FundyNutter

Mario and Shannon had been friends a long time now. Most everyone they knew figured they were already lovers. But that wasn’t Mario’s style. And Shannon wasn’t interested in love. 

 In their town Mario was considered an expert. He was a successful business man. He had been a young entrepreneur. He went away to college and yet he returned to Clovis to open his restaurant. It was not many native sons who returned home after their taste of the city.  And while Mario was not in the least a real native son in Clovis, Oregon his charm, good looks and success made most everyone forget that small detail.

 He offered his insights into business, cooking, managing, building, and gardening to anyone who asked. And despite the failed marriage of his youth and his failure to win Shannon, he offered relationship advice to anyone who asked. And his advice on all these things was good. Advisors are many, but good advice paired with willing labor is rare. And for that Mario was a very popular man.  Shannon hated to lean on Mario the way the rest of the town did. She hated to do it because she loved him.  Because she loved him and she didn’t want to lead him on.  At least not very much. 

 

Shannon moved into town in the late 1990’s.  It was shortly after she left the military but before she started Bartending School.  The school was a correspondence course. Not much to brag home about, but Shannon hoped a step towards a more fulfilling future.  With her mom away, Shannon was really at loose ends when she left the military.  But everyone in town loved Shannon.  She was so generally well thought of that it was agreed if she decided to leave the Military it was the government’s loss. And AWOL must have been the only course of action, if she chose it.  “After all,” the town’s proud veterans of world wars said “It’s just the Coast Guard. And that’s hardly military anyway.”  They said this with cagily, with shifty eyes hoping their friends and colleagues from the Coast Guard didn’t hear them. Shannon was just too easy to love and too hard to blame.

 

When Mario first heard that the big eyed ingénue of an ex-coastguardsman had sent away the last of her last paycheck for a correspondence course in bartending and drink mixing he was dumbfounded.  She seemed to be the last person on Earth to fall for an old time scam like that.  Without deciding to, he took her wholeheartedly into his life and his business.

 He told Shannon what he needed was someone to wait tables and learn the business from him. He told her.  “I need you now.  Business is very good right now. Take this apron and learn from me the business of a restaurant.”  And he took her under his wing and onto his staff at Mario’s Restaurante the same way he had added Bernie as a janitor and Yvonne in the kitchen.  The Restaurante didn’t need them.  But they needed Mario’s and they needed Mario.

 Shannon couldn’t be called a dreamer.  Her feet were firmly on the ground.  But everyone who lived in Clovis for any length of time had some kind of other dream for themselves. Mario’s dream was of Shannon.  Bernie’s dream was of a 20 acre place he could farm on the weekends.  Yvonne just wanted her kids to want her to move to the city, nearer them and the grandkids.

 These days Shannon had any number of ideas.  She wasn’t in a hurry to pick one, but she mulled them over constantly.  She could go to the next town over and buy the Bar.  Tony told her he was tired of the business, wanted to sell.  He just couldn’t keep up with the old place anymore.  Or she could go back to the city.  She had the GI Bill.  Funny this thing, small town gossip.  When Shannon didn’t tell everyone all about her years in the Coast Guard because, quite simply, it was mind numbingly dull, they all gladly assumed the worst.  Shannon could do anything with that money.  She could study languages and become a professor.  Or she could study math and go into finance.  She liked art and the idea of art education.  Even art education in a place like Clovis fascinated her.  Anything. 

 After her first month waiting tables and mixing drinks for Mario she started to talk a little about the things she might like to do. And Mario would offer back his sage and sought after advice.  She started to look forward eagerly, for the conversations and the guidance, and the opportunity to be unabashedly self-centered.

 After the second month Mario found his advice started to lean more and more towards things that would keep those big eyes and small hands in Clovis.  Near him.  And as you could imagine it didn’t take Shannon long to see that either. It is very flattering when someone falls in love with you, when that someone is the proverbial smoldering Latino lover it is more than flattering.  It is down right polarizing.  And so Shannon was still in Clovis.  But she had never fallen in love with Mario, at least not that he could tell. She had been his part-time bartender and sole waitress for ten years.  He had loved her dearly for five of those.

 After work she spent many evenings at Mario’s home above the Restaurante eating amazing tamales.

 

“Shannon, mi Madre taught me how to make these and I will not teach you.  I taught my wife.  But she ran away from me and she took my recipe and my mother’s trust in me.  I can’t teach you my recipe because all you talk about is what you will do when you leave.”

 “I suppose I’m stuck here forever since I can’t get these fine tamales anywhere else.  Wait a second, unless of course I find your wife and get the recipe from her.”  Our Shannon, her eyes sparked.  She loved his food and his friendship and didn’t hesitate to hurt him when he stepped over that uncomfortable line.  “Anyway Mario. I can’t leave today; I have to go to work tomorrow.  You worry about your tamales some other time, maybe when that boss gives me a vacation.”  And then she wiped her fingers off one by one on a napkin that had migrated upstairs form the Restaurante linen closet. 

 She picked up her purse and put a kiss on top of his head, “And far be if for me to get between a mamma and her boy.” 

 She walked out the back and down the stairs to her car.  Mario could feel the kiss on top of his head.  Why did she do that to him? After all this time she made him crazy—almost like she was doing it on purpose.

 Shannon drove the five minutes across town to her quiet street by the grade school.  She kissed him on top of his head almost every night because she didn’t want him to fall in love with anyone else.  And she hated the way his bristly, course hair felt which helped keep her from falling in love with him. 

 

Shannon had one of the cutest houses in town. A 1902 original. One of the founder’s four room summer cottages “in the country.” It was a mere three miles to the south of the original Main Street, but the early days in town had been heady with optimist.  It had a white picket fence and a steep roof.  Like a misplaced cape cod, it had a center door nicely framed by two windows.  A few years back Shannon had made a little investment in her home and exchanged her windows, the aluminum travesties of the 60’s for a nice pair or vinyl windows.  She went with the charming nine pain style that matched the originals.

 It was the kind of thing she did.  Keep things nice. Put her money to good use.  Her lawn was tidy but there were no family heirloom plants in the flower garden.  No deceased pets out back under flowering trees.  Just the careful upkeep you give a place when you are fond of it and want to sell for a profit some day.

 It was, of course, quite a contrast to Mario’s apartment above Mario’s.  His home had those lingering scents of frijoles and enchilada sauce.  It had the décor—the flotsam and jetsam–of a man’s home after the wife left in a hurry.  The carpets were still mauve and the sofa was still the rosy floral pattern.  Though he hadn’t changed anything, time had passed. His bookshelves had gathered dust and screwdrivers and receipts.  The coffee table had earned an impressive collection of water rings.  And though she never asked, Shannon was sure the thing in the corner next to the TV was part of some car’s insides.  It was an apartment full of man clutter but very good food and very good company.  Mario was her best friend.       

 Shannon’s journey to Clovis had been well thought out.  It was the culmination of a lonely but not uneventful growing up.  Her early life had been a fine example of the norm of American tragedy.  Just enough sadness to send you to therapy but not enough to set you apart from your peers. You may recognize the story.  She was an only child and her parents divorced when she was seven.  Her father drove truck for a Californian fruit company and was gone five days a week.  Her mother was tired of being alone and decided to try again.  To find a husband—and a father—who would be a real partner in her life.  She didn’t find one. 

 Shannon’s father Terry was proud of his role in bringing fresh fruit year round to the children of America.  He was proud of being a Teamster. He was proud of his smart and beautiful wife and his charming, talented daughter.  He was truly disappointed that he had to divorce, but quickly found that it didn’t much change his way of life.

The friendly divorce terms allowed him two weekends a month with his daughter and as much participation in her life as he could fit in. So, as before the divorce, he came home to Seattle on the weekends.  Two of those weekends Shannon would  stay over with him in his apartment  and the other two weekends he would go to whatever recitals and games and activities that were scheduled.  He was quite pleased to find himself just as good a father after the divorce as he had been before. 

 Then he remarried.  A lovely woman called Jenny in Los Angeles who had two small daughters.  Terry had gained some seniority by this time, with his fruit company, and arranged for a route with two weekends in Seattle and two weekends in Los Angeles.  And so Jenny and Jenny’s girls had less of Terry than Dion had had. But they were pleased as he made good money and was kind to them when he came home.  He was pleased to find himself just as good a stepfather as he was a father. So Terry continued as always, a happy man well satisfied with his life, doing what good he could find. 

 Shannon loved him like you love a distant uncle, or Santa Claus.  And she loved him a little bit the way you love a father. Or, like you love the father from your favorite classic story book.  A fictional character you were proud of and wished you could have living in your home.

 

At her graduation from basic training, when she was 18, Terry, Jenny, the girls Alex and Sammy, now in junior high, and Dion all attended the ceremony.  Afterward they celebrated at a pizza parlor.  Shannon was glad to meet Jenny and Alex and Sammy.  They had seemed as though they would be very nice and it turns out they were. 

 Dion had not found a new husband.  But she had found religion and so was “at peace” and able to celebrate with her husband’s new family.  The girls, Alex and Sammy, were giddy with excitement because they on vacation with their stepfather, a man they also saw as a friendly Santa Claus, almost too good to be true and mostly living in their imaginations.

 Of course the graduation party was filed with awkward pauses and laughably inane conversation. (blogged to here)

 

“Do you like school?” Shannon asked her young stepsisters. 

 

One said yes, the other said no.  Shannon couldn’t remember which of the small blonde almost teenagers was which and so dropped the question.  Similarly, no one taught Jenny how to ask on open ended question.

 

“Was boot camp hard?” she asked Shannon.

 

“Oh yes!’ Shannon said. Longing to be enthusiastic, entertaining. Family.

 

But Dion, she was charming as ever.  She helped the time pass more smoothly.  She helped people laugh. 

 

“I should say it was hard! You had to cut your hair.  I never had a harder job then getting you to sit down and get a haircut.”  Her face dimpled, her eyes sparked.  Terry laughed, knowingly, though he never participated in any kind of hair cut.

 

“When you went on Sailor Bill’s Cartoon Schooner, you remember, you were 6? I wanted you to have Shirley Temple curls so bad.  First, I tried to do it at home, with my sponge rollers and my hair dryer. You were in your karate phase and with a very deft hand blocked every attempt to put a roller in your hair. So I ran as fast as I could to Aunt Suzanne’s salon.  She got you in the chair and started to put the apron around you. You were sure she was going to cut off your hair so you kicked her! You kicked your Aunt Suzanne.  I couldn’t believe it.”

 

And then, because Dion was a very good story teller and knew how to include her audience, she turned to the young girls and said, “Terry’s sister Suzanne is a very good stylist. But she has MS and walks with a cane.  I was never more mortified in my life than when I saw my sweet tempered, darling six year old kicking a woman with a cane. The one person on earth who loved Shae-shae as much as mommy and daddy did having her cane kicked right out from under her.  That day, I almost became a spanking mom.” 

 

Dion didn’t find a new husband when she divorced Terry.  She dated a few men, mostly from bars.  As she had thought when she first loved Terry, a man as good as him was hard to find.  Dion’s mother, still a force to be reckoned with, advised her that nice men aren’t found in bars.

 

“Men in bars are after one thing and that is not your security or well being.  Men worth having in your life are not found among them.  Those men who want the best for you are only found in church.  You come with me on Sunday and you will see.” Lucille was ardent and adamant.

 

“Oh mom, we aren’t church people. What would I do with a church man?”

 

“You don’t “do” with a church man, Dion.  You marry them.”

 

So Dion went to church with Lucille.  At first it was just on the weekends that Terry had Shannon.  Eventually she was at the Coushay Life Ministry Center as much as she possibly could be.  Around the same time that Terry found Jenny, Dion found religion.

 

She spent her “free” weekends at conferences and spirit filled retreats. She spent her weeknights having experience quests to find the center of her balance.  She was finally able to put aside her loneliness and start to seek her lone path.  She forgave Terry for being away at work their whole marriage.  She forgave him for letting her divorce him.   And she forgave him for finding love again. 

 

And she pitied him because he lacked all spiritual insight or drive for enlightenment.  She found love at The Center. Love of the Eternal Spirit of Man, and love of Self.  And she found a fine replacement for getting married.

 

 She began to think and eat and breathe her new goal—to become an ordained Minister of the Faith. She was ready to go to Alberta where the ministry of the Coushay family originated.  She would attend their seminary so she could serve others the way they had served her.  She only had to wait for her one daughter to graduate high school. 

 

Terry was up for Shannon’s high school graduation. But the girls were still in school so Jenny stayed home in Los Angeles with them. 

 

Terry’s eyes filled with tears as his poised and gracious daughter walked across the stage.  She had a gold scarf over her shoulders that only a handful of the graduates were wearing. So it must have meant that she was special.

 

He found her in the crush after the ceremony and swept her up in a great fatherly hug.  “Good job Shae-Shae! Well done!”  He kissed her on each cheek and let her go.  “We are so proud of you. Jenny sent this.”  He handed her a box of chocolates and a card.

 

“Thanks Daddy,” She grinned from ear to ear. Today Shannon was done with relying on people who were always somewhere else. With precocious maturity she looked at her father, was sad for him, happy for herself and glad to be free all at the same time.

 

“When do you hit the road?” He asked her.  He didn’t love the idea of his daughter joining the Coat Guard.  She tried to sell it as a way to save money on college.  He told her and told her they had plenty of money for her college.  And he was pretty sure he did. But the war with Iraq hadn’t started yet, so no mention of danger could possibly sway her. 

 

“I leave for basic training in two weeks.” She could hardly stand still. She wanted to bound around the auditorium with her friends, young and free and alive.

 

“Well take care.  I’ll bring everyone out for your graduation from basic, okay?  We’ll all be there”

 

It was a funny idea to Shannon, to first meet the three other women in his life after they had been family for almost a decade.  She laughed and dimpled and shone with the glorious freedom of youth and graduation.  “Do that, Dad. That’ll be great.”

 

And then Terry got back in his rig to drive home.  No stopping on the way as the fruit needs of the I5 corridor had already been met that week, on the Northern drive.

 

Dion and Shannon celebrated at Starbucks with hot expensive decaf bistro drinks and cheesecake from behind the glass display.

 

“I love you so much kiddo. And I am so proud of you. I can only imagine the amazing things you will experience. The travel and the adventure.  You will remember to write to me?” Dion drank slowly from her coffee, enjoying the experience of being with her newly made adult daughter. There was so much to tell a young person on a night like tonight.

 

“Oh of course, mom.  Of course. I’ll write. You think I won’t write just because, what? Because I’ll learn to shoot a gun?” Shannon baited her mom. She wanted to get the lecture over with so she could enjoy the rest of her night.

 

“I wish you wouldn’t honey work with arms. I really do. I understand the need to follow your own path. And I pray that you will find one eventually that leads to peace.  There is just so much aggression and darkness in the military machine. You write me if the darkness is too deep for you, please.” She would never stop fighting against the darkness on behalf of her daughter. It was the job of a mother.

 

“Mom. It’s the Coast Guard. I’ll be rescuing boaters. I’ll be…a part of the light. Don’t worry.” Shannon displayed her aptitude for the adolescent eye roll and deep sigh and she said this to her mom. 

 

“Well. I’m just saying. I know I could get you a position at the Coushay Seminary in Edmonton with me.”

 

“Okay mom.  Really.  Seminary is your stuff. Just let me do my stuff.”  The coffee tasted burnt and the cheesecake was cloying in the back of her throat.  Shannon never went to the Life Center with her mom and her grandma.  She found the sisters and brothers who came by the house for fellowship experience embarrassing and strange. She hated seeing her beautiful, charming mother shuffling around with these effusive, jargon spewing, well…cult members,

 

The next morning Shannon made real coffee and sat down to her bowl of cereal. Her mom bounded down the stairs, dark hair shining, her whole body filled with the same excitement Shannon had had the night before.

 

She kissed her daughter on top of her head. “I love you so much!” She cried out.

 

“Oh mom.” Shannon shrugged but was delighted by the love.  She was always delighted by affection. 

 

“I love you. Don’t forget to write.” Dion dropped the keys to the house on the table. “Wish me luck?”

 

“Luck?” Shannon raised an eyebrow at her mom. She was pretty sure luck was a concept they didn’t encourage.

 

“Ahh well, I suppose even the most centered believer could use a little luck.”

 

“Well then, luck to you, mom.  I love you.” She set down her coffee mug and got up. She wrapped her arms tight around her mom. Four years wasn’t that long. She’d be out of the Coast guard in four years and have her mommy back.

 

Dion gave her a big motherly smooch on the cheek.  Then she loaded her bags and herself into the Rabbit, top down.  She blew a kiss to her darling and drove off North to her future. Shannon finished her cereal at her table in the house that was all hers for the next two delicious free weeks.  It felt very good.

 

Those two weeks went quickly.  Shannon had one big party with her friends from school and some boys got in a fight and broke a window.  Shannon’s cool factor was greatly increased.  She called her mom on the spot and got a credit card number to buy a new window.  Shannon new she could get away with this. Despite her great excitement, Dion felt guilty for leaving her daughter.  Kids had figured Shannon was just like them before, but the post graduation party with the broken window and the credit card number and no punishment whatsoever catapulted her out of the atmosphere.  She was as close as they would ever get to a brat packer, all privilege and no responsibility. (blogged to here 12/29)

 

And then her time in the Coast Guard started.  The child in Shannon throve on the requirements and the regulations and the guidelines.  By some fluke of the system she spent almost the whole four years stationed in the Seattle area working on the Icebreakers.  She loved the work. Loved the isolated beauty of the icebergs they were sent to cleave.  But, barring one dramatic rescue in her first year, the whole thing would be a most boring story. 

 

She did fall in love. Because she was 19 and they served together.  He was her commanding officer during the great rescue, as she called it.  A family was ship wrecked on a small island in the Orcas system, Canadian side of the border.  Nothing much to write home about at first glance. But the mother of the family was pregnant and had gone into labor during the crash.  A toddler had been knocked unconscious and the father had broken both of his legs. The coast guard was called in because of the extremely isolated nature of the island and because each member of the stranded family were in such serious and precarious conditions. They saved everyone, even the unborn baby.

 

The officer she fell in love with was tall and blue eyed and severe. He was young, maybe twenty-five but seemed like an older man.  He took her out quite a bit that year. He showed her a good time but he didn’t try to compromise her convictions. And then he was stationed in Hawaii and she never heard from him again.  She pined for him for a long time and wrote to her mom about it.

 

Dion was relieved that her daughter hadn’t been seduced by the unscrupulous military man. He was clearly a part of the uncentered dark that the government represented.  “Guard your heart my love. I will pray for the right man for you. You will find love. But guard your heart.  It is not your time yet.”

 

It was such an unsatisfying letter, so filled with weird Coushay Life Center-isms that Shannon tore it up and burned it in an ash tray.  And then, for the first time in her life she wrote a letter to Jenny.

 

Jenny was thrilled by the letter. She showed it to all her friends. She had a new part of this kind and distant husband of hers.  Some of her jealousy of Dion was quieted. For a few years she and Terry had tried to have a baby.  As it would turn out, he needed to be home more to get her pregnant.  Every time she would have been able to conceive he was in Seattle with Dion’s child.  With his child.  You never own a man fully until you have his child. 

 

She carried the letter with her in her purse for a month before it occurred to her to write Shannon a letter back.  That began a friendly correspondence.  They exchanged letters every two months or so.  Jenny learned about the isolated beauty of the icebergs and the nightlife in Seattle for Coast Guard personnel.  Shannon stayed in the service an additional two years. She didn’t tell anyone why. But she couldn’t bear to go back home. Her mom still hadn’t left the seminary.  There was no one to go home to.

 

In there correspondence Shannon learned about Jenny’s home town, a place called Clovis, Oregon.  Jenny, Alex, and Sammy went there for two weeks every summer.  Jenny’s family had moved to Los Angeles when Jenny started college.  But they all liked to go back for vacation. It was hot and golden.  Fields of ripe wheat swaying in the breeze.  Free range cattle roaming aimlessly and content.  A small downtown strip with a Mercantile, a Mexican restaurant, hardware store, feed store, library.  It sounded quaint and charming. It seemed like, if Shannon was in Clovis, she could see her dad, her dad’s family.  Maybe quell some of her jealousy of Alex and Sammy, the girls she assumed her dad had raised. 

 

Shannon took her honorable discharge and her small savings.  She bought a Jetta and drove to Clovis. Drove home.   

 

That year, Alex made the cheerleading nationals and the small family went to Chicago for vacation instead of Clovis.  Shannon wrote Jenny from Clovis.  To surprise her. 

Jenny was surprised.  She called.  She apologized to Shannon for going to Chicago instead. But although she apologized, she didn’t know what this girl thought she was doing. There wasn’t work or school in Clovis.  Just a bunch of farms and Mexicans and mosquitoes.  It never occurred to Jenny to say “Why don’t you come stay with us in LA?” Instead she said, “Why don’t you go to your mom in Edmonton?”

 

Shannon cried herself to sleep that night. Her landlady heard her and began to worry.  It was intense, the orphaned feeling that Shannon had.  She didn’t want to be a trucker or a preacher or a teacher or a nurse.  And her imagination stalled out there. What could she do?  Anything.  How did she decide what to do?  The Mexican restaurant seemed lively the night she checked it out. It was a really nice place.  She applied to wait tables, to make an income while she reassessed her life.  To fit in where this stranger, this Jenny woman, had said she would fail.  She didn’t hear back from the owner, so she believed he felt she lacked the necessary experience.  Which, she supposed she did.  There wasn’t much about her life with the radio equipment, her time as a Coast Guard Communications Specialist on board an ice breaker that met the needs of a restaurant. 

 

Shannon was still young, and though grieving, optimistic. She thought, a little time, maybe a year here in Clovis. Then Jenny will see that I can do whatever I set my mind to. And I can save some money up and when I leave I can go anywhere I want and do anything I want.  One night she ordered the correspondence course in bartending that she saw on TV.  “Perhaps,” she thought “this will impress Mario Gomez enough to take me on in his nice restaurant.” And if it didn’t she thought she could find a bar somewhere near enough to work at.  Every town has a place to drink. 

 

Yvonne the landlady saw Shannon not eating; she saw her pining in her heart for family. She saw her staying in the house where she rented a room day after day.  And then the package from the correspondence course came. Yvonne had seen those commercials too. That kind of scam doesn’t come cheaply.  But all of this asceticism that Yvonne noted in Shannon wasn’t lack of means.  It was nerves. And it was fear and it was the honest heartache of a young person who didn’t see anyone who cared about her success or failure.

 

Only two days after the bartending package arrived, Mario called.  And a good thing to, as it had taken Shannon about half a moment to realize she had fallen for a scam.  While it hadn’t been all her savings, it had been a few hundred dollars.  Not a sum anyone wants to throw away for pleasure.  Mario called and he told her what she needed to hear.

 

“We are really very busy right now and I will need you full time.  I can only pay a little but the tips, they are good.  You should rather work for me than another restaurant because I would like to train someone to do most everything, maybe not cook right away, but to serve is most important and I will teach you to serve others and to do well in a restaurant.”

 

His voice was beautiful, deep, resonant, and saying exactly what she wanted to hear. She thanked him and thanked him and was not once late for work.       

 

And that was what Mario first loved about her. She was determined to do good work no matter what circumstances she was under.  He saw quickly that she was a very good woman.(blogged 12/31/07)

 

CHAPTER BREAK

To Mario the restaurant business was life and life was feeding people.  In Mexico he spent hours in the kitchen while his nanny and the cook gossiped together.  He learned how to roast peppers and how to mix tortillas by touch.  Afterwards, in America, in Clovis, he worked in the school kitchen to earn free lunches. 

 

While feeding people he learned to communicate with women the way they communicate.  He learned to compare stories, one to the other and to sympathize without trying to resolve the problem.  And in the kitchen at the school he learned English from the women who fed children so they could feed their children. 

 

Not that Mario always used I statements or preferred to listen reflectively. But it couldn’t be denied he had the ability to reflect and to listen without judging. He was happy to use those skills when he needed to. Always, afterwards, after the women loved him, he could tell them how to fix the problems and they would do it. He could offer his means and resources and skills and they would accept. Overtime he became universally popular—in Clovis.  As a young man starting out in business fathers and mothers alike looked past his olive complexion, black hair and accent and considered him a Very Eligible Bachelor. Girls looked past the two room shack the he lived in with his parents and they looked past that his father worked in the fields for their fathers.

 

People came to the Restaurante out of curiosity and because there was no where else to eat out in town.  But as the saying goes, they came back to Mario’s Restaurante because of Mario’s very good food, his gifted conversation and his impeccable manners.

 

“This Mario could be somebody.”  They would murmur as they left the Restaurante. 

           

“Mario…what was his last name? You say you went to school with him?”

           

“His parents are, who? Really? They work on the Grady farm? Do they?”

 

Incredulous statements like this flowed from the lack of information—the blindness—of the middle class of this small town in Oregon.

 

His father, who spent only two weeks as a day laborer in Portland, came to Clovis with an introduction to Mr. Grady.  One of the men he waited for work with at the day labor store front in Portland had been his patient in Chiapas. Dr. Gomez had saved his life.  It had been a grueling surgery to remove the bullet from his chest. But the good doctor removed it and he staved of infection and this man survived.  The man, Hector Luis stood beside him waiting to be chosen to work for one day, and he wept for his friend Dr. Gomez.  The next day Hector Luis arrived with directions to the Grady Farm, with a letter of introduction to Mr. Grady and his farm manager and with bus tickets for Doctor Gomes, Sra Gomes and small Mario.

 

The farm manager studied the letter of introduction and found a place for Dr Gomez in the fields and a place for Sra Gomes in the kitchen of a wealthy neighbor farmer.  And because the doctor was a legal immigrant, fluent in English Mario was easily entered into school. Though only eight years old Mario was able to speak with amazing emotional capacity—in Spanish.  He was given a job in the kitchen to earn him his free lunch.

 

During his high school years there were many days that Mario pleaded with is father to leave the fields, to move to the city and work as a translator.  But beaten down by misfortunes that his son would never understand and sick with grief over the fate of his brothers in the fields—the ones who couldn’t get their kids into school because they moved with the crops and had no legal right to educate their children, Dr Gomez stayed put.  He saw nothing but suffering.

 

And he didn’t see his son’s great empathy or brilliant mind for science. He didn’t see the makings of a surgeon as skillful as he had been with a care for the patient never seen before.  All he saw was the suffering that seemed to be all around him.  During the day he saw himself and his co-workers scarred from the poisons that made the vegetables and fruits free from pests and perfect in form.  Sickened by the process that made food pretty.  In the evenings he saw his co-workers on his back porch where he dispensed as many over the counter medicinas as he could afford.  He gave them directions in their mother tongue to ease their illness and despair and to keep the medicine from making them worse through misuse.  Eventually Dr. Gomez met a man he only called Raul.  And once a month Raul brought medicines down from Canada that could help more. But it wasn’t legal. And that made Dr. Gomez hate himself, Raul and America. 

 

Dr Gomez did not see that in his son he could have every thing he really wanted. A legal physician with a proper clinic that the PLO could not close down for failure to pay protection.

 

Since he did not see the potential his son had to heal the sick of their illness and their worry he did not guide him and help him learn to do this.  And so Mario followed the path that was always in front of him.  He cooked.

 

He was fascinated by the properties of food and the power of the kitchen.  The reaction of acids to leavening agents and what heat did to protein.  And he loved to serve the food to people. To kids in school who seemed lonely he had a smile. And to pretty girls with shining eyes and rosy cheeks he had a smoldering look and a bit of a smirk. Charming like his mother, handsome like his father. He was also then and still, especially with Shannon, every part the aristocrat descended from generations of doctors and Spanish nobility.

 

Shannon came to work at the Restaurante about the same time that Mario stopped wishing his wife had not left him.  Linda had been gone for four years now.  He had been a divorced Catholic man, a disappointment to himself for almost three years.  He didn’t exactly wake up one morning perfectly fine, not missing his wife or his marriage. He merely woke up one morning and saw a beautiful, lost young lady who seemed more discouraged than he had been. And he realized he could help her.

Helping people seemed obvious and necessary to Mario. Like his ancestral obligation to the people of the village.  Like his fathers oath to first do no harm.  He just hadn’t felt like it for a few years. 

 

He looked over the job application Shannon had left with him the week before.  Of course he could hire her. But the Restaurante is a small operation that runs with a small staff. And Mario preferred to keep service spots open for the kids of the migrant workers.  The children, now teenagers, of the friends of his father who he knew on his back porch.  He didn’t prefer to ask for papers for his summer staff. No one had ever bothered to come to a place like Mario’s Restaurante in a place like Clovis hunting for illegals.  All they would have caught were one or two teenagers making the money that kept their families clothed throughout the year.

 

Why did this young, beautiful woman with advantages need one of the few positions he had to hand out?  He knew she hadn’t gone AWOL.  It was on her application and ridiculous for anyone to assume otherwise.  He didn’t know why she had found her way to Clovis.  He put her application aside and saw to his customers.  It was out of his mind until he overheard a conversation.

 

“That Shannon girl is in for a world of trouble”

 

“Who?”

 

“That girl who took a room over at Yvonne’s house.”

 

“Oh yeah? That pretty brunette? What’s she gone and done?”

 

“Yvonne told Barb that Shannon got a package from that school on TV.  Said it was to learn bartending.”

 

“What fool idea is this?”

 

“Who knows what kids are thinking.  Barb said Shannon paid her rent for the month, got that package and hasn’t fixed a meal in the kitchen better than a bowl of cereal for two days.  Yvonne’s real worried about her.”

 

Yvonne saw Mario was listening in.  “I am real worried about her.  And I did tell Barb.  This child doesn’t have anyone here looking after her. I don’t know if she wants to learn to be a bartender so she can make herself big tips and disappoint her family or so she can sit at home and drink, pretending she is doing something.  Mario, she just needs someone to help her.”

 

“You are worried that she is desperate.  Or destructive to herself.”  Mario paused in his cooking to pay attention to Yvonne.

 

“I am, Mario.  I tried as hard as I could to keep my own kids on the right path.  They resent me still, but they kept straight.  And I can’t stand to see this girl fall away for lack of a mother.”

 

Lack of a mother touched him.  No where to turn touched him.  Being alone and vulnerable was not the exclusive condition of the immigrant. He tried to remember the girl who had dropped of the application. She seemed smart, with a military correctness about her.  Probably she knew how to work. Part of him wanted to wait until the evening, run over his numbers to see if he could afford help. But part of him just wanted to rescue somebody.

 

 

CHAPTER BREAK

It was a hot evening and everyone was very cranky. Shannon was even sweating a little bit, which she hated doing at work.

 

 She had been in Clovis for about four years. Getting to know the town went quickly. But the feeling of being an outsider lasted on and on.  Sra Gomez comforted her just recently, or had tried. She said, “For thirty years you may be an outsider, querida. However, when your children marry they will be children of the town. They will not be outsiders.  This is the way it is when you live somewhere with few people. It is the same in Oregon as it is in Chiapas.” Sra Gomez spoke warmly. She remembered her father being called brother by the other villagers only after she was married to Dr. Gomez.  

 

“Mario, the troops are flagging.  What can we do?  Maybe give them free cervezas?”  Shannon wiped her brow with a paper towel. She tossed the towel into the garbage.  “It’s just so hot.”

 

“You think I am made of beer, mi amiga?” Even Mario sounded grumpy this evening.

 

“I just think beer would be cheaper than central air.” She poured herself a cup of ice water and had a drink.

 

“Now, that is not a nice thing to say, this hot, it makes you mean to me. I will fix the central air tonight.  It’s only been off for two hours. I don’t hurry to fix it now while there are customers to serve.  I don’t want to throw my good opportunities after bad.”

 

“Well, Bill and Joe and Sadie are out there and they aren’t going to stay for dessert. 

I thought maybe a free drink would get them to stay for some ice cream too.” There was nothing to do this evening for any of them. It was a shame to send friends home early because it was too hot.

 

“That it might.  I suppose it could not hurt to ask.  But you must ask.  They will surely say yes if I ask and I don’t want to risk having to give them a free beverage just so they will buy a two dollar dish of ice cream.  I am always thinking like a business man.”

 

She stood at the bar looking at her friends while they chatted and munched on chips with fresh chipotle salsa.  “Joe, you were just saying that Mario is always the businessman first, weren’t you?”

 

Joe took a quit drink of coke. “That’s Mario, ain’t it?  He’s always the business man.  If by business you mean giving your only shirt to the first naked person who walks by.”

 

“Shannon knows first hand, don’t you?”  Bernie said laughing from behind his broom.

 

“Don’t we all.” Shannon smirked at Bernie. “But it sure is hot. And I think Mario was willing to give away business just so he could close up and fix the furnace.  I told him, ‘Mario, your customers need you. Not one of those three can cook worth a bean.  Why don’t you give them a beer so they can cool down and eat a little more food.’”  Shannon winked at Joe and handed out three pints.

 

“And Mario always wants to help out a poor sap so he says ‘give mis amigos a beer querida Channon’ doesn’t he?  Well Shannon, we think you are a real sport.  Don’t we? Thanks for the beer.  We’ll tip real good since he’s gonna take it out of your check.” Bill winked at Shannon. He pushed away his coke that had warmed up over the course of dinner and took a long drink from the Corona. 

 

“You really think he agreed to this, Bill? I have my doubts.  Mario’s not the kind of man to give us a fish.  He can’t take the time as he’s on call twenty-four hours a day hoping for a chance to teach us poor folk how to fish.”  Sadie laughed and then took a drink off the top of her pint.  But she left it on the bar with a five to pay for it and a bit of tip too.  “Good night Mario. I’m not in the mood to put you out of business tonight.  But I do want to see the air back on tomorrow.”

 

Mario leaned his head around the door.  “I have much to teach la senorita still, don’t I?  But I will owe you a drink now, since it has been offered. I expect the first day of the summer when it is over 100 degrees that the three of you will return with your familias for the complimentary drink of your choice.  Even the children may have their juice.”

 

Bill said, “That’s it. If you are wishing children on me at this point of my life, I’m leaving too.” But, the way that he took Sadie’s elbow indicated they were ready to limit their company to each other for the night.

 

“Buenas Noches, amigos.” Mario called out after them.

 

“Well, you tried to keep the customers in, Shannon. But it wasn’t happening.  Turn that sign around, would you?” Yvonne sounded grumpy but the heat does have a way of getting to her. 

 

“I always say a man can take a hint.  But it’s hardly fair to give him a free drink on one hand and turn out the lights on the other. I’m gonna wait to hear what the man has to say. See if he can get his women into line.” And Joe leaned back in his chair, tipping it on it’s back legs.  He was taunting Mario and drinking his beer very slowly.

 

“Jose, amigo, our business hours are when you need us.  Stay as long into the night as you wish. Mi Restaurante es su restaurante.” Mario came out into the dining room with the bucket and rag that was usually Shannon’s domain.  He smiled at his friend and handed over a rag.

 

“Say, Mary,” Joe said, “I know what you mean when you say this restaurant is mine too.  And I’m not in the mood to push a mop.  But I’ll be back tomorrow before you open, if you can wait that long to fix the air.  I’ve got a couple of hours free and can bring my equipment.”  Joe owed Mario for his free and ready business advice as much as anyone else in Clovis. And he was willing to pay it back. 

 

“Thank you Jose, I will see you in the morning then. I have no idea how to fix a broken air conditioner.  But do not tell the senoras, si?  They think I am like a Hercules and can do everything.”  Mario kept a very serious face.  Joe played along and left some cash on the table to pay his friend for the after work entertainment.  He also didn’t have a wife to go home to and preferred to socialize with his friends at Mario’s before a quiet night at home.

 

 Shannon and Bernie put a nice shine on the dining room.  They mopped the floor and waxed it, as they did every night.  They cleaned the tables, even the ones that had not been used.  They put fresh cloths on the tables for the lunch service, with white paper over the top.  Votive candles in the center of each table in a simple glass holder.  The room exuded clean and stylish sophistication.

 

Yvonne was also hard at work. The copper bottom pots gleamed in the kitchen and the stainless counters were spot free. This was a professional kitchen first. It was a place to fulfill the spiritual needs of everyone who Mario met, a very close second. No where on the list was Mario’s considered a dive, a dump, a pit stop or any other derivate. Families touring the beautiful high desert east of the Cascade Mountains would stop at Mario’s expecting a plate of penne with pesto, it so resembled a trendy urban Italian cafe. 

 

“Shannon, don’t go home tonight. I will be such a lonely man if you go home now.” Mario was sitting on a bar stool admiring her as she put on her coat. He wasn’t trying to make love to her. Generally speaking however, he was a romantic man.

 

“I guess I don’t have anything better to do. It’s kind of pathetic in fact. I was just going to hurry so I could get home to watch a show. I can watch TV at your place though, eh? You’re TV’s not broken.”  She shrugged on her purse and went back into the kitchen.  “Do you have anything to drink up there? If it’s this hot down here we’ll melt upstairs.”

 

“Bring whatever you like, querida.  Mi cocina es su cocina.” Mario got up and put out the lights all around restaurant.

 

“I’ve heard that somewhere before. But I already did the mopping.  What do you want for dinner? I’ll fix.” She was looking in the fridge for leftovers.

 

“No me gusta. You are my guest still.  Come on up and we will see what there his.” 

 

They went upstairs together. She settled on the sofa with the remote and a soda.  His house was a second home to her.  It was so easy there.  For a time she had worked on developing girlfriends. The trouble was, she was single and they were married. She worked days and they were home with their families at nights. She worked at the only restaurant, so where would a couple of girls go out for coffee after work, if they did want to? It was nice to be friendly with the girls in town. Sometimes they took trips to the city to shop. But when you needed to not be alone in the evening all that remained was Mario. Most women (sometimes even the married ones) wouldn’t have seen this as a last resort. And it wasn’t necessarily last for Shannon either.

 

He handed her a plate.  She looked up at him, “Make yourself comfortable.” She took a bite of the sandwich he gave her.  They ate their dinner and watched TV. He took their plates to the kitchen and washed up. She didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. Mario didn’t mind. He glanced into the living room, at her sitting on his sofa.  Her hair was shining, with wispy bits falling out of the pony tail, all around her face.  Her eyes were deep and black. The heat of the day made her cheeks so red she looked unreal.  She was stunning. His waitress. His friend these last few years. She was a stunning beauty.

 

He sat down close to her and put his arm around the back of the sofa. Around her shoulders, of course. She leaned into his arm and relaxed.  Try as she might to think otherwise, this was the most comfortable place she’d ever been.

 

That was all. They sat there comfortably. She didn’t think about how nice it would be to be at home here, although she could feel it. And he thought exclusively about how beautiful she was. He didn’t move a muscle. He thought if he had to stop touching her, he might die. He fell in love with her that night. The night she tried to give away his beer and then came upstairs for dinner, like so many other nights. 

 

All of this happened in the apartment above the restaurant.  They got in the habit of spending time together there when she rented a room from Yvonne.  It was easier for both of them to be together without company. Yvonne was good natured and well intentioned. But like many motherly women she made a great show of letting them “be along together.”  The implications were too much for Shannon and frankly they were too much for Mario as well.  He was surprised after his first attempt to date Shannon, that he only felt relief from her rejection.  He liked being free from the need to make a relationship work for a lifetime.   

 

They stopped gong to Yvonne’s because there were far too many mornings at the restaurant with Yvonne asking why he hadn’t stayed for breakfast. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t that kind of man. That in any case he wouldn’t have stayed the night. At the end of the work day they were already at his place, right above the Restaurante. What could be easier?

 

CHAPTER BREAK

The Restaurante anchored the downtown of Clovis. It had traditional Kelley green awnings with Mario’s Restaurante in clear white print.  The specials menu was carefully printed on an immaculate blackboard that Shannon placed on the sidewalk every morning.  He didn’t have outdoor seating, but that was the one piece missing from the picture of a down town café.  The picture of the ideal night out with your sweetheart.

 

Mario’s, as it should be, was on the corner of Main Street and Oregon.  It was a stop sign intersection, but that didn’t particularly slow down traffic.  Mario’s neighbor to the west was the Mercantile.  It was the original Mercantile from back when Clovis burst forth around the copper mine. Close to a hundred years ago it had met all the shopping needs of the small boom town.  Food stuff, soft goods, nails in barrels.  All the classics. It maintained its status as the only place to buy groceries long after the copper mine played out.  The Clovis Cooperation, centered back east like all such concerns, pulled out the mining operation.  But the Mercantile remained to fill the needs that the ranchers and farmers couldn’t grow and didn’t have time to send away for.  By careful management the Merc did fine.  It stopped selling fabric and notions when the Wal-mart moved in, 80 miles away. But nobody seemed to sew anymore, Wal-Mart or no Wal-mart. 

 

Barb and David Johnson had bought the Merc from the family who had owned it since its opening.  They were actually horrified when they learned that Mario Gomez was going to open a Mexican restaurant next door.  They petitioned for a town meeting to put a stop to this perceived atrocity.  It was a very heated affair.  When the name Gomez was mentioned as a topic, the Hispanic community swarmed to his defense. There were as many Hispanic residents living full time as workers on other farms as there were residents in the town proper.  It seemed that every single one of them came to the meeting.

 

The first point that the Johnson’s put up was that parking for the restaurant traffic would interfere with the ability of their patrons to enter the store.

 

“I can see why that would concern you. But you have not yet seen the plans for the Restaurante.”  Mario smiled calmly, even though this was a hurdle, it would certainly attract attention to his venture.  Newspaper coverage, even.  There was a chance people would drive from away to eat at his restaurante because of this free advertising. Advertising was something he could not afford to purchase right away.  “I will rent this space from George Spalding.  It will be rented for one year with an option to buy.  In the agreement, he will clear the property to the North, adjacent to the building on Oregon Avenue.  This will accommodate the parking needs of my patrons.”  Mario sat down as a murmur ran across the crowd, especially loud on the side of the townies.

 

“George Spalding would clear out his junk-heap garbage-pile fire hazard if you rent his building?  That’s a bigger concession than the town council has been able to get from him in twenty years. Even when he had that cigarette shop there he wouldn’t clean out the Oregon Avenue property.”  Sadie Olson spoke for the crowd when she expressed her approval of at least that portion of the plan.

 

“But” interjected the moderator, “will Mr. Spalding follow through with this commitment? What real interest does he have in cleaning out his property to provide you a parking lot?”

 

“I am paying him for it, of course.”  And with that charming smile again, a laugh rippled across the crowd.

 

Dave Johnson raised his hand. The moderator recognized him. “The question of parking was only one part of the concern that our town should have.  What kind of restaurant will this be? What kind of crowd will a Mexican Bar bring to town and how will that affect out tax base?  Does Clovis really have the resources to deal with an increase of drunken driving and fighting and lewd behavior? This is a family town.”  That brought a murmur of disapproval across the crowd. Both sides of the room sounded insulted.

 

The moderator responded, “Mr. Gomez, how do you respond to the legitimate civic concerns that the secretary of the town council brings up?  How do you plan on retaining a family friendly clientele?”

 

Again, this was met with a general sound of disgust.  Mario, sincere and yet discreet and in control of himself, furrowed his brow, a look of gentle concern.   “I will pay my business taxes on time and in the irreproachable manner in which the Gomez family has always conducted themselves.”

 

A few voices piped up in agreement, “Si! Si!”

 

Mario turned from the moderator’s table to the room full of people.  The citizens mostly supported the crazy idea of a going concern taking over an empty dump of a building. He smiled a little and put up his hand in thanks.  He continued, “I believe the atmosphere of the restaurant I intend to run will not attract a rough crowd.  My business plan includes lunches and dinners in the middle price range. Nothing over seven dollars and nothing below three, excepting the menu especially for children.  There will be no happy hour to encourage drunkenness.” A sole voice piped up to boo, and then laugh.  Mario smiled at the laugh. “There will be cloth on each table and the staff will be in uniforms, white shirts and black trousers with aprons.”

 

“Now wait!” Barb was barely holding herself together as Mario described his benign vision. “This will be a Mexican restaurant with chips and salsa and beer and greasy smells that are just going to ruin the atmosphere of Main Street. We can’t possibly let this happen.” 

 

The crowd hadn’t had such a scene at a town meeting since the fire fighters union met to discuss closing their Clovis location.  They wanted to merge units with the nearest town.  That serious matter of town safety was nothing compared to a new restaurant. The crowd was tense with excitement, eager to get their opinions heard.  People in the far back chatting about the old days agreed that this was more fun.  However it lacked the drama of the fire station, since that had been an important matter. This seemed to rest wholly on the Johnson’s at the Merc not wanting the Gomez kid to have a café.

 

“I hear you are concerned about the smells of the cooking food and the quality of the items we will serve.” said Mario. “I am pleased that we have come to the heart of the matter. You would like to be assured that I will use proper ventilation and that the food I prepare will be delicioso and that your fine mercantile will not float down Main Street on a river of grease. And possibly also, you are concerned that you will be uncomfortable with some of the people who eat at my restaurant, people you are unfamiliar with.  I think I can make you more comfortable.”

 

Barb and David stiffened in their seats. They did not like the implication that they were prejudiced. It was far too close to their wild hippy sixties. Back then they had fought for the rights of the blacks. But these people weren’t blacks. They were Mexicans. And they could ruin the atmosphere of this comfortable, small town.  But they didn’t want anyone else to know that is what they were thinking. 

 

“Be at peace, my friends.” Mario smiled again, one hundred watts right at them, “I will give you, as well as the other businesses on the street, vouchers for free lunch. Then you will know for certain that you have nothing else to fear.”

 

The moderator was as fidgety as the Johnson’s. He was also not excited about attracting the Mexican laborers to the heart of Clovis. But he didn’t mince words like the Johnson’s did. He felt free to say he just didn’t like Mexicans. 

 

“Thank you for all coming here tonight for our meeting.” The moderator chose to cut the meeting very short and not open up the floor for discussion.  It seemed ridiculous to have an open discussion with a room full of people who didn’t speak English.

 

This, of course, was his ignorance and prejudice.  Many of the men and women in attendance that night could speak fluently in both languages and were more than willing to interpret.  Of course a great cry of dissatisfaction rose from the crowd.

 

“I will not address a riot group and I speak for the whole of the council when I say that a matter of a new restaurant in town is a serious consideration. We will review all of the permits as they are available and make the decisions that need to be made.” The moderator was really blowing smoke. None of the permits needed to go through the council. And they would only be available as they were approved by the state and therefore made public. 

 

Mario alone in the room understood this.  His posture relaxed almost imperceptibly. His wife Linda, may have been the only one to notice.  “Thank you for your time, gentleman of the council.  I will not delay in answering any of your questions or concerns.” 

 

Mario, Linda, and Sra Timotea Gomez left the room.  Dr. Gomez had not felt the matter of the restaurant warranted his leaving his porch dispensary where he had a fairly critical case.  He was helping a young pregnant woman who was fighting a UTI.  She was unable to drive to the city to get regular obstetric care.  Dr. Gomez feared a kidney infection in her future. 

 

Linda was mortified that her father in law wouldn’t stand beside Mario as the town council tried to attack him.  But Mario understood. And his next step for the evening was to take his mother home and determine whether his father had been able to convince the expectant mother to go to the hospital that evening. 

 

He walked into the fresh night air, so long ago, pulled his beautiful wife closer to his side and kissed her neck warmly. “You see, mi vida? It will all be well. We will soon own our American dream.” 

 

She smiled up at him.  She loved him, but her heart was not content. Clovis was such a small town and it was so hot. And the people…the hatred, or fear, of the crowd of farm workers had been palpable in the small room. There was also the fear that the workers themselves had of others.  They were on their guard, full of the fear that they were hated. Then there were the looks. The whispering. Could this really be 1990? There seemed to be no integration in this town.  Mario and Linda had the only obviously interracial marriage. 

 

Things had been so easy when they fell in love in college. And their Portland years were a dream. That time together was when they truly fell in love. Their real courtship.  It had been deceptively easy to be with Mario in Portland. He was smooth and handsome and smart. Brilliant really.  He could be, do, or have anything he wanted. He had her didn’t he?  He even had the heartfelt admiration of her parents. Few young men had attained this.  When he parents consented, even participated, in their Catholic wedding she knew all of her dreams were coming true.   

 

But in all of their daydreaming and planning for themselves, he kept coming back to Clovis. To his parents and to this dream of a restaurant.  She loved it when he cooked for her.  But this life they had now was so different. They were oppressed by the heat of the summer and the open hostility.  In this town the people who would bother to know her lived in two room shacks.  The people who wouldn’t bother to know her were hardly better off.  She was overwhelmed, undone. And they were both very young.

 

She had heard the story of Mario’s life in full. Even words of their lives in Mexico from his own father.  She was very close to fluent in Spanish and so could communicate deeply with him.  Yet she was too young to understand that he would be able to take care of them there. Of her. 

 

Quite in opposition to her tall, strong, lean body, strength developed over years of competitive athletics, she was a very weak young girl.  She wanted to go home to her mommy and daddy. Wanted to take herself and Mario home, where they would be safe and loved. 

 

Mario was equally blinded. He didn’t see how scared she was. He didn’t understand that her many years of comfort and ease hadn’t prepared her for real life. Her competitive edge was limited to the track and field.  Her strength solely for the body.  He assumed that like him, all people who had reached twenty-five had seen and done and learned enough to make a stand in the world and follow their heart. Few had. Linda had not.

 

He held his arm around her waist as they walked down the block to his car.  “Our dream is happening, mi vida. We will have everything we have wanted.  Can you taste our success? Are you ready for our lives to unfold?”  He opened the door of his Honda and helped her in. He was clueless as to why she wept as he drove to his father’s house.  He did not see that she was weak and young and scared. She wept, and would not speak. And would not be comforted.

 

Sra Gomez sat in the back of the car, forgotten by the young people for the time being. She understood this young Linda.  She had lived close with the extremes for so many years, first under the rule of stern, harsh parents. Then she had lived for a time with the rush of love and excitement in a whirlwind romance.  In the highpoint of life she had even held an exalted position in her community.  This greatness was followed by almost twenty years of the heat and the snow, the extremes of climate and community. With the people who would not speak with her and the people who would. She had to learn through pain the difference between the two. She had lived in Clovis long enough to know there was truly nothing to fear. And yet she understood. Learning that everything would be surpassable in the end is a very hard lesson.

 

Back in the barrio, Dr. Gomez met his wife with a kiss. His tall, golden daughter-in-law sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. She waited silently while the men spoke.

 

“No, the patient still refuses to go to the hospital.”  Dr Gomez face was a study in concern. The young woman seemed so very alone. In all the world right now she had this porch to take care of her.  It was not enough  “Yes,” he said “She would follow any directions that he gave for her.”  That night Sra Gomez made up the bed that used to be Mario’s and put the patient in it.   From dispensary to clinic to hospital was nothing to her. She would care for the young woman as though she were the daughter the Gomez’s did not have. This motherless daughter would soak up the love and care. She would wish that the blonde woman at the table did not exist, that she was Mrs. Mario Gomez instead of an abandoned daughter and forgotten lover left behind as the crops changed seasons. 

 

Mario brought the groceries in from his car. “I have the things you asked for, Padre. There is cranberry juice, vitamins, whole milk.  I have the Tylenol as well. Is there anything else I can bring? I can come back out tomorrow morning.”

 

“No nececisito nada manana. We have everything we need. She will rest tonight. I will ask an amigo of mine to look for her family. If they will take her back with them to their next farm she will be better off. This season is long enough. If they take her back the new farmers can help her and she will have the baby there. Then they will have American baby and it will be a different life for them.”  He said all of this where the young woman could hear him. It was mostly a myth. It was possible she would live through the pregnancy. It was not very likely she would have her baby in a hospital. And then there would be no birth certificate. There would be no services and there would be no better life.

 

All of those ifs hung on finding her family.  If they did find the family they still didn’t know if she would be welcomed back.  She was an Indian girl, from Oaxaca. Spanish was not her first language. As hard as he tried, Dr. Gomez could not understand if she had run away or been sent away.  If she had been sent away there was no hope for any of this.

 

“Papa, eschuche, por favor. If you wish it, when she falls asleep tonight I will deliver her to the hospital.  They will treat her. You will not have these two lives on your hands.”  Mario had leaned close and spoke with care, though the girl in the bed could not understand his words in English.

 

“This is what I hope for Mario. But not today or tomorrow. I want to try make her well. But if she is not well the day after tomorrow, when she is asleep we will take her to the hospital.”  He shook hands with his son, understanding that the offer was a solemn promise. Mario and Linda left the casita.

 

Mario hesitated, not knowing how to address his wife’s great discomfort. But he knew he had to talk to her.  “This was a very stressful night.  How are you feeling?”

 

“How dare you take that woman to the hospital? You shouldn’t get involved with your fathers activities. What would the town council think?” She snapped these words at him. Her mouth was a thin tight line like the blade of a knife.  She turned her head to the window.

 

“You are afraid I could get into trouble because he hands out medicine?” He spoke calmly but he was irritated by her selfish response. She was mad before they got to the casita.  They should be talking about whatever caused that earlier anger.

 

“I’m not afraid! I know you will get in trouble. That girl is illegal. You shouldn’t have anything to with her. For the love, you put her up in your parent’s house! What’s going to happen if INS comes looking there?  They could loose everything, get deported.  You shouldn’t risk your neck for her.”  She was forcing herself not to cry.  Yelling at him about his parents instead of crying.

 

“Linda, she is a sick young girl with no one to help her.  My parents are naturalized citizens, you know what this means, don’t you? They are Americans. They will not get sent to Mexico.” It took considerable effort for Mario to pursue this pointless argument in a nice voice. He wanted to yell at her in Spanish. To call her a selfish child and ask her what she would do if that girl was her young sister Tanya. Would she want someone to help Tanya if she was alone and sick?  He winced. What if her answer was no? What if she would not want someone to help Tanya?

 

“Yes, dear.” She said her voice cracking like ice. “I know that they are naturalized citizens. But he is practicing medicine without a license on illegal immigrants. Do you think any good will come of it?”

 

“I think that people who hurt feel better when they go see my father. I think you are mad at me and I don’t know why. I think you are hiding something important from me behind this fight about my father. What are you really thinking about right now?”  It was risky for him to shout at her. He knew better than to confront a woman with direct questions about her prevarication.

 

“That’s rich.” She said, as the tears started to fill her eyes. “You help your dad harbor illegals but I’m the one in trouble for hiding things.”

 

“Please, mi Linda. Forgive me and tell me what it is that worries your heart. Let me make it better.”  He saw her tears and softened his voice. He didn’t want to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt.

 

“I—I hate Clovis.” A tight fist closed around her heart. It was a physical pain to say that. She loved Mario. Mario loved Clovis. Was it impossible for him to love her now that she had said this?

 

He reached across the stick shift and grasped her hand.  “It has not been easy for you yet. But time will make it better. You will be so very happy here.” It relieved his mind to hear that the town was the cause of her pain. He spoke his comfort confident that he was right. 

 

She turned away from him looking out the window. She hated his confidence. He would not be right. It would be impossible to be happy in Clovis.  (Blogged 01/07)
CHAPTER BREAK

 

The first years that the Gomez family lived in Clovis, they worked so very hard.  Every morning they were up with the sun and off to work.  They left before Mario went to school, trusting him to be safe walking in a group with the neighbor children. Everyday that she left for work her heart broke. She would weep walking to the kitchen. She could cook very well. And she could clean. And she would always work hard, no matter what her position. But she mourned the loss of those glorious years in the Villa.  She had had eight years with her son, eight years to watch him grow to teach him to study with him and to play. He was growing to be a man now. Now the hard work would begin. To train him to use his understanding in seeking wisdom. To teach him to choose his friends and choose his work. To teach him to serve his Lord.

 

It was a long journey to church of a Sunday. One that Dr. Gomez no longer took with his wife.  She and Mario walked into town and then road to the nearest church, twenty miles away, with another Catholic family. How could she teach her son to cherish his Savior, to honor the Holy Mother and to be pure if she only saw him in the evenings?  It was a bitter pill to swallow and many days she thought she would never get past the pain of this part of their new life.

 

The family that drove them to church were kind and devout.  In the beginning they directed their conversation to Mario, assuming he was needed to translate.

 

“Mario, does your mother like the farm she is at?” Inane, but good hearted questions like these.

 

“Si, Senor. She thinks it muy bueno.” He would answer, still so unsure himself, unsure of how to speak in English. Nervous laughter filled the car. They wanted to love each other. To serve each other and be some kind of family. But the language made them afraid.

 

“Yes, yes. I do like very much.” Timotea would say nervously.

 

“Oh yes? We like the Grady’s too. Very nice family. They have a nice farm. What do you do for them?”  The wife, so soon to be one of Timotea’s best friends, tried desperately not to speak louder. She knew that she would talk louder as well as slower and that would embarrass everyone.

 

“I do cook for the family, and for the employees. They have a cocina, kitchen, where everybody eats on their break and we make the food. Very good food. You would like. Do you like Mexican food?” It was so much work to think it in English, even though she knew that she knew the words.

 

“Yes. Love it. We love to eat Mexican food. I make enchiladas for the kids. But maybe they aren’t right. I don’t know. But we think they are good.”  She was so glad to be in the front seat so this nice woman they were driving couldn’t see her blush.

 

“You bet we do. Her enchiladas are terrific Mrs. Gomez. You’d like them. I know. Why don’t you all stay for supper tonight? Is your husband free for supper?”  This was the first that the husband had spoken to her. They had driven together for weeks now.  She was startled and had a long pause to think in English.

 

“Yes.  We would love to come for supper tonight. I may bring something? I think tamales?” She was flushed. She missed so much the company of friends. 

 

“Oh no. I wouldn’t think of it.  Don’t bring anything.” Again, she spoke from embarrassment. She was proud of her husband for thinking to invite them over. But what could she do? She couldn’t let these poor immigrants with nothing to their names bring food over. She could never forgive herself.

 

“Mommy, I want to eat her Tamales!’ Was the plaintive cry of their four year old, who had in mind the candy.

 

“Yes, hon, let them bring tamales. I bet we’ve never had anything like them before.”

 

Timotea sat through Mass with a light heart. One thing that was missing here was real friends.  They had neighbors. They lived next to kind people.  One family near them was their age. But they had so many children. The sheer number of blessings in their life made Timotea hold herself at a distance from them.  And the neighbors across the street were also very kind. But they were poor immigrants from Ecuador. They were mostly Quechua and spoke with such a thick accent in Spanish. What did she have in common with them?  It was hard for  her to bond with the motley assortment that made up their barrio. She didn’t want to think of herself as prejudiced against these people. Here in America they were all of one kind, together. And yet she found it so much easier to relate to them as patients, people who came to them for help, then she did as friends.

 

James Smith dropped his wife at home, she could start supper. Then he drove Sra. Gomez and Mario back to their home.

 

“Please come in and see Estefan.” She said politely to James.  “He would like to visit with you, I am sure.”  She stood at the door of her small home.

 

“I’d like that, thanks.”  He followed Mario up the steps of the home, and through to the back, where Dr. Gomez was listening to a patient discuss his family.

 

“Hey.” James said it friendly, relaxed. 

 

The patient shifted nervously in his chair. 

 

Dr. Gomez stood up and shook hands with James. “Bienvenidos, amigo.” Estefan smiled broadly at James at motioned to a chair.  It struck his fancy that this man should come to the patio and visit with the Doctor and his migrant farm patients.

 

“Thanks.” James sat down and stretched his legs out across the porch. It was a warm lazy day. He intended to sit and visit until supper time so that they would not feel bothered by accepting a ride into town. 

 

Dr. Gomez turned to the patient and explained that this man was called James.

 

“Mucho gusto.” The patient said.

 

“Nice to meet ya.” James replied.  “That’s a nice garden you have there, Dr. Gomez. What are you growing.”

 

“We grow vegetables, of course. We have to make our salsa, no?  So we have tomatoes and cilantro and peppers. Would you like to try one of the peppers? I have a very nice habanero.”  Then, Dr. Gomez repeated the question and the response for the benefit of his patient.  Feeding peppers to a gringo sounded a good deal more entertaining than listening to the other man complain about his teenage children.

 

“A habanero, you say? I suppose I could try it.” James didn’t move to pick one. But his wife grew peppers as well, and he thought he could handle the heat. 

 

The patient, not wanting to sit silently while the doctor harvested his peppers jumped up to pick some for everyone. He came back, laughing. It was such a funny idea to him, to have this gringo from town sitting on the back porch with his Doctor. And then he stopped laughing. He handed the peppers over to the Doctor and said adios to both of them.  He walked away slowly, looking back over his shoulder once as he did.  It was funny that his man was on the porch with the Doctor. And whatever Dr. Gomez was about to get caught doing, this patient wanted no part of. 

 

“Okay, doctor, give a man a pepper.” He grinned at the prospect of impressing the doctor.

 

Ht doctor solemnly handed the pepper to James.  “First you will want to split it open and take out the seeds. I am afraid otherwise you will not appreciate my hospitality.”

 

James watched Dr. Gomez split the pepper and peel the seeds out with his thumb. He copied this action and took the first bit.  It was a very hot pepper. 

 

Dr. Gomez took a bite. He watched to see how the gringo would take the fire. His eyes began to water, but he swallowed bravely and declared it a good, hot pepper.

 

“You have much machismo, James. Very good for you. And thank you for taking my familia to Mass this morning. It is very important. But you may know, I offer some service to the people here who speak Spanish and Sunday is one day they have free to come to me. I would not miss Mass otherwise, but I cannot leave when I could help here.” Dr. Gomez could not keep up a lighthearted banter. Too much in life was too serious for that.  He enjoyed watching his man suffer a pepper. But to do more than that…that would be impossible for him now. 

“My wife tells me you are a doctor. What kind of medicine did you practice?”  James was more than happy to let off the chit chat and talk about something worthwhile. Or sit quietly if it suited Dr. Gomez.  He had heard any number of stories about the new man over at Harvey Grady’s place and knew whatever Dr. Gomez had to say would be worthwhile.

 

“Si. I am a doctor.  My familia ran the clinic in our village. I was the Doctor at the clinic for eight years. I am trained, however, as a surgeon.” He gazed across the landscape as he spoke. Past the yard with the impressive garden and off towards the hills.

 

“That’s no small achievement. Have you thought of practicing medicine here?” 

 

“Si. When I first sought my Visa to come here I applied as a surgeon. It is sometimes the case that a man with high education, trained as a specialist, would be able to come more quickly, with more ease into this country.  But my education was found wanting, as it had not taken place at a medical school in America. I was put on a list of doctors who could come and be retrained at a…residency…here in America. But the wait was long and so I put my family also on the list for a visa not attached to a particular job. This is the permission that came soonest and so we accepted it.”  He was remarkably passionless as he told James the story of how he gave up his life’s vocation, the calling of his ancestors to become a farm worker.

 

“Harvey told me the other day about what you did for that cow.  Is it strange to work on animals after saving peoples lives?”

 

Dr. Gomez laughed, wryly. Of course it was strange to use his highly trained fingers on a cow.  “I don’t know that I can comment on that. I am not a veterinarian. What I have done for the cow…it cannot be spoken of.”  He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. It was very funny to him that so much of his life here must not be spoken of.

 

“I suppose so, eh?  I hadn’t thought of that though. Could you get into a lot of trouble if you worked on animals at the farm?”  It was not likely that James had heard anything of what took place, medically, on that porch.  But the question seemed pointed.

 

“I don’t know about trouble. I think that the manager of the farm, or the man in charge of the cattle even, would be allowed to do what I did. This stupid animal got her leg tangled in the barbed wire fence. Simple really, to take the fence out of the animal’s leg and treat the wound. Nothing a farmer should need to call the veterinarian in for. But I know how to do it better than most people. So that is good for the cow.”  He did need to tell James that a farmer would have shot the cow, but they had saved her leg and so saved a perfectly fine milking cow for more years of service.

 

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with farm work. That’s for sure. It’s hard, long hours. But you’ve got yourself a job at a great place. Real profitable. Real stable. It’s not running a whole clinic though, and that’s the truth.” James shook his head and was quiet for a while. James worked twenty miles away at a truck shop as a mechanic. His father had had to sell the family farm.  The land was spent and it wasn’t very big anyway.  James missed the farm dearly and wished he had it not to raise his son on. But his work was honest and it paid the bills. He tried, and failed, to imagine what it must have been to give up the work of a surgeon to move to a place like this. 

   

This conversation was the beginning of integration for Dr. Gomez. The dinner that night the beginning of American life for Timotea. At the dinner Timotea relaxed and spoke freely. Talking fluently in English. Mary-Catherine relaxed. She loved their town. She grew up near to here. She enjoyed her friends in town.  But there is something very special about a friend who is like you.

 

“Have you always lived in this town?” Timotea asked her new friend.

 

“No, I’m actually from a town south of here. But I like Clovis. It’s nice and small.”

 

“Si. It is very nice here. A very clean town.  Was it hard to move here at first?”

 

“Not really. I knew so many people from Clovis. My school did a lot with the school here. So it was easy to get to know the people. It can be pretty hard to move to a small town though. It can take quite a while to make friends.  I’m really glad you asked about finding a mass to attend.”

 

“As am I. When we were in Portland their were many Churches, so I assumed that here we would find a Catholic Church as well.  I was much disappointed to see there was none we could walk to.”

 

“I think the church may have been why my parents lived in their town.  My dad is a state trouper so we could have lived most anywhere, I suppose.”

 

“A state trooper? Is this like a police officer?”

 

“Yes.  He just retired but he loved being an officer. He brought that exacting attitude of an cop home with him though. That wasn’t any fun when I was a kid.”

 

“This is the same when I was a girl. My father was a police officer. He was very strict at home. So was my mother. But they wanted me to go to college and I needed to work very hard to earn a scholarship.”

 

“I can’t believe your dad was a cop too. That’s such a coincidence. DO you think you parent like your father did? Are you strict with Mario?”

 

Estefan responded, “No. She is like an angel to he boy. It is a wonder he is not spoiled beyond all reason. I should beat him regularly to keep him in line, but I just can’t find the time.” 

 

James looked up from the football game, surprised at Dr. Gomez’s interjection. But Dr, Gomez was laughing and tussling his son’s hair. He hadn’t expected the solemn man to make a joke.  He laughed to himself and went back to the game.

 

Timotea and Mary-Catherine looked horrified at Estefan.  They turned from him, leaving him to the incomprehensible game of American football. The two women spent the rest of the night talking about parenting.  Comparing notes on raising boys.  Timotea told Mary-Catherine about the joys of having a nanny and a cook. They both sighed for the good days past.  Before the evening had ended Timotea was signed up to teach a catechism class to the Spanish speaking children.  And Mary-Catherine was coming over on Wednesday to sew with Timotea, to learn a new form of embroidery.

 

 

 James learned gradually what Estefan was doing, with his speakeasy of a dispensary.  It was James who introduced Raul to the doctor.  James was troubled by the lack of care the farm workers received. As a boy he had not understood profit margins. But he had understood that the people who came through and harvested his fathers crops did not stay in anyone place long. That they handled chemicals–the same chemicals his father warned cautioned him to stay away from– without any real protection for themselves. 

 

Now that he was grown and shared the concerns of profit and loss with his friends, he didn’t know where he stood as it regarded the conditions that people worked under. He fixed a small Mazda for a man called Raul one day. Raul had just come down from Canada. He told James that the high mileage on his car was from regular trips up and down the coast, all the way from Mazatlan to Vancouver.  His style and manner seemed to indicate he wasn’t taking pleasure trips or visiting family. Raul was very happy with the quick fix on his ride and said glibly, “you ever need anything I can get you up north, just find Raul.”

 

Raul had shut the door and was about to drive away when James rapped a knuckle on his window.  “You mean it?”

 

“Yeah. I mean it.  You need something, I get it.” Raul had sunglasses on but his air was open, quite like a man who had the world to offer.

 

“Okay. I have a friend I need you to talk to.” James was a few steps away from the window, speaking in a normal level voice. He felt the need to appear as though there was nothing to hide in what he said.  For all James chose to know, that was true.

 

That night Raul came to see Dr. Gomez, but did not tell him how he got the address. 

 

Timotea’s life was changed more so than her husbands life had been. The doctor had seen the world, after a fashion, and so he considered his new life of isolation from the town to be a choice he made deliberately. After but two years on the farm he was given a job of prominence with pay enough to take the family into a nice home in the town. But as this would seriously impact his ability to serve his patients he chose to stay where he was. 

 

His wife had not had the privilege of travel. Neither before their move to America nor before their marriage. Her English quickly improved in the states, but had been nothing more than school girl English before she moved. In this, though, she was better off than millions of people who emigrated both before and after the Gomez family. 

 

When Mary-Catherine became a real friend to Timotea, Timotea found a bridge to the life in town. She lived on the outskirts of town, adjacent to the farm.  This was enough to keep her from regularly falling in the way of other women of her status. Educated women.  Mary-Catherine was educated, Catholic, and a young mother.  Timotea’s loneliness fell away as they got to know each other. Mary-Catherine was not condescending, though she was as nervous as Timotea in the beginning. And although Mary-Catherine had a lovely house in town and two cars she accepted that Timotea was worth knowing. 

 

When she had lived in Oregon for two years and her husband had received his promotion and raise she chose to work only part of the week.  The Grady’s hated to let her go, but couldn’t force her to work full time.  They really didn’t want to run their kitchen without her so accepted her part time proposal. Her husband found her working a bitterness in his heat but could not argue her reasoning. They had but two rooms in their home.  The kitchen was just a wall of the living room and the bathroom barely bigger than a closet. She had no car of her own to drive around town in. What would she do with herself all day if she did not go to the farm and cook?  He understood her. And he understood that she was not complaining about their small home, or telling him it was not as good as the Villa had been. She did not need to tell him that. Of course it was not as good.  But he heard clearly the message that was behind the words. Their son was a growing boy in school all day.  And she had no more babies at home.  What does a home need a mother for, she seemed to be asking him silently with her eyes, if there are no babies in it?(Blogged 01/26)
CHAPTER BREAK

At home, Shannon pulled out her steno pad.  It was in pretty sorry shape, but it was almost full, She had a recycle bin full of steno pads waiting to be put to the curb.  It was her master list, the mother of to-do’s.  Probably, back in Seattle, or Los Angeles, she would have had a Blackberry.  But this old notebook method was still working for her. For a while she had considered the collected master lists a great cultural archive. Something historians, genealogists or anthropologists would dream of finding in a thousand years.  So she stacked them together in her closet.  She forgot about them. I mean, she kept tossing the books in the set, every six months or so when they filled up But she didn’t think about why.  Last week, she opened a couple of them. Drivel. Dull. Groceries and to-dos of a single lady in a small town.  She decided that whatever master list was on her person when she died would be sufficient for the future historian and chucked the whole stack in the recycle bin.  Spiral binding and all.  Let the transfer station mess with separating all that paper and metal.

 

But, as it remained as good as any other daily ritual, when she got home from work (or dinner with Mario) she pulled out her master list, pulled out her favorite pencil and sat down with a cup of tea.

 

Her father and Jenny were coming by next week for a visit.  She should make up the spare room for them.  She added lavender shampoo and matching soap to her grocery list.  She loved to spoil her guests with new toiletries, to treat them like they were at a bed and breakfast.  She checked the schedule page.  They’d be here for two nights. So she’d take the evening off when they got here and fix them dinner. Then she’d take the next day off.  Go to the cemetery to put flowers on Jenny’s grandparent’s graves.  Go to the park so Jenny’s dogs could have a run.  She wrote “Picnic?” next to the park. They’d eat at Mario’s that night, a picnic might be a nice change for lunch.  She’d have to work the next day but they said they would stop in and have lunch before they left town.  A brief but sweet visit, like always.  It would take care of her Stewart family obligations until Christmas anyway.

 

Then there was Mom.  She owed her mom an email.  In the past Dion had hinted around that electric communication lacked spiritual energy and didn’t fulfill her as a mother.  At first Shannon ignored these pointed hints that implied maternal neglect. Of course ignoring a problem never works.  So Shannon pointed out what should have been obvious.  Electricity is energy so electronic communication had to carry more energy than words written in chemical in on the remains of dead trees. Dion had actually responded to that with a long distance phone call.

 

“You must be right, Shae. You must be.  But it’s not the policy at the Coushay Institute.  I can see I need to pray about this. To bring it to the staff. Surely they will see the light in it.”

“Yes mom, you should talk to the staff. You should talk to them about time off for good behavior, too.  Time to come down and visit me.”

 

Dion’s response was stiff with defensiveness, her voice tight.  “You know I would be there tomorrow, sweetie. But the probation period isn’t up yet.  I can’t leave if I want to get my citizenship.”

 

“And why, mom, do you want to get your Canadian citizenship?” But Shannon knew the answer to this, and she wished she hadn’t asked.

 

“Because love, because.  It is a dark empire, Shannon.  And we should all get out.  Your grandmother was very happy here with us. You would be too.”

 

“You know mom. I’m sure grandma was happy there with you. But I am still fine here. I am very happy here.” She was tired, and getting the headache she got when she tried to reason with her totally brainwashed mother.  “But it’s okay, mom.  Talk to them about electric energy and how it balances the light against paper and what paper does to the balance of energy.  Just be sure to call and tell me what they say, okay?  I love hearing you and don’t wait so long next time.”

 

They gave their love to each other and the call was over.  The seminary didn’t receive calls. Emails and letters were read before they were given to the members of the seminary. A great amount of control was exercised by the staff of the Coushay Institute and Seminary for the Ministry of a Centered Life.  The Life Ministry Center that Dion had been a member of in Seattle had closed a few years ago, most of the congregation having moved to Edmonton to attend the Seminary. The few other Centers, mostly in American towns along the Canadian border had closed as well.  Dion told Shannon it was because the energy that those centers brought to the ministry from the US was too dark and was inhibited their ability to reach others and spread the Gospel.

 

Shannon owed her mother an email.  The staff of the Center—mostly members of the Coushay family, had agreed that email communication would be preferable where families were able to send them.  Shannon wondered if the decision to make email a priority had anything to do with the ease in making emails disappear.  So far Dion had responded to all of her emails and hadn’t missed many of the details she had written.  But calls were few and farther between.

 

As soon as Dion had arrived at the seminary, she had transferred her bank accounts into the name of the Coushay Institute.  And she gave them the title to her Rabbit.  Just two years into her program they gave her a job with the seminary so she could work off the debts she had encured as the costs of her room board and education outpaced her money.  She moved her mother and her mother’s resources to Edmonton around this same time.  But Lucille needed care before she passed and the resources she brought to the center fell short of her expenses as well. 

 

When Shannon saw what was happening to her mother—she was still in the service when Lucille emigrated—she was alarmed.  The house in Seattle had been paid off for years.  It was sitting empty, appreciating comfortably in value. A nice asset to protect for her mother, from her mother, for as long as she could. And for lack of a better option she called her father. 

 

“Dad.”

 

“Shannon? How are you?” He was just so glad to have a call from his daughter.  He thought ‘I ought to get a cell phone for if she wants to call when I’m on the road!’

 

“Can I talk to you about mom’s house?” This kind of conversation was new to Shannon. Talking about adult subjects, or important subjects with her father had never happened before.

 

“Well, sure, sweetie. What’s wrong with it? I’ll be in Seattle next week. Is there something I can do?”

 

“Well, I don’t know, really. I’m worried about mom and this church. I’m afraid they will try to take her house.  They’ve already taken everything else.”

 

‘The church? What do you mean? Churches don’t take things, hon.” He sounded a little bewildered, or like he was watching the TV.

 

“Yeah, Dad.  But it’s not a church church.  Not like a Jesus Church.  It’s weird and I don’t think she’ll ever come back.  But if she does…I don’t want her to have nothing left.”

 

Some background noise faded, like her dad had turned his show off or left the room.

 

“Dion’s not coming home? I though she was supposed to come back next year. “

 

“Yeah, it was going to be last year, and now it’s going to be next year.  But I don’t think she’ll come back until she doesn’t have anything left they can take from her.”

 

“Shae-shae! We’ll go get her. We won’t let them brainwash Dion.  We can’t.  I’ll take a vacation and we’ll go get her.”  He voice was strong and sincere.  He was pacing at home now, as though his walking firmly at that moment would get him to his daughter and they could fix this problem instantly.

 

“Okay, yeah. But Dad, she won’t come with us yet.  She’s still so happy there.  I don’t want to loose the house to, you know? She’s got to have something to start over with when they are done with her. So, I need to know.  Who owns the house? Mom? The bank?  What can I do to fix it for her?”

 

“Lessee…I owned the house before your mom and I got married.  I mean, I was buying it.  But then there was the divorce.  I tell you, we had it so easy.  I’ve talked to other guys.  And their lives were just shattered by divorce.  But Dion was so nice about it all and so smart.  What did we do about that house?”

 

Shannon drummed her fingers anxiously on her desk while her father reminisced about the good old days when he was getting divorced.  His easy going good guy thing was great until you wanted to do something efficiently.

 

“Well, hon, I do remember. We didn’t do anything about the house.  See, it was almost paid off.  And interest rates were going up and it costs a lot to refinance.  Well anyway, I let her take the house.  Sometimes I helped her with it when things were tight in Seattle.  But it was her house and you guys needed it, so even though it’s still in my name, I would have never taken it away from you too.  Do you want it? I can make it yours, if you think that would help?”

 

Shannon let out a deep breath in a heavy sigh, of relief. That explained why the seminary didn’t have it yet.  “Dad? Could you sell the house?  And we could invest the money?  And then when mom comes home she can do anything, you know?” Not knowing how this stuff worked made it hard for Shannon to figure out what to ask or what they needed to try.

 

“Do you want me to invest it for Dion? Buy her some stocks?”

 

“No, dad, don’t buy them for her, hey? Because then she could give them to those stupid Coushay’s.  Can you put them in your name? Or my name?” She was afraid to ask that, to look like she was trying to take advantage of her mother.

 

“I shouldn’t put them in my name, you know? Because if something is mine then it is Jenny’s too.  But I could sell the house and put the money away for you. Would that be okay? I can put it together with the money for your college and then when you are out of the service I can give it all to you. And gosh, your mom should be home next year, so you can give the money to her then.”

 

“Oh dad. Can you do that really? I’m so scared for mom.” Her voice broke just as her eyes filled with tears.  It was such a relief to find out that she could help her mom. It was such a relief to find out that her dad could solve her problems.  She felt so glad, and so relieved and so much less alone in the world.

 

The money from the house had been carefully invested.  Her dad—and Jenny—had a good mind for the marketplace.  For a while, this investment earned money hand over fist.  And when so many people lost so much money, Dion’s money had only slowed down its earning. Dion never asked about the house.  Shannon never volunteered what she had done. And she never touched her mother’s money.

 

Shannon put down the master list.  Exhausted by a day on her feet waiting tables. Exhausted by thinking about her mother and by remembering how much work it was taking to constantly protect her mother.

 

She put off emailing however, when the phone rang.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
CHAPTER BREAK

During those dark days in Chiapas, the days after the Clinica was destroyed, Sra Gomez was not hopeless. When her husband told her “Now all that we can do is wait. Wait until we are allowed to go to America.”  She said “Yes, my love.”  But while she waited she sold the vegetables from their family garden in the market. And she put the money away—not in the national bank or El Bolso—but in an envelope so it would be easy to take with them into America.  And she cut down her linens, made them into clean, new clothing and put those away in the bottom of the trunk. So that when the clothes they had were worn through they would have new things of fine materials that would last and be beautiful. She was a very good seamstress.  When she showed the linen clothes she made to her friends, they greatly admired them.  They gave her money and their linens to make into clothes.  The days of prosperity in their village were ending. The days of silver on tables spread with linen would not last.  But they would always need to wear clothes.  Timotea Gomez sewed their linens into clothes and took a little money in exchange for her services. Then her friends had clothing that only cost them a little money and some vanished pride.  And she had more pesos to put in her envelope.  While she did this, her husband waited.

 

Sr. Gomez waited on his patients.  He saw them in his home and gave them medicines that he had secreted away from the clinic before the PLO came and destroyed everything they saw.  He sewed up the wounds of his compadres who had defied the government and suffered blows for it.  And he waited for word from the embassy that would say he could take his family away and start over. 

 

It was a long wait, over a year.  During that time they had no more income.  They had the heirlooms of generations.  They only sold a few of these. While they waited for their visas they contacted family, cousins and uncles and aunts, and invited them to take the heirlooms and the stories into their homes. To not forget the days of the Gomez familia on the Villa in Chiapas.  The Gomez family that for generations served to heal the villagers. 

 

Estefan Gomez’s brother Pedro was also a doctor.  Pedro ran a hospital on the coast in a very wealthy town in Vera Cruz.  Pedro was the eldest Gomez child and had been raised by his father to serve the village through the family clinic.  To carry on the good work. He had served and was loved, after a fashion. But he had even more of the aristocrat in him, and he had green eyes.  He didn’t know how it came about, but he caught the attention of the large hospital very early.  This opportunity pleased him as it pleased his wife Maria Pilar.  So they moved and gave the ancestral home and La Clinica to Estefan.  Estefan was very well loved.  The village was very pleased with the exchange.  Especially Timotea Yesenia.

 

Timotea was the daughter of the chief of Police. He was an imposing man, broad of shoulder, with a strong jaw and a silent nature.  Timotea was his only daughter.  To him, only a Gomez son, the family in the villa on the hill, would be good enough for Timotea.  When Pedro married the pale and slight daughter of the governor of Chiapas, Timotea’s father told her to wait.  He said, “Estefan will love you. But you must wait for him to become the doctor of la Clinica. You must wait for him to own the home.  Then you will marry him.”

 

Timotea said “Yes father.” And while she waited she sewed her trousseau.  The policia were not wealthy but they had to look wealthy. Timotea’s mother said, “first we will sew quietly for the wealthy familias in town, we will not tell your father. Then we will take the money they pay us and buy unfinished linen fabric from the city.  When we are done you will bring valuable linens for the kitchen and the bedroom to your marriage.  Better linens than the Gomez family have ever had before. And they will praise that Timotea Yesenia is their daughter.”

 

While they waited and sewed the chief of the police of this village spoke with the governor of Chiapas, that father in law of Pedro. Then the governor spoke with La Hospital by the sea and it was planned that as soon as Dr Estefan Gomez returned from his surgical studies in England, Doctor Pedro Gomez moved his family to a prosperous city with many opportunities for his children. 

 

And then the chief of the police spoke with Doctor Estefan Gomez, a young man of promising skill, with a kind nature and benevolent personality.  He told the Doctor of his daughter Timotea.

 

This had pleased the Doctor.  Though a modern man, he liked that Timotea’s father came to him.  He valued that he was being chosen by such an important person as the Chief of the Police.  Estefan had traveled to Spain and then to England. His medical education had been greater than that of his brother. When Pedro finished school in Mexico City he had gone straight home to work with their father.  When Estefan had finished, he was not needed in the clinica yet, so he was sent to travel and learn.  He became a very skilled surgeon.  He became fluent in English. 

 

This was all during the 1960s.  The war in Europe had been over for many years. Generally Europeans were not aware that Mexico had helped Germany during the war. Certainly Estefan did not tell anyone.  Instead he went to cocktail parties and cricket matches.  He shopped in large department stores and went out with English girls who found his old world charm enticing.  He only seduced two of them, both of whom he thought he wished to marry.  It was a heady and intoxicating time for the single young man of means with no current responsibility.

 

But that time ended.  And he went home.  They did not tell him, when he got home, that it would take many years of careful economy and hard work in the clinic to make back the expense of educating him like an English Doctor.  Pedro knew this.  That is why he chose to marry Maria Pilar.  With the political protection her father could offer, and the dowry she would bring to the family, they would endure the lean days and be ahead soon enough.

 

Pedro was not sentimental and went more than willingly to his future in Vera Cruz.  His new home and job were glamorous and even powerful.  Let Estefan have the country life of a village and the practice of medicine for people who only sometimes paid with pesos.  Estefan had had his days in the sun. Now he could work.

 

But we said that Estefan was pleased on hearing that it would please Timotea’s father for them to know each other better.  She was a stunning beauty and a true wit.  Before he left for medical school she was surely his favorite of the young girls.  And after he came home, with his dalliances behind and his future before, her superiority to the other ladies of his acquaintance was obvious.  A fool could see she was amazing.

 

She knew he was her father’s choice.  It was very convenient for her that she had always loved him. A month after her father had made his proposal, they were wed. Her dowry was simply the household items she had sewn with her own hands and the promise of her father that no one would interfere with the work of the clinic.  And his promise that the Policia would help when needed, to bring about payments for any debt owed the clinic.  It was more than Estefan thought he would need.  They had the beautiful home on the hill.  There was a girl in the kitchen that had chosen not to move to Vera Cruz with the familia.  There were grounds that produced food and people who needed a Doctor.  It was the ideal situation for a young man and woman in love to start their life in.

 

In a few years, they had found that the expenses of the home could be met with their income and they did not worry about accumulating more then they had inherited.  When Mario came they hired a girl from the village to be his nanny, but not his nurse.  Timotea loved her son and nursed him herself. 

 

And now, Sra Gomez’ small son, Mario was grown.  He was a grown man, respected in their American village.  He took care of his parents well.  First, when his Restaurante had made enough money, he bought the building he was renting. He and his young wife moved from the rooms they rented in to into the apartment he now owned.

 

This apartment was larger, of course, than the small home of his parents. But not as large, not as grand, as the golden home he remembered in his dreams. That place in Mexico where he lived and grew as a prince.  It had open patios and flowering vines and dusty breezes that blew over you during your siesta.  The apartment was not that. But it was his alone and it had two bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom and a front room, where he could put a TV, a stereo, those things that the boys in his school had in their homes growing up.

 

His continued to do well in his work, people came from all the towns nearby.  A new place to go, anything new, being well worth a drive in this part of the country. He didn’t buy himself a TV because he worked too much to sit down and watch TV. He didn’t buy himself a stereo, but he did buy a system for the Restaurante. This was hard on his wife. For the years they were married she knew the restaurant was his real soul mate.

 

Originally people expected him to play fast, stereotypical mariachi.  But he surprised them and played a well collected array of popular music in Spanish. Some American bands, some from Spain, but most were Latin American.  Mario’s sounded better than the nearest Mexican competition.  It had a better sound, a classier look.  His mother helped him choose the linens and the table ware.  He did not display anything that was written in colored lights.  Though he did serve plenty of cerveza.  And unquestionably the food was better than any other café, restaurant, or bar in the county.  He was truly gifted.

 

As he was comfortable in his home and happy in his work, he wanted to make his parents comfortable.  Sr. Gomez was still so unhappy.  He had become so hard, never expected to be happy.  He expected only to work hard and be tired. For his friends to leave and for everyone to grow old and infirm.  Everything around him to slowly disintegrate.

 

Sr Gomez bought his little house as soon as he arrived in Clovis.  The Farm manager had explained to him the available options.  He said:

 

“You will make this much money an hour and work for this many hours a day. We have homes here that you can live in.  You may pay for it twelve dollars a month. Since you are a permanent employee, in three years, the house and the land will it is on will be yours.  Or you can live in town if you would rather.”

 

“These homes look fine.” Sr Gomez said.  He surveyed the well organized row of homes.  Each had a front stoop and a porch on the back.  Each home had a small yard, in front and back and a fence that separated each yard, one from the other.  They were identical in everyway. White washed with a door and a window on the front and one window on the side. “Yes.  These homes look fine.  But I do not want to make payments.  We will buy it now.” 

 

“Well, you can certainly do that.  But we’d ask…$250 if you want to buy it now.  You could do the payments though. Everyone else does.” The farm manager shuffled his feet. Housing employees was a tiresome task. There was no way to sugar coat the shacks he offered. New as they were, they were nothing to brag about.

 

“I do not want to pay $400 for what I can own today for $250.  We will buy it today.”  Sra. Gomez opened her bolsa and removed the last of her American dollars.  She slowly counted them out and handed them to the Manager.

 

“Well, thank you. I’ll get you your receipt.  We’ll make sure they don’t take the rent out of your check with everyone else.”  He counted the dollars twice and them put them in his pocket. He had not expected this couple, who came highly recommended to have that kind of cash. He looked warily at Dr. Gomez. If this man brought trouble to the farm—if he expected to sell drugs here, he would be very sorry.

 

From the second week of his life in America, Sr. Gomez had been a homeowner.   

CHAPTER BREAK

 

As Mario worked with Shannon he compared her to the other women he had known well. Like his mother, she had a quick mind and a desire to quietly maintain order and protect the things she loved.  Like his mother she had a core of iron that would not be broken by the pressures of the world.  Like his wife—his ex wife—she laughed at every joke anyone told her. In his heart, Mario he knew she was sincere. 

 

When Bernie swept up after a long Saturday night he told her his collection of Ollie and Lena jokes.  Surely after all this time, she knew the punch line to each of them.  But she wiped down the tables with a merry laugh.  Sometimes she laughed so hard at the old man’s jokes she had to wipe the tears off of her cheeks.  It was as though people gave her joy and that they attempted to entertain her was enough in itself.  Someone taking the time to make her happy made her happy indeed. 

 

This was not so much the case with his wife Linda.  He had loved her laugh very much.  He loved to make her laugh and to laugh with her.  It was everyone’s favorite quality in Linda.  And before he met Shannon he thought the bitter edge to Linda’s laugh had made it better than everyone else’s.  Linda always seemed to be laughing at someone.  And so if you were laughing with her, you were the same, superior, like she was.

 

And then Linda was tall, athletic and powerful.  A beauty truly, but a force as well.  Shannon, on the other had, was rosy and round, small and yet like a well formed flower, formed perfectly and balanced.  When she worked she was steady, capable and untiring.  But day after day, busy or slow she had the time to laugh with the customers or be quiet with them, taking them seriously and wanting to treat them with respect.  Though she was new to the town, she treated everyone like a well loved relative. 

 

After just a few weeks of knowing her Mario felt like he must be falling in love with her. She was unflagging in her work, beautiful and a pleasure to be around.  She was a faithful employee and always laughed at his jokes. He was confident that she must also feel something for him.  “Don’t wait a moment longer.” He told himself, when he realized he had found what he wanted.  So he invited her to his apartment after the Restaurante had closed.

 

Yvonne and Bernie passed a knowing smile as they overheard their boss saying:

 

“Shannon, I have a very good bottle of wine that I cannot drink along. It would be a shame.  Will you come this evening and share it with me?” He made the most of his smoldering gaze but tempered it with a twinkle in his eye.  A decade ago that look had been irresistible.

 

‘Thank you, no. I need to get home tonight and call my mother.” Shannon dropped her rag in the bleach water and moved to the next table.

 

Yvonne was dumb struck, her pot brush frozen mid air. Had Mario been refused on his first attempt? And when everyone was so sure of they would hit it off?  And what had come over Shannon to lie? Yvonne knew Shannon’s mother could not receive phone calls.

 

“This is a good thing too, I am sure. But it is not a problem. I will save the bottle.  We might see that tomorrow night would be better for you.” He grinned, with an honestly abashed face that was much more attractive than his put on smolder.

 

The contrast and contrition made Shannon laugh and so she said, against her will and to his delight: “Yes, perhaps tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow then.”

 

“Tomorrow, then.” And until the front door of the Restaurante was closed for the night, Mario could not keep from humming. 

 

Yvonne bit her tongue several times as she and Shannon drove home. But finally she couldn’t hold it any longer.  “Mario is a very fine man.”

 

“Yeah.” Shannon paused for a moment.  “Much too fine for me.”

 

Yvonne accepted this as her permission to keep talking.  “Do you mean much too old?”

 

“A little, I guess. But he’s the boss and he does so much for everyone in town. I could never let myself fall for him.  I would only be disappointed.  Who wants that?” Shannon rambled off the first excuses that came to mind.

 

“It sounds like you might not be disappointed, if you do like him.  I haven’t heard him ask a woman out since his wife left him.  I have heard him politely pass on invitations plenty of times.”

 

The divorce did bother Shannon. And the Catholic part.  But how could she say that to her landlady, a divorced grandma who sang in the choir and the Presbyterian church?  She didn’t even know where to start.  But she was sick to death of ended marriages, second wives, and really, really sick of churches.  Yvonne was doing a kind thing, renting a room to her in a town that had no apartments and carpooling with her in a town with no bus, but plenty of winter snow and wind.  She didn’t want to insult this nice person by exposing her own biggest fears and prejudices.

 

“He is a little old.” Shannon murmured.

 

“I’d guess I must seem to be almost in the grave then.” Said Yvonne with a chuckle.  “Because thirty-two still seems like a baby to me.”

 

And Shannon laughed, heartfelt and apologetic.  Yvonne didn’t hate her. And Mario was thirty.  She had been wondering.  His business was such a success. And he had already been married and divorced.  It seemed he ought to be much older than that.  At thirty-two…he was much less a threat.  He wouldn’t see her as a conquest and then fire her.  He might want to date her for a while, but he would get over it.

 

When his staff was gone and he was safe upstairs again, his hum turned into a whistle.  Maybe this effervescent girl was demure.  Maybe it had been impossibly rude to ask her over for the same day.  Maybe… she expected to be taken out, and not brought up to an apartment like… well like he had expectations.  Could she be that kind of old fashioned girl that serious minded men sometimes hope to find? He was almost happier than if she had come over tonight.  Almost.   

 

The bottle of wine was very good, just as Mario said it would be.  And he treated her like she was the daughter of a king. 

 

“Please, have a seat.  Mi casa es su casa, senorita”

 

And “what more can I get for you, surely you have not yet had enough?”

 

His manners were in top form and yet his manner was relaxed, as though he entertained royalty in his front room on a daily basis.  His spoke like it was the old world, like they were in Spain inventing courtship all over again.  As Shannon would do for the next twelve years, she looked at him with merriment in her eyes and laughed.

 

“It’s delicious.  Thank you. So glad I’m drinking age.” She raised her eyebrows a little, daring him to feel too old for her.

 

“As I am. What a waste it would be for you to drink water while I had this all to myself.  You would need to sit closer to the door then, I am afraid, because with that much of this, even I couldn’t trust myself with you.” He did that look again, the one he was sure would work, because it always did. She laughed at him.

 

“You devil!  You’re my boss. You can’t say things like that.  In fact you aren’t that kind of man.  Not the kind to even mention it.  I think I will sue you for harassment.”  Now the gleam in her eye and dimple in her cheek dared him to apologize.  To her amazement, his eyes flew open, lost their seductive glimmer.  He looked shocked, almost, embarrassed?

 

“Do you mean it, this harassment?  I only wanted to say that you are beautiful and that…” 

 

She patted the space next to her on the couch, still laughing.

 

“No, I see you must not mean it.  But you are right. I shouldn’t’ have said that. I love to hear you laugh. And I think I am very funny.”  He relaxed again and sat on the sofa, next to her.  He smiled the disarming smile. The natural one that she was beginning to find difficult to resist.

 

“You know, Shannon, I admire you very much.  But I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.  There is not much to do in Clovis after work.  I thought it would be nice to have company for something like wine. And if you thought that it would also be nice to have my company, well then. I am a lucky man.”

 

“Everyone has told me you are a fine man, Mario. Did you know that everyone in town loves you?” She was nervous. It had been about three years since she dated the officer and was dumped.  The other girls in service paired off quickly, married happily or otherwise. She saw all of the servicemen around her those years as predatory, a reflection of the Coushay Center. She was wary with men now.    

 

“It is very nice to be well thought of in your home.  Am I also well thought of at the Restaurante, Shannon?”  He gave her a little space. He read her body language and saw that she was feeling nervous, tense. But his dark eyes gleamed. 

 

He was absolute perfection.  She could hardly stand him, she wanted him so badly. And yet there he was, being kind and polite. She sank back on the sofa, resting more closely against him.  Nothing could have pleased him more.  He let her rest on his shoulder and enjoyed feeling her shoulders relax a little. 

 

“Yvonne, Bernie, and the customers have nothing but good to say of you, senor.”  She leaned in very close indeed, her heart pounding.  She couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss him or to run out the door.  “And I…I think this is a very nice way to spend the evening.”  She didn’t move.  Less then inches and he could have taken her in his arms and held her and kissed her mouth. He could have. But he looked into her eyes first and they were both excited and scared.  He did not want to scare her.

 

“That is very nice to hear.  Let me get you something to eat, mi amiga.”  He was very slow about it, but he did stand up and he did go to the kitchen and come back with a plate of tamales that had been waiting for them. “You are hungry, verdad?” 

 

She stretched her arms out above her head and her legs before her. She did admire him. He was tall.  And had very broad shoulders. His face was round, and his hair clipped short, though she imagined it would probably curl if it was longer.  She didn’t know it, but he looked very much like his grandfather, the chief of police. The great difference was the kindness in his face instead of control. He had short dark eyelashes that gave him a look, sometimes, of wide eyed childlike wonder.  And yet, they were dark flashing eyes that could say anything he wanted them to.  When he handed her a plate with a tamale on it, his eyes told her that she was safe from worry but that he would always love her.  He said:

 

“My mother brought me these Tamales this morning. She knows that the people in this town love my Restaurante, and yet she does not believe that I can make Mexican food worth eating. Enjoy.  You will never have one as good as this, unless I make it myself.”

 

“It is really amazing! Where did your mother learn to cook?” The tamale was amazing and made Shannon wonder how she had survived without it before. She laughed at her mental exaggeration. And yet, it was so good. “Es muy delicioso!” she said to him.

 

He liked that very much and laughed.  “All these weeks at the Restaurante and I did not know that you spoke Spanish.”

 

“Oh, only a little. But how else could you describe this? Delicious just wouldn’t do.” And you, she thought. You are muy delicioso too.  If she really didn’t want anything to do with divorced men who go to church she should probably not come upstairs for wine again. 

 

 

CHAPTER BREAK

Estefan and Timotea had been in America for more than twenty years. And all but two weeks of that had been in the little house in the barrio adjacent to the farm.  They had owned the home for the whole time.  The first year of their life there, the farm manager came to visit them in November. 

 

“Dr. Gomez.” He said with great respect in his voice. “I feel I may have failed you in a matter that regards your home.”

 

“Our home is fine, Senor.” Dr. Gomez said.

 

“I’m glad it pleases you.  However, this is a matter of home ownership that I believe   I failed to discuss with you when you recently purchased the home.”

 

“And what is this matter, Senor?”

 

“In November and in April each year, all homeowners must pay their taxes.  If I did not tell you this before, then maybe you have not had time to save for your taxes.”

 

Dr. Gomez sat very stiffly in his chair and looked his boss directly in his eye.  “What taxes are these you are talking about?”

“Well, now, sir.  There are property taxes and you own property so you’ve got to pay them.”

 

Dr. Gomez stood up and set his shoulders.  In his mind, he was at the clinic. And the new governor, who was not from Chiapas and was not impressed by the name Gomez, was telling him a similar story.

 

“La Clinica is a business, Senor.” The governor had said.  He did not call Estefan Gomez Doctor.  “And all business in this village must pay this man.” He indicated a large, dark man who stood somewhat behind him. “If you do not pay this man when it is time, you do not have a business here.”

 

Dr. Gomez refused to pay.  And in less than a day his clinic, la clinica de la familia Gomez that they had been running for more than one hundred years did not exist.  The men said he would have some small time to bring the money for the payment.  And then they moved down the road to the next business. 

 

As soon as they had moved on Dr. Gomez began to fill his bags and his pockets and every box he could find with la medicinas and with los instrumentos and with the papers that told him what his patients were being treated for and how.  He had a car, in those days. And he filled his car as quickly and as quietly as he could.  He immediately drove to the villa.  Timotea, who could be trusted to act first and ask questions later, helped him silently store the records, medicines and equipment throughout villa.  A home, dating well before the days of Porfirio Diaz, it had many places to secret things away.  Dr. Gomez hid some medicine, mostly aspirin and bandages in the kitchen, so that when the Mafioso came and searched his home they would find it and leave and not come back looking again.  An hour after Dr. Gomez had hidden his priceless items; the Governor and his men had first destroyed la clinica and then set it on fire.

 

The manager of the farm sat down.  He smiled easily.  In the short months that he knew the doctor, the farm manager had learned he was a man of integrity.  “Amigo, Doctor.  I just came to say, if you can’t pay it now, as it is due next week, we can pay it for you.  And when payday comes we can just take one dollar off of your check until it is paid back.  That’s it.  If you would like.”

 

With steel in his eye and the spine of iron, Dr. Gomez said: “I am not to pay these taxes to you? But you would pay them on my behalf?  And how long then would I be paying you? I think no. I can pay my own taxes.” 

 

“That’s real good, Doctor.  Just fine.  I only felt bad that I might not have told you before.  I didn’t want to cause you trouble by forgetting to explain the taxes.”  The manager stood up, it had been a short visit after all. Sometimes making amends when he forgot important details took a great deal of time. Many of his workers who seemed to understand him fine on the farm suddenly lot their competency in English when money needed to be discussed. Even if the mistake was in their favor.  It was a frustrating circumstance for the manager, who generally speaking, enjoyed his job and his employees. 

 

They shook hands and the manager left.

 

That year the Gomez family paid part of their taxes out of the last of Sra Gomez’ private savings. It was the end of the pesos they brought with them to America.  The farm manager took their pesos to the city and did the exchange for them.  But by April they paid their taxes themselves from money they had in the bank. They made regular deposits and watched the balance grow and earn interest.  Dr. Gomez would not save money in an envelope in his home ever again.  But Timotea would. And did with regularity.

 

So, they had been in their home for more than twenty years.  It had not been built to last that long. And as long as Dr. Gomez lived his free moments on his porch dispensary with is patients, the home continued to crumble around them.

 

Sra. Gomez used a small portion of the money she earned cooking to buy things for her home.  At the mercantile in town, after she had lived there for a year, she bought six yards of gingham and made curtains for their two windows.  Later she bought muslin and made a cloth for their table. It was embroidered like their shirts were, the shirts made from the embroidered linen she had painstakingly made in Chiapas. 

 

These things, and keeping immaculately clean in a town of dust and sage brush, Timotea could do.  But the rest was a worry on her heart.  When Mario received his scholarship and began college, Timotea began to panic.  Her strong, kind son who could make the roof stop leaking and keep the gate swinging straight would be gone.  Her husband would be all she had left.

 

Estefan Gomez, who courted her for a month and half had been so debonair, so suave. She called him delicioso to his face and laughed at his wild English manners. He didn’t like her laughing at him and redoubled his efforts to show her that he was sophisticated.  A man of the world.  He bought himself a Corvette. It was a beautiful car imported to him from Los Angeles.  She loved to ride in it with him. But she still laughed at him. 

 

One day he drove her to the top of a high hill, to show her the amazing view.  She got out of the car, as though to admire it with him. But instead, she climbed up a tree.

 

“Oh, Estefan! It is still here! Look where you have carved your name next to the name of my brother.  Did you know I knew you did that? You and Enrique did that before there was a road here.  Come and see!”

 

Estefan, the Doctor and world traveler scrambled up the tree and gripped the branch next to Timotea.

 

“And look next to your name, mi amigo.”

He looked. And he saw the small scratching TYG. “What is this? He said.  He could not suppress the grin that spread across his face. That made his eyes crinkle up like a movie star. 

 

“This is where I carved my name next to yours, senor.  It means Timotea Yesenia Gomez.  You see? I wanted to marry the boy who climbed up high in the tree.”

 

He reached across the tree and held on to her arm. Then he leaned precariously across the empty space under the tree and kissed her, tenderly.

 

“Timotea Yesenia, would you please marry me, mi amore?”

 

And then she laughed for joy, and not at him.  And she cried for joy at the same time.

 

When they drove away it was still in the beautiful corvette.  And she was still thrilled to be riding in it. But now, Estefan was happy for the same reasons. Because of the wind in their hair and how fast they could go across the hard packed dirt and because they loved each other.

 

She was sitting on her front porch the day that Mario left for Universidad.  He had explained to her they would not have to pay any money for the school. He was smart and had good grades so the school was free.  And he was going to cook at the school as his job, to pay for the room he would live in.  It wasn’t far. Just an hour away in the town called Bend. And it was only for two years.

 

She looked at him and wondered.  Why does he think I don’t understand scholarship?  Does he really not know that I had a scholarship to the finest university in Mexico City?  A school older than this whole country, this America where they lived now.  It was a little sad, but she laughed anyway.

 

“Yes. mi hijo.  You have a scholarship to a fine college in Bend. I am so proud of you.”  It was true but she couldn’t laugh from her heart for long, because when he left she would still be here, alone with her husband.  And he had not been the boy in the tree for a very long time.

 

The first thing that Estefan Gomez lost when he came to America was his optimism.  It was a very long trip north. They traveled from the southernmost rainforest in Mexico–a place of Stone Age natives and the brilliant minded Maya and the Spanish who melded with them and their world—to the Willamette Valley of Oregon.  It was a thousands year journey for the family. 

 

They left the villa, his ancestral home.  This home was located a few mere miles from the famed blue waterfalls of Chiapas. The roar of the waters was woven through the memories of his life their. When Dr. Gomez closed his eyes and thought of home, that sound was the first thing that came to his mind.  It was a place of rain and mist and mountains and fog.  A place where his corvette could only travel few months of the year and even in those days, there were few he rode with the top down.  He could fly over the earth with the wind blowing through the hair of his love, feeling like magic such a small part of the time. But now that was over. 

 

The air there was heavenly scented. Rich with the perfumes of large and brilliant colored flowers. It was the tropics, the vegetation did not succumb easily to man but every year crept swiftly over fences and in through unscreened windows.  Much of the area, even of the mile or so between his villa and his clinica, a rich, green canopy, branches and vines and flying, singing quetzal birds, covered the earth.  The birds cried out in the kingdom between the branches and the ground, proclaiming their dominance of creation.

 

No road in his village was paved. The few automobiles, those belonging to the civic leaders or the mafia, could be found of a day mired in the mud on their way somewhere important.  In those days, or more correctly, in that place, you would stop and take your compadre to his destination. Nothing you were doing was so urgent that you could not stop and help.

 

And his patients, the men and women who came to Dr. Gomez to be healed, also ranged vastly in culture. There were those few who crept out of their hidden jungle world to seek the medicine man that others told them was a myth. And there were also the Maya, beautiful, dark, small, and traditional people.  They spread their wares out on market day, doing trade with the mestizos and Spanish Mexicans of the village, but plotted in their homes of the day that they would be free again from these conquistadors. 

 

When Sr. Alfredo Gomez opened his clinica, before the days of El Presidente Porfirio Diaz, the Maya stayed far away.  The patients at this time were limited to the three Spanish familias that traveled together to the far outreach of what we call Chiapas to create a new village.  It started with the Jesuit Priest and the two sisters who were going to preach the gospel in a dark world.  The Priest, Padre Ruiz, was a great friend of Alfredo in the city. He invited his friend the Doctor to join them on their adventure. Another family was older, with teenage sons.  The Garcia family made great use of the Doctor as their sons were wild and came home with great injuries and wounds from their experiments in jungle living.   

 

The other family, like the Gomez family, were young and well educated. Alfredo considered that this family must be running from some trouble in the city.  El Senor Sosa was a professor at the University.  He taught sciences. What troubles had made him run to the jungle, Dr. Alfredo could not conceive.  But it was a great comfort to him to have a man of science there, in this primordial world, helping to record the miracles of this newly discovered flora.

 

Professor Sosa was also Estefan’s ancestor. Until he died his claim remained that he moved to the jungle for the study of the botany.  To discover things unimagined to that point.  To discover the creation that would change the scientific world forever and establish his name in the annals of biology as a great naturalist.  He wanted to be great and to be famous. This driving ego was also what created the need for his exodus from the city.

 

The man of science and the man of medicine became boon friends. They shared knowledge and resources.  These resources were slim.  Where the Padre had the church to send to when experiencing want, the two men of science had only their wits.  The three wives of the tiny community took pains to learn to subsist from the bounty of the jungle. But meat was scarce as was milk and soon everyone grew slender and ill.

 

It only took a few years of subsisting for the two men of science to see the urgent need of Las Mayas. Only with their instruction, their direction and care could the families from the cities, who brought healing and salvation, live another season.

 

Through careful cultivation of relationship, Professor Sosa and Dr. Alfredo Gomez, with their wild black curls and inky mustaches, learned something of living in the jungle. At first, the dire need and ill appearance of the strangers was enough to touch the hearts of the indigenous tribes.  They showed the immigrants how to harvest from the jungle and what to harvest. They showed the senoras Sosa, Gomez and Sra Garcia, the older woman, how to prepare a patch of land to grow themselves beans and maize and to stave off the hunger and the pain of the stomach that come from living off of fruit. 

 

And so from those days, so long ago, the days of men in high heeled boots and women who abandoned their corsets for brightly colored Mayan needlework, in those days the name of the Gomez family began to mean something great. As he traded healing for knowledge and then learned from the Maya other ways to heal, he gained for his family a prominence they would not loose for more than a hundred years.

 

And when the son of Alfredo married the beautiful Louisa, daughter of Professor Sosa, daughter of the jungle, many Maya came to the wedding. And a beautiful mud villa with many rooms and courtyards was constructed. Finally, with great joy, Dr. Gomez kissed his son and embraced his daughter in law and he sent them back to Mexico City to attend La Universidad.  It was his intention that always, living in this villa, would be an educated doctor. No mere jungle medicine man, while they were away Dr. Gomez and Professor Sosa completed the villa. It was a great marvel in that jungle and a beauty.  It had room for the newlyweds and their eventual children.  But also it had room for the professor and Sra Sosa who had no other children.  There was room as well for Dr. and Sra Gomez who had two more ninos and one child lost many years before, buried nearby in the small graveyard behind the church.  The Gomez family and the Sosa family and the Garcia family with the dangerous young men, built this village with Padre Ruiz. 

 

The village grew with new residents that the young Gomez’s brought with them from the city.  Also at times the church would send more Jesuits who brought with them a teacher and more families. Year by year the population of Spanish grew. And then, with time the mestizo population increased as well.

 

Through this the villa stood, almost within sound of the blue waterfalls, until the day that Estefan and Timotea and small Mario left.  It stood until 1975. That was when the PLO sent the man who had not been paid. And he took what little was left inside the house.  Hidden throughout the plaster walls and corridors, under the dappled sun that fell through screened windows and the green canopy of leaves over head, much more was waiting. Lying hidden in the villa were secret treasures undiscovered for generations.  But this man could not envision such mysteries and so he took the radio, the cutlery (not silver) and the what-nots.  He set fire to the rest.  The jungle grew over the mound of ashes and plaster and the mysteries hidden for one hundred years.  But nobody knew this.

 

Estefan could not allow himself to care about what was lost in Chiapas.  With time, the name Zapata became a call for revolution and the name of Gomez, that had succored and healed and awed, was forgotten among the Maya. It was reclaimed as myth for the others, unnamed tribes of the jungle.  Sought infrequently, this medicine man with great knowledge who lived where the blue water fell, was never found again. And his seekers reported that indeed, he had been a myth.      

 

 

Before Estefan Gomez returned from England, there was no guarantee that Timotea would be his bride. This, her father fretted over.  The position of Chief of Policia was powerful, indeed, but tenuous.  He held onto his power with a tight grip that kept fear in the hearts of the weak and managed to kiss the hands of the powerful. The Gomez family was powerful.  They had helped to found the village so many generations ago and had always been the healers. They had always been educated. And now they had ties to the governor of Chiapas.  Marrying his only daughter to this family would be a coup indeed. It would certainly guarantee him success and permanence.  Maybe even his scant income would increase, if he had the backing of the Governor to help him collect protection.

 

But as he could not rely on this marriage he took pains to elevate his status in all the ways that he could contrive.  He ran his home much like he ran his professional life. His children were governed with the proverbial iron fist. His wife, the daughter of the previous chief of police, he bowed and scraped before. And she told him that her children would be educated, like the children of generations of Gomez.  They sent the four children to the village school until they had passed every subject there. Then they walked together to the next village to attend high school.  At home, only in the season of the storms did they stay home and not work.

 

As the four children were highly intelligent they kept up with their studies well. In spite of the long walk and lack of materials. With their mother and father standing behind them, ready to punish them severely for any slip, they excelled. And yet, these children of high spirits and bright minds would have excelled without the threat of punishment.  As it was they finished their work and correctly most days with time to spare.  And then they were like other children, playing in the forest and in the town. Learning what the world could teach them outside of the classroom.

 

Timotea was the hardest working of the children. Perhaps she was the brightest as well. Either way she received the best marks and moved the most quickly through her subjects. She was beautiful and brave.  She had a laugh that drew a crowd to her.  Her father said to his esposa:

 

“She is too beautiful to be safe here. It is time that she is married.”

 

The Senora was sewing clothing for the start of the children’s school year. She looked up from her needle and ceased rocking in her chair.  “Querida esposa. She is but a girl still. I say she will not marry yet.”

 

“This is not a question to be discussed, esposa. Girls like her cannot be running around any longer. She needs to be married or we will surely have a disaster.”  He stood before the fire, smelling the beans cooking for supper, hands clasped behind his back.

 

“And I say she shall not marry. Let her continue school.  She will not get into this mysterious trouble that you fear if you let her keep studying.”  The clothing lay in the lap of Timotea’s mother. Her heart quaked in her chest. Yes, she could always control her husband. But she too feared for her daughter, who walked like an angel on the earth and made grown men gasp, astounded.   

 

“More school!”  The Chief of Police was red with hot anger.  His wife was always dressed as a queen in the village and they had never gone hungry. He knew not how she paid tuition for the children’s high school but he did know that a lowly servant such as himself had no money to send a child—a girl! off to university.

 

“Yes, senor.  More school.  The sons of the Gomez family have gone to Mexico City to University for one hundred years. It is time for a child of the Marquez family to go University.”  She sat as still as she possibly could. This was the first time she had broached University to her esposa. But it was the dream of her heart and she was sure that Timotea was the only one who could finish.  No parent would go with them, and stand behind them while they studied to make sure that their intelligence and opportunity would not go to waste.  And who knew, who knew when, or if Estefan Gomez would come home to marry Timotea.  Yes. She wondered when he would come home or if he would come home. But she was sure in her heart that if or when he returned he would marry Timotea. All of the men wished to marry her already and she was just a girl.

 

“University! In the city! Like a Gomez!”  The chief of police spit the words out like they disgusted him. But he wanted them. As soon as they were spoken he wanted them to be true.  “You would send her away, I believe, because Estefan Gomez is not home yet and we will have her marry no one else.  I say he need not be here to make the engagement.”

 

“Mi esposo. How would you have him fall into love with her while he is away?  The man must be here to see why she will be his bride.” She lowered her head, as though in supplication.  Then she picked up the needle work and began rocking again.

 

“If he would be difficult, than this is true. Do we know Estefan to be to be a difficult boy? She must marry Estefan. There is no one else. If he would not like for his father and I to arrange this then we must send her away—to keep her for her marriage.”  He moved to his wife, sat down on the stool next to her.  “How do we get a child into University”

 

“Hush, senor. Let me do this for you.” She continued to rock and to sew complacently. It had worked as she knew it would. It was a smooth transition. And her dreams for her bright and wonderful daughter would come true.

 

An application had been sent, with glorious references from her teachers. They all waited, breath held for the package to come.  They waited for the package that would tell them when she should start, if she should start.  It was a fine University, La Universidad Nacionale de Misiones. It was ancient, chartered by a King of the Holy Roman Empire. She applied to study at this revered place to be a nurse.  If she could not marry a Gomez (though no one spoke those words) she could be useful to them and keep the Chief of police in the right place in their minds. 

 

The packet came and said everything they wanted it to. She was accepted.  She would start with honors, taking classes more difficult than most students start with. They would have to pay no money.  Her hard work, their strict keeping was now paying off.  The chief of police and his wife held each other. She wept. His shoulders shook, racking sobs, but silent and tearless. 

 

And then Timotea came running into their casita, breathless, cheeks red, countenance shining with joy, “Madre, mi madre! Padre, Senor.  You must listen! Dr Estefan Gomez has come home! He has come home from his tour and will work in the clinica!” She danced a lighthearted, light footed dance around their house.

 

Sra. Marquez, Timotea’s mother broke form her husband’s embrace. She put down the packet from the university she had been gripping. The chief of police remembered the conversations with Dr. Gomez, the father. He remembered the strings he had pulled and favors he now owed to so many people so that Dr, Pedro Estefan could be a doctor at the hospital in Vera Cruz. He remembered and his countenance fell. His daughter.  She could have been educated at the finest university in Mexico City. In all of Central America. His wife had thought of this. He had not. He had prepared the way for her to marry as a young girl.  And now she would have to do it.

 

“What is it to us that this boy, this spoiled boy, is home from wasting the money his father worked to earn?”  His voice was a low growl as he said this. He pushed past his daughter and walked out of his home. Out to the streets where he would do his police work today with assiduous attention to petty crime.  It was not a day to be contemplating evil.

 

“Mija.” Her mother spoke softly. “This is very good news indeed. He will be so happy to hear, when you tell him, that you may also go to his university and study medicine.”

 

Timotea sat on the stool her father frequented.  “Yes? Oh mother. Indeed? I may go to university?” Her mind spun, bewildered by the many pieces of good news she received.

 

She, along with so many young girls of her age, had waited breathlessly for news that their handsome, charming, friend would come home. And maybe marry someone and have a family.  She didn’t know that she was the one that her father and his father intended him to marry.  At this moment, the two pieces of news were not mutually exclusive.  She fairly lost her breath the excitement of the day was so much.

 

“Timotea, querida. Go to bed and rest. The afternoon grows hot and you are much excited, we will celebrate all of our good news at supper.” She kissed her young daughter on the head and wondered which of these pieces of good news would cause her the most sorrow in the coming months.

 

Estefan was too full of care already, to worry about what had become of his ancestral home. In the first place his wife had no more children after Mario.  Not even when their lives had been settled into an American pattern and they could breathe with more ease.  With each year that passed empty of the next child, he heard her lose some of her laughter.  The last joy he had had in the world was her laughter.  And so he did worry about this.

 

In the second place, all around him was aching poverty, barrenness and suffering.  This wild high desert where they lived had no shade. It had no waterfall.  It had no break from the heat until it was almost the days of the snow.  It went from golden hot sun baked life to a cold he could compare to nothing in his experience.  The cold in London had been damp, drenching, fog soaked cold.  But that had been merely the temperature turned down in the rainforest of his youth.  But now he worked outdoors in the snow.

 

His wife made him gloves with no finger tips so he could work, but his finger tips felt like they would freeze to the tools.  He soaked them many nights in the lukewarm water, terrified needlessly, that he would loose them to frostbite and loose the ability to work.  But this was his lone suffering. Mario didn’t care and Timotea never complained. There would have been no actual suffering for Estefan as he worked, had it not been for this hot and cold. And this suffering was shallow indeed compared to the men he served on his patio.  However much he was outside, he worked with equipment and animals and people.  The people he worked with, they were the ones who had real suffering.

 

It was the work of the men and women in the field that caused him the most worry.  They had chronic respritory illness from the pesticides. They had blindness and holes burned in the flesh, in their faces, from the pesticides.  And all he could do to help them, the only thing he could do as their substitute doctor was urge them to take precaution, to cover their flesh in the heat of the summer as much as they did in the winter.  All he could do from his porch dispensary was administer and explain pain pills, antibacterial creams. Anything he could get his hands on in town or from Raul to soothe his friends and patients. Nothing he could do would heal them. 

 

Mario sat on the front porch of the casita with his father. They each had a tall glass of water.

 

“Padre, como esta?” Mario was kicking back this afternoon. Having a Sabbath day’s rest from his labor.

 

“Ahh, mijo. Esta bien.” The doctor’s face was a study in control. He may or may not have been carrying the weight of the world on his back.

 

Mario wanted to have a talk with his father. To talk about the restaurant, his wife and the things that weighed on his mind. Mario was always a communicator. But he wasn’t getting through to his padre.  Dr. Gomez was far away.

 

It was ironic, to the doctor, where his mind was headed at this moment.  For years in Chiapas he educated the wild Indians that came to him.  Or, he tried to. He talked to them about medicine and village life, when they came to see him at the clinic. But they wouldn’t listen. Most were on some kind of ancient voyage quest, or in desperate need because of an illness that only modern medicine could cure. Nobody in the years he served there, both before and after he was the head doctor, was interested in becoming a villager. Being civilized.  How he had wanted them to be civilized.  He had been ashamed that after more than one hundred years of life in that village La Familia Gomez, and the church, had failed to bring about a great cultural revolution.  This revolution was not so different from revolution everywhere else. He just wanted to make life better for everyone.  Make it into his idea of better. 

 

This day in America, his mind was focused on his compadres from the farm. They would soon be coming to the patio where he would give them Acetemenophin and Canadian codeine.  He would give them bacitracin and wash their wounds with hydrogen peroxide. 

 

His faithful patients who trusted him and never gave him a day of rest were from all over the western hemisphere. Some of these migrant workers were born in America but raised on the fields. They still couldn’t speak English and they didn’t know how to have a life off of the fields. Some where islanders who had made a slow journey across the waters and to the mainland, north to Mexico, eventually. When they finally arrived in America, where all their hopes were hinged, they found that their journey would be eternal. They would never find rest here. They were also from as far south as Monte Video, a city more urban than Clovis could ever hope to be.

 

The irony that tormented his mind now rested in the one perfect solution to most of their troubles. They were hungry. Not all of them were skinny, but all of them were undernourished. Starving from lack of knowledge of healthy food, lack of access to the nutrients they needed. Programs were available for poor people who were here legally.  But the rest of the workers were alone to fight off starvation.

 

His mind wandered back to the days of doctoring the Indians. How his mind had revolted when they discussed food with the Indians. The grasshoppers. The caterpillars. The absurdity of eating insects in a place as rich in resources as Chiapas would anger him for years. Until now.  One by one the workers would come to him with rashes and burns. These injuries were the results of working with inadequate protection in fields treated with pesticides. The farmers needed to kill the pests to increase their harvest.  But the pests they were killing. Oh how it bothered his mind. The pests they were killing could feed the workers. They could live on these caterpillars and the locust. They could harvest these bugs. And then they could eat them.  They could harvest instead of spray and their skin would be renewed. They could eat this harvest and they would have the nutrition they needed grow healthy and to learn how to be American. 

 

He looked at his son.  He sighed deeply.  “Mario. Would you feed the customers of your restaurant locusts, like the Indians in the mountains?”

 

Mario looked at his father and thought for a moment. This question clearly came from deeper than it appeared. His father did not indulge in non sequitors. 

 

“Would the customers have otros opciones?” He asked, his mix of Spanish and English increasing as he spoke to his father.

 

“No. No mijo. They would have nothing. If they had nothing would you feed them locusts.?”  There was nothing to read in the face of Dr. Gomez.  He was a study in pure concentration and revealed no clues to his son.

 

“Yes father. If they had nothing.” Mario thought more about his father’s life.  He thought maybe he could see what his father was really asking.  “There would be no shame to give healthful food to people who had nothing.”

 

“No shame.” Dr. Gomez repeated this.  He held his thoughts to himself for a moment.  Was there no shame? Did these people not descend from the rulers of the world? From the very saints of the Holy Roman Empire?  Their heritage, their world was so much older and richer than that which he had seen even in England.  Certainly they held the keys to a world more ancient than this Clovis, which Dr. Gomez considered nothing more than a new Experiment in agriculture.

 

“But it is quite a fall for them, no? It is a thing they would never do if the had a choice.  It is something their ancestors would be ashamed of.” Dr. Gomez sighed deeply, his sole show of emotion during this conversation.

 

“You are afraid, maybe that they will never achieve if they must be saved only to live like an Indian.” Mario wasn’t guessing anymore. He knew they were talking about Dr. Gomez’s patients. Men and women that both Dr. Gomez and his son had learned to love and respect. 

 

“But I have not the option to feed them, mijo. I have nothing to feed them. In America, starving people would never eat insects. Never.”  The irony of this pup of a country having too much pride—more pride than the ancients of the mountains was a foul taste in his mouth. 

 

But the doctor saw in the distance two men walking his direction. One he knew and the other he had not met. The new man was limping. Dr. Gomez went back inside his home to prepare his supplies. Now that mass had ended it would be time to heal the sick. (blogged 01/30)

 

CHAPTER BREAK

Mario studied business at the community college in Bend, Oregon. In the early 1980’s, as now, it was a highly respected school. And as in anything Mario did, he excelled. He chose to study business and accounting, with the plan in mind that he would be his own boss someday.  To live, not in a barrio someone kept for workers, but in a real home.

 

 His idea of real home was a confusion of glowing jungle images, blue waterfalls and vibrant Mayan hammocks in the shade.  In a real home, it seemed to him, there was a madre who played with you and told you fabulous tales. And there was staff—someone in the kitchen, someone to keep their house, In a real home warm, moist air moved slowly through the windows bringing air scented richly with moldering jungle weeds and blossoms turning to fruit in the mango grove.  Of course, in a real home you could grow your own food to eat.  It was the same in Oregon, in the plot of yard behind the house. His mother grew much of what they ate through out the year.

 

And there was more from Oregon in his glorious confusion of home.  Wide expanses of sunset from the bedroom window. Great Evergreen trees in the distant hills.

People tumbling over themselves to be on your porch with you. Whitewashed fences a clear division of who lived where. And madre, mama, at the stove preparing your supper. Madre walking to school with you when she would help the Spanish speaking children learn English.  This on days when she did not go away to the great farm and cook.

 

In a real home, there was a charming, dashing father. He was strong and bold and funny.  He told amazing stories of traveling by boat across the great ocean to places where people lived in a land of cold fog, rather than the warm embrace of the jungle fogs.  This was a real father. The substitute, this Dr. Gomez of America, reminded him of his father, but did not laugh or tell stories.

 

So Mario worked very hard with this goal in his mind. Not to return to Chiapas where a century can be turned to ashes in the rain forest. But here. To create the dream of his early childhood in this landscape. 

 

He saw many things he wanted while he was in college. One of those was a stunning blonde, with long athletic legs.  On a cool spring evening he saw her running, and so he charmed her into having dinner with him. As he was handsome, kind and known to be a great student, it wasn’t hard to convince her.  At dinner he found her intoxicating. Her conspiratorial laugh drew him in deeply.

 

She laughed, first, at the team they ran their first met against.

 

“Mario, I know that we are just a community college, But really. I expected some kind of competition.  It was like running, well, like racing little school children who didn’t know where they were going.”  She laughed and her eyes disappeared and her smile filled her face. Se leaned back, laughing at how much she enjoyed winning, and she seemed to invite him to laugh with her. To be a winner with her.

 

“I know you understand what I mean.” She was quieter and leaning across the table, intimately.  “I’ve seen your name on the dean’s list. Above everyone else’s. Odds have it that you’ll be valedictorian.  Don’t you feel it in your classes? Like you are the only man working in a room full of children?”  

 

Mario’s parents were terribly proud of their son the Valedictorian. He drove them to Bend for the Ceremony and took them out to dinner afterwards.  Dr Gomez looked at his son, twenty years old now and admired him. A tall strong young man. Bright and hardworking.

 

“Today, son, you have given me a reason to smile. I am so very proud of what you have done.”  Dr Gomez shook hands solemnly with his son, and then embraced him.

 

“Look at you, our boy. There was a time you know, when we did not know if we would all live to see you grown.” Far from melodramatic, Sra Gomez eyes misted as she thought of those days. Those last days in Chiapas of waiting, as they waited to see if their escape to America would return before the men of the Mafia did.  Before the PLO sent in men to teach them what protection was for.

 

“Si madre. I remember those days of fear. We have done so much.” Mario drove his parents to a small family restaurant, one with good food and comfortable seating. Not fancy, but home like.

 

Dr Gomez spoke again. “Son, there are things that in Mexico you would have done and would have been. I am so sorry we have not been able to do that for you here. You have inherited a legacy of spirit, but no clinica in which to work. This is my sincere apology. But today, you have completely studies and I want you to know your mother and I will do everything we can to fulfill your legacy here.  Son, it is not to late, would you like to begin a study of medicine?”  Dr Gomez was sober, as always, and deep in thought as he spoke. Not until his son said to him “I have graduated!” did he really understand.  For the first time in hundreds of years a Gomez son was not a doctor. He did not attend the ancient and revered Universidad Nacionale de Misiones in Mexico City.  He was proud of his son’s hard work and yet disappointed that all of the hard work went to this small, junior college to study business.

 

“A legacy is a great honor for a son to hold. Thank you for offering me the opportunity.  May I tell you what it is I dream to do?”  They were seated around a table, near a fireplace with their mugs of coffee.

 

Timotea and Estefan exchanged a wondering look. What was it their son was hoping for? Were they now to learn his dream?

 

“There is a school in Portland where a man can learn to be a professional chef. It is a well respected program and difficult to enter. It is possible for the student of the culinary school to also attend the University in Portland—a real university and complete a four year degree.  This is what I hope Padre, mi madre. I hope to go to Portland now and attend the Culinary School and the University. When I have finished I can come home to Clovis and open my own Restaurante.  Do you see what I want? I will have my own restaurante and work for no man.” Mario paused and assessed his parent’s reactions. He could see they were thinking, perhaps with mixed feelings.

 

“Padre, it is not medicine, I know.  I have thought about medicine a great deal. About healing people. But I also think about feeding people, about having a place where people can gather together and celebrate or relax or eat when they have no where else to go. It is a romantic notion, I know. But a good one, I think.”  He addressed his father primarily, as he was the hardest to read, the most closed with his feelings.

 

Sra Gomez responded first to her son. “This is a good wish.  It is not medicine, but it is a kind of care. And it is honest work, something to be proud of.  I think you have a gift in the kitchen son, and could be a very talented chef.” Tears glistened in her eyes. Her son dreamed of spending his life in their town. The town she had worked so hard to make home for him.

 

“Yes, This is honest work. This is something to be proud of son. No one would be ashamed of this for you.” Dr Gomez responded carefully. There came a time always when a son went his own way.  If he had taken more care with his child’s upbringing then perhaps he would have gone into medicine. It was too late for this thought. What he had left to do was ensure his son did his best. Always did his best.  There was never a time that a man should do less, Dr Gomez thought.

 

Mario relaxed a bit more over dinner. His parents hadn’t discouraged his dream.  He didn’t tell them that he would have to work hard to pay for the school, work while he studied and that the restaurant would still be many years in the future. Indeed, he could see form the sorrow that crossed his mothers face now and then that they knew this already.

 

“Linda is going up to Portland too. She’s got a scholarship at a different school called the University of Portland.  It is a good Catholic school. She’s studying accounting.” He grinned as he talked about Linda. He always did.

 

“That is very nice indeed. So you will be able to see a good deal of her then?”  Sra Gomez had a new worry now, would they think it right to live together in the city? Her heart ached at the thought.  Would they marry before they left instead—so young still?

 

‘We should be able to.  The business school is a long course, she should take another three years before she has her degree. We’ll be in the same town, but she will be in the girl’s dorm at her school. I hope to find a room to rent near the culinary school.  We should have weekends to visit each other.” He made a gentle point about their living quarters to assure his parents. To give them one less thing to worry about while he was away.

 

His two years of school turned into three as working made it difficult to take many classes at once. When he finished he had a bachelor’s degree in business management and a Culinary arts degree from the most respected school in town.  The families, Linda’s family and Mario’s traveled to Portland to see both of them graduate. And to see them marry in the small chapel on the campus of the University of Portland. 

 

It was a beautiful ceremony though long.  Much of it was new to Linda’s parents but they accepted Catholicism if it meant that polite hardworking young man would take care of their daughter. And keep her as close to home as Clovis. It was such a relief not marrying her off to a Portland boy.

 

What was left now to accomplish his dream was to learn how a restaurant really works. And to make some money to open their own place. Portland seemed the best place to do all of that.

 

The rented a studio apartment not far from the river, in an area called Hawthorne where the hippies and artists lived, for the same reason they did. It was cheap.  A local credit union hired Linda right away. (blogged to here, part the 7^th, 2/9/08)

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

CHAPTER BREAK

It was black Friday, if ever there was one.  Terry came home from his week away while Shannon was supposed to be still in school.

 

“Hey baby!” He snuck up behind his wife, his lovely Dion and gave her neck a kiss.  “Where can I take my ladies for dinner tonight?”  He stepped back from Dion to admire her.  She was petite and dark.  She looked a good deal like her father who was just two generations from Greece.  Her skin was a golden, glowing olive and her hair so thick and black, wavy and glossy. Like a miniature goddess from mount Olympia.  “Oh man!” He said as he pulled her to him by the hips. Let’s skip dinner and go straight to dessert. You are a sight for a hungry man’s eyes.”  

 

“Stop it Terry. You’ve been gone a week. Can’t we just sit down to dinner once like a normal family? Can’t I just fix a casserole and have dinner like everyone else?” She turned to him, her yes flashing with rage.  He was completely surprised. 

 

“But you’ve been cooking all week! I thought you’d like something nice. I’m sorry. Yes, cook for us or go out or whatever!” He wanted to back peddle but didn’t know what he was going backwards from, so he sort of peddled all around and wondered where he was going.

 

“I don’t want to cook dinner for you. I’ve been slaving here for a week with Shannon all by myself. And I just don’t want to look at you right now.” She didn’t know which way she was peddling either. She just knew that one more week like all of the weeks these past ten years was impossible.  She could not be a single mother for a minute longer. All the pent up frustration and anger and sorrow and loneliness from ten years of marriage, six years of parenting and yet being alone, flooded over her as she stared at him. Only this week she stayed up three nights by herself while Shannon vomited in the toilet, sicker than she had ever been. The second day of her illness they spend hours in the emergency room. Flu. Real influenza. Shannon lost weight that week; their tiny 6 year old girl lost three pounds from her small frame and even now lay in her bed, week with dark, dark circles under her eyes.  She hadn’t slept for comforting the child. She hadn’t rested during the day for trying to keep her daughter clean and sustained with broth and Jell-O.  She looked at him and hated him. She couldn’t call him and tell him what was happening because he slept in the cabin of his truck. He didn’t call her, and she didn’t know why.  There would be housework and homework to catch up on and from this day she would always see her vibrant and strong child as frail and slipping through her fingers.  And he had walked in, with his complacent smile pasted on his face, wanting sex, like a man. Like a stranger, a man with his own little sex toy that you wind up once a week with dinner out.

 

It was unfair, but she didn’t want to admit it. Terry mailed her post cards all week long and called frequently from the road. This was a bad week for him too, with truck troubles and an angry boss. There were rumors of trouble with the union as well, a possible strike on the horizon. When he came home from work he wanted to be a hero to his wife and daughter. And he wanted love, and affection. And as they were apart all week, coming home did seem like a good opportunity for sex.  Communication generally befuddled him, but something about the set to her face made him think know would be a good time to try.

 

“Come in here Dion, sit down.  Tell me what is going on? What is going on? I don’t know. I couldn’t call, there has been so much trouble this week.  But it seems like you have had some trouble too. Please tell me about it.”  He was surprised at how little stammering he was doing. Perhaps this talking thing wouldn’t be so hard.

 

“I will not sit down! Did you know your daughter could have died this week? Did you even think to ask? Do even care while you are on the road that we are here alone with no one taking care of us? It’s worse than being a widow, I swear it is. A widow doesn’t have to, well, doesn’t have to put out once a week on schedule no matter what else is going on. I just can’t stand you.”

 

“What? No! I just wanted you to know you are amazing. I mean of course, I always want you, but what do you mean by dying? Where is Shae-shae? How is she doing what can I do?”  When the idea of his small child dying sunk in he stood up And started pacing—first towards the kitchen, and then he turned and headed to Shannon’s room.

 

“Don’t you dare go in her room!” She screamed at him. “She is finally sleeping! Sleeping!  And you are practically a stranger. How dare you try to wake her up.” She stood up and moved as though to run at him, but turned around in disgust.

 

“No, honey, I was just going to look. I wouldn’t wake her up, I swear. What’s the matter? Why is she home? Was it an accident?”  The terrible things that came to his mind while he drove, rushed through all at once now. Shannon on her bicycle, getting hit by a truck like his. Or some child at school fighting with her and hurting her. Or just falling down somewhere steep, when he wasn’t there to catch her. The nightmares of a daddy.  

 

“The flu Terry. The flu. She’s got the flu and she’s been sick for four days.  Did you know? No. You didn’t know.  You didn’t call you didn’t make it so I could call you. I was just completely alone for a really long time while she was really sick.  How do you like that?”  The tenor of her voice had changed. It was crisp, cool.  Threatening him to say the wrong thing. Daring him to admit he was wrong.

 

He breathed a sigh of relief, deep and cleansing. “Oh Dion I am so glad. The Flu! Just the flu. Thank god, I swear. That is a relief.  And then Terry, feeling that the crisis was over sat down started taking off his shoes.

 

Felt like she was on a terrible, terrifying roller coaster. She wanted to scream and scream to make it stop, so she could get off and feel better. But she was so mad she couldn’t see straight or think at all.  “Get up!” She was shouting again. “Get up and get up really. She’s go the flue you idiot! Influenza.  The thing that kills people when they are little and old. We haven’t slept. She hasn’t eaten. It’s not a relief it’s horrible. They say she won’t be better for another week. You had better get up and get out. You’re still packed. Go sleep in your rig. We’re done.”

 

“Done?” He started to mount a defense, of himself, of the way that they were so happy. But he looked at her. Her eyes were really sad. He didn’t want to make her so sad. And she looked so tired, like she could use some really long sleep. So he thought, “Maybe it would be better if I slept in the rig tonight. We could talk tomorrow. Maybe. If she wants to.”  He picked up his pack which was slumped against the kitchen wall.  He walked passed Dion on the way out and, out of habit, kissed her on the head.  She shuddered.  He thought, “Maybe she won’t talk tomorrow. But soon.”

 

Shannon woke up around the time her mom began yelling about waking her up.  It was so scary, to hear her parents yelling. Or that is, her mother yelling and her dad trying to talk nicely and help or something like that.  But she didn’t like it. And her father didn’t sleep at their house that night.  In fact, her father never slept at their house after that day.

 

It was something Shannon preferred not to think about, of course. But. It did come to her. Sometimes when she couldn’t sleep she would remember that afternoon.  She was lying in bed and wondering why her daddy hadn’t come to her room to give her a hug.  She heard her mom tell him she was sick.  He was always so nice to everybody.  She lay there in her fever and wondered why he didn’t want to give her a hug.  And like all children of divorce she was sure that it was her fault. She was sure that he left because she was sick.

 

Dion was ashamed of herself. Mortified that she couldn’t keep control of her feelings.  She had always known that Terry for what he was.  He was an affable, enjoyable man.  He didn’t seek out conflict, so much so that he didn’t have a favorite team in any sport.  He watched all the big games but never “had a dog in the fight,” as he liked to say.  She had always known that her temper was hot and would have to be controlled with Terry. She had always known that the day she challenged him, told him they were through, it would all be over.  But knowing a thing and wishing another, happens all the time.  She knew she held all the cards in any conflict and yet, she desperately wanted him to fight for her. To stand up this day and say “I want you enough to have a fight about it.”  She knew, the day she married him, she knew he would never fight for what he wanted.  But some people need to be fought for. Dion was such a person. And that was why religion won her over in the end.

 

It started with the simple gospel, the true one, of a God who loved his lost sheep enough to fight for them. To do the unthinkable and sacrifice His own son on the cross that none of the people He created and loved would be lost.  As it has over the generations, this simple truth caught her heart.  Someone did love her and fight for her. God fought back against sin harder than she could fight and He won. 

 

But Lucille and Dion had confused the message they first heard.  Lucille found the Coushay Life Ministry Center to be a simple place full of people who loved God and transferred that love into their life actions.  She had also first heard the Gospel at the Life Ministry center and had not been a Christian long enough to see that their ministry of serving self first, and then serving their own ministry center second, was not Biblical. It was delightful to be somewhere you were constantly told to think about yourself. It was magical to spend whole weekends getting to the bottom of your problems and focusing on such spiritual sounding concepts as centeredness and balance.  It was also a modern church that made use of relaxation, yoga and aromatherapy.  It was a place where you constantly felt good about yourself. 

 

Dion and Lucille were just plain misinformed.  They did not know that in the Bible God reveals endlessly about His character and His plan for the world. They didn’t know that the blessing of being a Christian is to have relationship with God, as opposed to a relationship with oneself.  She had heard the simple Gospel in the context of this ministry center and assumed that their practice of the message, which included no study of the scripture, was the correct way to follow God. And Lucille felt so good in that place that she knew it would also be right for her daughter who seemed to struggle so much in life.      

 

The Coushay Life Ministry Center had a quick impact on Dion. She soon had friends and a purpose.  She wanted to take Shannon with her, but their was no Sunday School. The center encouraged Dion to bring Shannon to services, but Shannon was still so busy, so young.  She chose instead, to stay home Sunday mornings until Shannon was old enough to stay home by herself.  But even without Sunday morning service there was plenty for Dion to do.

 

Around the time Shannon was in high school, the dream of full time ministry came to Dion. Her heart was so big, so open to love at that time that she wanted to share it with everyone.  She had been working at the school since her divorce. A kind of single mom’s dream world.  She was an assistant in the library.  As everyone imagines, it was an ideal situation to keep almost the same hours as her daughter, and have the same vacations.  And being an assistant meant she spent no time after work prepping for class time.  After finding God she never ceased to praise Him for the gift he had given her in this job.

 

Her income was marginal, but with child support (Terry never failed to pay child support) and the help he had given her to pay off the house, the two girls were making it just fine.  Had she not found the life center, she may have stayed in her library forever.

 

One dull and dreary day during a support personnel meeting all of that changed. It was dreary because it was another pewter colored, drenching rain-mist “will spring ever get here?” day in Seattle.  It seemed like it had been one day like this after another since October. And it was dreary because of the material they were covering in the meeting.  HIPPA laws. How to cover your backside instructions. How to completely eliminate nurturing from the act of educating.  Of course, she wanted to keep kids safe. But it was totally outside of her realm of imagination to use affection as a tool to harm someone (barring her ex husband, of course.)  She sat, sulking and listening to the guest lawyer, a member of the PTA, explain the appropriate use of the side hug and the numerous reasons you should never touch a child on top of the head.

 

Her heart went from a great sulk to a sort of numb feeling.  Her eyes wandered to the window where she could see a forlorn line of children shivering their way from a temporary building to the gym.  Heartless. Every child present in that line ought to get a warm motherly hug as soon as they stepped into the gym.  The numb melted with that rainy scene and she felt a call on her heart. That call to love and serve people who needed love.

 

She was in service on Sunday. Shannon was at home, doing homework, Dion trusted.  The sermon amazed Dion. She always learned when she was in that auditorium, but this service they looked to the Bible for the first time in months.  And they read about a worker being worth his wages.  They passed the collection plate and she emptied her wallet into it. Surely the directors and the shepherds at the center were worth their wages. 

 

It was an unusual choice of sermon to create the scene that then followed.  But the pastor had well emphasized the worth and value of the worker. Painted in glorious, vibrant color the import of the worker, the glory they would receive after a life of service.  He spoke most emphatically of the value of the worker being his use of the gospel to eliminate the darkness entirely, replacing it with light and balance and love.  It was a call for funds and a glorification of the people that the Center considered saints. 

 

And then there was the altar call.  They speaker said, “All of you here today hold in your hearts the spark of truth.  That spark, if sent into the world will create a wild fire. An inferno. Destructive and powerful.  That spark is a spark of love and that love will destroy completely the darkness in the world. The emptiness will be filled with warm affection. The fire will light the way of love. Restoring balance to all.  No one will stand alone, in the rain, as it were.  Can you be that worker? Could that spark that lives in you change your life?  Will you give your life to the service of light, the services of the Life Ministry Center? Who here will give their lives to shine a light and cast away the darkness?”

 

And then he led his congregation in a simple song, This Little Light of Mine.   His voice was deep and slow and resonant. He silenced his band with the wave of his hand. The choir of voices lifted up into the vaulted ceiling, singing “won’t let darkness put it out, this little light of mine.” The intentions of the choir must have been good, though the lyrics were wrong and director’s intent of the call was not light filled.  All in the congregation were deeply move. Some wept in their seats, humbled by the service their directors rendered them, light against the darkness. Some, with great tears rolling down their cheeks, made their way to the altar to commit to the service of the ministry center. Others, raising their arms and crying out in triumph, flooded the altar ready to take a stand against the darkness. 

 

Dion was among the weepers that made their way to the front. To offer their life a sacrifice.  She didn’t want her light to be snuffed out in the dark atmosphere of her public school job.  From that moment her efforts would be trained to that singular goal of spreading the light.  She would conquer the darkness with the gospel through the ministry the Coushay family had created and sold in all of the states that bordered Canada, where they kept their home and evaded their taxes.

 

As the congregation filtered out of the sanctuary, the staff was meeting with the people who knelt at the altar.  Four shepherds went back and fourth along the line and prayed with those who were committing their lives to service. A shepherd named Hannah prayed with Dion.

 

“Dion, are you ready to commit to the way of the light?” She murmured her mouth close to Dion’s ear.

 

“Oh yes, yes I am. I mean, I am already committed to the light. But I want to join the ministry, to make it my work.” Dion’s chest was heaving.

“Slowly, sister. Slowly. The God of light doesn’t ask us to panic, but to speak from our center.” Her murmuring voice was mesmerizing. Dion calmed down. The word sister was especially calming. She was a sister here. She was a part of this family. “Let us pray, sister. Let me pray over you and see where you fit in the body.”

 

“Oh thank you.” Dion closed her eyes and bowed her head, hands folded in front of her. 

 

Sister Hannah did the praying. Her voice was so low that all Dion could discern was, “And show us the way that this sister is to serve. Show us the things that this sister is to give. Tell us what you will accept from this sister.”

 

Dion waited breathlessly, hoping that she would be accepted, that she would be allowed to give her whole life. 

 

Hannah leaned back from Dion and placed her hands on Dion’s shoulders. Dion lifted her head and looked at Hannah, who appeared to be meditating. Then Hannah’s eyes flew open and a smile spread across her face. “You’ve been accepted! You’ve been accepted! Oh give praises!”

 

“I’ve been accepted?” She was thrilled and yet felt so ignorant. She didn’t know what to say to God in thanks. She didn’t know what to do next.  Hannah did.

 

“Sister, it is time to give a commitment to the Lord now to show you are serious. Many times people come forward when they are emotional and are accepted and don’t follow through with their call. This is a dark act. We don’t want you to find that you are too weak to follow through with your new commitment.  To show us that you are committed you will make a sacrifice. The workers are worthy of their ages.”  Hanna reached out and picked up Dion’s purse.

 

“Oh Sister Hannah, I am ready to commit. But my purse is empty, I am so sorry. I gave everything earlier, during the service. But I am committed. I won’t fail” Tears started to fill Dion’s eyes. If she had only known, she would have saved something for the altar call.  To be here with nothing to give was unbearable.

 

Hannah didn’t seem to be listening.  She selected Dion’s wallet form the purse and opened it.  “Remember the loaves and the fishes.” Hannah was murmuring again. “God has provided.” She slipped a Visa card from Dion’s wallet.  Dion watched, and all she could think was how good it was for God to provide a sacrifice for her. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER BREAK

Shannon met Mario in the town square on the fourth of July. 

 

“Hola querida amiga.  I’m glad you’re early.  Hold this.” He put a large box of tamales in her hands.

 

“How many did you make?” Shannon shifted the large box onto her hip.

 

“I have 250 here. I think that I would rather take some home with me than run out.”

 

Mario was setting up a portable shade tent over his table.  There was going to be a Pride of America Parade at ten. The high school kids from two towns would march, both the upcoming varsity football teams in full uniform and the bands.  The Veterans would ride in vintage cars. The Clovis Cowboy Parade Posse would also ride as always.

 

This year there were two new features that Mario was very excited about.  His mother had sewed all month to create costumes for the ten children getting confirmed this year at All Saints Catholic Church.  They would march in the parade with Father Peretti and two of the sisters.  Six of the ten children were in Timotea’s Spanish confirmation class. It was the first time that Hispanic children had an opportunity to march.  There had never been a Hispanic boy on the varsity team or in the marching band. 

 

The other new feature in this year’s parade was Mario’s idea so he was taking especial pride today.  Three tractors from the Grady’s farm would drive in the parade.  The three managers of the largest farms in the area would ride behind in the hay wagon with some of their key employees.  The managers scoffed at the idea. They thought it was ridiculous.  Mario promised them free meals at the Restaurante and a tamale stand on parade day if they would do it.

 

Mario didn’t care that the Grady’s, all of the managers and all of the workers on the hay wagons would be mocked mercilessly throughout the harvest season.  He just wanted more children to get to look up at their daddies in awe.  He wanted more families to have reasons to be proud on the fourth of July.  Call it unabashed patriotism or just call it corny. But Mario was practically dancing around his tamale booth as he set it up.

 

Shannon willingly played along.  She showed up in her work uniform, polished black shoes and apron included.  She enjoyed the fresh morning air—not too hot yet—as they set up.  She lit the sterno cans and unladed her box of tamales. She placed the trays on their racks to keep them warm.  She put all the soft drinks in the barrel cooler they had borrowed from Tony’s bar.  Then she sat on a bar stool drug from the Restaurante across the street.

 

With the two new features in the parade, it would still only take about twenty minutes to pass by. That is, twenty if the bands each stopped in front of the square to play a special number.  Shannon thought it would have been nice to get the cheerleaders together to do something too. Maybe next year. 

 

“Mario, where’s the coffee?”  Shannon yawned. 

 

“It’s very late, haven’t you already had your coffee for the day? You would have been finished with it hours ago, yesterday.” Mario scanned the streets looking for signs of activities.  The parade itself started at the high school, a mile or so back and around the corner so he couldn’t see anyone setting up.

 

“This is a day off, isn’t it? I’m allowed to drink coffee after eight in the morning.”  Shannon hopped off the stool and strolled over to the restaurant to make a pot.  She was excited to, but nervous. It seemed like a big thing for one man to take on, parade integration.  Shannon’s mommy friends and the customers at the restaurante didn’t care what your last name was, particularly. But the parade was run buy the city council. And the city council members hadn’t changed in the decade that Mario’s had been around. 

 

There was a pot on already, so she poured herself a cup and picked the newspaper off of the counter to bring outside. 

 

Mario had chuckled over her concerns.  “It would be very funny indeed to see our elderly councilmen picketing our little parade.” 

 

Shannon didn’t like the quick dismissal of her fears, but kept the rest of her thoughts to herself.  Life on this side of the Cascade Mountains was very different from her old life in Seattle. 

 

She crossed the street. She didn’t bother to look both ways or listen for cars. There was no one out yet.  She took her place on the bar stool back and sipped her coffee.  She was still nervous this morning. She thought she ought to be able to hear people prepping. They weren’t that far away.  She was afraid that the veterans wouldn’t show up to march with Catholic kids and Mexican’s from the farm.  She knit her brow while she thought of it.

 

“No worries today, Mi Shannon.  This is a happy day. An innocent day.  The parade is so small, so short. People will stand in there doorways and wave as it passes. Then they will come here for a tamale and a coke. The Children will play their musica for us and my querida we will dance and be merry.  It will be like a new years in July.” He winked at her and danced a turn.  A few people had begun to filter down to the square with their lawn chairs and coffee mugs.

 

Shannon thought “they’d better unfold those chairs quickly or they’ll miss the whole parade.”

 

The small gathering in the square began to chatter and gossip, to pass out donuts and thermoses of coffee.  It was going to be a warm one today.  Might as well spend the morning outside as not. 

 

“If those Catholic kids from Chandler get to march in our parade our choir should get in it next year” Yvonne said, her competitive spirit in full swing.

 

“You Presbyterians can’t sing!” A Baptist shouted at her and laughed. Yvonne joined their group and settled in for the morning. They had a little over an hour before the parade to settle their differences on the matter of choir skill.

 

Mario was suddenly next to Shannon, whispering in her ear, “You see? Everyone will be happy to see beautiful children celebrating their achievement.  And next year when you have your cheerleaders ready you will understand how I feel today.  You see the family sitting near Yvonne, on the left? The mother does not speak any English but today her girl will march in a parade. She cried when she thanked mi madre for the dress.  It will be a beautiful thing, this parade.”  He tucked his arm around her waist affectionately and gave her a squeeze. Anyone watching them saw a happy couple in the prime of their love. Both of their eyes were shining now and their closeness would warm a hard heart. 

 

Things weren’t going smoothly at the staging ground.  The noise was tremendous and soon began to reach the people waiting in the square or on their front porches.

 

The children from the two schools and the church mingled and gossiped and flirted and made quite a commotion. Everyone was washed to within and inch of their life, sunburned skin scrubbed raw. Girls with hair sprayed as high as it could go, or as smooth as possible under a tall marching band hat.  The boys and girl from the church gleaming in their matching white suits and dresses. Varsity football players, tall and broad, strutting like roosters around the parking lot, hoping to be seen by everyone. It was a spectacle that the kids were thrilling to. 

 

The city council had prepared a float for themselves. They were riding on a platform with the American, Oregon and Clovis city flags.  They had a small statue of the ten commandments and a replica of the constitution mounted on a display as well. The display had been a quilt display at the county fair the year before but was known to ride well on the platform so it was conscripted to service.  The five men of the council, all over seventy, felt an acute need to be seen at the parade day.  The thunder of the children was an affront to them. 

 

Morton Smart was the Chairman of the council this year and took it on himself to quiet the crowd.

 

“You children pipe down!” he hollered hollowly in their general direction.  “You, get over here” He shouted this to the football coach.  “Get your boys in order. This is no way to represent the school.”

 

The coach saluted and called his boys to a huddle. 

 

“Get the band directors over here.” Morton ordered the secretary of the council.  “Better yet, go tell them to get their kids in order or take them home. This is not a zoo.” He sat on his float chair, arms folded, a black cloud hanging over him.

 

The band directors began the process of separating and organizing their bands and warming them up. By then the football teams had left their huddle and found the girls who were glowing and golden in their confirmation dresses. The noise of the bands seemed loader this year. “Where’s that Mexican in charge of those kids?” She needs to get those children in order. We don’t need any fast Mexican girls getting to our football teams.” He spat the word Mexican out like a bad taste.  No one listened to him this time. The parade organizer had taken charge and was being obeyed.

 

He hollered louder.  “Where is that Mexican woman who is supposed to keep those catholic kids in line?” One sister looked up, shocked by the venom in his voice. The young ladies marching today had already been gathered together and were chirping quietly about the young Adonises on the football team. She shepherded her young charges farther away from the man with the terrible hatred on his face.

 

The council man sitting next to Morton spoke, “Why did you let those Catholic kids in the parade this year? It just makes the whole thing take longer and now we have to sit on this float with you.” This councilman usually rode with the veterans.  This year they had a completely refurbished WWII Jeep to ride. He had eaten salads all spring so he would fit in his uniform for the parade. This business really ate at him. He thought of all the hamburgers he had missed and was peeved. He wanted a picture on the Jeep. 

 

“I didn’t know it was a bunch of Mexicans. I did my best to fix it alright?”  Morton spit a wad of chew, in the general direction of the church group.

 

“Don’t be an ass Morton. I don’t care if they are Mexicans or Poles. I want to ride in that Jeep. Your nonsense with this float is worse than anything else here.”

 

Morton got off the float without saying a word. He marched up to father Peretti.  

 

“Can you keep track of these children or do you need to get out of the parade line?” Morton ignored the clump of innocent marchers standing next to him.  “This is an American Pride parade, do you hear me? Every one of those marchers had better be legal.” Despite his age and general tiredness he stepped up to the priest with remarkably threatening body language.

 

“I assure you that my young Catholics will march very well, sir.” The Priest prayed sincerely for patience. “I recommend that you join your float as we are about to begin.”

“I ain’t catholic!” Morton’ face went red. “I will not be ordered by papist my own parade.” He stomped his decorative cane down as he spoke. “Get these people out of my parade!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. “They are through they aren’t marching. Get them out of my parade!” Morton was shaking now as he screamed at to the parade coordinator. 

 

This poor woman, also the wedding coordinator at the Baptist church, couldn’t hear his tantrum through the general din caused by the bands.  But the little girls did. They didn’t all speak Spanish and they all could hear that he was terribly mad at them. One girl, a sweet blonde from Clovis burst into tears. The rest quickly followed her lead. 

 

Father Peretti prayed again, “dear God, keep me from knocking this old man flat.”  He took a deep breath and said a Hail Mary.

 

“Sir, you are frightening our marchers. If you would like we could go to another area to talk.” There is a reason seminary is so many years long. He felt calm, and in control of this man.

 

Morton felt it as well. How dare this Priest not recognize the authority of the Chairman of the Clovis city council.  “I will not leave the parade grounds until you have taken these rowdy children off of the property.”

 

One of the sisters had rushed to get the coordinator while the other was hushing the girls. They were making their way back to the scene when machismo got the best of the boys from the church.  One of them pushed Morton.

 

“Brendan! That is not acceptable.” The redheaded Irish kid didn’t step down. “He made my sister cry. He can’t do that.”

 

Morton’s grandson, a lineman on the football team saw the scrawny catholic kid push his grandpa. He was at the scene and knocked down two other boys before poor Betty and the sister showed up.  But everyone in the parade was a grandson or a brother or a cousin and the fight that developed was more than Betty could handle on her own.

 

She used her well practice wedding coordinator skills (the ones she sued to get recalcitrant brides to the aisle) to maneuver Morton back to his float.  The Clovis band director started up his fight song (the one the kids new the best) to disrupt the momentum of the brawl.  The coaches began to drag their teams off of each other.

 

At the town square Yvonne was complaining to the Baptist about the din coming from the school. “Who do we have in charge over there? It was never that loud when Joe from the hardware store ran it.” 

 

The Baptist lady, who had been maneuvered to the aisle by Betty herself nodded in agreement. “She’s a tough lady, Betty. I really thought she could handle it better than this.” 

 

The fight song burst out suddenly and the crowd settled back into their chairs, ready to enjoy the show. 

 

The parade began, children marching slowly, wiping tears from their eyes. Tall young men glowering and whispering epithets at each other. It was slow going.

 

James Smith walked down Main Street from his home with a stranger. He went straight to the tamale stand.

 

“Let me introduce you to someone, Mario.”  James shook hands with the son of his friend.  “This is Craig. Craig, this is Mario Gomez, someone I think you really should know.” 

 

Craig offered his hand to Mario. “Very good to meet you.” Craig was a tall man with silver hair and a bushy, scrubby grey mustache.  He was wearing blue jeans, cowboy boots and a polo shirt. He was the Governor of Oregon.

 

Mario recognized him. He was receiving very good press in the eastern half of Oregon.  For a liberal governor he was making very moderate policy decisions which seemed a relief to the larger half of the state.   “An honor to meet you Gov. McKenzie.”

 

“Call me Craig, please.  I hear you’ve had a hand in making today’s celebration an inclusive event for the community.” Gov. McKenzie accepted the coffee Shannon handed him with a nod and a smile.

 

Mario’s grin spread wider, if it was possible. “I didn’t’ do much. I offered a few ideas, ways to make the parade more fun for more people. The folks here in town picked what they liked and made it happen.  It is a very good town to work in.”  Mario didn’t hold back but gestured broadly to the people sitting in the square and up and down Main Street. He was wearing his pride on his sleeve today.

 

The governor surveyed with appreciation the tidy, though small main street. The store fronts were all kept well and the people in the square hadn’t been littering or raucous yet this morning.  “You have a lot to be proud of in Clovis.” He turned his head directly across to Mario’s. “James tells me that is your restaurant across the way.”

 

“It is my pride and joy. It would be my honor to serve you there at your convenience while you are staying here in Clovis. It would be the pleasure of Mario’s to offer you our hospitality and complimentary meal to you and your guests.”  He made a small humble bow to the governor. 

 

Craig laughed at the formality with which his dinner was offered. “We’ll be there tonight then. We save the state money wherever we can.”

 

Their conversation was cut short for a moment as the parade arrived at their location. The mommies and daddies and grandparents let up a loud cheer as their football team past. The band stopped and played stars and stripes forever. Some of the less sentimental agreed that it took forever.  The band moved on and the Confirmation kids passed waving and smiling bravely through their flushed cheeks and eyes brimming with tears. No one in the square new about the insults lifted to those poor kids but all were moved by the apparent emotion of the moment.

 

The rival school marched past. A cluster of parents sitting on the sidewalk across from the square cheered brightly. Their band stopped and played “Oregon my Oregon.”  As their last notes dwindled the parents on the sidewalk began to pack up their coffee mugs and folding chairs.  They were all cleaned up and marching away as the last of the Parade posse past. The children in the crowed were delighted by the horses in their parade regalia. The City Council float brought up the rear. Most of the members of the council were glad that the Veteran’s jeep separated themselves from the horse posse and smells. 

 

The parade rounded another corner and went down Juniper Street to make their way back to the high school.  Folks sat on their front porches with their coffee to enjoy the show, or popped their heads out their front doors to cheer on the kids and laugh at all the grown men.  The crowd agreed a longer parade was more fun.  As they descended on the tamale stand everyone had an idea of something to add next year.

 

Governor McKenzie waited patiently with James near the tamale stand.  Mario appreciated the attention. He had James take a picture of He, Shannon and the Governor. It would be a great addition to the décor of the Restaurante. The governor was their first famous guest. But as much as he liked it, he wondered why Craig was singling him out for this attention. 

 

Shannon and Mario had their hands full distributing the free tamales and sodas.  Sadie put a donations jar on the counter when he wasn’t looking and it quickly filled.  No one wondered what it was for, it just seemed like a good idea to give to something that Mario and the Governor supported.

 

Sadie snuck up behind Shannon and explained in a whisper. “Did you see those poor kids? I heard there was a terrible fight at the staging grounds.”

 

Shannon dropped a tamale in the paper boat.  “A fight? Did the football players get into it?” she grabbed a coke and passed the food to the next person in line.

 

“Yeah, but they didn’t’ start it. that no good son of a—“A child was next in line. “Well anyway, that absolutely rotten Morton Smart started it. He hollered all sorts of terrible things about Mexicans and Catholics.” Sadie’s voice was really low.

 

Shannon turned away from her line “You have got to kidding me! What a low life.” Her voice was never quiet when she was excited.  The governor raised his eyebrow in her direction.

 

“Shannon, they are waiting.” Mario gave her a sharp nudge with his elbow.

 

“I thought it was an absolutely rotten thing to do. All the kids were so upset by it. I thought maybe they needed something to perk them up. They were all so excited this week. You wouldn’t believe how thrilled they were that so many of them got to be in the parade.” Sadie ran the library in the high school. It was almost a volunteer job, but she supplemented her income with an eBay business.  “You may not realize it, but with the confirmation group in the parade, there were only about twenty kids in the whole school that didn’t get to march. Anyway. He was such a rotten cuss to ruin their fun I thought we should perk them up. I put a jar on the table. Donations for the tamales, you know? Now Mario can write it off on his taxes and we can buy the band some new instruments.” Sadie smiled big. With new instruments the twenty kids left out this year might be able to march next year.

 

“That’s a great idea.  Thanks. I can’t wait until November’s election. Can I write you in for the Council Sadie.?”  Shannon had had it with the ancient bigotry of the men in charge.

 

Sadie opened her mouth to say ‘good gracious no’ but then closed it.  Maybe it was time to do something in town. She gave Shannon a quick side hug and got out of the way.

 

Mario didn’t have to wait long to learn why he was receiving such special attention from the Governor.  When the tamale stand was all cleaned up the governor and James took a walk around the town with Mario.

 

“You know that I am a Doctor by profession. I worked for thirty years in the ER in Bend.  One great concerns of mine as Governor of this state is the health care of our most vulnerable citizens.”  Craig didn’t beat around the bush or mince words. It was one reason he was well liked by the populace and a great irritant to the state legislature. 

 

“I was very impressed by your recent work for infants and pregnant women” Mario stated, also matter of factly. “Knowing that there is a safe place to take their infants in a crisis, despite their insurance status is a great consolation.” Mario referred to the new state policy the governor passed that required all hospitals, doctors offices and clinics to accept any infant under one as a patient without question. There was a great outcry among most conservatives on this point. Especially in the medical field.  Not one parent had been found whose infant had been turned away. Not one medical service provider had been found known to turn away a new baby.  The conservatives feared making what had been a common practice into a law would merely pave the way for further free services and sap the resources of a medical industry already fraught with troubles. 

 

Mario felt a strong tug on his business sense that this slippery slope was quite possible. And yet his heart ached for one woman he had met a few years ago. Her legal status was questionable, of course. Her language was a barrier, as Spanish was her second language already. She and her husband could not believe that the hospital would be a safe place for them. They brought their infant daughter to Dr. Gomez. But there was nothing he could do.  She needed antibiotics.  When the parents left his porch they were devastated and never returned. It was heard through the grapevine that they lost their baby. 

Mario spoke again.  “With policy such as this, the most important feature will be making it known. What kind of budget has been put in place for this?” 

 

The Governor didn’t hesitate, but he didn’t hide his discouragement either. “There is no budget for advertising. Some of the promoters of the policy change in the private sector have begun seeking grant money for it. They have hopes that heir appeal to the Gates foundation will be a success. Personally I don’t think it will.  There is not a lot of money available to fund programs run by the state.”

 

“Has a push been made inside of the hospital systems for them to advertise? Perhaps the lobbyists could design the materials to be consistent and make a push for the hospitals, doctors and clinics to do the advertising

 

“I have made that suggestion myself, but they have been stalled out in the process. Two of the largest hospital systems—the ones most likely to do good with the new legislation—are interstate operations and hesitate to fund an Oregon specific program. I hope to make this action truly viable for our underserved infants, but I also need to move forward with the next steps in my agenda.”

 

Mario interjected, “May I make on more point in regards to the need of advertising these policies?” 

 

Governor McKenzie didn’t stop him.

 

“When advertising to the underserved community I recognize that you have incredible challenges to meet language needs. However, I have one recommendation. The needs of the people who immigrate from Latin America are generally met in Spanish. This is not enough.  The languages that could be used are too numerous to count. However, some indigenous languages should be included in the printed materials.  It is very necessary that we begin to understand the limitations of Spanish to meet the needs of such a diverse community.”

 

“Your first point is very true. It is almost impossible to meet the language needs of all of the people we try to address.   Every continent that moves here brings people of numerous languages.  We do our best.  But, I will consider the point you have made and make recommendations accordingly.”  It was a brush off, Mario was sure.  But the Governor didn’t move on to other attractions. He seemed to have a specific agenda in mind for Mario.

 

“Mario, I would like to see medical services available in every town, for all people who live in the area.  It is not a very moderate agenda, I realize. And I don’t necessarily want all of the services to be free.  There was a day when a parish church had a nurse to help the congregation.  There was a time when a school nurse could actually do some good for the students.  I plan to recreate this in our state. Like the library system which makes literacy available to all, we should have care that makes health available to all.” The governor slipped with ease into soap box rhetoric, but Mario was interested in where he was going with this.

 

“It has been brought to my attention that if I want to learn how to meet the needs of rural Eastern Oregon I need to talk with Dr. Gomez first.”

 

This was interesting indeed. Mario said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

That evening brought the fireworks display. It wasn’t as big as the one in Pendleton, North of Clovis. But it was quite nice for a town of 1200. 

 

The display could be seen best from the hill in Grady’s farm. He opened his gates to that uncultivated part of his property each year. It was first come first serve, people gathering there as their barbeques ended at home. Tired kids with their sparklers, and pop its.  Babies ready to sleep throwing tantrums and creating a ruckus.  Mr. Grady tried to keep the sparklers out of his property, since he didn’t want a fire to destroy his livelihood. But every year someone brought them.  A few good (and scared) neighbors brought their fire extinguishers every year as well.    

 

The story of the parade fight had made it around town already.  It had morphed of course, with Morton Smart almost having an actual heart attack and the football players knocking down the flag. The insult to the confirmation kids had become a complaint against all kids, altogether.  But the principals remembered what had happened. Morton Smart, Father Peretti, Sra Gomez, and Betty the coordinator in particular stayed home from the fireworks to nurse their wounds.  Sadie was on the hill, already campaigning for her spot on the Council. 

 

 

Mario spread his blanket away from where most of the crowd would gather. He put his under the willow tree. The shade was nice in the evening heat but the branches would obscure the lights some.  The branches would also obscure him some as he as he watched the great display of American might with Shannon. 

 

She joined him on his blanket, a bottle of wine and two glasses in her hand.  The Grady’s also banned alcohol from their hillside. They were sincere Baptists and they didn’t want anyone crashing on the way home from the farm. 

 

“Don’t let anyone see this.” Mario cautioned with a wink while he reached for the glasses.

 

They settled in together on the blanket. Only as comfortable as adults can be on the hard ground after a long day.

 

“The governor is meeting with mi Padre tomorrow in the morning.  Part of me would like to be there to protect him. And yet, he told me specifically not to come. I believe he wants to protect me still.” Mario took a sip of the dry pinot gris.  “He is thinking perhaps or those days when the new governor came to La Clinica.” 

 

“He can’t really think that, can he? There’s no way that Governor McKenzie has that kind of power.” Her mind filled with romantic pictures of the clinic in the jungle with the brave men defending her to the last. Of course, no one had defended the clinic. They had saved their lives instead.

 

“I suppose if Papa is involved in truly illegal activity,” Raul came to mind. Though Mario chose to protect his father and Shannon by keeping that part of Dr. Gomez’s actions from her, “then he could be arrested. And if he is arrested the clinicita on the porch would be closed down.” Mario shut the image of his aging father in prison from his mind.  “I do not think this is the intention of the Governor.  I think first he would like to ensure the votes of this population in the east, to make up some territory here that he looses to the conservatives. But he may be very sincere in his health care reform. If so he is correct that the first person to talk to is my father.  There is no better resource than him.” 

 

They drank their wine and rested, watching the children laugh and collapse in exhausted piles of tears.  Mario’s hear ached a little. As a new husband he had dreamed of a family.  He was fourty-two now. His children should have marched with the confirmation kids or in the band. Or on the football team.  Linda had taken so much from him when she left. 

 

Shannon saw the grief on his face. It had been a stressful day. He feared for his father. And she knew. She knew that the children brought to mind things he had missed out on. 

 

He put down his empty glass and lay back on the grass, head resting on his arms. The fireworks burst in the sky, their lights sparking between the leaves of the willow tree. It was not the best view, but it was private. He indulged in his self pity.

 

Shannon stretched out next to him. Her own heart ached sometimes, with the children around.  Her friends had waved, dropped by Mario’s blanket with smiling and drooping babies.  Shannon would have liked to settle down with kids. To be a part of the family scenes rollicking on the grass.  Her pity party was a comfort as well. She snuggled in a little closer, resting her head against Mario.

 

To Mario this was more and less than perfect. It was ecstasy and torture. He turned his head, thinking he would watch the sparklers.  But truly he buried his nose in her hair and breathed deeply. “Mmm, delicioso. Channon you are like a good tonic today.” He wasn’t listening to himself or speaking particularly loudly.

 

Shannon did what nature would have her do in such a circumstance. First she leaned her head in his direction, nuzzling a little more closely against him. Then she slightly tilted her head away, revealing a bit of her neck.  It was an innocent response to his tenderness. She wasn’t paying attention.

 

He was. He leaned up on his elbow and watched her. Wishing he could kiss her on her neck.

 

Her heart beat very loudly in her chest. It was all she could hear. She thought briefly about letting him kiss her.  She could let him be her lover and be so happy. She took a deep breath, thinking she would turn and kiss him.  She opened her eyes and saw the medal of St. Christopher that hung around his neck. As though reacting on instinct her hand popped up and brushed him away like a pest. 

 

He ran his hand over his chin and leaned away from her callused motion. “Perhaps someday Shannon? Someday you will see that what we have is good?” His eyes looked hurt, but he chose not to hide from her how he felt. Over some six years now he had grown to love her very deeply

 

She relaxed back onto the blanket, alone again and said lightly, “I suppose I have resisted you for this long I can probably hold out indefinitely.”

 

Mario wanted to maintain his patience. To wait for her forever.  Love is patient. Love is kind. Love never ceases. He knew these words. But to wait this many years will tax any man’s patience.  He thought maybe he was coming to the end of his.  ‘Perhaps I am ready for love again and mi Shannon is not. Perhaps it is time that I look to find this love with someone else’ He thought this and sighed heavily.  

 

Shannon was running her fingers through her hair. He watched her do it, with her delicate fingers, familiar as his own by now and yet so out of reach. ‘But then,’ he thought, ‘Being in love is a great deal of work. Maybe I do not really want to reinvest all of this effort all over again.’

 

CHAPTER BREAK

The results of the gubernatorial interview were a closely held secret. Only Dr. Gomez and the Governor himself new what was discussed.  Dr. Gomez though, acted displeased for many days.  Sra Gomez approached him. 

 

“Estefan. You need to tell me what is weighing on your heart so heavily.  Your grief is a burden to me, but you will not share it with me so I can help.”

 

It was a quiet evening. Not many nights after the fourth of July.  The Doctor had been sitting alone on the back porch, looking pensively of into the night.

 

“What the governor wants to do is a very dangerous thing.  He does not realize that this country is in a delicate balance.”  Dr Gomez turned to his wife.  He wanted to share his fears with her.  She was right. They were a burden on his soul and she was suffering from it as well as he was.  “But does talking about things change? We can’t make our selves an  inch taller by talking. There is nothing we can do.”

 

She looked at him sternly. “You must talk about it. I can’t bear this in ignorance any longer.  I want to pray about this, to take it to the almighty. Don’t make me keep praying for things I do not know.”

 

“What will praying change, mi vida? Our lives are at His disposal. At his will he can wipe away this whole experiment, these Americas.”  Estefan spoke without passion.

 

“What will praying do? What has it not done for the world, for us. Querida Esposo, you are a fool to talk like this. What is it that the Governor spoke with you about that has you sick with worry?”  Timotea rested her hands gently on the knees of her husband.  He must talk to her or he would surely never rest again.

 

“They would like to make changes in immigration, these politicians. This is good, surely.  But this governor wants to do it a bit at a time, piece by piece. Handing out liberties like pieces of a puzzles to anyone who happens to live here.” Raul came into the mind of Dr. Gomez. “regardless of how they came to be here or what they are doing with their time here.  He wishes to hand out rights without the balance of responsibilities or guidelines.  What would this do to all of us? To be regarded by everyone and yet responsible to none. This is not what I have been trying to do.  He thought—he was told that Dr. Gomez was a man impartial who wanted to see everyone as equal.”  He picked his wife’s hands up in his.  “Have I been this? I have been a man without reason all of these years?”

 

This was not a time to respond quickly.  She took a deep breath. So many parts of what her husband said deserved addressing. But she knew she must start at the heart of it, before he chose to turn away again.

 

“You have always been first a man of compassion. A man with a brilliant mind. You have never refused to succor the needy. To help the hurting.  But impartial? No. To each man or woman you give the advise and direction that meets their situation. You never advise them to lawlessness.’ She spoke with a gentle voice. Her words carried more weight when spoken softly.

 

“A man of compassion. I see pain and I try to help.”  He reflected on this summation of his character and life.

 

“Estefan, it is only the Lord God in heaven who is truly impartial. We are each of us completely lost sinners to him. And He alone accepts each of us on his own terms. But you must wrestle now with how He would have us apply his love in our time on earth. Is what the Governor wants to do something that would reflect God’s love? Or something that is a distortion of it?”

 

“I am afraid, mi Timotea, that what the Governor wants to do is a great distortion. Both of God’s love and of what is good for the country.  And I am afraid that what he knows of our work here would beholden me to him. That I must support him or be punished for things I couldn’t help to do. As a man of compassion.”  It was a great deal for Estefan to share. He raised her hands to face and buried himself in them.  She prayed silently for him. Prayed that the Lord would protect him, that the saints would beseech the Lord on her behalf. 

 

 

CHAPTER BREAK

“Hello?” Shannon answered the phone feeling relieved by the diversion.

 

“Shannon, this is Sra Gomez.  How are you doing?” It wasn’t unheard of to get a call from Mario’s mother. Usually it was quite nice.

 

“I’m doing well. Actually I guess I’m just okay. I’ve been sitting here worried about my mom.”  She was worried about her mom and everything else, actually. But why bother Sra. Gomez with all her petty troubles. Las Senora was someone you told things to. She was a mother first and a great comfort on all accounts.  But surely she didn’t want to hear Shannon complain about Mario.

 

“I am so sorry that she gives you cause to worry. This is not what a Mother should do. Have you had news from her that worries you?”  It was also the way of Sra Gomez to put aside her own concern so that she could listen to you and offer you love and help.

 

“I haven’t had any news recently. It’s about time I send her a letter so I was indulging in a pity party. I wish she would just come to her senses.” Shannon was in the mood to unload. Being without Mario that night made her feel very alone.

 

“I will pray for her. You tell me that she really loved Jesus when she began at this place. He can still work on her heart and rescue her. You would take comfort, I think, in praying to God for your mother.”  It was Timotea’s sincerest wish that this nice young girl would find her God. It was the one sure way to fill the emptiness inside of her. A returned mother or time with Mario would never do this.

 

“You can pray for me, okay? I tend to think that is what started all this trouble in the first place.” There was a bitter edge to her voice that she instantly regretted.

 

“I will do that. You can trust me, Shannon, to pray for your mother. I think that she will be saved from this place.  But I will stop bothering you about God tonight. I am looking for Mario. Is he there?”

 

“No. he’s not here. Sorry.”  Shannon had moved on to the laundry room and was trying not to think about Mario, only half attending to the call from his mom.

 

“Did he say where he might go this evening? Dr. Gomez would like to speak with him about a patient. There is a pressing need.” Sra Gomez sounded weary.

 

Shannon loved the romantic notion of the Dr. Gomez as a Robin Hood of medical men. She frequently thought, though, that he ought to get his own car. These pressing needs could be quite frequent.

 

“I’m sorry. And now I’m curious. I have no idea where he is.”  She did not really wonder what had become of him. Like everything else in Clovis, Mario was very predictable, even when acting out of character.

 

In fact, Shannon was pretty sure she knew exactly where Mario was. But she certainly didn’t want to talk about it.  Anyways, it was Mario’s business and none of hers.

 

“Well thank you anyway, Shannon. I assumed he was out, as he did not answer at home. But he is not with you, so perhaps I was mistaken.  Buenas noches.”  Sra Gomez was pleasant enough as she said that. But Shannon felt like punching someone, mostly Mario as she said goodbye to his mother.

 

Because yes, Mario was surely out.  No, Sra was probably not mistaken. And as much as she didn’t want to think about it, she did.

 

It was just another hot summer day at the restaurant.  A puff of cold air met everyone who came into Mario’s. At least this day the air was working.  And since the air was working everyone was popping by for a meal or a snack of a drink.  Shannon was feeling pretty ragged by the time the late drinks crowd came in.

 

Whether it was the hot night or just the vacation season, Shannon didn’t know. But a huge drinks crowed showed up. When they came crowding through the door Shannon and Mario exchanged a very pleased glance. At least at the end of the day they could gloat over her tips and his bar tally.  It hadn’t seemed a bit important that the drinks crowd was a bunch of very young pretty women looking for a good time.  And it certainly hadn’t occurred to her that Mario might be interested in that kind of good time.

 

“Aging men are the worst, aren’t they Shannon?” Yvonne was watching Mario flirt with the crowd of girls. She looked thoroughly disgusted. “I swear he could be the father of any of those girls.”

 

Shannon hadn’t been paying attention really. The girls had kept their drinks full. Shannon kept up with their orders, but just barely.

 

“Oh, their all over 21” she said absently, having been the one to verify all of the id’s.

 

“Just over, I’d say.” Yvonne scrubbed the pots harder than they deserved. Something of the “over 21” who had run off with her husband was on her mind.

 

Shannon still hadn’t taken note of all that was going on in the dining room.  She slid a tray of empty glasses over the wash counter and laughed as she spoke. “Oh, you know him, Yvonne, he’s just earning his tips.”

 

She stopped at the bar to mix a few more drinks as they were ordered. She paused and watched Mario work the room. No, it actually wasn’t pathetic. He was incredibly handsome and remarkably fit for a man who worked his whole life with food. He was really mesmerizing. She thought, ‘Any of those girls would be lucky to get the time of day from a man like him.’ And she smiled, satisfied with herself.

 

At the end of the day, like tonight, his five o’ clock shadow was incredibly sexy. Dark and bristly cheeks. His hair could use a trim, but she (and it seemed the girls having their drinks in the dining room) thought the untidy, bristly shock of hair worked very well.  At fourty-three he had the benefits that come from getting older, like his amazing smile lines, crinkly eyes and gift for talking to women. He would never loose his dimples of course, and had not started to go gray.  Shannon couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

 

“Excuse me, Miss?” A large nose girl whined in her direction. “Could I please have my fuzzy navel?” She giggled as she said the name of her drink, already a little drunk from the first round served.

 

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry for the delay.” Shannon smiled brightly at the girl and handed over her drink. She was interested in good service.  There were at least twice as many people in the party than was usual for a Saturday night at Mario’s.

 

“No problem, I can’t take my eyes off him either. How do you work here without going nuts?” The big nosed girl stared at Mario in approval as she spoke.

 

Shannon laughed in response. She was being pathetically obvious if this drunk girl could see her staring. “Oh, he’s too old for me.” She said, her standard response.

 

Big Nose looked at Shannon in disbelief. “Too old? He looks just about right to me, however old he is.”  She finished off her drink with just a couple of swallows.

 

“It’s too bad for us though, he clearly prefers Olivia. I bet she goes home with him tonight.”

 

Shannon almost dropped the glass she was filling. As the dunk girl went on and on she had noticed the one who must be Olivia.  Mario was paying her specific attention. Leaning closer to her, talking lower. Clearly enjoying whatever she was saying to him.

 

“Good for him.” She huffed. She shoved the bottles of liquor on the shelf behind her.

 

Yvonne was mopping the kitchen.  Shannon stormed in, her face bright red.

 

“Its just sickening, isn’t it? I swear they all get this was after fourty.  I guess it is just as well you never married him.”  The floor was taking the same abuse the pots had.

 

Shannon had the drivers’ licenses in her apron pocket. It was the Restaurante’s little way of ensuring a sober driver or a taxi cab.  She flipped through them, finding the one for Olivia.

 

“For the love, she’s only 23 year old.”  Shannon said with apparent disgust.

 

Of course Mario was behind her as she said it.

 

“Impressive, no? I may be found wanting by more mature women but there are still ladies who find me worth their time.”  He stood with his shoulder squared, like a toreador about to conquer a bull.  Shannon would have laughed if she hadn’t hate him at that moment.

 

She couldn’t’ believe he was gloating. She felt sick. But she forebear to say anything else. She filled her bucket with bleach and water and grabbed a rag.  She slipped all of the licenses into his had as she shoved passed him. Let him deal with the drunks.

 

The ladies of the party paid Mario personally while Shannon began to clear the dining room. As they were leaving the tall, pouty lipped and ever so slightly drunk Olivia made a personal goodbye to Mario. She didn’t bother to whisper.

 

“You call me at that number Mario. We’re all staying over at the Casino on the res.  I’ll go straight to my room and be a good girl while I wait for you to call.” Then she had the nerve to kiss him—on the lips—before she left.  There wasn’t anything about that kiss that said she was saying goodbye.

 

Yvonne quit for the night when she saw the kiss. She just stopped where she was, grabbed her purse and left.  Bernie was beside himself with enjoyment of the show.  He had been wondering who would crack first, the old bitter one or the young one.  He really thought Shannon would be the one to throw the first fit. But that Yvonne was a dark horse, always surprising a man.

 

Shannon slammed and stomped and stormed her way through the night’s work. Mario whistled and looked like a rooster with his choice of the hen house.  What had been a cozy domestic scene for years on end now was less than just a night’s work. Shannon wanted to get out of there.

 

She was shrugging her coat on when Mario approached her. In addition to his being very flattered by the attention of the very attractive girl he was pleased to see obvious signs of jealousy in Shannon.

 

“I mean this sincerely Shannon. If someone is who is worthy will not have me, should I not seek love where I can find it?” He looked deep into her eyes. He thought maybe this was a good time for him to truly move on. But as always, he was leaving that up to her.

 

‘Go seek whatever you want. Since when have I made it my business?” Her voice was cold but her eyes were bright with tears that she held in check.  Her will power, bent to deny her pleasure, astounded him..

 

“The day eventually comes, querida, when the thing you have been counting on is gone, If you come for it too late.”  She gave him no response so he turned away and began to shut down the till.

 

She walked out the front door and locked it behind her. It wasn’t far to her house but she was more than half way there before she let the tears slide down her cheeks. She was too old for this nonsense. Let Mario fall in love with that drunk girl. Let him marry her, if that’s what he wants. She wanted to prefer not to marry.

 

And that was all in her mind when Sra Gomez called.  Overwhelmed but the stress her mother caused her and abandoned by Mario. She didn’t know where he was tonight. But if he wasn’t at home she had a pretty good guess.

 

 

After he got the place shut down he poured himself a drink. Scotch, the same his father had developed a taster for in England. How did he justify all these years of devotion to a woman who constantly rejected him.  It was an easy way to live, he supposed. But hard to explain.  Scars of divorce don’t disappear overnight. He supposed it was just easier to believe he could only love Shannon than to risk his heart on a relationship that could go somewhere and then end.  He had a second drink. God that kiss had felt good. In fact, it felt like something he could use some more of.

 

He didn’t call Olivia. He drove to the casino and found her. True to her word, she was waiting for his call.

 

Olivia was a particularly smart young woman. She knew Mario would be worth waiting for.

 

They met in the lobby by the massive stone fireplace.  She approved when he said they had already had enough to drink.

 

Back in her room, Olivia was mystified at what had gone wrong.  And amazing man. A great conversation. A romantic fireplace. But here she was alone again.

 

 

It was hours after midnight. Shannon was still up. There was no rest for her mind that night. She didn’t’ bother trying to sleep.  The doorbell rang. It was Mario.

 

He had deep shadows under his eyes. He was the picture of heart break.

 

Shannon sighed deeply.

 

Before she could speak he wrapped her in his arms and took great comfort form the hug. A deep and satisfying embrace. 

 

He pulled away and slumped down in an armchair.  “Please don’t send me away. I have enough to be ashamed of already. I am a great fool, amiga.”

 

Shannon slipped into the kitchen to pour him a cup of tea. She could hear hum but was so hopeful and so afraid that she didn’t want to look at him.

 

“She was her high school track coach. Mi Linda. Mi Linda was that girl’s high school track coach.  Long after Linda divorced me that girl was her student. I am so ashamed—such a fool of an old man.”

 

Shannon’s heart sank. He hadn’t come running to her to beg one more time for her love.  She brought him his cup of tea.

 

“That’s some coincidence.” She didn’t hide the disappointment in her voice.  She sat back down in the chair where she had been drowning her own self pity and picked up her mug of tea.

 

“But maybe it was no coincidence.  God would use this to humble me in my pride.  To show an old man that he had stepped out of line. It has been fifteen years since Linda left me. It is hard to live without love for that long, once you have had it.”  He was using her as a sounding board to sort out his own mixed up feelings. She felt like telling him to find himself a priest if he wanted a confession.  Except, she didn’t’ want him to leave.

 

“By love, you mean sex.” She blushed a little when she said it, but she was tired of his euphemisms.  “You mean to say you didn’t have honest intentions when you went out there. That’s not unheard of in a grown man.” She offered him on sympathy. She was really jealous in fact, that he had indecent intentions for that chit but had never had them for her.   ‘What am I supposed to know about any of that, Mario? I’ve never been married.”

 

He turned his eyes towards her and searched her face.  Yes, he did mean sex. But he also meant having permission to love someone.  There was a reproach in her voice. He expected that, of course.  But there was more. She was so truly miserable.

 

“But what man has not made a fool of himself in and effort to marry you? Has not every soul in this town tried to win your heart?” He couldn’t imagine the man that wasn’t in love with Shannon.

 

Shannon chuckled bitterly. In fact, she had become Mario’s property to that whole town so early that no one else had even asked her out.

 

“I’m on the shelf Mario. Past my sell by date.”

 

“You have got to tell me, just this one time, what on earth you have got against me?” It wasn’t a question Mario would have asked sober.  But it was exactly what he wanted to know. With every fiber of his being, it was what he wanted to know.

 

Shannon did not half the benefit of alcohol to cloud her reason. She had only sought comfort form her Tetley that night. So she thought very carefully before she answered him.

 

“I don’t want to go to church and I don’t want to be second choice.” She choked a little on her words. That was the honest answer after all this time.  After knowing Mario through and through and honestly loving him she wouldn’t accept his love in return because she would be his second choice.

 

His face registered deep hurt. Anguish. Once again he was being punished by having loved Linda.

 

Before he could speak she said more. “Jenny is not my Father’s true love. My mom is. Jenny was his second choice. If he could have had my mom back, he would. How must it feel to be Jenny? I don’t want to be in her place. To be the next best thing.”

 

Mario also took a moment to think. But he did speak. “This sounds still like the little girl who dreams her parents would reunite.”

 

“Yes” . She knew she was going to cry. She was thirty-four years old and she still wanted her parents to reunite so badly.

 

“Have you spoken to your father about Jenny? I believe he loves her very deeply. Finding love with Jenny was a great solace to your father, a comfort, a new love.  This is what it is for a man to love again. It is a healing. It is a miracle. “

 

“I don’t believe in miracles.”  The Coushay Center people didn’t believe in miracles either. At lest they had something right.

 

“Oh, mi Channon. What will it take for you to surrender to love? Not to my love. You have made that clear enough. But the love of God.  Have you never heard this true and heartbreaking story before? Surely you have not heard it and gone away unmoved.” Mario put aside his night’s embarrassment. The eternity of his dear friend was invaluable. More important by far than a girl and a kiss and an ex-wife.

 

“Let me tell you about the love of God.”

 

She turned her big eyes to him. She knew that he would not lie to her. Perhaps he was deluded. Perhaps it was a delusion she needed as well.

 

He told her the simple story. The God who created mankind for love. The love that we all reject when we get the first chance.  He told her about the father who sacrificed his son to give us a new chance for this love of God.  He stayed in his chair as he spoke. But he wasn’t slumped any longer. He leaned forward intensely towards her and told her the one thing, the only thing that sustained the Gomez family through their tremendous loss.  The ever present love of their God.

 

She listened intently. Perhaps she had heard it before. But Mario, he really believed it. And Sra Gomez. But the Dr? A more broken and hard man would be hard to find.

 

“Oh Mario. Could it really be true? But if it is true…how could your father be so miserable still?” She scarcely dared ask it, in case the answer ruined the moment.

 

“It is truth itself, querida Channon.  And my father has this truth as the only strength to sustain him day by day. He faces insurmountable problems daily. He carries them all as his burden, because so many people have no where else to turn.  He has only his Lord to keep him from utter despair.”

 

It was the honest answer and it was enough. “I believe it Mario. I believe it.”

 

He got up from his chair and knelt beside hers. He prayed for her.

 

“Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.  Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day out daily bread. Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. For thine be the glory and power forever. Amen.” In his overwhelming joy he may have gotten some of the words wrong. But it was well with his soul and well for Shannon now.

 

She whispered, “amen.” (blogged to here, 2/20/08)

 

CHAPTER BREAK

Mario was sitting in the dining room of his restaurant, for all intents and purposes surveying his kingdom, and being pleased. But he was also wondering when the rest would come to him. Love and familia. His parents were getting older and they had nothing but him. No small children to love. That was hard to see. He watched his mother and her arms looked empty.  By God, He watched himself and his arms were empty.  It was 17 years ago now that he was married. His wedding day was but ashes in his mouth. His dreams blew away in the wake of the disappointment.

 

Linda was so beautiful and so funny.  And so talented. He thought that he could make her happy. But to her, her talent was wasted here. She had told him it was like being locked away in a lonely box. Where he had seen a place to serve and give, a place full of company and friendship when he looked at his restaurant, she had seen a half empty dining room that took all of their time. He remembered trying to talk about it with her, and the pain of the conversation hurt him, almost physically, still.

 

“But Linda, you see, we have no children. When we have children it will be easier to know people. You will not be so lonely when we have children.”  He was looking at her kindly, as he spoke. He felt kind, he felt sorry that she was lonely and wanted to comfort her.

 

“But Mario, we are still so young. We aren’t going to be ready for children for ages yet. Really we aren’t. We both work all the time at the restaurant now. There is never a break. Even if we had kids by some accident, what would we do with them? Put the baby in the drawer? Get a nanny so I could scrub dishes all day?”  She looked so tired. He knew that they worked too hard. But his plan was working and they would have to do all of it themselves only one more year. Then they could hire someone.  This time next year Linda could leave the kitchen and the dining room. She was so smart, his Linda, and he could think of no one better than her to run the business, to keep the books and make their investment grow.

 

“My Linda. It is not so bad. Just one more year like this one, mi vida, and we will be more free.”

 

“A year?” Her face crumpled like a napkin.  The thought made him smile, the link in her person to their Restaurante, but he stifled the urge to laugh. He leaned in closely, picked her hands up gently and held them with his. He kissed her palms, ready to tell her anything she wanted to hear. That much sympathy overwhelmed her. All she could think about right then was that it was never going to end. That a year was forever. Tears rolled down her face.  

 

“Mi Linda, mi Linda. You are working to hard. We will give you a break, no? You will go for your race in Seattle. You have been training so hard and deserve to do the thing you love. Please. You will go to the race? And I will hire someone to work with me while you are gone. It will be so good for you.” He would give her anything he could. Right now all he had to give her was what she had in herself already. The urge to run, the need to move and to win.  He gave her permission to do that. 

 

She was still crying softly, but with more composure. She squeezed his hands and let go. She dried her face on her sleeve.  “Oh Mario, really? I want to do that so much. I-I can’t think of anything else that I would like besides that.  Thank you.” She sounded like a child, and she felt like a child. Like a child on Christmas morning. She could leave this town for a weekend, to run and to swim and to ride. She would compete again and she would feel so good.  She thought it would be so much better when she got back. She didn’t realize until the day she left for Seattle that she wasn’t coming back.

 

But right now, right now he was fourty-two years old. This woman that he had loved so much had been gone for much, much longer than they had been married.  And right now as in at this exact moment, there was a rattling noise, as someone shook on the door handle.

 

The muffled voice of Shannon sounded through the door. “Hey, would you mind if I came in? Just for a minute?” 

 

He looked up at her and couldn’t help but smile. She was so pretty. He looked at her for quite a long moment. Her hair was very dark brown, and her eyes were large and brown. She could almost be a Latina, he enjoyed that thought.  Her lips weren’t full enough though, and her skin was too light in the winter. Even for a Gomez, her skin was too fair.  Not fair like Linda, whose white skin never darkened, but freckled gloriously and needed to be soaked in sun block almost year round. No, Shannon was browner than that.  He was grinning at her through the door, but not opening it.

 

“Hello? Mario? Could I get in, just for a few minutes…I need to talk.” She was smiling, but she looked serious. Mario shook himself out of his reverie. He hadn’t meant to leave her standing there,

 

“Si, si mi amiga, come in.”  He mouthed the words at her. He didn’t want to holler through the door if something was bothering her.  He unlocked the door and opened it to let her in. The little bell at top jingled as he did, and then again as it swung shut.

 

“Please, sit down.  You would like coffee, no?”

 

‘Oh yes, I really would like coffee. I have to be able to think straight and try to make sense.  It’s so late, I could really use something to get me going.”

 

He poured her some coffee from the pot they had made together in the late afternoon. It was very strong and bitter now, so he added cream for her.

 

She took a great gulp and then sat down. “Thank you so much. I needed that.” 

 

Then she stood up again, pacing in the same way her father did when struggling to understand a dilemma. “Mario, I got a very disturbing letter from my mom today. I don’t know what to do. I mean, for a long time I figured that she would come home to me with nothing left. That she would maybe need help getting out. But this letter, it’s almost scary. It sounds like she is asking me to come get her, but can’t say it outright. Like she needs my help but is too scared to ask for it. I really don’t know what to do and I think I need your help.”  She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a letter, folded small and written on lined notebook paper. Almost like something a child would send.

 

“Okay, Shannon, of course. I can help. But sit down, rest a little after your long day, and tell me what you think she was trying to say in the letter.” He had walked next to her and guided her to a chair. 

 

“Well, the first part of the letter seems kind of normal. She asks me how things are here, how Dad and the girls are. How you are. Then she asks me when Dad has a vacation and how his truck is running. That seemed weird, she’s never asked about Dad’s work. And then, well, it’s all kind of strange because it is so jumpy. She asked about his vacation and then skipped to talking about her work there, says the days are long and she is tired. That is the first time she’s said anything that even sounded like a complaint before.  And then she asked again about you. But the same question, see here, ‘How is Mario? Still well? Does he get to travel ever?’ It hit me when I read that the second time, you know, like she needs me to come to her but is scared and wants you and dad to come too.  Okay, I’m just inferring that, it might not be real, but next she talks about the weather and how the snows are coming soon, and how the ministry is thinking of moving to a winter headquarters. She says it’s in the Rockies, near the resort.  So she says they will be snowed in for months.  I know I could be crazy, Or maybe I just want her to come back. But it feels like she wants us to come get her, like the winter quarters thing is a time limit—get her before we can’t reach her anymore.  Well, then the letter talks in glowing tones about their great work. The kind of stuff she started writing a few years ago that sounds like she copied it from a brochure. I got to thinking about that again as I read it, how unnatural it sounded. So I pulled up her last two emails and the wording was exactly the same. You know, because they must read what she writes. To make sure she doesn’t say too much.  Okay. Don’t send me away yet. I know that doesn’t add up to much, but look at the post mark. It was mailed from Calgary. That’s more than an hour away. How did she get there? Why was she there? She hasn’t mailed a letter since last Christmas. Why a letter now? It was written like she’s afraid they will read it, but maybe she hid it and mailed it when they couldn’t read it.  What do you think? Do you think I am overreacting?”

 

Mario watched her carefully as she said all of this. She was leaning forward, towards him. The hands that held the paper were shaking. But she pointed carefully to everything as she spoke of it and didn’t falter once, she was very confident in the idea she was forming, even as she was hoping to be wrong. 

 

“No Shannon.” He said, quietly. He reached across the table and stilled her shaking hands with his. “I do not think that you are overreacting.  I think that we need to call your father and talk to him tonight about what we can do for Dion.  She needs us now and may not be able to ask for help again.” He held her eyes with his, willing her to trust him.  He knew, had long known, that her heart did not trust in God. And that it was this church that had taught her to mistrust. “We will call your father now.  We will close up the Restaurante and go to your Mother. This instant if it can be done. But Shannon, we need a little more information.  Where is this ministry center, exactly? How will we find her?”

 

Her voice was quaking with fear. “I-I don’t know.”  For the last 16 years she had kept in touch with her mother through a P O box in Edmonton, Alberta Canada and an email address.  No physical address at any point in time.  “What are we going to do?”  She said. And her eyes beseeched him, if ever eyes spoke.

 

Terry answered the phone on the second ring, despite the hour. “I love caller ID! I knew I should answer it, because it was my Shannon. What do you need Shae-Shae?” His voice was like a cool breeze off the ocean he lived so near.  She wanted to breath it in, to cool her off and calm her down.

 

“I want my mommy.” It was all she could bear to get out and then the sobs just over took her.  Mario was sitting beside her as she made her call, so he put his strong arm around her and slipped the cell phone out of her hand.

 

“Terry? This is Mario. We think that Dion is needing us, maybe urgently. She sent a letter, full of encryptions, hidden messages. She said she will soon be taken to the mountains where she will be unreachable for the whole winter. And she asked if you and I were free to travel. She asked if your truck was in good repair. Terry, do you have anytime free to help us go and get Dion?”  He was trying not to sound melodramatic, but the very fact that it was an international rescue spurred by a mysterious letter that a beautiful woman brought to him in the night was having its effect. He felt like a super hero and he loved it.

 

“Good grief Mario, are you kidding? You can’t be. That sounds too serious for a joke. And Shannon is a wreck, you give her a hug for me, okay?  Tell her I will make it all better. You tell her…well, I’m just going to have to take some personal days.  I’ll leave first thing in the morning. I’ll be at your place by tomorrow night, about this time, at the latest.  You keep Shannon there with you, okay? Don’t let her be alone tonight. Tell her daddy is going to make it right.”  This time, this time Terry was going to fight for Dion. After all this time, he still had some love for her. But his undying love for his daughter would have been enough. He would do anything to make this all better for his daughter who was weeping so many miles away.

 

After the call, he looked at his wife, his Jenny. She was watching TV, half laughing at it and half asleep.  “Hey baby?” He gave her a nudge. “Hey Jenny boo? Are you ready for an adventure?”

 

 

 

CHAPTER BREAK

Dion was madly tearing through her papers, her sixteen years of accumulated notes, memories, letters from home.  She was sure more letters had been sent from home than she had received.  In many of the letters that came to her, and sometimes during phone calls, Shannon made references to things that Dion was expected to know but didn’t.  She knew all the letters she wrote or received had been read. But she didn’t know how much of her child’s life had been edited out of the communication. Shannon implied once during a phone call that perhaps the center was drugging her and that would explain her forgetfulness. She then knew that their phone calls were tapped because, without explanation, her phone privilege was revoked for almost a year. 

 

They called it a season. The leaders of this movement taught against the use of calendars by their adherents and so when you were experiencing a season it dragged on. It felt always like an eternity. They called this the culling of the spirit. During your season you would learn about God and how his day is like a thousand years. And your center would find a balance and find its own calendar; you would flow with the time clock that God had for you instead of what man dictated from the darkness.

 

During her many seasons, those times when they taught you the hardest lessons, she had felt like she was becoming more like God.  It was astounding how her eyes seemed to be opened spiritually through denial. For her last season she was required to live on bread and water.  Her infraction was also related to her daughter. She had bragged to a friend about the restaurant and how well Shannon was doing there–how happy she was.  The directors and shepherds of the Coushay Ministry didn’t like boasting. They didn’t like talk about people on the outside being happy or doing well. You really weren’t supposed to talk about people on the outside at all. But since it was related to a restaurant, it had the double impact of making the other students, they called them proselyte, covet the pleasures of the outside world. She was put for her season of bread and water. She could only eat in the dining room outside of regular meal time, and so in a sense it was also a season of isolation.  At first she just felt dizzy, especially in the morning after a long night fueled by water and bread at her lonely supper. The dizziness passed leaving her lightheaded and easily confused. During the early days of her season she seemed to be losing a considerable amount of weight. Her clothes hung like sacks on her. But then one morning she went to her closet and all of her clothes fit again. They had been replaced in the night. It may be worth noting also, that the proselyte, the adherents there specifically to become ministers, wore uniforms.  And so her old uniforms were replaced with those that fit. And in her confusion and hunger she soon could not remember if that had truly happened or if she had merely dreamed that her clothes used to be baggy.

 

During this season a letter from home came. She believed they passed it to her as a test of her will power.  It was from Shannon. She read it but couldn’t follow it. It didn’t seem to talk sense. She put it away and focused on her meditations.  She was meditating specifically on “Man cannot live on bread alone.” That was it. She had received no further instructions. But she had spent so much thought on that teaching, delved so deeply in spirit into those six words that she knew they were all that was needed to heal the world.  She dreamed of going out into the darkness and preaching these words showing others how on bread and water you could become the light because man cannot live on bread alone.

 

The day after the letter came she woke up and her clothes were baggy again. Had she lost more weight? Were these the same clothes as the day before? Or had she dreamed that her clothes used to fit her? What were clothes? She stood in front of her mirror and contemplated her clothes. She began to remove them, believing surely that clothes were just a mirage. An unnecessary mirage that caused distraction. They were bringing her nothing but confusion. Confusion was of the dark.

 

While she stood before the mirror something caught her eye. In the dark of her cement room something on the floor by the bed looked white. It was the envelope that the letter from Shannon had come in. She put her shirt back on as it was cold in her room. She picked up the letter.  She had read it yesterday, but couldn’t remember what it said. She looked at the addresses and the stamp. And the date.  While calendars were unapproved, dates weren’t entirely forbidden. And she knew that her season had begun just a few weeks, maybe five, after New Years. But this letter was postmarked July. Had her season really lasted for six months? Six months of bread and water.  She sat down on her bed. She was very, very weary.

 

She walked to her off hour breakfast to receive her bread and water.

 

“Sister Dion, you were late for breakfast.” The shepherd in the kitchen seemed angry with her.

 

“Forgive me. I am in my season. I come late to breakfast and late to lunch and early to dinner so that the food the others have will not be a temptation to me.” She bowed her head as she spoke. Humbled to be presenting her season, her sin, before a shepherd.

 

“Sister Dion, your season ended last night. You were required to eat breakfast with the rest of the proselytes. Come back for lunch. You should spend the rest of the morning in your quarters to compensate for the imbalance you created by being late.”  The Shepherd turned on his heel, marched to the doorway. He put out the light as he left.

 

Dion returned to her room and began a letter to her daughter. She was tired, hungry and confused. She wasn’t sure what she was saying or if she would be allowed to mail it. Letters that rambled, that didn’t speak the praises of the center, or that spoke too much of the outside world were not acceptable to be mailed. Proselytes were never told if their letters were mailed. They were being taught to trust the greater good to compensate for their faults. All of this control was tiresome. She held the pen in her hand, willing it to be steady, trying to think of words that were acceptable to mail to her daughter.  ‘I am the mother.’ She thought. “This center is not her mother.  This place cannot keep me from mothering.  In her starving and weary mind she saw her Shannon at seven, sick in bed with the flu. ‘Why am I not with you? Who is keeping me from you while you are so sick?’  It was wickedness. To keep her from the sick little girl, alone in the dark world. In her hunger Dion got very angry. She thought, ‘perhaps they have been poisoning me. Or drugging me. Why else would I leave my sick daughter for all this time.  They must be giving me something to make me think what they do has any sense. That any of this makes sense.’ Her hand was trembling violently under the weight of the pen. She rested it on the paper and lay down.

 

The ministry she had been so wholeheartedly devoted too had stopped making sense to her sometime before her season began. She was sure of it. The bread and water season at first compensated for her dissatisfaction. It was surely purifying to fast. It was so cleansing to rid your person of imbalances. She grew so much in her spirit as she taught herself to want nothing. And then, after some time it was just so hard to think because she was starving.

 

Her eyes felt heavy and she new she would sleep. She sat up, panicked.  Sleep would erase her moment of clarity. The only moment of clarity she had had since moving here, sixteen years ago. So she picked up her pen, and carefully wrote her letter.  She asked about the only things she could remember that mattered in the outside world. She asked about Terry. She asked about Mario. About the truck and the restaurant. When she ran out of ideas she talked about the weather. She had her paragraph of praise memorized and wrote word for word, as she always did, how The good works of the center were changing her and would change the world.  She didn’t know she wrote it.  Every proselyte was required to write the words of praise every time they picked up a pen. It was clearly impossible to speak of the ministry without those words being the first on you lips.  The first out of your pen. She talked about the snow they would have in the mountains when moved to winter quarters. As she wrote that she realized she was terrified of winter quarters.

 

“Oh dear Lord in heaven” She prayed so sincerely, “Please make this all stop.”

 

The early days at the Coushay Center as a brand new Proselyte had been heady, explosive amazing and expensive. It cost her every penny she had ever seen and then some more.  When the head Shepherd went over her accounts with her there was always much more that she needed to pay than she could earn through her works on the campus. She would be working at the center to pay for her schooling for another seven years. That make her time as a proselyte more than twenty years total. She had planned on four years. Her plan had been to graduate seminary when Shannon left the military. They were going to start their new lives at the same time and lift each other up. She had so dearly wanted to bring her daughter to the light. She hadn’t been able to leave then. She hadn’t graduated.  There had been no talk of ordination for more than five years.    

 

She carefully folded her letter and put it in an envelope, stamped and ready to be sent.  She was ready to go out with the stamp, fly with it home to her daughter and never return.  The letter lay on her bed and she thought of the other letters she had written through the years. All of them glowing with honest praise of her experience. She had no responsibilities left in the world.  She could focus slowly on her needs and her future. The most astounding part of it all had been how unsatisfying focusing on herself had been. It hadn’t been long at all before she and all of the students desired to help each other instead. But Shannon had remained skeptical the whole time. Somewhere in each of her letters to her mother she wrote a negative comment.  Just a small seed of doubt each time. Dion thought “Had I disregarded those doubts each time? I’m sure I wrote them off as words of darkness.” She tried to remember what they said, but all that came to mind were the words of praise. Indeed, each time you read words of doubt you were required to write the words of praise. Dion needed to reread these words of doubt. She needed to see what larger picture they painted. Had Shannon foreseen this day? The day when Dion was in her room, quaking with fear and hunger, unable to tell reality from delusion. 

 

Dion pulled out the box she kept her letters and papers in.  She opened it carefully, terrified of what might not be inside. As her clothing had disappeared and re-appeared over this season, perhaps her papers had also changed.  It looked the same at first. Notebook after notebook of her class work. But no envelopes. Nothing that had come in the mail.  She opened one notebook and shook it. But nothing fell out. She shook them all, notebook after notebook, desperate for the words her daughter had written.  

 

Dion tore through her papers, creating a problem bigger than the lost letters. She was creating confusion and discontent in her own heart. She feared what would happen, what kind of lesson she would be taught from the shepherds because of her mad search for letters. There were no letters, that was clear. Certainly they had been there at one time. But then, maybe it wasn’t certain. She sat down on her bed again amidst the scattered remains of her education. This confused mind was dark and leading her to question the Center. Before her season of fasting started she had felt confused. She could remember it now. She had questioned herself as to why had not been worthy yet or ordination.

 

Dion wracked her brain, trying to recall what had happened that made her loose her vision, the vision of the ministry of the Coushay center. The search for her letters had severely taxed her. She got up, intending to eat and come back to the matter when she felt stronger. It would be so good to be out of her season, eating food again. 

 

The lunch for all the proselytes that day was bread and water. She looked in dismay at the cook who passed out the trays.  The cook’s eyes were hollow with dark circles under them.  Her cheeks were hollow and he did not look up as she served. Dion looked at the other proselytes. ‘They all must be in a season of silence’ she thought, seeing as no one spoke. ‘What could have happened to the group between their dinner last night and lunch today to put them all on silence?’  The question worried her greatly. More so than the lack of food.  Had there been false doctrine taught in a group? Or had their been blasphemy? She tried to remember the last time a serious case of blasphemy had taken place in the center. She thought she remembered one Proselyte being exiled and many others, who apparently had listened to the words of darkness put on a season of silence.  Dion dared not speak to her friends as they ate in silence lest she incur a season of silence for herself as well.

 

She ate her bread with bitterness in her heart. How long had all of the Proselytes been reduced to bread and water? What was it that had made her begin to question the ministry after all of these years?  She carried the tray to the dish stack. She could hear the letter she had written rustle in her pocket. Nervously she scanned the room. Could any of the others hear that? One hand hung limply beside her pocket as she tried to mask the outline of the envelope that showed through her thin cotton of her.

 

After lunch she followed the line of Proselytes to the therapy room. Usually they would break up into groups and begin the session. This was to begin a new period of studying the future. Projecting their plans for the ministry and focusing their energies to further those plans.  But today there were no chairs set up in the therapy room. In fact they barely paused in that place. A shepherd led them out of the building altogether and into a bus. 

 

“We have all been sacrificing for you, our servants our proselytes. And now it is time for you to sacrifice for us. We will be holding a praise rally. We will spend the whole day downtown in the city of darkness. We will be in Calgary until we have converted fourty-two people. That will be the balance that restores us. When the praise rally is complete we will come home and spend an evening of fasting and reflection. Please prepare yourselves.” The Shepherd said this very matter of fact. He was beyond caring, or trying to drum enthusiasm into people. He handed an evangelism packet to each proselyte. They knew to sit quietly reading the packet for the length of the drive. Dion prayed that she wouldn’t pass out and tried desperately to concentrate. The weight of the letter in her pocket seemed enormous, but now it seemed possible to mail the letter. To mail it without anyone else reading it. The packet included instructions on coaxing the devout to offer up their credit cards as a sacrifice. Good god, she thought. That was me. This is what they did to me.

 

 

It was a hot day for Calgary. Their thin cotton uniforms—quite like scrubs, really, were very appropriate.  The bus had let them off at a church. Possibly one they had rented for the day. There were signs in the yard advertising a revival.  They filed into the lobby and made a circle around the senior shepherd.

 

“Proselytes we are gathered here today to change the world. To bring the light we hold in our hearts to a dark place. There are people who will walk through those doors in two hours who want to give their lives to something. They will give their lives to the darkness if we do not preach the truth to them. You have the truth in you. You refreshed your spirit with the truth as you drove here. Each of you is about to rejoin the world of the speaking after a season of silence. That silence was intended to prepare you for this day. This day when you become like us. You become a servant of the truth.” He took a deep breath and looked over the assembled men and women.  He tallied up he resources, his man power then looked at his watch. “Many of you have been with us for many years preparing for this day. None of you have been with us less than five years.  Shepherd Coushay, God rest his soul” the assembled group murmured God rest his soul. “Shepherd Coushay wanted to see the day when one hundred Shepherds preached in one hundred nations. It was a lofty goal at the time—during the early days. We have not slacked in our efforts to achieve this goal. The shepherds you have learned to trust at the ministry center are being sent away. Their time of teaching you is done. When we travel together to the winter quarters they will be sent into the world.  And you all will be shepherds. You will be the shepherds if today you reach the lost. If your call reaches the fourty-two God has intended for us. We want to call to the flock those who are waiting.  Do you remember what you read today? You will know they are called if they make a commitment. If they come with us on the bus today, they were called. If they empty their wallets of the resources that the darkness entrusted to them, they are called. If they forsake their families to send us their income, entrusting us to bring them their increase, they are called. Settle for nothing less.  Settle for not one less than fourty-two.  This is the number that will restore the balance. When we send away shepherds we must call new sheep. Remember what you learned in your churches far away in the lands that are dark. Remember the blessings you are calling them to. The deep sense of peace that you earned through your quests for knowledge and your thirst for the light.  Remember that what you call them to is for their benefit and settle for nothing less than a true commitment as outlined in the materials you studied.  That is all. Praise the light.”  The collected voices echoed hollowly, praise the light. 

 

Dion trembled all over. Her heart beat against her ribs. She wanted to vomit. So this was it. All along it had been about money.  She spent these years of her life in submission and searching so that one day she could come and take the last dollar from people who only want salvation.  “Dearest Lord Jesus” She prayed again, willing the tears not to fall. “Make this all stop. Rescue us from this sin.”

 

The circle broke and the proselytes began to prepare the sanctuary. Those gifted with music did their sound check and began to practice the hymns.  Those with lesser gifts set about the sanctuary preparing it for service. The hymnals and Bibles were removed from the pew backs. Pencils and prayer cards were also taken away.  Banners intended to focus the mind on praise were removed from the walls. There was to be nothing in the room to take ones’ mind off of the speaker.  Someone sat at the switchboard and experimented with lighting in the room. The combination of all of that and the grief overwhelming Dion made her ill. She went towards the bathroom. No one watched or cared what she was doing.

 

She needed to sit alone. She leaned on the first door she saw and found it was open.  There was a desk, a computer. It was some kind of office. Dion sat in the chair at the desk and took the letter out of her pocket. She thought fresh air would do her good. She wondered if she could slip outside and find a mailbox.  The door opened again. Dion jumped to her feet, ready to apologize.

 

“No bother, please.” The woman who had walked into the office didn’t seem perturbed to see Dion at her desk. She also seemed well dressed and well fed.

 

“I am so sorry though. I just needed to step away from all the noise. To…prepare my heart.” Dion swayed a little as she spoke.  She leaned heavily on the desk.

 

“My word! Sit back down. I can’t believe they had you come with the crew at all. You look terrible!” She was at Dion’s side now, helping her back into her seat.  “They can’t have needed you to come run the praise and worship revival. Goodness knows someone here from First Unitarian could have done it.” 

 

“Oh, no, I’m not that bad.  Just a little…carsick from the trip. I don’t want to be in your way.” Dion tried to stand up. The church secretary had her hands firmly on Dion’s shoulders.

 

“You sit still. You have no business working tonight.  Coushay Center revivals come highly recommended, but can’t be worth whatever you are going through.” She laughed a little, trying to lighten the mood. She was truly concerned about this tired woman. She was also concerned about the motley bunch working in the sanctuary. They did not exude the warmth and community she had been led to believe was their hallmark. “Can I get you anything? Water? Crackers? You know, I even have some noodle soup in the kitchen. Let me get you some.”

 

Dion protested lightly. But the concern of the secretary was too much. In five minutes Dion was sitting at the desk with a warm bowl of instant soup and a stack of crackers. The secretary sat across from her with a cup of coffee.

 

The letter was sitting in front of Dion.

 

“Can I mail that for you? I am going to run to the post office with some packages just as soon as the pastor comes to open the event.” She wanted to do anything she could do to help this woman. Dion seemed to be at the last of her strength. What the secretary really wanted was to take Dion home and put her to bed.

 

“Yes, please. You can mail it for me. I really need it to be mailed.”  Dion handed the letter over with a shaking hand and passed out.

 

CHAPTER BREAK

 

The problem of finding Dion in Edmonton was troubling. Mario put Shannon to bed upstairs. He gave her his room while he took the couch. But both of them were awake worrying about this problem.  The letter had been mailed from Calgary. Mario thought that would be the place to start their search.  If the group was camped out somewhere in Calgary they might be easier to find. They could search all of the churches in town, asking around about Coushay Life Ministry.  Of course Dion may have slipped away from the group somehow. That could be harder. But they could still search local churches. Maybe the hospitals and jails as well.  Mario made a mental list of places that would be worth checking into.  He didn’t feel confident that this was the way they would find her.  But it was a start.

 

Shannon stared at the blank wall across from the bed. Her mind raced, trying to remember any physical descriptions Dion had given through the years. Anything that might help them identify the ministry building. The Church in Seattle had been very nondescript and unsigned. If you had been trying to find it, you probably would have failed.  But that church had closed down at least ten years ago.  In fact, it closed about the same time Grandma Lucille moved to Edmonton.  Shannon tried to remember what she could about her grandma’s move. How had they gotten her to the center? 

 

“Mario?” She tried out his name, quietly. She needed to talk to him, but didn’t want to wake him up.

 

She heard the sound of rustling blankets form the other room. The bedroom door opened and Mario slipped quietly inside.  He sat down in the arm chair and leaned toward the bed. “What can I do for you, querida?” 

 

“I need to run home. I need to go over some papers, letters and things. We moved Grandma out to the Center and I’m sure there must have been some instructions. Some directions on how to contact the center once they got there.”

 

“Si. This may be a help. Your father will not be here until the evening tomorrow. Perhaps you can wait until morning to go home?”

 

She was sitting up in bed, fully clothed.  Of course she had taken off her shoes, but she was the picture of someone who wasn’t going to sleep. “I could. But there is so much we need to try to figure out right now. How on earth are we going to find her? What could the members of the ministry do if they find out she wants to leave?  Do you think she is in real trouble?”

 

“No, no amiga. I don’t think she is in danger. She is just ready to come home. Let your mind be at ease. But there is a problem about trying to find her. I am glad to hear you may have some information that could help us.” He paused, looking away from her for a moment. Then he turned back and purposefully caught her eye. He tried with all of his skill to convey confidence as he spoke, “This is surely not the case, Channon, but if she is in danger, we must consider what we should do for her.  If she needs us to help her leave in secret, we should try to find her without contacting the center, no?”

 

She held his gaze, drinking in the support he offered. “It’s true, I know. But, well, I have an idea.  I mean, it may be over the top. But I had an idea that maybe I could go as a church member…as someone who used to attend in Seattle and decided to look them up.  You and daddy could follow me in secret and, well, it all sort of sounds like a spy movie, but it might work.” The whole ordeal was at once breaking her heart and making her feel absurd. 

 

“This is also a good idea. Tomorrow you will find your information and we will make a plan. I think also that we should make a separate plan. A way to find her without anyone knowing at all that we are there. And possibly a way to find her if she is still in Calgary.” He was leaning back in the chair now, looking at the ceiling. His mind had slipped back into planning mode.

 

“Calgary! Do you think she could still be there? But that is a big city. We would never find her there.”

 

“It is a large city but I think we could find her. It would help very much if we knew why  her letter had been mailed from Calgary. There is always the chance that she was not there herself, that someone else carried the mail there.  Do you know if she sent out her own mail usually?” Mario took a pad of paper off of his dresser and started to make notes. There really was much to decide.

 

“No. I’m pretty sure they had to turn their mail in before it was sent out. I’m also pretty sure she didn’t get all the mail I sent. They seemed to have a pretty strong censorship policy.” Her voice was bitter as she spoke. As far as she as concerned this place had stolen her mother.

 

‘What did you know about the Church before she went to seminary?”

 

“It seemed kind of new-agey Christian. They talked like regular Christians at first but then did a bunch of cool stuff. Like meditation rooms with sound machines and incense. They taught yoga. They were really into balancing your body and your spirit. I think mom even went to a weekend of massage and meditation at a spa once.  It seemed kind of fun, but pretty meaningless. With all their dark and light she could have been some kind of Jedi, you know?”

 

Mario chuckled. “A Jedi would be handy now, no?  But I see what you mean. It sounds like a church of feeling good but not of knowing God.  Was there anything besides that, anything that seemed inappropriate? Or just bad?”

 

“Once she got to seminary she gave them all her money. I swear I almost had a conniption fit when I heard how much they were charging her to attend.  I had always heard colleges in Canada were less expensive than they are here. I mean, you know, I knew it was a private thing and not really accredited. She was going to get ordained and come home and pastor a church. She wanted to do a church plant. We had talked about finding a town together.  You know, that was a weird thing too. I asked her about the ordination and church planting and if she was learning how to do all of that.  But she never gave me a straight answer. It was always nonsense about getting herself together and then learning the less important aspects of the work. I don’t think they were really teaching her anything.”

 

“What was her reason for staying there so long?” Mario chewed on the end of his pencil. As he listened to Shannon he wrote all of his previous plans down and key words that he got from what she was telling him.

 

“At first she said the program she was taking was longer than she had planned. But one day, over the phone, she told me something about working there for a while to pay off her debts to them.  I didn’t get another call for almost a year. I think they heard her and wouldn’t let her use the phone again.  So much of her being there seems to be tied to money.”

 

“She said she had debts to them?” Mario looked at her keenly. It was starting to sound like the servitude that Zapatistas fought so hard against in Chiapas. Something so very wrong.

 

“She only mentioned that once, of course. And after that she began to tell me that all of America was dark and to stay in the light she would need to be a Canadian. That made me so mad. I swear. They took my mom, then my grandma and then they convinced my mom she needed to abandon the country all together.” 

 

“Become a Canadian? Had she done this?” 

 

“No, there was some kind of waiting period. She wasn’t supposed to leave the center for a long time, like a probationary period.  And then they would process her paperwork.  Dear God, Mario. I bet they have her passport. Oh it’s been sixteen years. Surely she doesn’t have a passport anymore.”  She buried her hands in her face. The complexity of this was completely overtaking her.

 

“Si. This is true. They will not let her pass the border without her passport now.  This is a problem. But Shannon, let your heart be at peace. I know someone we can talk to. There is a way still. It is not safe, but I think we can do it.” Mario moved to the bed and sat down beside Shannon. He wrapped his arms around her. He lifted her head from her hands. “You do not know this now Shannon, but the Lord God is watching out for your mother and he has made a way already for us. Please be at peace.” Her head fell against his chest, broad and comforting. She would let herself cry there. But she didn’t cry. There was comfort in his person. She let her body gain strength from the support of his strong arms and broad shoulders. She felt at home in his arms.

 

He kissed the top of her head this time. And he held her until her frame relaxed.  Not until her sleep seemed inevitable to he let go of her.  The passed the rest of the night in restless sleep, she in the room and he on the sofa.

 

 

The morning came. The faced a long list of new tasks, the first was another call to Terry.  Mario fed Shannon but put off calling her father until she had left for her own home. If this phone call turned up no result, she did not need to know about it.

 

“Terry, I must be frank with you, I do not want to ask you to do anything illegal. And yet we fear that Dion will not have access to her passport when we find her.  Do you think that it is possible to cross out of Canada without passing through an official border crossing?”

 

“Yeah I do think so. My Buddy Hank drives up to Canada. He has a road he takes if he is in a hurry.  I’ll call him now and get directions. If we are looking to get there fast we should consider going in the same way we would get her out.  Frankly Mario, I wondered if you could get into the country. Do you have a passport?”

 

“This is a good question as well. I do not have a passport. And I do not have an American birth certificate.”

 

“And we don’t have the 6 months to wait for processing a passport application. I’ll let you go right now so I can get directions. I’ll call you as soon as Jenny and I hit the road.”

 

“You will bring Jenny? I think that is the right thing to do.” Mario was impressed. It sounded like Terry had learned something about being a husband.  He said good by to Terry and crossed that off of his list.  He had another call to make. 

 

“Digame” his father said into the phone. At times Mario felt certain his father purposefully kept the divide between himself and the people of the town.

“Dad, It’s Mario. I have a question of some sensitivity to ask you. Do you have a moment before work?” 

 

“Si, mijo. What do you need? It is certainly early, I have another hour before work. Is it something you would like to speak about here at the casita?” 

 

“Tal vez. Pero, la telephono es suficiente. Papa, necesito hablar con Raul.” Mario slipped into Spanish. He was alone and there was no reason on earth to suspect his telephone was tapped, but he had never spoken the name Raul to his father, nor mentioned knowledge of his existence. It felt safer to make his request in Spanish.

 

“Come to the casita, mijo. This we should not speak of over the telephone.” His father hung up without another word. Mario crammed on his shoes, leaving as quickly as he could.

 

The road out of town was slick from a summer thunderstorm. It was steaming as well from summer sun, already hot.  Mario checked his speed. This was no time to get a ticket. They would have to practice as much caution as possible.

 

At the casita he found his father on the back porch, speaking with two men.

 

“Is this a good time, Padre?” He asked as he approached his father.

 

“Si. Es bien. These men may be of service to you.  I think it would be a good  idea to speak here while I am inside the house.  Do not leave without saying goodbye.”  Dr. Gomez stood. He kissed his son and walked back into the small house.

 

“Hola, senores.  I have some questions, I need some advice.” Mario sat down is his father’s chair. It was like second nature to Mario to speak in a disarming voice and assume non-confrontational positions.

 

“You are Mario Gomez?” One man asked. He had a guarded look.  He was wearing sunglasses and standing towards the back of the porch, where he could see around the house with more ease.

 

“Si. Dr. Gomez es mi Padre.  I have a need to quietly enter Canada and was hoping that an amigo of my Padre would have advice for me.  Do you know anyone who might have that kind of advice?”

 

The man in the sunglasses nodded his head.

 

“I will need to drive into Alberta sometime tomorrow afternoon. I do not want to be noticed by the officials. When I leave Alberta I will need to be even more cautious. The man who will be driving told me he has directions—a road we can take so we do not have to wait at the border crossing. Would the amigo de mi padre have more advice for me? Mas informacion.”

 

The man standing nearest to Mario spoke.  “We know ways to get into and out of many places. Your father is a good man and a good customer. We would like to do things that help your father. Is this thing you would like to do something that would help him?”  He was a spare man in a dark suit, though the day would be near 100 degrees.  He also wore sunglasses.  His face was deeply lined but his hair was jet black. It was difficult to determine his age. By the size of his ring and the gold of the chain he wore around his neck he was apparently well off. 

 

“Lo siento. No it is not something to do with my father.” Mario did not offer more information than that. These men clearly appreciated an amigo of discretion.

 

The man with the gold chains sat down in the chair next to Mario.  “It is quite simple to enter or exit Canada by roadway, into Alberta and other provinces where the large cities are to the North. If your contact is familiar with the area his maps can be trusted, I am sure. There is no great secret to this.”

 

“These border crossings are unmanned then?” 

 

“Si.  There are such roads where a person can cross and it would not be known. This is simple work for the amigo de su padre.  Is there something more specific you would like to know? Your father has credited himself well and I can offer much more than confirmation of a map you already have coming to you. I will be frank. I am going North tonight. It had been my plan before you father spoke to me. Would you like to travel with me? I think that I could be of use to you once you entered the country.  What is it you are bringing in that you do not want seen?”

 

The conversation had turned interesting to Mario. He hadn’t expected to hear that there were easy unmarked roads. He hadn’t even thought to ask for physical help in crossing.

 

“To enter the country I have a party of four people, I myself do not have an American passport. I am a citizen. But I do not have any of the papers convenient that I would need for entering as quickly as I need to get there.”  Mario paused.

 

“That is not trouble.” The man with the chains said.

 

“And on leaving we will have a fifth member. She may not have identification of any kind. We don’t know what condition she will be in when we find her.  She may be in Edmonton but she may be in Calgary. In fact, we don’t know where she would be in either of those cities. But she is in danger and we are leaving tonight to get her. Is this something you would have time to help with?” Mario looked the man in the eyes as he spoke. Though he gave no specific details he hid nothing. He wanted the man to know that.

 

Raul sat back in his chair silent for a moment. His usual route was simply north to Vancouver and then south again to various points along I5 and into Baja California. This trip would take a great deal more time.  He turned his head towards the casita and thought about Dr. Gomez. It had been many years now that he had supplied the doctor with simple over the counter medicines. Dr. Gomez had used him for more potent things in the past but gave up on it quickly. He did not have the heart of the gambler. He only wanted to do the good he could for people who had no one else.  It was such a simple wish. Today Raul had no one waiting on him. He had made his run to Baja and was coming back up empty handed. He would go to Canada for the doctor to purchase medicine.  But there was more than a week that he was his own man.

 

He looked back at Mario. “Si. This is something that I could be of help with.  You will find me here this evening a las dies. Is this enough time for you?”

 

Mario stood up with Raul. “Thank you Amigo. Your help is greatly appreciated. I will make it worth your while to the best of my ability.” Mario’s glance fell to the way of the man in sunglasses. There was an uneasy air on the porch. For a moment Mario was afraid he was in over his head. Drug smugglers from the Mexican mafia have a way of making a man feel like that.

 

“There will be no need for that. Your father has made me aware of a need. So long as your father does for people what he does, I am his servant.” Raul nodded at his compadre.  “I will ask you no questions and expect the same in return. I will be pursuing business opportunities while in Calgary and do not want to be disturbed in them.” Raul and the man in the sunglasses walked down the steps of the porch and around the house.

 

Mario exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He walked into the house wondering if he had just gotten them into more trouble than help.

 

Barbara the secretary, called 911. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t even consider checking with the Directors of the Coushay group.  She had had a long week. She wasn’t interested in whatever philosophy this particular group kept a hold of that made them made sick people work. As far as she was concerned this woman passed out at her desk so the call was hers alone to make.

 

Barbara was always annoyed by people who held to a single creed. They came to First Unitarian all the time because First Unitarian accepted them all.  But without exception all these groups they offered their hospitality to took advantage of it. In fact, they had to pay the Coushay people a fee to have them run a revival. But she knew without a doubt they had come to attempt to convert her congregation.

 

“Well,” she thought while she listened earnestly for the sirens, “let them try. In fact, they can have Glen and Hamish. Maybe even Tina.  They are always ready to convert. They are so desperate to belong somewhere. But I’m taking this one.  This poor woman is ours now. “

 

A great cry of panic rose from the sanctuary as soon as the sirens pulled into the driveway. 

 

The directors all jumped to attention. Some had been meditating, but most had just been resting, stretched out on the pews.  The head director gave a signal and the newly minted crew of evangelists gathered together.

 

“Let us pray, let us pray!” one shepherd was calling out.

 

“Quiet down, now.” Said the head director sternly.  “Recite the directives for crisis.” He clasped his hands behind his back and circled the gathered members of his flock. 

 

“Seek your center. Begin the balance in yourself. Be a light to those hurting in the dark.” A few voices chimed in with this mantra.

 

“Yes. Correct. The rest of you will be silent until the altar call. Everyone should always be prepared to speak the words.”  He shut his mouth, a grim line.  He closed his eyes and contemplated his exit.  There was an emergency exit off the stage.  If he sent these people into the hall to intercept the officials he could slip through that door and be lost to the church.  For as long as he needed to be.

 

A large number of the flock lowered their heads in shame. 

 

“Now let us pray. For we will never pray in ignorance, but refresh our minds with the words of our mentor before we approach the throne of glory.” The gathered flock bowed their heads.  A lower level director was counting and recounting the nervous and shifting group.  He wasn’t sure, but it seemed a few members were missing.

 

  He nodded to another director. The two men met and spoke very quietly together.

 

“I swear, I can’t remember how many came here today.” The first director hissed.

 

“Fool.  There are 29 sheep with us today.  Don’t let Director Brown find out that you forgot. Or you are done for.”  This director spoke with a low, threatening voice. 

 

“Like that matters. We’re closed up here in the sanctuary and some awful dark filled bunch of cops and firemen has fallen on us. We’re probably all done for.  Who’s missing?” The hisser was beyond annoyed. He wanted to get to the end of the night with a good show, a solid number to bring back to Mr. Coushay.  He was sick of just making ends meet.

 

“What do you mean, who is missing? It’s Dion Stewart.  Don’t tell me you don’t know our flock by name.” He was sarcastic as well as angry. This was going to delay things for all of them. And if Dion had anything to do with the call for officials she was through. 

 

Dion had been a spent force for years now. But she was so pretty and enthusiastic they kept her around.  She had been of incredible value for morale and especially gifted at new recruit retention.  He, for one, had been counting on her alone to make most of tonight’s conversions stick.

 

“Dion Stewart? Good grief. That woman is half dead already.  If they’ve come for her it’s because someone found her dead where she lay.  Well enough though, she’s been on the dole for far too long already.” He was as heartless as he sounded. One less mouth to feed was more than a truism to him. It was just plain true.

 

The head director made a motion to his men.  They came to him to make their report.

 

“Clearly sir, the important situation is on the other side of the doors.” A rash, young director said. The head director silenced him with a look.

 

“Dion Stewart, sir.” Said the man with the threatening voice, a director known as Phillip.  Phillip had a great deal to do with the finances of the Center and was always present  at altar call events.

 

“Good God. What has she done now?” The head director had a great dislike for Dion Stewart. She was sincere, humble, and patient. He had no time for people like that.

 

“She’s missing.”

 

“She’s not missing, you fool. Clearly she is being treated by paramedics and getting on an ambulance as we speak.  What I want to know is how this happened without my being involved and why in God’s name she got to the point of collapse.”  Amongst the directors their was a certain candor with regards to business matters. Every sheep in the flock was a business matter.

 

Phillip spoke first. He also lacked patience particularly with needless and ridiculous ritual.  Much of the life at the Coushay Center was a burden to him.  “If you would let me go out there I could resolve this for you before it gets carried away.”

 

“What do you take me for Phillip? You’ve got the least charisma in this room. We’ll send Reina. She will handle this for us. The rest of you, keep the flock under control and focused.

 

Reina was practically shoved through the sanctuary doors, which were then locked down.  She was too late to do good for the center. The ambulance with Dion was gone.  Barbara was speaking with a police officer.

 

“We’ll need a statement from whoever is in charge.” A brusque and bored officer said to Reina. 

 

“I am authorized to speak with you.” Reina smiled calmly at him and bowed her head hello.

 

“Are you in charge here?” 

 

“I am a spokesperson for the group and will be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

 

“How many people are in the sanctuary?”  The officer looked at her keenly.

 

“There are 39, oh, I mean 38 of us.  I am assuming that our shepherd Dion Stewart has been taken to hospital?”  Reina managed a mournful look.

 

“Yes, she has. Why didn’t anybody come out to see what was going on?” Barbara piped up. She had made her own statements to the police and hoped that a lot of questions were about to be asked.

 

“We heard the sirens and immediately went to prayer.” I am sorry that we didn’t rush out, but as the ambulance was already here by the time we knew a problem existed it seemed better to remain in prayer.  It surely wouldn’t have helped the situation to have 38 people milling about asking questions and getting in the way.” And here a nice little laugh was inserted, very disarming.

 

“Indeed.” Said the officer.  “Did you know that this woman was ill when you brought her here?”

 

“She really wasn’t looking well. But this is the first revival we have had this season and she so wanted to come. We hated to say no to her and hoped she would rest during most of the event.  She was especially eager to be a part of the call and pray with people. Dion has true servants heart.”  Reina felt Barbara watching her.  Barbara seemed likely to be more trouble than the two young officers in the foyer. She turned to Barbara, “What happened? I am really beside myself with worry. Is she going to be alright?” Reina almost seemed to place a look of worry over the expression she had been wearing before.

 

“She passed out in my office. She is just skin and bones. She can’t have eaten in days. Or longer. When was the last time you saw her feeling well? Don’t you people take your members to the doctor?”  Barbara was nearly seething. It was just such brain dead, brainwashed hypocrites as this woman that were making her want to get out of the church business altogether.   

 

“If only we could get everyone to the doctor. But some people just won’t go.  We don’t believe in miracles, officer. But Dion had such faith. She never would admit to being sick. I’d be surprised if she doesn’t have pneumonia.”  Reina took a stab in the dark. She new all Dion suffered from was a fasting season that went on too long.

 

The officer looked up from his notebook. “Pneumonia? What makes you say Pneumonia?”  She caught his interest with that one.  This secretary Barbara had insisted that the officers treat the call like a crime, look for signs of wrongdoing. She claimed that the group appeared to be a cult and may be mistreating its members. He almost yawned out loud when she said that. He could care less about some cult with a sick member and a grouchy middle aged secretary. (At just over fourty she would have taken great offense at the middle aged thought. But he was only twenty himself.) 

 

This officer had paid close attention to the paramedics, since the lady who made the call was asking that charges be pressed on behalf of the unconscious lady. Her temperature was fine, her pulse was fine. No breathing trouble—really no signs of sickness to speak of. She was severely malnourished and had apparently passed out from hunger. The question was why she was so malnourished, nothing else.

 

Reina paused just briefly. “It was going around, you know. I just thought it made sense.” She smiled her smart, capable, and understanding smile at the officer.  “Will that be all, sir?” She asked.

 

He nodded to his partner who was stationed by the front door. “No. No, that will not be all.  No one will be permitted to leave until I have spoken with every one who is here. Was that 38 or 39 people in the sanctuary?”

 

Reina’s face lost its controlled look for just a moment. But the officer noticed. For a brief moment her eyes went wide and her face flushed. “I believe I meant to say…37.”  She sat down on a bench next to the sanctuary door and began to pray sincerely for the first time in a number of years. 

 

At the second nod, the officer by the door slipped outside. He skirted the building to the back, checking for exits along the way. One door was ajar.  He leaned in, gun held ready at his side.  He leaned out quickly and scanned the driveway, the road. One car was turning at the intersection. Turning from the access road behind the church onto the busy street that the church fronted.

 

 

CHAPTER BREAK

  

Dion blinked her eyes slowly.  She yawned a little.  The lights in the room were very bright, the room…where was she?  A woman in scrubs was writing on a clipboard. 

 

“Good morning!” She said cheerily. “I’m so glad to see you’re finally awake.  You gave your friend quite a scare.” The nurse put the clipboard down and walked to Dion’s bedside.

 

“I bet you’re feeling pretty hungry. ‘  She lifted Dion’s wrist and held her thumb and fingers gently around it.  She turned to her watch and was quiet for a moment.

 

Dion searched the room.  She was in a bed.  There was and IV dripping next to her, attached to her arm.  A TV hung from the wall above a small counter with a sink.  There was a window on the wall about three feet from her bed.  It looked across a small sidewalk to the back wall of another building.  There was a strip of grass next to the sidewalk with a tree.

 

“Am I in the hospital?” Dion asked weekly.

 

“You sure are.  You passed out and didn’t wake up.” The nurse pressed a number of buttons on a machine next to the IV stand.

 

“I’ll tell the doctor that you are awake. She’ll be very glad to hear it.” The nurse turned the lights lower again as she left.

 

The sun shone through the window. It was clearly still daytime. Or daytime again.

 

Dion shifted up on her elbows, wanting to sit and be normal.  But her head felt dizzy.  She lay back down again.

 

Before the doctor came another nurse, or medical assistant of some sort, stopped in with lunch.

 

“Time to eat.” She put the lights on again. She rolled a table next to the bed and turned the top so Dion could eat from it.  She put the lunch tray down and pressed a button that made Dion’s bed sit up.

 

“I can eat this?” Dion asked slowly.

 

“Don’t see why not. “ The girl said, chomping her gum.  She bounced out of the room.

 

Dion removed the lid from her platter. It was meat, chicken, turkey?  Covered with gravy.  There were potatoes on the side, mashed.  And a bean salad.  It smelled divine.  It looked like heaven.  She took a bite of the turkey and gravy.  It was warm and tender. It had flavor. Next to the plate was a bowl of Jell-O. There was also a glass of deep red juice and a mug of coffee.

 

Dion ate all of the turkey.  She took a long drink of the juice. She started in on the Jell-O.  Her stomach turned over.  She leaned back on her bed for a moment.  She tried a drink of coffee. It had been years since she had had coffee.  The heat from the coffee and the bitter burnt taste gagged her.  She turned her head away as her stomach wretched. She clamped her mouth shut, clenched her teeth and tried not to do it.  She bolted forward and wretched again, vomiting all over her blankets and the floor.

 

 

 

Shannon was sitting in the dining room of Mario’s Restaurante two of her old master lists on the table in front of her.

 

“I took copious notes when Grandma moved up.  I was still in Seattle of course. I wanted to go up with her but she wouldn’t hear of it.  Anyway. She took a bus into town. She was supposed to get off at the Greyhound Station.  They were waiting for her, I suppose.  She didn’t have a cell phone back then.  But I’m sure she could have called from a payphone.  It’s not much help, actually, is it?”

 

“May I?”  Mario asked and reached for the notebook. 

 

“Help yourself.” She handed him the first book and began to rifle the pages of the second book.

 

“I found my passport.  I don’t know why I renewed it. I mean, I knew why. But it surprises me that I followed through with it.  I was going to go away. Never did though.” Shannon pulled the passport from her pocket and placed it on the table.

 

“I spoke with a friend of my father.  He travels into and out of Canada regularly. He offered to travel with us, so we won’t get into trouble.” Rumors abound in a small town. Mario had never mentioned Raul to Shannon but wondered how much she had heard.

 

“Thanks. I mean thanks to him.  That’s incredible.  The way people step up when a Gomez is in the picture.” She slip the passport off of the table and back into her pocket.

 

“We will meet him at mis Padres at ten this evening.  It’s a late start but we can use the time to get ready. If I send you upstairs do you think you would sleep?”

 

“I could try.”  She was exhausted. Her mind had spun all night giving her no rest.  Daddy was on his way. Mario was in control. Perhaps now she could sleep.

 

Mario walked her upstairs and began packing.  “It will be a long drive into Calgary.  We won’t go in on the highway, I’m sure.  I expect we will need to go for twenty four hors or more.  Do you want us to travel non-stop? We can do that.  We would be crossing into town in the dark then.”  He talked softly.  Shannon was laying on the couch while he filled a duffle bag with his clothes.

“That sounds good. We’ll need to eat. Maybe one stop? We can drive in shifts. Between your Dad’s friend, Dad and you and I we shouldn’t wear out too quickly. She yawned deeply, her eyes closed

 

“And Jenny will be coming as well. We will have plenty of drivers but maybe not seats.” He turned off the light and moved to the hall.  He climbed up on a chair and knocked the board that covered the attic entrance up. He pulled up into the attic, stepping on the back of the chair.  When it clattered to the ground Shannon sat up.

 

“What are you doing?” She looked around the room for him.

 

His voice came from the hole in the ceiling.  “I’ll bring my cooler. With a cooler full of good food we will look like a nice family on a vacation.” He dropped the cooler with a thud.  Then he lowered himself to the ground.

 

Shannon lay back down, too weary to marvel at his acrobatic feat. 

 

 

“now Jenny this isn’t a vacation. We can’t take the Miata.”  Terry was using his very serious voice. It was the same voice he used when Alex wanted a tattoo and Sammy stated smoking. The Very Serious Voice was a surprise to them all.  Jenny found it a wonderful new facet to her dear husband. Unfortunately for the family it signaled the beginning of the years of teenage rebellion.

 

“We want to get there fast, don’t we?” Jenny was packing a large suitcase. If she was crossing the country into Canada to rescue her husband’s ex wife she was doing it in style.

 

‘Where would you put the suitcase if we brought the Miata?”

 

“Don’t you mean where would we put Dion?”  Jenny used the snottiest voice she could but wasn’t a terribly clever woman.

 

“If we drive the suburban we can all got together. It seems like a good idea to me.”  Terry wasn’t sidestepping the not so veiled reference to his loving his ex-wife. He thought Jenny was pointing out the larger problem of the car.

 

“So we really aren’t going to have any vacation while we are gone?”  We are just going up to get Dion and Chaperone Mario and Shannon the whole time?”  Jenny sat on her bed next to her suitcase.  Her chin began to quiver.

 

“hey baby. Don’t be sad. It’s a big adventure.  A great rescue.  You should’ve heard Shannon, she was so broken up she couldn’t even talk.  We’ve got to rescue her mom.  We’ve just got to.”  He zipped the lid shut on his suitcase.  Then he gave Jenny’s back a pat.  “It’ll be great. I’d never do this without you.”

 

“Okay. I guess I’ll go pack some sandwiches.” It was a relief that he hadn’t said how great Dion was.  Jenny knew how great Din was. It was hard to be married to a man whose ex-wife was beautiful and a religious saint as well.

 

In a rare moment of clarity Terry grabbed his wife by the arm and pulled her to him. He embraced her, kissed her warmly.

 

She thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest. Right out.

 

He held her a moment longer and said, “Dion is in a cult Jenny.  She’s messed up with bad people. You can’t get out of one of those by yourself.  You need people who can help. You and me Jenny. She needs our help because she can’t do it alone.”

 

Jenny inhaled deeply, her shoulders squared strong.  Terry and Jenny. They could help. She took the stairs two steps at a time. She was going to help.

 

 

The doctor sat in the chair beside Dion. She had a long, intelligent face and round glasses. She was facing Dion, holding her hand.

 

“I’m so glad you woke up. Can you tell me why you haven’t been eating?”  The blood work showed no reason at all for the woman’s emaciated condition.  Possibly she had passed out due to her severely decreased level of Potassium.  More than likely though her body could no longer run. It was out of fuel.

 

“I tried to eat but the lord sent it all away.” There were tears in Dion’s eye. The vomiting had cost her a great deal of energy.  She was tired and confused.

 

“Sweetie, I know. They shouldn’t have brought you all that food. It was too much for you yet.  We won’t let them do that to you again. But I’d like to know about before today– why weren’t you eating before today?” 

 

Dion’s bed was upright but she was resting, her head on her pillow, eyes closed.

 

“It was my season.” Her words were spoken softly. 

 

“What is a season?”  The doctor’s voice was gently, matching Dion’s, coaxing her to share. 

 

“A season is…” her voice trailed off. The doctor squeezed her hand warmly. 

 

“Is when something physical is taken so you can…receive the spiritual.” It was clearly taxing Dion to talk.  The doctor sat quietly with her patient for a while, stroking her hand.

 

“What did you eat during your season?” The doctor asked.

 

“Man cannot live on bread alone.”

 

“Those are words, Dion. You didn’t eat words. What food did you eat?”

 

“The work of the center is of the light. We are a city on a hill shining our light into the darkness. Our work is to do good. Our work is going well.” The words were almost a whisper.

 

The doctor patted Dion’s hand firmly to rouse her. “Those are words Dion. What food did they give you?”

 

“The water of life and the bread.” She went quiet for a moment. Her eyes opened wide. “I think they took my clothes.”

 

Barbara was in the waiting room, waiting. She wasn’t family so they wouldn’t tell her what was wrong with this woman, Dion Steward.  But she wasn’t leaving. She was quite afraid the minute she left one of the Coushay folks would come take Dion away.  She was absolutely livid that the police hadn’t arrested the whole lot of them.

 

Barb tossed the magazine she hadn’t been reading back on to the waiting room table.  She pulled her cell phone out and jabbed at the keys.

 

“Pastor Dennis? This is Barb. Are you at church yet?” She had tried calling him three times already but was finally through.

 

“I’m a block away. Why aren’t you there?”

 

“I’m at the hospital. You’ve got to cancel tonight’s Revival. That cult we booked was horrible. One member collapsed at my desk. An ambulance took her here.  I went with. I’m sure the group has abandoned us.  But if they haven’t you can’t let them get at our congregation.”

 

“We don’t use terms like Cult, Barbara.  I’m sure they have a valid expression of existence.  I really appreciate how much they focus on balance myself.” He pulled into his parking spot at the church.

 

“Don’t be naïve Dennis. They were a bunch of half starved scarecrows. The ones that didn’t’ look brain-dead looked like right vultures. They gave me the creeps.”

 

“What did they come here in?” He was walking around his parking lot, wondering if they had abandoned the building altogether, unlocked and unalarmed.

 

“I knew they’d be gone.  They had a big bus.  The leader of the group slipped away as soon as the cops showed up.”

 

“Cops? What on earth were they doing here?”  He checked the back door of the church, it was locked.

 

“I called an ambulance and suggested foul play so the cops came too.  That Director guy bolted right out. I think they were just a cash scheme, pick pockets.”

 

“Oh dear.” Pastor Dennis said. The front door of First Unitarian Church was still open.

 

“What’s the matter?” Barbs voice was tight with anticipation.  She hated to be away at critical times like this.

 

A Bright young woman in a funny outfit, sort of like medical scrubs, was standing placidly in the foyer.

 

“Hello. I’m Reina.” She said smiling calmly at Pastor Dennis.

 

“I’ll have to call you back.” Pastor Dennis hung up his phone.

 

Reina took his hand and shook it, firmly but not mannish.  “So good to finally meet you sir.  Would you have a moment to sit down and discuss the change in plans we are met with this evening?”

 

Pastor Dennis, a mild man nearing retirement was disarmed entirely by the young presence that met him.  It was not a bit what he was expecting. He had the congregation to think of and the ministry fund that paid the Life Center. He needed to regain his composure. 

”Let’s go to my office.” He led her down the hall to his spacious and comfortable suite of rooms.  It was better than the average Unitarian minister’s office as it had been the visiting missionary apartment when the building was a Nazarene church.

 

“Yes, let’s.” She agreed amiably.

 

He gestured her to a seat near his desk and then took his place. He felt much more in charge from behind his large steel desk.  At least two and a half feet of mahogany veneer desk top separated him from this girl.

 

Reina’s directions were clear. She needed to convince the Pastor of this church that by preparing the sanctuary physically and spiritually for the revival event they had fulfilled their contractual obligation.  Like all of Reina’s special assignments this one was simply PR. There was no circumstance under which they would have refunded the event fee. But if was very good if they left him thinking otherwise.

 

“Pastor Dennis,” She began speaking, her hands folded demurely in her lap, eyes unblinking but kind seeming, “the Life Center, and I, truly appreciate the opportunity to serve the Greater Good with you, to participate with you in your revival. Personally, I find it quite refreshing that a broadminded man such as yourself appreciates the need his congregation has to be renewed. This church is certainly blessed in its leadership.”

 

Her words were too smooth and put Pastor Dennis on his guard.  He was ever thankful for the distance from her that his desk was providing him. “We hold semi-annual revivals and have not yet been disappointed.  Many in our church grew up fundamentalist. They find the structure of revival meets an emotional need. This is an important event to us.  As we will open our doors to the congregation in less than and hour, I am concerned about where your staff has…disappeared to.” He spoke as firmly as he was able but could feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. 

 

“Oh pastor! It appears your secretary has done you a disservice.  She seems to have failed to inform you of our recent tragedy.  A key member, surely a beloved sister, has taken suddenly ill. After hours of preparation for the event we have been pulled away for the time being.” She bowed her head respectfully. A little tear rolled down her cheek. Her parents hadn’t believed theatre school would do her any good, but she was frequently thankful for her years of training.

 

“No, my secretary hasn’t failed me.” There was something about this young woman that wasn’t sitting right. He couldn’t’ put his finger on it but she made him nervous.  She was pretty by any taste, very poised and yet so unreal. “My secretary never fails me. She filled me in on the situation as quickly as she could. What I would like to know is how you will be running the revival all by yourself.” He was quite satisfied with how all of that came out. Not at all as tongue tied as he felt.  Barb’s demand that he fire the group flew from is head. On his mind now was only to contradict this Reina and not be overwhelmed.

 

Reina lifted her eyes to the pastor. She sighed heavily and raised her hands in supplication, for a moment.  “Our Life Ministry Center has invested hundreds of man hours into preparing for your event.  There is currently a covering of light over the building, a shower of blessing awaiting each of tonight’s celebrants.” Her eyes shone with what appeared to be heartfelt ardor.  “We have prepared the sanctuary, created a balanced environment where your congregation may immediately find their souls begin to rest.”

 

He shook his head, stupefied by her jargon. “Yes. Well. But what on earth does any of that mean?”

 

“I understand your hesitation to accept new teaching. A wise and discerning man always seeks wisdom.” The light of love slowly faded from her eyes.  She trained every muscle to keep from looking at her watch. 

 

“What I seek to understand is what our 700 dollars paid in advance has gotten us.  We were promised a choir, a speaker, a meditation slide show, and a…” he pulled open his drawer and rifled through the files. He drew out a copy of their contract.  “A spiritual and physical feast for people who appreciate the example of the Christ.  I assumed this resembled a communion table. I see none of that here in my building.”  His voice raised a notch and cracked in his agitation.

 

Reina silently cursed John in marketing. He never had to live up to his hyperbole.

 

“We are pleased in light of our heartache, that we can still offer you the basic revival package.  We know truly that the fewer distractions in a service the better the ability of the true seekers to focus on themselves.  In a show of family love we will not accept any further payment from you. We will consider our services rendered and payment received. We are more than happy to honor this conversation as a verbal contract.  Thank you for choosing to work with the Coushay family Life Ministry Center.” 

 

As Reina spoke she stood up and backed very slowly to the door. She bowed slightly and turned.

 

Pastor Dennis stood with a force that shoved his chair backwards, slamming the wall behind him.

 

“Verbal contract indeed!” He followed her as quickly as he could but walked into the chair.  The contract he had been gripping in his fist scattered as he grabbed for his abused shins. 

 

By the time he had navigated his way through his vast office and down the hall Reina was gone. He went straight to the bank of large glass doors and watched a black Lincoln with tinted windows a no license plate pull out into the road.

 

“Cult members.” He muttered, like an oath.

 

 

 

The Doctor sat down beside Barbara in a private room.

 

“Thank you very much for bringing your friend here. I’m concerned about her, of course. But one of my biggest concerns right now is finding some one responsible for her. As you are our only contact currently I need to tell you that her condition is serious.  I can’t discuss details with you, however.  Can you help us contact her family?”  The doctor had her pen poised on the pad, ready to take down names and numbers.

 

“Frankly doctor, I have no idea.  She’s a stranger to me.  But I feel obliged to help her. She was part of a church group working with me on an event this evening. All of my contact with the group was via email.” Barb knit her brow. She clenched her handbag tightly, knuckles white. 

 

“May I take the email address?  I would be very grateful.  I plan to have my medical assistant hunt nonstop until she finds a relative.” The doctor smiled her most reassuring smile at the tense woman in front of her.

Barb unclenched her fist and opened the purse. She pulled out a palm pilot, old but functional.  She scrolled through her list of contacts. Finding Coushay Group, she passed it to the Doctor.

 

“I am just disgusted with this whole situation. Something felt very off about the group bringing such a sick woman to work an event.  And then, as soon as the ambulance pulled away they were gone. As far as I could tell the police were very unhappy with the statements they took from them.”

 

The doctor returned the palm pilot.  “Thank you very much for the information. I hope that it sends us where we need to go.  I’m very sorry I can’t discuss any details with you. I hope for the patient’s sake we can get some resolution soon.” The doctor attempted to exchange a meaningful glance with Barb. To show her that she also disliked the guidelines that kept Barb from being involved.  They shook hands and parted, Barb back to guarding the waiting room and the Doctor to her MA to set her on the trail of Dion Stewart’s family.

 

 

Dr Gomez was lost in thought. He was sitting on his porch as usual.  The hot sun of late summer was just beginning to set.  No other housing had ever been erected for this barrio. He could still gaze across the wheat fields watching the sun descend for the night, stubs of mountains in the far distant, tops barren of snow.  His garden was beginning to take on the ragged look of summer’s end. Gourds were becoming immense, their vines sprawling out into the small lawn. The lettuce, carefully planted to last all season they had grown tired of and let bolt. 

 

A few years ago now Mario and Timotea replaced the rotten lattice awning.  They installed a long lasting green corrugated awning. She could sit now under it and not worry it would fall to pieces on her head.  It had collected dust and grime over its few years but still filtered a soft greenish light onto the porch.

 

Dr Gomez was still, almost, as he thought. His only motion was the incessant movement of his thumb as he chipped away at the porch rail, where it was most weathered.

 

The Governor had praised him for his untiring work on behalf of the immigrant community.  This was true. He never stopped doing what he could do. And yet under the surface, where he was not in control of himself, his prejudices ran as deeply as those of the white community.  To Dr Gomez there was a clear distinction among men, who had rights, who deserved rights.

 

Dr Gomez made himself picture with vivid clarity the wreck of his ancestral clinic.  The hundreds of thousands of dollars—he wondered for a moment when he had ceased to calculate in pesos—hundreds of thousands of dollars of equipment and facility destroyed.  His face had a grim set to it. The government did not have that right.  That was one right he could not grant.

 

He heard a car drive in the distance. It sounded loud and fast like the car Raul drove.  His stomach turned.  He wished to God he had not allowed Raul to meet with his son.  Of all the things he despised in America the ability of a man like Raul to succeed was the worst.  His necessity of a man like Raul, that was the worst.

 

The Governor had spoken at length. Oh how the man had talked.  He threw around words like ‘rights’ as though they were independent gifts he could hand out to friends.  As though there were no inherent obligations in society.  That would have been enough and indeed, Dr Gomez had tuned much of it out.  Until the governor said specifically “We in Salem cannot thank men like you, Dr Gomez, your son, your friends Raul and Doug Grady, enough for what you do.”  He rested a hand familiarly on Dr Gomez’s back and continued “there are many people who would not feel thankful. They are obliged to you all and yet would offer punishment instead of thanks. I ask you, is that just?  I want to work beside you Dr Gomez, to ensure that justice, clemency if you will, is the profit from your lifetime of service. Not punishment.”

 

During this speech Dr Gomez was sick with fury. The governor could only be saying one thing. Dr Gomez was to give him unreserved support as payment for protection. Dr Estefan Gomez did not pay protection. He had given up his life of success, esteem and power because he abhorred the culture that squeezed protection payment from honest men with nothing to hide.

 

Whether what Governor Mackenzie planned to do for reform was valid or not no longer mattered. Dr Gomez was never going to pay protection.  He flicked one more bit of warn wood from his porch rail and then stood up.  What good is it to be a man if you cannot stand on your own feet in the world?

 

There Was only one thing for a man of integrity to do now.  He anticipated the worst as he determined his course.

 

His wife was sitting in the rocker with a bok, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose.  She was a beauty still. Her dark eyes were bright and framed in thick balck lashes.  Her hair was thick and streaked with steal grey. It was pulled back from her face with a deep red scarf.  He loved her so dearly.

 

He didn’t know what to tell her. She started to smile self consciously. His admiring gaze felt almost like a caress.

 

“Mi querida esposa.” He said, holding his hand out ot her.  “Por favor, put down your book.”

 

She did and let him help her out of the chair.  He wrapped her in his arms, kissed her and leaned his head down on her shoulder.

 

“Estefan.” She held him tightly. What would this crisis of his lead them to?

 

“Querida, I need to go speak with the police.  I need them to know what the governor knows. In this way Governor McKenzie cannot hold us in his power.  Cannot require us to accept him on his terms.” He held her tightly. A lifetime of service was no less a lifetime of lawlessness.  He realized as he held his wife that she would finally be free of this burden he had required her to carry.  He let her go and turned away, leaving her speechless in their small cottage. Speechless but not surprised.

 

Mario called her, “Mama, I need you guys to do me a favor.  Shannon and I are going away tonight. We’ll be gone for a few days, I hate to elave the buiding empty for so long.” Mario couldn’t care less about his building. He wanted his parents far from their home when he met Raul. They needed to remain ignorant of his plans. 

 

“Si, mijo, but…” She hesitated to broach this with her sown, a grown man for some time, “do you think it is wise to be going away with Shannon? She is not a wife to you.” She did not have room in her heart right now for her son to have a crisis.  She wanted to shake him into sense.  To say, “this was not the way you have lived, the way you were raised.”  His father was at that very moment staking his freedom on the policy that integrity was the greater good.  How could Estefan’s son choose this time to go a worldly way.  As she let her thoughts run this direction she grew very angry with him.  Her worries and fears for her men found a vent in Mario.  “This is no time in your life to give way to childishness.” She said warmly. 

 

“No, no mama. You misunderstand. We have an important business event to attend. Her parents, Terry and Jenny Stewart are meeting us here, to travel together.” He spoke half heartedly. He hated lying to his mother.  But he had thought to prepare an excuse; he knew she wouldn’t like this. 

 

“Es verdad?  Bueno. Your father walked into town. But I will leave a note for him to join me at your apartment.” She didn’t believe that this Terry Stewart and his second wife would care if Mario and Shannon behaved like married people. (She hated to even think the word sex.)  But she’d take his word for the moment.  She wondered instead what good a note would do poor Estefan.  If he would be a free man this evening to read the not.

 

Mario checked “Padres” off of his to do list.  Shannon was lying on the sofa, restlessly. She had gone back and forth from her home to his all afternoon. The wait for terry and Jenny was tearing her apart.

 

 

 

 

Martin Hanson sat at the desk of the city offices and pondered the unfixable. Teen drug use in Clovis was out of control. It was no secret in town or at the state level. He was personally sick to death of the explanations—the accusations that as a small town it was the only possible outcome. That the lack or movie theatres, skate parks, the absence of a mall to hand out in somehow made drugs (and sex of course) the only thing kids could do for fun. 

 

Martin looked out the window opposite of his desk.  The sun shone brightly on the streets, hillsides and mountains in the distance.  “What happened to bike riding?” He wondered to himself.  Why didn’t produce a new Lance Armstrong every year. If there wasn’t anything else to do why didn’t these kids ride bikes until there feet fell off? And the hills… could easily remember a time when the hills were swarming with kids.  Kids scrambling to the tops, clamboring over rocks.  Kids getting the thrill of their lives reaching the top.  Why weren’t there any kids on top of the mountains these days?

 

As mayor he had pledged to spend his energy fighting teen drug use in Clovis. It had been his sole campaign promise. Right now no one cared about anything else.

 

The high school Principal, Maureen Richards and Sadie Balks had just been in his office to discuss his progress. A sort of scholastic progress report and detention sentence at the same time.  Seven seniors had failed to graduate this May. Seven out of twenty-three.  It was not acceptable. Absenteeism and failure to do the work was the surface cause.  The cause of Absenteeism and failure to do work seemed to be drugs.  The parents had thrown a fit and blamed the schools. Clovis high school had failed their No Child Left behind report.  They lost two grants that should have funded a new science lab.  Maureen and Sadie were hopeless and angry. 

 

What could he do now?  All of the studies he read seemed to indicate that eliminating one drug would just leave a vacuum to be filled by a new drug.  Last year he had personally seen the burning of three pot farms.  He felt so proud until the kids began to get arrested for heroin use and possesion.  Heroin! Had he caused that by getting rid of the pot? He was sick just thinking of it.

 

Maureen and Sadie demanded on behalf of the school system that he find the source of the heroin supply and eliminate it.  “Thanks. Great idea.” He thought to himself. He pictured boarded up windows of what used to be nice homes, sure that removing an outside drug would turn the kids into meth cookers.  

 

“Ladies, friends. We are in this war together. No one wants to loose a generation of Clovis children to these horrible drugs.  We need to help them…stop wanting drugs. I can hunt  down and arrest every man that sells any kind of drug, yes? But what then? They will drink then and die in car wrecks.  We need to fix the kids.  Not just the drugs.”

 

“Don’t be naïve.” Maureen had ridiculed him. Clearly his having parented two boys to adulthood meant nothing. “Get rid of this dangerous and horrible drug. That’s your job. Leave training the kids to us. You get the drugs out of the way and we will get them through school.”

 

He slowed down in his speaking, not to aggravate her but to ensure he made his case correctly.  “Maureen, we need to work together. To be a team.  The school—Maureen and Sadie and all of the staff are not independent from the town. I am dedicated to eradicating drug use in our community.  But you have a good point. My area of authority is limited as a deputy. I can arrest users and dealers.  I can even search for and arrest users and dealers.  But as Mayor I have further obligation to the community.  I am a policy maker and a role model. It is as much my job to inform the community as it is yours to teach the children.  It is very important that we work together to retrain our town about abstinence from drugs.”

 

“Just say no, eh? What a brilliant and new thought.  So glad you invented it. Kids will be kids Martin. You can’t stop experimentation. I vastly prefer the children doing their experimenting with alcohol, myself.” She hefted a file folder onto his desk and stormed out. Her idea of team work.  

 

Sadie lingered in his office. “I’m not a parent.”

 

“No, but you are an educator.” Martin opened the file and leafed through the sundry articles studies Maureen intended as her contribution to fighting drug use.

 

“I am an educator and I understand kids. And I intend to run for the city council.” 

 

“I heard. I think it is a great idea.”  Martin shut the folder and gave his attention to Sadie.

 

“Martin, I believe in teamwork. I believe in teaching kids not to do drugs.  How did we stay off of drugs? Our parents set an absolute standard that it would not be tolerated. Our schools set an absolute standard—no decent citizen would ever use drugs. That included underage drinking. Only the lowlifes and fast kids drank.  And no one did drugs.  We can return to that.  But Martin, it takes more than the police, the schools, the Mayor. It takes the whole town. Everyone has to just say no.  I—well, right now I don’t have any sway. But I wanted to let you know that I plan to work with you. That you have the right idea.” It was an early campaign speech.  She hadn’t intended it but she felt so strongly; she so passionately wanted to change society.

 

“Thank you Sadie. You already had my support as a friend. But I would be proud to support your campaign, as Mayor.” Martin stood up and shook her hand. It would be nice to have someone on the council who actually wanted to do something with this town.

 

And now he was alone at his desk. The folder was shut again.  The school didn’t have  the budget to book a big city motivational speaker, no matter how successful the results of said assemblies were. Any number of pastors in town and near town had offered to come speak, the notes were in the folder. But Maureen had rejected them all. Not one Pastor would agree to her stipulation that under no circumstance could they speak of anything religious. Martin was irritated beyond belief that Maureen would reject free help because they refused to let their personal conversation time be censured.  He was equally irritated that the Pastors wouldn’t put aside the need to evangelize for even a two hour period on the school grounds.  No one would budge, no one would compromise. 

 

“What I need now,” he said aloud to himself, “Is one big win. One big catch like those pot farms to make the town excited again. Something to show everyone we can win this.”

 

Dr. Gomez straightened his jacket and stood, shoulders squared in pride as he opened the door to the city offices.  Doing this was the only option, no matter what the outcome.

 

“Good afternoon, Dr. Gomez.”  Martin didn’t look up from his papers. Probably Gomez was in on town business.

 

“Good afternoon, sir. I would like to…turn myself in.” Feeling the pressure of crisis rise in his chest, English words seemed to escape Dr. Gomez.

 

Martin looked up at the Doctor.  He fixed his gaze on the man’s face.  As much as Dr. Gomez had surely been involved in illegal activity through many years, he was the last man Martin would hope to arrest.

 

“Have a seat.” He said gruffly, waving his hand towards the chair in front of the desk.

 

Dr. Gomez did not sit, but squared his shoulders. He was over seventy years old now, a man of great dignity.  “I have realized over the last few days that what I have done with my life is criminal.  I have been…treating patients…though I have no license to practice medicine. I have been…receiving medicine brought to the country illegally.  For many, many years I have done this.  There is a man who supplies me with the medicines I request. Mostly he just brings me codeine tablets from Canada.  But he also sells me other medicines, the same as from the grocery store but cheaper. I have always known that there were stolen.”  He stopped and looked at the Mayor and deputy. What he had to say next brought him great shame. It was like a physical weight on his shoulders. He wanted to sit down, but would not do it.  He would stand like a man. 

 

“Other drugs, my associate also brings here.  They are dangerous.  There was a time, when I had many patients whose health seemed too precarious, that I used his illegal drugs. These came, I think, from Central America.  I did not give them to patients for a long time, because it was not good medicine.  But now I have told you.  For more than thirty years I have been purchasing stolen goods, practicing medicine without a license, and doing business with a drug smuggler.”

 

“I really wish you hadn’t just done that.”  Martin sighed and pulled out a new notebook. “But I think we can handle this…creatively.”  Martin assessed the man in front of him.  He was slight of stature and had silver hair.  He was wearing slacks and a shirt and tie.  One would think he had dressed for his confession except that this was the way he always looked in town. 

“Tell me about practicing medicine.”  Martin set to take notes.  “And for the love of God, sit down.”

 

Dr. Gomez sat down this time, relieved but  not relaxing his posture.  “My friends and the friends of my friends come to my home. They meet me on my back porch. They explain to me what they are feeling and I help them…understand what medicines they need to take.”

 

“You give them Codeine? And what else?” 

 

“Whatever they need. I keep as much as I can on hand. I treat their skin conditions and injuries. I give them medicine if it sounds like allergies, and they can come back and get more from me.” 

 

“How much money do you make doing this?”  Martin was forming an idea.  He was eager to solve the drug problem in town.  Dr. Gomez’s codeine stand wasn’t going to solve anything. But his supplier might.

 

Dr. Gomez eyes flashed in anger. “I make no money doing this.  There are some days that I find a small amount of money on my porch. It is never marked. I have spent none of it.  There is a box of such money—much of it in pesos—in my home.  I do not spend it or invest it.  It equals, perhaps, one hundred dollars over the last thirty years.”

 

“Let me paraphrase what you are saying, then, Dr. Gomez.  Your friends and sometimes people you haven’t met yet, come see you.  If they are sick you offer them something to make them better. I gave my mother-in-law and aspirin last week when she had a headache.  It seems you do the same thing.” 

 

“Si, this is true. However, I have purchased and given out illegal drugs.”

 

“Besides the codeine? What have you purchased or given to others?”

 

“It is true that I need to tell you this information. But I think that I need to ask a favor in return.”

 

“I can’t give you a favor, Dr. Gomez, if you have been dealing or buying drugs.”

 

“No, a favor is not the right word then.”  Dr. Gomez sat back in his chair, apparently trying to think out what he wanted to say.

 

“Tell met his, while you are thinking.  What makes you come here today, after thirty years, to tell me this?”  Martin wasn’t exercising idle curiosity. Dr. Gomez was after something and having a hard time expressing it.

 

“It came to my attention recently that my activities were known by people of authority. It was also made known to me that I would soon be punished for what I have been doing—myself and all of my family and friends—if I did not give my support to a certain political party.”

 

Martin laughed, quite excited. “You’re being blackmailed! That is priceless. Who on earth would blackmail Clovis’ most generous and tireless benefactor? It’s preposterous.”

 

“Blackmailed? Yes. This is the word.  I must turn myself in for my crimes so that this man will not hold the power over me any longer.  My family and friends have been threatened as well. They know nothing of what I do. Even my wife does not understand what kind of medicine I am giving.  That is, had given in the past.  A life in the fields is not easy and many people need help.  I do what I can but it has nothing to do with Mr. Grady or the rest of the farm crew. Or my son.”

 

“Does it surprise you to know that most everybody already knows? How do I put this…for a long time you were invisible. But when the restaurant opened, people wanted to know who Mario was, where he was from.  And we all found out that you are a brilliant doctor. That you translated your skills to farm work. Most everyone knows in town that something goes on at your house—that somehow you have managed to help people when they are sick.”

 

Martin thought for a moment about what to say next. He decided to be completely honest. “A lot of folks don’t like what you do, because you help people that they figure are illegal.  On the other hand a lot of people are real grateful to you because you resolve a problem so they don’t have to think about it.”    

 

 Dr. Gomez remained silent. He was surprised that his work was known among the white community.

 

“Now, tell me the worst of what drugs have you bought and when. Do you know if the people who come to you are legal? Who supplies you with drugs?” Martin was back to business, pen poised again.

 

“About twenty years ago I gave cocaine to patients who were in very serious pain and could not be convinced to seek a hospital for help.  I did this over the summer and for only three patients.  I made one purchase to supply what seemed to be a need. But I immediately and earnestly regretted it. It did not help them and for one man created a far worse trouble.  I do not ask people how they came here, only how I can help them. I have some information regarding my source of medicine.  But I need some assurance before I give the information to you.”

 

“Yes. You do.  First, there is no physical evidence remaining of the cocaine purchase made so long ago. Second, as long as all you have currently in your home to dispense–apart from the codeine pain relievers—are legally sold over the counter, we do not have to call what you do practicing medicine.  But the issue at hand, the way what you are doing today can really help us, is the information regarding your supplier. If you are willing to help us take him into custody you will have traded valuable information in for your freedom.” 

 

His freedom.  Images rose in his mind. A small cottage in the barrio where his silver haired wife waited for him anxiously. A long bus ride from the southernmost point of North American with a small boy. The ashes of his ancestral legacy lying under the jungle rot while his freedom was sold to the newest governor of Chiapas.

 

“Yes. This is all I ask. I came here today to retain my freedom to choose to whom I give my allegiance. I will not pay protection.”

 

Martin and Estefan discussed in detail the description of Raul and his associate. Of the car. Of the length of time between his stops in Clovis.  Of the length of his stay in Clovis. 

 

They also discussed the legal repercussions of turning evidence and whether Estefan felt he would be safe after turning Raul in.

 

“So long as we quickly take him into custody, I believe I will be safe.”  He knew that Raul was a dangerous man with dangerous connections. But he also had reason to believe that Clovis was a side trip for Raul, not under anyone else’s authority. He did not know if he would be safe. 

 

Estefan and Timotea met on the sidewalk in front of Mario’s .  He had not expected to see her there. She had not known whether to expect him again at all.

 

Mayor Hanson made a few calls and troopers in three states were put on specific alert for Raul. He was expected to cross into Canada sometime that week.  The Mounties and the Feds were equally eager to stop him. To make their mark in the world’s crisis of terror.  This catch could make the national news. 

 

After a long day of waiting Shannon was ready to drive off.  Jenny gave her a big hug and patted her back. Not with any particular affection but it was the right thing to do.

 

Terry leaned against his Suburban, thumbs hooked through two belt loops.  Mario was looking at a map as they discussed their plan. 

 

“The way I see it, we will cross the border at night. I don’t expect any diffuculty with it.  There’s not station there.  We brought the Suburban rather than the rig.  No point in unnecessary fuss.  We don’t need any explanations this way. Just a family on vacation. We’ve got California plates, even if someone stops us we can explain we didn’t even know the border was there.  Couldn’t be easier.” Terry was disappointed that Raul was having a part in their affair. He preferred to be the one in charge. 

 

“Very good plan. We should be into Alberta tomorrow sometime after dinner.  We should stop for supper before we cross. We don’t want unnecessary delay once we are in Canada.”  Mario checked his watch.  Raul was not late yet. Everyone was on edge. Mario knew it was his job to keep everyone calm. He was used to being looked to for emotional support. He also knew that much of the stress was coming from their wait.  Jenny had pointed out that they could leave without Raul. They had Terry, after all.

 

But the black ZX stopped in front of the casita. No one got out. It had tinted windows and wheels that spun when the car was no longer driving.  Jenny stared, her mouth open. This was not a family vacation car. This was not a car that blends in easily. In fact, if you were imagining a car for a Mexican drug dealer, this was it. 

 

Mario walked to the car, and the driver’s window went down. They held an extensive discussion in Spanish.  Mario rejoined Terry at the suburban.

 

“We are to follow him, with one car between us until we reach Montanta. He will pull into a rest stop and wait five minutes. If we do not join him, he will keep going with his plans and not wait for us.  He will lead us to the border of Alberta, stopping once more to meet with us.  When we cross through he will get us to Calgary.  If we want an escort home he will wait on Thursday at 6 pm at a location to be determined. He will wait ten minutes and then leave.  I believe we can trust him to get us safely into the country and to take us into town. I think that his help will be valuable. He has contacts and experience that we do not have. Are we all ready?” 

 

Terry turned away silently. He went around the car and opened the door for Jenny.  She climbed in, shaking her head.

 

Shannon looked at Mario with despair in her eyes. She would give anything to take a third car.  Anything. 

 

Mario made another trip to the ZX.  They exchanged a few words. Mario walked back shaking his head.  Shannon let herself into the back of the Suburban.

 

Mario loaded the cooler and two bags into the back of the Suburban. He climbed in beside Shannon.

 

Shannon reached across the bench for his hand. He grasped her hand and squeezed it.  The ZX sped out of the barrio. Despite his desire to race, Terry followed slowly.

 

“So Shan, do you need anything back there? We have some cookies, and some soda.”  Jenny offered her hospitality to break the silence.

 

Shannon shook her head. This woman was unreal. She managed a terse, “I’m fine,” in response.

 

They made it to the highway fine.  The night had grown completely dark and the roads were nearly empty.  The drove in silence.  Shannon rested her head on the window and let herself try to sleep.  Jenny snored softly in the front, her read resting on a neck pillow.

 

Mario prayed.