Part Two (2)

Maria walks away, she goes to Miguel…holding her head in her hand she complains: "These stupid men, the music, jefe, I am feeling not too good, can I leave a little early tonight?" Miguel nods, in reality he's glad to be rid of her for the night. He quickly counts out her earnings for the night and pays her.

Cecilia brushes past Maria and walks up to her boss…she asks him if she can leave early. "You too"; he asks while looking out at the thinning crowd. "Me too"; she asks, a little confused. Without much thought, Miguel answers in a tired or bored voice: "Si, you can go too." Not even looking in her direction, he counts out some money and says: "Here, this is your share for the night." Taking her money, she goes to the back room, again passing Maria who is dressed and leaves without a word.

Her first step out of the club hit Cecilia hard, she was leaving everything she knew behind. Even though a lot of that was bad, even though she wanted to leave for so long, she was leaving it all behind. "The devil you know…"; she quotes in an anxious whisper to herself.

Within a few more steps, terror strikes deep within her in her heart. "What am I doing"; she yelled in her head: "Am I crazy, stupid to do this and trust these strangers?" Conflicting thoughts and feelings rushed through her head and heart as she walked down the Calle Elias through a darkened passage between the two clubs to the Avenida Ruiz Cortinez.

Mariachi bands separated by taco carts played along the outer edge of the street. Young children yelled and screamed and ran and played in the open spaces, but Cecilia heard and saw none of it as she walked along the edge on the cracked and broken street. As smoke and steam floated towards ancient and forgotten pagan gods from the carts, she didn't smell the sacrificed beef, onions and chilies or notice the closed shops and parked taxis.

Confused and lost in thoughts and self-doubt she crosses down another street and takes a shortcut through a dark, lonely alley. BOOM! A flash of light, an incredible, sharp pain and complete utter darkness, stillness, lifelessness. Cecilia is hit in the head by some heavy, blunt object. She collapses on the dirty, hard stone pavement of this nameless alley. No one passes and no one sees as a dark figure masked in the shadows of a moonless night bends over to steal her purse.

Maria grabs the purse and quickly walks to the mortuary. She hurries across some unguarded railroad tracks and dashes across crowded intersections and sidewalks to the funeral parlor on Hidalgo. A little nervous, she pauses before knocking on the door.

Back at la Boom Boom, the young girl from some ranch further south finishes the drink a customer bought her. She walks up the stairs to her stage with a crooked little smile and strips to the disco music. Naked, she gyrates and then twirls around a dirty brass pole with three men watching her.

Parked in front of the club, in an old car with the engine running and Mexican 'banda' music playing on his radio, a man with dirty, uncombed hair and hungry eyes watches as Antonia walks out the door and up the street. He licks his lips as she passes from his view and whispers: "Aye, mamacita!" He waits, but he will never see Maria again!

Mockingly, she spreads out her hands and arms, questionably scrunching her face in a self-doubting gesture…Maria asks herself what she has to be afraid of. "There is no good, no evil, no God, no devil"; she tells herself: "There is only here and now, and this might just be my only chance!" Taking a deep breath, she knocks…

"Señorita"; a poor, old Indian woman with a leathery, well-worn face and long gray, braided hair whispers softly: "Señorita." Another flash of lights, another sharp pain as Cecilia wakes up from the dark, still, lifelessness on the dirty, hard, stone pavement in the nameless alley. A crowd gathered and surrounded the Indian woman and her. Some of the men, a few, laugh and smile and some of the women whisper excitedly, one faceless gossip even calls her a 'puta (whore).' But Cecilia grabs at her bloody, throbbing head in pain and hears nothing…in a panic, she searches for her purse!

"My money"; she blurts out without a thought: "My money…" "My money"; she laments sadly, and then she starts to cry. The old Indian woman calls out and her grand daughter steps out of the crowd, she whispers in an old, forgotten Mayan dialect and the little girl pulls a fifty peso bill from her dirty, ragged clothes and hands it to Cecilia. Before she can refuse, the Indian woman pats her on the arm and tells her: "you'll be okay mija, have faith." Wiping her tears, Cecilia looks back and the woman and child are gone…the crowd watches as she starts to push herself up.

"Si"; an old man answers the door to the mortuary. "I, I, I, I am Mari…um, er, I am Celi…I, I, I mean I am supposed to be Priscilla, I am a friend of Juan's"; she blurts out nervously. "I know who you are"; the old undertaker says with an unseen, knowing smile. The hairs on the back of Maria's neck stand-up, she gets goose bumps as she steps inside.

The door closes behind Maria and the man asks: "And the money, did you bring the money?" At first she considers lying, maybe she could get away with saying that Juan had the money, yes, that she had paid the money to the man at the bar, directly to the coyote. "They've probably done this before, maybe they do this often, I don't want to do anything stupid."

Opening the purse, Maria doesn't find but the few dollars Cecilia earned earlier that night. Spilling out the contents on a table doesn't help either. She starts to try to explain, she can't say anything as she opens her mouth, she's afraid as she remembers the stories of some coyote killing a whole family when they didn't pay their fee. "Here"; the old man offers, taking the purse in his hands, he rips it open and finds about five thousand dollars. He counts out the five hundred due and hands her the rest. Grinning, he tells her: "Paid in full!" Maria watches in shock, she says nothing as he leads her to the back room.

A corpse lays on the table, it's a woman, "a gringa": Maria thinks: "Nice to meet you Priscilla." The casket is on a kind of dolly/stand…it's a beautiful bronze box. "Her family must have spent a lot of money on it"; she thinks smugly: "What a waste!" The old man helps her, and in a few minutes…Maria is in the coffin. "Are you comfortable"; the old man asks. Maria nods her head; a little surprised how comfortable a casket can be. She pulls on the silk cloth and slams shut the lid with a loud thud and two distinct 'clicks.'

The old man shrugs his shoulders and goes upstairs to get a few hours sleep before the Americans come to take the casket across the border. Maria smiles remembering the words Juan uttered: "They never check." She smiles, thinking: "Stupid, lazy Americans." She falls asleep in the quiet comfortable darkness.

Upstairs, the undertaker puts the five hundred American dollars in an earthen jar covered in strange, ancient symbols. He murmurs some equally strange and ancient words, a kind of prayer or incantation. In the quiet, comfortable darkness of her coffin, Maria snores loudly.

Cecilia gets up off the ground and wipes herself off…the crowd begins to disperse. Slowly, with a sunken heart, she makes her way back to her apartment. Climbing the stairs and feeling defeated in her dreams and goals and aspirations, she looks out at 'la linea' and lets out a sad sigh. She opens her door and steps inside.

Stripping naked, she steps into her shower and starts to wash the dirt and her own pain away. The hot water stings her head at first, washing away the stagnant water from the puddle she fell in, washing away the scum from the street, the gas and oil, the grit and grime, clumps of mud and a half dried up scab of blood. She looks down at her feet and watches it all rinse down the drain before she feels her heart break at the thought that her chance, her one chance, maybe her only chance ever…washed down the drain as well.

For no reason that she can explain, she starts crying out: "I can't go back, I can't go back, I won't go back!" The hot water comforts her as she suddenly realizes how her whole life, ever since she first gave herself to that first man, ever since she started selling herself was so wrong. She thinks about her mother and how hurt she would be, Cecilia remembers her father and how he stood for something right and decent and good. Still crying, she whispers to him: "I am sorry papi."

She dries herself off gently; she dons an extra-large tee shirt. She cries and apologizes to her mother: "I am sorry mami." An exhausted young woman collapses on her bed and cries herself to sleep.

Having driven about two hundred miles, Thomas pulls into the parking lot of a well-lit, very large McDonald's. He walks inside and orders a cheeseburger and a rich, steamy, fragrant cup of coffee. Sitting at a large window that overlooks the border, he adds cream to the hot brew. He eats the burger and sips his coffee slowly, looking out across the morning darkness and across la linea, the border.

Thomas has come to deliver some food to a church called Santiago (Saint James), a run he made once a month for the past three years. It was his personal way to help the poor. Father Carlos, the pastor had become a friend over all this time and sometimes the American and the priest would even travel further south and help people living in cardboard shacks in the worst poverty either man had ever seen.

In the soft, comfortable darkness, deep in the shallow box…Maria starts to feel something pull at her. Hard to explain at first…Maria would pull back, still comfortable, still half asleep, still smiling. Then in the quiet darkness, her eyes opened very wide, in the comfortable darkness she felt them pull and tug, in the shallow box, Maria felt herself fall! She screams in the soft, quiet darkness, but no one hears her!

Careful, the old man told the men taking the coffin into their hearse. Shaking his head, smiling, he says: "You Americans, so impatient!" "Yeah, impatient"; one man agrees, bragging: "Got a hot date tonight!" The old man looks at the casket and laughs: "Hot date, me too!" They all laugh and the funeral director from Phoenix offers the old man some money. "Gracias"; the Mexican undertaker says with a nod. The Americans drive towards the north, towards la linea, towards the United States.

Maria feels the movement, she feels herself being dragged and pulled and carried and she screams and screams and screams in the soft, quiet darkness and she screams again! The darkness surrounds her, encircles her, it forces its way into her every pour, it stabs into her eyes, the darkness starts to consume her! It gets hot, she starts to sweat…she bastes in her own juices like a pig on a spit in a small oven!

"Odd"; Thomas thinks as he drives across into Mexico and passes the hearse in another lane on it's way out of Mexico. He never thought about an American dying in another country. A young American Customs officer stops the hearse and makes the driver pull over to be inspected. The young man in the smartly starched uniform has the men get out of the car. "Do you have some papers for this corpse"; he asks. "Sure"; the driver answers, handing the inspector several sheets stapled and stamped, signed and sworn to. "I'll have to open the coffin"; the inspector offers. The men look at each other, a little confused.

"Whoa"; an old man with white, gray hair and a matching moustache yells across the lanes at the border checkpoint. Hurrying, he crosses several lanes of traffic and steps up to the young Customs inspector just as he opens the door to the hearse. "What are you up to son"; he asks. "Have to check the coffin"; the inspector answers. "No, no, no you don't"; the older man says, shaking his head. "No"; the young man asks his supervisor. "No"; the old man affirms: "These coffins…well, son, they are special and part of the regulations."

Grabbing the papers the men handing the younger inspector earlier, he asks: "See son?" "See these papers, the regulations, the code etched right here on the top right hand side of the box?" "Yes sir"; the young man responds. "Well, that means this here box just ain't getting' opened by you, me, maybe not even God"; the old man explains: "These things seal shut, hermetically and all you need to do is check the seal…mmmppphhhhhhhh…there, see, shut nice and tight!" The young inspector smiles and nods, he slaps a glossy yellow and black U.S. Customs form 2231 sticker on the coffin.

"Sorry son, had to save you from trying to open that"; the old man apologizes: "You'd have looked like a jackass!" He laughs and hands the papers back to the driver and the Americans get back in the hearse and drive up to Phoenix where a husband named Ryan and two children, Carolyn and Michael are getting ready for a Mass and cemetery service for Priscilla.

Maria kicks and screams and rips the satin material and scratches at the metal box. The shallow, comfortable, dark, quiet coffin…her coffin, closes in on her, silently punishing her as she rides towards a place called Phoenix, Arizona. One of the Americans falls asleep on the comfortable ride along the dark, quiet, solemn highway to the church and the family. In a panic, frantically trying to dig her way out, Maria tears the nails from her fingers and the skin from her bones as she goes mad, drowning in the darkness of her shallow metal box.

Thomas pulls his car onto a dirt lot next to an old church, a sign in front says: 'La Iglesia Santiago (the Church of Saint James).' A poor, old Indian woman with a leathery, well-worn face and long gray, braided hair sitting up against the church wall with her grandchild watch him park. He pauses when he sees them, he doesn't want to kick up too much dust. The old woman smiles, the dirty young girl in well worn, ripped clothes excitedly asks a question…the old woman smiles more and nods her head to say 'yes.'

Thomas gets out of his car and smiles at the pair. He feels something pull at his heart, there is something 'familiar' about these two he thinks, even though he can not explain it, even though he never saw them before. Reaching into his car, he pulls a doll out of a bag and takes it to the little girl. "Bonita (beautiful)"; he says, handing the doll to the thrilled little girl. "Gracias Señor"; she says with a delighted grin and eager look at her grandmother. "De nada"; he answers, a little confused by this unexplainable and overwhelming flood of emotions.

The American man walks onto the church grounds and up some stairs to the rectory. He knocks on the old wooden doors and is a little surprised as an old man answers the door. "Thomas"; the old man almost shouts with glee: "Father has told me so much about you!" "Is he here"; the American asks: "Father Carlos, is he here?" "Oh yes my son, he is here…he will be right here"; the old man gushes and then leaves Thomas in the waiting room.

"Thomas"; Father Carlos says as he comes down the other hall, I didn't hear you come in. "Oh, the old man…he let me in"; the American explains: "Is he new here?" "Yes, he is…he came here about a week ago"; the priest answers: "He is from the mountains, from the Indian village we visited last month." He explains: "I thought we might be able to take him back with us on this trip." "Okay…"; Thomas asks: "Can we put away some of the stuff I brought?" "Yes, let us do that, then let me make you something to eat"; Carlos responds enthusiastically.

In a simple kitchen, on a wooden table, Fr. Carlos puts out some plates with some meat and hot corn tortillas before his American friend, the old Indian man and his own seat. The old man smiles at the priest when the gringo grabs at some very hot chilies and puts them in his tacos. Carlos makes his own taco and folds in a single chili himself. "Oh, I am sorry"; the priest apologizes: "I forgot to get us something to drink." He gets up and brings a pitcher of ice water and some paper cups to the table.

The three men hungrily devour their meal and then talk about the village that the old man comes from. He describes it more as his ancestral home than his home, but he does speak of it with love, something Thomas really admires. The old Indian asks the American about his home, about this place called 'Phoenix.' He asks about his house, about his work, he even asks about his family and heritage. Carlos is a little embarrassed at first, but the men seem to get along so well…the priest clears the table and comes back with three cigars. 'Cubans'; Thomas says with a satisfied grin: 'So this is what you do with the collection money, huh?' 'You know we are a poor parish'; Carlos complains: 'But, for special occasions and for special friends, well, a friend gave these to me…and these are not Cubans my friend, these are better!' They both laugh at the boast and Thomas answers: "Well, we'll just have to see about that!"

In the small, cramp, humid quarters, the air is eaten away and very thin, making it hard to breath. Maria coughs. The more she panics, the more she coughs and chokes and gags…and the more she panics and sweats and the harder it gets to breath and to think as a hearse makes its way to a corner market to get some soda for the thirsty passengers.

Soaking in her own wet fear, her clothes drenched in the horrific realization that she stole her way to an early grave…she feels the long car of death slow and pull off the freeway, they turn and pull onto the driveway, she bounces as they drive over the gravel lot and stop! Her bloody and mangled hands desperately bang against the bloody metal lid of her casket, but Maria doesn't have much strength left and no-one hears her faint pounding as they get back into the car and drive back up on the freeway. Closing her eyes, Maria starts to feel very tired, very tired and very weak.

"I am sorry mami, I am sorry mami, I am sorry"; Cecilia screams as she wakes up drenched in her own sweat from a dream, from the fear that her mother watches, that her father knows. She's their little girl again when she wakes up, and they are near…she knows they are, she feels their presence. "It's silly"; she tries to tell herself: "Indian superstitions…" The ancients had their beliefs and even as Catholic as her parents were, they still believed. Sometimes, if you really needed them, sometimes old spirits came back, sometimes they would come back and protect the ones they loved…sometimes they would come back to punish the wicked.

She was raped, she was forced, she had nothing, but down deep…Cecilia always felt her own torment for how she lived and what she did. Deep down, Cecilia knew it wasn't right to have sex for money. "That's why this happened"; she scolded herself in bed: "That's why I am being punished…for being dirty and evil." She slowly crawls into a fetal position and sobs quietly into her pillow, whispering: "I am so sorry mami, I am so sorry papi…so sorry."

Cecilia gets up from her sweat soaked bed, the polyester sheets stick to her skin…one dropping only as she walked over a bare wood floor into her bathroom. Turning a faucet, she releases a lukewarm stream of cloudy water. Scooping-up the water in her trembling hands…she tries to wash away the tears, the sweat, the depression and the worry. She tries to wash away the regrets and fears. She stares at her tear stained face in a cracked mirror above the sink and resolves to go to the one place, her secret place where she goes from time to time, the place where she felt closest to her mother and father. She gets dressed and walks up one street to another; she turns right and left and passes some boys playing soccer in an empty field.

The old Indian woman and her granddaughter watch from the church parking lot as Cecilia makes her way to the old church. The woman smiles, the little girl squeezes her grandmother's hand and asks: "why is she so sad?" Her grandmother, still smiling answers: "because she doesn't know yet, mija." The little girl squeezes harder and smiles at Cecilia too.

Thomas turns off the highway, a highway, well…a paved road and drives west down one dirt road to a kind-of trail to a place that seems ancient. Mostly people stay in their dwelling places, but there is a chapel, a small place where Father Carlos offers the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. About thirty people attend, all native Indian, all stoic and serious Mayan descendents. Thomas unloads boxes of food and medicine during the Mass with the help of the old Indian man.

After they finish, the old man shakes his hand and says: "It has been an honor and a pleasure to meet you Thomas." "I thought you were coming back with us"; the American says: "back to Nogales with Father Carlos and me…" The old man, the same man from the funeral parlor on Hildalgo, the husband of a poor, old Indian woman with a leathery, well-worn face and long gray, braided hair and grandfather of a two or three year old child pulls Thomas in for a close, tight, oddly familiar hug. In a voice shaking with emotion, the Indian tells his new friend: "Mijo, I will not see you for a very long time, but when I do you will understand and know everything."

Feeling uncomfortable, Thomas pulls away and stares at this strange man who just said something so cryptic that he knew he would never decipher it. The American closed his eyes for a second, not more than a blink and yet the Indian man was gone. Thomas looked around as a cold, bone penetrating wind blew through him and passed through the chapel, down a trail, then a path and a highway and back into Saint Anthony's in Nogales where a husband hugged his wife and whispered in her ear: "He is a good man." The distinguished pastor at Saint Mary Madelines' finishes blessing Priscilla's casket with sacred incense and holy water and then, he raises his right hand…making a sign of the cross. In ancient Latin, the priest sings out in Gregorian chant the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. As the priest and congregation join in singing out 'Amen.' Under the serious and watchful eyes of scores of waxen statues of angels and saints, Maria struggles to breathe her final breathsin painful gasps. Lying in her coffin, she hears them, she actually hears the singing out of 'Amen!' Too weak to speak and too broken to move, she lies in a pool of her own blood, sweat and urine apathetically she accepts that this is her miserable fate.

In the old church named for Saint Anthony, the statues of angels and saints, their pious heads tilted sadly…look out at the young girl sobbing in the front row of folding chairs before the candles and flowers and marble communion rails, before the altar of her God and under the cross of her Christ. Years of burning incense and candle wax still hang in the air as the old woman, her husband and their granddaughter approach the broken-hearted girl begging the unseen forces of her deity to take her from this miserable life in this wretched place.

Cecilia cries out to her mother and father and the old Indian couple pause. Their granddaughter looks up and sees the old woman's worried face. "What is it abuela, why are you so sad"; the young child asks innocently as they take a place directly behind the sad girl in the chair before them. The old woman and old man put their unfelt hands on Cecilia's shoulder…the granddaughter's unheard questions hangs in the air with the burnt incense and spent candle wax. The child's unseen hand touches Cecilia's back and slowly, very slowly, the tears fade and she falls asleep in the church, collapsing on the floor.

Mourning his wife's passing and holding his children, Ryan McGhee slowly leaves his seat and makes his way out of the pew. Tearfully, the family takes it's place behind the priest, the altar boys and the pall bearers. Sadly, they form a procession and roll the casket out of the church. The children, Carolyn and Michael…heads lowered, hold their father's hand tightly as they walk towards the front exit and the awaiting hearse.

In a brief moment of fear, Maria, somewhere between near death and insanity starts to plea with a God she has never known or needed. An excruciatingly painful cough brings up a hot, acidic mix of saliva, blood and bile that washes over her left cheek only to dry into a hard and ugly scab on her face and in her hair. Her life, all that she has done, all those she has ever known, everything that she has been flashes past her eyes! She wants to close her eyes and mind, she doesn't want to watch, she cringes as she feels all the pain she has caused…but her sockets, her eye sockets are so dry that she can not even blink! There is no comfort in the dark, no escape from what her life has been, from her mistakes, there is no way to run from her sins!

About two hundred miles to the south, Cecilia starts to open her moist, beautiful eyes. The old Indian woman, the old man and their granddaughter surround and tenderly hold her…but the old couple are not so old, not so rough looking _ the child not so ragged. In her eyes, with the light from an open window shining in…they are blanketed in white and radiant and there is something so familiar in their loving smiles. Cecilia blinks hard, she shakes her head and looks at all three again…she is very weak and whispers: 'Mami, papi'; only to pass out again.

After driving past the home where Priscilla was so loved, the black hearse drives up one street and down another followed by another black car filled with the flowers from the funeral parlour, then the limosine with Ryan, Carolyn and Michael and several other cars. Motorcycles rush by as they block of street after street as the procession snakes its way through Phoenix to a green, lush, well-maintained Catholic cemetery. The cars slowly turn into the driveway, through the gate and past sections 23 and 24. The hearse stops, all the cars stop…the pall bearers get out and pull the coffin from the back of the hearse and they carry Maria to her grave. The pastor says some kind words about Priscilla.

Maria hears herself laugh at her customers. She hears herself yell at the men to hurry up. She hears herself yell at the other girls and make their lives miserable. "Aren't you a real man"; her own voice screams in the darkness as she humiliated yet another man. "From ashes to ashes and dust to dust"; the priest says solemnly.

With her own voice screaming in her own dark world and raising her own demons to torment her, Maria doesn't hear the final blessing. She doesn't know about Priscilla's husband and how he bends down to kiss the casket…yet suddenly his pain and loss and that of the children she never knew stabs her deep in her shriveled, dying heart, the pain stabs her own dark soul. "You're dreaming if you think you'll ever get your money back…"; she once told a good man who made the mistake of trusting her, the phrase echoes over and over again in her mind: "You're dreaming if you think you'll ever get your money back!" The pain that man went through, the pain and humiliation of being homeless…it to joined the pain of Ryan, the children and all the others: "You're dreaming if you think you'll ever get your money back!"

The gathered take turns dropping rose petals on the casket, one by one…they leave yet Maria is not alone as all the things she said bring countless demons to terrorize her. The memories and demons cut and stab and tear at her mind and soul! They push her beyond sanity and bring her back relentlessly. The hearse pulls away, all the cars drive away. Two men come, cemetery workers, and they lower the coffin into its earthen grave.

Lowered to the bottom, the box stops moving and mercifully the voices and visions stop. The demons are gone, finally leaving Maria alone. Dirt falls and covers her grave, she hears it, she knows what it is…but just this side of insane, she thinks: 'Stupid Americans, I made it!' Just then, her tongue swells and in one denied breath, her life ends.

The priest and his American friend return from their mission and pull into the familiar parking lot in Nogales. Thomas turns and says: "I'll be right up, I want to go into the church and just kind of say hi to God." Carlos smiles and nods his head: "Then I will see you there in a few minutes, I think maybe that I need to say 'hola' to God too."

The big American walks over the gravel, up the steps and into the church. He pauses at a side altar and says a prayer before a statue of Saint Anthony that is surrounded by candles. The people of the parish believe that this statue is very special so every candle is lit, representing a prayer, a hope, a wish. Thomas pauses and reverently touches the feet of the sacred statue. He doesn't ask for anything for himself, the American asks the Saint to watch over the people of the village that he met earlier.

Thomas smiles, knowing that if it be God's will, the people will be helped and protected by a simple prayer. The stoic saint looks back on this American and seems to silently bless him. Deep within his soul, Thomas feels something…then, he walks up the main aisle towards the front altar. The light from an open window illuminates something, a mass, a form, a girl on the floor before the main altar! He runs to the lifeless form and whispers and excited: "Are you okay?" A little louder, he begs in a mixture of English and Spanish that some call 'Spanglish:' "Estas okay?" He keeps trying to say it right, to say something she'll understand and bends down to see if she is still alive.

"Are you okay miss"; he shouts to the girl he cradles in his strong arms. "Thomas, Thomas, Tom, what is it, where are you"; the Father Carlos shouts our excitedly as he enters and hears his friend's pleas. "Carlos, over here in front, by the altar"; Thomas yells back, explaining: "A girl, I found a girl and she's passed out, unconscious!" Rushing up, Carlos asks: "Is she okay?" "I don't know, I mean she is passed out, but she's alive"; Thomas answers in a concerned voice.

Stopping as soon as he can see them on the floor, the priest whispers: 'Cecilia." "You know her"; the American asks. "She is Catholic"; Carlos answers with a tilt of his head and a surprised look: "She works in a cantina by the border." The priest pauses, but Thomas seems unfazed, he had never seen the clubs by the border and had no idea what that might mean. Carlos continues: "She still comes to say 'hola' to God, like you my friend…and maybe to her parents too; she has been an orphan for a very long time."

The pastor realized, he could have said she was from the moon and it wouldn't have mattered. The look on his friend's face told a story of concern for another human being, another soul, this was true and knowing Thomas, it was to be expected. Yet, there was more, there was something else…in his eyes, deep in his blue, American eyes…it was love that suddenly filled his heart and raced through his veins! It wouldn't have mattered if she had just killed the President of Mexico, Thomas was lost in a deep and special love. The priest had seen this before in the eyes of some of the grooms at weddings, "the lucky ones"; he thought with a smile.

click here to continue: 'Crossing the Border"

Created: October 01, 2000r.
Last Updated: May 23, 2005r.