Breaching The Wall: Luck Is Not Accidental 1cb3z

BREACHING THE WALL

LUCK IS NOT ACCIDENTAL

GABE LEBLANC

Copyright © 2020 by Gabe LeBlanc.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019920889 ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-7960-7919-7 Softcover 978-1-7960-7920-3 eBook 978-1-7960-7929-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. [Biblica]

Scripture quotations marked RSV are taken from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1946, 1952, 1971 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the USA. Used by permission.

Rev. date: 01/03/2020

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CONTENTS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

About the Book

About the Author

Crying helps to purge the heart of pain, and tears are but gentle raindrops upon the landscape of sorrow.

ONE

THE TREES SWAY IN THE GENTLE BREEZE AND EXPOSE THE CLEARING BENEATH THEM. Cutting a swath through the canopy, like one parting curtains to take a peek, the feeble rays of sunlight struggle for space between the limbs. The hills, long ago foliated green, are now near barren as the need for fuel drove the people to make bare the landscape. Comparing what he sees to how it might have been—pregnant clouds releasing rain to make the valleys blush with glee—saddens the young man, driving him into contemplation. In the morning haze, he sees the sun rise like a yellow disk suspended behind the distant mountains and, as if reluctant to exude its radiance on the village, plays hide-and-seek with cirrus clouds and eventually emerges unimpeded as the bells of the parish church summon the faithful to Mass on the Christian Sabbath. Eighteen-year-old Raul Manigot has been taught that the Sabbath of the Bible was the seventh day of the week, when God rested from his six days of creation, so the boy is not fully committed to a first-day-of-the-week Sabbath observed by his mother. He wonders by whose authority the day of rest demanded by God had been changed. Then he re reading that it was Constantine, the first Christian emperor, who commanded that “all should rest on the venerable day of the sun.” Raul thinks Constantine boldly unconventional to have repealed the law of God and would that Saturday is the Sabbath. But although he would that the Sabbath of the Bible is the seventh day of the week, commanding all to rest, in respect of his mom, he would occasionally accompany her to Mass on the venerable day of the sun. He re his much younger days, crying in objection to the many Saturday afternoons or evenings he was compelled to enter the confessional box to tell the priest the things he had done that day and let Father decide if they were sins to be forgiven, and the Sundays he was commanded to accompany his mother, Annette Manigot, to listen to the long, sometimes boring homilies of the European priest who had been sent to his country to continue to embed in the minds of the locals the concept of a white god who had created black and brown people in his image. That puzzles the boy because all the images of God he has

been shown and those punctuating the otherwise bare walls of the three churches he has visited are white. Therefore, if he were to accept the illogic of his emergence, he could also be convinced that no matter their past transgression against and present hatred of black people, white people, also born in God’s image, are empathetic toward their black brethren. But his experiences with the few whites he has dealt with, including his French teacher, do not allow him to affirm white empathy toward those of his race. He is older now, so rather than go to Mass and listen to the priest as he continues to instill his beliefs into supple minds, today he would do something different. He will spend time by himself, unhindered by the distractions of others. He needs to cleanse his mind of the misinformation that took up valuable space in his head and make room for the plausible. The time has arrived for him to test truths by their practical consequences and allow his life to take on a new dimension. He will not go to church today as he has done many Sundays, coaxed or compelled by his mother. Instead, he will go someplace quiet to purge his mind of the things he has been conditioned to accept by peer and adult persuasion, the validity of which he now questions. Raul knows that his life and the lives of all in his country are oppressively controlled by the government and conditioned by religion to accept without objection the edicts of the government and the proclamations of the church. Raul is brimming with ambition but lacking an outlet as a result of government inhibitions, and the only thing he has to cling to is hope, hope that one day he’ll escape his depraved existence and take his mother with him. But for the moment, even with the right mind-set to achieve success, hope seems bleak. He does not want to make any rash moves or act on impulse only to have to deal with what follows. Knowing the brutality the paramilitary is capable of without having to for it, he will remain silent on matters political even as he disdains all things government. And ever should he get the chance to find his voice, he’ll keep silent his desire to leave his country. He approaches the one-of-a-kind mango tree that has stood barren for decades, some of its roots visible as they emerge from the bog as if looking for relief and, for some unexplained reason, unable to oblige the planter’s purpose and bear fruit, its branches draping a narrow section of the river where, long ago, twenty thousand of his compatriots were murdered, and that forms part of the boundary between two independent countries occupying the same island. Raul searches for a clearing on which to spread the small piece of tarpaulin he had picked up when

it flew rejected from a ing banana truck. Finding no suitable place among the reeds, he goes to the large slimy bolder under the tree and folds the tarp to clear a spot in which to sit. In the comfort of the shade, he sits. With his head ed in the palm of his right hand, he bends over and, with his left, perfunctorily proceeds to clean the rest of the boulder, a welcomed diversion from idleness. The river, once teeming with fish and water without color, is now a detritus-laden eyesore, dirty green, like algae on the surface of a private pool deprived of its essentials, moving slowly as if reluctant to go home to sea. In the silence of the morning, he contemplates how the mango, drawing nutrients from the polluted water, can develop such green foliage; life, he opines, ensues from the seemingly dead. His thoughts follow his mother to Mass. What has she done to deserve the life she lives? He would do all he could to help his mom escape her depraved existence, but his ability to do so is limited as if by fiat. Hers is by no means isolated as she lives the life of women in general in the land sensitized with hope and nothing more. Men fare a little better because their gender predisposes them the right to more of the little there is. As Raul turns the pages of Life, a magazine subscription gifted him by a foreign woman living in his country, he envisions how women truly live an ocean away and a life a million times more appealing and desirable than that lived by his mom and other women of his land. Oh, how he would love to see his mother living the glamor seen in Life! But she is disadvantaged by both location and gender. He knows that in his capital city are a handful of local women living the life of privilege and allowed to travel, though not without the impediment attendant to their skin color, of which his mom could only dream but never attain. He would gladly give up his life, were that an option, to allow her to live the privileged life assumed in Life. But for this to occur, he has to make it happen. Long before the bells, he has done his morning duty of emptying the chamber bucket into the hole dug among the banana trees, over which his dad, Miguel, was to build an outhouse. The hole had been dug deep enough to accommodate the effluent of generations. In consideration of this and not too far down one side of the hole, a one-foot-diameter clay pipe extends fifteen feet into the alluvial soil to absorb any likely overflow. But Miguel was killed before he could barter fish for lumber, and the hole remained discreetly hidden by overhanging banana leaves. Raul washes the bucket and fills it upriver to partially satisfy the day’s cooking and cleaning needs. He has done this since he was old enough to relieve his mother of this essential duty and has seen the need to complete this necessary

and humbling chore early to avoid the gaze of peers who believe such work should be done by the woman in the home. Lacking any other water source, all villagers are at the mercy of the river. But inasmuch as every household has chamber-bucket duty, the upriver of one becomes the downstream of another. Raul contemplates the situation and wishes he could change it. He is of the age to be independent of his mother’s decisions and no longer wishes to be a regular attendee at Mass, as his dad had been. It appears as if all of his mom’s prayers for God to redirect him to church and Mass have gone unheard or, worse, unanswered. In the quiet of the trees, with birds perched on overhead branches, chirping what he thinks is their approval, he listens. Certain that among the chatter and babble of voices he hears from the women as they make their way to church will be his mom’s, he remains corpse-like, quiet, lest he be seen and commanded to be the male voice to those of nattering women. He can’t recall his mom ever missing Sunday Mass. To her and all the other able women of the parish, it is sacrilegious to not obligate oneself to visit the “Lord’s house” the first day of the week—designated by the parish priest as a Holy Day of Obligation—to ask for blessings and guidance to face the days ahead. On many a Sunday, he has accompanied his mother to religious observances, but today Raul will not be occupying a pew. But apart from the need for quiet to think, he also needs to do something of which he believes his mother would be proud and more pleasing to God than his presence among Mass attendees. Sure that Father’s long homily will keep the faithful captive for hours; he remains glued to the boulder. That he did not accompany his mom to church this Sunday is not because of diminished faith, but he is not one to follow blindly the dictates of the religion to which he belongs. He has observed many who do so while their actions are devoid of empathy, kindness, respect, and love, which their faith conveys. “These people,” he says, “speak faith but don’t live it. For while to some regular attendance at Mass might evoke faith, it does not inform Christian behavior. Attending Mass and saying, ‘Halleluiah!’ to ersby does not make one a Christian. Neither can an angler claim to be a swimmer simply because he casts a line into the water.” Fresh on his mind is his mom’s irrepressible concern for the people housed in the wood-stucco building about a mile on the narrow dirt road from her home and

called the Edifice. The building is small, not imposing, but they choose to call it the Edifice to distinguish it from the other structures around it and because of the people housed there. Annette does not have much, and those in the Edifice have less, so she took it upon herself to do whatever she could to ease the pain of those housed there, derogatorily referred to as inmates. The reason behind the reference is clear because once itted there, they could not leave except when death privileges their departure. The government decreed that anyone perceived a threat to the despotism of the leader must be isolated from the rest of society for their own safety. But that decree reeks of deception; it is to get rid of the people who pose a clear and present threat to a dictatorial regime that thrives on oppression. The government would have preferred to put them against the execution wall and dispatch them with a bullet but, fearing international condemnation, instead kept them housed in isolation. The survival of the people housed in the Edifice depends on the donations of concerned persons like Annette and Raul to provide the needs denied them by the government. In consideration of the need to help those less fortunate, Annette and her son have agreed to have just one meal a day, the provisions for the other meals brought to the Edifice in the hope that others would follow their lead. It’s often said that misery likes company, but philanthropy loves an assemblage, allowing Annette’s gift to multiply. However, with most of the people in the parish being poor, donations are scant and infrequent. Raul has a plan to improve the situation—even temporarily. Instead of Mass and wanting to surprise his mother, he goes home and takes the family donkey—the only livestock they keep as needs drove them to sell the goats, sheep, and rabbits owned by Miguel—to the gardens the villagers maintain cooperatively, and loads it with whatever he could find, provisions not yet ready to be harvested by those who tilled and seeded the gardens, to provide some relief to the inmates of the Edifice. He hopes to make his delivery and be home before his mother. The action, he thinks, cannot be construed as evil because the motive is transcendental—much good surmounting a little evil. The weight on the donkey’s back hinders its strides; the ass refuses to continue on the two-mile uphill trek without a rest. The dirt road, made muddy by a recent rainfall, slows both boy and his beast. With whip in hand and a bundle of wood on his head, Raul is as fatigued as the ass he whips into submission. “Move!” he yells at the donkey. “You lazy …”

He stops short of saying the word; to him, in the context in which he would use it, it’s profane. On observing that the more he whips the ass, the more stubborn it becomes, resisting his command to advance, Raul puts his load down on the sodden leaves that line the road and lightens that of the donkey so they both could rest. Regretting what he has done to the animal, he discards the whip, which he made from pieces of discarded hemp. After a while, they continue to the Edifice. There, he delivers the firewood he carried and relieves the beast of his burden into the hands of the two matrons, two local women sent by the church and who want to become nuns, and he and his donkey are home before Annette. He thinks it would both surprise and please his mom to learn what he has done for those at the Edifice because on many occasions, she has expressed a desire to do what she could to alleviate the suffering of those forced to live there. But Annette, a woman of unqualified principles, is not pleased with the surprise because by Raul’s action, he has deprived others of their cooperative right to a fair share of their gardens’ produce, toward which they devoted much time and expended much effort. “I need to spend time alone in prayer to ask forgiveness for what you have done,” she tells Raul. Like a child being sent to the principal’s office for an infraction of the rules and given a timeout, Raul is banished from home for the rest of the day. He attributes his brief banishment to what he has done and that he is being punished for a deed he thought divine. In the quiet of the morning and with the situation of those at the Edifice on his mind, a load heavier than the bundle of wood he carried, he feels at ease to address God, asking the rhetorical questions many a believer has asked from the beginning of recorded time. Why do you allow a government absolute power in controlling the lives of others? And why do some people enjoy a continuous harvest when others can’t get enough to eat? Was it destined that those created in your image be divided between the blessed and the cursed? And if all are created in your image, why then do some experience continuous famine? Do you hear the prayers of my mom and those other women whose babies go hungry because their mothers can’t get enough to eat and their breasts are dried of life-sustaining milk? How long must they pray, God? Indeed, how must they pray?

Based on the Christian doctrine taught by the European priest that all are created equal and are equally loved, Raul thinks that we should all share equally in God’s bounty. But he knows too that some, using methods anathema to Christian values, will maneuver themselves into positions to justify a larger slice of the providential pie as their ever-present greed stabs at the conscience of the soul. But it’s in the nature of man to want more, not because he is in dire need but because he compares himself with those with more. It matters little to him if the abundance he craves is ill-gotten; his envy drives him to desperate and amoral behavior. “Europeans,” he says, “mainly from England and fleeing from the prosecution of both church and king, are fortunate that Columbus had opened up an Atlantic Ocean route for them when he set sail to India but stumbled upon a continent blocking the way, and thus began the change of events that would rattle the world. Finding their newfound land already populated with people they thought Indian, they set about to usurp the land from them. In attempting to cover up their motive, they claimed to have brought Jesus to the natives, supposedly in exchange for their land and treasure. But anyone resisting the theft of their treasure and the usurpation of their land was labeled savage and an enemy of Jesus who, according to their Bible, has given them dominion over all other creation.” Raul wonders why the Europeans did not act like those they had met, already occupying the vast land, and share in its abundance. Were the newcomers right that the Bible they carried with them contained the written word of God and that it truly decreed that the new arrivals should have it all? The young man is not pleased with what he hears and sees but, without a choice, accepts it and lives with the contrast. But, he theorizes, if there were no variation between the two, if no haves and have-nots, if we are all of equal means and possess the same attributes, what then? What are we left to aspire to if we are all equally endowed? What would drive our motivation to go beyond our present circumstance? When God divided the seas from the land, he neither erected barriers to the free movement of peoples nor directly controlled their aspirations, leaving them freely to think whether to divide and conquer or unite and coexist. But we are conditioned to divide, to find room for disagreements. And man, forever intoxicated by the thirst for more, welcomes that division, seeing in it a basis for conflict. Man revels in conflict. If there were no reason to war, he’d create a

purpose. He can only think of what might have developed on his land if European powers, energized by greed and the need for territorial expansion, did not invade with the singular purpose of exterminating the people who had lived there for centuries. Had the European usurpers been willing to coexist with different ethnic and racial groups, would the world be a better place? What could have followed the coexistence of a diverse universe? His what-if questions beg a response, but he is content to leave them unanswered because in his mind, no one is qualified to give one. “Oh! How I wish that I could blow up the pillars of injustice that feed at the trough of corruption and that have, for too long, held it in place and, in their stead, erected structures wisely engineered to survive societal changes to assuage the plight of those left imbued with hope and patiently wait for a miracle,” he says. “The powerful who build edifices on corruption with no regard for the societal consequences are no different from vultures that descend on carrion, certain that the meal before them is unable to offer any resistance.” Raul is lucky to have lived. Annette is lucky to have survived his delivery. The few doctors in his country preferred to live and practice in the eroding charm of the city. There, with offices sandwiched between other businesses, they felt safer than in a standalone tin-roofed structure erected for the sole purpose of tending to patients. Annette and Miguel Raul, her husband, lived many miles from the hospital or the clinic, which lacked basic and necessary supplies, and it was near impossible for them to come up with the money to pay a doctor to travel two hours on horseback to deliver a baby. Poverty was the common thread that bound the small community to midwifery. Ma Pujor was the consummate midwife. She had no formal medical training, but because there was no other with the requisite skill to deliver babies, the people respectfully called her nurse. She had impressed the people with her knowledge of medical words and , which she had learned from Bailliere’s Midwife Medical Dictionary, a gift from a medical doctor who had singled her out because he thought her a woman of potential. It is said that in the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king; so it is that in the community lacking medical assets, the one woman with the Bailliere is midwife and nurse. The nurse had lost three women in the past four years, all while birthing: one

from a breach and two from excessive bleeding. All the babies survived. In that period, for the mother, giving birth was as dangerous as undergoing a major operation in a poorly equipped hospital staffed with unqualified doctors. For Ma Pujor, who had delivered so many babies, helping mothers in the birthing process, it was routine, and the people knew she was not to blame for the loss of life. The deaths of the three were attributed to nonexistent prenatal care complicated by poor nutrition. At first, they thought of naming the boy-child Andrew Miguel, but the parents thought the name “too English” and approved instead Raul Manigot. Born of a father from across the divide, his mom decided to give her son his dad’s family name to keep alive his connection to the people there and her surname so as not to disrespect her roots. Raul was not yet two when Annette became a single mom because her husband had been murdered by the paramilitary that terrorized the country, under the command of the oppressive despot, on the mere assumption that he was disrespectful to their commander. Annette, knowing that her son was too young to understand that his dad would not be returning from the eternal journey upon which he had unwilling embarked, insulated Raul from the information until he became of age to understand clearly the circumstance surrounding his dad’s absence and the finality of his death. Raul learned that his dad was a fisherman who went out to sea six days a week. Sunday was the “Day of Obligation,” which meant the religious adherents had to attend Mass. But even on Sundays, when most people were in church, the paramilitary, independent of all but the president and free to kill even on a lie, roamed the neighborhoods. In an effort to secure protection from the paramilitary, the fishermen, on command, were to select the choicest fish for the commander before selling any to the public. Unaware of the command, Miguel sold his catch to anyone willing to buy and able to pay. This entirely innocent action, the paramilitary, so despised by the people and whom they derogatorily referred to as “goons,” thought an implied disobedience that did not sit well with them. Worse, it was disrespect, and any anyone suspected of disrespect would, in due time, be dealt with harshly. In those days, the goons found targets even in the homes of families. At the dinner table, parents and their children were very careful about what they said to one another. A word said the wrong way or a sentence uttered in a way that

sounded remotely against the government brought on the ire of the goons. How did they get to know what was discussed at dinner? Hoping to secure the favor of their protection, even family snitched on one another. Annette relates: “One day, while walking a dirt road of our village, a man in uniform approaches my husband. He tells Miguel that his action of selling his catch that day was disrespectful to the chief and warns him. Words were exchanged. He lets my husband leave but not to live. As Miguel walks away, a bullet enters the back of his head, leaving a gaping exit hole in his forehead. It is believed that one bullet killed him instantly. However, as if the shooter had been commanded to use up a certain number of bullets, he fires three more shots into my husband’s already-dead body to send a message to the people already cowering in fear of the paramilitary.” “C’est une erreure,” he said when he, the one spitting bullets from his Americandonated .45-caliber pistol, realized what he had done. His perfunctory ission of error was said without regret or remorse. The killing of the innocent was just an error, an error immune to condemnation, and brought no repercussion because the goons answered to no one but the president. The president was the only authority above them, and reporting such trivia as the senseless murder of the innocent was an unnecessary inhibition to the “smooth” operations of an oppressive government. Annette would later learn that the uniformed man was a goon. While she told the event of her husband’s death, Annette reminisced on the times Miguel had been the life of the hamlet during the nights lit by moonlight and fireflies. On these nights, it appeared all the inhabitants of the village of Jeanne d’ Arc would gather for the after-dinner stories, starting with “Tim-Tim,” to alert the listeners that what follows is pure fiction, especially made up for postprandial enjoyment. Some of the fictitious renderings were so vividly frightening that the children would stay close to the adults, fearing nightmares, unwilling to retire for the night even when commanded to do so. Occasionally, the people would welcome others to compete against Miguel, the winner chosen by the level of laughter from the audience. To Annette and Miguel, Raul was a rare gift of life enveloped in bliss, wrapped in the love of Christ. He was the joy that kept their lives inspired. Now Annette must live her life in the memories of those happier days, animated as best as she

could by the loving presence of her only child. In the absence of her husband, who provided for their meagre existence, the circumstance of the situation hits home for mother and her son. Annette ed the response given by the parish priest when, following Miguel’s death, she had asked him, “What will happen to my child?” Father, not in the least vocabulary deficient, consoled her, saying, “Your child is not your child. He is the child of life’s longing for itself. He comes through you but not from you.” Then he added, “He is in the hands of the Lord.” Annette was not a woman of letters but a woman governed by wisdom and understood clearly what Father had meant. She knew that if her son was to be all he could be, she must meet her responsibilities in helping the Lord in his mission and see Raul’s education as a priority to help clear the societal hurdles that awaited him. She would do whatever was necessary to educate Raul, give him the best schooling permitted to her by a repressive regime that sought to keep power from the domain of those long oppressed, a situation that had not changed in decades. Fearing a rebellion, should there be an easing of the oppressive atmosphere the government considered vital for its control of the people, there was little hope of seeing a beneficial change in the status quo. But hope was all she had, and in expectation of a better life for Raul, she’d hold on tightly to what she has. Lucky for mother and child, Uncle Felix, Miguel’s brother, with no living relatives, took on the responsibility of Raul’s schooling at L’ecole Jean-Baptiste de la Salle, where tuition was free but the cost of a required uniform, available only from the paramilitary-owned store, was beyond Annette’s reach without the help of Uncle Felix. But the irony of this was that Annette had worked in the “para store” (so dubbed by some), where she and two other women made the uniforms they could not afford to buy for their children. Annette needed the equivalent of a week’s wage to buy just one piece of a two-piece uniform. She could not save enough from the money paid her to be able to simultaneously buy a complete uniform. She did this only with the help of Felix, promising to pay him sometime in the future, which did not become possible during the time Felix had lived. With Annette not having given a promissory note or an IOU to Felix, and there being no evidence of her debt, Felix’s death cancelled the obligation. Raul agonizes at the disclosure of the manner of his dad’s death. His mother had

purposely withheld telling him something as grim as the murder of his dad, her husband, because he was too young to comprehend. Now he understands the finality of death and the operations of the goons, eager to end the life of anyone whose behavior and manner of operation is seen as an affront to their government. He would love to be able to go to another place, any country, no matter how perilous but where the grass is greener and the people live freer and happier lives. The people of his country have been, for over two centuries, and still are today disparaged and marginalized by hateful rhetoric for no other reason, he believes, than their skin color. Raul’s mom reared him as best she could within the limits of a dehumanizing existence. She ed reading, “Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not turn from it.” Her every breath was expended in this effort during her son’s younger years. But although the Proverbs quote may be true for her because she was left on her own to care for and train a child, it cannot be denied that a father’s presence in the home is the anchor that keeps the ship of family from drifting from the acceptable societal norms taught by both parents. It is said that life is a reasonable arbiter and will grant you what you ask. But sometimes even our best negotiating skills will leave us deficient, and for the child to not turn from the generally acceptable societal dictates and parental guidance, he or she must be influenced to keep clear of the subculture. Annette knew it would not be easy for Raul given the unsavory elements vying for control of their village, but she knew she had given him a good foundation to resist “the street,” and relying upon the idea that it takes a parish to raise a child, she would know soon enough if her son ever inclined to untoward behavior. Raul thinks his mom a saint to have survived the dehumanizing existence she is compelled to accept, especially since the murder of her husband, and wonders if God puts a limit on the pain one endures. He thinks of the Trinity and wonders why, in the Christian religion, the Spirit is given greater prominence than Mary, the mother of God. In many books of the Bible, references abound in which the Spirit is given physical form, capable of emotions. Might the Spirit then be Mary? And therefore, instead of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, might we then reference Father, Son, and Mother? And is it because of man’s chauvinistic zealotry that the mother of Christ is given secondary coverage in religious texts? “Who else,” he says, “but a woman could have seen me and my mom through

the long periods of extended pain? However, given the patriarchy dominant in the social climate throughout the world, I will never in my lifetime see a woman elevated to a position of divinity. It just will not happen, to take away from man the high ground he claims to be his right in all layers of societies as his lust for power overwhelms the conscience.” Raul imagines an oasis across the divide, over the invisible wall that separates him from them, and would like to be included among “them.” If the wall he sees keeping him on his side of it were physical, he would devise a way to breach it, but it’s an imagined wall, and it will remain impregnable so long as he fails to see things as they are and not as they should be. But he is also well aware that even when the body is imprisoned, the mind is free to think, able to soar and convert dreams into hopes in which possibilities reside. However, although it is virtually impossible for others to command what we think and how we think it, we are nonetheless, at times, hindered in our conversion of thought into action, into something developmentally great, if the castle in which thought resides is ringed by a moat teeming with sinister inhibitions preventing thought to freely transition to action. Stuck in his present situation, he’ll acknowledge the space he so ingloriously occupies, pregnant with hope, aspirations high, that one day he’ll escape the oppressive atmosphere that denies him the chance to make a contribution to his world. Hope keeps him alive and drives his motivation. No one and nothing can stand in his way to deny him ambition. “To allow this to happen,” he says, “is to insult the Creator and curse my mother.” So desirous of making a better life for his mom and himself, he must get from where he is, by whatever means, to where he wants to be no matter how perilous the journey.

Right and responsibility must forever be bedfellows; for if, in stressing your right, freedom informs the narrative, in the absence of responsibilities, there is chaos.

TWO

IN RAUL’S OPINION, BOTH EUROPE AND AMERICA ARE MUCH TO BLAME FOR HIS COUNTRY’S ECONOMIC WOES, AIDED BY A CORRUPT AND INEPT GOVERNMENT. He believes that Europe’s behavior toward his country, for ten-score years, ran her to the poorhouse, and it was the horrific demands placed upon her by the European powers, helped by the United States, that had engendered her penury when she was compelled to pay reparations for her “foolhardiness” in defeating a superior European army. At that time, it was claimed that the routing of European troops from his country cost the Europeans a bundle in resources and pride, so the demand for reparations was justified. He compares what they did to his country to the demands placed upon following World War I. But whereas was the alleged aggressor, his country didn’t attack anyone and therefore had the inalienable right to fight off the invaders. Europe’s motive for compelling Raul’s country to pay reparations was the latter’s total economic destruction, for which they got much from America. But Raul also knows that the manner of living of a people in any country is dependent upon the workings of its government and that the energy expended in blaming others for what happened so many years ago could be better spent in constructive endeavors. It’s been multiple decades since his country has been free of the European stranglehold, and he believes the present situation is a legacy of corruption and ineptitude of his despotic government. Raul has no hope that the status quo will change anytime soon as the dictator keeps the people cowered in fear with intimidation by a compliant paramilitary. The world has many dictators ruling desperate governments, none benevolent, and they depend on the poor and uninformed, the docile, compliant, and complacent for their continued grip on power, compelling even those previously thought incorruptible to the corruption because they see their own survival in an alliance with the government. Raul’s country fits the definition of a government made desperate, the reason arising from the needs of the people, which she is unable to meet because of the past injustice done to her, helped by the government’s ineptitude and corruption; the scar on the visage of the land

will take much time to heal. He compares the operations of the leader of his government—living the arrogance of Louis XIV, who claimed to be the state—to that of a small island nation in the region, breathing free after years of colonialism, and wonders why that island was able to maintain a truly democratic society after much oppression by the colonial power. He knows that in most instances, oppression, when the stirrup of its control is loosened, engenders a movement for liberty among the people. And the colonial power, in acknowledgment of this and having transitioned to a more inclusive and benevolent colonialism, left in its wake a viable political philosophy on which the island’s advancement depended. That philosophy brought about the emergence of local leaders, among whom was Edward Oliver LeBlanc (familiarly EO), who governed with the wisdom of Solomon. He was fair, honest, approachable, transparent, and humble, his every action exposed in daylight, his every word written and scrutinized, every sentence dissected. Raul followed the politics and social structure of that island and heard that many of the people there had thought the colonial power shortsighted for granting independence to a land unprepared to govern, and with the master not having prepared the people to form a government and designated a leader, it was opined that corruption was sure to follow the colonialist exit as many with the aspiration of leadership vied for control of government. That did not happen. From among the people rose leaders who were able to maintain the same level of governance as before, and the people now having a controlling share in the stock of their government saw themselves being paid the dividends. But the people did not appreciate humility in EO’s leadership and thought it a sign of weakness. They, having been previously whipped into submission by the colonialists, wished for strength in their new leader, even calling him a political fool for remaining poor when he could have paid himself a living wage or raided the treasury for the benefit of his family. Might they have preferred a leader who would bring on the demise of their cherished democracy with the arrogance of Louis XIV to declare, “L’etate c’est moi”? It is not clear if Louis, an absolute ruler, regarded all of as his personal possession or was simply referring to the middle class, the bourgeoisie, who did his bidding. But strength does not define a good leader. Briefly stated, strength coupled with good character and with an acknowledgment of responsibility to those you lead,

all of them, is the stock in trade of a good leader, conditioned by integrity. EO lived integrity. Elected to a third five-year term, he resigned last midterm, believing that even a democratically elected leader in office too long will incline toward dictatorship, which he despised, and he was no Machiavelli to do evil and justify it by the evil acts of those he ruled. Raul would have been happy to live in a country under the direction of EO, his idol, whom he hoped would be the model for politicians and those with political aspirations. Raul re a poem EO had written while he held absolute power in his land, and he thinks it was written for people like him and therefore hopes to follow EO’s exhortation to the young that they should follow their aspirations and never yield to mediocrity, that the flame of ambition should be held high to light the way to a better tomorrow, and that the higher it is raised, the more diffused its glow, so they should keep their ambition lofty and hopes high. Often he said to them, “Yours is the crown if only you would seek it.” He is convinced that only a well-adjusted leader confident of his leadership could have written an exhortation to energize the youth to action. After all, weren’t the activist youth the harbingers of dissent? Weren’t they the ones who had started movements to give their government hell? Why then would a leader encourage them to action and exhort them to live their ambition and aspiration? Because while he led with Churchill-like oratory, the words he had spoken resonated with youth. He encouraged the young to be strong, for the development of their country rests on the shoulders of a united youth, exhorting them, “When the strong unite, they become stronger, but when the weak divide, each becomes weaker to his own detriment and the ultimate destruction of the whole.” Raul aches for the privilege to live in a country where he can develop to his full potential, unhindered by the caprice of a government like his, which, at any time, can deny him the right to life. As much as he loves his mother, he will seek her blessings in his desire to leave the country where he was born and now lives but has been unable to develop the means to allow him to advance and, with his determination unchecked, make a better life for himself and to help his mother, irrespective of the hindrances his government puts in his way. But this can happen only if he exits the sordid conditions he is constrained to experience. In spite of the misfortune that weighs him down, Raul has an advantage over many others in that he has a decent education, by any standard. Unlike the other pupils at L’ecole Jean-Baptiste de la Salle, who either found no time to study after

school or simply did not care to go beyond the lessons taught there, Raul— permitted to take books home, to be returned the next day—studied every chance he got. Raul wants to live. Therefore, he is not content with the “privilege of my existence,” as he it. He sees his government regarding life as a privilege, not a God-given right, which it has the power to take away with or without provocation. “Only a free people truly live,” he once said. He wishes to be free from the domain of a government that perpetuates the sordid conditions of its people in a system fueled by corruption and the thirst for power. He sees the result of his people’s needs in the virtual destruction of the once-bucolic hillsides as their forests are ravaged by those needing firewood for cooking fuel. He wants to leave behind the horrors of his existence, while inerasably etched on his mind is the love he maintains for his motherland. He will not forget what they did to his dad, a dad he hardly knew, or the love of his mom. She is his inspiration, moving him in the direction of the time when he will leave behind the existence he knows and finds a place to transition from it. His purpose-driven ambition is a better life for his mother, who is respectful of his desire to make a better life for himself, to explore the world beyond the confines of their lean-to. She is healthy at sixty-two and knows her people are not endowed with a long life expectancy because of their living conditions and unhealthy lifestyle, arising mainly from contaminated drinking water, recently made better with the introduction of filtration. The brutal, horrific murder of his friend drives Raul’s desperation to leave. He prefers the word escape because of his need to hide. For days, he hid in the small shed, behind which their donkey was tethered and that had once held his dad’s gardening tools, now rusting from nonuse, not venturing out lest he be seen by the people who had necklaced his friend. When he had first heard the people speak of the dehumanizing brutality of the necklace, he thought they referred to one of Guy de Mauant’s short stories, which was required reading at L’ecole Jean-Baptiste de la Salle. But then he ed the story was one of excessive desire for vanity, not brutality. He could not understand how the need of a vainglorious woman to impress others had led her to borrow a necklace of fake jewels she thought real and, on losing it, spent a decade in hard low-status work to pay for a lookalike. But Raul

didn’t see any brutal underpinnings in the invitation the Ramponneaus had extended to the Loisels or the behavior of Mrs. Forestier for not offering the necklace of jewels to Matilda. Because she knew their value and thought them not suitable for an evening such as the one Matilda and her husband had been invited to at the home of the Minister of Public Instruction, Mrs. Forestier did the right thing to let Matilda look through Mrs. Forestier’s jewels to find something Matilda thought perfect for the occasion—nothing cruel there. Then Raul realized the reference was not to Guy’s creation but something sinister, a horrible event carried out by those void of morals or virtue. It was not a necklace that evoked pride in the wearer but one that, once worn, assured death. The necklace the goons place around one’s neck, when a bullet would dispatch the condemned too quickly, consists of an auto tire, the well of which is filled with gasoline. The one to be necklaced is placed on a chair, hands tied behind his back and himself secured to the chair by ropes. The gasoline-filled tire is placed around his neck (he is necklaced) and lit. As the burning rubber beads to the chest, one can only imagine the writhing pain, the agony, the slow death as the melting rubber drips. Raul had not before witnessed a necklacing. Now, as a warning to others, he was commanded to watch his friend’s life taken away in an unspeakable, demonic way. The visual was too much for him to bear, so he bolted, goons be damned. He had disobeyed an order. If he was caught, he might well suffer the consequences of his boldness like his dad or, worse, like his friend. But he was too streetwise to let this happen. Even in much later years, Raul is unable to understand what drives man to think of such cruelty and what motivation drives its execution. If at first, Raul had been skeptical as to his decision to leave his mother, the necklacing of his friend left no room for doubt. But he understood that it was the insecurity of his government that allowed such diabolized behavior in a country of self-proclaimed Christians. His mother excluded, he was content to not have ed the hypocrites, who claim fealty to Christ simply because they can be seen occupying a pew on Days of Obligation. He called them “hypocrites whose deceptive recitations of memorized psalms and hymns are void of godly substance, and their Christian beliefs lack evocation of Christ-like deeds.” The goons too attended Mass and had assigned pews, which they occupied by rotation. Like VIPs attending a symphony orchestra and given front-row seats, the goons at Mass were privileged with pews nearest the altar. But those pews had been paid for under a two-year agreement, subject to renewal. In those parts,

it was customary for regular churchgoers to “buy” a pew to differentiate themselves by status. The goons at Mass today would be roaming the streets of the parish next Sunday to allow their brothers in brutality a chance to be observed in church and inure respectability. But while they thought it necessary to be in church, they seemed not to be at Mass, for during the Service, they were seen conversing, at times audibly, at the time when they should be ing the congregation in prayer and song or silently listening to the homily. The goons could mark anyone to be necklaced, except it wouldn’t be the real one of de Mauant but the fake one of burning rubber. All they needed was someone willing to snitch a lie on another. There was no law to guide their behavior; they made life-and-death decisions—the lucky ones live, and the unlucky die—and emboldened by immunity, their brutal acts continue to outdevil the devil. Knowing how his people are deep into their religion while their behavior seems evidently devoid of religious beliefs, Raul opines evolution over creation, for to him, it is inconceivable that man and woman, created in divine image, could harbor diabolized thoughts of taking innocent lives. Raul has questions, so many questions, but does not know whom to ask. Even when he was a teenager at school, his questions on morality and Christian values disturbed his teachers, who thought him a troubled boy who distracted them from their subject matter. The truth was the profundity of some of his questions exceeded expectations of him, and they felt an accommodation of them would serve only to encourage him, taking time away from the school’s syllabus. Driven by hope and energized by the traumatic experience of the necklacing, Raul leaves his mother’s home for a chance to work with Père Jean Beard, a Belgian who had arrived in the country one year after Raul saw the light of day and assigned to a town not too far from Raul’s village as a replacement to the recently expelled Fr. Vieux Chandler. Chandler was the great-grandson of a British merchant who had settled in the town of Rouen and married a French woman in June 1919. Father Chandler was asked to “leave the country immediately” when it was learned that he had angered the leader and insulted the people by calling them “mushy brained” to have elected the current leader, a despot called Little Edi, out of his earshot—a clear reference to Amin of Uganda—and he lived up to the infamy. Had Father Chandler made the effort to study the recent history of the country, he would have learned that Little Edi had not been elected by the people. It is true that

years ago and before he earned the infamy of Edi, the leader had been fairly elected on his democratic principles. But it soon became clear that his motive for wanting to lead was his desire to hold the position for life and astutely surround himself with a few loyalists by granting them special favors and taking good care of their families. From among them, he appointed his paramilitary. Assured of the loyalty of those around him, he pushed for and was successful in changing the Constitution to remove its five-year term limit. No longer term limited and assuming absolute power, he would call an election on any day he chose. This time, he called it on the day he knew most able adults would be in church. With his loyalists and paramilitary casting most of the ballots, it was easy to understand why he had gotten 95 percent of the votes. He purposely withheld giving himself a 100 percent mandate in an effort to cover up the sham election. Little Edi would have liked to let loose his paramilitary against Father Chandler. But as he knew any drastic action against the priest that would inflict bodily harm would get a European response that would not be hospitable, he instead called for his immediate expulsion. Father Chandler could best be described as a theological dichotomy clothed in the habit of religious hypotheses. While the people loved and respected him for talking truth to power, which the locals dared not even think of doing, at the same time, he was not the people’s choice for parish priest. The reason was that when children were brought before him to be baptized, he always insisted that the infant be given a Christian first name, that of a saint or angel. Thomas was fine, but Tommy was not; Alice was acceptable but not Alicia. The people getting tired of their priest demanding that parents give Chandler-approved names to their children—names that, for the most part, were of European origin, of saints and angels created in the image of the Vatican—turned against him when one mother asked, “Is Vieux a saint name?” And it was the objection to saint names that had caused a woman to complain that he had called the leader Little Edi, knowing it would not sit well with the despotic ruler. The people banded together, but without the of Little Edi, they could not stand against the power of the church. Only the political leader could. The leader, like the of his paramilitary and most of the people they terrorized being Catholic, had requested from his diocese a replacement for Chandler but one who would refrain from calling people names and tossing invectives at their leader and, instead, must keep to the business of saving souls.

They sent Fr. Jean Beard, a recent graduate of the seminary for whom his Belgian diocese sought placement. Pere Jean Beard grew his beard very long but attractive to cover his facial scars, the result of street fights when he was a young boy growing up in Ostend. He had been told that the local people in his assigned parish did not look favorably on a white man with a skin blemish, so he did his utmost to conceal the evidence of his long-ago bodily injury. It was by no coincidence that because of his long beard, Père Jean Beard became Père Jean Barbe and later, when the people got to know him well and he them, simply Barbe. Raul takes a liking to Barbe, thinks him professorial, one who might guide him in the direction of a purpose-driven life. He had made the best use of his days at the government-run school by mastering the subjects taught there and complemented them with further studies from books in the well-stocked but poorly run library. Father Barbe had spent more than a decade in the parish and knew the people and thought there was a need for them to have local “shepherds” to guide their spirituality, so in his homily the past Sunday, he mentioned the need for young men to in advancing the church’s evangelical mission. “And,” he said, “what better way to do this than by getting capable young men of our parish to study at a religious school, preferably in the United States?” That disclosure increased Raul’s endearment to Barbe. If he were selected as a candidate, he saw this as an opportunity to get to the United States, which had been his ambition since he became of age to fully understand the workings of his government. Barbe advised Raul’s mom to apply for her son’s port. “Just in case he is selected. If he is not chosen, a port is an invaluable document to show that he belongs somewhere. And if you don’t have one,” he said, looking her in the face, “I advise you get one.” The function of port issuance had been kept with the real police of the country. The government had wisely kept it a responsibility under the authority of the police, when the president was informed by a foreign government that among the ports the paramilitary had clandestinely sold was one to a Russian who was charged with murder in the foreign country, prompting the

government there, previously accommodating to Raul’s people, to declare them persona non grata. That displeased Raul’s government, not because of the murder committed by one with a port bearing the seal of his government but because, as it seemed, his paramilitary, his especially selected security men, were not depositing the money obtained from the sale of ports in the president’s personal numbered . In fear of his own life from these men, rather than question them about the money not reaching his , the president simply took from them the privilege of selling ports. Annette had never even gotten close to a constable, had done nothing or required anything that made a visit to the police station necessary. Fearing the cops acted with the brutality of the paramilitary, she was content to keep as far away from them as possible. Anyone could get her the port applications, but port issuance required eyeballing the applicant, to see by their appearance who was worthy of the national document. Two days after Father’s suggestion to get ports, Annette and Raul walked the three miles separating their residence from the police station to get their Application for port. The constable gave it to them, explaining that they must be returned with the necessary photos and that there was a cost for each. They had never traveled before, so there was no need to request a police record from either applicant. If there had been a report filed with the local police, the station would have it. After completing the applications, Raul hands them to Barbe to proofread. All is fine. Father advances the money for the ports, and four days later, they return to the station with the applications, photos included. “Where are you traveling to?” asks the constable. “We don’t have any place in mind,” Annette replies. “So why do you need a port now?” “Just in case the need arises and your office is busy, we’ll have them in our possession.” The constable is not satisfied with the explanation, seeing in it an implied desire to leave the country, suggesting dissatisfaction with the government. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” The constable leaves. A few minutes later, he returns in the company of an

officer, a captain, who apparently is the one with the authority to decide who may leave the country. With Father’s signature on their character references, he looks at the two, whom he has seen the many Sundays he attended Mass. He knows them. “Usually,” he says, “we require a destination to note in the port. But that’s not mandatory. I see you two at Mass every Sunday, which tells me you are good people. By the way, Raul, why were you not at Mass with your mother two Sundays ago?” “I had to take care of my sick donkey, take it to the river.” “I too have a donkey. It’s both my pet and a beast of burden. I’m as concerned for its well-being as you are of yours. I like it to be well. Okay, okay,” he repeats to himself as he reads and reads Barbe’s recommendation of the applicants. The anxiety they feel while standing there, waiting, uncertain, immediately transitions to relief that the captain seems satisfied. “Your applications are in order to be processed and will be ready for pickup in about three to four days. To be sure, I suggest you come back in four.” Annette and Raul thank him and, as they head for the open door, turn to the constable. “Merci.” When he was a teenager, the years Raul had spent in the shadow of his mother were not idle ones. After school, on some days, he walked through the mango trees, close by the river, to gather and use as cooking fuel the dried branches that had broken off. Some afternoons, having developed a rapport with the women at the Edifice who aspired to be nuns, he would them to help in whatever capacity the situation demanded. If he saw his morning chore of emptying the chamber bucket as his duty, he saw as an afternoon obligation the care of the donkey, their means of transportation, to which he must commit, taking it from one grazing field to the next, leaving it freely to roam to the limits of its tether. Barbe, a vegetarian, believes Raul will be good company to Maurice Gaston, an albino, who maintains Barbe’s three small vegetable gardens in the back and to the sides of the rectory. Maurice lost his left hand when he had tried to fight off two young thugs, one wielding a cutlass, from molesting a young woman. In those days, it was customary for young men to take advantage of young women,

with dire consequences to anyone sufficiently bold to interrupt their uncivil, immoral, and reprehensible behavior. The hand was never recovered. It is believed that it was cooked and the water used in necromancy as a healing potion for those who truly believed in the occult. Some in the parish would later say that Maurice was lucky to have escaped the confinement of the Edifice because of his tacit opposition to the government, but had he been domiciled, there, he would have remained whole. The two, like many of their countrymen, looked disdainfully at Maurice, the blanc-noir homme (white-black man), thinking him an aberration of nature—or, worse, a curse—and would not countenance his rude interference into what, to them, was acceptable behavior. As a result, his left hand was chopped off, clean at the wrist. A grave setback for Maurice though it was, because he was righthanded, it would not hinder him from doing what he had done many times before—stand up for the seemingly defenseless. Gaston was an up-and-coming young man known to most people in his village and beyond. Missing a hand and his complexion maligned, he could not escape the watchful eyes of those in any setting. Barbe knew that had society not marginalized Maurice because of his faux-white hue, he could have done much in his country to stand out among his people, especially as she had a scarcity of those whom history had credited with any noteworthy accomplishments. Lucky for Maurice, an elderly villager’s concern for the victim had removed his rope belt and tied the wrist to stop the bleeding. Maurice’s uncle Xavier had learned that the cutlass was clean, so having no fear of tetanus contaminating the wound, he simply applied a mudpack to it. After daily changes of the mudpack dressing, in a little more than two weeks, Maurice’s wound begun to show signs of healing, and much to the satisfaction of both Maurice and Xavier, in a little over two months, the wound had completely scabbed. Father knew Maurice well and had taken a liking to him and hired him to grow Barbe’s veggies, giving him a place to stay behind the rectory. The place is a two-room cinderblock house with a galvanized roof and inside walls painted deep blue. Disturbing the symmetry of the blue, on one wall is a beautifully framed photograph of Barbe’s predecessor; on another is an unframed photo of Barbe, secured to the wall with thumb pins. One wall has a picture of the despised despotic leader, and on the opposite wall and farthest from it, as if in an attempt to keep religion separate from politics, is a picture of the pope.

The cinderblock house is an enviable upgrade from the small shack that is the Gaston home. Termite infested, with plywood for walls and a thatched roof, it consists of a living room, which, come nighttime, is converted to a bedroom in which Mom and her two daughters sleep. There is no dining room, and a kitchen is doubled up as the boys’ bedroom; their large mattress of straw is secured to a wall by day and laid on the floor at night to accommodate the two boys. The family of five eked out a poor existence from the half-acre plot of land on which they rotated cabbage, lettuce, cucumber, and watermelon. Mom became a single parent when Dad had left home to find work in another country. He was never heard from again.

Raul will Maurice (nicknamed Bootoo, “stump” in the local vernacular) in the cinderblock house. In spite of his handicap, he performed irably for Father and served him well the five years he’d been with him. Once, when a parishioner well known to Barbe had called Bootoo la maison negre, Father stopped him cold, berating him in his sermon without mentioning names. The person, knowing at whom the charge was leveled, told Bootoo calling him house nigger was meant as a joke. But Father did not find the phrase funny, saying, “It degrades and marginalizes.” Some parishioners believed that Bootoo had survived the dragnet of hate that was bound to ensnare and confine him to the detention house given the more socially acceptable name “Edifice” only because he was the parish priest’s employee and therefore church “property,” which the villagers dared not touch. It pleases Raul that Father has asked him to keep the church’s books, albeit voluntarily. He had taken classes in bookkeeping but never got a chance to test his knowledge in the actual application of numbers as they related to business transactions. He was surprised at the way he had been able, for the first time, to make ledger entries befitting a skilled bookkeeper, and Barbe was happy for the free labor.

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled Masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

— Inscription on the Statue of Liberty

THREE

RAUL IS JOYFUL FOR THE PROBABILITY OF HIS SELECTION FOR A SCHOLARSHIP TO A U.S. COLLEGE, BUT HIS AMBITION IS TO THE U.S. ARMY. “When I get to America.” There is not even an iota of doubt as to his getting to the United States, the reason for not saying “if I get to America.” He wishes to volunteer for the draft and go fight for America in Vietnam, hoping to get a fast track to a Green Card, leading to citizenship. This, he does not disclose to Bootoo, fearing he might willingly volunteer the information to Father or unwillingly spill the beans on Raul. Raul, unschooled in the process of ing a branch of the U.S. military, was not to blame when he had assumed that once he got to America, he could the U.S. Army. He did not know that there are requirements to be met before one may and become a member of the military. The most important document and the first necessary to proceed to others is a visa, giving you the privilege to enter the country. He did not know that. He had heard the word visa but was unaware, when it had become necessary to possess one, or how it could be obtained. He later learned that to obtain a visa, he first needed a port, for which he has applied, and is probably awaiting his pickup. In his planning, assuming he makes it to the New York religious school, he makes allowances to show gratitude to Barbe for the life he energized in Raul and undying love and respect for his mother. He’ll forever be friends with Bootoo. He’ll remain in the New York school for one year. He has it all planned. He will go to an army recruiter and explain his situation and willingness to fight, the approved way, for a worthy cause. The many hurdles he must face before he can live his dream might make him change his mind, but he must make the lifewrenching effort. He can’t just give up on his dreams simply because of the many things he must do and the documents he must obtain before he proceeds. He can’t it failure if he hasn’t gone through the trial process. In his opinion, one has failed only after one has done all that is required and not succeeded. He has made the decision to step on U.S. soil and will follow through with it. One way or another, he must make it to America. He’s got to get to the land flowing with milk and honey and where, it seems from the pictures he sees of their

affluence, her people pluck dollars from fields of green. Of course, he’ll have to depart from his mother. But that day must come—not if but when. He’s seen so many of his people die because of want—of a decent meal, of good medical care, of adequate shelter—and an uncaring government that puts the needs of the elite few before the needs of the many. He prays that Annette Manigot will die a natural death, the way of God, not like his dad, by the hands of Satan, or his friend, by a necklace made of burning rubber. He hopes to return in two years to see his mother. He prays that she’ll be alive and well, and Father Barbe will be in his thoughts, even if he has been reassigned. He never even gives a thought to Father’s demise because the priest is relatively young at fifty-six, and living in Raul’s country does not lower Father’s European longevity. Illness aside and with the proper nutrients, ancestry more than the country in which one resides determines one’s life expectancy. On hearing stories of the deportation of peoples who allegedly overstayed their welcome as guest workers in America, Raul chooses to remain put and is not desirous of leaving except to go to America and remain there beyond the time allowed him, even as his deportation might become probable. For the time being though, he’ll remain in his country—he has little choice in the matter—the one in which he truly belongs, his birthplace, which he claims the inalienable right to be in, even one defined by corruption-driven poverty and unrestrained brutality. The day must come when he’ll be able to leave to make a life for himself. To be sure the port would be ready, Annette and Raul wait five days before returning to the station to pick them up. They are in one brown envelope, flap unsealed. The constable hands the envelope to Annette. She is about to depart (happy to leave) when Raul suggests that they check to see what’s in the envelope. He reminds his mother that it was she who onished him —“Always know the contents of the bag before accepting to carry it.” In it are two shiny blue ports and a sheet of yellow paper, blank but for the words written in the center of it—“Good luck!” They guess the captain left it. He would confirm this to Annette at Mass the next Sunday. Raul and his mother are now in possession of an important document. It is doubtful Annette will ever need hers—however, there can be no assurance of this—but Raul will surely use his before the year is ended. Maybe he won’t. Wanting very much to get Raul as a role model for the young men he wishes to

recruit as evangelists, Father encourages him. “Neither cynicism nor fear can deny you your aspiration if you give hope a seat at the table of your ambition. Never must it be forgotten that my Creator is your Creator. We are visually different but intrinsically much alike, created in the image of God. The chances I had in life were made possible with the aid of loving parents and a ive government. I’m not in a position to speak of or for your government, but from what you have told me, I know your mother is loving and ive, a lady in the service of God.” Raul is not a young man of letters; nor does he pretend to be one. But his wisdom and astuteness are enviable attributes. By no means does he want to challenge Barbe on the definition of certain words. He simply wishes to find out, in an indirect way, if the subjects taught him at L’ecole Jean-Baptiste de la Salle —which he attended free of charge, no thanks to his repressive government—are of the same standards as those taught Barbe in European schools. Since he is attending a tuition-free government school, Raul has many questions on the Eurocentric history taught there but does not feel comfortable asking his teachers for answers, which he feels are beyond the scope of their learning. In the oppressive atmosphere of his surroundings, he wisely seals his lips, lest on opening them to voice opinions, he exposes himself to the brutality of the paramilitary. Politics and religion are the two “institutions” that keep him pregnant with questions. On the first, he has to appear tolerant; the second, he could address free of punishment. His questions would leave many a believer asking if he is opposed to the teachings of his church in particular or anti-religion in general. He is neither and adheres to the faith into which he was baptized and follows it even if he does not, like his mom, attend Mass every Sunday. However, he opines that it’s a “white church,” and white people have stereotypically marginalized his country with demeaning and hateful superlatives, and his French teacher would not be so disposed as to give truthful, logical answers, so he kept his questions to himself—until he met Father Barbe, an openly liberal and objective white man. “Father?” “Yes.”

“May I ask you a question or two?” “But of course. I hope I’m able to give you satisfactory answers.” “Where is it written that you and I are of the same human stock? You say—and religion teaches—that we are of the same human tree, just different branches. If indeed we are, why then do we speak of races when the human race should satisfy the definition of the peoples of the world? Don’t you think so? But the world has divided us by race and ethnicity—white, black, yellow, brown. To claim that your Creator is my Creator, that we are one in God, are we then in disrespect of the Creator by the various labels given his children? “Don’t get me wrong. I too believe that people are fundamentally alike, made of the same element, and leave us no room to acknowledge a difference, except in outward appearance, which is of no consequence in the mind of the virtuous believer. But we know there are many who will consider such belief to be based on false renderings of Holy Writ to silence us. Those are the people who claim to be Christian but lack morality and, in their shallow minds, find satisfaction in hate as they yield to the forces of evil. “And I see the disrespect in other ways too, Father. Take your church, our church. In contradiction to God’s command, we have graven images on all walls, images of God, Jesus, and Mary, in addition to the pope-made saints, all produced from white substances. This is a country of black people. This is a black-populated parish. I don’t see my image on these walls. Do you? Why then are those images white and not in the image of those around you? Is the purpose to immortalize in us the concept of white supremacy? If that were not the purpose, I submit that the color of those images would reflect the complexion of the people you serve. And it’s mainly the concept of racial superiority that has driven some white people, cops included, to purposely incite situations to brutalize those who look different. “Oh, how I wish the racist would live, even for a short while, the experience of the black man in America and endure his suffering, his pain. Then and only then they would realize the problems blacks face daily because of what they look like or the color of their skin. Thank God there are many more good people than bad ones, and those who daily live by a moral code and temper their behavior toward others deserve our commendation. But let’s go back to the topic of our presence on Earth. We are all here for a very short period, so let’s make the best use of

time, pleasing God by being a voice for the voiceless. “Father, may I ask—why don’t priests in their homilies address the problems minorities face daily? Why do church leaders fail to address ‘hot button’ issues that affect people’s lives? Indeed, if you, for whatever reason, must steer clear of issues of Christian import but which some might consider controversial, pray tell me, what is your relevance? If you know what you say is from the heart and Christ sanctioned, why would it matter if some, by reason of what you said, deny you their ducats in the collection basket? It is precisely on this matter that a respected Caribbean leader, who lived and governed by a code of Christian ethics, was threatened with excommunication, greater excommunication, which meant he would be excluded from all the benefits of the church when he questioned the way of her operation that just didn’t make sense to him. The leader met the priest with his own threat. ‘I too can play the game,’ he said. ‘Of course, by definition, I can’t excommunicate you. But I can exclude you from the benefits you enjoy here. I don’t know what benefits of the church you can begrudgingly withhold from me. Whatever it is, I can live without it with my integrity intact.’ “Regarding the Creator and creation, Father, my belief is that we did not know— and still do not know—from whence we came, so the ancients came up with an origin for humankind from a collection of religious books, bound in a Bible and given to us as the word of God. I submit to you that had the Bible been written in Africa and not Southwest Asia, the world would not be so eager to embrace it as the inspired word of God. In spite of what is written and believed, our origin still remains a mystery wrapped in a conundrum. You don’t know from whence we came. I don’t know my origin. And Charles Darwin does not help the situation by sprinkling an accelerant on our confusion. However, given how we treat one another—disrespectfully, hating those we have not even met, denying those we disparage their God-given rights, suffering the poor to benefit the rich— Darwin’s evolution makes more sense than biblical creation.” “You have given me much to ponder,” said Barbe. “But although I cannot agree with much of what you say, I’ll gladly give up my life in of your right to say it. The Bible is our guide to living a decent life and encourages us to love ourselves and others equally. If we follow the Good Book, our behavior toward family, neighbor, and community and what we say or do will be inspired by God as he graces us with his presence. And if religion does not challenge the will and conscience, how then are we different from the beast?”

Lacking treasure but in full possession of the attributes that make for a decent human being, Raul thinks, with hope he can be awakened from the inertia of sluggards and be energized with aspiration. But aspiration cannot survive devoid of ambition. The two are inseparable. And both demand that we soar like eagles above the atmosphere of societal inhibitions, at times purposely put in our way to keep us complacent, compliant, and unaccomplished. But complacency erodes the spiritual fervor and renders the mind unimaginative. Raul takes in what Barbe has just said and responds: “Father, would you think the same way if tomorrow you are told that recent studies of ancient texts reveal an undisputed fact that the Bible was written in, say, Nigeria? But truly, the location in which the Bible was written is not important. What is important is what the European powers did with it, how they manipulated it to their advantage and the detriment of others. The days of selling indulgences are over. The days when believers were conned into giving up their hard-earned cash for indulgences are no more. “Today, however, we are encouraged to sow a seed, and they don’t refer to a spiritual seed because they put a dollar value on it. If, for instance, you sow a $1,000 seed, that car you eyed at the dealership might be in your driveway tomorrow. The bigger the seed, the more indulgences received. I pity those who still believe in the efficacy of indulgences sold by religious figures when the exemption from purgatorial punishment is not theirs to grant. But those in the religious hierarchy often manipulated information from Holy Writ for their benefit. An example of this manipulation is Constantine’s audacious move to a Sunday Sabbath to appease those who worship the sun when the Bible makes it clear that God rested on the seventh day, which is Saturday. “Both the weak poor and powerful rich are purported to find comfort in what the Bible says—the weak is kept in a perpetual state of hope that the treasure you give up will be multiplied for you in heaven, and the powerful finds justification for their action and inaction in maintaining things as they are. And I think that the need seen by the rich and powerful to maintain the status quo drove them to publish a Bible for slaves in which they address the slaves’ obligation to their owners, their need for obedience and obeisance to the master at all times, but deceptively omitted all references that the master should love and be kind to the slave. “I believe I live by the dictates of God’s Commandments. If we all lived by

them, Caesar’s law would be unnecessary. But it’s because many are in violation of the law of God that manmade laws become necessary, and when they are transgressed, man seeks retribution for the violation of his laws even as he flouts the laws of God. But the pragmatism of man’s laws makes more sense to me because it is in violation of them that we are visibly punished. So manmade laws, more than the God-decreed Commandments, direct us to be more aware of our social responsibilities. “Needless to say that all of us, at one time or the other will violate at least one God command. But most of the time, we are not punished for transgressing them. When was one ever punished for worshipping a graven image? Was ever one punished for being lustful? And I have never heard of one even being reprimanded for having a strong desire for another person’s property. Father, Caesar’s law does not punish us if we covet our neighbor’s goods or his house. Whereas God’s law punishes us for thinking lustfulness, covetousness, etc., man’s law punishes us for doing without permission and taking without it being given. And the threat of condemnation to the perpetual fire of hell does not stay one’s hand or stray one’s mind from evil. What makes the reasonable person think twice, count to ten, to avoid violating Caesar’s law is the probability of punishment in the now. What happens to him in the afterlife is … Well, that’s after life.” “Young man,” res Barbe, “God’s laws are our immutable guide to a good Christian life. The Bible gives us a path, a road map to our destination. If we follow it, we will get there in good spiritual health to live in God’s house forever. You have much to learn. Our religion depends on the Bible for guidance. And we are partial to the King James Version.” “Father, it is alleged that KJ was racist to have allowed the Ham story to be published, which, it is believed, is the main driver of racism and black slavery. It is further alleged that the KJ version of the Bible was the one Willie Lynch had referred to in guiding or teaching Southern slave owners in his The Making of a Slave, a treatise on how to hate and dehumanize black people. But hatred toward black people did not start with Lynch. Hatred of blacks and black slaves is endemic in American society. It’s foundational. But I believe that hate in whatever form or against whoever is driven by weakness, cowardice, jealousy, and low self-esteem and can grow only in the fertile ground of indifference and misinformation.

“The Bible gives comfort to the rich and powerful as it does to the poor and weak. The powerful find in it justification for all they do—denying sanctuary to the hurdled masses yearning to be free, taking from the poor to enrich those already enjoying affluence, denying women the right to control their bodies, imprisoning the innocent perceived as threatening. The weak, meanwhile, and with much determination, hold tenaciously to the words of ministers who encourage them to give of their meager treasure to the Lord, and they, acting as the Lord’s surrogate, will gladly take it in his name. I heard preachers on the radio exhorting us to sow a seed. The bigger the seed sown, the greater the reward, they tell us, and the more numerous the seeds, the more bountiful the harvest—for them. All the while, they encourage us to live in hope and that our faith will lead us to the Promised Land. But their faith is in the now and the now size of their bank balance. Sadly, some ministers and laypersons, once dehumanized and now still marginalized, walk lockstep behind those who once considered them not fully man. In skilled, manipulative hands, the same book that was the driver of racism and slavery is used to keep those who find it onerous to think, being manipulated like pawns on the chessboards of blind acceptance. “Father, I go to the Bible for inspiration when I am down, melancholic, and I depend on one like you to guide me in my quest for spirituality and answer questions I might have. Why is it that we are told, ‘House and wealth are inherited from fathers, but a prudent wife is of the Lord’— Prov. 19:14 (RSV)? You will be correct if you tell me this did not originate with KJ because many other scriptural writings have a variation of the words, but all mean the same. And this is no parable. Father, can one purchase one’s life’s necessities with prudence? I don’t think so. In our materialistic universe, one needs something tangible to exchange for goods and services. I think the reference to the house and inheritance being for the man is a subtle way for man to claim that the Bible gives him the right to assume superiority over the woman’s assets, including the woman’s body, that he is head of the family and therefore commands woman’s obedience. What happens in the many homes run by single mothers? “From the dawn of time, man has claimed dominion over woman because chauvinistic man has interpreted theological writings to suit his purposes. And I am saddened that some women today go right along with man’s thinking that she is not his equal. I strongly oppose man’s behavior toward women. She is mother, daughter, sister, and wife. Without woman, man cannot be, yet man assumes an inherent right to control the life of woman.

“If we stick with the illogic that claims that woman was made from man while he slept, the conclusion must be drawn that woman is only because of man, and therefore, her existence is ancillary to that of her benefactor. This chauvinistic attitude informs man’s belief in his superiority, allowing him to feel justified in treating woman as his possession and even deny her the right over her own body. And this mind-set finds traction in the insecure minds of those who think that women should not be accorded the right to equality because the inferior role consigned to women is decreed by the Bible. I don’t agree. I look forward to the day when women wield power over the bodies of men. Father, I’ll enjoy the ride! “If we grant that the Bible is the inspired word of God and that we have the Godgiven right to our opinions about it, why then were people burned at the stake for voicing their opinions about the Roman Church and Bible? During the demonic behavior of the Inquisition, many were brutalized into believing what was truly questionable. But what option did they have when the sword was at their throat, compelling them to recant or die? We—notice I said ‘we’ because I am part of it —have done so many evil things in the name of religion. The Inquisition comes a close second behind slavery. Was religion complicit in the mortal sin of slavery? I don’t hope to get a satisfactory answer from those lacking a desire to think for themselves. “In the name of a ruler, hiding behind the authority of the Bible, you go to lands already populated by other racial and ethnic groups, and when they resist your usurpation of their lands, you label them savages, cannibals, and barbarians. You … you know what you called them. If you wish that a particular group of people be the pariahs of your world, the easiest way to accomplish this is by the method that is as old as time—speak of them with extreme dislike. You defame the character of the entire group. You first dehumanize them with negative connotations, make them villains so that their eradication will not bring condemnation. Call a decent person a savage, and the world sees a common enemy whose eradication finds in repugnant minds.” “Young man, you imply the hypocrisy of some Christians. Don’t you think some might consider you a hypocrite when you speak so questioningly of the faith while professing to abide by God’s Commandments and church doctrine?” Raul feels emboldened by Barbe’s question and will follow up with more opinions and questions of his own. He has much to let out, but his oppressive environment acts as levees around his lake of knowledge that forces him to

contain whatever he knows, lest he contaminates those around him with antigovernment rants. He is aware that dissatisfaction with one’s way of life and knowing that it need not be so is the root cause of resistance and rebellion. He knows too that when oppression stifles dissent, with dire consequences to violators, it is wise to remain silent. Raul has been silent for too long, and in the presence of Barbe and with the protection of the church, he’ll breach the levees to give his voice free reign. “Hypocrisy is not exclusive to the religious. It applies equally to all whose deeds and actions do not relate to the words they speak. And by virtue of their profession, the guiltiest of hypocrites are found among the reverently religious and ideologically political, those who cannot be swayed even by evidence. Those who will attempt to silence my voice so that my opinions die in the domain of the voiceless shall themselves, one day, be silenced as time marches on revengefully. Please take no offense when I say ‘you’ in my objection to the way some have used the Bible to dehumanize some of us. I don’t mean the individual ‘you’ but the collective ‘you’ of religion. When I question a certain age in the Bible that rains contradictions, you’ll incorrectly think me an apostate. I’m far from one. You have been patient and gracious in answering some of my questions, which I have formulated from my readings of different versions of Holy Writ, but I’m still confused. God said, ‘Let’s make man in our image after our likeness. So God created man in his own image—’ Gen. 1. 26-27 (RSV). Who was God talking to when he said our? And the church qualifies this by claiming there are three persons in God. And you’ll still hold this to be true even when, in Gen. 1. 6:6 (RSV), we are told, “And the Lord was sorry that he had made man on the earth.” In speaking of God we reference both singular and plural pronoun. Do you see why I am confused and beg for your enlightenment? “Why did not our all-knowing God know beforehand that man would deceive him and therefore withhold man’s creation? But having made man, who transgresses his laws, God blots him out, makes man no longer to exist. But in doing so, he allows Noah and his three sons to live. Now with four men surviving on the Ark, how then was the earth repopulated? And mark you, that’s after the confusion of Cain going to the Land of Nod to find a wife when, according to Genesis, Eve, Cain’s mother, was the only woman alive. Need I continue? Am I missing something? Needless to say that there are those among us who will refuse to question the illogic of some biblical texts and brush off my questions by saying, ‘With God, all things are possible.’”

Raul’s questions are mostly rhetorical because he is convinced no one could give answers to satisfy him, answers he could accept without further questions arising from the given answers. He knows well that answers sometimes bring closure and the cessation of dialogue, which is an unintended consequence—and he likes to talk. What he wants is an open door through which he can enter to vocalize his thoughts, voice his opinions, and rant to anyone who would listen. He has found a patient, respectful, and respectable listener in Fr. Barbe. “Father, I do not need the church to guide me to heaven or to steer me away from hell. I am fully capable of finding my way, even with the hurdles placed high enough to prevent their scaling and placed along my path to divert me. The fact of your seminary learning does not qualify you to know my needs for salvation. But just as the officers of a corporation are required to sell the company’s goods and services on the marketplace, so too are you, as an officer of Religion Inc., required to vend salvation to your flock. Appointed their shepherd, it is your responsibility to guide them from the desiccated fields where evil grows to the verdant pastures of salvation. In that regard, I can’t tell if you have failed or succeeded because the service religion sells cannot be measured by tangible results because no one has returned to rate you. “The European church has come a long way from being a symbol of psychological oppression much the same way slavery was and remains so today. In the early Roman Church, the oppression and suppression of beliefs opposed to church teachings were the order of the day. It kept people cowered in fear of both the sword and the Bible. And just as the methods of dehumanizing slaves to keep them subservient and feeling inferior, with great psychological impact to this day, the church instilled an almost-permanent psychological impairment on the minds of those who failed to think for themselves. I’m of the church to which my mother belongs, but I will not accept blindly all of what the church teaches in the name of the Bible or simply find relief in regurgitating the words of evangelicals who see profit in the gullibility of those eager to be fed from their bowl of theological narratives while they make the poor poorer by having them believe that when they put their hard-earned money in the collection basket so their minister can buy a private jet, they are, in fact, making a contribution to the Lord. “You give us heaven and hell, imaginary destinations, Father, which, according to theology, some are destined to inhabit when life as we know it ends. But it’s not because religion—or, more accurately, theology—tells me heaven is a place

all should hope for and hell to be avoided that I must reject my recently formed opinion that heaven and hell are not actual destinations to which the good and bad go after temporal life is ended. What I do believe is that we, while living, make our heaven, construct our hell. I see heaven in the child who, ignoring his or her safety, helps the elderly person cross the street, and hell in the killing of the innocent. I see heaven in the mother who, against all odds, struggles for the survival of her children. I see hell in the behavior of those in power taking advantage of the least among us. I see hell in government policy that denies a hungry person a meal—that’s welfare, which carries a demeaning connotation— while it gives to the rich subsidy, a more politically acceptable word for handout. Heaven and hell are imagined destinations that reside in us.

“The devil and his abode were created by man to conflict with the teachings of a loving God. Those conflicts insidiously create conditions in the believer that their salvation depends on the surrender of their treasure to the coffers of preachers. And to accomplish this, religion must continuously have the devil and the fear of hell front and center on the minds of those who believe the preacher to be the agent through whom they can reach the ears of God. As the wicked enemy gets more audacious, the preachers become more mendacious that the believers’ treasure is of heightened importance in the fight against the devil. The bolder the devil gets, the greater the preachers’ needs for treasure. The needs will remain always as the fear of Satan must be kept alive, thriving in the anonymity of greed. The fear of hell must be kept alive while the devil, defying the element of time, is forever young. Yes, the devil must be kept alive. Should the evil enemy die, the people will cease to worship. Free of this enemy, man loses his need for God. Thus, the preacher cannot make a living. Nor can he have a life.” “Young man,” res Barbe, “aren’t you afraid of hell?” “Father, I am afraid of snakes. I am afraid of a raging bull. I am afraid of lions— and rightly so—because I can see the objects of my dread, but I am not afraid of concepts. Hell is a concept, an idea conceived in the minds of men to manipulate those who fail to think. Sadly, the concept still inhabits many minds. “The business of religion competes in the marketplace of salvation. In the process, therefore, I should expect a more tolerant, loving people. But I see more division, more hatred of whites toward blacks. For all the evil things whites have

done to blacks and continue to do, blacks should be the ones hating whites. But they don’t. Hate is demonic, unchristian. And if religion is to help us gain and maintain spirituality, why then do I see more intolerance as the number of churches increases and evangelicals running all over themselves to get airtime to explain for their benefit why we should give to the Lord? While they make the poor more penurious, they go chanting to the bank. If the level of education in our community were to decrease with the construction of more schools, the people would want answers. Am I saying that the level of intolerance and hatred in our community is a factor of increased presence of places of worship? No, I’m not. But I’m disappointed that while we espouse Christian values in word, in deed, we deceptively veer from the Christian message. Have the biblical messages changed, Father?” “I don’t think so.” “Why is it then that during the Jim Crow era, from what I read, blacks could enter your church but only through a back door and sit way in the back on benches put aside for their discomfort?” “You’ll have to ask those in the slave states. I can’t speak for them. I cannot claim to know what they were thinking.” “But they claimed to be Christians. Why didn’t they behave—indeed, why couldn’t they have behaved—the way the biblical Christ behaved? There, Christianity was and probably still is of the mouth. What was needed was Christianity of the heart, in deeds and behavior becoming of a genuine Christian. The religious sect is of little consequence. But it was the way of the South to go along with the thinking of the majority. The businesspeople behaved that way, the police behaved that way, judges behaved that way, and churches behaved that way. Now they will tell us at that time, it was politically correct to go along to get along. If the Bible is immutable as it’s claimed, has not changed over time, but the behavior of the people, in most instances, has changed because their society has ‘come of age’ and seen the detriment of racial and ethnic exclusion, then we will accept that in segregated America, their system of beliefs and practices relating to that which is sacred ed the dehumanization of black people. “Please forgive the slight digression, but given a choice between science and religion, I’m directed by conscience to elevate science over religion. Science

forces us to think cause and effect and subject our findings to further evaluations and analyses, which allows us to acquire knowledge through careful observations of facts. But religion is based on belief and directs us to accept, absorb, and digest what is fed to us on the platter of salvation. And those beliefs can change depending on the needs of the people.” On Raul’s face, Barbe sees the anger and hurt. Truly, he is not angry at the church but, having been hurt by the government, is angry but dares not voice opinions of the oppressive atmosphere of politics, so he finds an outlet in religion, and the many questions he asks of his church and religion are an indirect swipe at the government. Father, realizing that it humbles him to listen, allows Raul to continue to spill his guts in what seems to be opposition to religion and responds, “After all you have just said, mostly negative, concerning religion, can you still be loyal to our church? Young man, to the believer, religion is an opiate. It gives us a high to want more of it. Religion also is important to stop the leaks in conscience. And insofar as there always will be leaks, we will forever need religion.” “Respectful is the child who voices objections to his mother’s behavior yet lovingly wants to reside in her home. So yes, Father, I can and will be loyal to my mother after she has inadvertently misled me. However, if she deliberately directs me to accept as true that which is not actually true, then although I’ll still love her as my mother, my loyalty to her will be in doubt.” “You have given me an earful, Raul. No one can take from you your thoughts and opinions. No one has the power to deny you your beliefs, and I will not gainsay your thoughts on the teachings of the church and its biblical interpretations. The meal is given to you, ready to eat. You may satisfy your hunger or starve to death.” “Is this one of your parables, Father? The quality of the mind is clearly and distinctly to understand, not ignorantly to believe, but some will blindly accept the opinions of others without the slightest suggestion of doubt, and I know why. The ease to accept without the expense of labor to think is a convenience privileged by the work of others, so I ask, ‘sluggard, when will you arise from your sleep?’ And by the way, Father, people are free to think of me what they like. I cannot deny them the right. I dare not attempt to refuse them the freedom. And if I had the power to do so, I would not, and if I were so endowed, I would

lack the disposition to exercise my freedom in the denial of the right of others.” Raul is not through with Barbe. He is not one to let an opportunity him by without going after it, even the chance to question Father’s use of words. To him, any open door is for entrance and exit. The one Father Barbe has opened for him is marked “ingress,” and he enters. That it might be shut behind him, trapping him inside has never entered his inquiring mind. “Father, you say my mom is a lady. True, she carries herself with dignity and is deserving of the courtesy, but she has neither position nor wealth. Her claim to the courtesy title is that she is a mother, my mother. I don’t use the words woman and lady interchangeably as if they mean the same. They don’t. We hope all ladies are women, but not all women are ladies. There are women who would disgrace the word lady if they were referred to as such and diminish the title, at times rendering it void of meaning.” Raul wants so much to express his opinions on many subjects but did not previously get the chance to do so, hindered by the oppressive atmosphere that has forced him to keep his mouth shut and also by the low level of education of the people around him. Now he will be forever grateful that with much patience, Father has allowed him free reign with his opinions and to rant. In questioning the method of use of the words woman and lady, Raul meant no disrespect of his mother, whom he loves unconditionally. He simply wants to be correct when he addresses women in the land he hopes to get to before the year is ended. It is now mid-April; he has just seven months to make it happen. With the help of Père Barbe, he has obtained a most vital document necessary as he begins his adventure. “I partly agree, my son.” Father uses the words endearingly. “But a Christian woman like your mother is unquestionably a lady. Her title is assumed in the dignity and humanity I see in her. Woman is too generalized a word that includes all sorts, all types.” “And which is the part you don’t agree with, Father?” “That part dealing with wealth. There also are many wealthy women who lack integrity and the spiritual assets to justify them being called ladies.” “Therefore, Father, I accept that my mom is a lady.”

“Yes, indeed, a lady left without a husband to care for a child on her own—you. I’m saddened by the death of your father, mercilessly killed by—” Before Father could finish the sentence, Raul interrupts. “Father, my dad was murdered.” He stresses murdered. Emotions overtake him. Even as he is a young man, whose teen years have not yet seen the sunset, the remembrance of his dad’s murder is too much for him to bear, and he shows it with his tears and brings up the coattail of is Chaps shirt to wipe the saline solution beading down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Father. I can’t help bringing my emotions to the surface when I speak of the murder of my dad, though it was so long ago.” “It’s okay to cry, young man,” Barbe advises. “Crying helps purge the heart of pain, and tears are but gentle drops of rain upon the landscape of sorrow. And speaking of your father, please forgive my saying killed instead of murdered, as you wish. I’m sorry. But the fact remains. Your dad is dead by the hands of another.” “Exactly, Father. Killing is the taking of life, which sometimes can be justified. Murder is killing but with malice.” “But,” continues Father, eager to test Raul on what he has learned at the government school, “isn’t all cessation of life caused by another with intent, malice? Forgetting the legal definition for the time being, from my religious perspective, killing, murder, assassination—all refer to the ending of life by the hands of another, much apart from death, which also refers to the end of life but does not fit the definition of ‘with malice.’ We sometimes say, ‘Kill the fire,’ when in truth, we mean put it out. But we do not say, ‘Murder the fire’ or ‘Assassinate the fire,’ do we? But all mean making the fire cease to be, depriving it of life.” “Not sentient life, Father, of which the fire had none.” “Could we then have said before it was put out, the fire lives? The fire has life?” Raul, happy to engage the priest’s philosophical thoughts, continues. “If we mean inanimate life, yes. Life is not exclusive to things animate and organic.”

“My,” says Fr. Barbe, “I’m impressed by what you have retained from what was taught you at L’ecole Jean-Baptiste de la Salle. I’m happy for the exchange. We’ll get along just fine.” “I’m glad we met. I’ll be eternally grateful for the opportunity to voice my opinions, my thoughts, without being rebuked. Thanks, Father.” “As you are well aware, Raul, we are trying to get you and two other young men to a Catholic college in New York. I’m sure you’re excited for the opportunity to get an American education. You have your port. All we need is an acceptance letter from the school and a visa.” “I most sincerely am,” replies Raul, “but the articles on the American educational system I’ve read in the U.S. News & World Report direct me to say, ‘I hope that because of my race, I will not be victimized by the unfair system.’ Yes, I am a victim when I am given textbooks already rejected by schools in which the population is overwhelmingly white. I am a victim when they insult me with their claim that white and black schools are separate but equal. Those who say so are smart enough to understand the meaning of separate but most certainly do not know the definition of equal.” “And how would this affect you?” “It most certainly would affect me if I am denied resources readily available to white students.” “And what do you mean by saying the system is unfair?” “Apart from what I have just said, I infer that the system is void of parity in the education of whites and nonwhites. Let me explain. In schools populated by blacks, for instance, the students share used books. Not so in white schools. There, the students each has a textbook, which they don’t have to share and therefore can individualize with highlights for their benefit. Then the system claims blacks are not performing as well as their white counterparts, advancing their reason for separate schools. Separate, they are, but far from equal. And it was purposely designed this way. Deprived of the materials needed for their educational advancement, black students will be denied ission to better universities because they cannot the issions test. Intentionally miseducated, blacks cannot get good-paying jobs. Without good jobs, they can’t accumulate the funds needed to purchase a home and choose the neighborhood

in which they want to live and rear their families. “Unable to own their home, they are herded into tenements in inner cities, which will soon become ghettos as services are denied. Living under such deprived conditions, the black child will lack self-esteem and the confidence needed for advancement. How can the black child develop the confidence that he or she can succeed in spite of the obstructions purposely placed in the way to impede their progress? When they fail, as the system hopes they will, they are viewed as less capable academically to face the challenges society serves on the platter of divisiveness. Very unfair though this is, those able to help correct the situation are themselves complicit in its continuance. “The children of ghetto dwellers, lacking green space in which to play, are at a disadvantage from the get-go. Lacking recreation areas and being forced to live in cramped quarters drives their recalcitrance, the very objective of the system in its marginalization effort to keep private prisons 85 percent inmate occupied at all times. The system purposely maintains for-profit prisons to which they send blacks for lengthy incarceration periods at times for crimes they did not even commit. This diabolized behavior of the system sends a clear message that blacks are more prone to breaking the law, which is a base lie that finds fertile ground in the fallowed furrows of systemic racism. This contractual need to maintain capacity drives the nexus between those who interpret the law and those sworn to enforce it to provide fuel for the fire of the unjust system concealed in the noble ideal of justice.” “Having said all this, do you still see yourself becoming a student of the ‘system’?” “Absolutely! In spite of the deficiencies of the system as they relate to the treatment of minorities, particularly black, and other oppressed peoples of the world, America remains the shinning beacon on the hill, the one country to which those seeking asylum can confidently apply. I venture that there are those in every country in the world who would like to go to America despite its shortcomings, some of which I have so boldly stated. When I get there, I’ll be like the child who exposes the faults of his parents while loving them to death. To not do so is a disservice to them and to God. Criticism of a government without fear of retribution is an invaluable aspect of democracy. And criticism of our church without fear of excommunication is an important element of Christian theology.”

Father Barbe, a very objectively liberal person, does not consider Raul rude for taking him on and giving him a lesson in definitions when he referenced his dad’s murder. Nor is he offended by Raul’s disparagement of certain ways of his church and religion. Rather, he thinks him a qualified candidate for the church’s program at a New York religious school. But he would not go to college. His mother re Raul’s answer when, at the age of five, he was asked what he wanted to be when he became a man. “I want to be a soldier” was his quick reply. Now of the age at which he can act upon his ambition, he wants to the U.S. Army. He wants to learn to use guns in situations approved by the government. But first, he must get to America. His desire to learn to use guns has been seared into his consciousness from the day he had learned of his father’s death by the hands of the paramilitary and, as he got older, vowed to avenge his dad’s brutal murder. He could wield a cutlass with great dexterity, but facing one with a gun while you wield a machete is as foolish as Palestinians with slingshots facing Israeli bullets. The possession of guns in America is becoming commonplace, so he doesn’t think owning one poses any problem, and getting it to his country should be as easy as transporting a book. He is not in favor of arming all citizens, but he abides the people’s need, given the violence-prone atmosphere engendered by the ease with which they acquire guns. Raul thinks that the many guns in people’s hands make for a dangerous country, and the clamor for arming everyone is misdirected and the result of misinformation directed at the people who mistakenly see their safety in gun ownership. “But,” he says, “what they fail to realize is the country is no safer when all have guns than if all are unarmed. When we are all armed, safety will very much depend on how fast we can pull the trigger against an opponent. Unarmed, we engage in dialogue in an attempt to diffuse a tense situation. Armed, we have no time for the luxury of talk. Just shoot! The increase in gun ownership is greatly assisted by the gun lobby pedaling disinformation to convince the rest of us that a home with a gun is a safe home. If it were so, America would be the safest country in the whole world. Not so.” He would prefer to advocate for people to beat their guns into shearing ploughs, as the Bible directs. True, the Bible refers to swords because guns had not been invented and swords were the weapons of war at the time. At L’ecole Jean-Baptiste de la Salle, he learned part of the American

Constitution, with emphasis on Amendment II, and he thinks there is a gross misunderstanding of it. Gun advocates, ed by the court, are quick to cite, “The right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.” They conveniently omit the part that is central to the authority to bear arms: “A wellregulated militia being necessary for the security of the free state.” “How some are able to manipulate the minds of the naive to monetize their gullibility is troubling. Every state has a well-regulated militia in its National Guard, so all these guns in the hands of citizens are not intended by the Amendment, which some claim it to be. Are the people so naive as to think that we are safe when each walks the streets sporting a weapon? Are we safer with guns everywhere—in schools, in churches, in shopping malls? The answer is an unqualified no. But the gun lobby constantly preaches on the sacrosanctity of the right of Americans to arm themselves, and those who see power coming from the barrel of a firearm dutifully oblige the thinking.”

The rich fool is dissuasive, but the poor wise will guide your ambition. Follow him!

FOUR

RAUL HEARS THAT MANY OF HIS COUNTRYMEN AND WOMEN LIVE IN AMERICAN CITIES WITH EXPIRED VISAS, OBTAINED ON THE LIE THAT THEY WERE GOING TO WED THE ONE ALREADY LEGALLY IN AMERICA. Many others become legal residents through a marriage arrangement that is never meant to be consummated—a marriage of convenience. Yes, indeed—a convenience to both man and woman. One gets paid for “service” rendered in agreeing, in a civil ceremony, “till death do us part.” But the “arrangement” is mooted on signature because it has already been prearranged in a signed and notarized agreement that divorce will follow within days of the sham nuptials. Raul dares not mention to his mother or the priest or Bootoo that when he gets to America, he will volunteer for the army. Even after being told of the exacting U.S. requirements for entering the country, he doesn’t put off seeing himself in a U.S. Army uniform. He has no intention of becoming a brother, deacon, or priest. He respects religion for the “structure” it gives to the soul adrift and would play his part to his mother’s Catholic religion, but he has never envisioned being part of the clergy, at least not one pledged to celibacy. If his real motive for wanting to go to America were made known to the people who matter in his life, he believes they would do their best to make sure that doesn’t happen, and had Father known of Raul’s intentions, he wouldn’t have agreed to help him apply for a visa to attend a school in America. Certain that his overseas destination is America, on the advice of Barbe he sends his port to the American Consulate in the foreign country representing American interests in the region by way of a travel agent moonlighting as a port service. In his conversation with a woman who was deported for overstaying her visa, he learns it might take months for his port to be validated for travel to the United States, if at all. So he would not just sit and wait. It is said that patience is a virtue; to him, it is only a virtue for believers willing to wait. He is not prepared to wait for his port’s return before executing Plan B.

Bootoo knows that Raul is hell-bent on going to the United States, but he is kept in the dark as to Raul’s intentions, and Raul is making plans as if he is already in the United States. He maps out the first year at the New York college. He knows exactly what he’ll do, where he’ll be the second year and beyond. But fully aware that there is no certainty in the execution of what we propose, he has a backup plan should Father’s fail. His hopes are dashed for a quick legal entry into the United States when Father hears from the school in New York: “Because of an unusually large applicant pool for the freshman year, your candidate must resubmit for the coming year.” On hearing the news from Barbe, Raul appears to be disappointed. But eager to put his alternative plan in motion, the “disappointment” is for Father’s consumption. “Father, ‘the best-laid plans of mice and men—’” He doesn’t finish. “That’s the uncertainty of things, uncertainty of life itself. It would be foolish to assume that we can, with certainty, bring to fruition the plans we make,” says Father. “We must never lose sight of the truism ‘Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit.’ Forgive my Latin.” “Father, at school, we were taught basic Latin, so I understand the phrase translates to ‘Man proposes, but God disposes.’ I believe it was the German cleric Thomas à Kempis who, in his book The Imitation of Christ, wrote, ‘Many are the plans in the mind of man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will be established.’ But I don’t believe that God disposes of all that man proposes but only those that do not serve the Lord’s purpose.” Raul believes his plan serves the Lord’s purpose and hopes that the people schooled in the workings of the system will help him navigate around the walls of it in areas left open, unintentionally, for breaching and hopes to breach one of those invisible walls when, with noble intentions, he faces the authorities in his quest to be an American. He’s self-assured that he will be just as fortunate as others, mainly from British colonies, who were assured a fast path to a Green Card for their willingness to fight for America in Vietnam. But first, he must get to the United States. He hears that those people found a fast path to permanent residency and eventual citizenship by volunteering to go help America subdue the forces of communism

in Vietnam and beyond. That was the period of heightened tension among Cold War adversaries, when Premier Nikita Khrushchev of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics threatened to bury America. During that era, the need for increased troop strength to the war effort in Vietnam was becoming more dire as daily American media brought vivid and graphic pictures of sons’, husbands’, dads’, brothers’, mothers’, wives’, daughters’, and sisters’ mutilated bodies to people’s living rooms, to be viewed while at the dinner table. The probability of him becoming a casualty of war be damned, Raul wants to be part of the action. Says he, “It’s an honor to die for a noble cause.” Father’s plan has failed—for now—and Raul must consider executing Plan B. He’ll stow away on one of the ships that enter the harbor infrequently but predictably. Bootoo has told him of the huge merchant ship Seaworthy, with Liberian registry. The ten Bahamians among the twenty-five-man crew are the cargo handlers. The ship gets into port every three months and, based on information from a friend of Bootoo’s who works at the port, is due in five weeks. The Bahamians, like crew of lower rank, are dressed in khaki short pants and light-blue short-sleeved shirts, on the back of which is stenciled the name of the ship; no nametag identifies the crew member. Their footwear is blue sneakers, not Seaworthy issue, just blue, no particular brand. For no apparent purpose, Bootoo makes a note of this. Bootoo lacks a hand, but he is all eyes and ears.

Before Raul’s arrival, Bootoo spent his leisure time walking the seaport area, less than a mile from the rectory. He became acquainted with two of the deckhands on the Seaworthy. The merchant ship plies between his country and Miami, Florida, with stops in between. He brought gifts to them: coconuts, mangoes, rum. He learned their names. One called himself Lucena, the other Luzon, which prompted Bootoo, a student of geography who recognized the names to be that of places in the Philippines, to ask, “Where is Lipa?” Luzon had steeled himself to the question the many times his name had been associated with the country and, between heartbeats, had the answer: “Oh, that’s to the west of me.” To Lucena’s satisfaction, Bootoo found this laughable.

The two claimed to have been born in Minnesota, of parents from Irian Java, on the island of New Guinea. By the ship’s fourth voyage, Bootoo had vicariously become a deckhand. Lucena and Luzon told him both their parents had stowed away on an Australian ship bound for Canada and eventually became legal residents there. Years later, their parents moved to Minnesota. “Therefore, we are full-fledged American citizens, both married to our women. I mean American women,” clarified Luzon, “and we live on the same street, though different blocks.” Bootoo learned that Lucena’s and Luzon’s dads were like brothers from the time they had clandestinely boarded the Australian ship Cargo Marine and hid in the cargo area, emerging after midnight to steal their meals and use the water closets. Like their dads before them, Lucena and Luzon were like siblings who got along well with and understood each other. They both served in the same U.S. Army unit and came up the ranks together, except that Lucena had become an officer after ing a battery of tests, which Luzon failed. From the get-go, Bootoo surmised that Lucena outranked Luzon because the few times he heard other crew address him, it was always “Chief,” a respectful title not accorded to Luzon. Bootoo was very curious to learn about oceangoing vessels, and the two friendly crew were willing to accommodate his questions—not in exchange for Bootoo’s gifts, as some might be inclined to believe—finding in them an opportunity to impart some of their maritime knowledge to him. He was grateful, never once thinking that the information about the ship given by the two would one day become invaluable to Raul as he stows away on their ship, as their dads had done on the Cargo Marine. The port is walking distance from the rectory, and Bootoo has watched the Seaworthy many times and, over its many dockings at this port, gotten to know the Americans well: Luzon, chief mate, and Lucena, deck officer. Raul, in need of Bootoo’s help, can no longer keep Plan B a secret from him. Bootoo will facilitate Raul’s getting onboard. He knows a young man of Raul’s age who had stowed away on a merchant ship and arrived safely in Florida and sees no reason why Raul should be less fortunate. But also, Raul has heard of the dangers attendant to stowing away on a ship and re reading stories of what befell many a stowaway. There have been

instances in which the stowaway, once onboard, is never heard from again. He may have been crushed by the ship’s anchor chain, drowned, suffocated in his hiding place, or beaten to death by the crew and thrown overboard. He’s read of many such instances in which stowaways on European ships, irrespective of registry and mainly Sub-Saharan African illegals, once found, were thrown overboard. Some were beaten to death before they were tossed overboard like detritus, some thrown overboard while alive. Those ships included the Mc-Ruby with Ghanaian illegals, the Garifalia with Somalians, and the Saint-Elmo with Nigerians. It is claimed that the Mc-Ruby was American owned, but the crew was not. The demonic act of the crew of a ship on the high seas of throwing humans, while alive, into the ocean like no-longer-needed ballasts was their way of covering up for their ineptitude for allowing stowaways to board in the first place. To avoid the embarrassment for their lack of security to have allowed unauthorized, undocumented, and nonpaying persons onboard and the cost of repatriation, at times with political repercussions, they gladly destroyed the evidence. Raul assesses his options: prepare to stow away in three weeks or wait out the uncertainty of a visa to the United States. If he goes along with Father’s plan and agrees to wait till the next year, he’d be putting off becoming an American GI; if he disagrees and rejects it outright, he’ll put Plan B into action, bringing the goalpost nearer to him. He’ll stow away on the Seaworthy. He will go back home to his mother’s while he tweaks his plan, hopefully make it viable. Meanwhile, Bootoo brings all manner of gifts to Luzon and Lucena, and they return the favor by giving him a tour of the deck. His missing hand does not handicap his observation. Of particular interest are large metal containers. There are four of them, two portside and two on the starboard side. They are supposed to hold lifejackets but are now empty. Bootoo lifts the lid of one and, assured they are all the same, feels no need to “inspect” the others. Just in case they are filled before stowaway “S” day. Behind each is an open space large enough for a man of Raul’s size to hide in. He learns that in the past three years, those containers have not been used. “Why?” asks Bootoo. “Because it is now required that each crew member keeps his lifejacket where he sleeps.”

Bootoo takes a mental picture of these containers and the spaces behind them and observes the two farther front (fore, in Luzon’s maritime language) are slightly wet, probably from sea spray when the ocean gets rough. He prefers either of the two farther back (aft). Bootoo transmits the information about the ship to Raul, who sees himself onboard when the Seaworthy leaves port. As S day nears for the execution of Plan B and his mom’s house is in order, Raul leaves home. Most of his belongings are already safe in the cinderblock house, which he occupies with Bootoo, who will feed Raul’s mom the lie that her son is back at the rectory. In the bag Bootoo has handed him, Raul adds a change of clothes: one sleeveless undershirt and three Hanes briefs. The pair of pants he wears will have to do for the entire journey. He has on a brand-new pair of tennis shoes (sneakers), courtesy of Father Barbe. In the bag, he finds room for the things he cherishes more than what is already in there: the history book he used at school, given to him as a gift, for which he was grateful. The government school, like other schools in his country, is replacing its Eurocentric, only-whites-accomplished-anything history books for ones that more accurately reflect her people’s contribution to their country and the world. In the old books, more opinion than fact, references to his country were made with Europe and Europeans in mind, as if his people couldn’t think for themselves and accomplish things on their own without white influence or European . Raul thinks that his country, as far as some in the white world are concerned, epitomizes the bad and ugly and is bereft of the good. He was not encouraged by what he had read and hopes that one day his country would rise above the stereotypes given her by the misinformed and racist. Long ago, he envisioned living in a world that valued truth and objectivity fueled by much love and understanding. He thought of America. The United States was not the ideal country he had envisioned, stating that the easy availability of guns in people’s hands and homes made for an unsafe environment. He believes this is so because of a misinterpretation of the Constitution. But he sees strength in the proper use of firearms and likes the country’s diversity. “Because,” he said, “diversity suggests tolerance, even if it does not result in acceptance.” He brushes aside America’s increasing number of hate groups as “transient cowards in need of solid Christian guidance.” From reading American

newspapers and magazines, Raul deduces that hate groups have multiplied in recent years by geometric proportions, driven by demographic changes and helped by the legalization of miscegenation. Many who previously thought their white blood untainted will now find in it traces of Bantu ancestry. This slowly “blackening” or “browning” of their Puritan blood drives the hatemongers crazy. The crazies should be well aware that change is ever-present, unchanging, and no matter our determined efforts to stop it, change will remain a constant. But America’s diversity, which is a source of its strength, will continue to drive hatemongers to action as they vehemently oppose the inevitable dilution of their authority and their putatively claimed privilege to marginalize those they consider inferior to themselves. Unchanging change is a truism, and as children of immigrants Americanize, they become part of the fabric making up the American quilt. Foreigners arriving to settle on the land should not be denigrated and abused. Those who had occupied the land for hundreds of years before Europeans came and usurped it did not view the new arrivals as encroachers or defilers. In spite of its problems, America provides the moral com by which she hopes to guide the rest of the world. Of course, she has faults. Of course, she has flaws, but those flaws and faults pale in comparison to the wickedness and amoral behavior so rampant in countries ruled by despots. But Raul will adjust to the “misinterpretation of Constitutional law.” Before explaining Plan B to Bootoo, Raul had thought of going to the United States through Guyana, Venezuela, and Colombia and five countries in Central America, through Mexico to the U.S. border, and then quickly dispatched the idea as it would take too long. An acquaintance advised him to engage the service of a smuggler, particularly as he was not fluent in the culture of the region. Some who had tried it on their own were never heard from again after months of waiting and inquiries, presumably swallowed up in the perils of the journey. At first, Raul had thought his street smarts would get him through. Little did he know that the people he would encounter—coyotes, banditos, police, military, paramilitary—were not playing by the modus operandi of the normal street but by the modus vivendi they had known for years. It had been suggested by a friend that Raul try to enter the United States via Cuba because he could blend in with some of the Cubans fleeing Castro’s island to America. He didn’t understand why America maintained a “dry foot, wet foot” policy toward Cubans when no other foreign nationals were so privileged.

He attributed this to the political clout enjoyed by Cubans in the Miami area and not to racial preference. He thought it unfair and ideology motivated because Cuba was communist and those fleeing could seek asylum on the grounds of political prosecution and repression. That he could become a Cuban, one of the asylum seekers, was the easy part. How he was to enter Cuba was the billiondollar question, which remained unanswered. Finally convinced that this was not an “adventure” he should undertake without proper planning, he gave up the idea of a “South America and Central America to the United States” trip on his own. Over a long period, he might have been able to come up with the $10,000 coyote fee, $3,000 less if he could make it to Guyana, but he did not have years to wait. So now Raul’s mind is set to make it to America on his own without spending what, to him, is a rich man’s fortune. Fresh on his mind are the stories of stowaways being thrown overboard by crew when their hiding places are discovered. But he takes comfort in the knowledge that the ship he targets on which to make this unpaid, illegal journey to the United States is of American origin and with an American-controlled crew. He is told that crew must treat stowaways humanely, provided with food and allowed to use the water closets when needed. From what he has learned though, not all crew adhere to this maritime requirement. Certainly, that was the case with the ships identified previously. But he isn’t afraid. He firmly believes that in the hands of Americans on an American ship, he’ll not meet the fate of the Africans. Now Bootoo’s perfunctory observations on what he saw of the ship and its crew must be put to use, and with the help of a close confidant, Bootoo secures crewmatching attire for Raul. “Here. Take this. You might have use of it should the situation arise.” He hands Raul a plastic bag. He has no idea why Bootoo has done this, but respectful of Bootoo’s judgment, he accepts whatever this is. Raul’s crew-matching uniform and a copy of Albert Camus’ Le Peste are in the bag. “The book to keep you sane during periods of uncertainty,” Bootoo explains. One has to skip many security hurdles to enter the port area, let alone get onboard a ship. But no matter how difficult it might seem for an undocumented,

nonpaying person to get on a ship, it can be done by one who is determined. One bent on breaching security arrangements can make it through if the need to do so overwhelms the risk. Bootoo knows where the crew are most likely to look to find the unusual, whether person or thing. He was once told that the safest place to hide the key to the house is under the doormat and your money put between the pages of the Bible on the table. So he advises Raul to “hide in plain sight.” “Once in,” Bootoo advises, “get behind one of the boxes farther back of the deck. When you hear a crew member say, ‘Portside,’ he refers to the left side of the ship. ‘Starboard,’ he means right side. Aft is their name for back, and fore is front. those references well because their knowledge might allow you safe age to Miami. On the ocean, you’ll need food and water, so you’ll have no choice but to turn yourself in to, hopefully, either Luzon or Lucena. The master or captain is in control and command of the ship, and all other crew must report to him or her anything amiss, including finding a stowaway. So Luzon or Lucena, should any one find you, is required to report you to the master. “Most times, the ship will continue on its way and not return to port on discovering a stowaway because scheduling is very important and returning to port is time-consuming and costly. When your presence is made known, the master will notify the company and its insurance. But because repatriating the stowaway is complex and expensive, at times, the ship will visit many ports with the stowaway, secured in a special room, as many lack brigs or prison-like cells. When you are found—not if but when—they are required to treat you humanely, provide food and water, and allow you bathroom facilities. Again, let me repeat —the shipping company makes allowances for rough seas and bad weather. Barring these, their boats are to reach designated ports within the day of their schedule. Seaworthy is to be back in Florida the first week of August, after a two-day stop in San Juan, Puerto Rico.” Bootoo keeps Raul’s plan a secret—for now. The plan is Raul will pretend to be ill the day Seaworthy arrives. He goes back to his mom’s. Two days later, when the ship is ready to sail, Raul will get onboard; Bootoo tells Raul’s mom that Raul is back at the rectory. So as far as Annette knows, Raul is with Father, and Barbe knows Raul is at his mom’s, nursing an illness. Raul and Bootoo know the truth. Bootoo tells himself that he’ll have to confess his sin of a lie to Father and ask Annette’s forgiveness. Doubtful that he will see his mom in less than two years, Raul put her house in order, painted the inside walls deep blue, with paint

left over from the cinderblock house, which Father had allowed him to have. Annette was grateful for the gift, and Raul obliged its use. Bootoo further encourages Raul. “Concerning the treatment of stowaways, experience has it that Americans are more humane, more civil in these matters.” “What do you mean, ‘in these matters’?” “I mean in matters pertaining to maritime law, Americans are known to treat those who flout it with courtesy and respect in meting out their punishment. Of course, this is not to deny the fact that there are instances in which the crew have taken matters into their own hands and acted like the crew of the Saint-Elmo. Rather than let the courts determine the crime and decide punishment, they were the judge, jury, and executioner, literally. But these instances are rare.”

FIVE

THE SEAWORTHY LEAVES THE NEXT MORNING—DESTINATION: MIAMI. Raul’s port still is at the consulate, awaiting validation, or maybe given the jealousy of the homebound toward those who want to travel, it never left the port service. He is not concerned because a port and visa were never factored into Plan B. It’s 9:00 p.m., and it’s dark. Overhead, the moon’s first quarter is helped by a million stars twinkling in unison, illuminating the ship. The gangplank portside is extended to the pavement. No one patrols the deck. At the gate of the chain-link fence that allows access to the ship, Andre Petén, the guard, is required to check the IDs of all those ing through to get to the ship. Bootoo is known to Andre. With a plastic bag in Raul’s hand, he and Bootoo approach Andre, seated on the metal folding chair at the fence gate. Bootoo explains to Andre that the bag Raul carries contains gifts for Lucena and Luzon. Andre knows that Bootoo is a frequent visitor to the ship, and he is wellknown to Lucena and his “subordinate,” so he allows them through but tells them that six crew are out on the town. Raul prays that Luzon and Lucena are among them. Raul walks the gangplank, enters the ship, and secures a spot in the back of one of the metal containers, starboard aft, as Bootoo had instructed him. Secured in the spot, he waits. Meanwhile, Bootoo makes his way back. At the gate, Andre is asleep. Bootoo thanks whichever god he prays to for sparing him the misfortune of having to explain the absence of Raul. At about 1:00 a.m., the crew return. Their unsteady gaits bespeak their alcohol consumption while on the town. At the gate is Andre’s replacement, Detrick. Andre dares not explain to Detrick, “Two people had gone to the ship, but I did not see them leave while I slept.” Unaware of what went on before he had relieved Andre, Detrick tells the returning crew, “All’s well!” The Seaworthy blasts its whistle in preparation for departure. Loose of its

moorings and guided by the harbor pilot, she slowly makes her way through the channel to open sea. Raul is anxious and nervous as he thinks of what might lie ahead. Bootoo advised him to carry some crackers in his plastic shopping bag “in case hunger overcomes you.” But Raul thinks even those will add to his encumbrance and ignores the suggestion. When Bootoo guesses the Seaworthy is well beyond twelve nautical miles, he decides to disclose Raul’s plot and the meticulous planning of its execution. Father is not a bit surprised because Raul had indirectly hinted he lacked the patience to wait a whole year for something to happen regarding the religious school, and there was no assurance it would; he had long ago expressed a desire to reach the United States by whatever means available. He wishes Raul well and prays for his success and safe age to land. “But,” he said, “my prayers will amount to nothing if Raul does not grasp whatever opportunity comes his way.” In other words, it is up to Raul to act upon Father’s prayers and those of all others who, on hearing of his courageous and dangerous undertaking, wish him safe age. Raul’s mom, Annette, is not as conciliatory as Barbe. She says she realized something was up with her son when, without being told, he had made such determined effort to put the house in order, including painting it. She misses her only child and prays that he’ll survive the open sea and, on land, the hatred he is bound to face because of his color. She agonizes on the knowledge that some people are so loaded with hatred that they feel obliged to hate even those they have not even met or spoken with simply because they look different. Her Christian belief commands her to accept that her prayers combined with those of Father and other well-wishers will see her son through the injustice and tribulations attendant to his race. Meanwhile, Bootoo is overjoyed that he has regained occupancy of the entire brick house at the back of the rectory, belonging to the church. He eagerly awaits word from Raul that he fears well. But he is well aware that information from Raul will not be coming soon; unless he gets to land safely and is facilitated by circumstance, Bootoo will not hear from his friend. Taking advantage of the quiet and relative security of his spot, Raul gets some well-deserved rest. Much later, deck activity and ship talk awaken him. Raising his head very slowly and carefully, he peeks over the gunwale and sees the ocean

glisten in the early morning sun. The continuous noise of the diesel engines and the bobbing and rolling movement of the ship throughout the night suggested to him that they had navigated an angry sea. The stomach-churning movement of the ship has ceased, and he guesses that they traveled some rough ocean during the night. It appears that fearing loss of cargo, the captain slowed down the ship considerably to her presently maintained speed, approximating five knots. He hears a conversation between Luzon and another deckhand. He understands “Starboard!” That’s his side, right, but not aft or fore, so he waits in silence, hoping that the two are not talking about the box behind which he hides. It’s now midmorning. He is hungry and needs to take in liquids and let some out. It’s been seven hours since the Seaworthy left port, and Raul surmises that Bootoo is telling his lies to Father Barbe that morning, a lie he’ll repeat to Annette Manigot on Sunday, when she attends Mass. Raul is hungry and afraid as he contemplates what awaits him when the ship gets into the Port of San Juan. But he needs food and drink and must let some liquid out. To accomplish this, he must surrender rather than allow himself to be found. He theorizes that surrender is an acknowledgment of transgression, which usually is punished less severely than the deliberate concealment of guilt that, when established, makes necessary the expenditure of time and resources in adjudication. He has begun a journey and is prepared to face its dangers to the very end; otherwise, all his efforts and those of Bootoo will have been for naught. Drawing upon what little optimism he can muster in these uncertain times, he finds comfort in Bootoo’s ission that a stowaway must be treated humanely and with courtesy. He re being told, “The American crew will be kind to you while on their ship. When you get off you’ll be on your own, responsible for your own safety.” ing those hopeful words, Raul waits to see either of the two Americans. Lying on his stomach, Raul crawls slowly to one end of the big box behind which he has spent the many hours at sea and takes a stealthy peek around it. Luzon approaches Raul’s hideout. Like a fare-paying enger and one authorized to be where he is, making the best use of time, he emerges from behind the metal box, Albert Camus’ Le Peste under his arm. He does not know why Bootoo suggested Camus’ The Plague as reading material on the trip, but he trusts his friend’s judgment and accepts it. Is Raul to find a parallel between his life and that of the plague-affected rich, poor, and in between in the city of Oran? He has no idea.

Luzon sees him and immediately picks up his walkie-talkie to alert Lucena, using a coded message only the two understand. Before Chief—that’s what they call Lucena—does anything, Raul hands them a note from Bootoo: “His name is Raul Manigot, whose dad was murdered when Raul was two. He is a good boy with a good Christian upbringing instilled by his mother, a single parent. I pray that you treat and do for him what you once agreed to do for me. Like most of my people, neither his mom nor he has much, and he wishes to make it safely to America to the U.S. Army. Please take good care of him.” Bootoo signed the note, Maurice. That’s the name by which he was known. Chief re the agreement to which Bootoo refers. In gratitude for the many things Bootoo had brought to him and Luzon, he asked, “How can we repay you? How might we repay you?” “Free age to America for my friend” was Bootoo’s reply, meant as a joke but now taking on a need demanding urgency of execution. They are faced with a dilemma: hide the stowaway, which is illegal, or surrender him to security and breach the solemn promise they made to Bootoo. Lucena re a story told by a former member of his crew, a man from Sierra Leone, about the monkey hunter. He aimed his rifle at the animal, and just as he was about to pull the trigger to dispatch it, the monkey spoke. “If you kill me, your mother will die. If you don’t, your father will die.” What was the hunter to do? This was the predicament faced by the Americans. Like the hunter, whichever choice they favored was consequential. But such is the dilemma Chief and Luzon face. The food and drink needed to keep Raul alive is not a drain on the ship’s galley; nor are the few gallons of water he would use for the preservation of his health. It is not unusual for merchant or cargo ships to book fare-paying engers; the Seaworthy is no exception and has done this many times before. As a matter of fact, there are five double-occupancy cabins on the ship for engers with time on their hands and who are willing to experience the operations of a cargo ship as she goes on unloading cargo in one port, loading in another, or doing both operations in one as engers wait patiently, not having a definite time and date of departure or arrival. All five cabins had been booked long ago, but a couple had to cancel at the last minute. The Americans have a plan. The cabins had been booked long ago by people with no destination in mind.

They had flown in the day of the Seaworthy’s departure for an adventurous return trip home. This arrangement had been allowed when competent authority had been told the purpose for the trip was the need of the small group of religious retreaters for quiet and isolation. They had agreed on a cruise, but the distractions on a regular cruise liner are not conducive to the solemnity required for Bible study. Although the group had all the necessary documents and immunizations, there was much back-and-forth between the leader of the retreat and the booking agent, whose decision was final; a substantial bribe had sealed the arrangement. Medical reasons caused one of the couples to cancel at the last minute. Because of cargo considerations, merchant ships have few cabins per deck. As a result, the ten engers’ cabins are on two decks. The plan conceived by the chief mate and deck officer is that they would let Raul occupy the cabin made vacant by the last-minute cancellation and let him be both the liaison and the busboy between the retreaters and the galley. The Bible study group secured the assurance that they would have limited crew , so having one person assigned to them meets the definition of “limited .” Because of the small dining area on merchant ships, fare-paying engers are required to dine with the officers. The retreaters do not like this; instead, they’ll gather in one cabin, however cramped, and have their meals there. Lucena likes this as it will help his desire to make the stowaway inconspicuous. Having been allowed to change in his crew-matching shirt and pants, the ones he serves might think him a crew member, while the kitchen staff guesses him to be a special hire for the benefit of the religious group. Capt. Marc Boland is none the wiser. Master Boland does not have a good memory for faces and, should his path cross Raul’s during the many times the captain walks the deck, would not if Raul is one of the Bahamians he has seen before. Of course, he is the ultimate authority on the ship, but the responsibility for the welfare of the people onboard, the crew as well as the engers, has been assigned to Lucena and Luzon. Also aiding Chief and Luzon is the fact that when the captain briefs his crew, he never has them all at the same time, mainly his officers, leaving Chief and Luzon (mainly Chief) to brief his men on what is happening on the ship, what is expected of them during the unloading and loading of cargo and while ashore. The ploy by Chief and Luzon to let Raul occupy the vacant cabin works

unexpectedly well. If Raul feels lucky, it’s because the opportunity finds him prepared to accept what is offered and made available by two men whose friendship Bootoo gained. From Bootoo’s note to the two, they know that Raul wants to reach the United States via their Miami-bound ship and would like to accommodate him, but because of the dilemma they face in disguising Raul as a crew member, the sooner they are able to disembark him, the better. Raul, having been told that they are headed to the Port of San Juan, is willing to get off in Puerto Rico, American territory. His preferred port was Miami, only because that’s where the ship is headed, but he is destined to wherever in America. Had the Seaworthy headed to Boston, that city would have been his destination; Puerto Rico is as close to the mainland as he could get without being in America. He also welcomes the idea of getting off on American soil as quickly as possible to lessen Lucena’s and Luzon’s exposure to the possibility of him being found out to be an imposter, which would put them and him in much trouble. Should that happen, even Master Marc Boland would be implicated and punished, and the lack of or inadequate security suggested in a stowaway being able to board ship in a foreign port could have international implications for the shipping industry. While Raul’s gratitude for his two American friends who have risked their careers for him is palpable, his concentration now centers on his probability of escape from Puerto Rico to the United States and his freedom when he gets there. It is midmorning when the Seaworthy arrives in the San Juan harbor. Leaning over the gunwale starboard side, Raul sees dockworkers scramble as they prepare to meet the ship to start unloading, among whom are two forklift operators. He assesses the situation and is in deep contemplation. Luzon sees Raul’s quandary, approaches him, gives him $20, and tells him to prepare to the onboard crew as it unloads cargo. With Le Peste forced into his right front pocket and his Chaps shirt concealed under the crew-matching one he wears, Raul leaves nothing on the ship that would evidence his ever having been onboard. Anything he accidentally leaves behind can be mistaken as anyone’s possession. He thanks Luzon for the money and awaits direction from Lucena. He tells him to hold onto one of the two ropes used to steady the aluminum pipes being unloaded, in wind gusting to thirty miles an hour, to expose his features to the ground crew so that they will not think him a stranger when he gets ashore. It is now lunchtime, and the crews, both ashore and onboard, need a break. Luzon advises Raul, “Now is your time. Get out!”

Raul disembarks, es dockworkers having their sandwiches and bottled drinks, and disappears from the view of both Lucena and Luzon, who were watching from the time he had left their ship, happy to get rid of a liability. They will not see or hear from Raul again—maybe in three months, when they make the return trip and Bootoo has word from his friend to convey to them. Hiding in an alleyway off a busy street in midafternoon San Juan, Raul quickly sheds his crew member shirt to expose his Chaps and tosses the crew shirt into a dumpster; he walks the streets of the city, looking as if on an errand, with purpose. He is in unfamiliar territory. San Juan is a relatively large city, a smaller version of New York City. Luzon suggested to him, “While in San Juan, use some of the money to call home. Find a Verizon store or AT&T location to make a call to your mother.” Of course, the only way he can reach his mom is through Bootoo, who has access to Father’s phone. He finds a Verizon store in a strip mall and goes in to place a call to Bootoo at the rectory. Bootoo is excited that Raul is on land and is safe. He will on Raul’s gratitude to Lucena and Luzon on their return trip. He tells Raul that many years ago, a good friend, Felix Polvos, attended the University of Puerto Rico in San Juan and graduated with a degree in urban planning and, during his university days, lived on Calle Nueva, off Avenida Barbosa. He does not the house or building number on Calle Nueva. After he graduated, he did not return to his country; nor had Bootoo heard from him since the hurricane destroyed the country two years ago. But inasmuch as information reaching Bootoo concerning the hurricane’s devastation has not mentioned any disruption of activity in the area where the friend lived, he thinks it a good chance that his erstwhile friend is at the same address on Calle Nueva. Raul speaks English and French fluently, and Spanish is part of his linguistic diet but off the menu and is not readily served. Fortunately, many of the local population speak English. But hoping to blend in, he would try the Spanish he learned at L’ecole Jean-Baptiste de la Salle, more Castilian than Puerto Rican, and ask for directions of the first person he sees with a smile painted on as he or she approaches him. He walks the streets aimlessly but intent on getting to Calle Nueva. A well-dressed man walks toward him. Raul thinks it strange that in the scorching heat of summer, this man wears a three-piece suit and tie. He seems friendly enough.

“Buenos dias, senor. Por favor, como lleyo a la Calle Nueva?” Surprised by the courteous way in which the young man approached him, in a way unfamiliarly heard on the streets of San Juan, the well-dressed white man responds with “I see you struggle with the pronunciation, so Spanish is not your first language, I take it.” “No, sir. French is my first, English a close second.” “Mine is English first and Spanish a close second. What brings you to Puerto Rico?” Raul breathes easy; he has not been asked, “Where are you from?” The logical answer to the man’s question, he thinks, is to state the means by which he arrived in Puerto Rico. “A ship.” “Well, I would suspect either ship or plane. The ocean is too wide and dangerous for even the most daring and adventurous swimmer. Nueva Street is a long way from here. You have business there?” What is clearly a question comes out as a statement. “I’m to meet the friend of a friend there.” “As a matter of fact,” said the man, “I’m looking for a taxi to take me to Avenida Barbosa. Calle Nueva runs off it. Why don’t you ride with me?” “Thank you, sir. I’d appreciate it.” In the taxi, Raul tells the man—who, in turn, tells the cabby—that his destination, as far as he was told, is not too far from Calle del Tren; before the U.S. Postal Service, they make a right. They arrive on Calle Nueva. Only then does Raul tell them he does not have a house or building number, without which it is like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack. The man—having developed a liking for Raul, a liking that seems void of altruism—suggests that Raul drive around with him as he visits the two businesses that bought his farm produce. In the back seat of the car, turning to face Raul, the man offers him a hand. “By the way, my name is Grant, Grant Ashworth.”

On taking the man’s hand, Raul looks at him; like a snipper checking the landscape before engaging the enemy, his hazel eyes pierce Grant’s blue, and where the rays converge, he sees empathy. But something about Mr. Ashworth doesn’t sit well with Raul. He couldn’t understand why Grant is so suited up in the San Juan heat. Even if he were on business, as he claims, casual attire is more appropriate at this time of year. “Raul, Raul Manigot,” he says to Mr. Ashworth as he returns the handshake. Grant Ashworth and Raul feel at ease in each other’s company and tell each other much about themselves. Grant is a Midwestern farmer from Omaha, Nebraska, flying out that afternoon, going back home via LaGuardia Airport, overnighting in New York City to take in a play at the Metropolitan Theater, which he paid for months ago. His farm is expansive, with much cattle, chickens, hogs, and horses. He grows wheat and soy beans for export. He has been in San Juan for two weeks, having visited with his two importers a day after he arrived, and wishes to make a courtesy call to each before he departs the island tonight. He answers Raul’s unasked question. “The reason I have on a suit is that my bags are already packed for travel, and I am soon to check out of my hotel room. I thought you were curious as to my semiformal attire when everyone around seems casually dressed.” “Truthfully, I was. And I thought you were a diplomat.” “I work hard for a living.” “Don’t diplomats work for a living?” “They work. Not hard because they work with their mouths. I work with my hands. But too, my mouth helps me execute the transactions to complete the work of my hands.” Mr. Ashworth explains to him that he came to San Juan mainly to check on his business partners but also and with the intent to return to the States with some people willing to do farm labor. He was not successful, but he would greatly appreciate Raul ing his “team,” which would help his claim that the trip was entirely for business. What about eleven of the fourteen days he had spent on various beaches and island hopping in a chartered catamaran? That too

was business, personal business, which he hopes will escape IRS scrutiny should he be audited. Raul is overjoyed. His upbringing directs him to be truthful in telling Grant Ashworth the circumstances of his presence in Puerto Rico. Grant does not flinch in disbelief or is disappointed that he has befriended a stowaway, an illegal. They hope that the diesel engine noise prevents the taxi driver from hearing their conversation. He speaks no English, and even if he has heard, Grant is sure his driver has not understood a word of it. “I’ll take you to my hotel room at the Holiday Inn to clean up, and you’ll meet me in the lobby at 9:00 p.m. I have an 11:00 p.m. flight, but I’ll change this to 2:00 a.m., which will give me time to get your boarding so you can fly with me. At that time, when airport agents are sleepy, they can’t be vigilant. In the meantime, let’s go to Walmart to get you some decent clothes.” They are driven to the store, after which Grant takes him back to the hotel to dress up. He has cleared the hotel room, but because of his good reputation there, a few dollars put in the hand of the desk clerk allow him the use of a ground-floor vacant office for Raul to change clothes. They have a meal in the hotel cafeteria, after which they while away the time in the lobby. Raul doesn’t have to meet Grant because they are already together. They leave the hotel at 10:00 p.m. and go to the airport, where they sit talking as if well acquainted. The farmer gets up and goes to the ticket counter. A few minutes later, he returns, the flight changed, and hands Raul his boarding . He is now a farmhand on the estate of Mr. Grant Ashworth.

He prepares Raul for the unexpected. “The people here know me quite well and won’t be inclined to ask much of me. You are in Puerto Rico, American territory. All you need for boarding the aircraft to LaGuardia, New York, is already in your hands. Should they ask you any question, look at me for the answer. If I shake my head from side to side, the answer is no. Up and down, yes. Here. Hold this copy of the local paper, evidence that you are no stranger to our world.” Boarding Eastern Airlines Flight 374 to LaGuardia was unexpectedly easy, easier than boarding the local bus and Raul wonders why many others have not embarked on journeys such as his current venture. The stewardess (flight attendant, who later transitions to cabin crew member) shows them to their

numbered seats, an unnecessary routine, effort uselessly expended. Reluctant to tell Grant more about himself and family and add pages to what is becoming an unintended dossier of his miserable life, he feigns airsickness, which Mr. Ashworth accepts as normal for one taking his first flight. Increasing his disinclination to “bare my soul,” as he later explains it, is his suspicion that Grant might not be the genuine farmer he claims to be. He has heard of those like Grant who have shown a liking for people like him on their first meeting but with the motive of engaging them in low-paying jobs or, worse, slavery. What he has told Grant when he brought up his seat to accommodate the bacon-and-cheese sandwich and soda, compliments of Eastern, is what he has already divulged, nothing more. Grant has made it clear to Raul—“When the plane lands, we simply walk off and go claim our belongings. We boarded in an American port, so there is no immigration clearance needed.” On disembarkation, Grant instructs Raul, “Follow me to baggage claim.” Among the throng of engers, Raul, having boarded with nothing and therefore having nothing to claim, conveniently disappears among the crowd, much to farmer Grant Ashworth’s disappointment. Raul is pleased that he has accomplished the implausible with so little effort. He reminds himself that it was only through Father Barbe’s prayers and his mom’s blessings reaching the ears of God that he was able to land in New York, months before he hoped, facilitated by an unknown, well-dressed, white-haired white man whom he met accidentally. Had he not gotten the chance to escape the “imprisonment” of the Seaworthy and had remained onboard through to Miami, he might not have been so lucky. He quotes from Lamentations 3:25 (NIV), “The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him,” and believes that it’s his trust in the Lord that has enabled him to be in the United States without having spent any money. His frequent references to the Bible are not in conflict with the opinions he has expressed concerning Holy Writ and religion. Looking back on the fortune the coyotes wanted to take him on the perilous journey through parts of South America and Central America through Mexico to the Texas border, he realizes he has gotten a bargain that would be the envy of the most frugal adventurer.

He is sure that given the circumstances of his sea journey and his trip to New York on an Eastern Airlines plane, there would be no one looking for him, although he does not know if the two Americans have not revealed his presence to anyone. He assures himself that neither Mr. Ashworth nor the crew of the Seaworthy would be willing to expose themselves to the humiliation of an inquiry by federal authorities as to how and when Raul got onboard and the occasion of his disappearance. He is certain that no one is in hot pursuit of him and that his mugshot won’t be seen in an FBI Most Wanted poster. These concerns, he erases from memory, never to resurface. He is safe—for now. Raul guesses there are thousands of his countryfolk in New York City and that he is certain to meet one or two working at LaGuardia or, at least, others who might know them. He had thought of the probability before he bolted from Grant’s view. Given his “It takes a village to raise a child” culture, he is almost sure to find a compatriot at the airport who could guide him to shelter that evening or take him to their home. Otherwise, he would not have disappeared from Mr. Ashworth just after telling him, “Thank you for what you have done for me. May you be blessed for the love you showed me, a stranger!” Had he the slightest doubt that he would find one of his own to accommodate him, he would not have left the “security” of Grant and the assurance of a “job.” He is certain that farmer Grant Ashworth will not come looking for him because Grant has more to conceal than Raul has to hide from. In no way would a Midwestern farmer disclose to the authorities that he got a stowaway on an American ship who escaped in San Juan, Puerto Rico, on an Eastern Airlines plane on a lie of brazen illegality and that the stowaway is roaming the airport a free man. Grant knows that such disclosure would surely land him in the slammer, so after gathering his two bags, he hails a cab to take him to the train station. Grant and Raul have parted company, neither one knowing the intimate workings of the other.

SIX

RAUL’S AMERICAN ADVENTURE BEGINS. It is midmorning, with many hours of daylight before he panics in the anonymity of the huge airport. He has spent $5 of Luzon’s $20 on the call from San Juan; he has enough left to buy a meal or two, so he does not show any desperation for company. In the departure lounge, he sits and waits, eyes aglow, looking for a face that reveals something about his ethnicity and culture, a face that, sooner or later, he hopes will appear to clean up the trash cans and cigarette butts left on the carpet by inconsiderate, poorly trained adults. He has the time to be patient. Raul turns the pages of the San Juan paper, given him by his benefactor at the Eastern Airlines ticket counter in Puerto Rico, pretending to be interested in the headlines titling the narratives that follow and that he either doesn’t want to read or cares little about. Periodically diverting his pretense of reading the paper to peer over the top edge of it to observe who comes in, putting on a face for the faces they see, he finally espies a face the white world thinks bespeaks the characteristics of his ethnicity and culture. The man carries a mop bucket, a broom, and a dustpan—the stereotypical compatriot portrayed in the media. Employed in a capacity below the level of his education and training, the man nonetheless seems happy to be able to pay his rent. The man’s broom touches Raul’s sneakers as he attempts to sweep the crumbs left by those who sloppily ate their fast-food purchase before departure. “So sooorry,” he said, dragging out the vowel. Raul recognizes the accent in the man’s politeness. “C’est bon. Vous habiter ici? Queens?” Raul asks as a way of introducing himself. “Non. En Bronx.” With the accommodating reply, Raul’s inhalation is energized, and the conversation that would start him on his American journey begins. The janitor, Jack Cousteau, has much in common with Raul—for the stowaway, another blessing. Jack’s shift ends in four hours, at 5:00 p.m., and he offers Raul a bed for the night. While waiting, Raul buys an order of fries and a Pepsi from the

Burger King concessionary, which satisfies the hunger he felt since leaving Grant’s company. He no longer pretends to read the paper. He trashes it and waits. Only now does he think of his mom, Father Barbe, and Bootoo. Then he wonders what became of his port and visa. Had the travel service sent his port to the American Consulate in the foreign country for validation? He’ll be convinced his port is not intentionally kept at the service only if and when his mother’s is returned. They were posted in the same envelope, so it is unlikely that one would be lost in transit while the other survived. True to his promise, Jack meets Raul at 5:05 p.m. They exit the airport in Jack’s Honda Civic and head toward the Throggs Neck Bridge. On the way, their conversation continues, and they learn much about each other and their respective families. When Raul asks Jack if he is a relative of the famed marine biologist Jacques Cousteau, he replies with the humility of a devout nun that his parents purposely spelled his name Jack and not Jacques so that people would be less inclined to inquire of a relationship. He thinks there are many who would readily claim kinship to Jacques Cousteau where none existed, but he is not one of them. He would not feel comfortable to falsely attach himself to a famous name for recognition. “It would be the equivalent of a man whose only claim to fame rests with a dead ancestor. Like a potato, the only good thing he could be proud of is underground,” he says. A delay at the bridge toll booth causes Jack to arrive home on Gun Hill Road at about 6:00 p.m., fifteen minutes later than usual. His wife, Marie, is due home at 6:30 p.m. from her job as an RN at a local hospital, where she has been nursing for a decade. On her way home, she’ll pick up her two boys—Bayan, nine, and David, seven—from the neighbor’s. Only now, at home, Jack calls her to tell her about their guest for the evening and night. He knows that Marie, a deeply Christian woman in both word and deed, would not question his judgment on matters of hospitality to a stranger. At 7:10 p.m., Marie and the boys arrive home to meet Raul and Jack in conversation about their home country. The introduction of Raul to the family is bittersweet to Marie. She is delighted to meet Raul, but his telling of the necklacing of his friend brings back vivid memories of Marie’s dad meeting a similar fate years before. Raul’s telling

brings tears to Marie’s eyes, while he, a product of the misplaced machismo of his culture that “grown men don’t cry,” feigns a cough and, extracting his handkerchief from his shirt pocket, proceeds to wipe his face in the pretense of sweat that isn’t present but, in fact, he’s trying to mask the evidence of tears forming in his glazed eyes. The boys immediately bond with Raul, maybe because of his youth or perhaps they see in him a genuine human being who shares their parents’ Christian beliefs. Observing this seminal affection, Raul bares his soul to the family. He tells of his days of contemplation, sitting on the boulder on the bank of the river, meeting Maurice Gaston, a.k.a. Bootoo, through Father Barbe, his mom’s revealing the circumstances of his dad’s murder by the hands of the paramilitary that terrorized the country, his forced observation of his friend’s necklacing, his stowing away on the Seaworthy, with the help of Bootoo, who befriended deckhands on the American ship, his fortunate meeting of two Americans on the ship, who facilitated his escape while the ship was docked in San Juan harbor, his meeting Mr. Grant Ashworth, and his eluding the farmer on the way to baggage claim. When Marie asks him why he felt bound to part with the farmer, who stuck his own neck on the punishment block for an illegal alien like him, which is many times more serious for stowaways, he replies, “Because I did not wish to become an indentured servant or, worse, a slave to a Midwestern farmer about whom I know very little.” He explains that meeting Jack was a godsend; if they had not met, he does not know what would have become of him in the strange land in which he had illegally arrived. He tells them about Fr. Beard’s desire to see him attend a religious school to become an evangelist, having helped him obtain a port and apply for an American visa through the local visa service. Being somewhat impatient, he left before the return of his documents. Father Barbe, unaware of Raul’s intention to stow away, prayed for his success in whatever he undertakes, and Raul believes it was those blessings that saw him through his tribulations. Years later, when Raul explains how he was able to arrive in the United States as a stowaway on the Seaworthy, bound for Miami, Florida, but instead escaped his captors in San Juan, Puerto Rico, and, by the grace of God, met a strange man, a Midwestern farmer, who, by some intrigue, got him on an Eastern Airlines plane to New York, he is repeatedly taunted with “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Marie tells

Raul neither she nor Jack can help him in his desire to enlist in the U.S. Army, but she knows a coworker whose husband is a recruiting sergeant for the marines and who can probably lend his . In the meantime, she’ll see what she can do to help him get a social security number (SSN), a necessary step in the process. She tells him, “Five days ago, the body of an adult of about twenty-one from our country and going by the name R. S. Manicot was brought to our morgue, where it was examined by the police. It was determined that the victim had been shot to death by a member of the gang to which he allegedly belonged. As far as is known, he had no relatives, and the body remained in the morgue until being taken away for disposal by the authorities. I can get you his SSN, and you can assume his identity. We’ll probably be both dead before anyone finds out. This action, though illegal and against the laws of Caesar, cannot be against the will of God because of its intended purpose.” It is known that some aliens who have entered the country legally but are not permitted to work have obtained employment, using the SSN of one allowed to work. It is not the function of the Internal Revenue Service to name to number. Nor is it the employer’s responsibility to make sure the employee’s name corresponds to the SS card presented. The employer collects the taxes that apply and pays it to the IRS. The owner of the number gets the benefit of employment credits; the imposter gets none. But Marie finds out that even when one legally changes name, a new number is issued and the old one retired. So to use a deceased person’s SSN as your own and attempt to change the dead person’s name to match yours is improbable, though not impossible. They’ll take advantage of the possibility. Being as he is the same age as the victim whose identity he will assume, Raul is ecstatic. The dead man’s R, he can, if asked, say stands for Raul, and Manicot stems from a mispronunciation of Manigot. As for the S, in his culture, middle initials or middle names are virtually meaningless. Jack and Marie, with the boys’ unsolicited approval, agree to have Raul stay with them until he s the army. The following day, Marie brings Raul the business card of Master Sgt. Francis Tucker, marine recruiter, on the back of which he has written the name of the army recruiter, Staff Sgt. Jason Watson, White Hall Street, Manhattan. Raul’s way of introducing himself to Watson is to surrender Tucker’s card, which, in army lingo, should gain him points. But first, he needs an SS card.

Marie is off the next day. In the morning, she drives Raul to the SSA office. The wait is long, with papers to fill. Prepped by Marie on how to answer SSA questions when he is called by the agent, he explains the loss of his card, with the incorrect spelling of his name, presumable because of mispronunciation, and wishes that his new card be correct. The name R. S. Manicot on the lost card should be corrected to Raul S. Manigot. Manicot is presumed to have been properly vetted before the issuance of his SS card, so there is no further need to question who he really is. Again—and lucky for him—he meets a very accommodating agent willing to accept Raul’s explanation of his lost card and withhold question that might expose him as a fraud and have him locked up. With an SSA card in his name, Raul thinks he has become a legal resident—not so fast. A dead man is resurrected in the person of Raul. It’ll take a few more days for the SS istration to record the death of Manicot. Raul’s aspiration to become an American is moving rapidly, without a hitch. No obstructions are in the way to direct him to detour. He is traveling on freshly applied, smooth asphalt, no bumps or potholes to slow him down. But he’ll be stopped! During the week he lived in the home of Jack and Marie Cousteau, Raul had met many people from his country, calling America home and others who worked in the government. They told him of the “difficulty of enlisting in the military, whichever branch, and you should put out of your mind the ideas that you can simply walk into a recruiting office and ask to be inducted. The questions they would ask you and the documents they require go way beyond the ability to present a social security card. Of course, with the card, you can find a job. Use it wisely, make some money, and send some home to your mother.” Raul ponders the situation, thinks of home. Now mature and with his hopes of ing the U.S. Army in shambles, he no longer thinks of avenging his father’s murder. He has more pressing things on his mind than the taking of a life. How would he find the one who pulled the trigger on his dad? Would he still be there after the government had changed hands? True, the current government, no better than the one it succeeded, might have retained the cadre of goons, but what would it profit him to remain angry and bitter toward what had transpired years ago when his father’s killer might have redeemed himself and become a model of Christian behavior? He re being told by a wise friend the day he got angry with a boy who had stolen one of his laying hens, “Only fools get angry.” So now, heeding the advice, he puts anger aside for more rational, wholesome thought.

Meanwhile, Marie, savvy, decides to do some research on Mr. Grant Ashworth. She finds out that he does own a two-thousand-acre spread in Omaha, Nebraska. He employs a dozen farmhands and two cowboys to tend his many cattle. Though her research does not disclose it, she suspects all the farmhands are illegal, most coming from south of the border, with one from Ghana and two from Indonesia. With the knowledge of his workers an open secret, one wonders why Mr. Grant has not been visited by immigration. Probably, it is because of his friendship to the local and state politicians that the INS representatives in his district have kept clear of the Ashworth farm. Weekly, the farm workers spend six twelve-hour days in the cultivation of corn and soy beans for export and an assortment of other cash crops for domestic consumption. Grant pays them below minimum wage, and they are required to purchase their food and clothing from the company store. Because they fear to complain—and Ashworth knows that—he claims that his workers are much better off on his ranch than the conditions they faced at home. Grant Ashworth has traveled much in seeking laborers, exclusively from foreign lands, who lack valid U.S. residency papers and therefore would be reluctant to report on their working conditions. He claims that the workers are grateful to him for getting them to America, while their immigration status has kept them captive to the Ashworth farm. When Grant was in Puerto Rico—where, by chance, he had met Raul—he was not seeking workers from a pool of unemployed Puerto Ricans who were free to travel to the mainland and too independent to have been swept in Grant’s dragnet for the indigent. Rather, he had been in PR to visit the two importers of his gain, but the main purpose of his trip was to travel to other Caribbean islands to find people looking for work and who would be very happy for the chance to travel to the United States. Had Mr. Ashworth been successful in his quest for non-Americans to accept his offer, he was prepared to bribe his way all the way through the process of illegal entry into the country. Not having been successful in that quest and rather than return to Omaha empty-handed, Raul seemed a godsend. Had he not escaped when he did, he would have become another farmhand statistic consigned to a lifetime of labor for insultingly low pay and conditions unacceptable to the legal worker. That is the situation with workers in Ashworth’s employment. He prefers undocumented workers because he could pay them what he wanted without fear of the law. He withholds taxes from the laborers but does not turn it in to the authorities. In Grant Ashworth’s opaque labor arrangements, his profits have multiplied.

The Ashworth farm didn’t want to increase its labor pool; Grant wanted to hire a new crop of illegals because he had heard a rumor that one of his cowboys was influencing two farmhands, whom he feared would eventually contaminate the others. The present pool, he’d simply let go to fend for themselves in the hostile world of immigration-seeking illegals and replace it with a new crop of undocumented workers with no rights under the law. That he was not able to return to Omaha with a fresh batch of indentured farmhands was not due to lack of effort. But people were more aware of those like Grant, who showed empathy toward the needy, but such on-the-surface kindness was not entirely unselfish. But even with a SSN in his possession, Raul is in a quandary. He cannot the army, his main purpose of stowing away on the Seaworthy and jeopardizing the careers of two decent Americans; nor can he walk the streets a free man. He can seek employment and make a living, but he won’t have a life until he changes his immigration status and can walk, shoulders erect, with no fear of being targeted by law enforcement. His color already is a factor in being selected for unequal treatment under the law. The worst thing for him would be to give the law an added reason to act against him. With the law unaware of his presence in the country, he doesn’t have many choices open to him. Raul thinks of finding Mr. Grant Ashworth to give him the job he promised him on the Ashworth farm—not that he thinks the job he would be given commensurate with his education and learning, but he would be safer on the farm than on the streets of New York, where some cops feel embolden by the system to choke a man for crossing their path on a sidewalk, claiming they did it because they felt threatened. The law, in its sometimes idiocy in giving the offending cop immunity, never asks, “And how was your life threatened?” He could be a victim of such abuse, which would bring back memories of the rampant abuse of power by the goons in his country, and the reason for leaving in the first place revisits him on the streets of New York, in the country he is willing to die for. Had he been patient and waited for the return of his port and visa, he would have probably been legally in America. Of course, there was no certainty that his visa would be approved, but there was nothing in his background to elicit a reason for disapproval. Had he been willing to remain in the relative safety of the rectory, under the guidance of Father Barbe, he might have been accepted for ission to the religious school, giving him a chance for legal entry into the country. He does not know—nor does he have any means of knowing—if his

visa was approved. He’ll get to know only when he can communicate with his mom or Bootoo. If it was approved, he would be disappointed for not waiting for the positive result of his effort in walking under the scorching sun to the police station to apply for and get his port and bring it to the visa service to be sent to the American Consulate in another country for validation. Whereas disapproval would have raised questions in his mind as to the reason, he would not be disappointed. But I would be surprised, he offered. It would be relatively easy to find Mr. Ashworth and his farm, but what would he tell him about his abruptly leaving him at the airport on their way to baggage claim? He would tell him the lie that, overwhelmed by the crowd, he lost his way, and no matter his best effort at locating him, he was not successful among the throng. Or should he return to his country and start over? If yes, should he self-deport or be allowed to be picked up by American Immigration for deportation and get free transportation back courtesy of the U.S. government? Choosing the latter would bar him from ever reentering the United States. A lifetime exclusion from reentry to the United States is not in his playbook; he wants to be in America. On the suggestion of Jack, Raul applies for and gets a bookkeeping job, working with a large real-estate developer, building tenements in the South Bronx, to which he travels by train. Lacking job experience for gainful employment in sophisticated New York City, he hesitated at first to apply for work, lest he made a fool of himself. True, he had done some volunteer bookkeeping work for the church, but he was unwilling to include that on a job application. He had managed the church’s finances, but the amounts that came in the Sunday collections and special-occasion fees were small, and the amounts paid out smaller. With so few transactions in the ledger he maintained, he thinks it a lie to note “bookkeeping” as a skill in his search of gainful employment. But after twice being told, “You are too qualified for the job we have available,” Raul, unskilled, realizes it is a polite dismissal, a courteous way of telling him to “Get out of my face!” He decides to draw on his volunteer bookkeeping experience. Strengthened by Father Barbe’s advice—“Neither cynicism nor fear can rob you of your aspiration if you give hope a seat at the table of your ambition”—he is hopeful. In the absence of ambition, he might have reveled in complacency that he was indeed too qualified for any job he would apply for. Howbeit, he would not be drawn into the maelstrom of self-deprecation. Drawing upon his knowledge that numbers are of the same magnitude irrespective of language, he

goes to an employment agency advertising their fee will be paid by the employer of the successful applicant, believing he has a better chance if referred by a known agency. Not wanting to lie as to his skill and experience, he satisfies himself that the definition of employment is not exclusive to work done as a livelihood (he did not make a living by his volunteer work), but it can also be defined as a vocation or avocation, and therefore, he won’t be lying if he lists his “bookkeeping” experience under “employment,” enough to land him the job at the real-estate developer. With Raul feeling homesick and the growing need to call home to speak with his mother, Marie allows him to use her phone to call anyone at the rectory (which has the only working telephone in the entire village) to tell Mrs. Manigot that her son is alive and well. In the few minutes allowed him, he will have to first touch on the important things before delving into the trivial. The housekeeper picks up Raul’s call. She does not know the person who has identified himself and es the phone to Bootoo, who was in the front yard, pulling up weeds from the small garden planted with ginger for Father’s consumption. One-armed Bootoo is ecstatic to hear Raul’s voice. After a quick friendly chat, Raul tells him to tell Raul’s mother to come to the rectory on Thursday evening, when he’ll call to speak to her. Raul learns that his mom is well. “In the meantime, please tell her I love her and have gotten a job. My first paycheck will be sent to her, with something for you, via Western Union.” Not wanting to abuse Marie’s generosity, Raul is timing himself and rushes what he has to say and asks about Father Barb. “He left yesterday, Friday, for Belgium for his yearly physical,” Bootoo tells him. “When is he coming back?” “We believe Thursday. Can you believe this? A deacon will say Mass this Sunday. We hope just once.” “Bye now. I will call again soon.” Raul is going on his fifth week in the home of Jack and Marie. He feels his imposition with free room and board, but Marie and Jack do not mind the company, and although they have evicted Bayan from his room to accommodate Raul, the boy doesn’t mind sharing a room with his younger brother, David.

Although Raul has just escaped his teens by two years, the Cousteaus felt it would be disrespectful of their boys to call him by his first name and too formal to call him Mr. Manigot, so they suggested instead Uncle Raul. In Raul’s questioning Marie and Jack for suggestions on making his presence in America as enjoyable and successful as the situation will allow, Marie advises him on family. “Find a pretty, smart girl to marry. Have children born to you in America, and should they one day find out about you, the fact of your gainful employment and payment of taxes, coupled with the fact of having children who are born American citizens, might exonerate you of your illegal entry. Raul, when we are young, we think we have unlimited time to do the things we wish to accomplish, but before you know it, the days and years have ed us by, leaving us asking, ‘What happened?’ Don’t be among those. Instead, be with those who make things happen. To paraphrase Robert Herrick, make the best use of time when youth and blood are warmer. Regarding your arrival in America as a stowaway, our lips are forever sealed.” Raul smiles. “And am I to assume that your reference is to a girl who is intelligent and not impudent? The denotation has more than one meaning. when gay meant cheerful, merry? But now we try to stay away from that word as much as is feasible because of the added denotation—homosexual. So just as we must be cognizant in our use of gay, so too should we be aware in our employment of the word smart.” “Raul, please don’t put a scalpel to every word as if you want to open it to observe what’s inside. Your time is better spent in constructive thought than in dissecting words. Don’t you think so?” “I simply wish to be correct when I use certain words that have become part of the vocabulary that is foreign to me. I would feel bad if, in saying a person is gay, that person feels insulted rather than elated because they construe the meaning as being offensive.” “Raul, I share your concern. But just know that you have just one chance to make a first impression. Don’t waste it.” Concerning Marie’s suggestion that he find and marry a pretty, smart girl, Raul thinks back to his First Communion day, when he was partnered with a girl his

age and made to hold hands as they walked toward the altar to receive the host for the first time. That was the only time he re holding the hand of a female who was not his mother. Another occasion had not arisen because he never sought one. He was an avid reader of scripture and sought something on marriage, hoping to find in there the illogical and contradictory to make topics of discussion. Just like those who are eager to cite Bible to their narratives, Raul is quick to cite scripture when the purpose suits him. He seeks something on marriage and finds it in the New International Version, 1 Corinthians 7:8–9. “Now to the unmarried and the widow, I say it is good for them to stay unmarried, as I am. But if they cannot control themselves, they should marry, for it is better to marry than to burn with ion.” Raul knows that the version suggests there might be other renderings of the text, which was translated from one language into another. But he believes that, different versions notwithstanding, the essence of the message has not changed. Raul is not yet burning with ion, but the thought of a woman as a lifelong companion in marriage is a pleasant thought he could live with. As far as he knows, both Marie and Jack are on his side, and any advice from them, he could take to the bank. They treat him the way one should a close blood relative, and therefore, he would not attach to their names any ill advice that could be understood as deception. In no way would they deceive him. He thinks them incapable of steering him in the wrong direction, so he would work diligently on finding a pretty and smart girl to take as a wife and with whom to spend the rest of his life. Thinking that’s what Marie meant, he hopes to steer clear of the girls who are simple pretty smart but who might turn out to be natterers seeking acceptability. Two days later, Raul has the run of the office; the one he replaced had been fired just a week ago, but the work had piled up, no entries had been posted to the ledgers, and he literally had to learn on the go. It didn’t take long for him to be in command of just what his job entailed. After he read his job requirements and the company’s policy guide, he was confident that in a day or two, he would be able to function on his own without guidance. It is late morning, and Raul leaves his office to go to the water fountain down the hall. There is one elevator servicing the entire four-story building, and Raul es it. It’s slow to come because the faulty breaker controlling the power to it

has just been replaced, and the number of people waiting on the floors above slows its descent. Waiting for the elevator doors to open to take them to the parking garage are a middle-aged man and a young woman. The man keeps staring at her, but she is not looking at him. As far as Raul could tell, no words are exchanged—probably total strangers to each other. Seemingly oblivious of the wait, the man’s lustful look pierces the woman’s core, and like a hyena behind a chain-link fence wishing it could reach the slab of meat purposely placed outside of its enclosure and away from its reach, the man settles for smiles of approval, overjoyed that he has her for company until the elevator arrives. Meanwhile—and captivated by her beauty—his impatience becomes bearable moments that he hopes will be prolonged by a tarrying elevator. But for the two, the floor is empty. Raul es and nonchalantly offers a friendly greeting. He does not hear a reply, but then the face he sees in the quickness of a stride needs confirmation. He re Marie’s advice: “Find a pretty, smart girl.” At that moment, he decides obedience to nature’s command could be deferred a while in furtherance of his desire to see more of the girl. He does not understand if Marie meant a pretty girl who is smart or a smart girl who is pretty. Without her saying a word, he could tell if she is pretty, but as far as her being smart, he is not able to tell by observation. But to marry, one must first find a compatible mate, and the right time to start searching to find is now! Thinking hard about Marie’s truism of first impression, he spins around, takes a step toward her, guessing correctly that she is of Puerto Rican lineage, and wishes to greet her with the choicest words he knows, but with his being very nervous and without wanting to, what comes out is “Miss, may I … may I …” His heart racing like one facing a fight-or-flight decision, a man of many words is now with a deficient vocabulary. Then he re Father’s quote: “Give hope a seat at the table of your ambition.” Gathering strength and with a fluency that would make Javier Marias envious, he addresses her in Spanish. “Miss, I beg your forgiveness if you find me somewhat audacious, but I can’t help telling you that ugly is the rose when held in your hand.” The young woman’s reply, courteous and ladylike, encourages Raul to keep on talking. Oblivious of the reason for being in the hallway, he curses the elevator for getting there too soon. However, before they part company, he learns her name, and yes, she is of Puerto Rican descent, a counselor for New York City

schools. She was returning from checking on a truant child who had not been at school in four days, and the principal at the school had called her, suggesting the counselor pay a visit to the child’s home. Raul has never before said words of endearment to a young woman, let alone one so pretty and presumably smart, because he never got the chance, never had an opportunity. Had he done that before, he might not have been thrown off by her reciprocal words. Trilingual Raul’s unexpected connection with bilingual Joyce Miranda throws him off his self-confidence and finds him as if tossed about by an unrelenting gale. He likens himself to a boat with a damaged rudder, not entirely without directional maneuverability but whose broken steerage compels adjustments. As she enters the elevator, he secures her “yes” for meeting at the end of the workday, at the Olive Garden restaurant across the street, a short walk from Joyce’s home and two stops on the number five train for Raul. She lives in the Bronx but not in the building of their meeting. They settle on seven thirty, a little more than two hours to give Joyce time to wash off the evidence of having worked that day and Raul sufficient time to get home and tell Marie of his first date and put on the blue dress shirt Jack gifted him. Joyce’s stunning beauty needs no makeup; no application of … anything artificial could serve to enhance what nature gave her. Joyce is the daughter of a recently divorced Protestant minister, well known in the community. Joyce, being an adult, did not factor into the uncontested divorce agreement. She loves her parents equally but has chosen to stay with Dad, who otherwise would have to live alone in the nine-room house, left to him by his deceased father, and, before marrying Joycelyn, had been advised by council to sign a prenuptial. However, and in consideration of their decades-long relationship, Pastor Roberto Miranda had given Joycelyn a sizeable bank to get her through the years. It should be mentioned that Miranda didn’t acquire his wealth from the contributions of his congregation. A very upright man driven by morality, he made a sizeable sum from the sale and royalties of his many books. From his small fortune, Pastor Miranda bankrolled many causes he believed just. He knew that the people, even those who avoided church, were hungry for religious books and kept writing them to satisfy the hunger. Once he continued to write and publish, the royalties would come to allow him to be generous and

able to maintain his lifestyle. It was from her dad that Joyce had grown up valuing philanthropy. So endearing was Roberto to his wife that he had made sure to name their daughter in remembrance of her mother, absent a syllable. They had thought of either Joyce or Lynn, but inasmuch as Lynn could also be masculine, they did not want to burden their daughter with a name that could be any gender and probably expose her to ridicule. They settled on Joyce. As agreed, Joyce and Raul meet at the OG for supper. With just enough to pay for a meal, courtesy of Jack, Raul orders for himself. “Just a glass of water, please.” Both Jack and Marie had expressed apprehension that if Joyce were as pretty and smart as Raul described her, it was likely she wouldn’t show up. But she does. Joyce orders a serving of ravioli di portobello and, for dessert, lemon cream cake. Raul fidgets with the dollars loose in his pocket, wishing he could make them multiply, praying that they would be enough to pay for his first meal with the female he already wishes to keep as a lifelong friend. With satisfaction in his smile, he watches her eat while he sips from his glass of water that had been brought together with Joyce’s meal. As she chews, he attempts to swallow to stave off the hunger that pangs in his empty stomach. If he tells her of his hunger, which he can’t satisfy because he lacks the means with which to buy a meal for himself, she might gladly offer to go Dutch, pay for her own meal, or even pay for both. But he couldn’t chance it. This is his first chance to make a lasting impression on the smart, vivacious, prettier-than-a-rose Joyce, and he doesn’t want to leave her thinking she has met a cheap hombre masquerading as a gentleman. He wishes to see her again—hopefully forever—and wants her to their first meeting. With her plate without food and his glass without water, Raul calls for the check. The waitress knows Joyce because she has been there many times before and hands her the bill, but Raul politely takes it from her before she observes the damage she has done to his wallet. After paying the bill with the 10 percent gratuity that is customary, Raul is happy that he has made the right choice to have just water for dinner, which leaves him sufficient change to buy a subway token home. Above them on the far wall, time stands still. Probably because the manager is busy putting menus together and the waitresses engaged in waiting tables, no one observes that the battery-operated clock has stopped and could not be depended on to adhere to Joyce’s self-imposed curfew. Her Seiko watch s 9:00 p.m.—time to leave the restaurant. Joyce and Raul both want to be

in their respective homes at a convenient hour; Joyce is respectful of her dad, whose 10:30 p.m. curfew she has dutifully observed, and Raul doesn’t want to show disrespect of the Cousteau home. On the way out, Raul offers to walk her home, a gentlemanly gesture she politely declines. She is familiar with her neighborhood—its pulse, its nuance, the good, the bad, and the worse—and they know her. Those who might be inclined to attack Raul would steer clear of her, so it is for Raul’s safety that she refused his escort, thinking he might become a target of the unsavory youth roaming the streets, looking for trouble. Raul feels deflated that he was not allowed her company going into the night. He wishes he could have prolonged his time with her but sees the bright flame of the lit candle he carried while they were together becoming now just a flicker as the distance between them widens. But he must live with the thought that an independent woman is free to make her own decision, even in matters concerning her safety. He ires both her assertiveness and independence. They stand on the cobbled sidewalk of the restaurant, talking about themselves to each other and their mutual pleasure in meeting by the elevator earlier in the day. Under the dimly lit streetlamp, Raul kisses her on the cheek before they part, happy that her smile suggests acceptance. Joyce invites him to accompany her to see the musical Cats on Saturday, to which she already has tickets, courtesy of a coworker who could not use them because of her mother-in-law, who was to go with her, being hospitalized. Joyce’s home is two stops from Raul’s on the five train, so they will ride to Manhattan together; she’ll be on the platform to board the last car where Raul will be riding. He has gotten his first paycheck, so should she decide on a meal while in town, he won’t have to order “just water, please.” When Joyce arrives home, after having dinner with Raul, Pastor Miranda seeing his daughter a different person from the one in the morning who kissed him and said, “Bye, Dad,” could not hold back his questioning her about her first evening out in three years with one of a different gender. Joyce’s beauty is a magnet that attracts men. At twenty-two, well-educated and wise, she could select from any number of men who would humble themselves if only she would accept their offered calling card. She has never had a steady man in her life. The three young schoolmates she had gone out with on separate occasions lacked the chemistry she sought in a steady mate; one smoked, one could not keep an intelligent conversation without belittling women, and the other was an idiot, calling

Switzerland “Sweeterland” and referring to cattle as castle. Her steady man must provide her the fertile ground needed to hold fast to her ambition and become the person she has the divine right to be. Raul’s intelligence and gentlemanly demeanor clicked compatibly with hers. “To the best of my knowledge, from the conversations we have had about your dates, no one was more than twice met. Do you plan to see … What’s his name again?” asks Pastor Miranda. “Yes, on Saturday. I invited him to see Cats. And his name is Raul, Raul Manigot.” “Is he of the caliber to appreciate such plays?” “Daddy, it’s a musical. And the young man speaks three languages fluently. Morons can hardly converse in one.” “Thanks for classifying Cats a musical. I saw it twice and thought it a play. So you have spoken with the young man in the two languages you speak, Spanish and English, and understand him to be fluent in both. Which is the third language you claim he speaks?” “French is his first.” “Do you understand and speak French?” Miranda does not wait for a reply. Instead, he answers his own question. “Of course not. You can’t say a mot in French. So how do you know he speaks the language? From what you have told me about your … Raul”—he hesitates—“my inference is you love him.” “Dad, I’m moved by the way you attach me to him … in ‘your Raul.’ Yes, I believe we can have a life together. He is two years younger than I am and has pledged his life to me.” “What? Infatuation is short-lived. After you two met a second time, he pledges his life to you? Well, not unusual, not unheard of … I was committed to your mother the first night we met. Keeping my pledge to her, my love for her is undying, eternal. She is the one who wanted out, met another man my age with whom she prefers to spend the rest of her life. I’m not bitter. She knows what’s best for her after us spending twenty-four glorious years together. What was your response to Prince Charming? Did you match his commitment? A journey

of a thousand miles begins with the first step. Are you prepared to take that step?” “I was about to but hesitated.” “Why?” “First, I must obtain your blessing. It’s most important to me.” “I’m pleased beyond measure that you must first get your dad’s approval before you make a lifetime commitment and have it first sanctified with my blessing. After the play—excuse me, the musical—on Saturday, before or during, tell him you are inviting him home to meet your dad. In your presence, I’ll be better able to assess your choice of a date … and to question him on his understanding of what he saw. As I said, I saw Cats twice and understand its sociological and psychological implications. I would like to test his learning.” “I read your mind, Dad. I read your thought on inviting him, and he has agreed to be here 5:00 p.m. on Sunday, about an hour after your last service ends.” “You seem to know my schedule better than I do.” “I’m your daughter, the female in your life. I ought to know.” “Oh, by the way, his last name is suggestive of French somewhere in his bloodline, but that does not mean he speaks French. Every day I can probably find you over one hundred thousand people in this city with a Spanish last name but who can’t say todos los dias in Spanish.” “Your logic is sound, Dad. But I met Raul twice in one day, and from what I inferred from our long talk, he speaks the truth. Never was there a scintilla of doubt in my mind as to the veracity of what he told me. It was you who told me I’m a good judge of character. So please trust me on this one. Compared to the others whom I have met, this one is … different.” “Okay, sweetie. I’m sorry. I trust you. Yes, I trust your judgment.” Taking the last swallow of the chamomile tea he was sipping before his daughter entered, he says, “Shall we continue where we left off tomorrow? It’s time for bed. Good night.”

“Thanks, Dad, for agreeing with and being so protective of me. Good night.” Meanwhile, back at the Cousteau home, Raul’s face shows palpable pleasure. In Joyce Miranda, he thinks he has met a woman to whom he would surrender his life, a divine woman waiting for validation and sanctified by their everlasting union. They have met a second time, and he prays she’ll let it happen. It’s not yet 10:00 p.m. when he gets home; the boys and their parents are watching a Michael Jackson rerun. “Is something wrong, Uncle Raul?” That’s how they are to address Raul after it was settled that Mr. Manigot would be too formal for family (he is privileged with family hip), and Raul would suggest disrespect on the part of the boys, so it was commanded of them that it would be Uncle Raul from now onward. The fact of Jack’s janitorial work does not tell much of his scholarship, and it is because he was well schooled that he had found acceptable a job that paid well enough to help with the mortgage and tuition for the boys at a private school. So he and Marie having Raul as a family member would not accept him bringing into their home any woman with questionable morals and one bereft of virtue. Therefore, Marie is pleased that it was on her advice that Raul had found the strength to initiate a conversation with Joyce Miranda. Raul told them that he didn’t quite understand when Marie had told him to find a pretty, smart woman, if she had meant for him to find a pretty or smart woman. In Joyce Miranda, he found both qualities, made more pronounced by her assertiveness and independence. “Dad, why are we to say ‘Uncle Raul’ whenever David and I call him?” asks Bayan. “He is not your brother. Nor is he mom’s brother. So how come he is our uncle?” This is a valid question of children wanting to make a familial connection to those they are commanded to call “uncle” or “aunt.” “Yes, he is my brother and your mom’s brother. We are all brothers in Christ.” Jack’s answer eases the boys’ anxiety. They seemed satisfied, but the elder one still awaits an answer to his other question. “Is something wrong, Uncle Raul?” Raul is taken aback by the child’s insistence on an answer from him. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Because your eyes are shiny, and your face looks different.” “Raul,” Marie intervenes, “tell us about your day. Jack always tells me and the boys how he spent the day, and I do likewise. As a member of our extended family, we hope you’ll us in this familial telling of events of our day just ended. So you had your second date with a young woman. How was she this time? How was your evening overall?” Again, Raul explains everything from their first meeting, which includes the first night at the Olive Garden and his ordering water for himself because he lacked the funds for two meals. Again, as at the first telling, Marie couldn’t contain her laughter. Apparently, because she enjoys the way Raul explained having water for dinner, they want him to keep explaining what happened on their first date.

SEVEN

THE FOLLOWING DAY, FRIDAY, WHEN RAUL GOES TO WORK, HE LOOKS FOR JOYCE IN THE BUILDING. She left early that morning to visit schools in the borough of Brooklyn and would not return before Raul’s workday is ended. Raul goes home downtrodden as if he has suffered a great loss, as if he has been deprived of something he couldn’t live without. He had received his first paycheck, which he cashed at the bank on which the check was drawn. Impatiently, he awaits tomorrow to spend the evening with Joyce, watching Cats. But today is Friday, and he must spend the night with thoughts of the face and person from whom he parted on the cobblestoned sidewalk of the Olive Garden. Will he survive the night? After dinner, rather than the usual reminiscing of home—at times comparing what he has to what he left behind, taking up the entire evening with disheartening remembrances—he excuses himself, claiming that he needs to study an ing text, which he has to return to the company on Monday. While this is not a lie, the forty-page text could be studied in two hours. The real reason for retiring earlier than usual is that in the privacy of his recently acquired room, he wants to gather his thoughts, to think of what to say to Joyce while sitting side by side, watching Cats. He wants new words to form new sentences in Spanish or English to match his companion’s erudition. If only I could talk with her before sleep overcomes me. But he has no way of reaching Joyce. In their mutually shared joy of meeting, they forgot to share telephone numbers. He’ll be meeting her tomorrow. How will he tell her how he spent the night? What will he tell her about what he was doing? With these thoughts, he decides to have something to give in reply to the questions he formulates, should they be asked. So in the dim light of a five-watt bulb in one corner of the room, a night safety light for the boys, he sits on his bed to write her a letter to give in answer to the questions he has formulated. Should he begin with mon amour, lettre d’amour, or le carte amour? He thinks not, decides against it, and rejects the implied intimacy. After tomorrow night, he’ll be better able to tell of the appropriateness of letters bearing one of the opening lines. He then decides to put a few lines in verse. He’ll write a poem.

He begins with “Let us go then, you and I,” the words in T. S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” but thinks it not appropriate at this time, and rather than drawing her nearer to him, it might have the opposite effect, which would leave him devastated. Further, he dismisses plagiarizing Eliot. In his mind, plagiarism’s extended denotation spells theft, pure and simple. He is a stowaway. That, he can’t reverse, another item to be added to the things that come not back, but he is no thief and would not want to live with a sin he can readily avoid, plagiary, which he so eloquently preaches against. He must find his own words, write his own phrases, bring rhythm to his words, and construct his own metrical lines. If he claims the work of others as his own, he would be condemned to the empty dustbin, waiting to receive those fallowed minds spuriously claiming erudition they cannot live up to when their deception is revealed. But he needs something to show or give that will convince her that since they parted company on Thursday night, he has thought of no one but her. He writes a poem to put into her angelic hands when they meet on Saturday:

Throughout the night I could not sleep as The vision of you turned my darkness into light; And your voice compelled me sure to keep Seeing you like an angel in the night.

My love to you eternally I’ll give, My devotion denied you never; To the end of this life to you I give My love, and to you I surrender.

When with you, silent does the raging river run,

And the tempest has no fury; Quiet is the owl when darkness comes, And ugly is the rose when held by you.

The next morning, Saturday, the day Raul has patiently awaited, he and Jack go to Alexander’s on Fordham Road to buy Raul matching pants and shirt for the occasion of sitting with Joyce in a near-formal setting. He will carry one of Jack’s ties in his pocket, just in case. The musical begins at 8:00 p.m. At 7:00 p.m., Raul leaves home to catch the number five train. As previously agreed upon, he takes a seat in the last car, glad it’s empty but for four other engers. As the subway screeches to a stop, at the station where he is to meet Joyce, his heart running faster than the maintenance train barreling down the opposite track, his racing pulse slows as he sees her standing with others waiting to board. A gentleman does not shout out a lady’s name to draw her gaze to him, so he waves to get her attention. She sees him and boards. He meets her in the car she boarded, and they walk back to the nearly empty rear coach. Only then do they share a warm embrace and mutual pleasure to be together again. Over the chugging of the train, it is not easy to speak in hushed tones, the way lovers converse, so they keep to themselves what needs to be said to each other until they get off the train or while in the theater. But even if they were able to converse over the noise, it’s uncertain that Raul would be paying attention as his focused thoughts are on her, not what she has to say. He is relieved when the conductor belts out, “Next stop … Station!” This is their getting-off stop. “We are there!” Joyce says with excitement. Raul, his hazel eyes afire, longs for her embrace. What runs through his mind is the pleasurable thought of having her seated next to him in the dim light of the theater. They had departed the commotion of the platform as people rushed about to board the train or leave the station. While in the theater, all he hopes to hear are the voices of the performers as they narrate their scripts, which, he hopes, will drown out the noise coming from the racing of his pulse and the beating of his heart. As they enter the theater, Joyce surrenders the ission’s tickets, and a waiting usher walks them to their seats, three rows back of the many reserved for the more important, but in full view of the stage.

It’s fifteen minutes before curtain, and all the lights are still on. Joyce looks at Raul as if seeing him for the first time. But her surprised look is one of deep pleasure to see how appropriately he is attired. It seems that while on the train, her concentration drifted to how she was to tell him of her dad’s wish that she invite him to their home. She had already extended an invitation to him but without the formality of her dad’s request. Raul looks toward the stage, thinking when Joyce will ask the questions he had formulated: Did you miss me? How was your night? He is certain the questions will be asked when the opportunity arises. Apart from the usual chatter inevitable in group settings, the theater is quiet. When Joyce turns to face Raul, he thinks the time had arisen for Joyce to ask the questions to which he carried the answers in his poem to her. Had he put it in a tro pocket, it would have been somewhat inconvenient to get to because he would have to lean to one side, either toward her or his other seatmate, and reach into a pocket of his pants. He had thought it all out, so he had it in the pocket of his new Izod shirt to whip out without effort. As the curtain rises and the performers come onstage, Joyce takes advantage of the distraction brought on by the introduction to broach the questions Raul knew would be asked. “Raul, did you miss me? How did you spend your night?” With an effortless movement of his wrist, he reaches for and pulls the answers from his pocket. He hands her the sheet of paper. “Yes, I did and spent it pleasantly with you on my mind.” Slowly, she opens the neatly folded paper and begins to read. Before she is able to digest the meaning of the lines she read in the first stanza, the lights are turned off. But for the spotlights on the stage, the place is in near darkness, forcing her to delay further reading until intermission, which comes an hour later. With the lights back on and while people scramble to wherever within the theater, Joyce finishes reading Raul’s poem to her. “Do you really mean what you wrote? It’s lovely. No one has ever said such words to me.” “Did you ever give anyone a chance? Did you give anyone the advantage of time to be so privileged to say endearing words to you? The three schoolmates you went out with, your former dates none was fortunate enough to get the chance to say endearing words to you. For this, I’m grateful. How else would I have been lucky to meet you, the one I hope to have in my life forever? Do you find me

rude or too pushy to speak to you as if you have agreed to be the other portion of my life that will make me whole? If you do, I beg your forgiveness, but I hope you don’t.”

“If I harbored such thoughts, I would have told you the first time you approached me by the elevator. The fact of me willing to speak to you is your assurance that I like you. By the way, my dad wishes to meet with you on Sunday at 5:00 p.m. I set the time, to which he agreed. I hope you won’t disappoint us.” As they sit through the second part of Cats and Raul prepares his mind to respond intelligently and appropriately to the questions of the renowned Pastor Miranda, Joyce contemplates what a life with Raul would be like. If her dad blesses her with his approval of Raul and if she pledges her life to him as he has his to her and they one day get married, should their children carry her last name, Miranda, or their dad’s, Manigot? She thinks ahead for her kids’ welfare. Which name would be more socially acceptable? French or Spanish? No matter how much we might like to say, it is none of society’s business how we name our kid. A name can have a traumatic effect on the child‘s growing-up years, and prudent parents look way ahead when they think of the welfare of their kids. Whereas they are mindful of their kid’s behavior as it relates to societal norms, parents should also be aware that some names are more acceptable than others. Joyce realizes now is not the time to burden her mind with these thoughts and lets them lie buried in the graveyard of short-term oblivion. On exiting the theater, Joyce offers him a hand. With elation suring the pleasure felt by a child surprised to get from his mother the toy he always wanted, Raul takes the offered hand, his racing heart validating his desire for her. “Did you enjoy the show as much as I love the words you said to me on that sheet of paper?” Love-struck by her voice and animated by her flesh that now is in union with his through their ed hands, Raul is slow to respond. In his heart, he has much to say but is reluctant to let his mouth yield to the temptation of sometimes meaningless utterances. He re his teacher’s warning just before he completed his studies at L’ecole Jean-Baptiste de la Salle: “Better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all

doubt.” Of course, he is no fool, but he must get the right words to say and choose the time to say them. Sensing his unease, Joyce follows her unanswered question with another. “Why don’t we have dinner at a restaurant before we head for the train? We can discuss Cats while we eat.” “In your presence, my words are slow to come. Your idea is a brilliant one.” Joyce knows the city well; it’s Raul’s first time in Manhattan, and she makes the selection of a restaurant, the View, so that as they dine, they could have an everchanging perspective of the city as the restaurant makes a full circle, 360 degrees every hour. The restaurant is a little pricey, but Raul got paid yesterday, and Joyce is not one to skimp on her meals to save. She is a good manager of money, and the needs she lacks but can’t afford, her dad will gladly satisfy. A healthy meal is one of those needs she won’t deny herself. They hail a cab to take them to the View. The sun has long surrendered to the moon, and the many bright streetlights dim the distant stars. It is obvious they are in the heart of the city. As they are alone in the elevator to the forty-seventh floor, in the short ride up, Raul’s emotions find validation in the surrender of his soul to her; he wanted to say much more in the poem but thought it better to wait until the right moment, which, to him, has arrived. When they are seated, Joyce asks for coffee, and Raul wants water while waiting for their meals, for which Joyce insists to pay. He tells her that in a relationship such as theirs, it is the duty of the gentleman to treat the lady. “You need not worry about that,” she offers. “In due time, you’ll be given the privilege to take on that duty.” Raul agrees to let her pay, happy that her reply implies her being with him for … well, forever. While they eat, with the restaurant rotating slowly, the changing scenes intrigue Raul. The only proof that he is sitting in the same place, all while the restaurant rotates, is that he knows no one has changed his seat and that the scenes that were once at his twelve o’clock are now at his six o’clock, and those at nine o’clock that he fixated on are now at three o’clock. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought it possible that by some engineering sleight of hand, a building could be constructed to rotate. Joyce has to explain to him that only the restaurant is designed to rotate—not the entire floor, not the entire

building—and promises him they will be visiting others as time goes on. Dining in a rotating restaurant high up enough to wipe moisture off the face of clouds, enjoying a meal fit for a king, and, while seated in the same spot, seeing the sceneries change right before your eyes evokes memories of what he left behind. It is a novelty to Raul because he has not experienced this before; it is a world apart, both in distance and culture, from the deprivation of the place he once called home. His thoughts wander to his tenuous days at sea, the uncertainty of his life on the Seaworthy, and he couldn’t help but revisit the questions he had once asked Father Barbe. Why do some have an abundance when others are left with naught to eat but, nonetheless, all are created in God’s image? How is it that some are endowed with all the necessities of a privileged life while others die for want of food? It’s 11:00 p.m. She is paying the bill, and they are about to leave the restaurant; she notices the 20 percent tip add-on and thinks it excessive, so she allows half of it. There are so many restaurants in the city that if one goes to a different one for each meal—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—it would take years to cover them all, so it is very unlikely that the next time she visits the View, she’d find the same server “to whom I just gave”—she laughs—“half a tip.” They have both enjoyed their meal, and even if Raul had not found it to his liking, he would not have itted it. Having deferred the selection of it to her, she might have felt insulted if he told her his meal was not to his liking. Trusting her to know what’s delicious in an upscale restaurant as the View, he had simply duplicated her order: smoked salmon with baked potatoes and carrots. “I’ll have the same thing she ordered” was the way he had responded when the server asked, “And what’s for you, sir?” They enter a waiting yellow cab. “Lexington Avenue, please,” Joyce tells him. They are just in time to catch the 11:35 p.m. number five train to the Bronx. Joyce is the first to get off the train at fifteen minutes past midnight; Raul’s stop is two stations away, but he’ll take a cab home. This time, he does not give Joyce a chance to object to his escorting her and walk with her the two blocks to her front door. She has a key to the house, a privilege she secured from her dad, who, at the last minute, had relaxed his 10:30 p.m. curfew and trusted his twenty-two-year-old daughter to do the right thing in respect of herself and her dad.

“After all,” he reasoned, “she has lived a near-angelic life, so it’s about time I allow her the space to establish herself with the responsibility of adulthood.” There was no love lost between her and the three losers she had once gone out with, outings she refused to call dates. In truth, she had never loved, except in a Christian way, agape; the same could be said of Raul. But whereas by her own ission, Joyce had gone out with three men and the feelings she had in their company was such that she could not see any developing into a long-term relationship, Raul, on the other hand, never got the chance to meet a young female to engage in boy–girl conversation. At school, as he obeyed his mom’s directive that he was there to learn and not philander, his focus was on learning. He re his mom saying to him, “There always will be girls, but you might never get the opportunity to attend the elite L’ecole Jean-Baptiste de la Salle again or one like it, so get the education while it is available in that setting.” Of course, Annette knew that education could be gotten outside the schoolhouse because the classroom is all around us, but it is more structured and formalized in an enclosed setting. The young females at his mother’s church, he never got close to because he found them too eager to quote the Gospel rather than show eagerness to dialogue, to exchange ideas, to learn, which he felt robbed them of the ability to broaden their minds. On arriving home, the first thing Joyce does is call the nearby livery cab company for a taxi to take Raul home, a short fifteen minutes away—if the enger knows the way and the driver, realizing this, makes no fareaugmenting detour. The two lovers are deep into a ionate kiss as the cab pulls curbside. Oh, what joy! What a feeling! What indescribable bliss! If their lives end right here, it would be fine with them as their spirits, united on the wings of angels, waft toward heaven, pleading with God to make this moment everlasting. Oblivious of the waiting cab, they do not draw back from the kiss or loosen their vicelike embrace. The driver is not supposed to turn on the meter until a enger is picked up and sees the minutes ticked away, but his money meter is still at zero. Impatient, he gives the horn a slight toot so as not to disturb those already asleep. Startled, the lovers separate, and Joyce disappears behind solid French doors. Raul is home at 12:45 a.m. In fear of waking up the boys, he does not ring the doorbell but raps gently on the door. When Jack opens it, Raul also finds Marie wide awake, watching Saturday Night Live. The three of them watch SNL to the

end, while Raul fills them in on his most enjoyable evening and tells them that Pastor Miranda has invited him to visit at 5:00 p.m. later today, Sunday. He is pleased with himself that this time he has not forgotten to get Joyce’s phone number at work, which he secures with the currency in his wallet. She even volunteered her home number, knowing that her dad would not object to answering a call from Raul, should he absentmindedly call the house during the weekday, when she is at work. As a traveling counselor who might not be in the same office two days in a row, Joyce thought it unnecessary to burden Raul with numerous office numbers, none of which he might ever have a reason to call. Raul, the bookkeeper, is the only one in his office most of the time, so it was easier for her to make calls to him on the pay phone in the hallway. She is to let it ring four times so he’d know it’s her. Raul will get many hours of sleep before the Cousteaus start moving about in preparation for Mass and breakfast. He’ll stay home to pick his brain for intelligent answers to the questions Pastor Miranda is likely to ask. Pity I can’t guess what questions Joyce’s dad might ask. Will it be about me or my feelings toward his daughter? Might they be about Cats, which, according to Joyce, he has seen twice? I shall know soon enough.

If your desire is to deny some their God-given right to be what they wish to be and an overriding power treats you just the same, what would you do?

EIGHT

WHEN THE FAMILY LEAVES HOME TO ATTEND THE FIVE-HOURLONG SUNDAY MASS, RAUL SEARCHES HIS MIND FOR WHAT MIGHT TRANSPIRE DURING HIS MEETING WITH PASTOR MIRANDA. In the absence of the other occupants of the home, whom he had the good fortune to call family, and alone, he toasts four slices of Wonder Bread and smears them with enough peanut butter and guava jelly between each two slices to term them sandwiches, which he eats and washes down with a cup of hot Lipton tea. That should hold him until he returns home, should he not be offered anything to eat during the time he is in the home of Pastor Miranda. Jack, Marie, and the boys will have the customary lunches in the congregation hall of their church and are expected home at around four o’clock. Raul is dressed, ready to go meet the one on whose decision his ecstasy hinges. Whereas the pastor’s approval of him as his daughter’s lifelong companion would, with Joyce by his side, vitalize his life’s ambition, make it complete, his disapproval would asunder his soul and send it crashing to the gates of hell. Then only Joyce could save him from the cataclysm and make him whole again as she asserts her independence from the protective grip of her loving dad. He sees the pastor’s love for his daughter and appreciates the parent–child bond, like that of his mother and him, and wishes it remains. Who could possibly object to his protecting his only child from the dangers of the street and a violent-prone society? Anyone so inclined to disparage a dad for protecting his daughter clearly has not internalized the responsibility one takes on in bringing a child into the world. The responsibility does not end, should not end when that child becomes an adult. Raul and Joyce seem on a fast track to matrimony, and Pastor Miranda finds it a bit disconcerting that his daughter, who previously would not give a young man the pleasure of her company for a second date, after just three meetings with Raul, seems infatuated with his mere presence. But taking consolation from his knowledge of these matters, he knows a few and re many couples becoming husband and wife after years of courtship, only to divorce months after their wedding, and others who wedded after a first date and live stable and

enjoyable lives. He promises himself to be courteous and hospitable to Raul. In doubt as to whether the number five train on a weekend schedule would get him there on time, Raul settles for a taxi. At roughly five minutes to five, he pays the cabby and exits the cab and approaches the Miranda mansion. This is the first time he is seeing it in daylight; its fortress-like French doors, painted beige, look impregnable, a testament to the security needed for such a dwelling in this part of the city. He stands on the top riser of the five steps to the entrance, waiting for the exact time to press the buzzer. He is aware that even when at home, the pastor operates on schedule, so he’ll be appreciative of Raul’s punctuality; a late arrival is suggestive of disrespect, giving the pastor a wrong impression of him.

At two minutes to five, Raul presses the doorbell button. Joyce opens the door to it him, her face more radiant in the setting sun, which checkers the stainedglass windows to the west and lights up the spacious living room. She is dressed in a pink blouse and a red skirt, white slippers on her feet, and as usual, she is without makeup. Raul thinks he espies an angel; her beauty, bejeweled by her smile, is enhanced in the purity of nature. “Raul, I’m happy you could make it—and on time.” “I would not up this moment to meet your dad and see you. If indeed there is heaven and I’m destined to go there, I have arrived.” “My dad will be down in a minute. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable.” She points to the La-Z-Boy recliner. “May I get you something to eat? Something to drink? Juice or water?” “No, thank you. I’m okay. The very sight of you quenches my thirst and satisfies my hunger.” Just at that moment, the pastor enters the room through a door behind the library, in which he proudly displays copies of the many books he’s written. On seeing him, Raul immediately stands up, like an army recruit sighting his platoon sergeant entering his barracks. “Good afternoon, Pastor, sir.”

Miranda returns the military-like acknowledgment of his presence. “As you were, young man. You may be seated.” “Thank you, sir.” Raul fears that with Joyce having a fair complexion and given the prejudices and racism that are part of the American social culture, long embedded in the minds of many people and made part of their DNA, Pastor Miranda might find him incompatible with Joyce. Even should he find all other aspects of Raul’s life acceptable, he might reject him on sight by reason of his much darker hue. But he hopes not. He hopes that the pastor, as the Christian man described by Joyce, is as liberal and objective as Father Barbe and accepts him for who he is. One can only imagine the relief in Raul’s face when he sees that Joyce’s dad is darker than him and that his hair is like Raul’s except for the few strands of gray that bespeak his age! “Now, Mr. Manigot … Raul Manigot, right?” “Yes … sir, Pastor.” “Joyce informs me of your lifelong pledge of commitment to her. Is this right?” “Yes, sir.” “At your young age, are you fully aware of the responsibilities attendant to your pledge? When you commit your life to a woman, you give her your soul. Are you comfortable with that?” Raul’s held his breath during the time he formulates an answer he thinks will please Pastor Miranda. “I will not be losing it, Pastor. I’ll be enhancing it in the holiness of our union as our two souls become one and soar to the gates of heaven.” “I see,” Pastor Miranda res as he assesses the situation, Raul’s reply spinning and then tumbling in his head, in an effort to continue a civilized dialogue with him. Obviously, he realizes the young man in front of him, the one whose butt warms his La-Z-Boy, is no fool and is able to match him one-on-one on the question of intimate love and its attendant responsibilities, and he continues. “So you seek my daughter’s hand in marriage. You wish that she commits to you as you have to her?”

“With your permission and her willingness, sir.” “She is all I have. She could have gone with her mother after our divorce but chose to stay with me because she was concerned for my safety living alone in this house. I’m sure Joyce has told you of our uncontested divorce, that it was initiated by her mother, not me. There is some gossip that I keep my daughter leashed to me, that I’m overly protective of her. But she is all I’ve got. What you see around you are things material whose value is assumed in what one is willing to give in exchange for them, but sooner or later, these things become useless, mere detritus as they, having no sentimental value to me, are added to the dump heap of materialism. My child is of God. Her value is seen through the eyes of our Creator, who validates our very existence.” Here we go again—our Creator, who created all humankind in his image, Raul thinks, ing his long dialogue with Father concerning the Creator and creation. But he would not revisit the subject with Pastor Roberto Miranda, whose daughter he wants to marry and whose approval he awaits. He would love to continue with Miranda where he had left off with Barbe but did not yet get a feel of the pastor’s beliefs regarding religion and his liberalism on the discussion of subjects in the Bible some think as sacred, and he did not want to delve on a topic the pastor might consider off-limits to the layperson. He’ll play it safe and steer clear of questions on religion. As he is thinking of these things, with Joyce having long excused herself to prepare for school tomorrow, the pastor relieves him of his quandary. “Did you enjoy the musical Cats? I have seen it twice and thought it a play until Joyce corrected me. What did you understand by it?” With her head buried in the sociology text she is reviewing, on which she hopes to lecture some of her coworkers, Joyce seems attentive to what’s being said. She overhears her dad’s question and breathes relief that he did not follow up with “Did you understand it?” “I enjoyed it immensely. Maybe like you, I’ll see it twice. I understand the symbolism, the message of salvation gleaned from T. S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, about cats and felines in general. That no matter your background, each of us is just as important and should be valued as such. Dissected for analysis, we’ll understand the psychological and sociological underpinnings as they yield to philosophical narratives.”

Obviously pleased with Raul’s understanding of the musical, the pastor’s short response is “I could not have said it better.” Roberto Miranda and Raul Manigot converse for seventy minutes, most of the time without Joyce being present. Obviously, the pastor is pleased with his daughter’s suitor. He would wish to speak with Raul some more, but it’s getting late, and it’s gone past Miranda’s dinnertime. Not desirous of offering Raul something to eat, he at first thought of going without dinner. But I won’t starve myself just to deny Raul a meal. The third Sunday of every month, Roberto and Joyce Miranda go to Tito’s for supper, just two blocks away. Today is the third Sunday, but the circumstance of his invitation to Raul makes it different. He first thought of calling the cleaning woman, in his service for over two decades beginning a week after Joyce was born and who treats her like her own daughter, to have her cook a meal, but his better judgment conspires with Joyce’s desire to not have Emelia at home during the time Raul is there and convenience her with a topic for gossip, which would be amplified with lies as it es from the idle lips of both men and women. As he could not tell how long Raul would have the privilege of his attention as he listens to what he has to say concerning his daughter, the pastor agrees with Joyce that the woman’s services would not be needed today. He guesses that his time with Raul might be a minute or less if the young man’s mannerisms are so discomfortingly unacceptable to justify his immediate rejection of him and expulsion from his home, or it could be over an hour in comfortable manly dialogue. It all depends on Raul. But given Miranda’s preeminent position in his home, Raul is at the mercy of the pastor and his time. It is now seven thirty. “Joyce, will you please call Tito’s and ask Jose or anyone else to deliver three dinners?” her dad politely requests, but Joyce knows it as a command. “You know my preference.” Of course, she does. The many nights they have dined at Tito’s, he always orders eggplant parmesan and she alternates rice and shrimp and port roast with baked potatoes and beans. With Raul having deferred to her while at the View, Joyce chooses for him what she orders for herself: port roast with baked potatoes and beans. At ten minutes to eight, Jose delivers the meals, liberally proportioned and neatly positioned in the compartments of the Styrofoam containers. Joyce pays Jose. Knowing that both she and her dad will be seeing Jose again before the month is ended, she does not treat him like the server at the View with half a

tip; she gives him his full 20 percent. He walked two blocks in the twilight, when nefarious souls begin to assert themselves in the anonymity of darkness, and by her reasoning, Jose has earned his tip. The placemats are already set for three on the dining table for eight. Joyce purposely avoids the two ends so no one would be at the head. They know who the head is, so there’s no further need to display authority in placing Roberto at the head. Joyce has always thought it an unnecessary assertion of authority in the placement of those dining that the man sits at the head. It is for this reason that she tried to persuade her dad that in the dining room, a round table is more appropriate when they had gone to buy the table. The room is large enough to accommodate a round table for eight, but her dad resisted making such a purchase, preferring instead the large mahogany table with matching chairs. As they sit in preparation to eat, the pastor, on Joyce’s pleading, gives the invocation. “Thank you, Lord, for all you have given, all you give and will give. Bless us all here present as we partake of the harvest of thy bounty. We beseech you, Lord, to keep alive in our memories the thought of those without a meal, instilling in us the desire to alleviate their hunger and doing something about it. Lord, with us tonight is a young man who seeks to satisfy his hunger for the eternal love of a woman in his betrothal to Joyce, my daughter, and I beg for your blessing in my approval of their want to make their two lives become one. In your blessed name, I pray. Amen.” Joyce responds to her dad’s prayer. “Dad, thank you for your blessing, on which I waited before committing to the one I love, to make my life complete. Now with your approval of Raul as a son-in-law in the making, I can’t thank you enough. Although you know that I’m not at a loss for words, now I can’t find them, and when found, I can’t speak them. Just I am your daughter for life, respecting you always, loving you forever.” “And, Pastor, sir,” Raul chimes in, afraid that Joyce would steal the show with her eloquent rendition of affection to her dad. He doesn’t want to give the impression that he wants to compete with Joyce’s words—No way—but he must be part of the dialogue, offer his thanks and gratitude to Pastor Miranda for the way he has treated him and his voluntary acceptance of the fact that the day will come when he’ll be asked to give his daughter’s hand to him in marriage. The speed at which the two lovers go in their willingness to part only in death—that day will be soon. “I pledge to you my filial respect and iration for what you

have just said, giving Joyce your blessing in her desire to marry me. I thank you innumerable times.” Now seated at table to eat, Roberto, peering over the golden rim of his prescription glasses, watches to see how Raul handles his cutlery the way a manager observes the table etiquette of one seeking a position in which he will be required to take important customers to dinner. Absentmindedly, Joyce placed a salad fork in the table setting, but they had not called for salad as part of the dinner. Raul picks up the bigger of the two forks and begins to eat. Roberto Miranda wants to make a correction to the way Raul holds his knife and fork— knife in the right hand, fork in the left. Like a hungry glutton, he rests neither fork nor knife down on the plate. Strange, Miranda thought. “Here in America, we cut with the knife, rest it down on the plate, and the fork is transferred to the right hand. We eat with the right. Of course, that goes for the right-handed and ambidextrous.” Joyce, embarrassed, explains for Raul that his way of eating is carried from his former European colonial era. Miranda offers an apology. “I meant nothing by it. I was just curious. I thought in every culture, people ate the way Americans do—not diet-wise, of course.” He immediately wished he had not said that, and as if wanting to appease them for the gaff, he adds, “What about something to drink. Anyone?” He gets up. “Water for me, sir, please” is Raul’s request, while Joyce prefers orange juice. As if to tell Joyce in a subtle way that Raul made the better choice, he has water for himself. “Well,” he says, “an eventful afternoon and evening, if I’m allowed to say so. A lot has transpired between you two lovers, and Raul leaves me wiser than he found me. I hope he can say the same, that I had words of wisdom to impart.” As Raul stands, ready to leave, Pastor Miranda turns to look at him and says, “Soon to become part of my family. I’ll be seeing much of you as I suspect you’ll be accompanying Joyce to church, my church, on Sundays. Of course, I make no demands. Your Roman Catholic faith and our Protestant doctrine are not incompatible. They are both Christian theologies.” “Pastor, sir, when our souls con, I’ll go where she goes, be where she is. If you’ll see a lot of her, you’ll see much of me. Again, thank you for your hospitality and kindness.”

“Young man, an Asian proverb says, ‘How you enter my house is up to you. How you leave is up to me.’ Your entrance was pleasing to Joyce and me. I hope your visit with us was pleasant and your exit satisfactory.” The sun, a while ago, yielded its radiance to other celestial bodies and is slowly turning the light of day into darkness. It’s time for Raul to catch the five train. The taxi from home was his assurance to be on time at the pastor and Joyce’s home. On the return trip home, time is not of the essence. Tomorrow is Monday, and Joyce has to prepare to visit an elite high school in Brooklyn for the first time. She wants to be at her academic best and wishes to review her books before she retires. Raul too needs to quickly peruse the bookkeeping book he must return. The pastor sees the two uneasy in his presence and, the restraint in their behavior making him uncomfortable, now wants to give them some time to themselves. “Joyce, walk Raul to the door,” he commands as he ambles toward his study in the other corner of the house and closes the door.

They appreciate the pastor’s gesture and are thankful for the few moments together before Raul walks to catch the train. As they are alone on the outside of the heavy French doors, like a dam whose levees have just been breached by the excessive pressure of the water it is constructed to hold back, their emotions implode as they let their ionate kiss speak loudly in the silence. As they embrace with ecstasy, releasing all the pent-up emotions that threatened to stifle them while in her dad’s presence, their unintended bang against the door disturbs Roberto Miranda, who thinks something is amiss. He goes to the door and opens it carefully; he grabs the baseball bat he keeps next to the hinged side of the door for protection, and is surprised to see the two in a vice-like embrace and their lips as if stuck together. He says in a hushed tone, “Oh, you are still here,” a statement obviously meant for Raul. “I believe it’s somewhat early for my train, the reason I tarried a little.” Of course, the pastor knows better than to believe Raul’s lie but pretends to be satisfied with it and retreats. No sooner does her dad go back inside than Joyce bids Raul good night and walks in after her dad. Raul hopes to see Joyce when

she visits the office the city rents in his building, but it wouldn’t be often as she travels to all the boroughs, visiting the various schools. Should she come to his building more often than he guesses, he would, albeit reluctantly, give her the space she deserves in meeting the requirements of her job. Raul leaves to walk the distance to the subway stop, the one Joyce walks to when she catches the train, two stops from Raul’s. As he walks, he wonders why New Yorkers still refer to the city’s main people mover as the subway, even when it is no longer in the darkened tunnels and makes its way on the elevated tracks. The number five that he rides in the morning and afternoon, which es two stories high, he’ll now refer to as the elevated line or elevated tracks (EL or ET). Cumulous clouds, seen all afternoon, now fetter the moon from casting its light on the darkened streets, and clouds pregnant with moisture threaten to release rain. Raul’s path to the EL is lit only by light coming from apartment windows whose curtains have not been drawn to secure the anonymity of those who dwell there. He is now on the train as heaven opens its sluice to irrigate the land made near arid from the long, hot summer. He has no rain gear, and it’s a fast ten-minute run from the train station to his door. He prays for a letup in the torrential rain he sees through his window and the heavy pelting on the train’s metal roof makes him wish he left Joyce’s much sooner. The rain is heavy, falling in buckets, no longer pattering but splashing. He would love to close his eyes for a short while before getting to his station stop, if only to gather his thoughts, put the fragments together again to think clearly when Marie questions him about his afternoon and evening with Pastor Miranda. But the downpour denies him the quiet he needs to put into perspective the events of his evening. In the short distance to getting off the train, he prays for a quiet moment. He is not fortunate; nature doesn’t hear his prayer or chooses not to acknowledge it in granting him his wish. The downpour is disturbingly relentless. Like a sentry commanded to keep awake lest his unit is overrun by the approaching enemy, Raul fights the urge to close his eyes. Arriving at his stop, he gets off the EL and runs down the many steps to ground level and seeks shelter under the hanging eaves of a nearby building. Heaven decides to keep the sluice open, so Raul makes a run for it. Drenched and soak to the bone, he arrives home a little before ten o’clock. The boys are already in bed, for tomorrow is a school day. Jack and Mary are on the couch, taking in the nightly news. Raul quickly retreats to his room to put on dry clothing and returns to them. Anticipating Marie’s questions—she revels in her self-appointment

as Raul’s interrogator—Raul volunteers to explain all he experienced and learned while in the home of Roberto Miranda. He tells them the commitment he made to the love of his life and the girl’s father’s acceptance of him as his future son-in-law, which he validated with his blessings. He and Joyce have pledged their undying love each to the other. Marie is ecstatic that it was on her recommendation that Raul had found love and gladly accepts the credit Raul bestows on her for his bliss since meeting his first and everlasting love of his life. “So you two have committed to each other. Do you know much about her? And does she know much about your life? How you happen to be in New York, for instance?” “I don’t think she cares. When I tried to tell her something about that part of me, she told me she didn’t care to know. All she cares about, she said, is ‘You are here … with me.’” “But were she willing to hear you out, would you have spilled your guts to her with the information her dad would be sure to have sooner or later? The information pertaining to your arrival in this country through Puerto Rico would be incriminating if it falls on ears seeking information on undocumented arrivals. You wouldn’t stop there because once you begin the process of telling, you would have to continue. If Joyce is as smart as you claim her to be—and I’m sure she is—any gap in your story, she might be inclined to fill in with innuendos, which might very well distort what you wish to disclose. Therefore, you would be wise to also tell her everything about how you happen to be in New York.” “Having pledged my life to Joyce, it would be insincere to withhold from her valuable information concerning my life. If you were in my position, would you hold back anything from Jack?” “No! I don’t think she would,” Jack butted in before Marie could answer. “Marie, you ask many questions, all of which I mean to answer. You did tell— no, you promised—me that on the matter of my arrival in the United States, your lips are sealed. Therefore, I will not be the one to disclose to anyone information pertaining to my getting here. I would not like any of this to reach the ears of others who might accuse you in their gossip of betraying my trust. I have

withheld nothing intentionally from Joyce. It is she who wishes not to hear it, and I am confident that her knowledge of it would not pull her away from me.”

Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds all together in perfect unity.

–Colossians 3:13-14 (NIV)

NINE

JOYCE MAINTAINS WITH HER MOM WITH THEIR ONCE-AWEEK TELEPHONE CONVERSATION, PERSUADING HER TO COME HOME, SWEET HOME, IN WHICH HER LOVING DAUGHTER RESIDES WITH HER DAD. When she learned that it was her mom who had initiated separation, which led to divorce, Joyce’s attitude to her grew tepid, cooling off when Joycelyn remarried and left the state. It is presumed that her stepfather is the type of man who, in assuming total control over his wife, first cuts her off from those she loves. Since the move, Joyce has never heard from her mom again. Nevertheless, she doesn’t want to cut her mother from her life completely and is able to, through one of her mom’s close friends, obtain her telephone number at the ranch house she shares with Joyce’s stepfather in Austin, Texas. She calls the number. Her husband picks up the phone. “It’s for you. Be quick.” Joyce hears the command to her mother and wonders what manner of human scum she picked for a husband over the loving, respectable man that is her dad. She believes her mother is sufficiently wealthy to live a comfortable life, and the man knowing that successfully exploits the situation to freeload his way on her mother’s trust and gullibility. Where could she have scooped up this pile of dirt to be privileged with the right to call me his stepdaughter? While mulling other insultingly descriptive words to call the man she hasn’t met, Joyce is much concerned about her mother. Believing that her “stepfather” is listening in, Joyce keeps the conversation short but ends it in the belief that her mom now has a new home and would not return to the mansion, even if her dad begs her. Henceforth a proud woman, she would be too ashamed to it that she had been wrong in thinking Roberto unfaithful during the time he was writing books to afford the family the trappings of wealth. The concern for her mom weighs upon her mind, which she shares with her dad. “I still love her because she gave me you. My conscience is clear. I have no fear of punishment when I’m called before the Lord to for my life spent with your mother. I pray for her safety and well-being.”

Joyce sees the sincerity on her dad’s face, the inflection in his voice. “Thanks, Dad. I think she needs all the prayers that will reach the ears of God and that he intervenes on her side.” Two years after Joycelyn had divorced Roberto and too long following her marriage to a “scum of a man”—I don’t even care to know his name, Joyce thought—and move to Texas, Joyce learned through the same friend of her mother’s (they had kept in touch, a situation allowed by her husband because of the nice watch Joycelyn’s friend had given him as a wedding present) that they had left the country to set up residence in a South American country. The friend assured Joyce that as soon as she hears from Joycelyn—if her husband allowed it —she’d inform her. Neither Joyce nor her dad knew the whereabouts of her mother and his former wife. Probably, Mom wants it this way, Joyce thought. Seven months after her mother’s leaving Texas, Joyce receives a letter bearing no return address, but the postage stamp on it is Costa Rican. She does not know if the absence of a return address is inadvertent or deliberate. If the latter, it would suggest a desire that Joyce does not reply. Joyce shows the letter to her dad, who thinks that it was written without her stepfather’s knowledge and that her mom fears the abuse that would result when a letter arrives from Joyce, clear evidence that over her “stepfather’s” objection, his wife is keeping in with relatives and friends. But Joyce loves her mom and would make the painstaking effort to locate her. Joyce is contemplating her pending marriage to Raul and thinks the event will be too important to deny her mother knowledge of it. She begs her dad to help find his former wife, her mom, and he s the American Embassy in Costa Rica for assistance. The Mirandas believe Joycelyn Miranda no longer goes by that name as a result of marriage. All they have is her first name, her former name, and the places she once lived. They hope she didn’t also change her first name. But given her husband’s need for secrecy, he is of the type to command that Joycelyn drop the Miranda name. It is believed that because the request to the Embassy is from a prominent minister of the church, a concerted effort has been made to locate the recent arrivals from America. A search of airplane arrivals going back eight months finds that the secret Joycelyn’s husband sought to keep is in the open. One need only look in the right place. In less than two weeks of his request, Pastor Miranda receives a reply from the Embassy, giving an address in the small town of La Cruz, on the Pacific

side of the country. That address is occupied by a man named Felix Mendoza and a woman, Joycelyn Mendoza, formerly Joycelyn Miranda. Bingo! It is later found out that Felix Mendoza was named Henrico Melinda, formally Henry Jasper, a fugitive from prosecution for bank robbery, hence his need for secrecy. He had sought out a country with no extradition treaty with the United States. Pastor Miranda—on the insistence of his daughter, whom he loves without qualification—informs Embassy personnel of his belief that Felix is abusing his wife, and the Embassy has notified the Costa Rican police to keep a close watch on him. With Felix Mendoza now on the police radar, he has to restrain himself from further abuse of his wife. Assured that her mother is still alive and well,—even if not totally safe—Joyce writes a short letter to her at the address obtained from the Embassy. In her letter, she tells her mom of her boyfriend, Raul; to him, she gives her heart after he offered her his soul, and they plan to marry within the six months left in the year. Her dad has blessed the arrangement between Raul and herself. She tells her how in her determination to find her, Pastor Miranda aided by ing the American Embassy in Costa Rica, having determined that’s where she is by the postage stamp on her letter she wrote. Joyce pleads with her mother to find the time to attend her wedding. Hoping to finally set her eyes on the scum that is her new husband, Joyce sends the invitation to both. Joycelyn is in high heaven to hear from her daughter after more than a year. Thus, the door is again open for mother and daughter to communicate. When her mom replies two weeks later, she explains to Joyce how her new husband “is not like your father. Will you forgive me for what I have done, repaying your father’s love with aversion and his kindness with dislike?” Joycelyn thanks her daughter and her daughter’s father for finding her and the Embassy for their concern for her safety. She tells her the police visit practically daily, and because of those visits, the demon that is her husband seems tamed. “I had all the security I ever wanted in your father, yet I felt insecure. I had all the love one would hope to get from another, yet I felt unloved. He spent the greater part of the day in his church work and writing books, from which he makes a comfortable living. At night, fatigued and worn out, he had little time for me. I misconstrued all this as our waning love. Now that I know better, I beg your forgiveness.” “Mom,” Joyce writes back, “forgiveness is of the Lord. If we do not forgive others their treses, so too the Lord will not overlook our transgressions. To

this day, Dad thinks about you, prays for you. He told me that in the beginning of your lives together, it was quite difficult to make ends meet. You pained together and struggled your way through life until he began to receive handsome royalties from his books, and your days of wanting much you couldn’t afford brought you days of plenty you could afford. He’s told me of the many days you laughed together but never the days you wept, living in the shadow of poverty. ‘Both periods were important in your growing-up years,’ he says. ‘You can’t accept one and reject the other.’ He sometimes blames himself for not being more forceful in his rejection of your request for separation and, later, divorce. Physical separation will not rend the souls and spirits once ed by the intervention of God. Divorce is another matter, a repudiation of one for the other. There might have been love lost between you two, but he did not repudiate you, and he thinks despite what you did—although under the law of Caesar, it’s called divorce, which frees one to marry again—he prefers to call it ‘separation-driven indiscretion.’” Mother and daughter are happy again to be able to reach each other by telephone and letter. She has made many calls, some of which are intercepted by Felix, who now picks up with a civilized “Hello” and “Please wait” while he calls Joycelyn to the phone—no more rushing her up. The frequent police presence in or near their home has transformed him, toned down his abusive language. Joyce is grateful to the Costa Rican police and her Embassy. For now, she’s able to brush aside the concern she had for her mom’s safety. Felix—knowing that if the police observe or are informed of any domestic abuse affecting his wife, he would face Costa Rican punishment, which is several times stricter in the protection of women than the slap on the wrist of American justice—now allows his wife the liberty of movement and freedom of action to which she is entitled.

Late Sunday night, Joyce receives a call from her boss, Mrs. Marjorie Miranda, Chancellor of education, to report to her office for an early morning conference, which she hastily arranged. Raul still is without a phone, so Joyce could not notify him of her change in schedule. Raul does not see Joyce in his building on Monday morning, and he is beside himself. The night just past, he hardly slept, kept awake by the vision of his lover. Throughout the night, the brief moments he couldn’t keep his eyes open, he envisions himself writing to Joyce as if knowing beforehand he would not find her in his building that day. He wants to tell her now of the feelings he had last night. He doesn’t know how to reach her

by phone, so he’ll exhibit his penmanship in a handwritten letter while he takes a break from stabbing numbers.

Dearest, because of the torrential rains that followed me soon after my exit from your door, I arrived home sodden and cold. Only the thought of you gave me the comfort needed to exchange my wet clothes for dry ones and the rest of my family, watching on the local news channel the events of the day the network considered newsworthy. But with you occupying every cell of my brain, I couldn’t think. I listened but could not hear. With open eyes, I could not see. I rested a hand on the objects about me but could not feel. So as the light of day yielded to the dark of night, I retreated to my room. Alone with my thoughts, I beheld you in my arms and, looking intently at your angelic visage, I saw the most beautiful rose that never wilts. And during the time the moon beseeched the stars a chance to illuminate my darkened landscape, I kept my curtains drawn—the better to see your vision.

You have written upon the blank pages of my life an inerasable awareness that our love is forever. And should there ever be physical space between our beings, the spiritual coning of our souls will overcome the distance that separates you from me and me from you. I sorrow in your absence, but he who has not experienced sorrow cannot feel joy. So I’ll gladly endure the pain of you not being here to magnify the joy that is mine when we are together, and in the grave-like silence of our kiss, our hearts will beat as one. Once, I thought to sow a seed and harvest a flower, but rejecting that, I instead chose to dream, dream big, and my dreams yielded you—the flame that warms my heart, the light that shines my path—and your love will guide me to eternal bliss.

The unsigned letter addressed to Ms. Joyce Miranda, counselor, he slips under the entrance door to Joyce’s office, hoping that she would see it immediately when she enters—if not, at least the next morning before he arrives and before she leaves on her scheduled rounds, to return late afternoon. He wants to assure her that she occupies his mind even when she’s not present and refuses to wait till tomorrow to tell her. He knows he can’t predict what will happen the next

day, so he’ll rely on his knowledge of the present to assure him the delivery of his message to Joyce tonight or in the morning. He thinks the contents of his letter too precious to delay its delivery. Joyce would get it late that evening. The hastily called conference with Chan. Marjorie Miranda finds Joyce totally unprepared for what the meeting is all about. The city has partnered with a school in England to exchange educators for a month in the summer, and Joyce’s name has been tossed about as a likely candidate. Wisely, the chancellor has called in all the eight eligible candidates and lets them decide among themselves who will fill the two slots for the sabbatical. They are all equally qualified, and Marjorie does not want to make the final decision on Joyce and possibly find herself having to answer to a charge of nepotism, sure to be levelled against her, her husband being a cousin to Pastor Miranda, Joyce’s father. Marjorie has chosen a method fair by anyone’s standard. The names of all the candidates are placed in a glass bowl. Each candidate is to write the name of their selectee on a piece of paper and fold it so the name is not seen before placing it into the bowl. Each person is to choose only one of the eight. If two or more of those voting choose the same person, that person becomes a finalist. Joyce receives three votes, and two go to Amanda Voit. No one else gets more than one vote, which makes Joyce and Amanda the two winners of the sabbatical lottery. After the conference, the chancellor invites her group of eight to a late lunch, to be paid for from her expense . After lunch, Joyce goes straight to the subway station to catch her train home after first leaving in her office, which is located in Raul’s building, she strains to carry the reference tome on sabbaticals obtained from the chancellor. Before taking the elevator to her office, the weight she carries notwithstanding, she es to see if Raul is there. He is not, gone for the day. Disappointed, she then takes the elevator to her third-floor office. She rests the books down in front of her to unlock the door. She picks up the heavy tome with both hands and opens the door by backing into it. Looking down, she sees in front of her a letter that was slipped under the door. It bears no return address; the handwriting on the outside, she does not recognize and can’t compare it with anything Raul has written. The poem Raul had written and handed her in the theater during Cats had been typed; therefore, she could not compare its pica lettering with the cursive handwriting on the outside of the envelope and tell who sent it. The letter lacks a salutation, and it is not signed, but Joyce knows right away who the writer is. She can’t contain her excitement in knowing that she has

committed to one who is sincere. She re Raul once telling her that he had emotions competing for dominance in his heart, and love had emerged victorious—a victory encased in the armor of ecstasy, wrapped in divine joy. Now his letter leaves no doubt in her mind that she has chosen wisely, and she credits her dad’s wisdom in blessing her for the decision to spurn the advances of the three puerile suitors whose training, scholarship, and demeanor were incompatible with hers. Today is Monday; they are to leave on Saturday for a month of special studies to start Monday at a school in the heart of SoHo. Neither Joyce nor Amanda is obligated to accept. While this is not an all-expenses-paid trip, they are told the city will pay for and secure their round-trip tickets. They will share a suite, already reserved for the two candidates—whomever they happen to be— compliments of the London school. They’ll pay for their meals. Joyce is in a quandary. Should she agree to go on the sabbatical and deny her presence to her dad and Raul? Or should she reject the offer for the benefit of the two? The sabbatical offers her the chance for advancement in her profession, which has little room at the top. Study at a London school, even for just a month, will be a plus when she comes up for evaluation. At twenty-three years young, she thinks it’s advantageous to accept all opportunities leading to career advancement and offered her without conditions. So without consulting her dad and before telling Raul, Joyce makes up her mind to have Amanda as a roommate for a month while in London. That night, Raul, still without a phone, can’t be reached. Joyce fills in Pastor Miranda on what she learned from Mrs. Miranda about her sabbatical, on which she is to leave at week’s end, on Saturday. Her dad is proud of what his young daughter has accomplished and thanks her for being a good and respectful child who will go places because of her inner strength driven by moral ambition. Joyce explains her initial unwillingness to accept the offer, knowing he would be alone during her month’s absence, but he allays her concerns with a tight hug and a kiss on the head, explaining how proud he is to have brought a girl of her integrity into a world seemingly bereft of morality; her career should take priority over her concern for his aloneness. “Yes, I’ll be alone but by no means lonely,” he assures her. “It is Raul who will be devastated when tomorrow you tell him.”

Joyce spends most of her night thinking about how to disclose to Raul the news of her going to London for a month. Meanwhile, two EL stops along the number five train line, Raul is formulating sweets words for her ears when they meet tomorrow. Certain that she has read his letter, he utilizes the blank spaces of his brain to fill with words that will further reveal to her the conviction of his commitment and undying devotion to arouse her ion. He can’t wait for the morning to go to work early in the hopes that Joyce will be in her office. He leaves home early in the morning to arrive in his building at eight thirty. He’ll go to his office, but first, he must take the elevator to the third floor. Joyce is just about to leave for her ten o’clock appointment with another counselor at a high school on Staten Island. She has little time to spend with Raul. She cherishes his letter for the sentiment and words of assured devotion and hope that their love, one to the other, will, like time itself, remain forever young. Their warm embrace and Raul’s kiss stifles Joyce’s speech, but she manages to say, “Before I leave, there’s something of importance you need to hear from me.” “Whatever it is can wait.” “No, I need to tell you today, now, that I’ll be missing you for a whole month. My job is sending me to London, England, to study for a month, starting next Monday. I leave this week, Saturday.” “Wow, that’s great! I wish I too had the opportunity to go to England.” Joyce is pleasantly surprised at Raul’s response. “I thought you would be disappointed because we won’t be seeing each other for four weeks. I even thought you might be angry.” “My dear, only fools get angry. Put another way, anger resides in the lap of fools. And it would be foolish of me to discourage you from accepting a once-in-alifetime opportunity to study in London and help your chances for career advancement. Okay, so you won’t see me for a month, and I’ll be absent from you for four weeks, but I am elated for you. I promise you I’ll visit your dad on Sundays, if he allows it.” “I’m sure he will, thank you. And absence does make the heart grow fonder,” said Joyce as she makes her way to the exit.

“But, my love”—Raul takes a stab at her heart—“to say something gets better is to suggest that it was not already at its best. And if our absence from each other deepens our love, the inference is that it was not already at its deepest. Therefore, if our hearts grow fonder when we are away from each other, it follows that in spite of our pledge of commitment to each other, there is something missing from the pledge, that there is room to improve upon our love each to the other. I don’t think so. I know you don’t think so. But if we do, then all we have said to each other on the subject of love is just infatuation, which finds substance in the hearts of those whose foolish expression of ion borders on the irrational.” “My love for you is complete, Raul. But I must leave now. Let’s talk some more this evening, if I get back early enough. If not, tomorrow.” They kiss again, and Joyce closes and locks her door behind them, and Raul walks her to the elevator they must both ride down to the first floor. Joyce exits through the main entrance, and Raul goes to his office a little before nine to resume his daily routine of posting entries in his subsidiary and general ledgers. He prays that Joyce arrives at the school on Staten Island and hopes for an early return to her office to Raul before the end of his workday. Meanwhile, he hopes the thought of Joyce all day occupying space in his mind will not impact his work and show up in the result of his entries.

How you enter my home is up to you. How you leave is up to me. — An Asian proverb

TEN

JOYCE ARRIVES HOME LATER THAN BOTH SHE AND RAUL EXPECTED. Certain that he’s gone home for the day, she goes straight home from the EL. Raul still is without a phone, so she can’t reach him, except through Marie, but he thinks it an imposition and is content on waiting until tomorrow to continue where they left off yesterday and catch up on other events that might have happened. Meanwhile, Raul is maturing to the reality that it is not feasible for Joyce to be with him at all times. He’ll have a restful night and see her in the morning, at which time they will set the agenda for the four nights they’ll be meeting before she leaves on her sabbatical. They are both well rested when they meet on Tuesday morning. After a lengthy dialogue, the subject turns to the restaurants where they want to have their dinners together: tonight and tomorrow night, Tito’s; Thursday, Marie Cousteau’s; and Friday, Carabid’s, a Puerto Rican restaurant serving a Greek menu. For the time being, they will avoid the View for fear of being served by the same person for whom Joyce thought half a tip adequate for the service they got that night. Tonight’s seven o’clock dinnertime at Tito’s is agreed to, and times for the other evening meals will set each night. For Thursday at Marie’s, Raul will meet Joyce at her home to escort her to the Cousteau home. Marie and Jack have heard so much about Joyce that they don’t want to go another week before setting eyes on the young lady Raul described as “the prettiest flower in full bloom,” and she thinks the time right, just before she leaves for London, to make the acquaintance of the young woman slated to become part of her extended family. It is at Tito’s during dinner on Tuesday night that Raul mentions Marie’s Thursday invitation to Joyce. Marie indicated to Raul that she’s allowing him to set the hour, any time after 6:00 p.m., so he and Joyce settle on 7:00 p.m. But if Marie is eager to meet Joyce, if only to confirm Raul’s description of her, Joyce too has a strong desire to know the couple in whose home Raul dwells. She knows that her dad has a late dinner on Tuesday, after meeting with his executive board, so Joyce orders a takeout meal for her dad, his favorite eggplant parmigiana, to be added to the tab Joyce insists on paying, even over Raul’s

objection, because she wants Raul to send some money to his mom. He’ll walk Joyce to her home, from where he’ll take a taxi to his own home, after greeting Pastor Miranda. He wants him to see that, if Joyce allows it, he’ll never let her walk the darkened streets alone. On arriving home, Raul informs Marie on the agreed-upon time on Thursday. She inquires about the young lady’s favorite dish, to which Raul replies, “As far as I know, she eats anything that’s wholesome and delicious.” “Fine. That’ll give me many choices,” Marie replies with much satisfaction. This night, having resigned himself to accept with calmness the idea of being without Joyce for a whole month, Raul intends to sleep well and hopes to do so all the nights she is away but will pray for shortened days and truncated nights. On Wednesday night, Joyce and Raul return to Tito’s, as previously planned. On Raul’s pleading, Pastor Miranda s them there. From Tito’s, Raul will walk directly to the five train because Joyce will go home in the company of her dad. Joyce arrives home early Thursday in preparation for dinner at Marie and Jack Cousteau’s. Raul has left work early because he wants to impress Joyce that on her suggestion, he sent money to his mom. He doesn’t want to tell her that he has already arranged to send money home. It is not his first paycheck he is sending home, as he has told Bootoo to inform Annette. On this, he has lied, but as he has not given a particular Thursday on which he would send the money, he hasn’t lied on the timing. Annette has gone to the rectory to await his call and instructions on receiving the money promised through Western Union, but having inadvertently left out the date, his mom has gone there every Thursday following his call to Bootoo. Annette is not disappointed that she has had to walk the mile of dusty track to the rectory these past two Thursdays but worried that a misfortune might have befallen Raul—the reason he has not sent the money or made the call. Wanting to have much time to finally tell his mom of his luck on the Seaworthy and in Puerto Rico and New York, Raul goes to the Western Union office to send money to his mother via the rectory and then goes to a telephone kiosk to call his mom to let her know he has wired the money. It’s Thursday, and Annette is at the rectory, waiting. The excitement at both ends is palpable. His call is not time limited, but he can’t tie up the line too long as there are others waiting to use the service. But he needs to get from his system the lie that doesn’t explain his

absence from his mom’s home. Before he does, he will first ask for her forgiveness in Bootoo’s lie to her and the priest. “Raul, I cannot forgive you of a sin you didn’t commit,” she says with much excitement. “Truly, I didn’t know what to think when Bootoo told me he helped you get on the Seaworthy. It wasn’t a lie that he had helped get you on the ship, but it was a lie to tell me you were at the rectory when, in fact, you were already onboard. And according Bootoo, it was a base lie to have told Father that you were with me, nursing an ailment, when you were already busy finding a hiding place on the ship. But they were Bootoo’s untruths, not your lies. So please don’t live with the weight of guilt. The words came from Bootoo’s mouth, not yours. He told the lies to Father and me. So on this one, live with a clear conscience.” Annette and Raul have much to talk about. “Mom, the Western Union people assured me that the money I sent you will arrive tomorrow.” Raul has to repeat himself on the circumstance of his arrival in the United States, telling her everything he told Marie and would have told Joyce if only she had shown a desire to listen and wanted to hear it. He explains to her that his ambition was to the U.S. Army to learn the proper use of guns and return to avenge her husband’s murder. But after he had found out how difficult it is for an undocumented alien to get to put on a U.S. military uniform, his palpable disappointment far outweighed his need to avenge his father’s murder, and abandoning vengeance as payback to evil, he concentrated on ways to survive in the strange country in which he now resides. He has resolved himself to a more pragmatic approach to life, accepting the things he cannot change, seeing things as they are rather than assuming reality through the prism of naiveté. He tells his mother about the wonderful compatriots who took him in and with whom he now lives and, most of all, about Joyce, to whom he has pledged his love. They discuss Father Barbe’s absence and pray that he returns safely. Raul tells his mom he’ll continue to send her money when he can and that each remittance will include something for Bootoo, which he trusts she’ll give him without Raul telling her how much or what percentage. He’ll keep her informed well in advance of any wedding plans and hopes that when the time comes, she’ll be granted an American visa to attend his wedding.

ing his promise to meet Joyce to bring her home to dinner, he takes a livery cab to Joyce’s. She is home alone, her dad having gone to celebrate the usual 7:00 p.m. Thursday Mass. Raul knows that both Marie and Jack respect punctuality. They think that an invited guest who arrives late is disrespectful of the hostess and her house. Marie once said to Raul, “Time is a forgiving resource that keeps on giving to those who put it to the highest and best use. Although it always alters, it never changes. Respect it.” ing that Marie and Jack respect time, Raul wants to be sure to get Joyce to dinner at seven o’clock or a little before, if possible, so as quickly as Joyce could alight the cab with its meter running, they leave, arriving home just before seven. Raul has explained to Joyce the modesty of Marie’s home as compared to hers, so she isn’t shocked when, on being ushered in, the first thing that catches her eye is the sparsity of furniture in the tiny living room and the old television set resting on cinderblocks to raise it to eye level of those sitting on the couch. The round table is already set, just the arrangement Joyce expected to see in her own home: a table with no discernible head, allowing guests the privilege to choose where they sit. Marie introduces herself to Raul’s prettierthan-a-rose flower, and Jack extends his hand, which Joyce grasps for a firm and friendly handshake. “My, Raul left out no detail in describing you,” Marie says in way of a greeting. “I believe God is capable of anything, but I had no idea that he would package all that beauty in one being. He could have apportioned it among one hundred, and all still would be considered beautiful.” Not to be outdone, Jack chimes in. “Even a thousand. Marie and I are delighted to meet you. If we are to believe Raul, we’ll be seeing a lot of you, which will delight us.” “Of course, we believe him,” assures Marie. Joyce relaxes, eases from the stress of visiting the home of people she does not know and whose culture she is unfamiliar with, and like a professional photographer trying to secure his camera on the tripod to capture the details of his landscape, she pans the room and captures both of them in the center of her lenses and gets their attention. “The pleasure of meeting you is a joy I won’t

soon forget … Thank you for inviting me.” “The pleasure is ours, and we thank you for accepting our invitation. But thanks are also due Raul, without whom we never would have known the Bronx capable of producing a flower that radiates our humble abode.” “Home is the place that nurtures the heart to greatness and allows the soul to soar in fulfillment of God’s promise,” said Joyce. “The palace as home is no better than the shack as home. The elaborate and ostentatious trappings of the palace notwithstanding, you can have as many joyful days and restful nights in a shack as in a palace. The mansion dweller compares his residence to a castle. The castle dweller will view his abode inferior and think it modest in the eyes of his palace guests. Comparisons abound in every aspect of life. We should never, ever apologize for what we have, lest others think us envious of those possessing what we do not have.” Marie, prideful of what they do have, answers Joyce’s erudite assessment in comparisons and says, “Envy is a sin you will not find us guilty of. Shall we eat?” As they sit to eat, Marie politely asks Jack to say the prayer. “Boys!” Jack calls to his two sons, who have had their early dinner but are required to be present whenever prayer is said, even if it’s a simple invocation before meals of which they would not be partaking. Up to this time, the boys have not been introduced to Joyce. Obeying their dad’s call, they rush from the bedroom they share to the dining table. “Before we pray, boys, meet Ms. Miranda.” Bowing in obeisance, like actors reciting a given line, simultaneously, they greet Joyce. “Hi, Ms. Miranda.” “Hello, boys. Nice to meet you.” The six hold hands, and Jack says the simple grace all know. The boys retreat to their room, and the four adults begin their meal. What’s before them on the table —mac and cheese, steamed broccoli, baked salmon, rice pilaf, boiled potatoes, and fried chicken—is familiar to Joyce, the menu about the same as the Puerto Rican cousin that was the daily fare of Joycelyn. Even should the food on her plate not be to her taste and liking, Joyce would show no indication of

displeasure. She is the epitome of the young lady all would be pleased to have for dinner. She has learned her etiquette well, has dined with many important persons, and surely could hold her own at a table with Raul, Jack, and Marie. During dinner, Marie initiates the conversation with Joyce concerning Raul. She and Jack have accepted Raul into their extended family and would like to know much about Joyce as she might one day be included in Raul’s family. Jack is familiar with the name Pastor Miranda, Joyce’s dad, and asks questions concerning the books he has written—particularly the best seller, titled Religion and Its Aftermath—and wonders about the relative affluence of her dad as a result of his royalties. Marie wants to know more about Joyce’s mom, about whom she has read following her divorce from the pastor. The media, particularly print media, were critical of her while patronizing to the pastor, Roberto Miranda. Marie asks if she knows where her mother is, and Joyce explains the painstaking work it was tracking her down and that she and her dad were successful only with invaluable help from the American Embassy in Costa Rica. There are more questions pertaining to Joycelyn. What was the driving force behind her need to separate? When Joyce explains that it was a man her dad’s age with whom she had fallen in love after more than two decades together, Marie thinks there must have been something else, and she pushes Joyce to explain, which she does. Her mother thought her dad unfaithful and had another woman, the reason he had little time for her in the bedroom, but it later turned out that he had stayed late in the office at the rectory to do his writing, away from the distractions of home; when he got home, tired, he went straight to the shower and then bed. His writings earned him a decent income, from which his wife benefited, even in divorce. Marie is nonplused and tells Joyce in a situation like she has just explained; she’ll have to take her dad’s side. When the conversation turns to Raul and Joyce, Jack is the first to ask, “Will you please tell us why you two seem so much into each other after meeting and knowing each other for a very short while? Do you know each other well enough to surrender your souls, one to the other? I thought such knowledge comes only after a long period of courtship—” “Think of what you are saying, Jack,” Marie interrupts, “because you and I met only twice before you proposed to me, and I accepted. Our marriage followed four months later. It took that long only because we had included our parents in

our wedding plans and gave them time to apply for visas. Had it not been for that, we probably would have married within two months of our first meeting. And what a glorious time it was the day we met! From it, we have given the country and the world two lovely, adorable boys, great assets to our community. “Frankly, I see no problem in Joyce’s and Raul’s proposal. When two people truly are in love, in a Christian relationship, the length of time they know each other and the number of times they meet have no bearing on the authenticity of the relationship. What really matters, what’s really important, is the level of commitment they are willing to make and their undivided devotion, one to the other. Compatibility is not judged through experience. It can be felt immediately upon meeting. Have you heard the expression ‘Their spirits met’? Well, our spirits met, and we fell for each other right away. We didn’t have to wait it out in the arena of social acceptance with prolonged meetings and dates. Our spirits met, and we were immediately in love. I believe the same is true for Joyce and Raul.” It is approaching 10:00 p.m., and Raul agrees with Marie that it’s time to take Joyce home. After the usual expressions of gratitude to the hosts, with the hosts and guests promising to keep lines of communication open, Raul, using Marie’s phone, calls the livery driver with whom he had arranged for a 10:00 p.m. pickup. Both Joyce and Raul would have loved to see the night without end, but neither has the power to stop the clock; imperious and relentless, the needle moves on the face of time. Not the most powerful can take it back to cancel half a minute. It is past the start of dusk, and Raul and Joyce have no choice but to report to the pastor’s mansion before 11:00 p.m., the latest hour Joyce promised her dad she would be home, and she does not want to disappoint him. Raul does not want to be the cause of her walking her neighborhood past the hour the pastor considers safe beyond the iron gates of his mansion. Pastor Miranda arrived home “about an hour ago, after dinner at Tito’s with our maintenance guy, who, as you know, doubles up as the groundskeeper of the rectory,” he tells them. With the cabbie’s meter running on his dime, Raul quickly bids the pastor good night and parts from Joyce with a kiss, arriving back home just before Thursday yields to Friday. He does not want to wake the rest of the family with a disturbing call to Joyce to wish her pleasant dreams. After all, he has just left her side. They have just spilled their guts out to each other, and there is nothing he

could say to Joyce in the dark of night that could not wait for the light of day. He hopes to have a good night’s rest tonight, having already conditioned his mind to put his body to sleep, unencumbered by the constant vision of Joyce. If he can accomplish this tonight, then he’ll have done something that will put him well on the way to sparing him the torment that is sure to make him suffer every night Joyce is away. He has just one more night with her, alone at the restaurant they have chosen to dine and spend the last evening before her departure to England. He must get used to her absence, lest lovesickness ruin his nights and destroy his days. Of course, he’ll keep Joyce’s image firmly planted in his mind, but now he must concentrate on what he must do to improve himself during her sojourn. On Friday morning, Joyce is not in her office. She has gone to the commissioner’s office to collect her Virgin Atlantic plane ticket from JFK to Heathrow. She has told Raul she’ll be gone in the morning, so she does not think it necessary to call to remind him, especially as it is early and he might not be home but on the way to or already on the number five train to work. Raul has forgotten about that, so he takes the elevator to the third floor to see Joyce before she leaves her office on an assignment. She has left no note on her office door for Raul’s benefit. However, on the plastic or cardboard clock with the “Will Return” used at the entrance of many business places, the hour hand is between eleven and twelve and the minute indicator on six, suggesting to all who see it that Joyce will return at about half past eleven. In anticipation of her lunchtime return, Raul orders two hero sandwiches with Pepsi drinks from Subways so they could have lunch together, allowing them time in private before dinnertime. Certain that Joyce would stop by his office before taking the elevator up, he does not leave her any information, like a note under her door, to let her know he has ordered lunch. Well in advance of noon, Raul picks up the sandwiches, waiting for him in a brown paper bag, and returns to his office. He hopes that during the short period it took to get the sandwiches, Joyce hasn’t slipped by. She has not. When she arrives soon before noon, she enters through Raul’s door, always open so no knocking is needed to announce one’s arrival—“My open door policy,” he calls it—and sees the two sandwiches with drinks. Pleased at Raul’s thoughtfulness and choice of meal, she gives him a kiss that almost takes away the hunger he has felt since ten o’clock. In his desperate need to see Joyce before work called her to duty, he had left home early, without breakfast, but had forgotten her early departure from the Bronx. Pushing ledgers aside and putting the pencil holder and sharpener on the floor, he makes room on his small desk to arrange a table setting with paper napkins in preparation for their meal.

“Raul, how lucky you are to have met Marie and Jack Cousteau,” Joyce says as a way to start a conversation while they eat. “They are so hospitable and humble. The type of people you wouldn’t mind having around all the time. And you tell me that despite his intelligence, Jack is a janitor at LaGuardia Airport. I know he is qualified to do much more. But is this all he can find? Is this all they will allow him to do? Or is this all he thinks he’ll be allowed to do as a documented alien and based on the color of his skin? I suggest he sends résumés and applications to companies large and small and try to find a job that is more suitable. If not for himself but for Marie and the boys, make them proud.” “Joyce, I’ve lived with them for more than two months. If you can find me four men in this town with more pride than Jack Cousteau, hungry as I am, I’ll surrender my lunch. And I have not met sons and a wife more prideful of their dad and husband. Will getting a white collar job, exchanging mop for pen and coveralls for suit and tie, make Jack more proud of himself? I don’t think so. Jack said he makes a stress-less living that allows him a good life, and the dollar that he tenders in exchange for goods and services has the same value as the one tendered by anyone else. His job allows him much time to spend with his schoolaged boys, and he does not take work home to complete after dinner to meet the demands of corporate America. He says his job is low tech and low stress, which is good for his health and the well-being of his family. All he lacks is his own home, which he cannot now afford.” “I’m sorry, Raul, to have opened the conversation about Jack Cousteau. He is a fine man who seems satisfied with what he does and proud of the person identified in his skin. Were most people, both men and women, like Jack, there scarcely would be any conflict. For what drives conflict is dissatisfaction with what we have and lack of pride in who we are. And yes, conflict leads to war.” “Joyce, we are here to make love, not war. Shall we finish our lunch and get on with getting you prepared for tomorrow? I know you have much to say to your dad before we go to dinner. Whatever we missed will be covered during dinner, our ‘last supper’ before I’m introduced to a life of aloneness. Truthfully, your absence will not kill me, but I’ll suffer nonetheless for the month you are away while waiting patiently for my resurrection from the grave dug with my tears, drip by agonizing drip.” After lunch, Joyce goes up to her office, and Raul returns the accouterments that occupied his desk before lunch to put in some hours before he heads home,

cleans up, puts on a change of clothes, and meets Joyce for dinner. With much time on his hands before he picks up Joyce, he takes the number five EL home and will ride it back to the Miranda home. Marie again cautions Raul about the dangers of certain streets in the South Bronx, where Joyce lives. He leaves home at 7:00 p.m.; Joyce will be waiting for him at seven thirty for their eight o’clock dinner. When he arrives at Joyce’s, Raul doesn’t observe any indication the pastor has eaten and, as a matter of courtesy and respect, invites him along, seeing this is the last night with his daughter until she returns in a month, but he declines, preferring to leave the two to themselves, letting them revel in each other’s embrace and linger in each other’s arms while wishing their kiss would not end. Joyce is disappointed her dad will not be having dinner with them; Raul is not so disappointed. As a matter of information, while Raul had invited Roberto Miranda to dine with them, his wish was that the pastor would decline so as to give them the privacy needed for a ionate goodbye. Raul seldom eats beef. This Friday night, however, he wishes to have a meal he’ll till Joyce returns. So at the last minute, they change their restaurant choice to Outback. Raul wants steak; he might not have another piece of cattle meat before Joyce is back in the United States. He wants to surprise Joyce—the reason he invited her dad to them. Though his absence will be noted, his presence really is not vital to what he wants to say to Joyce; he is going to propose to her in the presence of all at Outback who would listen. As far as Roberto Miranda is concerned, Raul’s avowed commitment to Joyce is the equivalent of a proposal, so he really does not need to hear the words “Will you marry me?” said in a public venue. But Raul will propose without the ritual of placing a ring on the finger of the fiancée because he doesn’t have one. He has not saved enough to purchase the ring that would do justice to Joyce, and he does not want to wait until he has the money. He put a diamond ring on layaway but had not paid enough to the merchant to meet the requirements for surrender, with the balance to follow. Nor did he think imposing on Marie and Jack appropriate for an occasion that could wait. What had prompted his decision to propose without a ring was Marie’s assurance that placing a ring on your lover’s finger belongs in a culture that is not his own, that if your fiancée insists on a ring when proposed to, then her love for you is questionable, and the need borders on vainglory. He knows Joyce is not vainglorious and that the commitment he had made to her in the presence of her

dad meant more to her than the placement of a piece of metal on her finger. It is important to commit but important also to propose formally before she leaves on her month’s sojourn. The truth is, however, Raul’s proposal to Joyce does not irreversibly bind her to him; while they agree to pledge their love to each other, it is not a legally binding agreement such as is required in marriage. Raul has committed to Joyce, and Joyce vouchsafes her loyalty to Raul in the presence of Pastor Miranda, Joyce’s father, but both pledge and loyalty can be withdrawn, and in Raul’s rush to propose, he hopes to bind her to him forever. He is afraid that in spite of what she has told him, it is quite probable that she can find an Englishman to steal her heart during the time she is there. With his marriage proposal, he hopes he has bought himself the assurance that this will not happen. It is not yet 10:00 p.m. when they leave Outback, and the bright streetlights, helped by the moon in its second quarter, invade the space on the bench under the canopy where they hope to take leave of each other in quiet moments, away from inquisitive eyes. Their hoped-for private moments denied, they take a taxi to Joyce’s home. In the same spot on the pastor’s darkened foyer where they spent loving moments the Sunday evening of Raul’s visit, they spend time in each other’s embrace and kisses and reassurances of love and loyalty. With this prime time with Joyce, the last for a while, Raul does not mind having the taxi meter running on his dollar. With promises to keep made between kisses, they finally think it time for Joyce to go in to make her final preparations for her trip.

ELEVEN

EARLY SATURDAY MORNING, THE CITY-OWNED CHEVY TAHOE ARRIVES AT THE MANSION OF PASTOR MIRANDA. Joyce has gotten up early to pack. She has made coffee for herself and Dad, and she is ready. The necessities she forgot to load up in her suitcase, she’ll purchase in London. She has kissed her dad goodbye and cautioned him to be careful living in the big house all by himself. He promises her he’ll see Raul often enough so as to update her when he calls, which he says will be at least twice a week. Believing that Raul is sleeping late, given his late arrival home last night, she doesn’t want to disturb him and the rest of the people in his home, so she won’t call him. She’ll do so while waiting in the departure lounge at the airport, sure to have many minutes available to do so. In the back seat of the Chevy, she is wondering, thinking, and contemplating her four weeks away from home. How will she survive London, a city she’s learned so much about? As they drive away from the Bronx toward the Whitestone Bridge, she takes in as much of the sites as possible. Because of the rapid developmental state of the city, some of the places she now sees might take on a different appearance by the time she returns. She re ing by a bodega on a street corner in her neighborhood while on her way to work one morning that became a drugstore by the time she had gotten home that evening. Except for the tall buildings to her south that seem to scrape the rain-swollen stratus clouds, in the early dawn, the sites she knows well are not easily discernible, so she takes a mental picture, lest they are lost to her forever. When they cross the bridge, Joyce expects the driver to and pick up her peer, Amanda Voit, but he does not exit, and Joyce learns that he has not been instructed to pick up anyone else. When they arrive at Kennedy Airport and she collects her two suitcases, she goes straight to the departure desk for her boarding and to check her bags. Amanda has already gotten her boarding and is in the departure lounge, sipping a cup of overpriced coffee. She had been privileged with her own car and driver. Their drivers might have departed the city garage at the same time, but Amanda lived nearer to the airport and did not have to put up with bridge traffic and the payment of toll.

They have just twenty-five minutes before boarding, and Joyce will utilize every second of it in her call to Raul. Marie has left on her early morning shift at the hospital, and Jack is off this Saturday. He picks up the call from Joyce and quickly es it on to Raul. The casual tone of Joyce’s voice belies the expression in the way Raul spoke of his unqualified love, which he claims is already solidified in his commitment and proposal. They exchange kisses over the wire, each hoping that it reaches the ear of the other with the same intensity of ion as when it left their lips. Joyce hopes that Raul will be given the raise promised him. Raul tells her that he doesn’t want to surprise her when she returns, but he’ll start making wedding plans that do not need her input, such as talking his mom into applying for a visa because that’s what they both want— her presence at their wedding, just as they wish for Joyce’s mom. He assures her that the developer, his employer, has always kept his word with him and sees no reason why he would not come through. “An African proverb says, ‘When a man walks naked, it is his kinsmen who feel shame, not himself.’” “What’s the relevance, Raul?” “If I don’t execute on my promise made to you and which is within my reach, I have deliberately lied to you, and therefore, I should be the one to feel the shame of guilt.” Raul hears on the public address system, “We are now ready for boarding.” “Well, my beloved, I guess this is goodbye for now,” Raul tells her. “May your journey be a safe one and your trip enjoyable. May you remain healthy and strong, and may your days in London strengthen our bond. Absorb all you can and return energized to face whatever challenges come our way. My love to you, eternally, I give. Bye for now.” So Joyce begins a month’s separation from the man who, just yesterday, proposed to her. It’s still early morning, and Raul gets back under the covers as he contemplates the month ahead and wishes the time would go fast. But no matter our desire to see time fly, no matter the intensity of our wish, unrelenting time will proceed at the same pace it has from the beginning of itself and marches on in defiance of the mightiest commands to speed up or slow down. But neither can anyone deny Raul his wish. He opines that wishing for what’s unlikely is a waste of energy but that wishfully thinking of the possible is energy wisely expended. Disturbed by the cacophony of blaring horns from motorists going up and down Tremont Avenue, he is unable to fall asleep. As rays of the

early morning sun force their way through the drawn curtain of his room and cast a shadow of tree branches upon them, he perceives Joyce’s image and, in his mind, makes for her an itinerary of her flight. She is probably seated comfortably in her window seat, I hope, and will soon be offered something to drink. In the next three hours, she’ll be fed. Now fully awake, Raul begins to think of the things he must do to impress Marie and make Joyce proud. He wants to be able to call Joyce whenever he feels like it without impoon Marie or Jack, so he loads up on coins for the pay phone at the AT&T office. He is not able to use his office phone. He doesn’t have one. His employer had disconnected it long ago when the bookkeeper he had before unconscionably abused it in gossip. In an emergency, Raul is to use the phone in the lobby, accessible to all in the building for local calls only. Raul is woefully at a disadvantage without a phone, so he has asked his boss to install a line, for which he’ll pay the bill while in his employ if the boss covers the connection charge. The boss realizes the need and yields to the suggestion, and Raul is overjoyed. Many weeks ago, he had thought of having the phone company connect but was unable to do so as it would honor such a request only from the owner or one with a signed lease or rental agreement. The first call he’ll make is to Pastor Miranda to give him the number, for Joyce’s benefit, as he believes she’ll do the right thing and call her dad before him. He told the pastor that he wishes to keep his promise to Joyce and stay in with him and visit him at the pastor’s convenience. He consults his itinerary. She’s about one hour from Heathrow and probably anxious. Joyce, keep your head on! Like a loving dad who has just sent his child to war in a foreign land, Raul’s heart is laden with a nagging fear. If only he were able to follow Joyce’s every move, his mind would be free of worry. It’s only the first day of Joyce’s absence, but he feels depressed. He does not know how he’ll spend tonight and the other days and nights she’s away. When his mom was downtrodden, he re her reading scripture for inspiration, so he borrows Marie’s Bible to find something —a phrase, a sentence, a verse—that addresses his worry. He re too the days he spent questioning Father Barbe about certain sayings in the Bible and their interpretation as given by the Catholic Church. Now he’ll consult the Bible, hoping for answers to the problem he now faces. After skimming through some books of the Old Testament and finding nothing directly relevant to his problem, he reads a few chapters here and there of the New Testament and ends up with the Letter of Paul to the Philippians 4:6-7

(NIV). “Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your request be made known to God. And the peace of God, which sures all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Raul finds consolation in Paul’s letter and relief for his aching heart. The age, he’ll repeat to Pastor Miranda when he sees him worrying about his daughter in London. He believes that the pastor, who makes a living writing about scripture and a life explaining it, is familiar with the verses, but it might just help to recite it for their t benefit. I hope she has arrived safely and is in her hotel room, unpacking. Today is Sunday. Raul has slept relatively well; the thought of Joyce kept him awake for a while, but without her vision occupying space in his head, he is able to concentrate on today and the tomorrows to follow. He’ll accompany the Cousteaus to Mass, but he has made it very clear to Marie that the family shouldn’t expect him to be a fixture occupying a pew every Sunday. He has been there, done that with his mother—until the day he felt it was more in keeping with the Christian message to help those less fortunate than himself than to sit in a building, listening to the homily of a preacher whose message he would not internalize before dissecting it for relevance. Respectful of the people in whose home he dwells, today he’ll go along with them and even attend the afternoon Bible study gathering in the home of a devout Catholic, where they will dine before heading home, the five of them squeezed into Jack’s Honda Civic. Crunched between the two boys in the back seat, Raul is mulling the purchase of his own car. He thinks he’s been freeloading for too long and imposing on Jack to take him to the stores when he needs to buy something. A car will give him the freedom to go where he wants when he wants and allow him to feel the pulse of the city, learn its nuances informed by the idiosyncrasies of her inhabitants. In the City of New York, the ownership of one’s own means of transportation translates to freedom, and Raul wants to breathe free. The many inhibitions to his freedom in his native country, he wants to forget and put away in a file labeled “Dead.” On arriving home, he tells Jack about his need for a car. Marie is in another room and overhears the conversation. “I don’t see how you can pull that one off without credit and sans cash. Why don’t you first establish credit so that with a small down payment, you can finance the car? Jack can take you to the store he frequents on Tremont Avenue and put a suit on layaway and pay it off in less than two weeks. Then you can list the store as a credit reference on your application. Plus, you already have an

engagement ring on layaway. If you can pay them both off in less than ten days, by next weekend, you can go to the used car dealer and negotiate for your car. I assume you are going for a preowned car because I don’t see you being able to buy a new one. Seeing as you have a permanent job and are able to pay me back, I can lend you a few dollars should you fall short of the down payment.” “Or I can also ask my boss for a loan. He seems to trust me.” “True. If he feels your labor is invaluable, he might accommodate you. But he would be putting himself in a position in which he can’t afford to fire you—a bad position for any employer, an excellent position for any employee. The employer lender wants to be paid back, so he’ll have to keep you on the payroll. In other words, if you get a loan from him, depending on the wording in the loan agreement, you might be guaranteed a job at least until the loan is paid off or forgiven. If the loan agreement does not command you to stay in his employ as a condition for the loan, you won’t be obligated to remain if you don’t want to. But do be careful that the amount you borrow must not be such that the monthly payments leave you no spare change.” But Raul feels the less his boss knows about his needs, the better, so he opts to go the other way Marie suggested, and after work on Monday, in the early evening, Jack takes him to Stein Layaway on Tremont Avenue, where the coowning brothers know Jack. Raul puts a light-blue suit on layaway, making a small in-good-faith deposit. He promises the Stein brothers he’ll make four payments and collect the suit on the last, which will be in less than two weeks. Raul is pleased that he has begun the process of establishing the necessary credit as Marie suggested. Later that night, he calls Pastor Miranda to ask if Joyce has ed him. She has not. She has had the full day yesterday Sunday to do her unpacking and get settled in the hotel with Amanda, and Raul believes it is because she had to report for orientation today, the reason she has not called. He shares his feeling with the pastor and tells him he will call Joyce the next morning. The pastor reminds him of the five-hour time difference, that his morning is Joyce’s afternoon, when she might be attending lectures. At work on Tuesday morning, Raul is deep in thought. Paul’s letter to the Philippians was a momentary fix to his anxiety. Probably, Paul was never in love with a woman, the reason he had written this. Raul thinks some Bible ages make perfect sense with messages that live; others are utter inanities of men who have their own personal agenda subtly embedded in the narrative. For instance,

we read in Psalms 2:8, “Ask of me, and I will make the nations your inheritance and the ends of the earth your possession.” This was written by those who believed that it was their duty to concur. To justify their use of force against their weaker brethren and usurp their possessions and to put the fear of God in any resistance, they gave us Romans 13:2 (RSV) “Therefore, he who resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist shall receive damnation.” To have no anxiety is easier said than done. However, if he wishes to keep to his ambition and improve in all ways possible, he must endeavor not to be anxious or hold anxiety at a distance. Raul would like to continue with Pastor Miranda the conversations he had with Father Barbe concerning religion. But he’ll have to wait, get a feel on where he stands on the topic. After all, he makes a decent living with religion and has written books on the subject, and it would be insincere of Raul to question his fiancée’s father on a matter from which he derives his livelihood and articulates his homilies. He’ll wait to voice his opinion to the pastor. He’ll test the theological waters with Joyce when she returns—the better for him to know if he should or shouldn’t make religion a topic of conversation with her dad. The pastor will soon be his father-in-law, and the last thing in the world he wishes to befall him is Miranda’s anger at his daughter’s betrothed. Miranda had once asked Raul about his religious affiliation, and he seemed not happy when Raul had told him he was born a Roman Catholic. Raul hoped the pastor agreed that his grandchildren would be raised Catholic. That is his mom’s religion and was his dad’s until his murder by his country’s paramilitary, and he would not like to disrespect his dead father at this adult stage of his life by switching religions. Raul’s use of the word paramilitary compelled Pastor Miranda to infer a foreign birth for Raul, which prompted him to ask questions. Raul answered the pastor’s inquiries truthfully without volunteering any information and giving answers to questions not asked. His arrival from Puerto Rico on Eastern Airlines did not trigger the follow-up question “Did you live in Puerto Rico, the reason for your fluency in Spanish?” Had the question been asked, Raul would have had to explain the circumstances of his arrival in PR, exposing his undocumented status, which might have immediately changed the pastor’s perception of him. “Does Joyce know this?” “I volunteered to tell her, but she’d have none of it. She told me, ‘All I need to

know about how you happened to be in New York is that we have each other.’ In other words, she didn’t care, and I respected her wishes, as I do now.” The pastor’s questions to Raul did not reach the ears of Joyce because she might have considered her dad intrusive, and Raul would not dispose himself to be the cause of ill will between daughter and father. It’s 4:00 p.m. at his end, and Joyce is ready for bed. Just as he’s about to leave for the day, the phone rings. Joyce is making her first with Raul since she left on Saturday early morning. Raul cannot contain his anxiety. He tells Joyce how he has spent sleepless nights wondering if she is okay, that he has vicariously followed her all the way, but the itinerary he has prepared for her does not go beyond her arrival at Heathrow. When she asks how he has been coping otherwise, he answers, “I’m doing my best to cope as your vision guides me.” He wishes that she is happy and keeps in good health. She explains that from the time she and Amanda reported for lectures on Monday morning, they have had little free time besides the mandatory forty-five minutes for lunch. The lecture series is much advanced from what she had been exposed to but nothing she can’t handle. “I feel comfortable, and I’m happy to be here.” “But of course, you would be happier with me, right?” “You know how I feel about you. Of course, I’d be happier in your arms. But bear my absence for a few more days.” “A few more days, you say? You are gone for a month.” “Twenty-eight more days.” “What’s your time in London?” “Nine o’clock. It’s now my bedtime. I catch the underground—some say ‘tube’—at seven-thirty.” A lightning flash interrupts the connection. Now that he knows Joyce’s busy schedule, he wants her to have a few hours of restful sleep and chooses not to try

to reconnect. When he calls on Friday late afternoon, eager to update Joyce on what he has done during the week, she affectionately berates him for not paying his phone bill on time—the reason, she thinks, for the interruption. When Raul explains the cause, she begs his forgiveness. “But it was meant as a joke,” she assures him. He updates her on his layaway arrangement in building his credit to buy a secondhand car. “Preferably a Honda Accord, not too big but big enough to accommodate the luggage you’ll have when you land at the airport.” He laughs. “And yes, I’ll pick you up. I start taking driving lessons tomorrow Saturday and my driving test in a week—or less than two. Jack promises to give me some driving lessons in his Civic.” “I both respect and ire your optimism. You have not even had your first driving lesson, and already, you are making arrangements to buy the car you’ll drive to pick me up at the airport in about three weeks.” “My hope is to deliver on my promise. It’s boastful to make promises we know we are unable to keep—that’s the stock in trade of the politician—but it’s insincere to renege on a promise we are able to keep. I pray that you never find me insincere in the things I say. Trust me, dear. I’ll be there.” Raul knows that Joyce conditions herself for excellence in all that she does. Applying the many disciplines of study learned from her dad has proved to be a valuable asset in meeting the demands of the elite London institution. Unlike Amanda, who accepts every offer to go out on the town after evening lectures, Joyce is not a party girl. She is fully aware of the reason she was chosen to represent her city and will leave no stone unturned in her effort to prove to Chancellor Miranda that in selecting her for the sabbatical at the London school, she has made an excellent choice. However, even when the selection process was undeniably transparent, rumors abound that Joyce happens to be a relative of the chancellor through her dad and that “a little nepotism had insidiously crept in” in the selection of candidates for the sabbatical. On the subject of affinity, the pastor has been asked numerous times about a probable link to the commissioner, which has prompted him to check on his family tree. He has found no kinship. Therefore, he knows there is not a shred of evidence linking him to her, so he simply glosses over the lie. But Raul is

completely perplexed. He knows that Joyce has been selected because of her scholarship and not by preference on of an assumed relationship between the commissioner and her. But the lie has found traction in the minds of the other qualified candidates who were not chosen by their peers because of the number limit. Refutations reigned, but the damage has been done to the commissioner’s reputation, and a shadow of doubt hovers over Joyce’s acclaimed intelligence. In her dad’s next call to her, he tells her of the allegations of nepotism against the commissioner, which puts her in an “I’ll show them” mode and energizes her further to bring home commendations for excellence. True to his promise, after a surprisingly short sermon on Sunday, Jack takes Raul on his first driving lesson. They have skipped the requirement of a learner’s permit, so Jack is careful to travel only on roads with very little traffic. The last thing they want on this quiet day is to be stopped by the police, which could result in Raul’s arrest and Jack getting a citation. Lucky for both, the streets around Crotona Park are without vehicular traffic, and the few pedestrians crossing from sidewalk to sidewalk cause Jack to occasionally command Raul, “Blow your horn.” After thirty minutes, they drive home, fortunate to find a parking spot just in front of their apartment building. Raul prefers to call Joyce between 9:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m. GMT. Before leaving the office on Monday, at 5:00 p.m., he calls Joyce to give the exciting news of his first driving lesson. “I commend you for taking driver lessons, and tell Jack I’m grateful to him for helping you. Did you send your mom some more money? And have you repaid Father Barbe the advance for your ports?” “Yes, for both.” But it is not for both. He knows Joyce would be angry with him if he told her the truth—that he is saving to buy a suit to build up credit, which would have triggered the question “How can you build up credit simply by putting money away?” Then he would have to further explain the purpose. The lies spare him the necessity of having to answer more questions. Better to tell a white lie than incur the ire of the woman who is to be your wife, he thinks. He is planning to wire money to his mom but has not. He has prioritized his layaway, putting as much toward it as his wages would allow. He must build up credit references if he is to keep his promise to Joyce to pick her up, driving his own car when he goes to pick her up. Without credit, he cannot do it. Marie has both informed and cautioned him that America lives on credit and that credit, evidenced by a major

credit card, is needed even to rent a car as the rental companies won’t accept cash. “In America, cash plays second fiddle to credit,” Marie had once told Raul in her long lecture on the importance of credit, which totally confused him because he always learned that cash was king. Now he is made aware that credit is king, and cash the king’s emissary. During his lunch break on Monday, Raul goes to the Western Union office to wire money to his mom and advise her to repay Father the money for the ports. Raul is sure that the priest would be disinclined to accept as he has not booked it as a loan. But he also knows the finances of the parish, so he is careful to tell his mother the amount to the priest is a donation to the parish on his mom’s behalf, which Father wouldn’t refuse. Raul has been eager to wire the money so that should Joyce ask him again, his yes answers would be true. On Tuesday, he’ll call to tell her about his first visit with her dad since she left for London. In their previous phone conversation, Joyce and Raul seemed to have used every word in the Oxford Unabridged Dictionary to express their love and devotion to each other, and now, averse to the use of repetitions, their narratives are short and casual. Raul learns that the American Consulate has denied his mom’s visa because of a careless error by the visa service in leaving out the silent t in Manigot, which did not agree with the name in her port and, in essence, suggested a different applicant. The consulate person with the authority to approve visas ed the case of an applicant whose last name was AnnaBelle, but on her visa application, it was written as Annabel. The pronunciation was maintained, but the correct spelling is vital in the processing of visa applications, lest the wrong person’s port is inadvertently validated. These errors are uncommon but are made; in one instance, the error was disclosed only when a visitor had overstayed and was in the custody of the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS), awaiting deportation. There was disdain in the ranks that they had not done a good job in screening those they had given a . They had promised to be more vigilant in the future, and Annette Manigot was a “victim” of that vigilance. Raul is disappointed that his mother won’t be present at the wedding of her only child. This is not the right time to tell Joyce. After all, he has not told her of his desire for a visa for his mom, so it would not help telling her the disappointing news—at least not now.

Raul has been in infrequent communication with the pastor, who has also been keeping up with what’s going on in his daughter’s life in her foreign location. Too, Raul has met some of Joyce’s friends, who have inquired of her, and he is happy for the inquiries as they keep Joyce’s name and vision fresh on his mind. What one of the friends, Sherman Puccini, tells Raul about his buddy in Vietnam, l. Bret Vaughn, makes Raul happy that he was unsuccessful in his desire to the U.S. Army and go fight communism for America. Sherman explains: “Their platoon was commanded by a recently commissioned West Point graduate. Cocky and with a false sense of self-assurance, he would not consult with the seasoned noncoms, corporals and sergeants before an assault on known enemy activity. Still wet behind the ears and in fear of his life, he commanded the platoon to charge the machine gun emplacement while he remained at a safe distance. The platoon moved stealthily toward the enemy position. Just as they were about to overrun it, our commander, hoping to make a name for himself and secure a promotion with what he thought would be regarded a heroic action, lobbed a grenade that fell short. Instead of killing enemy soldiers, he killed his own men. We lost six, Bret among them.” On hearing this, Raul cringes. Had I been successful in ing the army, I could have been among the unfortunate six. He has always been told to look for the silver lining in the clouds, that disappointments are blessings in disguise. So he probably was blessed when he had learned of the stringent requirements for ing any branch of the U.S. military. Then he reflects on the number of times he was blessed—getting on the Seaworthy, meeting Mr. Grant Ashworth, getting the chance to escape Mr. Ashworth, meeting Jack Cousteau, and, the greatest blessing of all, Joyce Miranda. From the time he left his mother’s house, luck has been Raul’s strong suit, and he carries it with pride. Bret was an aspiring athlete with the Mets who coached the Little Leagues in his town of Reading, Pennsylvania. He was attached to his National Guard unit, and when the call had gone out for volunteers to the Vietnam war effort, he did not hesitate to shed his National Guard status for the regular army. Bret was not just your average citizen, proud to be an American, but when their country had called them to its war effort in Vietnam, many made bogus claims for deferment or pretended not to have heard the call. Bret, a true patriot, heard the call loud and clear. “Many a politician,” Puccini says Bret once told him, “make a good living,

claiming it’s because of their good citizenship they were elected by the people to represent them. But it’s only after they are in office for the term that the voters get to know more about them, maybe good citizens but bad patriots because we know many who have put their interests and the interests of their families ahead of all other interests.” According to Puccini, Bret was the quintessential patriot. His whole life centered on what he could do to help his people, make his country better. In his civilian life, he was given a fancy title of Drug Interdiction Officer with the police unit in which he served. There had been a determined effort by his department to interdict the many drug shipments that were made weekly into his district but to no avail, according to recent analyses, and stopping the distribution of it seemed as hopeless as Sisyphus getting the rock to the crest of the hill. In the law’s effort to allay the fears of the people concerned for their safety, there were constant claims of “We made the biggest burst ever,” each succeeding claim suring the one before in magnitude. But the claims were often without merit; they were bogus. Suppliers were getting more brazen with increasing supplies to meet the demands of a poorly informed populace of the dangers of hallucinogenic drugs, and inasmuch as dealers would not abuse consumption to their own detriment, the conclusion drawn was that increased shipments translated into wider distribution outlets, making policing more difficult once the drugs hit the streets. Once on the streets, the distribution chain widened and supply logistics deepened, and the size and frequency of bursts left little doubt on the minds of many that there were people in high places with important connections facilitating those shipments. It was alleged that the very law there to police the operation had itself been an enabler. When the police raided an area of known drug activity, they had arrested a few small-time dealers to appease the majority; they had an idea who the chief operators probably were, but the supply chain they had set up was virtually impregnable, so they went after the small guy, seeing in their action an easy and inexpensive way to acquire autos and boats for their cash-strapped departments. Later, the confiscation would extend to homes. But only the assets of the poor and the unconnected were subject to confiscation. Puccini says he has forgotten much of what Bret told him about the operations of his department before he answered the call of the recruiting sergeant to go from national guardsman to active army soldier. He re well his last assignment. “Two young men were under surveillance by the authorities, simply because

they were two nonwhites spotted loading bags into their van. My partner, Mark Bartow, and I stopped the van less than two thousand meters from the coast for a defective taillight as the mere fact of loading bags in a van does not give the law probable cause to stop it. The defective taillight gave us a legal out. The driver and his enger were not like me. They fit a profile. They looked different. The driver’s name, I well, was Andrew Yuba, a Haitian, and his enger was Ashton Lopez. By mere coincidence, they were from the same island but different countries. Lopez was from the Dominican Republic. The claim of a broken taillight was a lie, but my partner wanted to make our boss happy and, hopefully, earn him another streamer on his uniform. It was a common practice of law to go after those who fit their stereotypical profile and, when a law was presumed to have been broken by a majority member, blame it on those who looked different. The vocal majority seems blind to the crimes it too commits and lets loose the law on those who are disadvantaged by skin color. I regret having gone along with Mark. But that was the period when all the ills of society were blamed on those who lacked the resources to fight back. “The two, Andrew and Ashton, were stereotypes who fit a law enforcement profile, and Mark was happy to accommodate our department’s desire for … because the vocal majority breathes and lives law and order in its misguided effort to imprison the unfortunate many to keep their for-profit prisons full. Shamefully, greed and injustice drive us to monetize the institutionalization of the poor, even on a lie. We stopped the van. In the back seat, a tarp marked HAZMAT, the lettering crude and asymmetrical, covered a bulging object. Mark and I were both suspicious. “What have we here?” Mark asked. Lopez replied, “We are on our way to the HAZMAT dump.” I asked, “May we see?” Yuba cautioned, “Without protective gear and a respirator, this is dangerous.” Mark ordered, “Both of you, out. Get your hands up where I can see them. You”—he pointed to the driver, Yuba, “lean against the hood of the cruiser, face against the hood, and move only at our command.” “At that point, I wanted to say something, do something, but Mark outranked me. The two were searched for weapons but were as clean as a Boy Scout

whistle. To make a long story short, it turned out that the hazardous material happened to be 150 kilos of heroin.” Mark asked, “So this is hazardous material?” pointing to the heroin. Yuba replied, “Of course, it is. But we don’t usually label it as such.’ Lopez added, “That’s what we were told to say if stopped. Neither of us knew what the bags contained. We were on our way home when someone whom we did not know stopped us at the light on Nelson and Fifth Streets and asked if we wouldn’t mind dropping these bags at the dumpster in the parking lot on Ninth Avenue and Malcolm Road for $600 in cash, $300 each, good money that we got on the spot. We don’t make that doing yard work all week. We thought it a godsend.’ Then I asked, “What did he look like?” “Who?” asked Yuba. I clarified, “The one who stopped you and gave you the money, $600, for fifteen minutes of work?” Then Mark said to Yuba, “Okay, you may take your face off the hood and us. Did you take a look at the face of the man who gave you guys the money?” “No, sir.” “Why?” I asked. “Because it was a woman.” “Angry and pouting, Mark got red in the face. ‘A wooooman?’ he asked stretching the ‘o’ as if in disbelief that a woman had tried to pull this off.” According to Puccini, at this point, both cops were unsure what to believe. Yuba and Lopez were arrested, the drugs confiscated and the van towed in evidence. They both believed that Yuba and Lopez didn’t know what they were carrying. For $600, they were simply to deliver the cargo near a designated dumpster. They did not know the name of the woman who had hired them.

“When the two thought they were making a quick buck, they instead were headed to the slammer, no thanks to our justice system, which reeks injustice for the minority poor. The department should have dispatched officers to the dumpster and apprehended those who came to pick up the merchandise.” “Did they do that?” asks Raul. “No, they did not. They did not investigate the claim, which makes me believe those high in the department are complicit in the whole thing. It was at that point that I chose to go active, in spite of the department’s good pay and benefits.” Raul is happy to have initiated a conversation with Puccini, but he is curious about one thing: how could Puccini such details after so many years have ed? “Sherman, I’m curious. How could you have ed so much about the encounter with Yuba and Lopez? You recounted the incident as if it were yesterday. Of course, I wasn’t there, so I can’t say how much of it is accurate. But also, I cannot doubt what you have told me. I’d rather say you have an elephantine memory than doubt any of what you said. As my senior in years, I have to respect you. To be respectful of those older than I am is something embedded in my culture.” “Raul, don’t respect me simply because I am light-years older than you. Don’t flatter me this way. I’d much prefer if you believe me. How am I able to such details? When you are part of the problem you are trying to solve, the details are inerasable. And your regrets for not having done something about it will remain with you forever. If I were faced with the same situation now after serving with those who don’t look like me—digging and occupying a foxhole tly, depending on each for the survival of both—I would tell Mark he should not falsify a reason to stop a black or brown man simply because that’s what our department wants to see to appease a racist majority. “I pity those who have had no dealings with people who look different and those stupid enough to allow themselves to be persuaded that those who are not of my race should be avoided and looked upon as the enemy. What a shame! And you know what? I have seen soldiers returning from Vietnam with the same attitudes toward minorities as before. Separation of the races is so ingrained in them, beliefs probably conditioned by their racist parents and communities that they are difficult to shed. But you would think now that those Mama’s and Papa’s boys are adult, their attitudes would change with the landscape of the battlefield.

It appears that many a white soldier would willingly revert to our pre-1948 segregated armed forces. “Though President Truman was by no means a liberal fighting for equity for the minority, we should still thank him for his July 1948 Executive Order 9981, commanding the integration of the armed forces. What a glorious day that was! Truman was from Missouri, whose family ed the Confederate cause. But like President Lincoln, who put blacks, at the time Negros, in the Union Army to help win the Civil War, Truman saw integration of the armed forces as a winning tool for his reelection. In other words, it was political expedience that had informed integration, not the love of blacks by either Lincoln or Truman. You might be wondering why I’m saying all this to you. What is the relevance to the unlawful stop of Yuba by Sherman? To show that even when laws are ed to give minorities a fair shot at improving themselves, there are those of us who will regard it an encroachment upon our privilege.” In conversation with ordinary people he has met, Raul has heard a lot of boastful talk about them being citizens of this great country. Before Puccini spoke about the patriot Bret Vaughn, Raul mulled the definition of citizenship and citizens, one of whom he desired to be; he did not differentiate between citizen and patriot. He thought them to be the same. But after listening to Puccini, he comes to the realization that whereas all patriots are citizens, only some citizens are patriots. Although he is not a citizen, he is still willing to fight on America’s behalf; had he been allowed to wear the military uniform, he most certainly would have wanted to be a patriot. He feels too much emphasis is placed on citizenship and not enough on patriotism. Bret Vaughn was a patriot; his immediate commanding officer was a citizen. Raul is glad he has had this talk with Sherman because he now has much to tell Joyce when next they speak.

TWELVE

BUT RAUL STILL FEELS THAT THE PUCCINI STORY NEEDS CORROBORATION. He does not know what to make of Sherman’s revelation. He knew his partner, Mark Bartow, had done something morally and legally wrong and watched him do it. Protective of his job, Sherman did nothing to oppose Mark’s behavior. How many innocent persons have lost their freedom on the lie of law enforcement? Raul asks the question of no one in particular, and it would remain unanswered. Then he says, for Puccini’s benefit, “What a shame that good people see the evil done to others and remain silent.” Puccini wipes his face with bare hands, as if to insinuate to Raul, “See? I want to wipe away the guilt.” But guilt or innocence lies deep within oneself, not on the surface and capable of being cleansed; it can be felt but cannot be seen. Finally, Puccini says, “Raul. The fact of the matter is to this day, I live with the shame of my inaction. Even the horrific death of my friend in ’Nam could not deny me the memory of my shame. That’s the reason I’m able to tell you, with 99 percent accuracy, what happened that night so many years ago.” Years after he had left law enforcement, Puccini learned that his department had made a determined effort to find out who was behind such a large drug shipment as was found in the van that Yuba drove and in which Lopez rode shotgun. The city wanted to know who was behind the increasingly large shipments of drugs that were frequently dumped in minority neighborhoods. The commissioner stated, “We’ll spare no effort in finding the carbuncle that sores our collective backsides. In that effort, I have advised all precincts to give it their best, put new blood in the chase. I pledge to you, on your side are the highest elected and appointed officials. Behind you are the people. We must free our community of the scum that forms just below the surface of a society that has become intolerant of our lack of progress in the effort.” The drug problem was once viewed as the bane of minorities. They were the

ones dying of overdose. They were the ones being arrested. They were the ones whose few possessions were being confiscated in the war on drugs. Many had lost their homes to this monetization effort of fighting the drug epidemic by claiming, most times without proof that the home was bought with money obtained from the employment of an illegal activity and therefore was subject to confiscation, according to the law. The law wanted to stop shady characters from getting rich on the backs of the poor. But the law, in some ways, was silently complicit in the spread of the carcinogen that daily took the lives of so many because to the white lawman, the typical drug and seller was a young black or brown man. In the minds of the law patrolling minority neighborhoods, whites would never stoop so low as to indulge in mind-altering illicit drugs. It was only when the lie could no longer be hidden that they had finally come to their senses and realized that the use of illegal drugs or the involvement in other crimes had nothing to do with race or ethnicity. They began to view the problem as one requiring a more concentrated effort in search of its source among the influential and connected. At that time too, the law went after the number runners because this gambling activity had not gotten the blessings of the state and claimed that it was the very poor, in their expectation of a win when the odds were stacked against them fifty to one, who were most likely to be victims. The political leader claimed, “We could not stand by and let our citizens be preyed upon, grabbed in the talons of the raptor without intervention.” Enter the state, dressed in the armor of law to deliver the kiss of death to the numbers game and put on the mantle of protection of its citizens, introducing the lottery with odds of forty million to one. While the lottery has made the lucky few rich beyond their wildest dreams, it has, at the same time, deprived the poor of their lunch money. The ment “When you play, we all win” because it is for the education of the young does not help those on the poverty line hoping to get rich in a never-ending spiral of losses; and ‘You’ve got to be in it to win it,” while a truism, psychologically plays on the minds of the poor, who see their salvation from poverty in the state lottery, designed as a piggybank from which to fund education. Yeah, right! If you believe this, I’ll sell you the Great Wall of China. But the concentration now is on getting drugs off the streets, and the scum that floated just below the surface is now on top and encroaching upon white space.

Something must be done. The city has commanded the police to form a new unit specifically to investigate, interdict, and apprehend. The new department is known by the acronym DIPER (Drug Interdiction for Positive Enforcement Results) and is headed by Joanne Dimitri, who has been a lawyer in the office of the District Attorney and whose father is the erstwhile head of the police department, under whose watch the occasional use of illicit drugs has grown to an epidemic. Joanne was angered by the lack of prosecutions of drug dealers and suppliers; she wanted a change of career. She wanted to go from interpreting the law to enforcing the law and had been taken in by the sheriff to attend the academy, which, because of her legal background, she finished in one month instead of six. She is young and ambitious. Joanne’s job, as she sees it, apart from going after supply and distribution channels, is to clear the rumors that her dad enabled the distribution after he had been threatened by the Mafia don allegedly behind the large shipments of heroin being flown in by private jets from south of the border.

Joanne, the only female in the department, is a no-nonsense investigator. She is well aware that mistakes have been made in law enforcement—some deliberate, some genuine—and hopes to avoid the many errors that have tarnished her department. She re an incident that sticks to her memory like a leech to bad blood. She recalls her immediate supervisor telling her to doctor a report made on a teenager whom she brought in for questioning. The boy was the son of the supervisor’s nemesis, whose name he wanted to tarnish through his son. The boy had found a purse and opened it to seek out the owner, who had reported to the cops that her purse, containing a large amount of cash, had been stolen from her car. The boy, while going through the purse, was approached by Detective Dimitri, who thought him the purse snatcher. However, after questioning the boy, she believed his story, but she was duty bound to take him in for further questioning. Dimitri’s supervisor wanted the report doctored to show that the boy had indeed stolen the purse and wanted Joanne to intimidate him into an ission of guilt. However, putting rectitude above peer approval, Joanne refused the supervisor’s demand. The moral fiber she had brought to the job and that she’ll employ in her new position was the result of the strict code of conduct that informed her dad’s behavior while on the job. Just a week of her being in command of DIPER, Joan’s team of four, including herself, was assigned to surveil the harbor and the boats at anchor bobbing on

the waves. As dusk begins to overwhelm the ocean, the DIPER team arrives. Apart from the usual police equipment, they have a cooler with bottles of water, binoculars, and wet-weather gear, each of a different color. The weather is cool, with rain in the forecast. Having left their hats with their commander and with different-colored ponchos covering their police uniforms, to untrained eyes, they are beachcombers walking up and down, making sure to maintain good distance from one another—the better not to arouse any suspicion in those on the water and ashore. They are to report on anything that looks out of the ordinary. Inconspicuously, sagacious Dimitri sits on a wooden bench rotting from years of exposure to the weather and covered with saline mist and hidden among the seaside grapes. Within one hour of their arrival, Joanne observes a two-masted schooner anchored about five hundred meters straight ahead. It has just arrived. There are smaller boats, but this one has caught Joanne’s attention. Fixated on the schooner, she keeps her eyes on it for a while and then, in her effort to avoid hypnosis, averts her gaze to other objects on the water and back to the schooner, with much interest. Then she looks away and scans the beach, just in time to see something moving among the trees. She could not make out who or what it is and would not roll out the welcome mat, for it has violated the grave-like silence of the beach and probably her location she thought hidden and secure. For the time being, feeling secure, she would not move until the thing has changed location. It is later learned that the object that had disturbed the grape leaves was one sent by the cartel to check things out, to determine when it was safe for the cargo on the ship to make it to shore. He would his boss, not too far away, who, in turn, would transmit an update to the schooner. The detectives keeping the shore under surveillance do not see anything unusual or out of the ordinary to warrant reporting back to Dimitri, so she calls them back to the command post among the trees. Darkness has blanketed their world, and without moving the binoculars from her face, she tells them what she’s been looking at as celestial bodies glisten the ocean. She hands the binoculars to Tom Fath, her next in charge, to confirm what she has seen, which was not there earlier—a black bag secured to a mast, but she couldn’t tell if it is plastic or fabric. However, the way it sags, she knows the bag contains something heavy. Her observation of the bag is confirmed, but what the bag contains is still unknown. Joanne thinks of calling her boss to send the appropriate to check the schooner, but one of her colleagues tells her that is not a bright idea.

“If there was nothing illegal found after a search, you might be laughed at and reprimanded for the wasted use of the department’s marine assets,” she is told, and she agrees. As the water glistens by the light of stars, Joanne wants to take a closer look. But she believes they are being watched by the accomplices of those she surveils and does not want to throw caution to the wind, leave her hiding place, and walk toward the water’s edge, making her a target for surveillance. To the right of her location is a strip of land that juts into the sea; if she were able to reach the promontory without being seen, she could get a better view of the schooner and its on-deck cargo. She would also be able to view the waterline as the boat lies at anchor and get an idea if it contains much cargo based on how low it sits in the water. They are after drug smugglers, and the detectives think they have made progress in finding a conveyance for the heroin that was sold on their streets and other streets of the nation. On her reaching the promontory and taking a good look at the merchandise being repackaged in small boxes, the glittering objects being removed from the bag fill Joanne with dread and then pleasure. Pound for pound, what’s in the bag is much more valuable and less socially unacceptable on the streets, the envy of the elite and famous: diamonds. They have been stolen from a diamond merchant’s vault, an inside job pulled off by one of the guards sworn to their security. There is a sizeable reward for their return, but Joanne and her men do not know this at the time. Her department has been aware of the stolen jewels but has not put many resources into finding them because trafficking in illicit drugs is a threat to society; dealing in stolen diamonds is not, so the emphasis is placed on stopping the distribution and sale of drugs. Joanne learns later, after the people on the boat have been apprehended, that the movement she had observed among the seaside grapes that had invaded her quiet was a signal to the schooner, sent by the one who had seen them, that all was not okay for the merchandise to make it to shore, even though they had been advised of this by the boss. For Joanne Dimitri and her three officers the night, though successful for the department because of the reward money, the result is bittersweet. They have found the stolen diamonds but have made no inroads on the drug shipments that are sure to come in—if not tonight, tomorrow night or the night after that. She’ll be waiting.

THIRTEEN

JOYCE IS IN HER FINAL WEEK IN LONDON, AND SHE AND RAUL TALK TO EACH OTHER DAILY. Because of the confusion of the time difference, she initiates the calls. She loves England but wants to come home. One night, after a long discussion with Joyce, Raul dreams that he is in London, by her side, as she rides the underground to lectures and back to her dorm. He fears her going underground, thinking it refers to something sinister that demands anonymity. But when he awakes and realizes that London’s underground is no different from New York’s subway, he is relieved of the anxiety. The fear that he has is of the uncertainty that’s ever present in us when faced with the unfamiliar. Joyce has been in London for more than three weeks, but Raul still envisions her being in unfamiliar surroundings when, in fact, she has gotten to know the city well enough that, at times, she feels like being on the streets of Manhattan and using her subway system to get around. He imagines what it would be like to be in London, with Joyce, even for a short while, to visit the city’s museums and live the history evocative of England’s prowess. He pictures himself leafing through books taken from the libraries in Alexandria, Egypt, iring the stunning beauty of the Crown Jewels stolen from her colonies and asking himself, How was it possible that the comparatively small island nation, at one time or other, could have had a significant presence in over 90 percent of the world’s countries? But his imagination must remain abstract, just a thought occupying space in his brain, incapable of fulfillment. He knows there is no safe way to leave America, even if he wants to, because the exit would be permanent as he would have no way of reentering the country. Right now, without a port and papers evidencing legal entry to the United States, his status is “Stateless.” So now, instead of dwelling on a dream, Raul would channel his thoughts to those things he wants to accomplish while alone. He and Joyce have had discussions on the days ahead, what they wish to do before they validate their devotion in public in the holy sacrament of matrimony. Raul, having been successful in establishing credit with his layaway arrangement, buys the car he has been eyeing in the used-car lot he es every day on the way to the EL.

The Toyota Corolla has forty thousand miles on its odometer. “This baby is good for almost half a million miles before the engine breaks down,” the salesman says, exaggerating the car’s reliability. It looks almost new, with the upholstery retaining that new car smell. He arranges with the driving instructor to give him the remaining lesson in his own car to get familiar with it—the better to understand any peculiarity it might have and facilitate him ing the driving test, scheduled for Friday, four days away. Next Saturday, Joyce will arrive at Kennedy International Airport. Raul will be waiting.

He has ed his driving test and feels comfortable behind the wheel. He is glad to be free of his dependency on Jack Cousteau. Jack didn’t mind helping Raul in whatever way, but Raul had thought it an imposition he was using to the best advantage, and he wished it to stop. Now he has the freedom to move about without train or bus. He’ll take Jack with him the first time he goes to the city so Jack can critique his driving. With just a few days before Joyce’s arrival, he and Jack drive to the city one weekday afternoon, as he puts it, “to learn the nuances of traffic at rush hour.” He is free to travel where his car will take him, explore the city, and find comfort in its ethnic and racial diversity, but he must be careful. He is aware of his status and strives not to knowingly place himself in a situation to make anyone suspicious of him. The last thing he wants is to be stopped by a cop, so he wisely self-imposes boundaries beyond which he will not go. Jack is pleased that in the few months Raul has lived in his home, he has so quickly learned the nuances of the city and its law enforcement efforts. It is said that luck is when preparation meets opportunity. Well, Raul has prepared himself for the opportunity that awaits him. The substantial raise promised him comes through, helped by his initiative of seeing the need for a telephone in the office to help facilitate his employer’s business. Of course, his boss is never told that the reason for installing the phone is for Raul’s convenience in calling Joyce. That evening, he initiates the call to London, although he knows it is past 10:00 p.m. there. He wants to give Joyce the good news: first, his taking a driving tour of Manhattan, under Jack’s guidance; and second, his increase in pay, coming none too soon to help with their planning arrangements. That night too, he pays Pastor Roberto Miranda a visit, the last

before Joyce arrives. The transatlantic flight is scheduled to depart Heathrow tomorrow, Saturday, at 2:00 p.m. The nine-hour flight is due in at Kennedy at six. To make sure there are no glitches in his plan when he leaves the Bronx to pick up Joyce, on Friday evening, he arranges with Jack to make a dry run to the airport. The boys are thrilled that they are allowed to come along. He has no difficulty navigating through the toll booths to access the expressway that leads to JFK Airport. Jack guides him to a parking lot, but avoiding a charge, they choose not to enter. On the way back to the Bronx, Jack advises Raul to gas up in preparation for the trip tomorrow afternoon. “I don’t want you to run out of fuel and be panic-stricken on the road and not knowing what to do. I am sure you don’t want this to happen to you and disappoint Joyce in getting to her late,” Jack tells him. Raul’s thought is on tomorrow, and he shows no interest in what Jack says. His gas is a perfunctory exercise performed at the gas pump to which he attaches no purpose, except it has to be done to satisfy the need necessitated by tomorrow. The day Raul awaited so distraughtly has arrived, and he is beside himself. He spends most of the morning washing and polishing the Corolla and pacing up and down the sidewalk, as if this will speed up the time or Joyce’s flight for an earlier arrival. To ensure his timely arrival at the airport, Raul leaves home one hour before Joyce’s plane scheduled touchdown to allow himself ample time to park without feeling rushed. He enters the building and sits in the arrivals area and waits like one under intense pressure, awaiting an event whose outcome might set the tone for the rest of his life. His heart races to catch up to his thoughts. The announcement of a slight delay in the plane’s arrival sends Raul to the water closet and makes him anxious. He conjures up all manner of scenarios to be the probable cause of the delay, the last one fatal as the aircraft runs out of fuel. Before returning to his seat, he glimpses the arrivals screen and sees that Joyce’s plane is due to touch down at 6:15 p.m., early enough, he thinks, to allow him to get back home in daylight. Having just gotten his license, he does not wish to test his driving skill in the dark of night when he has his special one onboard. He toys with the idea that if they are denied the light of day, Joyce, a seasoned

Bronx driver, might take the wheel of the Corolla. But he doesn’t think it wise because, as she has just spent a month in a country where they drive on the left, she might absentmindedly not follow the flow of traffic and put their lives in danger. Getting killed together would be fine with him because he is certain Pastor Miranda would bury them in the same grave, thereby fulfilling his desire to be together eternally. Raul’s worst fears are behind him, his anxiety relieved, when he hears over the public address system, “BOAC Flight 4567 has just landed.” Within minutes of the announcement, engers begin to deplane, and Raul rushes to baggage claim, where they have arranged to meet. The engers were delayed by immigration and customs, and the luggage is already making its rounds on the conveyor belt. Raul looks intently at the tags to see if he could identify Joyce’s to pull it off before going around again, through the tunnel of darkness, and surprise her that he already has her bags. While he scans the luggage, not diverting his gaze from the belt, Joyce approaches undetected and stands behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he turns around to see her standing there; the smile on his face tells her more than his words could convey. He bear-hugs her and practically lifts her off her feet; the sneakers she wears for comfort on the long flight clear the floor. He holds her up for a few seconds before he finds the words to speak. “Oh, how blessed I am to have you back in my arms! During your absence, I lived a nightmare. Now you, the love of my life, have awakened me from it, allowing me to live unstressed by the anxiety that visited me during the time you were away.” “Raul, the thought of you fueled my desire to return immediately. Lectures ended yesterday. All of Amanda’s urging to spend time to see more of the country could not sway me to remain. I know what awaited me on my arrival— you. And seeing the reception I got, I’m proud to have made the right decision.” “Honestly, Joyce, after a month in London, I thought there would be in you the telltale sign of one who had just arrived from England—say, like a British accent.” “Be serious. Do you really believe that I would, in such a short sojourn, negate twenty-three years of my American culture? I tell you this. If one ‘pretended’ to,

that would be affectation, pure and simple. There go my two bags.” “I thought you left with one.” “Yes, I did. But that smaller one, I bought from Harrods to carry the few small things English I could not resist for myself, Dad, and you.” They get to the Corolla, and Joyce is pleased that Raul has made an excellent choice. It is still daylight, and behind the wheel, Raul is confident when they enter the expressway because it was just yesterday when he had completed a dry run of the route, with Jack sitting in the enger seat; now it’s occupied by the young lady he’s taking home. He would have wanted nothing more than to be able to take her to the Cousteau home, where he lives, but he’ll have to wait some more, when Pastor Miranda will offer him Joyce’s hand in marriage, before this can happen. Joyce is an adult, a full-grown woman, but she adheres to the traditions of her tribe to not bed with a man who is not yet her husband. So he must take her to Pastor Miranda. Early that night, Joyce arrives home, to her dad’s delight, and he is filled with the satisfaction that he has raised a young woman who can be truly referred to as lady, without qualification. The pastor greets and thanks Raul for bringing his daughter home. Raul does not relish the thought of traversing Simpson Street, the most direct route to Jack’s home, in the dim light of streetlamps, so he takes leave of them. He and Joyce have much to talk about, but they have plenty of time to do so, she having just returned from a stay in England, and it is gentlemanly and proper to give her some space with her dad before he engages her in matters matrimonial. The pastor is well aware that the two are committed to spending their lives together, but they seemed shy or unwilling to show their mutual devotion with a shared kiss, so Joyce sees him to the door, and in the same spot where they shared their first kiss, like a breached levee flooding the land because it could no longer hold back the water it was designed to contain, emotions inundate the landscape of their desires. On arriving home, Raul fills the family in with the details of Joyce’s arrival and how he was anxious when an announcement was made of a delay. “A lot went through my mind as to the probable cause of the delayed arrival. Thank God I didn’t have to wait too long before the plane landed,” he tells them. “I wanted to commemorate her return by accompanying her to her dad’s church tomorrow, but better that she stays home or, if her dad insists on her attending

Mass, goes alone.” Alone in her space, she’d be allowed the time needed to reminisce on the grueling month she has just completed at the London institution, on which she is to report back to Chancellor Miranda early Monday morning. Although tomorrow she would prefer to stay home and rest, being so respectful of her dad, she would not deny him her presence in church and the pride he would take in telling the people the reason she had not been at Mass. The pastor is not one given to boasting of himself, but when it comes to his only child, he is not reserved in his carefully chosen words to make her accomplishments public. “The vainglorious and pompous praise themselves with boastful words. The humble give the praise to others,” he says. As far as he is concerned, it is not vainglory to speak in endearing of the accomplishments of his daughter. It should be cause for celebration, and for him, it is. More than a month ago, he had announced her selection for the sabbatical, the reason the people would not be seeing her; now that she is back, he owes it to the people to announce her return and what she has done during her sojourn. On Sunday morning, Raul goes with the Cousteaus to the Catholic Church, which he visited with them some Sundays before. He knows how long the Mass is and will not wait there until the priest says, “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,” in the early afternoon, the reason he’ll drive his own car to leave when he wants to. Jack and Marie allow the boys to ride with him. The start of the week is uneventful for Raul; for Joyce, it is different. When she reports to the chancellor in the midmorning on Monday, she meets so many school officials there. Glowing from the reports that have been transmitted by wire from London and proud of what Joyce has accomplished, in justification of the chancellor’s selection of her, many school officials were asked to be present at Joyce’s debriefing. She is surprised to see them, most of whom she knows, but she is by no means unprepared. Self-assured and decisive, Joyce explains everything to them. With much satisfaction and pride that the right selection had been made, they all suggest that she be given the rest of the week off, especially as her Saturdays in London were not part of her free weekend, which she got at home. On Monday, Raul and Joyce will again be in the same building. They are on

different floors, and unless duty calls her away from her office, they will be under the same roof during the day. As the situation allows, they’ll have lunch together at a restaurant or takeout for consumption at his desk. As he contemplates what lies ahead, Raul is unable to sleep nights until just before dawn. Many nights, he thinks of his mom, Bootoo, and Barbe, the three people he cares about back in his native land. There, he had very little and could not have been able to lift himself up by his own bootstrap, as he had been told when he had questioned the lack of opportunity, because to do so, one must first have a boot. He didn’t have one; nor was he able to acquire one. Now he can. Since leaving his country, his ambition has been blessed with opportunity, which he would not let without going after it. Luck is his badge of honor, except he doesn’t carry it; he lives it. He is most fortunate to have met Joyce but is very lucky to have met the Cousteaus, who have privileged him with a family in the divine concept of brotherhood. Jack and Marie are the closest Raul comes to having role models. Back home in the old country, there was none other than Father Beard whom Raul could look up to as a role model, one to emulate. But although his life had lacked the trapping of wealth, Raul never spoke of the poverty of his family because if we move the definition of poor away from “the lack of material things” or “having few possessions,” Raul was not poor. While material things in abundance may allow for good living, it will not necessarily guarantee you a good life when the love of it overwhelms your spirituality. Raul has been and is filled with the spirit. God has endowed him with the gift of life; his payback to God is what he does with the privilege. Joyce is happy for the time off. She arrives in Raul’s building at lunchtime and tells him the good news: that she does not have to report to work until the following Monday. With no engagement ring, Raul proposed to Joyce at Outback. He has the ring in his pocket, which he plans to put on her finger tonight at Outback, but he sees no need to delay this if they can have lunch together. It was at Outback where they had had their last supper before she embarked on her sabbatical, and it’s only appropriate to have their first dinner there upon her return, where he’ll put on her finger the ring he lacked when he had proposed to her a little over a month ago. Some of the workers there that night and give them a warm welcome with their applause. During lunch, they begin to discuss making plans for their wedding. Raul tells Joyce that his mom has again been denied a visa on the grounds that the name on

the visa application does not match the one in her port. It appears that the visa service wrote her last name the way it is pronounced, without a silent t, causing the people at the consulate to think the person named on the visa application, Manigo, is different from the one in her port, Manigot, and no matter the letters attesting to the sameness, even one from the priest, the consulate was not swayed in her favor. They are both disappointed, but there is not much they could do to have her present at their wedding. Joyce hopes they will be more fortunate with her mother, whom she has not heard from. The days that follow leave them seeking Marie’s help in the planning. The oppressive heat of summer is slowly yielding to cooler temperatures, and soon, the leaves on the trees that were planted along the roadways are far enough apart so as to give one a clear view of the sky when the trees have been made bare of leaves by the changing season. They have consulted the pastor on certain aspects of the planning; to save costs, the wedding will be at Miranda’s church, officiated by a close clergy friend, and Pastor Miranda himself, a semiprofessional photographer, will take the wedding pictures.

FOURTEEN

AT THE JAPANESE RESTAURANT WHERE THEY ARE HAVING DINNER LATE ONE FRIDAY, THEY BEGIN TO SPEAK OF A DATE ON WHICH THEY WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE THEIR “I DOS” TO EACH OTHER. Things take on a seriousness that Joyce expects one day would come, but she placed it on the back burner of her mind, to be brought forward when the time is appropriate. Raul is setting the pace to keep her on target with as much interest as he could muster. A bemused Joyce begins to contemplate just what it was that had drawn her to him. Was it what he didn’t say as a way of introducing himself? Or was it the way he had made his presence felt with carefully chosen, princely words? She knows she loves him, has committed her life to him in exchange for his soul; her dad has blessed her choice of man to be her lifelong companion. Is there no turning back? She can withdraw from all the promises made but cannot return her dad’s blessings. What about her mom’s command “Never share saliva with a man whom you don’t intend to marry?” They have kissed repeatedly. While all these thoughts are present in her mind, Joyce gives in to her Christian virtue and takes Raul’s hand in hers. “I look forward to a happy life with you and have our children grow up in a loving and stable environment.” On her expressionless face, Raul thinks he sees a slight hesitancy. “What were you thinking of, my darling?” “It’s nothing that would impact our unity.” “Will you let me know whatever it was that gave you concern? After all, in a few weeks, we’ll be husband and wife, and it is only appropriate and fair that we share our difficulties and our anguish as we should share our happiness and our joy.” “I just thought, do you know me well enough to pledge your life to me? We have known each other for about six months. Is this time enough to learn what’s in a person’s heart and soul? And, Raul, I answered this question. It is not the length of time you’ve been with a person that determines whether you know the person well enough to bare your soul to him but rather how the souls communicate with

one another. Is there compatibility? On that very morning by the elevator, my heart leapt as you approached me. I knew there and then that I was divinely directed to be there as you ed. We are meant for each other. Let us enjoy our meal as we discuss our wedding plans.” Raul begins to assess the situation, the once-in-a-lifetime event for most people, and he sees it taking place before winter sets in. But they see it’s to their advantage to involve the pastor in the planning. They both acknowledge the importance of making the final decision on their own. But Joyce resides in her dad’s mansion and is his only companion. She’ll be leaving home after the betrothal, so they think it respectful to make him an important decider on the day his daughter sheds his last name and takes on a new one, that of her husband. He hinted to Joyce to keep her last name unhyphenated. It should be either Miranda or Manigot, preferably Miranda because, although the decision is ultimately Joyce’s, he would prefer to keep the Miranda name in the family. As he has agreed to pay all the wedding expenses, Joyce has silently deferred to him on this matter, even contemplating naming her kids Miranda. She thinks it is perfectly legal for a married couple each to retain their pre-married names. There is nothing in the law that would deny them writing their names Raul Manigot and Joyce Miranda. When Joyce broaches the subject with Raul, his response is noncommittal: “I am not defined by a name. Nor would I want our kids to be.” In the weeks that follow, the lovers find out even more about each other. They find out that they are so much alike in many ways; however, each has information they think not appropriate to tell. But neither do they want to seal their devotion to each other in holy matrimony with untold secrets, which might find fertile ground on the lips of gossipers, so they should come to with the information they have knowingly withheld from each other. Raul’s secret is really not a secret. It would not be categorized as such if Joyce had been willing to let him tell her how he got to America. She has no interest in the circumstance of his arrival. But he’ll try again to educate her on his resourcefulness, aided by Bootoo, in getting to her land. “Raul, do you love me unconditionally?” She wants to get into his heart by way of conscience for what she is about to tell him. “Joyce, my darling wife-to-be, how many times must I tell if you let me marry

you, I’ll be yours always? Of course, my love for you is not subject to qualification. It is solid, it is true, and it is eternal. So why the question?” “I told you of the dates I once had with three former schoolmates at different times, of course, none of whom I would have married, and the reasons I did not go out with them any more than twice, one for whom I would not have wasted my time seeing a second time. What I did not tell you is that I also had a steady suitor before the three. We dated for two years, beginning in my seventeenth birthday, and ended a month shy of my nineteenth. He and I were of the same age and began dating when we had both attended Fordham Prep. Gunther’s dad worked as an engineer for General Electric, and his mom worked as a government official. They lived in Stamford, Connecticut, but had an apartment on the Upper East Side. “Gunther told me his parents came to America years ago from the city of Hanover in . Unlike his dad, whose words and actions seemed liberally objective, his mom, the second cousin of a German colonel whose memory lives in infamy, was not thrilled that her son was dating a Puerto Rican girl and cautioned him not to get serious with one not of his ethnicity because she would not like to be the grandmother of children who would be considered the scum of their Prussian heritage. In other words, she did not want our children to besmirch her pure Aryan blood. I told him to inform her that no matter how sternly we deny it, in every human, we can find traces of our African ancestry. That there are people with unadulterated blood is a myth. Gunther was smart, handsome, jovial, and understanding.” “Joyce, why is all this important?” “You’ll soon find out. At seventeen and a half, we both went to university. He was itted to Columbia, while I went to New York University. He had a dorm on campus. I commuted. Twice, I went to his dorm to study, and both times we ended our study sessions in his bed. It was on one of these nights that had I lost it—my virginity. So, my darling, the flower you see in full bloom has lost some petals along the way. Would I have married Gunther had he been allowed to marry me? Yes, I would.” “Now I understand why you thought the information relevant to our relationship. But having slept with a man does not make you any less of the person you are. I see before me a whole, unblemished young lady. You may have dropped a petal

or two as you developed your bloom, but your corolla is still intact. My love for you remains steadfast. If I had left it room to grow, I would have told you it has increased. But the cup filled to the brim can hold no more. Will you please explain why you speak of Gunther in the past tense?” “Because he is no longer with us. One bright Sunday morning in late October, when the trees began shedding their leaves and the colors along the roadway were like a beautiful mosaic painted by skilled hands, Gunther took a motorcycle ride with a friend up the Henry Hudson to ire nature’s splendor. According to the investigators responding to the accident, the two on the bike were traveling at a very high rate of speed and could not avoid the debris that had been spilled on the road by a construction truck illegally on the parkway. The motorcycle plowed into the roadway hazard, blowing out the front tire, and catapulted the two riders. They landed on the pavement with such force that they were killed on impact. And I blame Gunther’s mom for the death of her son because that was the very Sunday he had arranged for us to ride the train to Stamford to visit with his parents, but at the last minute, she had nixed his plan and gone ballistic, overruling his dad’s approval for my visit. Had Gunther’s mom not denied him the chance to introduce me to them, he would not have been on the Henry Hudson that morning. An ambitious young man, so full of promise, is gone before age twenty.” Raul, the understanding pragmatist, asks, “Am I to believe that it’s because of Gunther’s death that I am privileged to sit at this table with you?” “Had his mom not denied him my visit, he could have been the one seated across from me. But she did not want the relationship to continue across ethnic boundaries. And on my suggestion, we terminated the courtship to allow him to stay in his mom’s good graces and continue to enjoy the privileges of her . But, Raul, it is said that sometimes blessings come disguised as tragedy. The tragedy is that I lost Gunther. The blessing is I gained you. It’s as if his death and our shared destiny conspired to bring us together. Now that I have made my life an open book, which pages of your book haven’t I read?” “Joyce, I enjoyed your story immensely and respect you for your welldocumented narrative, presented to me like a dream, beautiful in the abstract but forgotten upon awaking. I do hope that when I narrate the you are about to hear, you’ll take it with the same calmness I have displayed in hearing yours. Here it is: At the outset, I am not authorized to be here. I’m here illegally. I

arrived in New York on an Eastern Airlines plane from Puerto Rico after arriving in PR as a stowaway on an American-owned ship flying the Bahamian flag. So yes, as of now, I am an illegal alien, subject to deportation if the circumstance of my presence here reaches the ears of the INS. More than a month ago, I tried to tell you, but you did not want to hear any of it.” “Who else knows about this?” “Jack and Marie.” “So it’s only the four of us who are in the know on this? Let’s keep it that way. The fewer, the better.” “You mean I should not tell your dad?” “No—I mean, yes. You tell him that you are here illegally but skip the details so should he one day be confronted with the information about your adventure, he can safely disavow any knowledge of it.” “My dear, if you’ll still want to marry me after this disclosure, we must prepare for any eventuality that may arise because of my immigrant status.” Raul tells Joyce all that needs to be said, from the time he left his mom’s home to the time he arrived at Jack and Marie’s home. What happened in between, he spends the better part of an hour explaining. The information concerning Ashworth and his escape from him intrigues her. He explains that the Catholic Church was preparing to send him to a religious school in New York but that his impatience had coerced him to the Seaworthy, and his luck with the deckhands saw him safe in San Juan. He tells her that his eagerness to get to the United States was informed by his burning desire to the army, but he found out that was not possible without papers of legal entry into the country. He tells her of the lengthy discussions with Father Barbe and his questions to him on the Bible. As weeks yielded to days, the time remaining until the wedding could be tracked by the hour. Last night, Raul had lain awake, wondering what it would be like for him if, by some happenstance, his status became known and the authorities were closing in. Should this happen after he betroths Joyce, might she be in trouble for harboring him? He has speculated on this before, and tonight, as he looks out his window and sees the light pollution of the city has denied him a night sky, his thought drifts and carries him home to where, in the absence of

artificial lighting, he sees the bejeweled sky as nature’s well-designed planetarium. He re going out in the dark of night, the blackness violated by an occasional firefly, to look up in awe at nature’s beauty and try to comprehend the stars, what makes them twinkle—and are they capable of sustaining life? He re his French teacher at L’ecole Jean-Baptiste de la Salle trying to explain the planets, but his explanation of the stars remained rudimentary. “There are many in the galaxies” was all he could say. Nonetheless, Raul respected him for not delving into a topic the world knew little about. Raul had had enough of misinformation on many topics, such as those dealing with Africa and the Africans, and he was happy the teacher had not attempted to fill the students’ heads with more European mush, ed down to them as scholarly research. He re well the lectures on Plato and Socrates, Aristotle and Cicero, Julius Caesar and Shakespeare, others and the Aesop fables. But as he got older and visited libraries, he came to the conclusion that Aesop is the same Esop who was born in Phrygia, Asia Minor, in the sixth century BC, a freed slave usually portrayed as ugly and hunchbacked and whom Western civilization has made Greek. Raul opines that if you are the one writing history, it can easily become his story—your stories, as you want them to be ed, not as they actually are. Truth has no bearing on the facts, and if you are the ones in control of the printing presses, the facts are whatever you want them to be. Joyce has bared her heart in the telling of her affair with Gunther. Raul does not judgment. Instead, he respects and loves her even more for being so candid on such a delicate subject; he would have been none the wiser had she withheld that information from him. After all, at her then nubile age and with her reproductive juices seeking validation, he does not think it fair or prudent to ever bring it up and sprinkle salt on a wound she hopes has scabbed. Now he wants to match her honesty and tell her about his life as it pertains to another woman. Apart from what is normally revealed when a bath suit is worn, Raul has never seen the parts of a woman usually covered by fabric. Joyce is incredulous. “Are you telling me, indirectly, that you have never seen a naked woman?” “On my honor. And before you, I had never kissed a woman. Of course, I’m not so naive as to not know the composition of a woman’s flesh and those parts she keeps hidden from the public. I know the anatomy and physiology of women, but I do not know woman.”

“Raul, we are practically of the same age, and you are telling me—and I believe you—that you are a virgin? You make me feel guilty for having lost mine. I am grateful to you for forgiving me of the action that made it happen and putting it out of your memory, allowing it to be buried in the graveyard of forgetfulness. That’s an advantage the forgiver has over the one forgiven, for the action that brought about the need for forgiveness will remain in the subconscious until … until maybe time, in an inexorable act, blots it out.” “Joyce, one seeks forgiveness because of the commission of sinful behavior. What you did was not sinful. It was a natural act that our society incorrectly thinks should be done only in consummation of marriage. I have put it behind me.” “But won’t it be in front of you if you turn around?” “Progress comes from moving forward, never backward. Ambition, aspiration, and hope are all encased in the forward thrust of vision. And the way you looked at me is like saying there is something lacking in a man my age that has never slept with a woman. Your action and my inaction on the subject of sexual intercourse would not have been known to either of us had we not been honest, and it would have been able to remain that way even after we are married. So please let us not see this as a topic for discussion. As a young man growing up with a mother who had endured much pain in the murder of her husband, I would not have felt justified in putting any woman between her and me.” This is the second Thursday Raul hasn’t call his mom, Annette. Two weeks ago, during their usually long conversation, when each updated the other about what had happened at their end, Annette told Raul that a few days ago, she had experienced discomfort in the heart region of her chest and that the doctor had not visited the dispensary in three weeks, so she had not been able to get a medical evaluation of her condition. Ma Pujor, playing nurse, told her, “It’s nothing but gas. Drink some ginger tea. It will go away.” But it did not. When Bootoo picks up the phone, he tells Raul that his mother did not come to the rectory last Thursday and had not been at Mass that Sunday, so Father had sent two parishioners to check on her. “They found her dead on the kitchen floor, and all indications are that she had been dead of a probable heart

attack for more than a day because of the stench that permeated the air all around the house.” The priest did not rule out a heart attack, but he wanted to be sure of the cause of death, so he called for an investigation. The goons had gotten word that Annette had complained of chest pains, so it would be relatively easy for a doctor to sell the lie of a misdiagnosis. The paramilitary wanted to be in good standing with the church, so in an attempt to satisfy Father’s interest in the cause of death of Annette Manigot, they sent for their incompetent medical examiner, Dr. Stump Sysco, to go through the process of writing a death certificate. Although the evidence of death by strangulation was unmistakably conclusive, Dr. Sysco reported, “Death from coronary embolism.” The doctor’s connection to the president through the paramilitary made his report final. But Sysco was the same doctor whose professionalism had been questioned when he had reported the death of a young woman who had been poisoned as “Death from prostate cancer and the sudden demise of an elderly man as from infantile paralysis.” Sysco had been sent to the country as a goodwill gesture from his government and had quickly fallen behind the dictator, accepting the title Chief Medical Examiner and Coroner. Sysco had a shady past in his home country, and the government was planning to pull his medical license but, in an effort to not shame the institution where he had attended medical school and the law that issued it, would utilize his knowledge in what was considered a humanitarian act by giving him an assignment claimed as foreign aid. Bootoo tells Raul that on Father’s direction, his mother has been buried on her property. Father Barbe has covered the burial cost for a carpenter to make a coffin box and dig the grave, for which the priest does not expect to be paid back. Raul was a mere toddler when he had lost his father, and the death of his mother under still-to-be-confirmed circumstances leaves him dumbstruck. The opinion given on the matter—a heart attack, according to Bootoo—leaves Raul with visions of his mother lonely and alone, trying to fight off the reach of death’s grip as it robbed her of life, and he could no longer be coherent with Bootoo, telling him he would call back in a few days “after I gather my thoughts.” But Annette Manigot did not die of a heart attack. It was a cover-up engineered

by the paramilitary. Unknown to her, the goons had been looking for Raul to make him pay for his disobedience in refusing to witness the necklacing of his friend. When it was learned that Raul had left the country, the goons went after his mom. They knew her to be a frail woman, living alone, an easy victim. They had given the responsibility of Annette’s eradication to a low-level goon sworn to loyalty to the nefarious force. The two parishioners Barbe had sent to check on Annette said, in spite of the stench, they were able to observe fingermarks all around her neck; the impressions seemed to have been made by a very strong man, for they were deep, indicating the application of much pressure. Raul has already wired the money, which could be claimed by Bootoo per Raul’s standing instructions with Western Union, and tells Bootoo to repay Father the burial cost and keep whatever is left. When Raul discloses the death of his mom to Joyce, she too could not fathom what happened to her mother-in-law in the making. After she expresses her sympathy and offers condolences, she says simply, “My heart goes out to orphans. Raul, honor her memory and let her life continue on in you.” The loss of his mom leaves a void that would not be easily assuaged. Yes, time, with its healing attributes, may wipe away some of the grief, but the sadness brought about by the absence of a loving parent will linger. He re the days his mom held his hand as they walked the dirt road of their village to Mass. Those days are long gone, but the remembrances cannot be wiped clean as easily as erasing information written on a chalkboard. But dwelling upon a loss, however gravely felt, is to impede personal development and stifle ambition. Raul knows that he cannot spend days and weeks lamenting his dead mom, so he’ll honor her memory in the things he hopes to accomplish for the living, such as helping those involuntarily housed in the Edifice, which his mom hoped she could have done. When he is married, he sees himself being able to continue to selflessly give, lest ego compels him to turn the spotlight on himself, and he knows Joyce values philanthropy. Raul now knows for certain that his mom will not be there to see him walk down the aisle with Joyce but revels in the knowledge that Gunther’s death has made him the luckiest man alive to have had the good fortune of having as wife the smartest and prettiest young lady in all of the Bronx. He has just been told of the loss of one of the two women in his life, and therefore, his focus must be on the

one he still has, the one to become his wife. The lyrics of the song tell us one can find another wife but not another mother. However, in Raul’s case, finding another to take Joyce’s place has the same level of probability as finding a mother. The wedding is one week away, and arrangements are being made for the important of the wedding party. It is agreed that Pastor Miranda’s church will be the venue for the service, to be officiated by one of Miranda’s clergy friends. Joyce has heard from her mom, but she does not expect that she will be coming and has asked Marie to fill in the void, to which she gleefully consents. To keep costs down—although Pastor Miranda, who would pay all the expenses, is not penurious—Roberto would be the official photographer, he having years ago studied photography while he attended the College of Divinity. Two of Joyce’s women friends Marie to make up the short guests’ list and do other things that are necessary on the bride’s side. At the top of the list of invited guests is Chancellor Miranda, followed by Amanda, to give the chancellor someone to talk to in case she knows no one else in attendance. Of the forty people making up the list, the four Cousteaus and Raul’s boss are the only ones on his side; the rest are people known to Joyce and her dad as friends. The weather forecast for the wedding day promises a “cool, dry day with a slight afternoon breeze—chance of rain, 5 percent,” almost guaranteeing it will be dry. But no weather prediction can be with absolute certainty, so they have arranged for the reception at the pastor’s mansion as a backup if the weather prevents them from using the open venue they have booked. In the privacy of her office, Joyce gives her mother’s letter a second reading. She won’t be attending the wedding. But for Joyce, her only child, she wants all the good things of life she wants for herself and more. She explains to Joyce that although she loves her beyond measure, she would prefer not to be there and be the focus of the people, taking the attention away from the bride. Most on the guests’ list are probably people known to Joycelyn and would have many question for her about her new life, which she would prefer not answer, and the only way she could graciously shy away from them is to leave them unasked by not being there. She says further that Joyce’s dad has been there for her and with her all along, so she would like him to merit the spotlight on his daughter’s special day. Because she has not been in Joyce’s life as her dad has been, she defers the moment to Roberto Miranda.

For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.

––Ephesians 5:31 (NIV)

FIFTEEN

THE WEDDING IS TODAY, AND JOYCE IS IN A RESPLENDENT WHITE GOWN, WHICH SHE RENTED FROM A BRIDAL STORE, MARIE AT HER SIDE, HELPING WITH THE CHOOSING. She thought it a wiser decision to rent a dress for the one-time event than spend a fortune on a specially made dress to be used once. She is not given to vainglory and wants no train and no jewelry other than what she usually wears. Most brides hope to enhance their appearance on their special day to with the use of a specially made wedding gown and an assortment of jewels. However, on Joyce, such an extravagant use of fabric would have the opposite effect. No dress, no matter how expensive the cloth, and no jewelry, no matter how exquisite the gem, could magnify the bride’s beauty, sure to bedazzled all in church. As far as most in the wedding party are concerned, the only one missing to make it a wedding to is the bride’s mom. Joyce is disappointed but not sorrowful. If she grieves on the inside, she graciously hides her emotions from those around her. She re that in most of her growing-up years, it was her dad who had a more physical presence. She thinks back on all the happy days she spent with dad and the quality time he always made for her. Her mom loved her very much, but she was often away on business and could not share in her daughter’s joy when she went to the park and visited the Bronx Zoo with her dad. When still in her single-digit years, she most enjoyed going to the zoo. As she has gotten a little older, she still enjoys going there with Dad but not as much as before because she weaned herself of the childhood thrill of watching animals in captivity. In fact, it pains her to see how the animals, once free to roam the wilderness, now are corralled behind fences for the enjoyment of humans. Though she still glows when in the company of her dad as he explains the cruelty of the wild to her, Joyce would question him on the necessity of keeping some animals caged, and Dad would attempt to soothe her worrisome feelings. “It might seem cruel to you, dear, but sometimes it’s for their own safety they are caged as they are often preyed upon in the wild.”

Her love of seeing animals in their natural habitat drove her to pester her dad to walk with her along the banks of the river to see fish where they belong. She re him holding onto her hand in a protective grip to cross her safely across Fordham Road and walk to the river. Along the banks of the Bronx River, it thrilled her to watch the water cascading over slippery rocks and the fish jumping up, out of their natural habitat, as if in an attempt to escape predators, only to dive back in, headfirst as if at play. Joyce reminisces on those long-ago pleasures and hopes with her own kids and husband one day to relive those joyful days. The start of “Here Comes the Bride” brings her back into the moment. Marie plays her role as matron of honor, and the younger of her two sons is the ring bearer. No sooner does Joyce’s dad give Raul her hand in marriage than he retreats to the room in back of the sanctuary to get his camera. In most churches, including Pastor Miranda’s, pictures are forbidden during the service. But this is his church, and he sets the rules. He is privileged and exercises his right to take pictures of his daughter’s wedding ceremony, although in the past, he has denied others that privilege. Father Barbe has sent a congratulatory message and prays that Raul and Joyce live a peaceful and joyous life, strengthened by the love of Christ, protected by his power, and governed by his wisdom. Bootoo could not get over the fact that it was by his intrigue that Raul had gotten on the Seaworthy, and now he can safely say that Raul has successfully breached the invisible wall the INS has erected to keep out those they perceive as more likely to become a drain on the system. But Raul has stealthily found a way to make a fissure in a system thought impregnable. The weatherwoman was right on target with her forecast for the day. The temperature remains comfortably cool all day and into the night. When the wedding party arrives, Roberto is already there, ready to resume his picturetaking duty as he greets the guests. The place is beautifully decorated and cozy, a perfect setting for the small number and the menu has been selected and prepared by a well-known chef whom Chancellor Miranda knows, and his service is in gratitude to her for getting him a job at one of the best restaurants in the city. The officiating pastor gives the invocation, and while people eat, well-wishers, most of whom do not know the groom, pay tribute to the bride, with many

repetitions as each, eager to be heard and not wanting to vie from their prepared speech, seems not to have heard the words spoken by the speakers before them. Joyce’s few words have everyone in tears and standing. Raul, pregnant with words, gives a lengthy speech, thanking all present for helping make his day memorable, and ends with a tribute to his wife’s dad for finding him worthy of his daughter’s hand, ending with “Joyce and I together will have much adventure as we explore the societal landscape, holding hands in everlasting love. We will make you proud.” Pastor Miranda wraps up the speeches. “What a glorious day it was when our daughter was born! As the father of the bride, I feel privileged to speak of her growing-up years and the exceptionally beautiful person she has become in and out. From the moment I laid eyes on her after birth, I knew right there that she had captured my heart, and her presence in our home would bring endless joy and happiness. In that regard, she has not failed me or her mother, who, unfortunately, could not be with us. Today, as she takes on a husband and begins her life anew, she gives me a new beginning in a son. Raul, I welcome you into the family. “You’ve heard it said that your son is your son until he takes a wife, but your daughter is your daughter for life. I am in endless happiness that Joyce is mine until my end! And she and Raul will make an enviable team. Raul is an intelligent and enterprising young man who, after our many meetings and discussions on relevant matters, has proven himself worthy of my daughter’s hand. He is lucky to have Joyce as a wife, and Joyce is fortunate to have Raul as a husband—both morally sound, God-loving and God-fearing. They will make sound decisions as they pursue a life of joy and happiness guided by God’s wisdom. Be kind to each other. Listen well—the better to understand what is being said. Most disagreements in a happy marriage are the result of misunderstanding because we failed to listen or were not empathetic to the other’s concern. Pray much, laugh hard, and let your love for each flow pristine, unblemished by externalities. As you begin the rest of your lives together, let God rejoice in your union, and prosperity will accompany your happiness. Congratulations!” Both the bride and groom again thank the guests, Joyce in Spanish and English and Raul, not to be outdone, in Spanish, English, and French. The master of ceremonies puts on Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable” on his turntable and asks

the newlyweds to open the dance floor, and a short while later, other couples in. Everyone has a night to , and before the dancing is over and the event closed, the newlyweds leave on their week’s honeymoon in the Poconos, a gift from Raul’s boss. During the three weeks preceding the wedding, the pastor, contemplating his aloneness in the big house and unknown to both Joyce and Raul, had three rooms converted into an independent unit for the couple, except they will all use the one kitchen. The house in which Joyce was raised and called home will remain her home, which she will now share with her husband. When they return to the Bronx a week later, they collect the wedding gifts from Marie’s, where they were warehoused, and bring them to their new home to be opened. In one of the gift envelopes is Pastor Miranda’s explanation of the conversion of the rooms for the couple’s comfort. This is the most expensive and gratefully appreciated of all the gifts, followed by one from Raul’s boss, giving him another raise, in addition to the week spent in the Poconos. Many of the other gifts are exact duplicates of things already in the mansion, so Joyce gives them to Marie, making sure to get the names and addresses of the givers so she can acknowledge them with thanks. That Joyce’s dad has seen fit to prepare a living unit for the newlyweds tells us a lot about him, a Christian acting in the way a true Christian should, with empathy and selflessness. Some may say that Roberto Miranda’s action is not entirely free of selfish motives because he wants company, and what better company to have in your home than that of your own daughter and son-in-law? To the two starting out in a new life, a free dwelling unit is the gift of a lifetime. Yes, the pastor has indeed hinted about his aloneness after Joyce gets married and gets a home with her husband. “How will I cope all alone in this big house when I use only four of its nine rooms?” he once asked Joyce. With all the spare rooms in the mansion begging for occupancy, the pastor could not bear seeing his daughter and son-in-law paying rent for an apartment in a building that, most likely, is under-maintained by a landlord seeking to maximize profit. So yes, the pastor’s willingness to arrange for a free and independent dwelling unit in his mansion is also for his benefit. The young couple has now settled in the free unit in a mansion owned by Joyce’s dad to begin their lives in his shadow. The pastor is well aware of his son-in-law’s immigrant status but shows no concern. He thinks there probably are hundreds of thousands of

illegals living in the city, so why concern himself with a son-in-law who is counted among them? Of course, he will not mention this to anyone. Those who should know are already in the know on this. It’s no one else’s business. Joyce and Raul are both satisfied with their jobs. She is almost at the top of her profession, but he has ways to go before he could comfortably claim to be cresting his, and Joyce suggests further education for him. Raul, seeing the wisdom of his wife’s advice, offers no objection, except that he does not want the couple to depend solely on Joyce’s income during the time he attends school as they prepare to grow the family. So instead of day classes, he will attend school evenings and nights while he works days to bring home a paycheck. Seeing as he is already good with figures and numbers and already works in the ing field, he’ll study to become a Certified Public ant (A). He realizes it might take about four years of college study before he would feel qualified to sit for the A examination. But he—a pillar of self-confidence, with good study habits and willingness to burn the midnight oil—might finish in three years what takes most to accomplish in four. Raul’s school, L’ecole Jean-Baptiste de la Salle, carried a scholastic rating the equivalent of that of a top-tier community college. He was told he would not be itted to a university unless the grading system employed by his school could be translated and shown to meet the requirements for ission to an American four-year college or university. But that process would take much time as he would have to the government school and expose his whereabouts to the goons. So rather than go through with the suggestion, he was alternatively advised to get an American high school diploma or just sit for the high school equivalency, which was scheduled to be given on Wednesday next week. This, he did, and when the results came two weeks later, respectfully protected in a cardboard cylinder, he showed no surprise that he had excelled in all the subjects but the one that was specific to American culture, on which he scored in the 95 percentile. In less than two months of Joyce’s suggestion that her husband pursue higher education, Raul submits his application for ission to Fordham University’s undergraduate program. He will take his courses at Rose Hill campus, not far from where he resides. His acceptance assured, he prepares to start the beginning of the school year in late August. Meantime, Joyce is promoted to assistant chancellor. At first, she was unwilling to use her husband’s last name, but now she goes along with it so that the chancellor and her assistant are not of the same

family name, which might give rise to the accusation of nepotism. Raul’s employer has received lucrative construction contracts, and it has become necessary for him to hire two office helpers to work with Raul, to whom he’s given the title of office director. The young couple couldn’t have planned it better. Eight months after walking down the aisle and giving her hand in marriage to Raul, Joyce announces to her dad that she and Raul are expecting their first child, a boy, to be named Felix. He takes the news with much excitement that he’ll be given a grandchild to convenience the family tree with another branch. In the ensuing three years, the family has another boy, given the name Mario, to complete their planned family of two of whatever gender. But there is no unanimous agreement on giving the boys a family name. A retired nurse, a regular attendee at the pastor’s church, is happy to care for the children when their parents are at work. Raul has graduated from Fordham and ed the A examination on the first take, excelling in both theory and problems. He has been offered better-paying jobs with large ing firms, but loyalty compels him to stay where he is because, he says, “happiness in one’s job and satisfaction with one’s employer are denials to the stress of the workplace, and stress is a major contributor to illnesses.” Innocuous disagreements that will invariably creep into an upright family’s dialogue raise their ugly heads at dinner one night. It is the matter of naming the children, a subject that has been put to rest but that the pastor has again brought up to lend his to his son-in-law. Raul, believing that Miranda is more of a household name than Manigot, prefers giving the children their mother’s family name in respect of their maternal grandpa; Joyce, on the other hand, has insisted on Manigot. Nevertheless, drawing upon her cultural roots, she yields to Raul, much to the pastor’s satisfaction that his family tree will sprout new branches. The ensuing discussion on the subject gives Raul the chance to tell his wife that she must not be too eager to accept his opinion as final on matters concerning the family, that he is not one to accept the patriarchal idea that the man is the head of the house. “My mom would have none of this. For instance, in my country of birth, as in all others, women cannot be denied visibility but are often denied a voice, but my mom went against the usually accepted idea that a boy must carry on the family name and instead gave me her surname instead of my dad’s. I hope you learn something from her boldness, though subtle, to flout the norms of society,

however much intractable. I mention this to drive home the point that there is nothing wrong in letting our kids carry your last name. They could not have factored into the decision-making on this, but no one has questioned us on giving Felix and Mario the Miranda family name. You have my word. Should God grace us with another child, boy or girl, we will choose Manigot as the family name.” Joyce seems appeased. “It is hoped,” she says, “that women will find their voice on all matters domestic, but first, they must be heard. It won’t be easy, for, from my observation, whereas men will find it necessary to compete in pursuit of selfimprovement, it is believed that women are envious of other women’s successes and will do all they can to make sure they do not enhance the status of the object of their envy. Men—correction, some men—believe that women must play an inferior role in society and will assign them lesser roles to their belief. It matters little or none at all if women are of the same intelligence as men and possess the same attributes. Man’s ego will keep him believing that he is superior. Because he has assumed control over the lives of women, he is emboldened to keep this thinking alive and feel duty bound to maintain the chauvinistic idea that the house and riches are his inheritance.” Raul responds, “I the thinking of women who believe that only the willingness to share their experiences will enable them to create a world for themselves. But I believe too that women, as a group, should create an atmosphere of inclusiveness, exhorting each to all in the common cause. I am disgusted with men who have taken the role of gatekeeper to the social realm but saddened that women have not stuck together in of a movement to make them worthy to be heard. When women unite, they will find strength to take on the patriarchal status quo and make the case for themselves. You know why I am sad, Joyce? Because those who have taken control seem to forget that their mothers are women. Their sisters, daughters, wives are women. Without women, they wouldn’t be here. And yet they seem so base in their marginalization of women. They have even established gender-specific functions that are exclusive to them and to which women need not apply. So please don’t ever believe that kitchen work is a woman’s work and mowing the grass is the responsibility of man. These functions can be switched without the world falling apart.” They are both happy that, so far, all is going as they have planned it. But Raul knows he is not out of the woods with U.S. Immigration and needs to

occasionally look over his shoulder to see if he is being followed by the system that wants to send him back, deny him all he has accomplished, like those they have recently rounded up and deported for overstaying their visa. Some of the deportees have also been charged in engaging in sham marriages of convenience, in which the alien weds a U.S. citizen or legal resident for a fee, in the hope that they can gain legal status through the purported nuptial. This backdoor approach to legal residency only comes to the attention of the INS when the citizen is not paid the agreed-upon fee for service rendered and has made a complaint to the police. But Raul’s marriage, lawful and in the presence of many witnesses, could not be termed a sham under present law and therefore would not be grounds for deportation. Nonetheless, he might still be victimized by overzealous immigration agents, and the likelihood of this is constantly on his mind. Joyce observes this and suggests that he put the worry aside and, for the moment, make the best use of time. During the decade of Raul’s illegal presence in America, the government—not satisfied with the large number of undocumented persons in the country, which is thought to pose a political liability for the president to deny him the next election —has suggested amnesty for those who have entered the country at the southern border and have been model residents for more than ten years. Raul did not enter the country at the Mexican border, but he could easily claim he did, making him eligible to apply with the millions who would answer the call. But he thinks it just a clever way the government has come up with to ensnare the unsuspecting, so he will not be among the applicants. However, when it is written and broadcasted that the granting of amnesty for qualified persons has been genuine, Raul regrets he did not take advantage of the privilege to be made legal. The government proposed rounding up for deportation undocumented persons who had not made a significant contribution to the country’s development, which would include many millions, making their deportation untenable. On realizing this, the government has instead made the wise decision to offer amnesty to those meeting its stringent qualifying criteria. Raul hopes that within the next decade, the chance will come again to legalize his presence in America, when he’ll still be a relatively young man just past the midpoint of his life expectancy. Reminiscing on the hopelessness of his adolescent years, Raul is living the life he has never thought possible. He still sorrows in silence over the death of his mother, especially because he was not there to bid her goodbye as she embarked on her eternal journey. In the back of his mind, he thinks that had he been home, he might have been able to get his mom the medication she needed, which might

have saved her life. But he finds solace in self-deprecation of the thought, What assurance do I have that my presence would have prolonged her days? Long ago, Raul rejected the idea of the self-appointed religious pundits who claim there is life eternal after temporal life is ended and that there is hope that one day he’ll see his mom again. He believes those who tell the bereaved of meeting their dearly departed in the eternal life don’t believe in the words they speak but say them in offering their condolences for the consumption of the present public and in consort with their religious upbringing. But no one has returned from the great beyond to explain the concept of eternal life after temporal death, so Raul will not dwell on the possibility that life continues after death. He knows that his mom was very much empathetic toward those at the institutionalized housing they called the Edifice, and he’ll do whatever he can to help, in the name of Annette Manigot, immortalize her memory in giving from the living he makes—the better to have a life. The love of his mother will forever live in him. Love is strong and cannot be vanquished by time, but sorrow is weak and transient and cannot forever find fertile ground in the sympathetic heart of the grieving. Therefore, it’s time he files sorrow away in his drawer of remembrances, and moves on with his life, for life goes on—it must if the memory of death is to live.

When preparation meets opportunity and the union produces a positive outcome, some will be quick to call it good fortune, while others will call it luck.

SIXTEEN

LOOKING BACK ON THE LIFE FROM WHICH HE WAS HAPPY TO DEPART, WITH ITS TRAUMATIC REMEMBRANCES OF HIS DAD’S MURDER AND HIS FORCED OBSERVATION OF HIS FRIEND BEING NECKLACED, RAUL’S LIFE CAN BETTER BE CHARACTERIZED AS ONE OF LUCK. But he had the good fortune to be prepared always, not to neglect the opportunity that had knocked at his door. It was a lucky day when Father Barbe had acquainted him with Maurice Gaston (a.k.a. Bootoo). It was his good fortune that Bootoo had been able to get him on the cargo ship Seaworthy, and meeting the two American deckhands on the ship who were able to disguise him as a crew member, helping him to debark in Puerto Rico without incident, was a notch shy of miraculous. He was extremely fortunate to have met Mr. Grant Ashworth in San Juan, who got him on an Eastern Airlines plane to LaGuardia Airport in New York City, and it was by sheer luck that Raul had connected with Jack and Marie, who treated him like family and gave him advice that would help him quickly to acculturate. Some might say that Raul’s success in getting to the United States, in spite of the obstacles, must have been divinely guided because of the relative ease he was able to outwit those who had placed the obstacles in his way. But he does not believe in fate or predestination. He says this belief is theology driven, claiming that God’s hand is evident in all we do, in all that happens. “If we believe that, are we then not leaving open for discussion the belief that God also has a hand in all things bad, evil, and repugnant?” he asks. “And suppose I had been tossed overboard like no-longer-needed ballast. Might some have said God had a hand in it? Why are there many who will ascribe supernatural intervention when the outcome is pleasing but are quick to reject God’s hand in the unpleasant, even when they claim that our all-powerful God controls everything? If he is in control of all, it follows that he commands the good, the bad, and the ugly. Don’t you think so?” The adventure that had beckoned him, directing him to search and find whatever it was that would allow him to cancel the dark memories of his past, happened

without some external force directing it. He knew he would not yield to failure and surrender, vanquished, before he had a chance to satisfy the urging that spurred him on. When he thinks of what happened to those who had stowed away on the Saint-Elmo, he cringes in contemplating the probability that he too could have been tossed alive into the ocean, thrown overboard along with the trash. He even compares such an ending with what might have befallen him had he been found by the goons. Neither of the two outcomes, he could survive, but the punishment inflicted by the goons came with more suffering. Was it by divine intervention that the Americans on the Seaworthy had been with much moral character and courage to shield him from danger? Or was it his good fortune that Bootoo had smoothed the way by his long-held friendship with the deckhands? He does not ascribe supernatural intervention or divine interference to his being able to make it to America. At the moment, all he knows, all he cares to think about, is that he is in America, the land for which he was willing to fight to preserve her greatness and do whatever was demanded of him to help keep it that way. He is well aware of the forces of indifference that are constantly present and lying below the surface, waiting for the spark to set ablaze the embers of hate. But he does not dwell on such stifling thought, for he knows the good people far outnumber the bad ones, and it is for the good people and for the good of the country that he was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice—if, through it, he can prevent the existence of a government like the one he left, controlled by lawless goons. His desire to get to America would energize his determination to make it happen. He crossed a menacing sea on a voyage fraught with danger to arrive in the United States, only to be denied the privilege of wearing the army uniform. He was disappointed that he could not be a member of the U.S. military because he lacked the necessary documents to allow him to the U.S. Army and therefore could not satisfy the dream he had when, at age five, he had told his mom he wanted to be a soldier. Was it luck that he could not the army and be sent to Vietnam, where he might have been killed? Or was it simply that he did not possess the necessary papers of legal entry to allow him the uniform? But it was luck, however one chooses to define it, that Raul had met the Cousteaus, who steered him in the right direction, allowing him quickly to assimilate in the society he wishes to call his own. Marie’s advice that he find an intelligent girl who is also pretty to start a family was the catalyst that had spurred him on to better things, giving him the courage to start his first

conversation with a young woman on the subject of companionship. His initial was not with the average young female but with Joyce Miranda, the beautiful daughter of a prominent Protestant minister and prolific author. After becoming familiar with Joyce, Raul surmises that it was his good fortune that had privileged his pleasure of Joyce’s companionship. Of course, he felt sorry for Gunther losing his life in a motorcycle accident, which, he believes, would not have happened had Gunther’s mother not objected to her son arranging to bring to their Connecticut home a young female not of their Germanic tribe. But while he had told Joyce of his sorrow for her loss of the young German with much promise, silently, he rejoiced his good fortune in gaining her. Gunther’s misfortune is his good fortune. He hesitates to think what might have become of Joyce had Gunther lived and been able to impress upon his mother the delight of the Spirit on seeing God’s creation, loving and accepting those who look different. Though it was very likely he would have been in the building where they had met and Joyce at her job, it was most unlikely that he would have had the occasion to meet her waiting for the elevator on the morning of their first meeting. This was a clear instance of preparation meeting opportunity, and he was prepared. Spurred on by Marie’s advice that he gets only one chance to make a good impression, he would not let the opportunity slip away without making that good impression, with words of wisdom to compel the attention of the young woman. Having succeeded, he would later thank Marie for her advice, which opened a window to a life previously shut by unreasonable inhibitions of fear. He had not found words of endearment to interest the young females in his social orbit because they, lacking his erudition, might have misconstrued his meaning, so he thought it better to let them think him shy. He could live with that. But here in America, the land of opportunity, he will gladly give hope a seat at the table of his desire. Here, he must find his voice, vocalize his thoughts, and express his feelings, all of which he utilizes to his best advantage. He re the first day they met and wonders if it was his opening line that had won Joyce’s heart. He will never know until he asks or she volunteers to tell. It’s been three years since they have become husband and wife, and the pleasant wedding march played out on the organ still rings in his ears. He reminisces on that day he and Joyce walked hand-in-hand down the aisle as well-wishers dissected Joyce with their gaze, as if wishing they could tell the source of her beauty. Raul re watching the women—all on Joyce’s side, except Marie

—on whose faces he saw curiosity, or was it discernible jealousy at the exceptional beauty of the bride, wishing they could relive their younger days and emerge with her radiance? He is happily married and satisfied with his job and rejoices in the knowledge that his kids are healthy and well-adjusted. They have all that a reasonable middle-class family could want. Pastor Miranda is delighted that his home, once seemingly dead, is again alive with the movement of little feet running around his home and silently agrees that’s the way life should be lived. He has accepted Raul not as a son-in-law but more like a biological offspring, and with palpable happiness, Raul returns the pastor’s love with respect, which pleases both father and daughter. They have spent another Bronx winter, and the deep snowdrifts have given way to puddles along the streets and avenues as early spring beckons, with trees that seemed dead now alive with new growth. Raul has a week’s vacation, Felix is on spring break, and Mario, five, will be pulled out from his Montessori school for a week. Joyce, meanwhile, will take time from her accumulated sick days to be with her family during the week they will spend in the Poconos. Long, they have wanted to return to the location of their honeymoon and, once again, savor the pastoral landscape of Felix’s origin. The boys are agog with palpable excitement. The trees show signs of waking up from their winter slumber, and most of the snow has melted, with just enough left on the nearby hills for the boys to use the sled Raul has carried, tied to the luggage rack of his new Subaru. At the Holiday Inn where they honeymooned and where the life of Felix began, they are given a suite one floor above the smaller room where they spent their first days alone and together. That room, made vacant the night before, was offered to them, but with just one queen-size bed, it would not have been comfortable for the family. The suite with two separate beds suits their purpose, and the boys love the fact that they would sleep together. By the third day, the boys are tired of sledding, and it shows in Felix’s impatience. In the Bronx, there was much to occupy the imprudence of their youth, but in this remote part of Pennsylvania, with little to keep those from mischief, Mom and Dad have now to learn the art of parenting by making promises: Chuck E. Cheese one day, the zoo the next, and the mall on Saturday, the day before leaving to return home. The few days away from the Bronx and the hustle of urbanized traffic give Joyce and Raul a new perspective on life as it relates to the rearing of children. As the

boys have a caretaker most of their waking hours when not in school, there was not much to occasion Mom’s and Dad’s impatience, so the going away has been a learning experience. It’s early afternoon on Sunday, and the weather is late autumn-like, dry and warm, as they load the Subaru for the trip home. With the windows rolled down, they head toward Delaware Water Gap. Joyce takes in deep breaths of air; on her face, the regret of leaving the beautiful, hilly landscape is evident. She wishes the family could stay longer, but tomorrow, Monday, she and Raul have to return to work and the boys to school. They take Interstate 80 toward the George Washington Bride. In midafternoon and still far from the bridge, they are forced to slow down and stop because the traffic is backed up for miles. Joyce tunes the radio in hopes of hearing the reason for the backup. With the Subaru’s fuel tank still nearly full and hours remaining before the boys’ bedtime, there is no need for panic. But after two hours of going nowhere and while the kids are getting restless, Raul is alert to his surroundings when he observes policemen approaching cars to speak to the drivers. He has no idea what’s being said. The cop on his side of the road goes to the driver in front of Raul’s Subaru. Raul is certain he sees the officer’s nametag, but at his distance, he is able to make out only the first three letters, which he thinks are I-M-M, the beginning of the word immigration, and he freezes. The INS has finally caught up with him! He is certain the officers are asking questions pertaining to his immigrant status. Joyce observes her husband’s anxiety. “Why are you trembling? It’s seventy-five degrees. Are you feeling cold?” “My dear, I’m sorry to have brought this upon you, putting you in this situation. Please forgive me. I thought I was in the clear, but they seem to have followed me. But how did they know I would be on this road at this time? Of course, the hotel has our checked-out time. They also have our address and would assume us headed home, information they could give to immigration. But the suite was booked in your name. Nowhere on the application is my name mentioned, so how could they have located Raul Manigot?” “And what makes you think they are after you? And what are you sorry about? What do you want me to forgive you for? Raul, be aware that sometimes the guilt we wish to conceal is inadvertently exposed because we show fear. ‘Do not

be afraid,’ we read in Isaiah 54:4 (NIV). ‘You will not suffer shame. Do not fear disgrace. You will not be humiliated.’” “Let me answer the last question first. I seek your forgiveness for putting you in a situation where you might be alone with the boys. And I am sorry for leading you on to wed an undocumented person, who, at this minute, is on the radar screen of the INS. I now answer your first question. What else would cause them to tie up traffic for hours if not to arrest those without legal entry papers or other documents of authorization to remain in the country? If they arrest me, they will ask for your name and those of the boys, but they will let you go. You can drive the car home.” In the annals of immigration adventure, Raul’s is without incident. But all good things must come to an end, and it seems his luck has run its course. He sees himself being taken into INS custody and deported to the land he escaped to save his life. If he is returned, he knows the goons will be waiting at the airport to escort him to his death. He doesn’t know what manner of excuse he can give to satisfy the government to forgive his undocumented entry. As far as he knows, this has never happened. However, showing lenience of conscience, the government, at times, will allow the immigrant to willingly go to a neutral country and, while there, legally apply for reentry, and Raul hopes that will be his punishment. He takes some comfort in the thought that the INS will consider his American wife and American-born children and spare him the punishment of deportation or incarceration before deportation. Raul inches his car forward to occupy the space left by the car in front, which has also moved slightly. He knows there is a Ford Expedition on his tail but is not able to read the tag until he moves forward and before the Ford does likewise. When he sees the U.S. government license plate, his heart skips a beat, and he shivers like one who has been out in the cold without the proper clothing. For sure, he thinks he’s been trapped! The cop is through with the motorist in front and walks toward Raul. As the officer touches the hood of the Subaru, as if to confirm its presence, Raul holds his breath. The sweat on his face indicates to Joyce that her husband is no longer cold, but his heart is racing like that of one facing imminent danger. The officer signals for Raul to roll down his window. A rapid glance at the nametag allays Raul’s fears, allowing his heart to resume its normal beat; Sergeant Immogene is in charge of traffic. “Good afternoon, folks,” he says. “I just want to let motorists know that they

might be at a standstill for a while longer. There has been a horrific pileup on the Bronx side of the GW. I got a report of multiple deaths, and emergency vehicles are having a difficult time getting through because of the unusually heavy traffic. They are doing all that’s humanly possible to clear the road and get you folks home.” He doffs his cap to Joyce—“Ma’am”—and walks away. “Daddy, why did you look so scared when the policeman came to our car?” Felix asks. “Because I was afraid he was going to give me a ticket for the sled tied to the luggage rack,” he lies. “See?” deadpans Joyce. “There is nothing to fear but fear itself. From now on, let nothing but faith, love, peace, and understanding occupy the deep recesses of your being, allowing you to live life abundantly. You have earned it. Your wife deserves no less. Your boys demand it.” At this time, the population of undocumented residents of the city is estimated at nearly one million, and it is near impossible for the government to keep track of each, especially as the identities of most are unknown to Immigration. Raul is one of the unknowns. Feeling safe from his wife’s assurance that he is not on any police radar, he is relieved to see traffic move again.

ABOUT THE BOOK

It is hoped that even those fleeing oppression would follow a legal process to enter the United States. However, for some, that process takes too long, and they will find ways to enter by illegal means. Among those is ambitious eighteenyear-old Raul Manigot, fleeing the oppression of a despotic regime defined by corruption. Coerced into silence, he is unable to express his opinions even on things apolitical and wants to live free of the system that inhibits his development. Finding protection in the church, Raul vents his frustration to the village priest on matters of religion and expresses his desire to be in America. The desire to live free is a powerful stimulus that will move people to do the unimaginable. Raul lacks the patience to pursue legal entry to the United States. So he stows way on an American-owned, Bahamian-flagged merchant ship, well aware of the dangers faced by those of his race who had taken such a chance on European ships. Lucky for him, he meets friendly deckhands on the ship who get him off in Puerto Rico. There, he meets a Midwestern farmer who has no trouble getting him on a plane to New York. In time, he falls in love with and marries a beautiful young woman, the daughter of a Protestant minister. As the years wear on, the young couple, with their two sons, lives a comfortable middle-class life. The fear of immigration catching up to Raul is a daily reminder that his life in America lacks permanence; he is comforted by his wife’s assurance that all is well.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Gabriel LeBlanc was born in Dominica, where he attended the St. Mary’s Academy. While still a teenager, he immigrated to England and arrived in the United States two years later and ed the U.S. Army, hoping to be sent to Vietnam, but after the completion of his military training, he was sent to for the duration of his service obligation. When he returned to the United States, he went to school and became an ant, but military service was in his blood. So after years in banking, he returned to the army, through the National Guard and Reserve. He is now retired and lives in Florida with his wife, Ramona.