Luz: book i: comings and goings (Troubled Times 1) (15 page)

Air had snuck into the house, but it was not invisible as air should be. It was black and charcoal and ashen gray. It spiraled and spun before me, while deep in its center, a whirl of white and silver and a coating of vanilla radiated forth. I felt vibrations emanating from it, mysterious shockwaves that pulsated and undulated as if the swirl of light were trying to shatter the veneer shielding it. This peculiar sight seemed very real, but I knew I must be dreaming. My reflection in the mirror signaled I was awake, but I knew this must be a dream. Who in their right mind had ever seen air? Air that spun and whirled and turned furiously about so that it appeared more like water than air. Air and water. How similar the two were. No wonder one came from the other. No wonder one changed into the other.

I approached it cautiously. I needed to touch and feel this whirling plume of air. I reached my hand out, but it was not cold as I imagined. It was hot. This mass of energy throbbed with a heavy warmth while more shockwaves pulsated and
bounced right off me. And this hot brewing air turned so dense I couldn’t breathe anymore. I thought I would suffocate. I started coughing and choking and headed for the door because, surely, a fire raged inside the house and I must extinguish it. I must douse it with water before the entire house burned down and I perished. I turned to run for the door when, just as quickly, I came to a halt at the sound of a voice.

“Clara,” called the voice. “Stop!”

I did exactly that. I no longer knew if I was dreaming or awake, but I stopped. I turned to face the mysterious voice and saw a bright glow. That whirl of white and silver and vanilla had pierced through the bands of charcoal and ashen gray, and in their place left a dazzling and arresting light. No wonder I had seen no stars or moon along the Malecón. They were all here, right inside my room in a constellation of blinding incandescence. The elements of air and water and light had coalesced into the rays of some wild and wondrous sun, all being fed by the flames of a white and whispering fire.

“No!” I cried out. “I can’t stop! Can’t you see there’s a fire inside the house? Some raging white fire, and I’m in danger—we both are!”

“No, Clara. There is no fire. It is only I, and I come to you with greetings.”

I shook my head in disbelief.
Greetings!
Had I just heard correctly? What type of foolish talk was this right now?

“What do you mean greetings?” I snapped. “Greetings from whom? Greetings from where?”

“From above, Clara. Greetings from above.”

Greetings from above?
What did that mean at a time like this? At a time of fire and flame? At a time of clear and critical danger? I certainly had to be dreaming. I had to be. Even if I felt myself perfectly alert in the glow of this pulsating presence, I knew I must be dreaming. And even if time was coinciding with reality, for I caught sight of the alarm clock
and saw it was exactly ten-thirty, saw that only a mere ten minutes had elapsed, I knew this must all be a dream.

“From above!” I said. “What do you mean from above?”

“From your Heavenly Father, Clara. From
that
above.”

It was then I peered intently at this presence, at this being that had materialized out of nowhere. It looked real, even human, but then it didn’t. It possessed a familiar face, but again it didn’t. Even its coloring kept changing, one shade one moment, another shade the next, a shifting blend of glistening bronze and shimmering white that almost blinded and burned. It seemed solid and impenetrable, but transparent too, bathed in some ethereal luminescence where, were I to thrust a hand at it, that hand would surely pierce through. A shimmer of white embraced it. A tingling silver surrounded it. Not only outwardly, but inwardly, as if some giant translucent candle lit it from its center and bathed it from within. It wasn’t overly tall, but the presence towered over me just the same, engulfing me. Could it be that right before me stood a—no, of course not. I couldn’t even finish my thought. Miracles were one thing, but this? This had to be my imagination. A hallucination. But a vision? Definitely not.

“From my heavenly father? Oh, I get it. You mean Papi. Yes, I understand now. It’s because of the trip tomorrow. Papi knows that Rigo and I are leaving Cuba and wants to give us his blessing, wants to let us know that we’re making the right choice. Well, you tell Papi that…”

I couldn’t finish my words. As my voice trailed off, my thoughts dissolved in a vapor of sadness. Despite this soothing light that saturated my room and the pale-rust walls, any thought of my father, no matter how fleeting, still struck me with melancholy and regret.

"No, Clara. I don’t mean your earthly father. I mean your Heavenly Father—that father!”

“Which Heavenly Father?”

“The Creator, Clara! You know, the one who created you, along with everything else in the universe.”

His words dispersed in an echo, leaving me to peer at this being again, but suspiciously this time. I would always find it difficult to describe him, even now, this translucent, transparent, and incandescent presence. Even from those initial moments of its apparition, I thought it the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, natural or not. Yet there was something unnatural about it I had glaringly overlooked: a tremendous mass rising behind it, two white flames that emanated from its body that were tinged in bronze along the edges. There was no mistaking what they were, these radiant formations that glowed with a serene energy, these elegantly shaped masses as huge and magnificent as they were majestic.

“Who are you?” I asked. “
What
are you, and what are you doing inside my house?”

“My name is Gabriel,” he replied. “And I’m a messenger, a messenger from God.”

How I wanted to laugh at this. Even for a hallucination, it was too much! But if I didn’t know how to ease back into consciousness, I decided to play along.

“Gabriel! Of course! Don’t tell me, the Angel Gabriel, right?”

“That’s right, Clara. That’s precisely who I am.”

I certainly wanted to laugh now, but I was too scared. This encounter had just taken a decidedly frightening turn, and I no longer felt at ease in its presence, no matter how soothing the light or how lustrous the luminescence. I should have thought his words were all the proof I needed that the events of the last week were indeed miraculous. But I also knew they signaled trouble. Unannounced visits often heralded unwelcome news, and this no longer seemed just a dream, but a bad dream—one from which I wished to wake up.

“Funny,” I began, rather brashly and flippantly. “You don’t look like an angel. Don’t angels all have blond hair and blue eyes?”

“Oh, you mean like your friend here,” he replied
flippantly himself, pointing to the prayer card on the dresser. “You mean Michael, our golden-haired boy wonder who can do no wrong. No, we all come in different shades and sizes, Clara—except for those little cherubs you see in pictures all over the place. I don’t know who came up with that concept, but there no angels in Heaven that look like that.”

“No?” I asked.

“No, Clara. And don’t be so easily impressed by looks either. Michael may have the blond hair and blue eyes, but he doesn’t have these. Just look at these, Clara. I bet you’ve never seen a pair of wings like this, have you? I’ve got the best wings in the whole universe—that’s why I’m the messenger.”

That he did. Those were the two masses I felt reluctant to acknowledge, too frightened to name—wings, beautiful bronze-tinged wings bathed in a white luminescence and larger than the expanse of his whole body. I could only imagine their magnificence as they spread in full flight.

“I just added the bronze highlights,” he said. “It’s only taken me since the dawn of time, but the Creator finally allowed it.”

This was not happening. This was definitely a dream, and soon I would wake up. Soon I would find Rigo sleeping at my side and Mamá and my sisters asleep in their own rooms. Soon all this light that drenched my eyes would vanish, and I’d be back in the dark.

“Look,” I said, trying to snap myself out of this irreverent reverie. “I know what’s going on here. You’re not an angel. You’re an agent—an agent of the state. You’ve come to stop my husband and me. Someone has sent you to arrest us, and I know who.”

“No, Clara. You’re mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken. I know who’s behind it: Mihrta, my mother-in-law. Well, it’s not happening. We are free to leave and everybody knows it. The whole world is watching this miracle and you can’t do anything about it, not even your
‘father.’ And you know which father I mean, don’t you? The one there’s nothing heavenly about, the one who created this mess we’re all in.”

The messenger gazed down at me with that blazing bronzed visage of his, and as he did so, more shockwaves swelled up again and lightly washed over me.

“
¡Dios mío!
” he said, shaking his head and flaring his fiery white eyes. “You’re right, Clara. There is a miracle taking place right now, a far greater one than you can imagine, one in which you will even play a big part. But it has nothing to do with taking this trip tomorrow. In fact, you must not take this trip tomorrow, Clara!”

I was right!
There it was! The trouble I had feared! The unwanted news I had dreaded. And I knew who was behind it: Mihrta. She had commissioned this creature to intimidate and harass me. That was why Rigo wasn’t home yet. He had already been detained and now it was my turn. Had this concept come to Mihrta during electroshock therapy? Had she concocted the idea for all this fire and flame while her brain was being fried? Maybe this was the mongrel from the Malecón in some elaborate disguise. They looked to be about the same size, and even had that same bronzed complexion.

“What do you mean I must not take this trip tomorrow? Of course I’m taking this trip tomorrow, and nothing is stopping me—nothing!”

“Clara,” he began, the hint of exasperation evident in his voice. “Weren’t your words to Amalia earlier tonight, ‘Si Dios quiere’?
If that’s what God wants
. Weren’t those your exact words to your friend?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well Clara, Dios no quiere.”

“How did you know that?” I asked angrily. “How do you know what my best friend and I discussed earlier?”

All at once the messenger’s demeanor changed drastically, and this Angel Gabriel, as he claimed to be, this translucent, transparent, and incandescent presence bellowed with such a
booming voice that it sent even more shockwaves pushing hard against my body again.

“Hail Clara, thou are highly favored, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women.”

“Stop!” I cried out. “Stop this at once!”

“Fear not, Clara, for thou hast found favor with God. And behold, thou shall conceive in thy womb and bring forth a daughter. She shall be great and shall be called the daughter of the Highest, and the Lord God shall give unto her the throne of her father David. And she shall reign over the house of Jacob forever, and her kingdom there shall have no end."

“Stop!” I cried out again. “What do you mean a daughter? I’m not having a daughter. I can’t even bear children.”

“You can now,” replied the messenger. “For remember, with God nothing is impossible.”

“Out!” I ordered the messenger again. “I want you out right now, or I’m going to scream.”

The presence looked up to the ceiling and flared his eyes.

“
¡Hay mija!
” he said. “You are nothing like Mary was. No wonder the Creator didn’t brief me. Still, I can see why He’s chosen you. You’re feisty, aren’t you? Quite rebellious. Yes, that Group Insurrection suits you quite perfectly. Look, Clara, you will not scream, and you must believe me. A great thing is about to happen—a miracle. You have been chosen to be the mother of God’s next child, and this time it’s going to be a girl. You will have a daughter and will name her Luz. You must name her Luz because, well, that’s what the Creator wants. I think she’s supposed to be the new light of the world, but don’t quote me on that.”

“Really?” I muttered to myself, prodding and prompting and pressing myself to get up, wondering why, despite all my efforts, this dream wouldn’t end. Wondering why, as I looked around the room, I could see nothing beyond this dazzling, blinding light.

“That’s original!” I said. “Luz of all names! Luz!”

“Well, let’s just say your species isn’t the brightest in the universe, Clara; humans needs as much of a hint as they can get.”

“Wake up,” I ordered myself, clasping my arms in a new round of restlessness. I even tried pinching myself. “It’s time to put an end to this—wake up, Clara!”

“You are not asleep, Clara!” the messenger insisted. “And this is not a dream. Neither is it a hallucination or even a vision. It’s a visitation, Clara. Do you understand the difference? I’m here to pay you a personal visit.”

“Of course I understand!” I said. “And you’re right. It’s not a dream or any of those things. It’s delusion, delirium. I’m delirious from all the rabidness and frenzy of the past week, and I’ve finally cracked.”

“It’s not delirium, Clara, and no, you haven’t cracked. Look, I can prove to you that you’re not dreaming.”

“All right,” I said. “Go ahead.”

“Well, let’s just humor you and say you were sleeping.”

“Okay.”

“Would you get up if you were to hear the phone ring?”

“Yes,” I said. “Absolutely. I’m a very light sleeper.”

“Well, Clara, get ready then. You’re about to be
woken up
.”

And it happened just as he said. As much as I wanted to scoff at his prediction, the phone rang just then—and rang and rang. But I knew it was a trick. My mother-in-law could produce great feats of deception, and she had conjured up a masterful magician with this messenger. Yet why was I not seeing myself springing up from bed? Why was I not groggy or creeping back into consciousness? I was still on my feet, alert as ever, and awash in all this dazzling luminescence.

“Well, Clara. Aren’t you getting it?” posed the messenger. “Aren’t you?”

The phone kept ringing and ringing from the living room while this Gabriel looked at me and I looked at him, our eyes
never once wavering from each other. I tried disguising a round of trembling, but these tremors of disbelief could not be suppressed, would not be subverted.