Authors: Juan Pastor
thinks
it is. There are always things that can go wrong.
Infections. Allergic reactions to the drugs that prevent
infections. One body’s rejection of tissue material from
another body. It is with high suspense that the wrappings are
removed.
Many
months had passed since the real Almon
Abhorson’s death. But the spin doctors had been at work. The
news was that he had somehow miraculously survived. He was
in a special clinic in Mexico. In the meantime Sky is making
appearances for him. Officially, the Vice‐President, Rupert
Pauldine, is in charge. Good old “Rupe”. But the real power
behind the throne is Skyler Abhorson.
After
many many months, the last of the operations is
complete. I had done the initial work on Sin, but once the
repair work was done on his jaw, and I had repaired some of
his internal organs, and removed his obliterated spleen, he
was turned over to other specialists. I hadn’t seen him in some
time. Skyler made sure of it. If Sin was to be reeled in, hook,
line, and sinker, she didn’t want interference from someone
like me. But now, Sin was healed, and he had asked for me.
Skyler couldn’t say no.
I
knock on his door at his suite in the clinic. It is my
clinic, dammit, why hadn’t I been allowed to see him, and why
did I have to knock even now to be granted admittance?
But knock I do. And wait.
“Come in.” The voice says. It is two parts low and
gravelly,
like Sin’s voice, and two parts reassuring and
authoritative at the same time. Like a voice I’d heard before.
Like two voices I’d heard before. Now blended into one voice.
“The door’s open.”
When
I step in, his back is turned to me. I see the back
of his head, and the back of his head looks like the back of
Michael Douglas’s head, or maybe Pat Riley’s. It also looks like
the back of Almon Abhorson’s head looked. But the hair is a
little whiter, slicked back, the hippie’s ponytail gone. I can see
some of his face in the mirror. What I can see leaves me
speechless.
“Can’t
you turn around?” I ask. “Let an old girlfriend
look at you?”
“I’m afraid.” He says.
“You better stop being afraid.” I say. “You are
President now.”
“I’m so afraid of what you will think of me.” He says.
Only the low and gravelly is coming through now. He is
forgetting his speech lessons. Or maybe his throat is already
hurting.
“I’m going to see it one way or another anyhow,
soon.” I say. “Pretty soon the whole country will see you. The
whole world.”
“Don’t remind me.” He says. “I already can’t sleep, and
I feel like I’m getting an ulcer. All I really want to do is go back
to my cave in the desert.”
“Like the murcielago?” I ask.
“Like the murcielago.” He replies.
“But you won’t, will you?” I ask.
“No.” He says. “I won’t.”
“Because you are no longer blind?” I ask.
“Because I am no longer blind.”
“Turn around, pretty boy.” I say. “I want to see your
face.”
Sin turns around. Only it is no longer Sin. It is Almon
Abhorson, like he always looks when he comes back from
vacation somewhere. The teeth are pearly white. The face is
tanned and radiant. The eyes are piercing blue. The hair is
slicked back sleezy Wall Street executive style. The list of
procedures performed on him are:
1.
Facial skeletal reconstruction
2.
Rhinoplasty
3.
Skin grafts
4.
Facial chemical peel
5.
Total prosthodontics
6.
Minimal hair restoration
I can’t help but wonder. Will Almon’s family see
through this ruse? His old friends? But then I remember that
Almon had no family. He grew up in an orphanage. He was
never adopted, never even had foster parents. No one ever
wanted him. People still aren’t even sure where he came from,
or who were his biological parents. People still aren’t sure his
birth certificate is real. They don’t know for sure where he was
born. And he had very few friends – until he grew powerful.
“Do you have a hug for the perfect man?” He asks. “My
kingdom for a hug.”
I give him his hug. Gotta give these old guys a hug.
That’s what they live for. (Smile) He won’t let go for quite a
while.
“Do you have a notepad?” Sin asks. “I’m going to have
to write. My voice is giving out.”
I look through the drawers of a bedside cabinet. I find a
tablet. I find a pen. I give Sin the tablet and pen.
“What does Skyler think?” I ask. “And where is she?”
“I threw her out.” Sin writes. He flips to a new page on
the tablet “damn meddling bitch” another page “not
supposed to smoke” flip the page “or chew tobacco” another
page “they’ll make my white teeth yellow.”
“And you don’t want yellow teeth.” I say. “Do you?”
“And I can’t drink” he writes “or get high” he writes
some more. “Why get up in the morning?”
“What does Sky think of the new Almon?” I ask.
“She’s in heaven.” Sin writes. “gets to sleep with
Tejana’s boyfriend”.
Sin throws the pen and tablet on the bed. “Getting
tired of writing.” He says very softly. Pauses. Then continues.
“She thinks she’s reliving
The Man In The Iron Mask
, or
something. The a‐hole husband is gone, but he left all his
money, and the White House; and the nice new husband, who
is a really good f‐‐‐‐er and dancer gets to hold her hand at
parties now.”
“So, have you done the First Lady yet?” I laugh.
“She’s hot to trot.” Sin says. “But I can’t get myself up
for her.”
“Like you can for Tejana?” I ask. Then I realize he isn’t
going to play, so I drop it.
“I’ll tell you, Pequeña…” Sin says. “I don’t think I can
do this.”
“Skyler?” I ask. “Or be President?”
“Both.” He says. “There is too much enormity wrapped
up in this. I have too many questions.”
“There were a lot of things I thought I couldn’t do.” I
say. “But you showed me how wrong I was.”
It is silent for a while.
“Do you have feelings for me?” I ask.
“It’s complicated.” He says.
“How so?”
“I’m in love with you.” He says. “But I love you like a
daughter too.” His voice is starting to crack again. I don’t
know if it is from the strain on his voicebox, or emotion.
“That is complicated.” I say.
“Yes.” Sin says, so quietly I almost don’t hear it.
“Would you do anything for me?” I ask. “Would you
help
me
make
this
world
a
better
place,
given
the
opportunity? NO matter how or why or when that opportunity
presented itself?”
“Yes.” Softly.
“So what do you want me to do?” I ask.
“Will you give a message to Tejana for me?” He asks.
He is barely audible.
“I will.” I say.
“And will you tell Skyler to come in…?” He asks. I
cannot hear the end because his voice has gone silent.
why
I had this one built in the center of the courtyard. Just like
the Spanish would have done. This is how the Moors created
an oasis in the middle of the Sahara. Then they brought their
architecture and gardens to Spain. Then the Spanish brought
the gift of the Moors to the Americas. Not everything the
Spanish brought to the Americas was bad.
This
fountain is three‐tiered. It is made of baked clay
and it is an ochre color. It stands in the middle of an octagonal
pool. The inside of the pool is decorated in very colorful tiles. I
am not really sure if the colorful tiles are Moorish, Spanish, or
maybe even an Aztec influence. I think Moorish. On the
railings of the stairs and balconies of the clinic Bouganvillea
grows. And the garden is very sparse and uses plants that
would survive in the Sonora on their own. Cacti, agave, asters,
a few cypress for their stateliness, primrose, the rare
Crossosoma for instance. Pavers of baked clay radiate from
the pool to the corners of the courtyard. I don’t know if they
are supposed to be part of such a garden but I have planted
citrus and olive trees.
Bougainvillea
is not really native to Mexico. It originally
was a South American plant. It would grow almost wild in
Rosaria’s home country, El Salvador, and it did quite well in my
home country Guatemala, but it was usually intentionally
planted. The plant was named after the French navy explorer
Louis Antoine de Bougainville, but it was first described in
writing in a journal of Philibert Commercon, a French botanist.
But it was actually first seen (by a European) by Jeanne Bare,
the lover and assistant of Commercon. Bare was sneaked on
board, disguised as a man, by Commercon so that he would
have his love interest with him during this attempt to
circumnavigate
the
globe.
The
circumnavigation
was
successful and Bare was the first women to do so. This is why I
like Bougainvillea. It reminds me of brave women.
But
I am not brave. People say I am brave, but I am
really a bit of a coward at heart. Yes, I made this trip with
Rosaria, but I would never have worked up the nerve if it were
not for Rosie.
I
have come here to pray. I love the fountain and the
lovely plants, but I have come here to pray for courage. I have
come to pray for myself, and Sin. I have come to pray for
Tejana. And yes, even pray for Braulio and Skyler.
I
have not prayed since I was a child, when I actually
believed there was a God, and I knew I was talking to Him, and
He was listening, and He was guiding me. I so desperately
want to believe again. No, I want to be sure. I want to be as
sure that God exists as my mother was sure. For her, there
was no doubt. Me, I’m full of doubt.
See,
I am Latina. I am Roman Catholic. The Spanish
brought horses to America. They brought pain and slavery and
death.
They
brought
beautiful
gardens
and
wonderful
architecture. They brought the knowledge of the woman who
would crush the serpent, and she would have the Son that
would die for all the sins and sinners of the world.
That
Son prayed that the cup might pass. He prayed
among the citrus and olive trees that He might be spared.
They betrayed and killed him anyway. I pray that the cup not
pass, and I don’t want to be spared.
I
think I’m beginning to understand the Virgen Maria. I
know why she let Sin be beaten within an inch of his life. I
know why she wouldn’t let anyone fight for me.
I
understand why it was so important to Rosaria that
we come on this pilgrimage, and why it was so important that
I come with her. I think she knew that the Sonora is the vortex
where many destinies were soon to collide, and she knew it
was important for all of us, me, her, Sin, the Virgen Maria,
Tejana, Braulio, Skyler, Almon, John D, Bo, and the whole cast
of characters, to be here.
I
understand why I was found by the wolves, and why I
was rescued by a disgraced doctor turned recluse. Isn’t it
amazing how the violence of the world can end so many
dreams? Yet, for all of us on this grand Sonoran adventure, the
dream that appeared to die is about to be reborn.
So here I am, kneeling on the step at the fountain. The
water
flows from the upper level to the middle level to the
lower level and then into the pool. The sound of the water is
soft like a prayer.
I
pray like I mean it. I say to God “It has been THEIR
time for so long. It is OUR time now.”
I may be on my knees, but I don’t beg. My begging days
are over.
I demand.
glass
podium. She may be a trophy wife first lady, but she has
a way of commanding everyone’s attention when she wants it.
And she wants it now. Tejana, and Braulio Sepulvida, the
Mexican President, have already had their turn to speak. El
Presidente looks to have recovered very well, but he uses
crutches to make his way across the floor. He completes his
speech to a round of loud cheers. He lets himself enjoy the
cheers. He hasn’t heard much cheering during his embattled
presidency.
The
conference is being held at the Clinica Rosaria. The
“spin” doctors for both Presidents insisting it will create a
more intimate environment for the first messages of the two
men since the “botched” attempt on their lives.
People all across the world watch Skyler speak.
“Almon still has some difficulty speaking.” She says.