The Hummingbird's Daughter_ A Novel - Luis Alberto Urrea [44]
Tomás bought a wax-paper cone filled with diced mango, papaya, orange, and shaved coconut. He sprinkled chile powder over it and ate the tart cubes with a toothpick. He was bored enough to feel relief when the church bells rang and all the hypocrites swarmed out of the church, men putting their hats back on, and women casting off their head coverings. Scuttling little people just as venal and superstitious as when they’d gone in. Liars trying to look pious for each other. And that damned Padre Adriel, no doubt eyeing the young girls of the rancho and stirring under his ladylike robes. All a big show to somehow fool an absent God into overlooking their sins. Tomás wadded up his wax paper, tossed it angrily into the bushes, and headed over to the front steps of the church, where that irritating papist was squatting with Teresita.
Adriel said: “Are you consorting with Huila, my child?”
“Consorting?”
“Studying with her?”
“Yes, Padre.”
“Beware, child,” he admonished. “The heathen ways are fraught with danger. Many have thought they walked with angels and have awakened with devils.”
“What?”
“You see, Satan is not a monster. We don’t see him when he comes, because he has disguised himself in beauty.”
“What?”
“The devil is, after all, an angel of light. The Morning Star. Do not allow yourself to be seduced by the beautiful side of evil.”
“Huila is evil?” she asked.
“Huila is beautiful?” interrupted Tomás.
Adriel stood.
“Ah, Tomás.”
“More propaganda, Padre?” Tomás said. “The Mass wasn’t enough for you to twist this young woman’s mind?”
Teresita stared up at them with her mouth open.
“Go play,” Tomás said.
“All right.”
She skipped away.
“Protecting the innocent from Satan,” said Adriel.
Tomás slapped him on the shoulder.
“Very noble!” he said. “Any tips for me?”
“Don’t look in the mirror,” Padre Adriel replied.
Tomás laughed out loud.
He extended his hand.
Adriel looked at it for a moment, then took it.
“I will miss you, pinche Padre,” Tomás said.
“And I you.”
“Care to come to Sonora?”
“Oh no,” Adriel said. “That’s Jesuit territory. The Society of Jesus will take care of you.”
They shook hands again, then stood there looking at the ground.
“Well!” Tomás said, finally.
“Yes!”
“I suppose it’s time.”
“Yes, well. Go with God.”
Tomás startled the priest by saying, “You too, Padre. You too.”
He reached out with his right hand and laid it on the priest’s arm and gave him a gentle squeeze.
He stopped in the middle of the street and turned back. He walked back up the steps to the young priest and said, “Padre?”
“Yes?”
“If I ask you a question, will you answer me honestly?”
Adriel didn’t know if it was one of his tricks or not.
Still, he said, “If I can. Certainly.”
Tomás sighed.
“Doesn’t all this . . . ,” he said. “Don’t you ever . . .”
“What, Tomás?”
“Don’t you ever just get tired of religion? Isn’t it all just exhausting?”
Padre Adriel considered him for a moment. He crossed his arms, then put a finger to his lips.
“My friend,” he said, “no one is more tired of religion than a priest.”
Tomás was startled. He smiled. Nodded.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t mention it.”
He started back down the steps.
“If you think of it,” he said, “say a little prayer for us.”
Adriel watched him walk away.
Tomás called over his shoulder:
“If you do mention me to God, be kind!”
And these were the ones and these were the things that would go into the desert:
Tomás.
The Engineer Lauro Aguirre.
Huila.
Three cooks, two housemaids, and a milkmaid. Three laundrywomen. Their children.
Antonio Alvarado Segundo with a full complement of cowboys and hired riflemen. Also, Guerrero and Millán, two miners from Rosario, in case Tomás decided to attempt a new enterprise. They rode borrowed horses, Millán famous for his good looks and ferocity, Guerrero famous for his long hair, said to be longer than any Indian’s, both men drunk.
Buenaventura on his swayback nag.
Forty of the best horses and three hundred head of cattle, twenty-three dogs, one wagon-riding cat, thirteen pigs, twenty herded goats and