told Orozco who his sister was: the Death Torch of Hartford. He steeled himself for Orozco’s response, expecting condescension, but the laborer only shook his head.
That’s a wild thing, he said. I saw her picture in the paper. She looks like you. Makes me think she can’t be half as mad as they say she is.
Orozco lit his cigarillo.
I have a crazy cousin named Chuy, he said. His father was an idiot cowhand from New Mexico. He tried to abort Chuy himself, but, of course, he botched it. He scraped Chuy’s mother’s womb with something, but he couldn’t find the egg. When Chuy was born, he was retarded, which, of course, the mother thought had more to do with the fucked-up abortion than with the pink wine she always drank. Chuy doesn’t look retarded, not really, but when people talk to him, they think he’s nuts. But he’s good for something. Whenever his mother loses her key ring or a book or an earring, Chuy’s always the one to find it. He’s like St. Anthony, the patron of missing shit. Most people call him crazy. But others—namely, his mother—think he’s blessed.
Isabel isn’t helping anyone, Ulises said.
What about those deaf kids? Anyway, that’s not the point.
What is the point? Ulises asked. That she’s insane and blessed all at once?
The point is that pretty much the two are the same.
—
Two weeks later Orozco brought Ulises a copy of the
Hartford Courant.
The headline was Hospital Confirms All Deaths Natural, and there was a supplementary interview with the archbishop, who was quoted as saying, Of course they were natural. We knew they were all along, and it’s a shame that for three months we’ve had to shield a devout young woman from the media because of a few misconstrued statements. We’re fortunate, however, that she’s kept her faith and decided to pursue it further. I look forward to blessing her first vows myself in a few days’ time. She’s a marvelous Catholic.
Ulises picked up the phone immediately. If Isabel was going to take her vows in a few days’ time, Soledad needed to return. But reaching his mother proved to be impossible: the hotel clerk in Phoenix informed him that Soledad and Henri were on a five-day rafting trip along the Colorado River. The clerk put Ulises in touch with the park patrol, but the only promise they could make was to deliver his urgent message if a gatekeeper should recognize his mother by her description. Ulises was certain no one would. He would have to go to the convent himself to bring his sister home.
At the convent, Isabel’s response was predictably diminutive. Why bother? she said. Her voice was again oddly soft and tapering; it seemed to evaporate just beyond her teeth. There’s no point in going back for just a few days. Quite frankly, I’m comfortable here. I have everything I need.
Don’t say that to Ma, Ulises said. And what’s this business about a few days? What happened to the trial?
It’s finished.
Says who?
Mother Superior, Isabel said. And the archbishop.
He was in the paper today, talking about you, Ulises said. Have you met the man? He wants to hear your vows. I think he wants to make another spectacle of you.
He’s visited once before, Isabel said, and, yes, you’re probably right.
So why let him?
It’s the only way I can join the order right away. Isabel paused for a moment. Will you come to the ceremony? she asked.
You have to postpone it, Ulises said. Ma thinks you’re here out of her neglect. She’ll go under if you make these vows without her knowing.
She might try to stop me, Isabel said. She’d drag me home like a child.
You are a child.
But then we’d break apart completely. I’d have to leave her out of my life. Don’t you think that would be worse? To be driven off by your daughter? Isn’t that worse than still having some part of your child?
Ulises assumed she meant some part of the time, and he had to agree. He couldn’t imagine his mother if Isabel told her to leave her alone
That’s a wild thing, he said. I saw her picture in the paper. She looks like you. Makes me think she can’t be half as mad as they say she is.
Orozco lit his cigarillo.
I have a crazy cousin named Chuy, he said. His father was an idiot cowhand from New Mexico. He tried to abort Chuy himself, but, of course, he botched it. He scraped Chuy’s mother’s womb with something, but he couldn’t find the egg. When Chuy was born, he was retarded, which, of course, the mother thought had more to do with the fucked-up abortion than with the pink wine she always drank. Chuy doesn’t look retarded, not really, but when people talk to him, they think he’s nuts. But he’s good for something. Whenever his mother loses her key ring or a book or an earring, Chuy’s always the one to find it. He’s like St. Anthony, the patron of missing shit. Most people call him crazy. But others—namely, his mother—think he’s blessed.
Isabel isn’t helping anyone, Ulises said.
What about those deaf kids? Anyway, that’s not the point.
What is the point? Ulises asked. That she’s insane and blessed all at once?
The point is that pretty much the two are the same.
—
Two weeks later Orozco brought Ulises a copy of the
Hartford Courant.
The headline was Hospital Confirms All Deaths Natural, and there was a supplementary interview with the archbishop, who was quoted as saying, Of course they were natural. We knew they were all along, and it’s a shame that for three months we’ve had to shield a devout young woman from the media because of a few misconstrued statements. We’re fortunate, however, that she’s kept her faith and decided to pursue it further. I look forward to blessing her first vows myself in a few days’ time. She’s a marvelous Catholic.
Ulises picked up the phone immediately. If Isabel was going to take her vows in a few days’ time, Soledad needed to return. But reaching his mother proved to be impossible: the hotel clerk in Phoenix informed him that Soledad and Henri were on a five-day rafting trip along the Colorado River. The clerk put Ulises in touch with the park patrol, but the only promise they could make was to deliver his urgent message if a gatekeeper should recognize his mother by her description. Ulises was certain no one would. He would have to go to the convent himself to bring his sister home.
At the convent, Isabel’s response was predictably diminutive. Why bother? she said. Her voice was again oddly soft and tapering; it seemed to evaporate just beyond her teeth. There’s no point in going back for just a few days. Quite frankly, I’m comfortable here. I have everything I need.
Don’t say that to Ma, Ulises said. And what’s this business about a few days? What happened to the trial?
It’s finished.
Says who?
Mother Superior, Isabel said. And the archbishop.
He was in the paper today, talking about you, Ulises said. Have you met the man? He wants to hear your vows. I think he wants to make another spectacle of you.
He’s visited once before, Isabel said, and, yes, you’re probably right.
So why let him?
It’s the only way I can join the order right away. Isabel paused for a moment. Will you come to the ceremony? she asked.
You have to postpone it, Ulises said. Ma thinks you’re here out of her neglect. She’ll go under if you make these vows without her knowing.
She might try to stop me, Isabel said. She’d drag me home like a child.
You are a child.
But then we’d break apart completely. I’d have to leave her out of my life. Don’t you think that would be worse? To be driven off by your daughter? Isn’t that worse than still having some part of your child?
Ulises assumed she meant some part of the time, and he had to agree. He couldn’t imagine his mother if Isabel told her to leave her alone
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