"Rivera should be there--he's a Mary worshiper," Lupe was saying, as if she were talking to herself. Juan Diego knew that, in the early morning, Rivera might be at the shack in Guerrero or sleeping in the cab of his truck; probably he would already have started the hellfires in the basurero. The dump kids would be getting to the Jesuit temple before the early-morning Mass; maybe Brother Pepe would have lit the candles, or he would still be lighting them. It was unlikely that anyone else would be around.
The bus driver had to make a detour; there was a dead dog blocking the narrow street. "I know where you can get a new dog--a jumper," Lupe had said to Juan Diego. She hadn't meant a dead dog. She'd meant a rooftop dog--one used to jumping, one who hadn't fallen.
"A rooftop dog," was all the driver said, about the dead dog in the street, but Juan Diego knew this was what Lupe had meant.
"You can't train a rooftop dog to climb a stepladder, Lupe," Juan Diego told his sister. "And Vargas said the rooftop dogs have rabies--they're like perros del basurero. Dump dogs and rooftop dogs are rabid. Vargas said--"
"I have to talk to Vargas about something else. Forget the jumper," Lupe said. "The stupid stepladder trick isn't worth worrying about. The rooftop dog was just an idea--they jump, don't they?" Lupe asked him.
"They die, they definitely bite--" Juan Diego started to say.
"The rooftop dogs don't matter," Lupe said impatiently. "The bigger question is lions. Do they get rabies? Vargas will know," she said, her voice trailing off.
The bus had navigated the dead-dog detour; they were approaching the corner of Flores Magon and Valerio Trujano. They could see the Templo de la Compania de Jesus.
"Vargas isn't a lion doctor," Juan Diego said to his little sister.
"You have the ashes, right?" was all Lupe said; she'd picked up Baby, the cowardly male dachshund, and had poked the dog's nose into Senor Eduardo's ear, waking him up. The cold-nose method brought the startled Iowan to his feet in the aisle of the bus, the dogs milling around him. Edward Bonshaw saw how tightly the coffee can was held in the cripple's hands; he knew the boy meant business.
"I see--we're scattering, are we?" the Iowan asked, but no one answered him.
"We're covering the bitch from head to toe--the Mary Monster will have ashes in her eyes!" Lupe raved incoherently. But Juan Diego didn't translate his sister's outburst.
At the entrance to the temple, only Edward Bonshaw paused at the fountain of holy water; he touched it and then his forehead, under the portrait of Saint Ignatius looking to Heaven (forever) for guidance.
Pepe had already lit the candles. The dump kids didn't pause for even a small splash of holy agua. In the nook after the fountain, they found Brother Pepe praying at the Guadalupe inscription--the "Guadalupe bullshit," as Lupe was now calling it.
"?No estoy aqui, que soy tu madre?" (Lupe meant that bullshit.)
"No, you are not here," Lupe said to the smaller-than-life-size likeness of Guadalupe. "And you're not my mother." When Lupe saw Pepe on his knees, she said to her brother: "Tell Pepe to go find Rivera--the dump boss should be here. El jefe will want to see this."
Juan Diego told Pepe they were scattering the ashes at the feet of the big Virgin Mary, and that Lupe wanted Rivera to be present.
"This is different," Pepe said. "This represents quite a change in thinking. I'm guessing the Guadalupe shrine was a watershed. Maybe Mexico City marks a turning point?" Pepe asked the Iowan, whose forehead was wet with holy water.
"Things have never felt so uncertain," Senor Eduardo said; this sounded to Pepe like the beginning of a long confession--Pepe hurried on his way, with scant apology to the Iowan.
"I have to find Rivera--those are my instructions," Pepe said, though he was full of sympathy for how Edward Bonshaw's reorientation was progressing. "By the way, I heard about the horse!" Pepe called to Juan Diego, who was hurrying to catch up to Lupe; she was already standing at the base of the pedestal (the ghastly frozen angels in the pedestal of Heavenly clouds), staring up at the Mary Monster.
"You see?" Lupe said to Juan Diego. "You can't scatter the ashes at her feet--look who's already lying at her feet!"
Well, it had been a while since the dump kids had stood in front of the Mary Monster; they'd forgotten the diminutive, shrunken-looking Jesus, who was suffering on the cross and bleeding at the Virgin Mary's feet. "We're not scattering Mother's ashes on him," Lupe said.
"Okay--where, then?" Juan Diego asked her.
"I really think this is the right decision," Edward Bonshaw was saying. "I don't think you two have given the Virgin Mary a fair chance."
"You should get on the parrot man's shoulders. You can throw the ashes higher if you're higher," Lupe said to Juan Diego.
Lupe held the coffee can while Juan Diego got on Edward Bonshaw's shoulders. The Iowan needed to grasp hold of the Communion railing to rise, unsteadily, to his full height. Lupe took the lid off the coffee can before handing the ashes to her brother. (Only God knows what Lupe did with the lid.)
Even from his elevated position, Juan Diego was barely eye-level with the Virgin Mary's knees; the top of his head was only thigh-high to the giantess.
"I'm not sure how you can sprinkle the ashes in an upward fashion," Senor Eduardo tactfully observed.
"Forget about sprinkling," Lupe said to her brother. "Grab a handful, and start throwing."
But the first handful of ashes flew no higher than the Mary Monster's formidable breasts; naturally, most of the ashes fell on Juan Diego's and the Iowan's uplifted faces. Senor Eduardo coughed and sneezed; Juan Diego had ashes in his eyes. "This isn't working very well," Juan Diego said.
"It's the idea that counts," Edward Bonshaw said, choking.
"Throw the whole can--throw it at her head!" Lupe cried.
"Is she praying?" the Iowan asked Juan Diego, but the boy was concentrating on his aim. He hurled the coffee can, which was three-quarters full--the way he'd seen soldiers in the movies lob a grenade.
"Not the whole can!" the dump kids heard Senor Eduardo cry.
"Good shot," Lupe said. The coffee can had struck the Virgin Mary in her domineering forehead. (Juan Diego was sure he saw the Mary Monster blink.) The ashes rained down, dispersing everywhere. There were ashes falling through the shafts of morning light and on every inch of the Mary Monster. The ashes kept falling.
"It was as if the ashes fell from a superior height--from an unseen source, but a high one," Edward Bonshaw would later describe what happened. "And the ashes went on falling--as if there were more ashes than could possibly have been contained in that coffee can." At this point, the Iowan always paused before saying: "I hesitate to say this. I truly do. But the way those ashes wouldn't stop falling made the moment seem to last forever. Time--time itself, all sense of time--stopped."
In the ensuing weeks--for months, Brother Pepe would maintain--those worshipers who'd arrived early for the first morning Mass continued to call the ashes falling in the shafts of light "an event." Yet those ashes that appeared to bathe the towering Virgin Mary in a radiant but gray-brown cloud were not heralded as a divine occurrence by everyone arriving at the Jesuit temple for morning Mass.
The two old priests Father Alfonso and Father Octavio were annoyed by what a mess the ashes had made: the first ten rows of pews were coated with ashes; a film of ash clung to the Communion railing, which was curiously sticky to touch. The big Virgin Mary looked soiled; she was definitely darkened, as if by soot. The dirt-brown, death-gray ashes were everywhere.
"The children wanted to scatter their mother's ashes," Edward Bonshaw started to explain.
"In the temple, Edward?" Father Alfonso asked the Iowan.
"All this was a scattering!" Father Octavio exclaimed. He tripped on something, unintentionally kicking it--the empty coffee can, which was rattling around underfoot. Senor Eduardo picked up the can.
"I didn't know they were going to scatter the entire contents," the Iowan admitted.
"That coffee can was full?" Fa
ther Alfonso asked.
"It was not just our mother's ashes," Juan Diego told the two old priests.
"Do tell," Father Octavio said. Edward Bonshaw stared into the empty can, as if he hoped it possessed oracular powers.
"The good gringo--may he rest in peace," Lupe began. "My dog--a small one." She stopped, as if waiting for Juan Diego to translate this much, before she continued. Or else Lupe stopped because she was wondering if she should tell the two priests about the Mary Monster's missing nose.
"You remember the American hippie--the draft dodger, the boy who died," Juan Diego said to Father Alfonso and Father Octavio.
"Yes, yes--of course," Father Alfonso said. "A lost soul--a tragically self-destructive one."
"A terrible tragedy--such a waste," Father Octavio said.
"And my sister's little dog died--the dog was in the fire," Juan Diego went on. "And the dead hippie."
"It's all coming back--we did know this," Father Alfonso said. Father Octavio nodded grimly.
"Yes, please stop--that's enough. Most distasteful. We remember, Juan Diego," Father Octavio said.
Lupe didn't speak; the two priests wouldn't have understood her, anyway. Lupe just cleared her throat, as if she were going to say something.
"Don't," Juan Diego said, but it was too late. Lupe pointed to the noseless face of the giant Virgin Mary, touching her little nose with the index finger of her other hand.
It took Father Alfonso and Father Octavio a few seconds to catch on: the Mary Monster was still without a nose; the incomprehensible child from the dump was indicating that her own small nose was intact; there'd been a fire at the basurero, an infernal burning of human and canine bodies.
"The Virgin Mary's nose was in that hellish fire?" Father Alfonso asked Lupe; she vigorously nodded her head, as if she were trying to dislodge her teeth or make her eyes fall out.
"Merciful Mother of--" Father Octavio started to say.
The falling coffee can made a startling clatter. It's not likely that Edward Bonshaw had intentionally dropped the coffee can, which he quickly retrieved. Senor Eduardo may have lost his grip; he might have realized that the news he was continuing to withhold from Father Alfonso and Father Octavio (namely, his vow-ending love for Flor) would soon come as a greater shock to those two old priests than the burning of an inanimate statue's nose.
Because he'd seen the Mary Monster cast a most disapproving glance at his mother's cleavage--because Juan Diego was aware of how animated the Virgin Mary could be, at least in the area of condemning looks and withering glares--Juan Diego would have questioned anyone's supposition that the towering statue (or her lost nose) was inanimate. Hadn't the Mary Monster's nose made a spitting sound, and hadn't a blue flame erupted from the funeral pyre? Hadn't Juan Diego seen the Virgin Mary blink when the coffee can had struck her forehead?
And when Edward Bonshaw clumsily dropped and retrieved the coffee can, hadn't the resounding clatter drawn a fiery flash of frightful loathing from the all-seeing eyes of the menacing Virgin Mary?
Juan Diego wasn't a Mary worshiper, but he knew better than to treat the dirtied giantess with less than the utmost respect. "Lo siento, Mother," Juan Diego quietly said to the big Virgin Mary, pointing to his forehead. "I didn't mean to hit you with the can. I was just trying to reach you."
"These ashes have a foreign smell--I would like to know what else was in that can," Father Alfonso said.
"Dump stuff, I suppose, but here comes the dump boss--we should ask him," Father Octavio said.
Speaking of Mary worshipers, Rivera strode down the center aisle toward the towering statue; it was as if the dump boss had his own business to attend to with the Mary Monster; Pepe's mission, to go fetch el jefe from Guerrero, may have been merely coincidental. Yet it was clear that Pepe had interrupted Rivera in the middle of something--"a small project, the fine-tuning part," was all the dump boss would say about it.
Rivera must have left Guerrero with some sense of urgency--who knows how Pepe might have announced the scattering to him?--because the dump boss was still wearing his woodworking apron.
The apron had many pockets and was as long as an unflattering, matronly-looking skirt. One pocket was for chisels, of varying sizes; another was for different patches of sandpaper, coarse and fine; a third pocket was for the glue tube and the rag Rivera used to wipe the residue of glue from the nozzle of the tube. There was no telling what was in the other pockets--the pockets were what Rivera said he liked about his woodworking apron. The old leather apron held many secrets--or so Juan Diego, as a child, had once believed.
"I don't know what we're waiting for--for you, maybe," Juan Diego said to el jefe. "I think the giantess is unlikely to do anything," the boy added, nodding to the Mary Monster.
The temple was filling up, though there was still time before the Mass, at the moment when Brother Pepe and Rivera arrived. Juan Diego would remember, later, that Lupe paid more attention to the dump boss than she usually did; as for el jefe, he was even warier around Lupe than he usually was.
Rivera had his left hand thrust deep inside a mystery pocket of his woodworking apron; with the fingertips of his right hand, the dump boss touched the film of ash on the Communion railing.
"The ashes smell a little funny--not an overpowering smell," Father Alfonso said to el jefe.
"There's something sticky in these ashes--a foreign substance," Father Octavio said.
Rivera sniffed his fingertips, then wiped them on his leather apron.
"You've got a lot of stuff in your pockets, jefe," Lupe said to the dump boss, but Juan Diego didn't translate this; the dump reader was miffed that Rivera hadn't responded to the giantess joke--namely, Juan Diego's prediction that the Virgin Mary was unlikely to do anything.
"You should snuff the candles, Pepe," the dump boss said; pointing to his beloved Virgin Mary, Rivera then spoke to the two old priests. "She's highly flammable," el jefe said.
"Flammable!" Father Alfonso cried.
Rivera recited the same litany of the coffee can's contents that the dump kids had heard from Dr. Vargas--a scientific, strictly chemical analysis. "Paint, turpentine--or some kind of paint thinner. Gasoline, definitely," Rivera told the two old priests. "And probably stuff for staining wood."
"The Holy Mother won't be stained, will she?" Father Octavio asked the dump boss.
"You better let me clean her up," the dump boss said. "If I could have a little time alone with her--I mean before the first morning Mass tomorrow. The best would be after the evening Mass tonight. You don't want to mix water with some of these foreign substances," Rivera said, as if he were an alchemist who couldn't be refuted--not your usual dump boss, in any case.
Brother Pepe, on tiptoe, was at work extinguishing the candles with the long gold candle snuffer; naturally, the falling ashes had already snuffed out those candles nearest to the Virgin Mary.
"Does your hand hurt, jefe--where you cut yourself?" Lupe asked Rivera. He was a hard one to read, even for a mind reader.
Juan Diego would later speculate that Lupe may have read everything on Rivera's mind--not only el jefe's thoughts about his cutting himself, and how much he was bleeding. Lupe might have known all about whatever "small project" Pepe had interrupted Rivera in the middle of, including what Rivera had called "the fine-tuning part"--namely, what exactly the dump boss was working on when he slashed the thumb and index finger of his left hand. But Lupe never said what she knew, or if she knew, and Rivera--like the pockets of his woodworking apron--held many secrets.
"Lupe wants to know if your hand hurts, jefe--where you cut yourself," Juan Diego said.
"I just need a couple of stitches," Rivera said; he kept his left hand hidden in the pocket of the leather apron.
Brother Pepe had thought Rivera shouldn't drive; they'd taken Pepe's VW from the shack in Guerrero. Pepe wanted to drive the dump boss to Dr. Vargas right away for the stitches, but Rivera had wanted to see the results of the scattering first.
"T
he results!" Father Alfonso repeated, after Pepe's account.
"The results amount to a species of vandalism," Father Octavio said, looking at Juan Diego and Lupe when he spoke.
"I need to see Vargas, too--let's go," Lupe said to her brother. The dump kids weren't even looking at the Mary Monster; they weren't expecting much in the area of results from her. But Rivera looked up at the Virgin Mary's noseless face--as if, her darkened visage notwithstanding, the dump boss expected to see a sign, something bordering on instructions.
"Come on, jefe--you're hurting, you're still bleeding," Lupe said, taking Rivera's good right hand. The dump boss was unused to such affection from the ever-critical girl. El jefe gave Lupe his hand and let her lead him up the center aisle.
"We'll see that you have the temple to yourself, before closing time tonight!" Father Alfonso called after the dump boss.
"Pepe--you'll lock up after him, I presume," Father Octavio said to Brother Pepe, who'd returned the candle snuffer to its sacred place; Pepe was hurrying after Rivera and the ninos de la basura.
"!Si, si!" Pepe called to the two old priests.
Edward Bonshaw was left holding the empty coffee can. Now was not the time for Senor Eduardo to say what he knew he needed to say to Father Alfonso or Father Octavio; now was not the time to confess--there was a Mass upcoming, and the lid to the coffee can was missing. It had simply (or not so simply) disappeared; it might as well have gone up in smoke, like the Virgin Mary's nose, Senor Eduardo was thinking. But the lid to that secular coffee can--last touched by Lupe--had vanished without a flaming blue hiss.
The dump kids and the dump boss had left the temple with Brother Pepe, leaving Edward Bonshaw and the two old priests to face the noseless Virgin Mary and their uncertain future. Perhaps Pepe understood this best: Pepe knew that the process of reorientation was never easy.
* 27 *
A Nose for a Nose
The nighttime flight from Manila to Laoag was packed with crying children. They weren't in the air for more than an hour and a quarter, but the wailing kids made the flying time seem longer.
"Is it a weekend?" Juan Diego asked Dorothy, but she told him it was a Thursday night. "A school night!" Juan Diego declared; he was dumbfounded. "Don't these kids go to school?" (He knew, before she did it, that Dorothy was going to shrug.)