Luz: book i: comings and goings (Troubled Times 1) (16 page)

“Get it, chica! It’s your husband calling. Get the phone before he hangs up!”

“It’s not my husband!” I snapped back defiantly. “This is all a trick, a practical joke, and once I answer the phone, I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.”

“Suit yourself,” the messenger replied, shaking his head in exasperation.

I turned my back and slowly ventured out. That flush of white light bathed my room still, but the rest of the house remained frightfully dark, especially the hallway. I couldn’t see my own hands in front of me, but those distant rings faithfully guided my way. By the time I reached the living room I could see everything with stunning alacrity, as if all power had been fully restored. I still had no clue as to anyone’s whereabouts, but maybe this would provide an answer.

Our phone was an ancient relic, a rotary model that predated the Revolution and often acted up. But now its rings came in loudly and powerfully, as if shiny and brand new. I stood over that artifact hoping it would stop, but it rang and rang until it drowned my reluctance and I finally gave in.

“Dígame,” I answered, my heart pounding so savagely I thought it might split open my chest.

“Clara!” said Rigo’s voice on the other end. “It’s me, amor. I’m still here with the family.”

At the sound of his voice, I nearly burst into tears. I wanted to cry and release all the churning anxiety.

“What’s taking you so long, Rigo? Is everything all right, amor?
¿Todo bien?
”

“It’s Mamá, amor. She’s taking it just as we thought she would. She’s inconsolable.”

“Well, don’t forget what you said to me, Rigo: no backing
out.”

“Don’t worry, amor. No backing out.”

“Hurry back, amor! There’s been a change in plans I need to tell you about.”

“What happened?” he asked.

I dared not tell him. We had all had enough excitement for the week. As much as I planned on no longer keeping things from my husband—even when I only did it for his own protection—I couldn’t tell him about our raft, La Maloja, having been dismembered. It wasn’t quite time to open up the doors of my life and have the contents of its rooms freely intermingle.

“Nothing serious, Rigo, but you and I must go to Cojimar by ourselves in the morning. We have to meet Amalia and Henry there by eight o’clock. How will we get there, Rigo? How?”

“It’s all right, amor. I’ll be home soon and we’ll resolve it then.”

“Rigo!” I called out, my voice echoing, then pausing, then trying to revive itself in the quietude. “You’re sure everything’s all right, amor?
”

“I’m sure amor, todo bien. But Mamá is a complete mess. She’s having a nervous breakdown, and Papá is threatening to hook her up with the cord and lamp if she doesn’t calm down. I think it’s what she really wants.”

“I’m going over there Rigo! I’m heading over right now!”

“No!” he whispered furiously into the phone. “Sorry Clara, but you’re the last person she wants to see right now. Just stay home, and I’ll be there soon.” He paused before continuing. “I love you, amor. Don’t worry about anything.”

"I love you too," I said.

I was about to hang up when his voice sought me out a final time.

“Clara,” he whispered tenderly. “I’m so glad you
convinced me, amor. You have no idea how thrilled I am.”

“You are?” I said.

“Yes, amor, truly I am. Tomorrow will be the start of a whole new life for us and I can’t wait. You were absolutely right, Clara. This really is a miracle and we’d be fools to pass it up! Absolute fools!”

I didn’t know what to say. I was too stunned, too touched by so comforting a confession.

“I love you, amor. I love you with all my heart,” I said.

The phone clicked, leaving the drone of the dial tone to hang endlessly in my ear. I stood in abeyance as everything fell dark again and I clung to the receiver. If I wanted to place it back in its cradle and cease that dreadful noise, I couldn’t lift my hand. I couldn’t move. And I knew why:
I didn’t want to move
. I didn’t want to go back to my room and face the truth—that is, if I could call it that. I knew
he
would still be there: the messenger, that translucent, transparent, and incandescent presence.

But it was time to face the music, so off I went. The hallway remained impenetrably dark, and I couldn’t see my own hands before me. I was certain it had finally happened: I had woken up. Even as I approached my room, I saw nothing inside it: no faint light, no hint of a shine, not even a dim glow. But the moment I stood in the doorway and looked in, there it was: that constellation of incandescence lighting up the pale rust walls. No, he hadn’t gone anywhere. He was very much there still, seemingly engrossed now in the contents of my room, leaning over the dark wooden dresser and examining the prayer cards delicately arranged there. He even had one in his possession, the one of Michael.

“What a ham!” the messenger muttered to himself, shaking his head all the while. “Look at how he always has to pose in that fighting stance of his.”

“What was that ?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” replied the messenger, not bothering to turn and face me. “Just don’t believe everything
you read.”

He placed the card back down and continued shaking his head distractedly.

“Don’t believe what?” I asked.

“Never mind Clara, never mind. Well, was I right or was I right? Was it your husband Rigo or was it not?”

“Yes,” I said in mild embarrassment. “It was him. But I still don’t believe this is happening.”

“And why not, may I ask?”

“Because!” I said. “It can’t be! People don’t talk to angels. Angels don’t come down to earth, much less the Angel Gabriel.”

“Of course they do, Clara. It happens all the time, and I should know, shouldn’t I?”

“But it doesn’t,” I insisted. “It can’t.”

“It can and it does, Clara. Aren’t you the one who’s been talking about miracles all week long? Rapt with joy that you’ve been living through one? Yes, as I recall, you have. But now that you’re actually faced with one, a real miracle, you don’t recognize it for what it is. Why is that, Clara? Can you explain that to me?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head and grabbing my temples and applying a deep pressure. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I know, Clara. It’s very simple: you’re scared. And fear is filling you with doubt. The news that you’ll soon be the mother of God’s next child terrifies you. But it’s all right, Clara. It’s natural to be scared. You just have to believe and trust in the ways of the Lord.”

“But this is a mistake!” I insisted. “For one thing, I can’t have children. Last year I came down with a horrible affliction and the doctors said I would never bear a child. My husband and I have been trying, just to prove them wrong, and nothing!”

“Stop tormenting yourself, Clara,” the messenger said.
“Who do you think has the last word in these matters? The doctors? Or the one who created the doctors?”

“But I can’t be the mother of God’s next child,” I said. “You must obviously know that I’m not a…”

I struggled with the next word. I tried to find a less awkward term in the presence of this messenger and all his white flame and pure light.

“A virgin, Clara? Is that what you’re struggling to say?”

“Yes! You obviously know I’ve had relations with a man.”

“Of course we know you’ve had relations, Clara. Let’s just say that no longer matters.”

“No longer matters? How can it not?” I posed. “All my life it’s been the Virgin Mary this and the Virgin Mary that and Mary Ever Virgin. So how can the mother of
any
child of God’s not be a virgin?”

“Times have changed, Clara. What can I say? Besides, you are a virgin.”

“I’m no virgin,” I countered. “Trust me!”

“But you are, Clara! You are, and I’ll explain why. Is a virgin not someone pure in thought and spirit? Someone innocent and pure of heart? You are those things, Clara, and much more—all of which makes you a virgin. That’s one of the reasons why the Heavenly Father has chosen you."

“Really?” I said, surprised to hear the concept of virginity presented in such terms.

"Yes, and by the way, you don’t really think Mary was a virgin forever, do you? I mean, that would not have been fair to Joseph
or
her, and if the Heavenly Father is anything, He’s fair.”

Fairness aside, I didn’t really want to pursue the matter. Mary and Joseph’s love life was really none of my business, and I preferred to change the subject.

“Well, what about being religious then? You must know I never go to church. Why, I only became religious this week.”

“Well Clara, if you’re not religious, why do you have all these little candles all over the place? And why all the pictures of all the saints? Which, by the way, I see mine is nowhere to be found.”

I felt a slight but stinging embarrassment, fanned by the glare and the flame of an accusatory light.

“That’s because they belong to my mother,” I replied. “All these candles and prayer cards—she’s the religious one. You see, I take more after my father, and you know which father I mean, right?”

“Yes Clara, I know all about your father, trust me. We have to keep a close eye on Alejo. Now, why don’t you have one of me, may I ask? Am I not the messenger?”

“I don’t know why Mamá doesn’t have one of the Angel Gabriel,” I said. “I mean, of you. You realize this is Cuba, don’t you? You know about the embargo.”

“Of course I know, Clara. But maybe it has nothing to do with the embargo and only because I’m the Messenger—you know, the one who bears good news as well as bad. Let’s just blame everything on the messenger, why don’t we? Let’s just shoot down the messenger. But Michael, let’s not forget that blue-eyed, blond haired Archangel who can do no wrong, Heaven’s illustrious four-star general.”

“Look,” I said, trying to move past the vibe of hostility. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m very flattered and all, but the Heavenly Father must know the contents of my heart. He must know that I don’t even want to be a mother anymore, that I have no interest in parenting. I’m a writer. I’m an insurrectionist. The last thing I want is to bring a child into this world, especially into Cuba.”

“You’re going to make an excellent mother, Clara. I have no doubt about that.”

“I’ll make a terrible mother!” I said. “I’ve got terrible vices. I can’t cook. I can’t clean. I take the Lord’s name in vain all the time. Why, I even follow the Zodiac.”

“You do?” he asked in mock surprise.

“Yes, I try to read my horoscope every chance I get.”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret, Clara—I follow the Zodiac too, but that’s just between you and me.”

“You do not,” I said.

“Of course I do, Clara. You have to remember that we angels are not perfect beings. We are also swayed by temptation and give in to vices periodically. Besides, the Zodiac is just reading and deciphering the stars. What’s more heavenly than that?”

“Please," I protested. "Go back and tell the Heavenly Father He’s made a mistake. I’m about to embark on a big project in the United States: the liberation of my homeland. Tell him He needs to pick someone more holy, more spiritual.”

“You just hit the nail on the head, Clara. You may not be religious, but you are spiritual, and the Heavenly Father has always seen that in you. Besides, He never makes a mistake. It may be hard to understand his reasoning at times, but He always knows precisely what he’s doing.”

“Spiritual? Me? I don’t know anything about spirituality. I’m not spiritual.”

“You are, Clara, and you’ll come to learn that in good time.”

“But I have no knowledge of spiritual things, especially biblical things. I know about the Garden of Eden, of course; about the Flood and the Exodus, of course. But I couldn’t tell you whether something is in the Old Testament or the New Testament. Why, to tell you the truth, I don’t even believe in a lot of what the…”

I stopped myself, suddenly realizing what I was about to say and cutting myself short before making a further mess of things.

“A lot of
what
Clara? A lot of what’s in the Bible?”

“Well, let’s just say there’s nothing in there about this, about what’s happening between you and me right now.”

“There are many things in the Bible that have yet to be written, Clara, many. Do you honestly think the Bible stops with the book of Revelations? No, mija! What about when the Second Coming takes place? Maybe there will even be a Third Coming. Remember, nobody knows any of that, Clara, not even me, and it has yet to be recorded—all of it.”

“It does?”

“Yes, it does. And don’t forget there’s a whole segment of the Messiah’s life that has never been accounted for. You know, from the time He was about thirteen to thirty-three, ‘the trouble years’ as the Creator likes to call them. It’s my understanding that these books are out there somewhere, but again, you didn’t hear that from me.”

As that serene luminescence continued blazing within my room, burning in its white and silvery brilliance, there was no refuting this messenger, no keeping up with him. My thoughts leaped to object and refute him, to critique him as I so loved to do, but he had an explanation for everything, a ready response for every objection I made.

“Well, what about being Jewish? You said something about the house of David and the throne of Jacob. Are you telling me I’ve got Jewish blood in me?”

"It's the throne of David and the House of Jacob, chica; and, yes, you do. Now
that
the Heavenly Father was insistent upon. You can say He likes to keep things in the family.”

“I’ve got Jewish blood?” I asked in surprise.

“Yes, Clara, you do.”

“Does Rigo?”

“No, Rigo has got Arabic blood, and plenty of it. But Jew, Arab, what does it matter? It’s all the same, really. One day you will all realize that.”

I had to find some way of disproving all this, of crashing through the mirror of this mirage.
That was it!
The mirror atop my dresser! I would do it that way. If I caught sight of this angel through the wood-framed mirror on the wall, I could finally expose this clever trick. Wasn’t it common knowledge
that spiritual beings did not have a reflection? That their images could not be captured or photographed? A raw exhilaration coursed through my veins. I turned excitedly toward the mirror, all the while hoping, expecting, knowing a reflection would reveal this chicanery when, much to my shock, nothing shone back—nothing at all! No reflection, no image, no nothing. Not even a white blaze of light that bathed the room. The only reflection I caught was my own, signaling to me that I was all by myself with my candles and prayer cards. Only when I averted my glance from the mirror was the messenger there again. No longer lost in a shuffle of shadow or in a shimmering charade, but right in the thick of things.