Authors: Rudolfo Anaya
“But what is
sin
?” Florence asked me.
“It is not doing the will of God—” I ducked my head and gritted my teeth on the fine sand the wind carried.
“Is it a sin to do this?” He threw a finger.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Why?”
“It’s a bad sign—”
“But nothing happens when I throw it.” He did it again.
“You will be punished—”
“When?”
“When you die,” I said.
“What if I go to confession?”
“Then your sins are forgiven, your soul is clean and you are saved—”
“You mean I can go out and sin, do bad things, throw fingers, say bad words, look through the peep-hole into the girls bathroom, do a million bad things and then when I’m about to die I just go to confession and make communion, and I go to heaven?”
“Yes,” I said, “if you’re sorry you sinned—”
“Ohhhhh,” he laughed, “I’ll be sorry! Chingada I will! I can be the worst cabrón in the world, and when I’m ninety-nine I can be sorry for being such a culo, and I go to heaven—You know, it doesn’t seem fair—”
No, it didn’t seem fair, but it could happen. This was another question for which I wanted an answer to. I was thinking about how it could be answered when I heard a blasting goat cry behind me.
“WHAGGGGGGGGGGGHH………..”
I ducked, but too late. Horse’s strong arms went around my neck and his momentum made us slide ten feet. Half of my face scraped along the thorn covered ground and came up covered with little bull-headed diablitos.
“Hey, Tony, you missed the fight!” Horse smiled into my face. He still held me in a tight embrace. His horse-eyes were wild with excitement and his big, yellow teeth chomped on something that smelled like spoiled eggs. I wanted to curse him, but I glanced up and saw Florence standing, waiting for my response.
“That was a real good tackle, Horse,” I said as calmly as possible, “real good. Now let me up.” I stood up and began pulling thorns out of my bloody cheek.
“What fight?” Florence asked. He dusted my jacket.
“Roque and Willie, down in the bathroom!” Lloyd came puffing along with the rest of the gang.
“¡Chingada! You know how Roque’s always teasing Willie—”
“Yeah,” we nodded.
“Willie’s your friend ain’t he?” Ernie asked.
“Yes,” I answered. Big Willie was one of the farm boys from Delia. He and George were always together, they never messed around with anyone. Willie was big but Roque picked on him because Willie never defended himself. He was timid, and Roque was a bully.
“Roque’s always singing: Willie Willie two-by-four, can’t get into the bathroom door so he does it on the floor—” Bones panted.
“And he always pushes you when you’re peeing and makes you wet your pants,” Lloyd closed his eyes in disgust. He took out a Hershey bar.
“Halfers!” Bones growled. Lloyd threw a piece of chocolate on the ground and while Bones retrieved it he stuck the rest in his mouth.
“¡Chingada!”
“That wasn’t halfers!” Bones growled, chewing on chocolate and sand.
“I had my fingers crossed,” Lloyd said haughtily. Then he stuck out his tongue and the chocolate mess in his mouth dripped.
“Ughhhhhhh!” Bones went wild, leaped on Lloyd and began strangling him. Then Horse got excited again and jumped on Bones.
“You could be sued for that—” Lloyd threatened as he pulled himself free from the pile. We continued walking and left Bones and Horse behind, slugging and kicking at each other.
“So why the fight?” Florence asked impatiently.
“Well, after school,” Lloyd said, “Roque went in and pushed Willie, but Willie must have been waiting, because he stepped aside and Roque almost fell in the bowl, anyway Willie continued peeing, and he peed all over Roque’s shoes—”
“It was funny as hell,” Ernie said, “seeing Roque standing there, and Willie peeing on his shoes—”
Horse and Bones caught up to us.
“And then old Roque slugs Willie—” Lloyd laughed.
“But Willie just stands there,” Ernie added.
“And then Willie busts Roque!” Horse cried out.
“And there’s blood all over the place!” Bones panted, and the thought of blood got them going all over again. Horse whinnied and reared up and Bones was on him like a mad dog.
“Roque was bleeding like a pig, and crying, and his shoes all wet—”
“Man, don’t mess with Willie,” Ernie cautioned. “Hey, he’s your friend, ain’t he Tony?” he repeated.
“Yeah,” I answered. I knew Ernie always weighed friendships. If Willie had lost the fight Ernie would be bothering me about it, but as it was I had somehow gained respect because I was the friend of a farm boy who made Roque’s nose bloody.
“Hey! How come those guys don’t have to go to catechism?” Abel asked.
“They’d miss the bus, stupid,” Florence said.
“Protestants don’t have to go either,” Ernie nodded.
“They go to hell!” Bones cried out.
“No they don’t,” Florence defended the Protestants, “Red’s a Protestant, do you think he’ll go to hell?”
“You’ll go to hell too, Florence!” Horse shouted. “You don’t believe in God!”
“So what,” Florence shrugged, “if you don’t believe in God then there is no hell to go to—”
“But why do you go to catechism?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “I wanna be with you guys. I just don’t want to feel left out,” he said softly.
“Come on! Let’s go tease the girls!” Bones shouted. He had caught scent of the girls who were just up ahead. The others rallied to his cry and they went off howling like a pack of wild dogs.
“But what if you’re left out of heaven in the end?” I asked Florence. We had both hung back.
“Then that would be hell,” he nodded. “I think if there is a hell it’s just a place where you’re left all alone, with nobody around you. Man, when you’re alone you don’t have to burn, just being by yourself for all of time would be the worst punishment the Old Man could give you—”
“The Old Man?” I asked, my question intermingled with a feeling of sadness for Florence.
“God,” he answered.
“I thought you didn’t believe—”
“I don’t.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he kicked at a rock. “My mother died when I was three, my old man drank himself to death, and,” he paused and looked towards the church which already loomed ahead of us. His inquiring, angelic face smiled. “And my sisters are whores, working at Rosie’s place—”
The wind swirled around us and made a strange noise, like the sound of doves crying at the river. I wondered if Andrew had known one of Florence’s sisters when he went to Rosie’s. That and the pity I had for him made me feel close to Florence.
“So I ask myself,” he continued, “how can God let this happen to a kid. I never asked to be born. But he gives me birth, a soul, and puts me here to punish me. Why? What did I ever do to Him to deserve this, huh?”
For a moment I couldn’t answer. The questions Florence had posed were the same questions I wanted answered. Why was the murder of Narciso allowed? Why was evil allowed?
“Maybe it’s like the priest said,” I finally stammered, “maybe God puts obstacles in front of us so that we will have to overcome them. And if we overcome all the hard and bad things, then we will be good Catholics, and earn the right to be with Him in heaven—”
Florence shook his head. “I thought about that,” he said, “but the way I figured it, if God is really as smart as the priest says, then he wouldn’t have needed any of that testing us to see if we’re good Catholics. Look, how do you test a three-year-old kid who doesn’t know anything. God is supposed to know everything, all right, then why didn’t he make this earth without bad or evil things in it? Why didn’t he make us so that we would always be kind to each other? He could of made it so that it was always summer, and there’s always apples in the trees, and the water at the Blue Lake is always clean and warm for swimming—instead He made it so that some of us get polio when we go swimming and we’re crippled for life! Is that right?”
“I don’t know,” I shook my head, and I didn’t. “Once everything was all right; in the Garden of Eden there was no sin and man was happy, but we sinned—”
“Bullshit we sinned,” Florence disagreed, “old Eve sinned! But why should we have to suffer because she broke the rules, huh?”
“But it wasn’t just breaking the rules,” I countered, I guess because I was still trying to hold on to God. I didn’t want to give Him up like Florence had. I did not think that I could live without God.
“What was it?” he asked.
“They wanted to be like Him! Don’t you remember the priest saying the apple contained the knowledge that would make them know more things, like God they would know about good and about evil. He punished them because they wanted knowledge—”
Florence smiled. “That still doesn’t seem right, does it? Why should knowledge hurt anyone? We go to school to learn, we even go to catechism to learn—”
“Yes,” I answered. There seemed to be so many pitfalls in the questions we asked. I wanted answers to the questions, but would the knowledge of the answers make me share in the original sin of Adam and Eve?
“And if we didn’t have any knowledge?” I asked.
“Then we would be like the dumb animals of the fields,” Florence replied.
Animals, I thought. Were the fish of the golden carp happier than we were? Was the golden carp a better God?
“—last year Maxie got polio,” Florence was going on, “and my cousin got dragged by that damned horse and got his skull busted. They found him two weeks later, along the river, half eaten away by the crows and buzzards. And his mom went crazy. Is that right?”
“No,” I answered, “it’s not right—”
We came out of the dusty alley and onto the wind-swept barren grounds that surrounded the church. The massive brown structure rose into the dusty sky and held the cross of Christ for all to see. I had listened to Florence’s heresy, but the God of the church had not hurled his thunder at me. I wanted to call out that I was not afraid.
“My father says the weather comes in cycles,” I said instead, “there are years of good weather, and there are years of bad weather—”
“I don’t understand,” Florence said.
Perhaps I didn’t either, but my mind was seeking answers to Florence’s questions. “Maybe God comes in cycles, like the weather,” I answered. “Maybe there are times when God is with us, and times when he is not. Maybe it is like that now. God is hidden. He will be gone for many years, maybe centuries—” I talked rapidly, excited about the possibilities my mind seemed to be reaching.
“But we cannot change the weather,” Florence said, “and we cannot ask God to return—”
“No,” I nodded, “but what if there were different gods to rule in his absence?” Florence could not have been more surprised by what I said, then I grabbed him by the collar and shouted, “What if the Virgin Mary or the Golden Carp ruled instead of—!”
In that moment of blasphemy the wind swirled around me and drowned my words, and the heavens trembled with thunder. I gasped and looked up at the bell tower.
“DAH-NNNNNGGGGGgggggg…” The first clap of bell-thunder split the air. I turned and cringed at its sound. I crossed my forehead, and cried, “Forgive me, Lord!” Then the second loud ring sounded.
“Come on, Tony,” Florence pulled me, “we’ll be late—”
We ran up the steps past Horse and Bones who were swinging like monkeys on the bell ropes. We hurried to get in line, but Father Byrnes had seen us. He grabbed Florence and pulled him out of line, and he whispered to me, “I would not have expected you to be late, Tony. I will excuse you this time, but take care of your company, for the Devil has many ways to mislead.”
I glanced back at Florence, but he nodded that I go on. The line moved past the water fonts where we wet our fingers and genuflected as we made the sign of the cross. The water was icy. The church was cold and musty. We marched down the aisle to the front pews. The girls’ line filed into the right pew and the boys’ went to the left.
“Enough,” the father’s voice echoed in the lonely church, and the bells that called us were silent. Horse and Bones came running to join us. Then the father came. I took a chance and glanced back. Florence’s punishment for being late was to stand in the middle of the aisle with his arms outspread. He stood very straight and quiet, almost smiling. The afternoon sun poured in through one of the stained glass windows that lined the walls and the golden hue made Florence look like an angel. I felt sorry for him, and I felt bad that he had been punished while I had been excused.
“Let us pray,” Father Byrnes said and knelt. We followed suit, kneeling on the rough, splintery knee boards of the pew. Only Florence remained standing, holding the weight of his arms which would become numb like lead before catechism was over.
“Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos—” I prayed to myself, sharing my prayers with no one. Everyone else prayed in English.
Down the row I heard Bones faking it. “Buzz, buzz, buzz,” his mouth moved to the words, but he didn’t know them. His head was bowed, his eyes closed, and he looked so devout that no one could doubt his sincerity.
Then the priest quizzed us on some lessons we had already been through.
“Who made you?” he asked.
“God made me,” we answered in unison.
“Why did God make you?” he asked, and I saw him look down the aisle at Florence.
“God made us to love, honor, serve and obey Him.”
“Where is God?”
“God is everywhere.”
“At Rosie’s,” Bones whispered and rolled his eyes.
Father Byrnes didn’t hear him. “How many persons are there in one God?” he continued.
“Three. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”
“They have to squeeze in tight,” Horse grinned with his ugly horse teeth, and he took the white stuff he had been picking from them and wiped it on his pants.
“The ghost,” Bones said secretly, “the holy ghoooooo-st.”
Father Byrnes went on to discuss the difference between mortal and venial sins. His explanation was very simple, and in a way frightful. Venial sins were small sins, like saying bad words or not going to the Stations of the Cross during Lent. If you died with a venial sin on your soul you could not enter heaven until the sin was absolved by prayers or rosaries or masses from your family on earth. But if you died with a mortal sin on your soul you could never enter heaven. Never. It was frightening to think of missing mass on Sunday, then dying, and for that one mortal sin to go to hell forever.