A Small Matter (18 page)

“Where is everybody?” Vickie said.

“Unfortunately,” Theresa said, “They had to
go back to Mexico recently. I have to stay here because I have a
job and can send money home. If it weren’t for that, I’d probably
be leaving soon myself.”

“Where does your family call home?”

“A little town called Alamos, in Sonora,”
Theresa said. “You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s a place a
few hundred miles south of Nogales where a stream runs through.
It’s where the weeping statue came from, though, so I guess you
could say Our Lady hasn’t forgotten about us.”

“Are people still coming here to be
healed?”

“Truthfully?” Theresa said. “Nobody has come
since La Migra rounded up my family. You’re the first visitor I’ve
had in a week.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your family,” Vickie
said.

“Thank you,” Theresa said. “But tell me--do
you believe in miracles? I hope you do--you might need one to beat
the cancer.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,”
Vickie said. She examined her rosary, the one she’d received from
Theresa as a gift in exchange for the priceless train. There it
was--the spot of dried brown blood staining the crucifix. Was it
possible that such a thing could harness the powers of Heaven on
her behalf?

“Do you believe in miracles?” Theresa
repeated.

“Yes,” Vickie said. “I believe in miracles.
Perhaps this rosary will help me. Thank you for giving it to
me.”

“You came here looking for a miracle,” said
Theresa. “It’s the least I can do.”

“I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve
done for me,” Vickie said.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Theresa said. “When
I saw you on my porch, something inside me told me to take you in
and try to help you. Besides, I believe you’re a good omen. You’re
an answer to a dream.”

“That’s the first time anybody’s called me
that,” Vickie said. “What was your dream?”

“In my dream, my family and I were inside a
cave, where somebody was getting married. We were all together and
very happy. That’s why I took you in when you showed up in your
wedding dress. You looked like the lady in my dream. I took your
arrival as a sign that my dream of being together again with my
family will come true.”

“You had a dream about a wedding,” Vickie
said, “and the next thing you know, I was on your doorstep in my
bridal gown. Perhaps that’s a miracle all by itself.”

“And you were wearing a torn and bloody
bridal gown,” Theresa said. “Not only that, you bear on your body
some of the marks of Our Lord’s passion. You have a wound in your
side and stripes on your back. That’s why I think you’re an answer
to my dream. You showed up from out of nowhere seeking sanctuary
and I was able to provide it. The Lord will reward me--perhaps he
will send me back to my family soon.”

“You’re a good Samaritan,” Vickie said. “I
was at the end of my rope. I tried to commit suicide. I failed
miserably. It was right after that I came looking for a
miracle.”

“Once you’ve tried suicide and failed,”
Theresa said, “your life will never be the same--but your life can
be better than it ever was before. The brush with death can
encourage you to learn a new way to live.”

“When I got the news about my malignancy,”
Vickie said, “I felt terror as I’d never felt it before. It was a
terror that had no solution--no matter who tried to help me, no
matter who held me or comforted me--the terror filled my every
waking minute. I think that’s part of the reason I tried to kill
myself by taking the pills. I wanted the terror to stop.”

“Once you stop trying to control the
uncontrollable,” Theresa said, “Our Lady will help you. But you
must first learn to stop thinking only of yourself and begin
thinking of ways in which you can help others.”

“I’m not so sure Our Lady will help me,”
Vickie said. “Suicide is a mortal sin. Perhaps I’ve tied God’s
hands.”

“God is not angry,” Theresa said. “He loves
you. Your suicide attempt could also be viewed compassionately as
your way to try to control the spread of the tumor. By killing
yourself, you were killing the tumor as well.”

“You’re right,” Vickie said. “I don’t want
the tumor eating up my body. I wanted to stop it. It has no right
to be eating me alive.”

“Do you want to get well?” Theresa said.

“I don’t even know the answer to that
anymore,” Vickie said. “I’m not sure I have a life to return to.
When I left my husband, he was on life support at UCLA Medical
Center. If they fail to revive him, I’ll have to make the decision
to pull the plug. Once the plug is pulled, I have to fulfill my
promise to him and seek treatment for my cancer--I’ll have to
undergo chemo by myself, and that scares me. Part of me wants it
all to be over, but part of me is deeply saddened that I may be
passing from this world, and I feel like I want to stay. What
scares me is that I don’t know which part is going to win. I don’t
know if I’ll simply end it, or stick it out.”

“Why don’t you stay with me for another
night?” Theresa said. “You can rest here and nobody will bother
you. Later, perhaps you will take Our Lady’s tears to your husband.
Perhaps Our Lady will speak to him and he’ll come back.”

“No,” Vickie said. “I’ve been enough of a
burden already. I really should get going.”

“Going where?” Theresa said. “Out there is
nothing but a big traffic jam and a lot of drying mud. No, I think
you should stay with me.”

“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” Vickie
said. “And I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

“This is my work,” Theresa said. “I am
helping Our Lady. I receive a little money now and then when
somebody gets healed. It keeps me going.”

“But now nobody is coming,” Vickie said.

“You’re somebody,” Theresa said. “You came.
Perhaps you’re enough. If you get healed, you can make me a little
present or something.”

“Okay,” Vickie said. “I’ll stay awhile.
You’re right. There’s nothing for me out there. I need to use your
phone to call my brother and let him know I’m all right.”

“I’m sorry,” Theresa said, “but I have no
phone.”

“That’s okay,” Vickie said. “My phone is in
the car.”

“I’ve got some bad news,” Theresa said. “Your
car has been stolen.”

The news left Vickie feeling a bit
stunned.

“It’s the neighborhood,” Theresa said. “I
apologize for it, but the sight of the fancy red car must have been
too much for the thieves.”

“I forgot to set the alarm,” Vickie said.
“Usually I set it. But yesterday, in all the confusion, I
forgot.”

“What’s done is done,” Theresa said.
“Tomorrow, we can walk down to the phone and call your
brother.”

“Walk?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t have a car.”

“I’m going to lose my mind before all this is
over,” Vickie said. “I’m sure of that.”

“We’ll say a rosary together,” Theresa said.
“We’ll dedicate it to your miracle, and for your husband to come
back. And then we need to get you back to bed. Sometimes, when you
feel that all of life is too complicated, it takes rest to make
things right again.”

“I’m getting really worried,” Vickie said.
“I’m afraid my pain will return. I’m out of medication.”

“You probably consider your pain as fixed and
permanent as a chunk of stone,” Theresa said. “but Our Lady can
take away your pain. The pain was her way of allowing you to come
to terms with your own mortality.”

“But what if it comes back?”

“Then you tell me and I’ll go for help,”
Theresa said. “Otherwise, if the pain does not come back, then you
have to give the Virgin credit. Perhaps that’s what you’re really
scared of.”

Vickie realized that she’d become habituated
to the pain, accustomed to accepting as natural its insatiable
desire to torment her. Now she was being led to break that
habituation, to imagine that somehow, a statue weeping blood, or
rather, the heavenly being whom the statue represented, held the
answer to her problems. In the past, she’d invoked insurance
companies and doctors to help her cope with the unknown. In one
stroke, all that had been swept aside.

“I’m trapped,” Vickie said.

“No,” Theresa said. “You’re in a new place
where you don’t know what’s going to happen. There’s nobody you can
call. It’s just you and me and your cat.”

“You win, Theresa,” Vickie said. “I’ll stay
here with you for awhile. Besides, it’s getting late. I should tell
you, though, that I don’t know the rosary like I should. I hardly
remember the prayers at the end.”

“It’s time you learned them again,” Theresa
said. She began to pray, not grandiosely, but simply, and Vickie
soon found herself preoccupied with the images of the mysteries,
and the words, and the limitless possibilities of living beings and
surrenderings to something other than cruel fate.

Chapter 28

“My child,” the lady said. “What is the
matter?” The voice was honeyed, and bright--but soft--a whisper,
but with an edge.

“Where am I?” Vickie said. “Is this a
dream?”

She was sitting on a bright green lawn under
the bluest sky she’d ever seen. There was nothing on the lawn save
herself and the lady. The lawn stretched into infinity. Vickie
decided it was a dream, but it was a nice one.

“It’s not a dream,” the lady said.

“Am I dead?” Vickie said.

“No,” the lady said. “You’re not dead. Now
tell me, what is the matter?”

Vickie threaded her fingers together,
examining her nails. She was still in the flannel sheet Theresa had
wrapped her in. She examined the lady before her, a youngish woman
wrapped in a flowing, pale blue cloth, her face placid and
serene.

“I am dead, aren’t I?” Vickie said. “It’s
finally over, isn’t it.”

“It’s not over yet. Now tell me, what is the
matter?”

Vickie knew she had to answer. The lady
seemed taller, thinner, brighter, somehow, than the folks back
home, and mentally agile, too, prepared for whatever psychic
approach Vickie could muster.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Vickie said.
“Do I start with the death of my first husband or my second
husband? Or do I begin with the death my mother endured under the
tortures of cancer and chemo? I suppose I could start there, not
forgetting that my dog, Sheebie, also died under the onslaught of
malignant tumors. Or maybe I could begin somewhere back in my
childhood, where these future horrors were shielded from me by
virtue of my youthful innocence. You ask me, what is my problem? It
seems to me you should already know what it is. After all, the view
of things from up here is pretty much unobstructed. The weather’s
perfect, and I imagine it’s always this way. Perhaps I should say
quite truthfully, that this matter runs quite deep. My problem is
that I was born and had to live on earth in a world full of pain
and broken dreams. I could say that was my problem, but even that
would be minimizing the real issue--which is cancer.”

“Cancerous tumors do not live forever,” the
lady said, “but you will.”

Vickie allowed herself to drink in the
presence of the lady, to feel herself enfolded in the aura of her.
“I thought my life would be different, somehow,” she said. “When I
was young, I had big dreams. I was going to use my talents to help
the world. I was going to be revered and admired for so doing. But
in reality, all I managed to accomplish was to grow older. I’ve
made a proper mess of most of my endeavors to fulfill my dreams.
Now it seems that not only can I not fulfill my dreams, it seems
that I’m only getting in the way. I’m a nobody to the world because
I can’t even take care of myself. I have cancer. That’s all I am
now--a cancer victim--and nothing else.”

You’re cancer is cured,” the lady said.

“What?” Vickie said.

“You were healed by my tears.”

“I think I understand now,” Vickie said. “I
know why I’m here talking with you like this. This is the last
judgment, right? You’re asking me these questions to see if I’m
eligible to go to Heaven. Last night I died in my sleep. I probably
bled to death from the tumor and now I’m here.”

“No,” the lady said. “This is not the last
judgment. And you’re not dead--you’re only sleeping. You came here
to find the graces given to you with the gift of your cancer.”

“Graces?” Vickie said.

“Everything happens for a reason,” the lady
said. “Even that which appears to you as evil has within it the
seeds of good.”

“If only I could believe you,” Vickie said.
“I guess you could say that I’m a bit jaded. When you asked me to
tell you about my life, I felt ashamed, because I had nothing to
tell, no grand account to give you. I have spent my entire life in
baseless mediocrity.”

“There’s no such thing as baseless
mediocrity,” the lady said. “Every life is precious, forged as it
is on the anvil of earthly adversity. Your feeling of shame arises
out of your pride, your belief that you didn’t measure up to some
false earthly standard of behavior--which, by the way, is nothing
more than thinly disguised selfishness--your lack of compassion for
others has left you unable to solve the riddle of your
disease.”

“You sound like Father Larry,” Vickie said.
“I guess his talk with me has bled over into this dream I’m having
now. I’m not really in Heaven, am I? I’m sleeping at Theresa’s
house, recycling all the babble I’ve been hearing lately from all
the do-gooders who want to help out the poor little cancer victim.
But I have a question for you, even if you aren’t real. If I’m not
dead yet, when will I be? How much time do I have before I die? And
another thing. I have a cat. When the cat dies, does he go to
heaven? And another thing--is there really a Pearly Gate? Or is
that something somebody made up?”

The lady waved her hand and Vickie began to
fall.

“Wait!” Vickie said. “Don’t send me back! You
didn’t answer my questions? Who are you?”