Happy That It's Not True (12 page)

              “Even though I was drunk and don’t remember a thing, I’m still an asshole.  I admit that.”

              “That you are.”

              “Tell me something.  You know more than I do.  What makes you a war hero and me a loser?  Can you answer that?”

              “Hero?  No man.  You don’t get anything, do you?  My nerves are shot.  I don’t even know who I am anymore.  My life is a mess.  Hero—right.”

              “You’re good and I’m bad.  Pretty simple, uh?”

              “Here’s the real difference between us, Luciano.”

              “I’m listening.”

              “You’re a child.  You’re not even a child.  You’re a crying infant.  You want-want-want-want.  You wanted to be a famous baseball player.  But that’s not what you’re good at.  So you fail and become miserable.  You blame everyone but yourself.   Life is hell for a crybaby who doesn’t get what he wants.  In your crazy mind you think the entire world is against you.  You’re too damn big to be having temper tantrums.  Don’t you see most people never get what they really want, and that’s why people are so miserable?  You’re no different, just too damn big to be carrying around that much anger.”

              Luciano sadly brooded, staring down at the floor.

              “I almost feel sorry for you,” Octavio said.  “Almost killed my ex and raped my daughter—I can’t believe I want to help you.”

              “There’s nothing you can do to help me.”

              “I may be a little messed up from the war, but I still know a few things.  Now that we’ve established that you’re nothing but a crybaby, let’s fix the problem.”

              “Fix—”

              “Shut up.  Let’s go for a drive.”

              Octavio drove Luciano to the beach under a painted sky.  They parked and left their shoes in the car, walking slowly in the sand towards the sea. 

              “This is the end of self,” Octavio said.

              Luciano eyes welled up.  “I want this.”

              “No more baby, no more self, no more ego.  There is something waiting for you out there, beyond human understanding, beyond mind and thought and emotion, beyond all the stuff we want, beyond all the shit that happened in the past, beyond all the craziness in your little world.  Walk toward it.  Walk toward it, Luciano.”

              Luciano closed his eyes and nodded for a moment.  He walked at first and then ran toward the water.  He took off his shirt and threw it aside, descending into splashing and then diving forward, stroking and kicking.  When he was a good distance away from the beach, he felt himself dissolving.  At first, his identity left him.  He was glad to no longer be Luciano.  And then he disassociated with his emotions, his desires, his drama.  Eventually, his psychotic mind abandoned claim to who he was.  All that was left was his body, still and peaceful.  He felt a tingling sensation which became euphoric.  In a most curious manner, as he reached the horizon, he became the ocean.

             
The raft had suffered a terrible battering during the last band of thunderstorms.  One man had been swallowed by the sea.  The rest stared downward in heartbreak and disbelief.  The large man broke the silence. 

Well, are you going to finish the story?

              I didn’t think anyone would be in the mood for stories anymore—the storyteller said.

              You tell us the story or I will beat it out of you.  We can’t, for a moment, afford to fix our minds on the present situation.  Discouragement will eat us alive.  Our lives depend on distraction.

              The scrawniest of the men tilted his head meekly.

              Go on.  I hope Luciano hasn’t done too much damage.  I hope the children will be safe now.

              Children are resilient—the large man said.—Adriana, however, may have suffered the destruction of her heart.  And yet there is always hope.  If she can let go of bitterness, and calm her mind and emotions, there’s a chance for her.  Perhaps she can discover the futility of trying to understand what is seen, and realize the vastness of the unseen.

                I will show you what there is to see—said the storyteller.—I will show you what life really is.

Chapter Thirteen

            
 
Some men wish to be feared and respected in a fruitless chasing of mythic grandeur and the admiration of other men.  Diego knew no such yearnings, only the thirst for authenticities in life.  His presence filled the room like a pride of lions, his tall slender frame somehow shrouding a ferocious weight.  Sometimes one can sense the unseen, the keel of a soul that contains extraordinary experiences.  Diego himself could only guess at how apparent his intentions were:  to reclaim the keys to a former kingdom.  

              Diego Alonso was handsome and well built.  Jerry, a stocky black man, beamed when he saw him enter the room.  They had both arrived about a half hour early for the prayer meeting at seven.  Jerry stood up in the church classroom and walked to the door through the gap in a circle of chairs.

              “Look who it is!  I can’t believe it!” Jerry said, and the two embraced.

              “Jerry—it’s been so long,” Diego said, patting his arm.

              “Why didn’t you tell me you were back in town?”             

              “Actually, I just moved back—so much going on—career change—everything.”

              “Is this the first time you’ve seen the new building?”             

              “Yeah, it’s huge, it’s beautiful.  So—are you an elder yet?”

              Jerry shook his head, laughing, “No—no-”

              “Come on, you’ve got more money than God and you practically live here.  What’s wrong with these people?” Diego smiled.

              “Nothing wrong with these people, you know it,” Jerry laughed.

              “So why won’t they make you elder?”

              “It’s that look I give everyone.”

              “Look?”

              “You know, the one that says I’m of the firm opinion that everyone in the world is mentally ill.”

              “Oh, that look.  So what are you up to these days?”

              “Things are crazy at the lab and they’re even more crazy at the clinic—having to lay some people off—everything is stressing me out.  Had to take out a second mortgage on the house—can’t remember the last time I paid myself.”  Jerry dropped his head and smiled.  “I’m sorry, how long has it been?  We haven’t seen each other in forever, and the first thing I do is start complaining about my life.”

              “It’s all right, Jerry, we’re here to encourage each other—right?” 

              “You’re the one who has all the stuff happening—tell me, what’s going on with you?”

              “Now, that’s a long story.”  

              Diego and Jerry sat down, leaving one empty chair between them so they would have room to stretch out their legs. 

              “All I’m gonna tell you is that I’m glad to be back.”  Diego noticed people beginning to enter the room and lowered his voice.  “But I need some serious prayer.”

              A pale man with thick dark hair and a crooked nose walked in and noticed Diego.  “Hey Diego!  Good to see you—are you visiting?”

              “Hey Larry! I’m here to stay.”

              “That’s great, when did you move back?”

              “Just recently.”             

              “Well it’s great to see you.  I’m running late—need to get this prayer meeting started.”

              “You leading?” Diego asked.

              “Yeah, I’m leading tonight.”

              Larry sat down near the door and grabbed a notepad off a shelf and clicked a pen to write.  “Okay, who wants to go first?”

              A large elderly man with a dignified voice began.  “Put my wife down for health.”

              “What’s wrong with her?” Larry asked.

              “She’s got cancer—and put my daughter down on the list too, she’s also got cancer.”

              The first breath of sadness gripped the prayer group.  Tender sighs were expressed.  The elderly man’s face was ambiguous—a mixture of anger and surrender.

              “What are their names? So we can pray—”

              “Elana—my wife’s name is Elana.  And Patricia—that’s my daughter.”

              “Okay any one else?” Larry said.

              A small, thin Hispanic woman with a tired craggy face looked around at the group with dread in her eyes, “Please keep praying for my son Danny.  Pray he gets saved—that he gets off drugs and alcohol.”

              Larry nodded and scribbled the words, Danny—addict, and then looked around the room for more prayer requests.  Diego also looked around at the group waiting for the right moment to share his heart. 

              A woman in her forties, of Indian decent, quietly spoke.  “My husband’s co-worker—his brother-in-law—”

              “The co-worker’s brother-in-law?” Larry said.

              “Yes, the co-worker’s brother-in-law—he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and only given six months to live.  It was a shock to the family.”

              “I can imagine—do you know his name?”

              “No.”

              “That’s all right—God knows his name.  Anyone else?”

              A young man in baggy clothes with a bushy soul spot under his mouth said, “Put me down for employment.”

              “Okay—any more prayers?”

              Diego waited a moment before speaking.  “Please pray for my sister’s family.  They’ve been through a lot.  My sister and I hadn’t really been keeping in touch when I was living on the West Coast.  I didn’t know about their foreclosure years ago—only about the divorce.  She remarried, and the new husband, Luciano—a huge baseball player—almost beat her to death.  I went to see her the other night—she was a mess.  She admitted to me that she was an alcoholic.  She’s gonna go in for rehab.  She wants her kids to come live with me.  That same man that almost killed her—assaulted my niece.”

              Larry was unaware that his jaw had dropped open.  Jerry shook his head. 

              “The kids are all right, but their real dad is being sent off to Afghanistan again.”  Diego let out a long breath, relaxed his shoulders and stretched his neck. 

              “Pray for this family and also pray for me.  I hope my nephew and niece’ll be okay.  I hope that we’ll all get along.  Alex is fourteen and has the summer off from school, so I’ll probably be seeing a lot of him.  Cara is nineteen and I don’t even know what to say to someone that age—whether I should treat her like an adult—or try to act like a parent.”

              Diego noticed a young woman about Cara’s age who seemed frightened, being escorted into the room by a couple in their twenties.

              “Anyways, I could probably talk about this all night—so I’ll stop here.  Please keep me in your prayers.”

              “We will.  Okay—any final prayer requests?”

              The young woman, who had just sat down, raised her nervous head. “Um—please pray for me—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”  Her voice cracked like she was about to cry, but then composed herself.  “I feel really bad—my friends say I’m just having panic attacks and that I just need to relax, but—”  Her eyes swelled with tears.  “I need God to help me—I feel so bad.  I don’t know what to do.”

              “What’s your name?”

              “Christine.”

              “Okay, we’ll pray,” Larry said softly.  “Anyone else?  We’ve had a lot of petitions—how about some praises.  Praises anyone?”

              “Praise God we haven’t had any hurricanes so far this year,” an older man said.

              “All right then, let’s go to the Lord in prayer...”

              The group closed their eyes and bowed their heads as Larry read from the list.  He pleaded for God to hear their prayers, thanking Him for the weather and then asking for divine help in solving human problems—the cancer—the job loss—the addictions—the panic attacks—Diego’s family.

              After the prayer meeting, as some left, others stayed to talk to the nervous young woman named Christine.  Jerry and Diego were still seated.  Diego had never seen anyone so delicate and vulnerable.  Christine was thin and underdeveloped, almost childlike, wiping tears from her eyes as Bible verses were read to her—well-meaning men and women attempting to cure her suffering.  Jerry leaned in to resume the conversation they had started before the prayer meeting, but Diego lifted his hand to gently indicate that he was engrossed in the advice the young woman was being given.

              “In the Gospel of John—it says not to let your heart be troubled,” said one smiling women, patting Christine on the back before leaving the room.

              The man with the dignified voice moved heavily towards her with an open Bible.  “Let me read to you from First Peter, ‘Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.  Discipline yourselves, keep alert.  Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour.  Resist him, steadfast in your faith.’  You see?—you have to be strong in your faith...”