Chương 40: Proverbs 26:3

High Noon was an ancient pink adobe with jutting vigas. It was a short walk from San Felipe and Father Jonás was well known inside. The hostess greeted them warmly and whisked them to a booth in the corner. Una couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten in a restaurant that wasn't a hamburger stand. Garlands of dried marigolds hung from the exposed rafters and the tables were set with bright turquoise napkins. She nodded with approval." Qué linda! (How pretty!)""The Villas own the place, wonderful people.

They're very committed to preservation. This building was actually built before San Felipe, back in 1785! The first church was built in 1707, just after Albuquerque was founded. It fell into disrepair and collapsed in the winter of 1792. San Felipe rose from its bones. You know, it's always a bit odd to sit in this saloon. My predecessors and the Sisters of Charity fought a long war to close it down. It used to be a brothel. After many years, the church triumphed.

The house of sin became a woodworker's shop, then it was converted to apartments. Sister May was the last tenant. When she passed, the Villas bought the building. Dios la bendiga. (God bless her.)""How's the food?" Father Jonás smiled.

"Much better than at the rectory. You saved me, tonight is casserole night." He made a pained expression. She had to laugh.

"I've been eating the same stuff as Robin. I never want to see another scoop of cottage cheese in my life."

"Ha! There's no cottage cheese here. Order whatever you like, the Villas are good friends." It seemed so. The staff treated Jonás like the pope. The bartender brought over a cocktail he hadn't ordered. It was a martini glass full of milky liquor with a key lime garnish and worm salt on the rim. Una was shocked.

"That can't be pulque."

"It is! There's an agave farm in Los Lunas now. This is called Dama Del Maguey, it's my favorite""I haven't had pulque in forty years," Una recalled." Ne dicas amico tuo vade et revertere et cras dabo tibi cum statim possis dare," Jonás sang.

"¿Que?"

"Ha, forgive me. No dejes para mañana la ayuda que puedas dar hoy. (Do not put off until tomorrow the help you can give today.)" He pushed his drink forward in invitation. Una didn't need to be asked twice. She took a sip. It was just as she remembered it, slimy enough to coat the throat, with a sweetness that popped on her tongue. The taste brought her back to the pink city in the shadow of La Bufa. When she closed her eyes she could almost smell the conchas baking.

"I used to drink this straight from a donkey cart," Una remembered." Uno más! (One more!)" Father Jonás called out to the bartender. Una didn't protest.

"Where were you then?"

"Zacatecas." She felt homesick saying it, even after all this time. Father Jonás asked a few questions, but soon realized she didn't want to talk about it. He gracefully steered their conversation elsewhere. Inevitably, they arrived at the war. Jonás knew a bit of her story from Hector. She told him about the WAFS, endless flights in cramped C-47 radio rooms. She mentioned she'd been in Luzon in '46 and it drew out his own story. Father Jonás was onboard the USS West Virginia when she was sunk at Pearl Harbor.

After the attack, the priest and the dreadnought were both fished from the Pacific and thrown back into action in the Philippines. West Virginia fought in the Battle of Surigao Strait, the last time two battleships would ever fight each other. After V-J day, Father Jonás was part of Operation Magic Carpet, ferrying GIs back to Hawaii. As Jonás spoke, Una heard many notes that reminded her of Hector. There was a kind of desperate, vital force in both men. The things they'd faced had changed them.

All their lives, they carried that perspective. Una felt a twinge of regret for her uncharitable thoughts about Father Domingo. Domingo was trying his best, it was just a different time. The meal was over before she knew it. They hadn't even brought up chess. Father Jonás finally came around to it.

"So. How badly is your nieto (grandson) thrashing you?" Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. In her handbag was the pad where she'd recorded their last few games. Father Jonás looked over the notation. Sometimes he would move an invisible piece with his hand as he went through the game.

"How long has he been playing?"

"Not long at all. Just a few months."

"You're not playing a trick on me, are you?" Jonás leaned over his glass.

"Of course not." Una told him about all the chess books Robin had devoured. He'd run through the entire chess shelf at the Los Griegos Public Library. When he could have books again, she was going to head to the Main Public Library and bring him an armload. She already had a hold on a biography of Alekhine.

"Boys are so intense with their interests at that age," Jonás mused. Some long-ago happiness drifted across his face, but he kept it to himself.

"He's a real moody devil at idle. Painting helps. When he's out of that isolation room, I'm going to bring another flock to the hospital. That program has been such a help to him."

"Domingo's baby. Did he turn any birds away?"

"Not today."

"Good man. A little work is good for the spirit. How were Robin's marks in school, before he got sick?"

"Terrible. He's bright when he wants to be. When he's not interested, nothing at all. They almost held him back in the fourth grade. Some of that was Lucinda's fault, but not all of it. He's a daydreamer, spends half of class doodling. He drove his teachers crazy."

"Robin has potential. So did his mother, God rest her soul. I would like to speak with him. Una paused, trying to find the right way to word things.

"Robin is angry now. He doesn't want to come to church. He can't leave isolation until his numbers improve."

"Is he at St. Joseph's? I would be happy to visit."

"He's at BCMC, Father. You don't have to go all the way out there."

"It's nothing."

"Honestly, I don't think he would accept a visit," Una admitted. She was very worried Father Jonás would take offense." ¿No? Dile que le voy a dar una cátedra. Dile que le voy a dar en la torre! (No? Tell him, I'm going to teach him a lesson. Tell him, I'm going to whip him good!)" Father Jonás was a little red in the cheeks from the pulque.

"Ha! On that, he'd bite," Una clapped her hands." El cabestro para el asno (A bridle for the donkey)," Jonás smiled. * The phone rang and took Robin by surprise. Visiting hours were over. It was twenty minutes until lights out. Una had probably forgotten to tell him something. Secretly, he wished it was Emilio. Hope faded so slow.

"¿Hola?"

"Uh, hi. Is this Robin?"

"Speaking." Robin didn't recognize the other voice.

"Hey, uh—hi Robin. It's Bill, from the club." Bill Wilson sounded different. Robin wondered if he was drunk.

"Oh. Hey Bill. What's up?"

"Listen, I really acted like a jackass on Blitz Day. I don't know why I said all that. It's not true at all. I was just saying it because I was frustrated. I'm sorry."

"Oh! It's no big deal. Don't worry about it," Robin said. He kept his voice light, in case this was a prank. He would never admit how much it had actually bothered him.

"Seriously, I feel awful. I apologize." Robin wondered if someone had put him up to this. He hoped it wasn't Duncan.

"OK, well, I accept your apology."

"Thanks, sorry again." There was an awkward pause. Bill wasn't sure if he was allowed to hang up. Robin could almost picture an angry mother in the room with him, arms folded in fury.

"Do you know what prednisone is?" Robin asked.

"No, I don't."

"It's a steroid I had to take during chemotherapy. Heavy-duty stuff. It made me hungry and angry all the time. I would get furious over nothing. Once, I screamed at my grandmother over a sandwich. I just wasn't myself. So, I guess what I mean is: I get it. Do you want me to ask Duncan to take the forfeits off your record?"

"No, please don't. I deserve them. I hope you get better and you can come back and play soon. Sorry again."" De nada." Robin said goodbye and hung up. It wasn't a joke, Bill was just awkward. It was hard to believe he was seventeen. I'm older than him, Robin realized. Was I always like this? Back in Amarillo, Robin was the Duncan for their circle. He called the shots and the other guys went along, even though a couple of them were older. When two guys were mad at each other, Robin fixed it.

When he said no, they listened. They all hung out at his place because Lucinda was never around. More–or-less motherless, Robin was free to hang out all night and do whatever he wanted. He went to school when it suited him. The other boys were envious, but they knew nothing. Robin was cooking for himself and scrounging while they were still getting tucked in at night. He couldn't afford to be sloppy. If Robin mouthed off to a bigger kid, no one would take him to the dentist.

If he shoplifted and got caught, no one would bail him out. He had to be so serious all the time. Emilio was the only one who could really crack him up and make him forget himself. Why hadn't he called? Robin wasn't so upset anymore, he just hoped Emilio was all right, wherever he was. It was a weird feeling to still want good things for someone who had abandoned him. He held up his hand and stared at the angiocath taped to it. Hard times.