Oscar Casares (8 page)

The sun was lowering itself by the time Domingo returned to the little room where he slept. The room belonged to the Ramirez brothers and was attached to their tire shop. They allowed him to stay there for free, with the understanding that he would watch over the repair shop at night. Since the brothers also stored tires in the room, the space for his cot was limited. He was grateful to them for offering him a place to sleep, but he never stayed in bed too long, because of the loneliness it brought him and the fact that the smell of so much rubber gave him a headache. His clothes were stored in a cardboard box under the cot. The only other belongings he placed inside the box were a photo of his wife with the baby and a tattered envelope with the directions for where to send his money back home.

After he washed his hands and face at the sink inside the garage, he put on a pair of jeans and a green shirt la señora had given him. The jeans fit a little big in the waist, but that was what belts were for. He used a rag to clean the dust off his black shoes until they looked presentable. Then he grabbed his hat and locked up the little room.

Holy Family Church was a short walk from where Domingo lived. He had passed by the church many times but had never considered attending the Spanish mass they offered Saturday evenings. By this hour, the services had ended and he was hoping to have a moment alone before the altar. He had always considered the church small compared with most churches he knew in Mexico, but now as he walked toward the entrance, he felt as if he were approaching a very large mountain. The saints on the stained-glass windows looked like images he had seen once in a long, fitful dream. Domingo pulled on the large wooden doors, but they were locked. He peered through the window and saw a single light shining down on the altar. He walked around to the side of the building, but the doors were locked there as well. In all his years, he had never seen a church with its doors locked. Perhaps his imagination, or even God himself, was playing tricks on him for having stayed away so long. But the doors were just as locked the second time he tried.

Domingo was heading back to his room when he saw a couple, an older man and woman, walking with a small gray and white dog. The man used a cane and looked at least ten years older than Domingo. The woman was younger than her husband and she held the dog's leash. Domingo greeted the couple and asked them if they knew why the church doors were locked. The old man said he truthfully did not know the answer to this question, but perhaps it had something to do with the priest not wanting to work late. The man's wife shook her head and said the real reason was that the church had been broken in to too many times, and once, it had even caught on fire accidentally. She doubted whether he would find any church in town open at this hour. Domingo thanked them and kept walking.

When he arrived back at his room, he lay on the cot and rested. Sometimes he bought beer and drank outside the room on a wooden stool. But he tried not to do that anymore, because it was difficult for him to stop after two or three beers and then he would miss work because he overslept. All he wanted now was to fall asleep and forget his failed trip to the church. The room was dark except for a ray of light that leaked in through a corner of the ceiling. He wondered if there was some way of entering another church, at least to light a candle and say a short prayer. So much time had passed, and now waiting another night felt like an eternity, the same eternity he and his wife had endured while they waited for God to bless them with a child. For years, he had felt cursed because his woman had not become pregnant. She was younger and healthier than he was. There was no reason for them not to share in this blessing. And finally, when they had lost all hope of bringing a child into the world, Sara was born. How then could the child have been taken from them so quickly? Domingo blamed himself for not having kept her away from the pit. He carried the guilt on his back as if it were a load of firewood that was added to with each passing year. It was impossible for him to make sense of the tragedy. How could God have permitted it to happen? And then Domingo remembered something he had seen not so long ago. He was riding in la señora's car when they drove by a house where people were standing on the street praying. Someone had discovered the image of the Virgin Mary in the trunk of an álamo tree. The shape of the Virgin Mother's face and arms were formed into the bark. People were staring up at the image from both sides of the street, and the group closest to the tree was praying a Rosary. A slender woman with short hair was pushing a young boy in a wheelchair. The boy's spine was arched as if he were trying to reach a knife stuck in his back. He wore a large bib and his head was swollen to the size of a pumpkin. Next to the tree, an older woman with a long braid knelt at an altar. A man leaned against a fence with his one leg, while his right pant leg, folded in half and sewn up underneath him, flapped in the wind like a small brown flag. Domingo remembered that la señora honked her car horn at a woman standing in the middle of the street with her head bowed and her arms reaching toward the Virgin Mary. He didn't understand what la señora had said, but he knew it had something to do with all the people in the street.

Domingo put on his clothes and locked the door to his room again. As much as he wanted to do something to remember Sara's birthday, he could not escape the question of whether the image was truly the Virgin, though he reasoned that so many people could not be wrong. After all, they were people who possessed much more faith than he had in the past twenty years. What right did he have to question their beliefs?

The road leading to the bridge was backed up with cars for several blocks. There seemed to be as many headlights as there were flashing lights announcing the rate of the peso at the various money-exchange houses. Domingo could see young people laughing and having a good time as they waited in traffic. There was one car full of young women and they all waved at Domingo as if they knew him. The light turned green and he crossed the busy street near the college and the McDonald's restaurant. He loved the hamburgers they served and eating lunch there on Sunday, his day off, was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself. He had to admit that the Americans made very good hamburgers, which was another reason to admire how advanced this country was.

He was a block away from the center of town when he saw the cathedral. Before he could check to see if the doors were open, he noticed that the steel gates were locked. The lights in the courtyard were on and he stopped to look up at the towers stretching into the night sky. He imagined that if a man could stand on top of one of these towers he might be able to reach heaven, maybe even see an angel.

Half a block from the cathedral, someone whistled out to him. Two women were standing near the entrance of El Econó-mico Hotel. The taller one had broad shoulders and wore a sequined tube top with a tight miniskirt. Her companion had long blond hair that stood out against her dark skin.

“Venga pa'ca, papacito.”

“¿Por qué andas con tanta prisa?”

Domingo might have stopped if he were a younger man and it were a different night, but only until he realized they were actually men dressed as women. The shorter one called out to him to slow down, that they didn't bite, not very hard anyway. Domingo looked at the different storefronts as he walked away. One store had piles and piles of used clothing covering the floor like giant anthills. At the next corner, he heard norteño music coming from down the street. Men and women were laughing and stumbling out of a cantina. He had never entered these places near the center of town, thinking that no one wanted to see an old man drinking and feeling sorry for himself.

The bus station was a plain white building that would have gone unnoticed by most people if it were not for the buses heading to the North every hour. Taxis were lined up in front of the terminal, waiting for the passengers that had arrived. The station faced the levee and the International Bridge. Domingo recognized the sounds of the nightlife coming from across the river, but he continued to walk as though he had not heard anything.

He turned the corner in front of the station and walked two blocks before he saw the tree. A man was kneeling at the altar. His wife stood trembling next to him, one hand on her husband's shoulder and the other hand on an aluminum walker. As the husband prayed beneath the tree, Domingo could see the image of the Virgin Mary with her arms wide open.

Now that he was finally looking at the tree up close, he didn't know if he could pray beneath it, if he could see it as more than just a tree. He wanted to believe this was the work of God. It was God who had made the tree, so He must have also created the image of the Virgin Mary. Domingo remembered the famous story of Juan Diego and how the image of the Virgen de Guadalupe appeared before him in the hills of Tepeyac and how at first nobody believed him. Domingo wondered how one man could have so much faith in his beliefs. He felt a deep sorrow for having turned his back on God because of the misfortunes in his life.

When the man finished praying at the altar, he wiped away his tears and helped his wife into their car. Saliva ran off her chin and onto her T-shirt. The husband placed the walker inside the trunk and drove away.

Domingo removed his hat and made the sign of the cross as he knelt at the altar. A chain-link fence stood between him and the image. Next to the tree was a white house with its lights off. As much as he wanted to make peace with God, he felt strange kneeling beneath the tree. The truth was, he wanted to leave and wait until the morning when the churches would open, but he couldn't allow this day to pass him by. People had left dozens of photos tacked onto a large piece of plywood leaning against the fence. He looked at the pictures—three men standing next to an elderly woman sitting in a rocking chair, a young soldier back from the war, an older woman wearing a graduation gown, a wrecked car, a retarded woman sitting next to a giant teddy bear, a newborn baby with tubes connected to his mouth and belly—and tried to set aside his doubts. Domingo bowed his head and prayed to the Virgin Mary to please send a message to his Sara. He wanted her to know that her father had kept her memory alive and that he always would as long as God gave him air to breathe. He had not forgotten what day this was, and if she were here, he himself would sing “Las Mañanitas” to her, the same way her mother had done on her first birthday. He explained to the Virgin how much he wanted to be on a bus headed home so he could wake up the next morning to the warm touch of his wife. He missed her cooking and being able to share his meals with her. Then he remembered that the reason he had come to the tree was to ask for God's forgiveness. Domingo felt ashamed for having put his desires first. He begged the Virgin to help him ask for mercy. He and his wife had lost their little girl, and he, who had always believed in the hand of God, had turned away when his prayers went unanswered. He pleaded with the Virgin to intervene on his behalf and ask God for another chance to show his devotion and become His most faithful servant once again. He had tried to be a good man all the years God had given him on earth. He had worked hard to provide for his family. Everyone knew this about him. He swore he would have been a good father to Sara if there had been more time. Then he tried to pray an avemaría, except it had been so long since he had prayed that he could not remember more than the first verse. There was a tightness in his chest and he was having trouble breathing. He tried hard to remember another prayer. Domingo begged the Virgin to forgive him, but now he felt as though he were speaking to himself: he was lost beneath the tree.

He stepped back from the altar. The people in the photos seemed to be laughing at him, as if it had been a trick all along. He felt foolish for having believed that he could find the Virgin Mother in the bark of a tree, that he could ask for God's forgiveness by kneeling at an altar on a city street. The tree had no special powers except the ones people placed on it. He was not going to find peace with God here, not any more than he was going find it on la señora's roof or in the little room where he slept every night. Domingo turned his back to the tree and walked away.

People were boarding the same bus that had arrived earlier. He could see a young couple with their arms around each other. The young woman was crying as the man boarded the bus. A mother walked on board holding her little girl by the hand. An older woman wearing a baseball cap carried two large plastic bags filled with grapefruits. A man in short pants held a large radio. The bus driver took each of their tickets. Domingo hesitated on the street corner, asking himself what he should do next. The music was louder from the other side of the river now. All he had to do was walk up the small grassy embankment to see the lights of his country. The thought of going down to the edge of the river entered his mind, but he remembered how dangerous it could be if the authorities spotted him. The bus stopped next to him and waited for the traffic light to turn green. When Domingo looked up, the little girl was looking out the window. Her mother held her in the seat and the little girl stared at Domingo. There was nothing unusual about them, but seeing them pull away, he felt they could've been his own wife and daughter if his life had turned out differently, or if only he would've had more faith. He watched the bus disappear into the center of town, and he walked back to the tree.

Domingo passed the altar and climbed onto the fence. Then he pulled himself up to the first limb. He stood and gently tossed his shoes into the grass, careful not to wake the people who lived in the house next to the tree. The second branch was more difficult, but he strained and pulled until he was standing on it. He slid his feet along so he could get to the final branch. To reach it, he stood on his toes and then swung his right leg over the top. He was thankful that his body did not fail him. He held on to the tree. This last branch was higher than la señora's roof. He could see most of the city and the few cars that were on the street. The wind was strong and he held his hat in one hand. He closed his eyes as the wind blew through his hair. He prayed again, but this time he prayed to God directly. He told God that he was a poor man who had tried to comprehend the mysteries of life. Perhaps this was something no man could comprehend, but in his heart he needed to know why he and his wife had lost their child. And now almost twenty years later, he had discovered there was no answer: it had been the will of God. There was nothing he could do but accept the life he had been given. He asked God for forgiveness and then, for just a second, he let go of the tree in order to make the sign of the cross. In that moment, he felt light enough to blow away like a leaf. It frightened him at first, but he forced himself to let go of the tree again. This time he kept his arms open and waited for his fear to pass. When he opened his eyes, he gazed out toward the horizon, farther than he had ever imagined he could. He looked across the river, past the nightclub lights on Obregón, past the shoeshine stands in Plaza Hidalgo, past the bus station where he caught his long ride home, past all the little towns and ranchitos on the way to Ciudad Victoria, past the Sierra Madre and the endless shrines for people who had died along the road, and even farther, past the loneliness of his little room next to the tire shop, past the reality that he would work the rest of his life and still die poor, and finally, past the years of sorrow he had spent remembering his little girl, past all this, until he clearly saw his wife and then his daughter, Sara, who was now a grown woman.