The Traveling Death and Resurrection Show - Ariel Gore [56]
At 7:30 she finally lowered the lights and took to the stage, dejected. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth…”
When Barbaro fed me my beet red juice and I stood, resurrected, Madre rose from behind me.
A sudden boozy voice from the darkness: “That’s my boy!”
Tears streamed down Madre’s face, streaking her makeup pale under the lights as she rose.
After the show, Madre changed into corduroys and a man’s dress shirt, and we took her grandfather out to play pool at Hell’s Kitchen.
Pia didn’t ask about the rest of her family, but her grandfather explained anyway: “Simple ignorance,” he said. He patted Madre on the back. “You do a damn fine show, son.”
The Hermosa Beach Playhouse looks more like a public school than a theater, a big concrete building squared by southern California palms, but the marquee advertises my stop clearly in red letters:
—Tonight Only—
THE DEATH & RESURRECTION SHOW
I nod my thanks to the driver, step off into the blue flame of late afternoon. I make my way across the wet lawn toward what looks like a main entrance, careful not to disturb the sleeping wino in my path. On the corner, two protesters argue with each other, one holding a sign that says “Jesus Loves You,” the other wearing a giant crucifix and yelling “Repent!” But they don’t seem to notice me.
The box office isn’t open yet, so I just creep in through heavy doors.
From the darkness of the back of the house, I watch my fellow travelers unfurl the indigo backdrop, position platforms onstage. Paula rigs the ropes and swings with the help of a slim woman I’ve never seen before. Have I already been replaced? Tony tests his amp, serious-methodical. Lupe rushes across the stage, then back again, preoccupied. Barbaro sits crouched in the corner, fidgeting with his carnival mask. They don’t need me. I could tiptoe out of here so easily, get back on the bus, and just keep going. Anything in motion desires to stay in motion. The show would go on. But who ever cheated fate by running away?
I remember the first time all seven of us performed together. Must have been a couple of weeks after we left Baltimore. We’d gotten waylaid in a thin-walled motel room in the middle of a December storm that knocked down power lines and stranded travelers up and down the eastern seaboard and into the Midwest.
“Where ya going in such shit for weather?” the motel guy asked as I headed out on foot. “Crazy,” he muttered.
But if you never walk through a blizzard, you’ll never know how much heat the human body emits. I trudged down the icy highway in search of provisions and a plastic Christmas tree covered in tinsel. The single open minimart making a killing in the storm.
Back in our crowded motel room, we drank blackstrap rum from the bottle and ate black-eyed peas from the can, decorated our fake tree with Manny’s LEGOs.
Manny worried that Santa wouldn’t make it through the blizzard, and Lupe tried to convince us all to lie to the child about the date. He was so little yet—How would he know if we postponed Christmas for a week? But we couldn’t agree to the hoax, and Saint Nick and those reindeer are no weather wimps. They flew through the sky and down into our chimneyless room, bringing Manny a Curious George doll and a shiny red fire truck. Madre Pia got a snow globe with a nun in it, and Paula a green and black flask. Barbaro scored a copy of The Smile at the Foot of the Ladder, and Magdelena got clover honey and a feather boa. For Tony there were red and black striped socks, and for Lupe, a conch shell so she could listen to the ocean. As for me, Santa saw fit to wrap up a gaudy copper crucifix. I wonder what ever happened to that thing. It wasn’t big, but it dripped fake jewels—ruby, amethyst, and amber—reminded me of the absurdity of everything.
By Christmas night, the storm had said its piece, and for seven days nothing fell from the sky. Still, the snow and ice refused to melt. The passes remained closed. Streets were left unplowed. We waited, frozen.
Lupe listened to her conch shell and watched the moon out the window.