focus. Maybe it was a night when Dorothy had dispensed a double dose of the beta-blockers—not a night to have
sex, in other words, but one of those nights to make up for the beta-blockers he’d skipped? If so—if he’d taken a double dose of his Lopressor prescription—would it have mattered if Juan Diego had seen the young ghost standing anxiously under the outdoor shower? Wouldn’t Juan Diego have believed he was only dreaming he saw the soldier’s ghost?

One Single Journey
—it almost sounded like the title for a novel he’d already written, Juan Diego was thinking as he drifted back to sleep, more deeply into his lifelong dream. He thought of “single” in the sense of unaccompanied by others—in the sense of
lone
or
sole
—but also “single” in the sense of having no equal (in the sense of
singular,
Juan Diego supposed).

Then, as suddenly as he’d gotten up and gone back to bed, Juan Diego wasn’t thinking anymore. Once again, the past had reclaimed him.

•
30
•

The Sprinkling

The sprinkling part of Lupe’s last requests did not have a very spiritual start. Brother Pepe had been talking to an American immigration lawyer—this was in addition to Pepe’s talks with the authorities in Mexico. The
legal guardian
words weren’t the only ones in play; it would be necessary for Edward Bonshaw to “sponsor” Flor for “permanent residency,” Pepe was saying as discreetly as possible. Only Señor Eduardo and Flor could hear him.

Naturally, Flor objected to Pepe’s saying she had a criminal record. (This would call for more bending of the rules.) “I haven’t done anything
criminal
!” Flor protested. She’d had a run-in or two—the Oaxaca police had busted her once or twice.

According to police records, there’d been a couple of beatings at the Hotel Somega, but Flor said she’d “only” beaten up Garza—“that thug-pimp had it coming!”—and, another night, she’d kicked the shit out of César, Garza’s slave boy. These weren’t
criminal
beatings, Flor had maintained. As for what had happened to Flor in Houston, the American immigration lawyer told Pepe that nothing had turned up. (The pony in the postcard, which Señor Eduardo would forever keep secret, in his heart, didn’t amount to a matter of criminal record—not in Texas.)

And before the sprinkling got started in the Jesuit temple, some unspiritual attention was paid to the contents of the ashes.

“Exactly what was burned, if we may ask?” Father Alfonso began with the dump boss.

“We hope there are no
foreign substances
this time,” was the way Father Octavio put it to Rivera.

“Lupe’s clothes, a lanyard she wore around her neck, a couple of
keys—plus an odd this or that from Guerrero,” Juan Diego told the two old priests.

“Mostly
circus
things?” Father Alfonso asked.

“Well, the burning was done at the basurero—burning is a
dump
thing,” el jefe answered warily.

“Yes, yes—we know,” Father Octavio quickly said. “But the
contents
of these ashes are mostly from Lupe’s life at the circus—is that true?” the priest asked the dump boss.

“
Mostly
circus things,” Rivera mumbled; he was being careful not to mention Lupe’s puppy place, where she’d found Dirty White. The puppy place was near the shack in Guerrero, where el jefe had found a new dead puppy for Lupe’s fire.

Because they’d asked to be included at the sprinkling, Vargas and Alejandra were there. It had already been a bad day for Vargas; the business with Dolores’s lethal infection had forced the doctor to deal with various authorities, not a satisfying process.

Father Alfonso and Father Octavio had chosen the siesta time of day for the sprinkling, but some of the homeless types—drunks and hippies, who hung out in the zócalo—liked churches for their afternoon naps. The hindmost pews of the Jesuit temple were temporary resting places for these undesirables; therefore, the two old priests wanted the sprinkling to proceed
quietly.
The sprinkling of ashes, if only at the Virgin Mary’s
feet,
was an irregular request. Father Alfonso and Father Octavio didn’t want the public to get the idea that
anyone
could sprinkle ashes in the Temple of the Society of Jesus.

“Be careful of the little Jesus—don’t get the ashes in his eyes,” Lupe had told her brother.

Juan Diego, holding the coffee cup Lupe once liked for her hot chocolate, approached the unreadable Mary Monster respectfully.

“The ashes seemed to affect you—I mean the last time,” Juan Diego began cautiously; it was difficult to know how to speak to such a towering presence. “I’m not trying to trick you. These ashes are not
her
—they’re just her clothes, and a few things she liked. I hope that’s okay,” he said to the giant virgin, sprinkling a few ashes on the three-tiered pedestal where the Mary Monster stood—her big feet standing in an essentially meaningless motif, an unnatural configuration of angels frozen in clouds. (It was impossible to sprinkle ashes at the Virgin Mary’s feet without the ashes getting in the angels’ eyes, but Lupe had said nothing about being careful of the angels.)

Juan Diego went on sprinkling, ever mindful that the ashes went nowhere near the agonizing face of the shrunken, suffering Christ—there weren’t many ashes left in the little cup.

“May I say something?” Brother Pepe suddenly asked.

“Of course, Pepe,” Father Alfonso said.

“Speak up, Pepe,” Father Octavio urged him.

But Pepe wasn’t asking the two old priests; he’d dropped to his knees before the giantess—he was asking
her.
“One of us, our beloved Edward—our dear Eduardo—has something to ask you, Mother Mary,” Pepe said. “Don’t you, Eduardo?” Brother Pepe asked the Iowan.

Edward Bonshaw had more balls than, heretofore, Flor had thought. “I’m sorry if I disappoint you,” Señor Eduardo said to the impassive-looking Mary Monster, “but I have forsaken my vows—I am in love. With
her,
” the Iowan added; he’d glanced at Flor, his voice trembling as he bowed his head at the Virgin Mary’s big feet. “I’m sorry if I disappoint you, too,” Edward Bonshaw said, looking over his shoulder at the two old priests. “Please let us go—please
help
us,” Señor Eduardo asked Father Alfonso and Father Octavio. “I want to take Juan Diego with me—I am dedicated to this boy,” the Iowan told the two old priests. “I’ll look after him properly—I promise you,” Edward Bonshaw implored the giant virgin.

“I love you,” Flor told the Iowan, who began to sob, his shoulders shaking in his Hawaiian shirt, in those trees ablaze with parrots riotously represented there. “I’ve done questionable things,” Flor said suddenly to the Virgin Mary. “I’ve not had many opportunities to meet what you would call good people. Please help us,” Flor said, turning to the two old priests.

“I want another future!” Juan Diego cried—at first to the Mary Monster, but he had no more ashes to sprinkle at the feet of the unresponsive giantess. He turned to Father Alfonso and Father Octavio instead. “Let me go with them, please. I’ve tried it here—let me try Iowa,” the boy beseeched them.

“This is shameful, Edward—” Father Alfonso started to say.

“The two of you—the very idea! That you two should raise a
child
—” Father Octavio sputtered.

“You’re not a
couple
!” Father Alfonso said to Señor Eduardo.

“You’re not even a
woman
!” Father Octavio said to Flor.

“Only a married couple can—” Father Alfonso started to say.

“This boy can’t—” Father Octavio blurted out, before Dr. Vargas interrupted him.

“What are this boy’s chances
here
?” Vargas asked the two old priests. “What are Juan Diego’s prospects in Oaxaca, after he leaves Lost Children?” Vargas asked, more loudly. “I just saw the star of La Maravilla—The Wonder herself!” Vargas cried. “If Dolores didn’t have a chance, what are the dump kid’s chances? If the boy goes with
them,
he’s got a shot!” Vargas shouted, pointing at the parrot man and Flor.

This was not the
quiet
sprinkling the two old priests once had in mind. Vargas woke up the homeless types with his shouting; from the hindmost pews of the temple, the drunks and hippies had risen—well, except for one hippie; he’d fallen asleep under a pew. They could all see his scuffed, forlorn-looking sandals where the hippie’s dirty feet extended into the center aisle.

“We didn’t ask for your
scientific opinion,
Vargas,” Father Alfonso said sarcastically.

“Please keep your voice down—” Father Octavio started to say to the doctor.

“My
voice
!” Vargas screamed. “What if Alejandra and I wanted to adopt Juan Diego—” he started to ask, but Father Alfonso was faster.

“You’re not married, Vargas,” Father Alfonso said calmly.

“Your rules! What do your rules have to do with the way people actually live?” Vargas asked him.

“This is our Church—these are our rules, Vargas,” Father Alfonso told him quietly.

“We are a Church of rules—” Father Octavio started to say. (It was the hundredth time Pepe had heard it.)

“We make the rules,” Pepe pointed out, “but don’t we,
can’t
we, also bend them? I thought we believed in charity.”

“You do favors for the ‘authorities’ all the time—they owe you favors in return, don’t they?” Vargas asked the two old priests. “This boy has no better chance than these two—” Vargas had started to say, but Father Octavio suddenly decided to shoo the homeless types out of the temple; he was distracted. Only Father Alfonso was listening to Vargas—hence Vargas interrupted himself, though it seemed pointless (even to Vargas) to continue. It was hopeless to think the two old priests could be persuaded.

Juan Diego, for one, was through asking them. “Please just
do
something,” the boy said despairingly to the giant virgin. “You’re supposed to be somebody, but you don’t do anything!” Juan Diego cried to the Mary Monster. “If you can’t help me—okay, okay—but can’t you do
anything
?
Just
do
something, if you can,” the boy said to the towering statue, but his voice trailed off. His heart wasn’t in it; what small belief he’d had was gone.

Juan Diego turned away from the Mary Monster—he couldn’t look at her. Flor had already turned her back on the giant virgin; Flor was no Mary worshiper, to begin with. Even Edward Bonshaw had turned his face away from the Virgin Mary, though the Iowan’s hand lingered on the pedestal, just below the virgin’s big feet.

The homeless types had straggled their aimless way out of the temple; Father Octavio was returning to the unhappy gathering at the main attraction. Father Alfonso and Brother Pepe exchanged glances, but they quickly looked away from each other. Vargas had not been paying much attention to the Virgin Mary, not this time—all the doctor’s efforts were directed to the two old priests. And Alejandra was in her own world, whatever world that was: an unmarried young woman with a solitary-minded young doctor. (
That
world, whatever you call it—if there’s a name for it.)

No one was asking the giant virgin for anything—not anymore—and only one of the attendees at the sprinkling, the one who hadn’t said a word, was watching the Virgin Mary. Rivera was watching her very closely; he’d been watching her, and only her, from the start.

“Look at her,” the dump boss told all of them. “Don’t you see? You have to come closer—her face is so far away. Her head is so high—up there.” They could all see where el jefe was pointing, but they had to come closer to see the Virgin Mary’s eyes. The statue was very tall.

The first of the Mary Monster’s tears fell on the back of Edward Bonshaw’s hand; her tears fell from such a height, they made quite an impact, quite a splash.

“Don’t you see?” the dump boss asked them again. “She’s crying. See her eyes? See her tears?”

Pepe had come close enough; he was staring straight up, at the Virgin Mary’s crooked nose, when a giant teardrop hit him like a hailstone, landing smack between his eyes. More of the Mary Monster’s tears were striking the uplifted palms of the parrot man’s hands. Flor refused to reach out her hand for falling tears, but she stood near enough to Señor Eduardo to feel the tears hitting him, and Flor could see the broken-nosed virgin’s tear-streaked face.

Vargas and Alejandra had a different kind of curiosity concerning
the giant virgin’s falling tears. Alejandra tentatively held out her hand—she sniffed a teardrop in the palm of her hand before wiping her hand on her hip. Vargas, of course, went so far as to
taste
the tears; he was also straining to see far above the Mary Monster—Vargas wanted to be sure the roof wasn’t leaking.

“It’s not raining outside, Vargas,” Pepe told him.

“Just checking,” was all Vargas said.

“When people die, Vargas—I mean the people you will always remember, the ones who changed your life—they never really go away,” Pepe told the young doctor.

“I know that, Pepe—I live with ghosts, too,” Vargas answered him.

The two old priests were the last to approach the towering virgin; this sprinkling had been irregular enough—those few things that had mattered to Lupe, reduced to ashes—and now there was more disruption, the oversize tears from the not-so-inanimate Mary. Father Alfonso touched a tear that Juan Diego held out to him—a glistening, crystal-bright teardrop in the cupped palm of the dump reader’s small hand. “Yes, I see,” Father Alfonso said, as solemnly as possible.