“You can ask God for an iPod when you get to Heaven, Jose,” Marla whispered to the floor, and the boy sitting next to her elbowed her.
“Silencio, chalada,” he said. “You’ll get us in trouble with Sister Esperanza.”
Marla elbowed him back, and the boy let out a squeal that made Sister Esperanza get up from her seat across the aisle. All the children froze, but when Sister Esperanza passed by Marla without a word, it suddenly occurred to her that maybe the reason Jose was finally able to speak to her in her dreams was because it was so much quieter now at her cousins’.
That had to be it! Yes, maybe there was something good about living there, after all. For even though Marla would never be able to ride in the car Jose had been saving up for while working at Best Buy, she would much rather just be able to talk with him like they used to when he was alive.
However, once she and Father Banigas had fixed things—once her brother was in Heaven where he belonged—Jose might not have time to talk to her anymore. God might not even let him! Well, Marla thought, that was a risk she’d have to take. Yes, the most important thing right now was to get Jose out of Hell. It’s what her brother wanted.
But you promised your brother you’d never tell, said a voice in Marla’s head. Are you sure it really was Jose speaking to you in your dreams? Are you sure it’s okay to tell his secret even to Father Banigas?
Yes, the girl replied. Of course it was Jose! Only the two of us knew his secret.
The voice in Marla’s head was silent; and when another girl came out of the confessional, Sister Esperanza signaled to Marla that it was her turn.
Marla slipped out of the pew and walked quickly down the side aisle to the confessional, shut herself inside, and knelt on the padded knee rest. She made the sign of the cross and realized her heart was beating much faster than normal. She usually liked being inside the confessional—liked the dark, and how safe and clean and polished it smelled. And even though this confessional smelled just like the ones in her old church, today Marla Rodriguez didn’t feel safe in there at all.
Father Banigas slid open the shutter to his compartment, the dim outline of his head visible beyond lattice screen.
“Perdóname, Padre, porque he pecado,” Marla said.
“You speak English?” asked the priest.
“Sí, Padre.”
“You must be new. At this church, it is important that we learn to be good Americans. The children make their confessions in English.”
Marla felt her face go hot, her stomach tighten. “I’m sorry. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession.”
“That’s all right, dear. What do you want to confess?”
“Well,” she began, “I don’t have much bad that I did since my last confession. Only that I sometimes wish it was my brother Diego who died instead of Jose.”
“Jose?”
“Yes, Father. My oldest brother. He is who I wanted to confess for today. He told me to do it for him in some dreams I had because he didn’t get a chance to do it himself before the pandilleros killed him. That’s why he’s stuck in Hell right now, but if I can confess for him, God will forgive Jose and let him into Heaven. Jose told me so.”
“I see,” said the priest.
“Jose told me in my dreams that if he knew he was going to die he would have confessed to Father Gomez back in our old church. But we don’t go to that church anymore because Papa moved us away from our old neighborhood because of the pandilleros. They thought at first that it was them who killed Jose and that other man, but now the police say they don’t know. But everybody says that only la Mara Salva-trucha would do something like that, and Papa wanted us to go live with his sister. So, last time I spoke to Jose in my dream, I asked him who killed him, and he said he didn’t know, but that he also thought it was the pandilleros. And so I asked him if I could confess to you instead of Father Gomez, and he said yes. So now it’s up to you to get Jose out of Hell.”
“Why do you think Jose is in Hell?”
“Because of his secret.”
“His secret?”
“Yes,” the girl said tentatively. “No one but me and Jose ever knew. Jose said if Papa ever found out, he would kill him, or at least throw him out of the house. And Mama and Papa and Diego always used to say that people like Jose were going to Hell. But I don’t know why that’s true, because Jose was the nicest person in the whole world to me. He would bring me home CDs from Best Buy, and he prom- ised me he was going to take me to the movies in his new car when he got it.”
“What did he do that was so bad that your parents would think he was going to Hell? Was he involved with the pandilleros?”
“Oh no!”
“Then what?”
Marla swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and said, “May I confess Jose’s secret for him now, Father Banigas?”
“But, my child, only a person who accepts Jesus Christ as his Savior and seeks forgiveness himself can be absolved in the name of our Father.”
“Please, Father Banigas,” Marla cried, the tears beginning to flow. “You have to help me. You have to ask God to let Jose out of Hell. Please. I don’t want my brother to be stuck down there forever. He was the best brother I ever had.”
“Ssh, my child. It’s all right. I will take care of it for you, okay? I will grant a conditional absolution for Jose so he can stand before God and ask Him for forgiveness himself. Will that make you feel better?”
“Sí! Gracias—I mean, thank you, Father Banigas.”
“Now tell me Jose’s secret.”
“Well,” Marla began, “Papa and Mama think Jose wanted to go to college for computers, but I know that he was saving up his money so he could go for fashion design—you know, to make clothes and stuff. I only know this because it was Jose who took me to the father-and-daughter dance at school.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Papa couldn’t get out of work because this other guy had his appendix out, and we didn’t have enough money to buy a dress for me. I outgrew my stuff from fourth grade. I was real sad, but then Jose said he could fix it for me. He undid the stitching on my old dress and added some material from another dress, and it really looked great. He made me promise to keep it secret, and we didn’t tell Mama and Papa and Diego—just told them that one of Jose’s girlfriends from school had done it. Jose would never tell Papa, and especially not Diego, because they would think that making dresses was for maricóns.”
“That is not a nice word, child,” the priest said. “I believe you mean homosexual.”
“I’m sorry, Father Banigas, but that’s what Papa and Diego call them. Oh, and I already confessed lying about the dress to Father Gomez.”