“How can he be ‘less religious’ than he used to be when he was ‘not religious’ to begin with, Lupe?” Juan Diego asked his sister, but the girl just shrugged. She knew certain things; messages came to her, usually without any explanations.
“I’m just telling you what I know,” Lupe was always saying. “Don’t ask me what it means.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Edward Bonshaw interjected, in English. “Who was ‘not religious’ and has become ‘less religious’? I know about this syndrome,” Edward said to Juan Diego.
In English, Juan Diego told Señor Eduardo everything Lupe had told him about Dr. Vargas; not even Brother Pepe had known the whole story. All the while, Vargas went on examining the boy’s crushed and twisted foot. Juan Diego was beginning to like Dr. Vargas a little better; Lupe’s irritating ability to divine a stranger’s past (and, to a lesser degree, that person’s future) was serving as a distraction from Juan Diego’s pain, and the boy appreciated how Vargas had taken advantage of the distraction to examine him.
“Where does a dump kid learn English?” Dr. Vargas asked Brother Pepe in English. “Your English isn’t this good, Pepe, but I presume you had a hand in teaching the boy.”
“He taught himself, Vargas — he speaks, he understands, he reads,” Pepe replied.
“This is a gift to be nurtured, Juan Diego,” Edward Bonshaw told the boy. “I’m so sorry for your family tragedy, Dr. Vargas,” Señor Eduardo added. “I know a little something about family adversities—”
“Who’s the gringo?” Vargas rudely asked Juan Diego in Spanish.
“El hombre papagayo,” Lupe said. (“The parrot man.”)
Juan Diego deciphered this for Vargas.
“Edward is our new teacher,” Brother Pepe told Dr. Vargas. “From Iowa,” Pepe added.
“Eduardo,” Edward Bonshaw said; the Iowan extended his hand before he regarded the rubber gloves Dr. Vargas was wearing — the gloves were spotted with blood from the boy’s grotesquely flattened foot.
“You’re sure he’s not from Hawaii, Pepe?” Vargas asked. (It was impossible to overlook the clamorous parrots on the new missionary’s Hawaiian shirt.)
“Like you, Dr. Vargas,” Edward Bonshaw began, as he wisely changed his mind about shaking the young doctor’s hand, “I have had my faith assailed by doubts.”
“I never had any faith, hence no doubts,” Vargas replied; his English was clipped but correct — there was nothing doubtful about it. “Here’s what I like about X-rays, Juan Diego,” Dr. Vargas continued in his no-nonsense English. “X-rays are not spiritual — in fact, they are wholly less ambiguous than a lot of elements I can think of at the moment. You come to me, injured, and with two Jesuits. You bring your visionary sister, who — as you say yourself — is more right about the past than she is about the future. Your esteemed jefe comes along — your dump boss, who looks after you and runs over you.” (It was fortunate, for Rivera’s sake, that Vargas’s assessment was made in English, not Spanish, because Rivera was already feeling badly enough about the accident.) “And what the X-rays will show us are the limitations of what can be done for your foot. I’m speaking medically, Edward,” Vargas interrupted himself, looking not only at Edward Bonshaw but also at Brother Pepe. “As for divine assistance — well, I leave that to you Jesuits.”
“Eduardo,” Edward Bonshaw corrected Dr. Vargas. Señor Eduardo’s father, Graham (the dog-killer), had the middle name Edward; this was ample reason for Edward Bonshaw to prefer Eduardo, which Juan Diego had also taken a shine to.
Vargas delivered an impromptu outburst to Brother Pepe — this time in Spanish. “These dump kids live in Guerrero and their mother is cleaning the Templo de la Compañía de Jesús — how Jesuitical! And I suppose she’s cleaning Niños Perdidos, too?”
“Sí—the orphanage, too,” Pepe replied.
Juan Diego was on the verge of telling Vargas that Esperanza, his mother, wasn’t only a cleaning woman, but what else Esperanza did was ambiguous (at best), and the boy knew what a low opinion the young doctor had of ambiguity.
“Where is your mother now?” Dr. Vargas asked the boy. “She’s not cleaning at this moment, surely.”
“She’s in the temple, praying for me,” Juan Diego told him.
“Let’s do the X-rays — let’s move on,” Dr. Vargas duly said; it was apparent that he’d had to restrain himself from making a disparaging comment on the powers of prayer.
“Thank you, Vargas,” Brother Pepe said; he spoke with such uncharacteristic insincerity that everyone looked at him — even Edward Bonshaw, who’d met him only recently. “Thank you for making such an effort to spare us your constant atheism,” Pepe said, more to the point.
“I am sparing you, Pepe,” Vargas answered him.
“Surely your absence of belief is your own business, Dr. Vargas,” Edward Bonshaw said. “But perhaps now is not the best time for it — for the boy’s sake,” the new missionary added, making absence of belief his business.
“It’s okay, Señor Eduardo,” Juan Diego told the Iowan in his near-perfect English. “I’m not much of a believer, either — I’m not much more of a believer than Dr. Vargas.” But Juan Diego was more of a believer than he let on. He had his doubts about the Church — the local virgin politics, as he thought of them, included — yet the miracles intrigued him. He was open to miracles.
“Don’t say that, Juan Diego — you’re too young to cut yourself off from belief,” Edward said.
“For the boy’s sake,” Vargas said in his abrupt-sounding English, “perhaps now is a better time for reality than for belief.”
“Personally, I don’t know what to believe,” Lupe started in, heedless of who could (and couldn’t) understand her. “I want to believe in Guadalupe, but look how she lets herself be used — look how the Virgin Mary manipulates her! How can you trust Guadalupe when she lets the Mary Monster be the boss?”
“Guadalupe lets Mary walk all over her, Lupe,” Juan Diego said.
“Whoa! Stop! Don’t say that!” Edward Bonshaw told the boy. “You’re entirely too young to be cynical.” (When the subject was religious, the new missionary’s grasp of Spanish was better than you first thought.)
“Let’s do the X-rays, Eduardo,” Dr. Vargas said. “Let’s move on. These kids live in Guerrero and work in the dump, while their mother cleans for you. Is that not cynical?”
“Let’s move on, Vargas,” Brother Pepe said. “Let’s do the X-rays.”
“It’s a nice dump!” Lupe insisted. “Tell Vargas we love the dump, Juan Diego. Between Vargas and the parrot man, we’ll end up living in Lost Children!” Lupe screamed, but Juan Diego translated nothing; he was silent.
“Let’s do the X-rays,” the boy said. He just wanted to know about his foot.
“Vargas is thinking there’s no point in operating on your foot,” Lupe told him. “Vargas believes that, if the blood supply is compromised, he’ll have to amputate! He thinks you can’t live in Guerrero with only one foot, or with a limp! In all likelihood, Vargas believes, your foot will heal by itself in a right-angle position — permanently. You’ll walk again, but not for a couple of months. You’ll never walk without a limp — that’s what he’s thinking. Vargas is wondering why the parrot man is here and not our mother. Tell him I know his thoughts!” Lupe screamed at her brother.