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But Juan Diego wasn't really awake in the present moment; he was in the grip of the most important dream and memory in his life--the sprinkling part. Besides, Juan Diego couldn't have accepted (not yet) that Miriam and Dorothy hadn't been captured in the photo at Kowloon Station--the one that caught all three of them by surprise.
And when Juan Diego, as quietly as possible, flushed the toilet in his bathroom at The Hiding Place, he failed to see the young ghost standing anxiously under the outdoor shower. This was a different ghost from the one Dorothy saw; this one was wearing his fatigues--he looked too young to have started shaving. (Dorothy must have left the shower light on.)
In the split second before this young ghost could vanish, forever missing in action, Juan Diego had limped back into the bedroom; he would have no memory of seeing himself alone on the train platform at Kowloon Station. Knowing that he hadn't been alone on that platform was sufficient to make Juan Diego believe he'd merely dreamed he was making this journey without Miriam and Dorothy.
As he lay down beside Dorothy--at least it seemed to Juan Diego that Dorothy was really there--perhaps the journey word reminded him of something before he could fall back to sleep and fully return to the past. Where had he put that round-trip ticket to Kowloon Station? He knew he'd saved it, for some reason; he'd written something on the ticket with his ever-present pen. The title for a future novel, perhaps? One Single Journey--was that it?
Yes, that was it! But his thoughts (like his dreams) were so disjointed, it was hard for him to focus. Maybe it was a night when Dorothy had dispensed a double dose of the beta-blockers--not a night to have sex, in other words, but one of those nights to make up for the beta-blockers he'd skipped? If so--if he'd taken a double dose of his Lopressor prescription--would it have mattered if Juan Diego had seen the young ghost standing anxiously under the outdoor shower? Wouldn't Juan Diego have believed he was only dreaming he saw the soldier's ghost?
One Single Journey--it almost sounded like the title for a novel he'd already written, Juan Diego was thinking as he drifted back to sleep, more deeply into his lifelong dream. He thought of "single" in the sense of unaccompanied by others--in the sense of lone or sole--but also "single" in the sense of having no equal (in the sense of singular, Juan Diego supposed).
Then, as suddenly as he'd gotten up and gone back to bed, Juan Diego wasn't thinking anymore. Once again, the past had reclaimed him.
* 30 *
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The Sprinkling
The sprinkling part of Lupe's last requests did not have a very spiritual start. Brother Pepe had been talking to an American immigration lawyer--this was in addition to Pepe's talks with the authorities in Mexico. The legal guardian words weren't the only ones in play; it would be necessary for Edward Bonshaw to "sponsor" Flor for "permanent residency," Pepe was saying as discreetly as possible. Only Senor Eduardo and Flor could hear him.
Naturally, Flor objected to Pepe's saying she had a criminal record. (This would call for more bending of the rules.) "I haven't done anything criminal!" Flor protested. She'd had a run-in or two--the Oaxaca police had busted her once or twice.
According to police records, there'd been a couple of beatings at the Hotel Somega, but Flor said she'd "only" beaten up Garza--"that thug-pimp had it coming!"--and, another night, she'd kicked the shit out of Cesar, Garza's slave boy. These weren't criminal beatings, Flor had maintained. As for what had happened to Flor in Houston, the American immigration lawyer told Pepe that nothing had turned up. (The pony in the postcard, which Senor Eduardo would forever keep secret, in his heart, didn't amount to a matter of criminal record--not in Texas.)
And before the sprinkling got started in the Jesuit temple, some unspiritual attention was paid to the contents of the ashes.
"Exactly what was burned, if we may ask?" Father Alfonso began with the dump boss.
"We hope there are no foreign substances this time," was the way Father Octavio put it to Rivera.
"Lupe's clothes, a lanyard she wore around her neck, a couple of keys--plus an odd this or that from Guerrero," Juan Diego told the two old priests.
"Mostly circus things?" Father Alfonso asked.
"Well, the burning was done at the basurero--burning is a dump thing," el jefe answered warily.
"Yes, yes--we know," Father Octavio quickly said. "But the contents of these ashes are mostly from Lupe's life at the circus--is that true?" the priest asked the dump boss.
"Mostly circus things," Rivera mumbled; he was being careful not to mention Lupe's puppy place, where she'd found Dirty White. The puppy place was near the shack in Guerrero, where el jefe had found a new dead puppy for Lupe's fire.
Because they'd asked to be included at the sprinkling, Vargas and Alejandra were there. It had already been a bad day for Vargas; the business with Dolores's lethal infection had forced the doctor to deal with various authorities, not a satisfying process.
Father Alfonso and Father Octavio had chosen the siesta time of day for the sprinkling, but some of the homeless types--drunks and hippies, who hung out in the zocalo--liked churches for their afternoon naps. The hindmost pews of the Jesuit temple were temporary resting places for these undesirables; therefore, the two old priests wanted the sprinkling to proceed quietly. The sprinkling of ashes, if only at the Virgin Mary's feet, was an irregular request. Father Alfonso and Father Octavio didn't want the public to get the idea that anyone could sprinkle ashes in the Temple of the Society of Jesus.
"Be careful of the little Jesus--don't get the ashes in his eyes," Lupe had told her brother.
Juan Diego, holding the coffee cup Lupe once liked for her hot chocolate, approached the unreadable Mary Monster respectfully.
"The ashes seemed to affect you--I mean the last time," Juan Diego began cautiously; it was difficult to know how to speak to such a towering presence. "I'm not trying to trick you. These ashes are not her--they're just her clothes, and a few things she liked. I hope that's okay," he said to the giant virgin, sprinkling a few ashes on the three-tiered pedestal where the Mary Monster stood--her big feet standing in an essentially meaningless motif, an unnatural configuration of angels frozen in clouds. (It was impossible to sprinkle ashes at the Virgin Mary's feet without the ashes getting in the angels' eyes, but Lupe had said nothing about being careful of the angels.)
Juan Diego went on sprinkling, ever mindful that the ashes went nowhere near the agonizing face of the shrunken, suffering Christ--there weren't many ashes left in the little cup.
"May I say something?" Brother Pepe suddenly asked.
"Of course, Pepe," Father Alfonso said.
"Speak up, Pepe," Father Octavio urged him.
