Anyway, here’s the story Ralph said we were in: The boy and his little sister are looking for bottles in the vacant lot and find a rock that looks like Jesus. They pray to it on their knees—that’s how they are, they’re like the children of Fatima. But then Fatso comes and grabs it up, wanting to make money off of it—that’s how he is, like a fat greedy pig. But then they fight him for it and get it back and escape. So now they have to get it to Father Clay.
“Right,” I said. I already knew all that.
But then he said the reason they had to get it to Father Clay was so Father could get it to the Pope.
So that was new.
“The Pope?” I said.
“That’s right.”
“Why the Pope, Ralph?”
“Think about it.”
I thought about it.
“Why the Pope?”
He gave a sigh at how dumb I was.
“Just tell me,” I said.
“So he can show it to the world, Lou. This miracle.”
“The Miracle of the Rock.”
“That’s right. Then everyone in the world will believe in Jesus, even the Russians—especially the Russians.”
“So they don’t blow us up.”
“Now you got it.”
“So...we save the world, you mean?”
“Sort of, yeah. What’s wrong with that? Don’t make that face.”
“I’m not. What face?”
“That Mom face. It’s not that goofy, Lou, okay?”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“They said the children of Fatima were goofy, too.”
“Not me.”
“Remember in the movie? How everyone laughed and laughed at the goofy children? They didn’t turn out to be so goofy though, did they.”
“I never said they were, I never said anybody—”
“Shhh.” He had his hand up.
I whispered, “What. What.”
“Shh.”
We listened.
Somebody was knocking at the front door.
We looked at each other, like in a story.
Toby
This tall bony woman with dark sunk-in eyes finally opened the door.
“Mrs. Cavaletto?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Toby? Toby Tyler? I live on the other side of the viaduct? On Sinclair Street? Near the—”
“What did you want?”
“Your son Ralph and your daughter Lou took something that belongs to me and I was wondering if I could have it back please.”
“Took something? Took what?”
“It’s just a rock, an old rock that looks a little bit like Jesus. But you see, it belonged to my father. He died when I was just a little baby, Mrs. Cavaletto. I don’t even remember him. But he wanted me to have this rock so I’d always be thinking of Our Lord. So I was wondering, could I have it back please? It’s not worth anything to them, but to me it’s...well, it’s...”
I was choking myself up.
She called out over her shoulder, “Ralph.”
He came walking right up, like he’d been spying the whole time. “Don’t listen to him, Mom.”
I don’t know why but he was wearing a long red stocking cap.
“It’s me and Lou’s,” he said. “We found it.”
I gave a friendly chuckle. “They found it in my room, Mrs. Cavaletto. That’s where they ‘found’ it.”
“Ma, he’s a liar, we never been in his room, we never been in his house. It was in the vacant lot. It was layin’ there. Ask Lou.”
“It’s true,” Lou yelled from somewhere.
I said, “Mrs. Cavaletto, I don’t want to cause any trouble. I’m not going to press charges. I just want the rock back. It’s like my father used to tell me: ‘Toby?’ he’d say—”
Ralph jumped on my mistake, pointing at me. “You said he died when you were a baby! See, Ma? He’s a liar, a big fat liar. Look at him, how fat.”
She looked me over.
“I can’t help being fat, Mrs. Cavaletto. It’s a condition. But that’s no reason to steal from me, is it?”
“Ma, I swear...”
“Or maybe it is a reason,” I said, and sighed. “I can’t run very fast, you see...”
“Ma, don’t listen...”
“Be that as it may,” I said, wiping my eye. “I can see I’m causing trouble. I’ll just go. They can keep it, I don’t care.” I looked at Ralph. “I hope it reminds you of Jesus and what He said about stealing. Goodbye, Mrs. Cavaletto. Enjoy the weather.”
I turned around and started walking away real slow, real sad...
Lou
She called him back.
She felt sorry for him, for being so fat and sad. But he was just faking. Not faking being fat but being sad. He wasn’t sad. He was just trying to make her feel sorry for him so she’d give him the Jesus rock. And it worked. She told Ralph to go get it.
I ran back fast and wrapped it in our blanket. I was going to sneak out the back door and hide it somewhere, I was trying to think where, then Ralph came in and told me no. He told me to go and give it to Fatso.
I said, “Ra-alph!”
“We’ll get it back,” he said. “Don’t worry. This is part of it.”
“Part of what?”
“The story we’re in, The Miracle of the Rock.”
“Well...can’t we hide the rock? Can’t that be part of the story?”
“No. We can’t be disobedient, Lou. We have to be perfect. Otherwise we won’t win.”
“But it’s ours, Ralph! We found it!”
“And we’ll get it back, I promise. So go ahead. Give it to him. Go on.”
“Can’t we just—”
“No, Lou.”
“Ra-alph.”
“Quit whining. The little girl’s not a whiner.”
“Yes she was, she was always whining.”
“I don’t mean the movie. This isn’t a movie, Lou.”
He meant the real Jacinta, in that picture in the booklet. He was right, she didn’t look like a whiner. She looked like a tough little shit. That’s what Daddy called me once, a tough little shit.
I’m really not, though. Ask Ralph.
Toby
We stood there waiting, me and Mrs. C.
“Kids,” I said, and gave my head a shake.
She didn’t say anything back. She just stood there staring over my head, looking tired, very tall and tired.
I said, “When they want something, they just go ahead and take it. They don’t know any better. They’re like little animals, little...I don’t know, rats or something. Or mice. Mice are cuter. But let’s face it, they steal things, mice I mean—bits of cheese, crumbs and so on—you probably have mice, right? Place like this? Anyway, same as kids. But hey. What can you do?”
We stood there some more. I could hear the television, a news guy talking.
“How ‘bout those Russians,” I said to her. “Buncha Communists. They don’t even believe in God, Mrs. Cavaletto. Did you know that? They don’t even believe in—”
“Ralph?” she called out over her shoulder.
I said to her, quiet, “I hope you don’t punish him too much for this. Or Lou,” I added. I felt like telling her how her sweet little daughter practically twisted off my tit—which was still hurting. “Lou was part of it too,” I said, “a big part, believe me. Anyway, be that as it—ah, here she is now.”
She had the rock, holding it against her chest, and for some reason was wearing a lacy, wrinkled-up First Communion veil. Weird, those two, both of them. She wasn’t crying but she had tears down her face. And I have to admit, if she was bigger I might have been a tiny bit worried, the way she was looking at me.
Her mom took the rock and didn’t even glance at it, just handed it over.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cava—”
She closed the door in my face.
Ralph
Lou came running back and dove on the mattress, crying hard.
That made me hate him, for making her cry like that. That made me want to kill him. But I remembered, the children of Fatima had bad people do things to them too, mostly the Communists. They even got put in jail. But they didn’t give up being good, know why? Because they knew the story wasn’t over yet.
I sat on the mattress. “Lou,” I said, “listen.”
“I hate him!”
“I know. Me too. But listen...”
Mom opened the door and stood there. “Well?” she said.
“He was lying, Mom. We found it in the weeds.” I raised my hand. “Honest to God.”
Lou started yelling into the pillow, calling Fatso names.
“What’s she saying?”
“She doesn’t like him.”
“So what’s he want with a rock?”
“Put it in a tent, charge people to look at it.”
“At a rock.”
“It’s Jesus!” Lou yelled.
Mom looked at me.
“It...kind of looks like Him.”
“That’s what he was saying.”
“He’s a liar!” Lou yelled.
“Stop shouting,” Mom told her. “So it’s not really from his father?”
“No, Ma,” I said. “We found it. Really.”
“So what do you want with it?”
“To save the world!” Lou yelled.
Mom looked at me.
I twirled my finger near my temple.
Then she asked me, “What’s with the stocking cap? And her with the veil?”
I shrugged. “Just...goofin’ around.”
She gave a sigh and told us to go on outside or she’d give us some work to do, and left.
“Lou, get up, let’s go,” I told her. “Come on. This is where they go after him.”
She got up on her knees, her face all puffy and wet and red. “Do they beat him up?” she said, fixing her veil.
“No,” I said. “Now listen.” I stood over her. “I told you, we have to be like the children of Fatima, okay? Or else we’re not gonna win. You know what they would do? They would pray for Fatso.”
She shook her head. “Nuh-uh, Ralph.”
“They would pray for his soul, for him to change.”
“He won’t, though.”
“That doesn’t matter. The point is, if they beat him up, then God says, ‘Well, they’re all bad, so let ‘em fight it out, what do I care?’”
“But we would still win. He’s easy, Ralph. He’s just fat.”
I shook my head. “You’re not getting it.”
“No, I get it, I get it,” she said. “I have to be like...what’s her name again? The little girl?”
“Jacinta. Say it.”
“Jacinta.”
“And I have to be like Francisco. Okay? That’s the story we’re in. Take it or leave it.”
She got up. “What’s it called again?”
“The Miracle of the Rock.”
She said it slow. “The Miracle...of the Rock.”
“Y’like that?”
She nodded. She liked it.
I told her how it came to me. “Right out of the blue. I wasn’t even trying to think of a title, y’know? Then all of a sudden, out of nowhere—”
“He’s getting away, Ralph.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
We went after him.
Bishop Sheen
And in my imagination I could see a great change coming over the hammer and the sickle. I could see that hammer being held aloft by millions of men, and looking now like a cross. And that sickle, I now saw it becoming the slender moon under Our Lady’s feet...
Toby
Walking along cradling the head in my arms, I was singing to it right out loud:
Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke of Earl, Duke, Duke...
And you’re not going to believe this, I know, but the head actually started singing along, doing Duke, Duke, while I did the high part:
As I walk
Duke, Duke
Through this world
Duke, Duke
Nothing can stop
Duke, Duke
The Duke of Earl
Duke, Duke...
After a while, guess who joined me, my little gypsy pals. They didn’t join in, or even say anything, they just walked along, one on either side. But I was glad to see them. Like I said, I was going to be needing them. I just had one little question: What’s with the headwear? Ralph still had that goofy-looking stocking cap on and she was still wearing her First Communion veil. I didn’t mean to be nosy, but...
Then all of a sudden it hit me.
All that crap I fed them, about them being like the children of Fatima, they ate it up so completely they were dressing the part now.
I had to laugh, and I did. “You kids crack me up,” I said, “you know that? You really do.” And I laughed at them some more.
Ralph
Fatso could laugh all he wanted, I didn’t care. Like I told Lou, they laughed at the children of Fatima, laughed and laughed. And now, guess what, they’re practically known as saints.
Plus, the next time you happen to turn on a lamp? Think about Thomas Edison, how hard they all laughed at him.
And speaking of inventors, you know who else they probably laughed at? Albert Einstein, inventor of the atomic bomb. And now who’s laughing? Nobody.
Toby
Actually, that was good, the two of them dressing up like that. It would help with my mom, help her to see them as Fatima types instead of what they really were, a pair of serious nutcases.
They stayed with me onto my property and up the porch. I sat on the top step with the head in my lap, Lou on my left, Ralph on my right. Nobody spoke. I kept humming “Duke of Earl,” to show them how worried I was. Mr. Pappas across the street hollered out some gibberish and pointed at the sky. I nodded at him and smiled.
I was surrounded by insane people. Including the one in the house.
Anyway, sitting there I gave the situation some thought. To get Mom to shell out for my ten-cents-a-minute-with-Jesus scheme, I needed these two loonies to keep playing the children of Fatima—the attitude, the headwear—but not seriously, not so they believed it themselves, or else no matter how big a slice I let them in for they would just keep trying to steal back the head.
Couldn’t have that.
So I said to them, “Look, you want to be the next children of Fatima? Get Mary to come down on a cloud. Because I got news for you: this rock isn’t gonna get you there. You show this to Father Clay he’ll laugh in your face. Or else? What he’ll do? Keep it and tell everyone he found it. He was going to bed one night and there it was, on his pillow.”
“Father Clay wouldn’t lie,” Ralph said.
“You’d be surprised.”
“Liars go to Hell,” Lou said, meaning me I guess, for lying to their mom.
“Forever,” Ralph added.
“Oh, really?” I reached behind me for the empty plate. “So where do thieves go?”
That shut them up.
“Face it,” I told them. “You saw the movie. Those kids were shepherds. They didn’t go scrounging around for empty bottles. They didn’t go stealing people’s toast right off their porch. And I’ll tell you what else they didn’t do, they didn’t go around playing The Children of Fatima. Know why? Because they already were. They didn’t have to pretend. Mary came all the way down and spoke to them, told them stuff, gave them messages to pass along to the world.”
I paused.
“And you people? Your story?” I lifted up the head and looked at it. “You found a rock in the weeds, which maybe, from a certain angle, with the right lighting, kind of looks a little bit like Jesus.”
They both kept sitting there staring off. But they were listening, I could tell.
I turned all the way to Ralph, with my back to Lou. I even said his
name. “Do you see, Ralph? What I’m trying to say? You’re the older one, so you know what I’m talking about. I mean, let’s face it, there’s ‘real’ and there’s ‘pretend,’ right?” I lowered my voice, like I didn’t want Lou to hear: “Now Lou, she’s just a kid. She doesn’t know the difference. But see, you’re older—older and wiser—so you know. We both do, you and me. Don’t we.”
I waited.
“Or am I wrong,” I said.
He shrugged.
Which was enough. He was coming around. I could tell.
Lou
Fatso said I was just a kid, which I am, but the way he said it, like I was a kid but him and Ralph they were adults. He was just trying to butter him up. He was turned all the way around, talking just to Ralph, like they were together, like I was over here but they were over there.
Ralph and Fatso.
I’m sure.
Ralph
I didn’t look at him or say anything. I didn’t want him to know what I was thinking. The thing is, I was thinking he had a point.
He said the children of Fatima weren’t trying to be like the children of Fatima, which was true. Plus, he said I was the older one—older and wiser, he said. So that was another good point.
Lou gets carried away, that’s the trouble. I’m not blaming her—she’s just a kid, she can’t help it. But see, I’m older, older and wiser. Even Fatso had to admit.
I didn’t say anything, though.
Anyway, I didn’t feel like I was in the middle of a story anymore, The Miracle of the Rock or any other story. I just felt like I was in the middle of a really lousy day, all the way back to Lou kicking me in the nuts.
Toby
I needed to close the deal with Ralph:
“All right, listen,” I said to him. “Let’s say we charged ten cents a minute for people to look at this thing—know how many two-cent bottles that is?”
He just kept looking off.
I told him the answer was five. They would have to find five empty bottles to make what we’d be making in a single minute. Then I asked him how many minutes in an hour.
The H-Bomb and the Jesus Rock Page 7