Bodega Dreams (19 page)

“You sure?” Arms folded, she moved in closer and pinned me
against the fridge. Her face was right there and she must have seen my pupils grow small.

“Nothing. Other than we have to pay him rent,” I said, and moved my body away from her. Blanca cocked her head slightly, making a mental note of this.

“Julio, tell me whatever it is that you are doing.”

“Negra is crazy! Victor is crazy too!” I lost it and began to shout at Blanca. “And you’re crazy for even listening to her!”

“This isn’t about Negra, it’s about you,” Blanca said, raising her voice and poking a finger at my chest after every syllable. “It’s about you and what you’re not telling me.”

“Aren’t you pregnant? God, that kid must have a headache.”

Blanca trailed me around the apartment. “This has nothing to do with Negra. I don’t want us to get involved in Negra’s marital affairs. This has nothing to do with them. It has to do with you hiding things from me about this guy, Bodega, whoever he is. This is what it’s all about, you hiding things. It’s not about church or God or sexism or whatever it is you want to bring up in this fight. It’s about you”—she poked my chest again—“hiding things from me.”

“All right, you win! You want to know everything,” I said, holding up the ring. “You win! You win, Blanca. When I give this back to your aunt you just come with me, cuz he’ll be there.”

“Who’ll be there?”

“Bodega. Thass who. He is this Izzy, the same guy your aunt really wanted to marry. And if you want to ask him anything, anything, any damned thing, then you go ahead.” Blanca fell silent.

That was the day I knew Blanca would leave if she found out all that had been happening. So I had no choice but to throw Bodega at her, knowing he wouldn’t tell her everything and it was just as well. Stupidly, I was hoping for the best. As if things left alone can fix themselves. I hoped things would bury themselves, like reverse evolution, creation going backward. I hoped that everything would just take care of itself, that the hurtful things Blanca and I had said would be forgotten when the baby came along. The baby would make us allies again because the baby was more important than either of us and we had to
be together to fight all those horrible things the world had in store for our kid.

Afterward, after the yelling, the apartment took on a sinister hue. Blanca did everything in her power not to speak to me and I did the same. When we both needed the bathroom we had to say a few words to each other. Small, polite words that meant no more than when you brushed a stranger in the street and apologized.

I walked out of the apartment fed up with all of them: Blanca, Negra, Victor, Bodega, Vera. All of them.

•

AFTER CLASS
I decided to wander around the neighborhood and look for Sapo’s car. I didn’t see it and asked around. No one seemed to know anything. I had to leave it alone because it was obvious something was being covered up and I didn’t want to look like some idiot who didn’t get the picture. So that night, I kept walking amid sounds of fire engines and the smell of smoke. But the night sky looked calm and the concrete beneath me was no different than before, covered with gum wrappers, tinfoil, plastic bags, and other garbage. It was a good night to walk and think. What worried me was Negra. I needed to talk to her about Bodega. I needed to find out what Negra knew about Salazar. Because if Negra knew everything, I didn’t want her telling Blanca. Unlike Negra, Blanca would go to the police and then they’d be closer to Sapo.

I really didn’t want to ask Negra why Victor had beaten her up; I wasn’t their marriage counselor. And there was no way I was going to ask Bodega to beat Victor up. I had my problems, Negra had hers, Bodega had his.

But it was too late for visiting hours at Metropolitan Hospital, so my talk with Negra would have to wait for another day.

I didn’t want to go home with Blanca still angry at me. I decided that just this once, I would go and meet her at her church. Maybe that would lighten her up, get me back on her good side.

So I ate a slice and killed some time reading until it was time for church.

LA CASE
Bethel Pentecostal, Blanca’s church, was filled to capacity that night. Many Pentecostals from neighboring temples had come to see and hear for themselves the seventeen-year-old anointed, Roberto Vega. He who was supposedly anointed by God and would rule with Christ for a thousand years. I couldn’t have picked a better night to show up and make up with Blanca. I arrived a bit late, but when I went inside the temple, anyone that caught my eye smiled knowingly at me, as if they were saving me. They were always looking out for new converts. Knowing I was Blanca’s husband, one brother ushered me to the row where she was sitting. Blanca was really into the sermon, and only when she saw it was me sitting next to her did she smile and squeeze my hand. She quietly introduced me to the stocky, short woman with beautiful black hair sitting on the other side of her. It was Claudia, the girl from Colombia that Blanca was trying to help. After that, Blanca just held my hand and her eyes returned to the figure standing alone behind a lectern on the platform.

“There was once a slave girl,” the tall, handsome, and very young Roberto Vega said calmly in Spanish. “And she was bought at a huge price by a king who transformed her into a princess,
me oyen?
And she was given laws and riches,
me oyen?
And out of all the princesses she was the most beautiful because her king blessed her,
me oyen?
And he treated her with respect, kindness, and love.” Someone yelled “Alleluia!” “He treated her like she was his flesh. Like she was gold, silver, and jewels.
Me oyen? Ustedes me oyen?
” Yes, we hear you, the congregation murmured in unison. Blanca and Claudia were hanging on this kid’s every word, like he was telling them a love story.

“And he loved her. And she, and she—don’t tell me you don’t know what she did. Don’t tell me you don’t know that she later left to fornicate with other kings. Don’t tell me you don’t know that she left her king and went with others, and don’t tell me you don’t know this princess was called Israel. And she went with other gods and slept with many idols. You still don’t know what she did?”
Alleluia!
Tell us, tell us,
sí dinos
, the congregation begged him. Roberto’s speech was picking up speed. He talked faster and faster but he knew exactly when to apply the brakes and give the people time to contemplate what he was saying.
“I’ll tell you what she became. You all know what she became, don’t tell me you all don’t know what she became. She became a harlot!”

Alleluia!

“A whore!”

Alleluia!

“A prostitute!”

Alleluia!

“A slave girl to the nations again!” Roberto’s words rushed one after another, like a Catholic reciting the rosary. “And you know who her king was. Don’t tell me you don’t know who her king was. He was the Lord Jehovah who bought her, paid highly for her! She was a slave in Egypt. And He broke her chains, sending her to Moses to free her. And the Lord treated her like a queen. Treated her like gold, silver, jewels.”

Now Roberto Vega was bouncing his head as if jazz were being played somewhere not far away and the congregation was coiling slowly like a snake, waiting for the Holy Spirit to strike. Roberto’s arms waved in the air like windmills and his face was no longer that of a boy but of a prophet baptized by fire.

“But she forgot who saved her! Who took care of her! Who brought her out of bondage. And to punish her, to punish her, to punish her, you know what happened? Don’t tell me you don’t know what happened. I know you know what happened.” Although they know, they beg for the answer. They can feel the Lord in their midst. Their souls are swollen with excitement, just waiting to erupt. They will soon fly with angel wings and He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and death will be no more, nor will mourning or strife or pain. “To punish her He made her walk in sand for forty years. And she returned to her king, the Lord, and He loved her and sent her David!”

Alleluia!

“But when David died, she returned to her immoral ways!”

Alleluia! Cristo salva!

“And He sent her Isaiah!”

Alleluia!

“Sent her Jeremiah, to make her quit being a whore!”

Gloria a Dios!

“A prostitute!”

Alleluia!

“Sent her Ezekiel! And she didn’t repent!”

Cristo salva!

“Sent Daniel! And she didn’t repent!”

Bendito sea el Señor!

“Sent her Zechariah, Malachi, but she didn’t repent!” The congregation was growing angry because Roberto had imbued them with outrage. When was the Holy Spirit going to strike? How could the nation of Israel have done this to their Lord, who treated her so kindly? “And then He sent them the ultimate prophet! Don’t tell me you don’t know who that is. Don’t tell me you forgot who delivered you. Don’t tell me you forgot who took you out of slavery. Who is your savior?
Cristo! Cristo
is your savior and He carried your sins! And He healed you! And He—! And He—! And He—!”

“He saved me!”
someone cried, leaping from her seat. “He saved me, He saved me.”

On the platform Roberto Vega wiped his forehead, pointed at the sister in tears. “Yes, yes, He saved you! And He paid a price for you. He gave His life for you. He was nailed for you. He became a man for you.”

“He delivered me!”
another person confessed, joyfully bouncing up and down.

“Yes, for you too! He died for you! For who else, for who else?”

“Gloria a Dios!”
someone from the back shouted.

“For who! For who!” It had started. The Holy Spirit had invaded. I was thinking, Please, Blanca, don’t freak on me. Please, I’ve never seen you like this ever, I know you do this but please, not in front of me.

“He saved me!”
Claudia shouted. Her thick torso and hips were shaking, her eyes watering, her small hands pounding at her heart.

Roberto pointed at Claudia. “Yes, He saved you. Before, you were a slave. A prostitute! A whore! A harlot to the ways of the world. But now He has delivered you!” Claudia began to wail as if someone close to her had died.

“He saved me! Cristo salva!”
some brother cried, poking at his eyes as if he was in torment; as if he was Oedipus about to rip his eyes out. Blanca smiled an enlightened smile as tears poured down her face.
Her eyes glowed as if she could see the kingdom of God. It was a strange glow, lighting eyes all over the room. Blanca’s face didn’t look hysterical, just a little transfigured. She had been there, in paradise. Had seen it for herself and it was all true.

“And He carried your sicknesses! Your sins! Forgave your transgressions! Your imperfections!”

Alleluia!

Alleluia!

Alleluia!

It was infecting every corner, spreading in all directions, resonating from wall to wall. A palace of vibrations praising Jehovah.

In a church full of Latinos with tear-stained cheeks, young and old had gathered together to hold hands, rough hands, soft hands, and pray and reach out to the Lord. They had waited for the Holy Spirit to arrive and take over their bodies. And now, that joyous moment was at hand. I felt strange and wished I could believe like they did. But I couldn’t. Blanca’s hand was sweaty and hot in mine. Her heart beat just as fast. The congregation was about to sing, to make a joyful noise to the Lord. Roberto Vega was leading them, making them see the promised land. Even though they lived here, in this concrete desert, tonight they would go home, walking the streets of Spanish Harlem fearing no evil, for the Lord was with them.

Now Roberto was telling them love stories. About God in love with mankind. Of Jehovah being the personification of love. It was a love song he was yelling, although only I could hear him yell, to the rest he was whispering.

“Owing to the fact that I have found you precious in my eyes,” Roberto read quietly from the book of Isaiah, “you have been considered honorable and I myself have grown to love you. And I shall give men in place of you! And nations in place for your soul!” The Holy Spirit was calmed, like an ocean after a storm. Many people had returned to their seats. Roberto had calmed them, calmed the Spirit of God. He now spoke softly; I could feel the young girls start to swoon. The older women shut their eyes and returned to their past; the older men envied Roberto. Blanca for a moment was in love with the figure
standing alone on a bare platform with only the American and Puerto Rican flags keeping him company.

It was a humble place, made up of rows of folding chairs and walls of Sheetrock covered by cheap wood paneling. A dirty red carpet, with huge gum-stained circles as big as cherries covered the floor. The ceiling had two fiberboard panels missing, exposing the electrical wires. The room provided no distractions. Perfect for those like Roberto Vega who wished to have all eyes, ears, and hearts tuned to their words.

“My brothers and sisters, never leave the truth,” Roberto pleaded. “Never turn from the light. The darkness will enslave you, like before, before the Lord saved you. Our Lord Christ will never turn His back on us. Even if we leave Him, He will never leave us.”

Then what’s the point, I was thinking. If He would stay with me anyway, why should I pay Him all this attention?

“He suffered for us. He was crucified, nailed for us.”

I agreed. They nailed his left hand to Spanish Harlem, his right to Watts, his feet to Overtown, Miami. The slums were full of his followers. His words were all over the neighborhood, murals screaming at you in the street, that He was your Lord and Savior. His spirit was all over El Barrio, but I didn’t see Him living among us. You wouldn’t catch Christ, in the flesh, living in the projects.

“Please, now,” Roberto said, his voice lifting again, “join me in song.” The congregation rose. Blanca reached for her tambourine. Some brother put a record on an old player and music began booming from the loudspeaker. Four sisters joined Roberto at the head of the platform to clap their hands and pound their tambourines. It was a privilege to praise the Lord on the platform, to lead the congregation in song. Once, before she married me, it was Blanca up there, and it still pained her to have lost such a privilege. But that night I knew she was happy. Like the rest, she was high on Roberto Vega’s words. They had seen the coming of the Lord. He was coming soon, maybe even that very night. Roberto Vega had told them so. The kingdom of God would arrive, and they would all go to heaven, to the penthouse in the sky. Until then, they would go back home to the rats and roaches.