Luz: book i: comings and goings (Troubled Times 1) (21 page)

“You mean that, Father? You really mean

it?”

“Of course I mean it, Son. And just like your Middle Eastern ancestors, Cubans are attached to the sea. It’s in their blood.”

“Is that what you’re planning on having her do, Father? Teach along the shores of Varadero?”

“Don’t be silly, Son. I hope she never goes anywhere near Varadero and all those tourists.”

The Son of Man didn’t know what to think. He almost felt convinced by the seeming rationale of this all, but an infernal iota of doubt still plagued him.

“I don’t know, Father. It seems to me you’re still up to something and now I suspect it involves the sea.
Wait a minute!
Isn’t their patron saint enjoined to the water somehow? Didn’t she appear in a vision at sea herself? Don’t tell me she crawled out of the depths?”

The Creator of the Universe adopted a perfect Cuban accent for his reply.

“No, Son. La Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre was found floating at sea by three Cuba fisherman, remember?”

“That’s right!” declared the Son of Man. “Cubans are definitely tied to the sea. But why are you insisting that girl not take off on that dangerous contraption tomorrow? Why?”

“You just said it yourself, Son. I don’t want her on that dangerous contraption because she’s with child, because she’s conceived.”

“So, Father? You had my mother carry me into Egypt on an ass right after I was born; that didn’t bother you any.”

“Please, Son. Is it going to be tit-for-tat from now on? Is it? Your mother whisked you into Egypt to keep you safe, to spare you from the massacre that Herod had ordered; you know that. I’m keeping your sister in Cuba for much the same reason.”

“Cuba is safe, Father? Is that what you’re saying? The same Cuba that’s under constant threat of invasion by its neighbor to the north? The same Cuba with a foreign naval base that the Cubans bitterly resent and can be used against them at any moment? I wouldn’t exactly call that safe, Father.”

“True, Son, but that’s not the type of safe I’m talking about. You see, Cuba may be a Communist dictatorship, it may be under the rule of tyranny, but there’s more faith in Cuba than in most parts of the world, and to be surrounded by all that faith
will
keep her safe.”

“Not to mention she’ll be on an island, which means she’ll be surrounded by water. Is that part of her safety?”

“No, Son, that’s just for my enjoyment. I really needed a change of scenery after all the dryness and dustiness of Judea and Palestine. This time I want water, Son, plenty and plenty of water.”

The Son of Man reacted with mild indifference. “I know you love the sea, Father, but when did you become so obsessed with it?”

“I’ve always been at one with the water, Son, always, ever
since the very dawn of Creation. Don’t forget that before I created light, my spirit moved upon the face of the waters. Why do you think three-fourths of the Earth is covered by it? I made water for my sake, for my inspiration. The water is mine, Son. I gave man dominion over the land and deserts and mountains so he’d leave the oceans alone, so he’d leave the skies alone. If I wanted man to have dominion of the seas, I would have given him gills. If I’d wanted man to have dominion of the skies, I would have given him wings. Those are my realms, Son, mine and mine alone. But look at what man has slowly been doing to them: infiltrating them, trashing them.”

The Son of Man nodded eagerly in agreement, the persuasiveness of the Creator’s words lighting the flames of his smoldering resentment.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been telling you, Father. Give man enough time and he’ll ruin anything he touches. You know that. You’ve seen it happen time and time again. But don’t be fooled by the Cubans, Father. They’re no different. Look at what a catastrophe they’ve made of their island. Look at the disaster they’ve made of both land and water.”

Again, both Father and Son stopped to glance down at the alligator island. There it was—hidden and inconspicuous but stirring in the chaos of its turbulent beauty. Sure, it had its flaws, but nowhere near as many as the rest of the planet.

“And to think I gave them the loveliest land ever beheld by human eyes…just to think.”

“It’s a betrayal, Father, a complete slap to your inscrutable face.”

“To think it was a veritable Garden of Eden. That’s what the island was, Son: a second Garden.”

Just then, the Son of Man felt the stirrings of another turbulence: a mental one, an inward one, the rays and waves and pulsations of analysis and conclusion shooting across the universe of his mind in a speed faster than light and only made possible by He who had actually created light.

“Wait a minute, Father! Now I get it. Now I understand
why
Cuba. Yes, it all makes sense now!”

“What makes sense, Son? Pray, tell me.”

“Well,” he began excitedly. “Isn’t it obvious, Father? This is your way of finally getting back at…” The Son of Man stopped himself; he’d almost done it again, called the enemy by name. “Your way of getting back at Satan.”

“I’m not following you, Son. How so?”

“It’s very simple, Father. You just said it yourself. Cuba was a second Garden of Eden. Well, what did Satan do in the first Garden of Eden? He tempted man. He brought about damnation. Satan invoked the contamination of Man’s own soul. Well, hasn’t the leader of your precious Cuba done the same thing with his own people? Isn’t he like someone else we both know? The way he tempted his fellow Cuban and deceived him? The way he ushered in the ruination of the Cuban soul. You’ve found the perfect way of getting back at Satan, Father, and I must admit it’s quite clever.”

For a Being that was all about the word, and always kept His word, and also cherished the word because He
was
the Word, the Creator of the Universe suddenly found himself in a position He rarely ever did: at a loss for words, a complete loss. When He finally summoned some words, He said: “Well, Son, I will admit that’s quite an interesting theory of yours, but that’s not why.”

“Of course it is, Father, of course it is! I don’t even think you’re aware of your own motives. It’s too much a part of your cosmic unconsciousness, but it all makes sense. Doubly fascinating is that, Fidel is not only like the Serpent, he’s like man himself. He’s man giving in to his own temptation, man relishing in the delights of the forbidden but turning around and shifting culpability. Doesn’t Fidel love to blame the embargo for all his country’s ills and woes? We both know he does, Father. And we both know the problem is not the embargo. The problem is him.”

“Son, where do you come up with this stuff? Really!”

“You know I’m right, Father, you know it. Before you banished man from the Garden, or should I say ‘embargoed’ in this case, didn’t he try to blame it on the Serpent’s deception? Didn’t he even try to pin it on Eve? He did, Father! He did! But we both know it was only his lust for disobedience that brought about his downfall and led to your ‘embargoing’ him from the Garden, if you will. It was only Man himself.”

The Creator of the Universe had to admit that, on a certain level, He was quite impressed by the Son of Man’s sharp insight and His keen abilities to make such abstract connections, no matter how radical the thoughts or how unorthodox the views. In the infinitely eternal span of all Creation, only once before had the Creator encountered such radical thinking, only once—by he whose name remained unmentionable.

“Listen, Son, you may find this hard to believe, but Fidel is an angel compared to that demon, a veritable saint. I understand where this is all coming from: he got to you. During the three days before your ascension, he injected you with his venom. Tell me what he said to you, Son. What idea did that Satan plant in your head?”

The Son of Man hardened his stance now.

“What did you do with the scrolls, Father? Where did you hide them?”

But the Creator of the Universe had finally had enough. He didn’t need to be questioned or harassed about anything by anybody, especially his own Son, to whom He owed no explanations.

“Which scrolls, Son? Which scrolls do you keep referring to? The ones that Gabriel just mentioned? The ones that cover your childhood and adolescence?”

“No, Father, not those. You know exactly which scrolls I’m talking about, the ones that should have been found with the Dead Sea Scrolls, the ones I personally dictated and come
after
the Book of Revelation. Those scrolls.”

The Creator shrugged His unshakable shoulders nonchalantly.

“I don’t know what happened to them, Son. But shouldn’t you know? Didn’t you just say you dictated them?”

“You’re toying with me, Father, and you know it. How can you not know where the scrolls are when
you know everything
. You’re the Creator of the Universe, for…well…you know for whose sake.”

Again with the inappropriate language, again with the flippant outbursts; almost taking his own name in vain just now, or…had he actually implied the Creator’s name?

“Tell you what, Son. How’s this for a proposition: you fill me in on what happened during those three days you descended to,
you-know-where
, and I’ll consider sending an army of angels down to look for these scrolls that have you so riled up.”

The Son of Man took a moment to weigh his options, still focused on events billions of light-years away: this time the very tail-end of a supernova and its intriguing lifecycle. It was a phenomenon of astronomical physics, watching the fiery and tempestuous nova return to a normal level of intensity after having burned a thousand times stronger than its own brightness. A nova was a giant match that someone had struck and lit then snuffed out in space.

“Forget it, Father. I’ll find them on my own. And by the way, you’re making a big mistake by getting a Cuban woman involved in all this, you’ll see.”

“Why, Son? Why do you say that?”

“Shouldn’t you already know, Father? Didn’t you create them?”

“Yes Son, but go ahead. Enlighten me.”

“All right, Father. For starters, they’re all hot tempered.”

“I know that, Son, I know.”

“And volatile.”

“I know that too, Son.”

“Fiery and tempestuous.”

“Yes, Son, I know, but that’s what I like that about them.”

“Worst of all, Father, they love to argue and criticize and have to have the last word in everything—always!”

“That’s all women, Son, all women. But regardless, that doesn’t work with me. Remember, I enjoy the last word because I
am
the Word.”

“There’s only one redeeming feature about Cuban women, Father. They’re…well…quite frankly, they’re hot.”

“Beautiful, Son. The word is ‘beautiful’ up here. But yes, I agree with you, they’re quite stunning. Did you get a load of her mother, Son? I wasn’t going to place much emphasis on the physical, but while I’m at it, I think I’ll give Luz the gift of beauty too.”

“Wow, Father, this girl is going to have everything, isn’t she? The gift of tongues. The gift of beauty. Smart. What other gifts do you plan on endowing her with?”

“Well, let’s see…I think that pretty much covers it.”

“Just don’t shower her with her mother’s indecisiveness or temper, Father. That Clara may be beautiful, but have you seen what a little fireball she is? She isn’t just a nova, she’s a supernova.”

“Yes, Son, but I like that about her.”

“Well I don’t, Father! She’s a middle sister. And you know how middle children always have problems. It was so great seeing Gabriel put her in her place. I found it absolutely enthralling!”

“Son, Son, you need to understand that it’s a different world from when you were down there. Back then women were second-class citizens. You know that."

“They’re still second-class citizens, Father.”

“True, Son, but that’s one thing I hope to change. That’s why I need a woman who can assert herself and who’s sure of
herself. That’s why a Cuban woman will be perfect for the job. There’s no pushing them around.”

“
Aha, Father!
You just admitted it!
Perfect for the job!
See! You are up to something. Now what job are you talking about?”

I didn’t mean it like that, Son. What I meant is that sons and daughters are different, that’s all. They have to be raised differently. They’ve got different sensibilities and…well…Clara will provide your sister with the proper nurturing and guidance she’ll need.”

“I don’t see how, Father. It seems to me this girl has plenty to learn about herself. She’s got serious trust issues that began with her own father and the way his work was more important than his children. Sound familiar?”

An absolute quiet settled upon and pierced its way through the Heavens, silencing both Father and Son. The Creator of the Universe had just been baited again, but this time He actually felt He deserved it, felt the taunt was merited. A contrite expression swept across His inscrutable face, and He knew there was no way out of this one.

“I know exactly where you’re coming from, Son, and I couldn’t agree with you more.”

“Really, Father?”

“Yes, Son, of course I do. I know that, as a Heavenly father, I couldn’t have been better. But I also know that, as an Earthly father, you needed a lot more interaction, that you never really bonded with Joseph.”

The Son of Man grew momentarily moved by so disarming a candor, but this rare moment of tenderness also seemed a bit contrived.

“Why are you being so conciliatory, Father? Why?”

“Because, Son, it’s the truth. Now please, just put aside all your doubts and fears and have a little more faith in your old man. You have to believe that I know what I’m doing.”

The Son of Man felt sudden waves of contrition swelling
within him.

“But, Father, I thought
I
would always be your only child.”

The Creator put another consoling arm around his son’s shoulder.

“Come now, Son, sibling rivalry already? You know that you’re my firstborn and always will be. No one can ever take that away from you, Son—no matter how many children I have.”

“All right, Father, all right; I’ll give you that much.”

“Of course, Son. You will always be my one and only son. However, I never said anything about having a daughter, did I?”