Authors: Ernesto Mestre
The Lazarus Rumba (12 page)
Finally the old organ groaned a well-worn carol and Father Gonzalo and his procession entered. As he passed by Alicia, Father Gonzalo eased his pace, turned his head and sent her a cryptic smile, an almost imperceptible arching of his lips, and he shook his head discreetly. When he reached the altar he was handed a silver incense burner and he swung it, circling the altar and approaching the first few pews till the whole church smelled of prayers. There were readings and singing and more incense-swinging and the congregation stood and sat accordingly. Doña Adela remained seated till her granddaughter awoke just as Father Gonzalo was haltingly introducing the guest homilist, then the girl and the grandmother stood, and then because the girl started it, they all did something they were unaccustomed to doing in church, they all stood and clapped and when Alicia had reached the pulpit they all sat and listened.
This is what Alicia said in those brief moments, this is what they called at her trial the Sermon of the Seven Kisses.
Cristianos, today we come together in the Child's name to celebrate His birth, and though we celebrate, we must also mourn; for once there was a woman heavy with Child, and the Child was the Light of the world, and the Child was born and the Light spread over the world. Now, this was during the time of the Blind King, and the Blind King was envious of the Light and he called his seven wisest councilors and threw a feast and they all became drunk with wine. And then he said to them: “Who is this Child that the people call the Prince of Light?” And the wise councilors answered: “He was born of a peasant woman, and a star shines over His birth.” Then the Blind King flew into a rage and screamed at his councilors: “Go! Go and find Him!” And the wise councilors became frightened and they stopped eating and drinking and the Blind King composed himself and then spoke softly: “Go, and when you have found Him send me word, for I would like to pay homage to this Prince born of a peasant woman.” And early the next morning the seven wise councilors left and followed a star that shone even in the noonday sky. And they traveled for many days, huddling close together at night for warmth, for the desert winds were cold and harsh. When they came to the town of Bethlehem, in the province of Judea, they found the Child and His Parents in the home of a poor smith, for it was census time and the inn was full. And they paid homage with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And the mother of the Child said: “What do you ask in return?” And each of the Blind King's councilors said: “Only that we may kiss the Child.” And they kissed the Child seven times, on each temple, on each hand, on each foot, and on His soft belly, and after such adoration they warned the parents about the Blind King and of his rage and told them to flee to the land of the tall pyramids. And the parents bore the Child away that same day. When the wise councilors left, they continued to travel north, to Spain and then to England and Scotland, to serve there as foreign wizards and never to serve the Blind King again. Now, the Blind King felt betrayed and he mounted his horse and called his soldiers and ordered every child under the age of two in and around Bethlehem to be beheaded. So it was done. And when the soldiers returned to the palace drenched in the children's blood, the Blind King asked them to smear it on his face, for he needed proof and he could not see them. And one by one, each soldier smeared the Blind King's cheeks and the Blind King's beard with the blood of the murdered children, till the Blind King smelled the blood and he laughed and laughed and he convinced himself that there had been no Prince of Light born of a peasant woman, the blood drying and cracking on his face. So tonight, though we celebrate the escaped Child, we also mourn for this Blind King and for his kingdom that night, which was full of weeping and loud lamentations.
There was no applause when Alicia stepped down from the pulpit. It was so silent that she imagined you could hear the rustle of her dress all the way in the back of the church, just as she could hear the growls of the tethered Tomás de Aquino from the church steps. And though Christmas morning was supposed to bring with it cool winds from the North, it had gotten stuffier inside the church during the few minutes that Alicia spoke. The five barbudos in the back had not moved, though their olive uniforms were stained with sweat now, under the arms and around the collars. El Rubio, however, looked unshaken, his short-sleeved black shirt dry, his eyes studying the open scabs of St. Lazarus's foot. Father Gonzalo hesitated a bit, his head bowed as if in private prayer, before he approached the pulpit and asked the congregation to join him in praying the creed of their faith. He forgot to thank Alicia. When Communion time came everyone approached the altar to receive the hostâexcept for the five soldiers, el Rubio, and a handful in the congregationâand when the service was ended and Father Gonzalo led the celebrants and the congregation out, the soldiers remained pressed to the back wall, el Rubio grown more infatuated with the figure of St. Lazarus, having moved his attention up the statue's leg to the rags that covered his shame like a diaper, caressing its surface with the ends of his fingertips as if he were a curator vetting a priceless piece. Alicia did not look at them as she stepped outside and headed for the group around Father Gonzalo, her daughter's hand held on one side, her mother's on the other. The group dispersed as soon as Alicia approached, many glancing at her and nodding their heads and smiling gently and saying farewell to Father Gonzaloâwho stood on the opposite side of the steps from where Tomás de Aquino was tiedâtapping on his forearm. One of them, an elegant gentleman in a straw hat, did not go away so quickly. He waited for Alicia and closed his hand on her shoulder. “Wonderful,” he said in a loud whisper, “a beautiful parable, mi niña. ¡Eres una gran filósofa!” and quickly, he hurried off. Father Gonzalo's face shone in the dying moonlight and Alicia could not miss the pit of disillusion in his eyes. When he spoke to her he did not look at her, instead he looked at her daughter and held her daughter's face and kissed her daughter's hands. The girl yawned. It was late.
“I promised them you would not insult their blessed revolution,” Father Gonzalo said. “I had to. They said they would cancel the service if I didn't. Perdóname, Alicia. I had to. I wish you would have let me see that ⦠that sermon beforehand.”
Doña Adela grunted, picked up her granddaughter and tried to pull Alicia away. “Vámonos⦠rápido,” she said. “Vámonos, coño.”
“And where shall we go hide?” Alicia said, resisting. “And where shall I hide my daughter? Do you think they'll leave us alone if we escape from them now?”
“I had to,” Father Gonzalo repeated. “It'll be all right. I'll talk to him.”
“No es culpa de nadie,” Alicia said. “I would have read it anyway, even if you had said not to.”
When the five soldiers stepped out onto the church steps they simultaneously retrieved their berets from their back pockets, shaped them one-handed and placed them gingerly on their heads, with a slight tug at the right side for the appropriate tilt. They remained at the top of the steps, patiently waiting for the congregation to disperse. El Rubio did not appear and the five soldiers walked towards Father Gonzalo. Although two were in front and three behind, no one seemed to lead the other, their stride casual and unmilitary. They moved as with a purpose so primitive and so intuited that there was no need for rank-and-order. They did not surround them as doña Adela expected. They stood like bowling pins in front of them and stared at Alicia, their eyes burnished more with boredom than conviction. They said nothing. El Rubio appeared at the church entrance, he glanced at Tomás de Aquino, who had fallen asleep in a puddle of his own urine, and shook his head. As he approached them he removed his beret and retucked his long blond curls behind his ears and put the beret back on. He apologized to Father Gonzalo for his dog's accident. He smiled as if embarrassed, revealing a row of alternately yellow and brown teeth, with two or three holes in the bottom row, and in the corners the dull glint of gold caps. He was gorged and thick-bellied as his dog and wide-hipped as a matron, but his arms were slender and his fingers long and his shoulders narrow and his neck curvy and smooth as any virgin's, so that he seemed a man molded from two discrepant sets of clay.
He spoke to the monsignor: “It is strange, no, Father? that he has lesions scattered all over his body, but that his skin is erubescent, healthy almost. What do the lesions symbolize? Do they mean that the flesh must suffer infection before it is deemed holy?”
Father Gonzalo had learned how to remain silent when confronted by el Rubio.
“Or ⦠is the flesh infected by nature, and therefore holy by nature, which therefore explains the fiction of this glowing-skinned lesioned old saint ⦠hmmm ⦠but perhaps this is not the proper time for such musings. ⦠Father, it is with regret that I must do this.”
“Do not seek for my permission, hijo mÃo. You will not get it. I will watch what you do and I will pray for you tonight.”
El Rubio thanked Father Gonzalo. His blue eyes floated in a mesh of ropy burst vessels, like twin gems seined from an incarnadine sea. He said he would need many more than one night of prayers. He turned to Alicia.
“Señora Alicia Lucientes-Cruz, you are under arrest for malicious intent to defame la Revolución and for mocking el Comandante-en-Jefe. You will have the right to counsel and you will be judged by your own Neighborhood Committee for the Defense of the Revolution.”
The girl had been shaken out of her drowsiness and had begun to whimper. Doña Adela put her down and motioned for Father Gonzalo to take her away. She put her arm around Alicia and held her tight.
“Ven, ven Teresita,” Father Gonzalo said to the girl, leading her into the garden in the church's courtyard. “Vamos a ver las flores.” The girl went. Father Gonzalo picked her up and she rested her head on his shoulder. He walked towards the church garden. At the iron gate, he stopped and turned around to face el Rubio and the five soldiers. Doña Adela gestured at him with her hand to go into the garden, then she turned to Alicia. “I'm not letting them take you.”
“Mamá, por favor, go with Teresita. I will be fine. No harm will come to me.”
“I can assure you of that, señoraAlicia,” el Rubio said. “It saddens me greatly to do this. I knew comandante Cruz. I fought alongside yourâ”
“Don't you dare conjure his name for your base purposes!”
“Muy bien entonces, señora, you are under State arrest. Do come with us.”
“¡Malditos son todos!” doña Adela screamed as the five soldiers separated her from Alicia. “Here lies the greatness of your maldita Revolución! Taking away a daughter from her mother on Christmas morning. Get your hands off
me
! ¡No me toquen carajo!”
“May I remind you that the charge against your daughter is a serious one.” El Rubio had waved the barbudos away from doña Adela. His face had grown stern, and his movement, as he walked towards her with his hands clamped behind his back, formal. Their eyes locked and doña Adela felt as if their faces were coming continually and continually closer till el Rubio's nidorous breath broke the spell. “Just a word of warning, vieja,” he said in a voice so low that doña Adela knew that the five soldiers and Alicia, having stepped back, could not hear him.
“¡Capitán Suarez! Por favor,” Father Gonzalo said. He had made his way back with the girl asleep in his arms and was standing to the side of el Rubio. “I will not have you speaking that way to any of my parishioners. I know too well of the glories of your Revolución, and it certainly does not entail speaking so to proper ladies. Asà que por el amor the Dios Santo, if you have any business to do here, proceed with it and please leave the church grounds ⦠or ⦠or I shall call the mayor.”
El Rubio laughed. He walked away from doña Adela towards the soldiers. “You take heed as well, padrecito. We will not tolerate too much more insurgence from your banished class. Take her. Alicia Lucientes-Cruz is under arrest. Now! We have worn out our welcome here. The padrecito is going to sic the mayor on us.” He went to Tomás de Aquino and awoke him by planting a swift kick to the midriff (punishment for having desecrated the church steps, which he announced to Father Gonzalo), then he untethered the bullmastiff, keeping him on a short leash, and walked a pace ahead of the five soldiers and Alicia.
Alicia went without resistance, kissing her sleeping daughter once. Doña Adela broke into tears and put her arms around Father Gonzalo. The girl awoke, lifted her head from Father Gonzalo's shoulder, looked around and caught a glimpse of her mother in the distance and yawned.
“¿Dónde va mami, abuelita?”
“She's going to look for the Child Jesus who was born today,” Father Gonzalo answered for the speechless doña Adela. “And when she finds Him, she promised she would kiss Him once for all of us.”
“On his head, on his hands, on his feet, and on his belly,” the girl said, yawning and resting her head again on the monsignor's shoulder. “Just like the story.”
“That's right, just like the story.”
Doña Adela cried harder and crumpled tight in one of her dress pockets the five sheets of drawing paper Alicia had handed to her on the way out of the church. She would burn them as soon as she got home.
