Our Lady of the Forest (35 page)

We already tried that.

We can try again.

I vote no. Definitely. Now what kind of beer do you want?

Tom said, Whatever's on tap. You think it over, Tammy.

She tucked the tray beneath her armpit. If I think it over I'll puke, she said. Your tap beer is on the way.

Tom watched football and scrutinized strangers. He was back at the Big Bottom drinking beer and couldn't explain the fact. A recurring dream. His beer arrived with no pleasantries attached except Tammy's ass in flight. The Broncos kicked a field goal. Tom suddenly missed his daughter. It occurred to him that the strangers in the tavern had been dragged to North Fork by their wives. By women for whom Virgin Mary apparitions were a hobby like bird-watching. The sort of men who went along for the ride in order to minimize conflict. The sort of men who knew how to stay married by getting with the program. When the pressure grew, they went for a beer and commiserated halfheartedly. Tom could hear two of them bullshitting nearby, men of his own age in raincoats. Raincoats, tennis shoes, and soft indoor faces. They didn't seem to know they were over their heads in showing up at the Big Bottom, where they could easily get their asses kicked. Tom tuned in to their conversation: No,
north
of Santa Fe, one was saying. Like you were going up to Los Alamos. You kind of head north at the Los Alamos turnoff instead of heading west.

The other man nodded an ambivalent affirmation, as if to suggest how obvious it was that without a map in front of them these directions were absurd and pointless. It's like taking the back road to Taos, said the first man. Do you think you're going to go there?

Maybe. Sometime. Sure.

They call it the Lourdes of America. Or so Paige informs me. But it didn't look like much to me, an adobe church and a dirt parking lot, you can do it quickly between Santa Fe and Taos without any extra pain. Chimayo. Something like that. There's a good place to get burritos right by it—a hole-in-the-wall kind of place out there which I always think are the best kind of places, in fact the burrito I had there for lunch was probably at least two hundred times better than the spendy dinner we had in Taos.

We don't do much Mexican food. Sharon can't eat tomatoes.

I'm allergic to milk lately. All of a sudden. Lactose intolerant. It's terrible.

They gulped their beers, babies clutching flagons. Well I wouldn't mind New Mexico, said the one who didn't eat Mexican food. New Mexico and Arizona both. My brother is in Arizona.

Younger or older?

Younger brother.

What's he doing?

Plays a lot of golf. And bicycling. I guess he bicycles competitively or something. He works for the Prudential.

It'd be worth it to go up to this place Chimayo because the drive is beautiful and Sharon would enjoy it as long as she doesn't eat the food but it's an interesting little hole-in-the-wall place there.

What's this about the dirt now exactly? You were saying about the dirt?

That people take dirt from there in plastic bags like I described to you before. From a little well. A hole in the ground. Like they take the water from Lourdes I guess they take this dirt from this place Chimayo and hold it or pour it on their hands or something and hope for a miracle. For miracle healings. And like I said, Paige got some for her Manhattan uncle who was far down the road with emphysema.

And?

It didn't work. He passed away and she felt bad about it because she'd made all these claims. About the dirt. Or implied them. She didn't really claim anything.

What's to feel bad? She just tried to help.

I know that but she doesn't look at it that way.

She's a good person.

I tell her that constantly.

I'll tell her too.

That would be nice if it helped and it might if she hears it from more than just me. She could use more reinforcement.

So they must have a sizable hole in the ground there.

They don't though. I asked about that. I asked around because I wondered about that. Just like you. Same thought entered my head. I wondered why it wasn't all dug out with so many people taking the dirt. And I guess this guy comes around every day and puts new dirt in the place.

What?

He brings in dirt, the priest prays over it, it's ready to go in the bags, I guess, even if it came from a dairy farm. I don't know. These things are… what can you say? They're funny, sort of. It's all kind of funny. I'm not sure what you think of these Virgin events but to me, they're ridiculous. What can I tell you? I don't know what else to make of it all. I mean, what are we doing here if we can't laugh, okay? What are you going to do?

Laugh or cry.

My point exactly.

She and I could visit my brother and then hop over there.

If it works out maybe that would convince her and you could get in eighteen holes.

Are you going to have another beer, Wally?

I'm definitely having another beer.

Excellent, said Wally's friend. I'm with you.

Tom thought that maybe he himself would go ahead and kick their asses. It would be impersonal and cathartic at the same time. Just take it out on two assholes without any strings attached. But instead he knocked back the rest of his beer and resolved to escape this quagmire. A tensile restlessness had a hold of him tonight. He wanted to throw Tammy Buckwalter across the bar and show her what he was capable of, use the goatish power in his loins to put her in thrall to him. I'm a loser, he thought. So why don't you kill me? On the way out he said, I'll be back, Tammy. Soon as I can. You take your time, she answered snidely. And pay up for the one you drunk already.

At the laundromat he stuffed his whites into a dryer and checked all his pockets for change. There was none and furthermore the change machine was out of order or rather emptied by pilgrims. So where was Kim when you needed him? Tangled up doing Spin The Cobra or Reeds In The Wind with Jabari? Bring some god damn change already you little Korean kike! And Kim wanted a buck an hour to dry, up from seventy-five cents. Greed and inflation. Maybe the Koreans had learned that from the Jews. Maybe the Punjabis took Jew lessons too. What could you do except reach into your pocket and shell out to all of them bitterly? And who was willing to admit to the world that he kept track of quarters? Tom walked across the street to HK's, where everybody was sullen and white. HK's was gloomier and smaller than the Big Bottom, with an exceedingly crusty and grim drinking crowd, dried-up boozers intimately acquainted with the world of delirium tremens. It was locally famous for a brawl that occurred there on the Fourth of July in '79 between bearded bikers from out of town and loggers affronted by the presumptuous way the bikers had parked on Main Street. The angles had been too jaunty, maybe. And the bikers were lighting M-80s in the street. So there was major carnage contained by logging trucks blocking all points of exit. Since then HK's had gone into decline, but there was still a Polaroid of the battle damage taped to the back of the cash register, a couple of choppers laid on their sides, a felt-penned caption reading
OLD FASHIONED ASS WHUPPING
, you could also make out some broken glass already swept into the gutter.

Quarters, Tom told Bob Hill, the bartender. Hill was a notorious drinker himself with leaky eyes and a parboiled look. I need quarters to give to the Koreans.

I had to quit giving out laundromat quarters when I ran dry two hours ago with all these wackos coming in here.

Religion wackos, yelled a drinker named Cunningham. They're chewing quarters like communion wafers. And chugging holy beers.

I only need two, Tom said.

There's none, said Bob Hill. I don't have any. They cleaned me out, all my quarters.

He wiped the counter and Tom said Jesus, it's got to where you can't even turn around in this god damn town anymore.

Hill leaned back with his bar towel and shrugged. If they want to buy a drink, fine, the more the merrier, bring it on and bring your wallet, but if all they want is change for the laundromat they can go to hell. I'm not a bank, he added.

Holy water, Cunningham barked. They're all gonna get swamp fever from it. They all gonna get giard-ya.

There was muttering from other unemployed loggers sitting at the bar and tables. I bow down to idols, someone called. Hey loan me some quarters, someone else called. Sid down Tom god damn it and drink you're making me nervous standing there.

They'll all be shitting holy water next. We'll be cleaning it out of the streets.

Be quiet, Cunt-ingham. Cross is Catholic.

Fuck all you people, Tom said.

He went out. He got quarters from a stranger at the laundromat, a woman painted up like Tammy Faye Bakker, so much eye shadow it was tragic and ghostly and made you think of dead people. Of walking dead people. Maybe they were real. So here was this woman who looked lovelorn and dead but who carried a ten-dollar bank roll of quarters in her curio-shop acrylic coin purse. Men don't do laundry, she said to Tom. They can't figure out these machines.

You just gotta kick them around, he answered. Push any button and kick.

He shoved in his quarters and started the dryer. The lovelorn dead woman was folding her laundry and stacking it in a plastic basket and there was something nauseating about her perfume and Kmart wardrobe. Well did you get yourself any of the holy water? she asked. What holy water? Tom answered. I guess you weren't up in the woods this afternoon. No because I work at night and that means I have to sleep in the daytime. Well today Our Ann found holy water in the ground. What do you mean found holy water? She dug it straight out of the ground up there like she was Bernadette at Lourdes.

The dead woman had long fake fingernails and eyelashes and she made him feel that what she'd said must inherently be suspect or dubious. Her appearance cast a cloud of doubt over everything she uttered. We waited in line for two hours, she told Tom. And then we filled our water bottles with it. Healing water. From the ground.

Healing water. Did she heal somebody?

A lot of people are being healed.

Is that true?

There are miracles unfolding.

Is that true? repeated Tom.

The woman fluffed her lashes up with the plastic tip of a fingernail. Her makeup looked uncomfortable to Tom, the chemicals in it eating through her skin. Her eyes watered and a small ball of black detritus floated on her viscous cornea. She blinked incessantly in an attempt to dislodge it, painted mouth thrown open. I can see, she said, that you don't believe me. But I swear by Jesus, it's so, in his name. But maybe… hold on… are you saved?

I guess I don't know if I'm saved or not.

Oh you'd know if you were, praise the Lord.

Then I'm not I guess.

Then I'll pray for you.

You wouldn't be the first.

Sounds like the devil's got ahold of your soul.

In a big way, answered Tom, and smiled.

The dead woman shook her head as though saddened. Then she reached for more tangled laundry. A man's briefs, a dish towel, dark slacks, a knee sock. Cosmetic surgery, Tom concluded. She'd had something surgical done to her face, the skin sanded down with a disk sander, blurred, so you couldn't quite focus on it.

Back to these miracles. These healing miracles. These miracles you mentioned, he said.

Amen and glory.

Get back to them. Get back to that subject.

The blind made to see, the lame made to walk, a child with illness sanctified, a man in darkness redeemed.

All of that happened?

The Lord is good.

A blind person got their sight back today?

There was a terrible alcoholic called to the Lord. And a man who gave a hundred dollars to the Church of Our Forest Lady. And a child with psoriasis healed by the holy water. And a woman with arthritis cured!

But what about the blind person?

If there was one brought to the holy water I'm sure he'd come to see.

So there wasn't one.

You ought to have seen that woman with arthritis begin to dance the rumba!

So there wasn't any blind person then.

Ever one's putting up a supply. Because they're shutting it down tomorrow in the morning. They're getting up No Trespassing signs and after that there won't be any access to the holy healing waters.

She'd folded her last washed article now. Tom imagined that with a high-pressure hose he could wash all the makeup from her face in ten minutes and see what she looked like, who she was. He wondered how long it took her in the morning and how long again at night to struggle with her artificial face. Now it dawned on him that underneath her cosmetic mask was somebody's wrinkled grandmother. He could see how she'd look on a sofa, crocheting, or at a quilting bee or at a senior center eating lunch from a tray. If you didn't look closely she was a whore in her mid-forties, Jezebel at the laundromat, but if you did she was a senior citizen desperate to be younger. Wearing a disguise wherever she went. She picked up her basket like someone with lumbago and said, I'll pray for you.

Prayers never hurt, Tom answered.

She left. Tom started a load of darks and sat atop his machine listening to the dryer drums spin and to the agitators in the washers. Kim's was warm, industrious, and friendly and he didn't feel like leaving. Another woman came his way looking for a free machine and he said to her Pardon me, excuse me, sorry, I wasn't up in the woods today, what's this I hear about holy water?

There's holy water in the ground up there.

That's what I heard.

It's a miracle.

Did she heal anybody?

There were many healings.

What kind exactly? What kind of healings?

A man with a cane who didn't need it any longer. He threw it off to the side and walked. I saw that with my own eyes, him throwing his cane away. And a woman who had that ringing in her ears. Tinnitus, they call it. Gone.

While Tom waited for his laundry loads he interrogated whoever came close. Rheumatism in the right kneecap—gone. Migraine. Intestinal distress. Toothache. Bursitis. Heartburn. Tennis elbow. Nervous anxiety. Paranoid delusions. Neck pain. Constipation. A woman in a parka with liver spots dappling her face claimed that she herself had been freed from the constant misery of bunions. Ann of Oregon had blessed her at the altar, poured holy water across her feet, and after that the bunions on her toes which had been the bane of her existence until then ceased to cause her pain.