“Yes, yes — we know,” Father Octavio quickly said. “But the contents of these ashes are mostly from Lupe’s life at the circus — is that true?” the priest asked the dump boss.
“Mostly circus things,” Rivera mumbled; he was being careful not to mention Lupe’s puppy place, where she’d found Dirty White. The puppy place was near the shack in Guerrero, where el jefe had found a new dead puppy for Lupe’s fire.
Because they’d asked to be included at the sprinkling, Vargas and Alejandra were there. It had already been a bad day for Vargas; the business with Dolores’s lethal infection had forced the doctor to deal with various authorities, not a satisfying process.
Father Alfonso and Father Octavio had chosen the siesta time of day for the sprinkling, but some of the homeless types — drunks and hippies, who hung out in the zócalo — liked churches for their afternoon naps. The hindmost pews of the Jesuit temple were temporary resting places for these undesirables; therefore, the two old priests wanted the sprinkling to proceed quietly. The sprinkling of ashes, if only at the Virgin Mary’s feet, was an irregular request. Father Alfonso and Father Octavio didn’t want the public to get the idea that anyone could sprinkle ashes in the Temple of the Society of Jesus.
“Be careful of the little Jesus — don’t get the ashes in his eyes,” Lupe had told her brother.
Juan Diego, holding the coffee cup Lupe once liked for her hot chocolate, approached the unreadable Mary Monster respectfully.
“The ashes seemed to affect you — I mean the last time,” Juan Diego began cautiously; it was difficult to know how to speak to such a towering presence. “I’m not trying to trick you. These ashes are not her—they’re just her clothes, and a few things she liked. I hope that’s okay,” he said to the giant virgin, sprinkling a few ashes on the three-tiered pedestal where the Mary Monster stood — her big feet standing in an essentially meaningless motif, an unnatural configuration of angels frozen in clouds. (It was impossible to sprinkle ashes at the Virgin Mary’s feet without the ashes getting in the angels’ eyes, but Lupe had said nothing about being careful of the angels.)
Juan Diego went on sprinkling, ever mindful that the ashes went nowhere near the agonizing face of the shrunken, suffering Christ — there weren’t many ashes left in the little cup.
“May I say something?” Brother Pepe suddenly asked.
“Of course, Pepe,” Father Alfonso said.
“Speak up, Pepe,” Father Octavio urged him.
But Pepe wasn’t asking the two old priests; he’d dropped to his knees before the giantess — he was asking her. “One of us, our beloved Edward — our dear Eduardo — has something to ask you, Mother Mary,” Pepe said. “Don’t you, Eduardo?” Brother Pepe asked the Iowan.
Edward Bonshaw had more balls than, heretofore, Flor had thought. “I’m sorry if I disappoint you,” Señor Eduardo said to the impassive-looking Mary Monster, “but I have forsaken my vows — I am in love. With her,” the Iowan added; he’d glanced at Flor, his voice trembling as he bowed his head at the Virgin Mary’s big feet. “I’m sorry if I disappoint you, too,” Edward Bonshaw said, looking over his shoulder at the two old priests. “Please let us go — please help us,” Señor Eduardo asked Father Alfonso and Father Octavio. “I want to take Juan Diego with me — I am dedicated to this boy,” the Iowan told the two old priests. “I’ll look after him properly — I promise you,” Edward Bonshaw implored the giant virgin.
“I love you,” Flor told the Iowan, who began to sob, his shoulders shaking in his Hawaiian shirt, in those trees ablaze with parrots riotously represented there. “I’ve done questionable things,” Flor said suddenly to the Virgin Mary. “I’ve not had many opportunities to meet what you would call good people. Please help us,” Flor said, turning to the two old priests.
“I want another future!” Juan Diego cried — at first to the Mary Monster, but he had no more ashes to sprinkle at the feet of the unresponsive giantess. He turned to Father Alfonso and Father Octavio instead. “Let me go with them, please. I’ve tried it here — let me try Iowa,” the boy beseeched them.
“This is shameful, Edward—” Father Alfonso started to say.
“The two of you — the very idea! That you two should raise a child—” Father Octavio sputtered.
“You’re not a couple!” Father Alfonso said to Señor Eduardo.
“You’re not even a woman!” Father Octavio said to Flor.
“Only a married couple can—” Father Alfonso started to say.
“This boy can’t—” Father Octavio blurted out, before Dr. Vargas interrupted him.
“What are this boy’s chances here?” Vargas asked the two old priests. “What are Juan Diego’s prospects in Oaxaca, after he leaves Lost Children?” Vargas asked, more loudly. “I just saw the star of La Maravilla — The Wonder herself!” Vargas cried. “If Dolores didn’t have a chance, what are the dump kid’s chances? If the boy goes with them, he’s got a shot!” Vargas shouted, pointing at the parrot man and Flor.
This was not the quiet sprinkling the two old priests once had in mind. Vargas woke up the homeless types with his shouting; from the hindmost pews of the temple, the drunks and hippies had risen — well, except for one hippie; he’d fallen asleep under a pew. They could all see his scuffed, forlorn-looking sandals where the hippie’s dirty feet extended into the center aisle.
“We didn’t ask for your scientific opinion, Vargas,” Father Alfonso said sarcastically.
“Please keep your voice down—” Father Octavio started to say to the doctor.
“My voice!” Vargas screamed. “What if Alejandra and I wanted to adopt Juan Diego—” he started to ask, but Father Alfonso was faster.
“You’re not married, Vargas,” Father Alfonso said calmly.
“Your rules! What do your rules have to do with the way people actually live?” Vargas asked him.
“This is our Church — these are our rules, Vargas,” Father Alfonso told him quietly.
“We are a Church of rules—” Father Octavio started to say. (It was the hundredth time Pepe had heard it.)
“We make the rules,” Pepe pointed out, “but don’t we, can’t we, also bend them? I thought we believed in charity.”
“You do favors for the ‘authorities’ all the time — they owe you favors in return, don’t they?” Vargas asked the two old priests. “This boy has no better chance than these two—” Vargas had started to say, but Father Octavio suddenly decided to shoo the homeless types out of the temple; he was distracted. Only Father Alfonso was listening to Vargas — hence Vargas interrupted himself, though it seemed pointless (even to Vargas) to continue. It was hopeless to think the two old priests could be persuaded.
Juan Diego, for one, was through asking them. “Please just do something,” the boy said despairingly to the giant virgin. “You’re supposed to be somebody, but you don’t do anything!” Juan Diego cried to the Mary Monster. “If you can’t help me — okay, okay — but can’t you do anything? Just do something, if you can,” the boy said to the towering statue, but his voice trailed off. His heart wasn’t in it; what small belief he’d had was gone.
Juan Diego turned away from the Mary Monster — he couldn’t look at her. Flor had already turned her back on the giant virgin; Flor was no Mary worshiper, to begin with. Even Edward Bonshaw had turned his face away from the Virgin Mary, though the Iowan’s hand lingered on the pedestal, just below the virgin’s big feet.