The Traveling Death and Resurrection Show - Ariel Gore [67]
In the windowless room, the cops wait for Lupe, eager with their damn photo.
“Just leave her alone—” I say. But of course they will not.
When she finally emerges, she hasn’t eaten or slept for two nights. She holds Tony’s arm to steady her walk.
“Lupe?”
Like they have any right to call her by her first name.
“We know this is a difficult time for you.”
Disoriented, Lupe thanks them. She’s still wearing her blue costume from the show.
The gangster cop thrusts the mug shot in her face. “Do you know this man, Lupe?”
She stares at the face, silent.
“Have you ever seen this man before, Lupe?”
Dark eyes, thin lips.
Tony and I stand on either side of her, waiting for her denial, but she’s quiet.
“Lupe?”
It’s like the cops know something.
Lupe nods slowly.
“Did you see this man in Sacramento, Lupe?”
The tall one leans in. “Or maybe you saw him when you stole his car?”
“Shh,” his partner whispers, like maybe they’re going to get something out of this stunned mother after all.
Lupe’s expression doesn’t change. She says, “That’s my husband.”
Chapter 26
WHAT YOU WOULD HAVE ME DO
Keep traveling? Stay in Los Angeles to help Lupe and Tony through Manny’s recovery? Get rich? Become famous? Settle down and learn to be a good neighbor? Heal the sick? Train myself to bilocate? Give butter away? Find love and offer my heart without expectation? Found monasteries? Deny the body? Multiply loaves? Surrender to Your mysterious will? Sit cross-legged in a cave until I achieve enlightenment? If I only knew the central challenge of my life, I could do it—I know I could. I could accomplish anything. But what is it? Why am I here? I’ll pour myself into your work, God, just tell me what you would have me do.
The proposal comes at me so pure and surreal, I never would have dared to dream it up. It unfolds like an epic rambling dream I just wake understanding and all the more so because it seems like ages since I’ve had the courage to even pray for anything right. I’ve always been careful not to hope too big for fear of offending God with my ambition or, worse, my greed. Or maybe my trepidation has more to do with that nagging fear of disappointment, but—no—I prefer to think of it as humility in the face of the divine. I’m faithful in my way. I do the best I can.
Barbaro kneels on the shag-carpeted floor of our Redondo Beach motel room. “I have for you a proposition.”
I smile, embarrassed, still groggy from my drugs and just a little bit tipsy now from a single glass of wine. “Are you going to ask me to marry you?” I laugh.
Barbaro makes an awkward back-and-forth gesture with his head. “Not exactly, no.” He clears his throat. “If you agree to my proposal, please remember this entire scene. We will describe it again and again to many pigs as a tremendous and commencing moment.”
I bite my lip. What’s he talking about? The taste of cheap Chianti on my tongue, the smell of kung pao shrimp and moo-shu vegetables in the red and white takeout boxes on the round wooden table. The heavy brown curtains and beds with matching polyester spreads. The large TV, the brown minifridge, the microwave oven. The Mr. Perks coffeemaker and tub of dry coffee. The packets of sugar and creamer. The nightstand with the Goodwill brown lamp and the copy of Gideon’s Bible. The phone book and guest services binder that amounts to a few Chinese food ads. My foot bandaged. The plum of a lump on my forehead, still pulsing achy. I’m wearing the brown wool sweater Dorothy gave me for my predawn journey down from the mountains as Barbaro kneels in the glittering candlelight. This whole scene.
Barbaro reaches into the pocket of his black hoodie, fumbles around before producing—what is it?—a small platinum ring with three sparkling stones. His hand shakes a little as he holds it up in the candlelight.
“Are those diamonds, Barbaro?”
“No,” he blushes. “Cubic zirconia.” He readjusts his position on the floor in front of me. “Frankka,” he says, “with this ring, I am asking for your hand in a mythical marriage.”
His words plume through the air toward