by Castro, V.
“Yeah, no one said a word because I’m an ignorant talentless shit bag.”
“Hey, don’t talk like that. No one said anything because we were all shocked. I mean it was heavy stuff. Beautiful. Scary as shit. Even if we’d said we liked it you wouldn’t have believed any of us. Am I right?”
My face felt hot.
“I hope you are still writing.”
I nodded my head, noticing the three of them were looking straight at me. I still did not mention I had a closet full of notebooks. There was probably the same amount of ink on those pages as blood and tears in my body.
Dr. Camacho broke the circle on the table. She handed me an envelope addressed to UTSA.
“Lourdes, when you leave today please put this in the mailbox outside.”
It was also this day when, as I drove Fernanda home, she confided in me. With all the windows rolled down, we had to talk loudly.
“Remember you asked me about Ruben?”
I glanced at her and then back at the road. “Yes. You ready to confess?” I joked.
“I’ve had a crush on him for a long time. At graduation we kissed but it wasn’t until the goddess came into my life that I allowed myself to stop thinking that it was sinful and began being less afraid of the future. When I pleasured myself, loved myself as it turns out, those things seemed to matter less and less.”
I smiled, happy she could confide in me again.
“And Ruben?”
“I have been sneaking out to see him.”
I glanced at her again. “We are women now and we should enjoy what that means to us. It is good to have you back.”
Fernanda nodded as the warm wind blew through her hair. Everything felt promising and on the cusp of changing.
When not fulfilling his church obligations, Father Moreno watched. He watched them with the same fascination as those first statues of La Virgen he was given as a child.
Lourdes was easy because if not at work, she would be at Fernanda’s home or at the house of a woman who lived alone. This was advantageous because there would be no man to object to him. The tricky part would be getting Fernanda to the church for the videotaped exorcism. When he took possession of her, she couldn’t be that demon that had tried to suck out his soul; it was far too powerful for him and might succeed this time. He needed her to be the accommodating young woman who trusted his authority, or at least whose mother did. Her mother would be the way in. When she was securely tied to a chair, he would draw the thing out, focusing on those unnatural eyes. Letting God’s glory shine for all those doubting Thomases.
This had to work because he could no longer sleep. He lay in bed shivering from the cold that would grip him even with all the windows open to let in the sultry night air. Two thick blankets covered his nude body for extra insulation. He slept nude because everything he owned left his skin feeling like it was covered by the bites of a million bees. No matter what he did, the tundra remained. By morning his sheets were soaked with sweat. Perhaps the demon was tormenting him, knowing its days were numbered. However, he had felt this before—right after he laid Martha to rest in the freezer.
As he approached the home of Mrs. Garcia, he straightened his collar, which was strangling him. The doorbell rang inside the house, and it wasn’t long before he could hear the inside lock click. He lifted the bag of pan dulce for her to see.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Garcia. Do you have time for a coffee and something sweet?” The weariness and deep purple shadows beneath her eyes told him she would let him in.
“Oh, yes. Come in. Fernanda is resting. I would love some company.” She unhooked the screen door.
Fernanda left her bedroom door ajar so she could hear her mother’s conversation with the priest. Only parts were audible, so she stepped out in the hallway.
“But Father, she is getting better! It is a miracle. The spirit is going.”
Fernanda took another step to hear more. She wanted to know what this priest was thinking and why he was back. The goddess had said that he couldn’t be trusted and something about him made her feel this, too. He was speaking just loud enough for her to hear.
“Witchcraft. It could be a demon, Mrs. Garcia. Can you really trust her friend Lourdes or that professor? I have seen her books. They are about pagan beliefs. Old ways before the church. You need to be careful. How much do you really know? Just what they tell you?”
“I will keep an eye out, Father. Thank you.”
“That is what I am here for. You know where to find me.”
When Fernanda heard him say goodbye, she slipped back into her room as quietly as possible, inching the door closed to prevent the sound of the click. Flashes of memory made her head throb. The voice in her head spoke.
Fernanda, listen to me. Be careful around that man. I may have many powers; however, I cannot control those who are not willing. He is unpredictable. He seems to be, as you call it, possessed by his faith.
The voice paused.
Also, if you want me to leave you, I will.
Fernanda faced the window, her back to the door. Through the slits of the blinds she could see Father Moreno looking at their house, taking photos. He was an odd man.
“No. I don’t want you to go. Where would you go?”
I would try another host, but I have been searching and waiting for the right human and the right time. I have tried this before with others but none were as willing to host me as you.
“I will do as you say, but I know you are keeping things from me. I feel like I’m going crazy. Please let me in. I want to know what you know.
Tlazoltéotl was silent. Very well. I will start with the things at hand. What you need to know about what is happening in this time and place. Then I will show you the stories I have been telling through your voice in your dreams. When you sleep tonight, I will begin.
Fernanda was satisfied with that. Having a mind split in two would eventually drive her to the brink of sanity.
“One more thing. I can understand you, but the others can’t. Why is this?”
You understand me because I am inside of you. We are as one. And what I need them to hear should be pure. I want the stories heard in the original tongue. They come from your mouth as if you were me. That is why neither you nor they understand.
“I trust you, my friend. When will I stop feeling totally afraid and be strong like you?”
Allowing your fear to deter you is the only thing that should frighten you. You have a lot of power, Fernanda.
Fernanda glanced in her mirror and saw the caiman eyes of Tlazoltéotl, the sister she never had.
“You know, I think I love him. Ruben and I are so much alike, and he says he loves me, but I love myself more. I don’t want to give up my dreams and move to England.”
It’s okay, Fernanda. It is natural to love, to touch. To touch without love and experience the pleasures given to us is also fine.
“Tlazoltéotl. If I promised you my soul, would you help me succeed? I want to make my family proud. My friends all think I’m invincible and perfect. I just don’t want to let anyone down, and I’m so scared that I will. You can have my soul in exchange for this.”
The goddess was silent again.
My dear, I do not deal in the currency of souls. That is another god that I do not cross paths with. Besides, humans have this belief that the soul is theirs to give. It is not. It is part of something you could not even comprehend, and even as a goddess I would struggle to explain. I am part of it, too; however, I come from someplace very different. And you are already on a path to be successful in your own right. Don’t allow your self-doubt or fear to be stumbling blocks. You will find your success in being fearless.
“If you stay, will you just be a voice in my head?”
Yes and no. I would work through you. I told you I am here to eat sin, to tell the world stories from our ancestors, to give humans hope and reveal secrets from where I am from. All of this combined, like your friendships, is to prepare you all for
the next phase of this world. Together, we would walk through the fires.
The truck waited for her as arranged. Fernanda could feel herself shaking inside, but that wasn’t distracting her. It was the ache, the wetness between her legs, the anticipation of what was about to happen. How good it was in her mind and every time they were together. Fernanda told the goddess to sleep that night. She wanted to be alone with Ruben, her first full sexual experience with a man.
She slipped out the window, looking both ways before dashing in the dark to the passenger side of the truck. Ruben looked so good. He smelled of a hint of cologne, sage and tobacco. Fernanda smiled, knowing he didn’t know that tonight she wanted to fuck him. His body inside of hers.
“You want to go to the same place? I think of it as our spot now.”
“You know I do.”
The streets were dark with a sheen of moonlight. The park was deserted. When he brought the truck to a stop, he left the radio on, tuned to an oldies station.
“Push your seat back.”
Ruben looked at her and half smiled. “This is new. Okay.”
Fernanda kicked off her flip flops and straddled Ruben. She brought her lips to his, the soft flesh she wanted more of. She wore nothing underneath her cotton slip dress that tied at the shoulder. She grabbed his hands, placing them on her waist underneath the dress so he could feel that nothing stood between them.
“Fernanda, are you sure? We have never . . . ”
“We have never because I wasn’t ready and last
time . . . just touch me. Kiss me.”
She fumbled with the button and zipper of his jeans, then reached into her bag for a condom Lourdes had given her. That girl always had condoms in her purse. Her hands reached into his boxer shorts feeling his cock was hard but the skin soft, like his lips. His lower body tensed at her touch. Watching his excitement excited her. With the condom on she let him slide inside. She bit her lip with the initial pressure, until she gave in like she did with his fingers. The pain subsided. She pulled off her dress so he could see all of her. Their black pubic hair one soft puff of fur. She loved how the moisture of sex felt against her thighs the more she grinded and rolled her hips, his hard cock teasing her clit with delicious licks, like devouring a popsicle before it has a chance to melt in the hot summer sun. Without needing to think, she rocked her body back and forth, relaxing her shoulders, her mind only focusing on Ruben and her pleasure.
Ruben drove her home with one hand holding hers and a smile on his face. D’Angelo’s “How Does it Feel” played quietly. When they came to a stop he leaned over to kiss her.
She knew she would have to break his heart, but not tonight, and she kissed him back.
“Goodnight,” she said before running from the truck back to her window.
Fernanda lay in bed, feeling a surge of confidence in her body.
“You awake?”
I never sleep, just drift away. Did you enjoy yourself?
“It was better than I expected, but that is why I chose Ruben. I knew he would be kind and loving. Thank you for helping me to feel aware of my body, what it can do. The miracle of it, really.”
It is nothing but a natural ability. Goodnight, dear Fernanda.
Father Moreno drove back to the church with a sense of accomplishment, the air conditioner on full blast to dry the sweat covering his body beneath his clerical clothing. A feverish chill ran through his backbone, the cold so deep his vertebrae felt like they would fuse together in a permafrost. As he sat across from Mrs. Garcia he couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at the photos of Fernanda. How beautiful she was; he wanted more than anything to restore her purity. The thing he saw before was not her. He would get rid of it and then keep whatever was left of Fernanda. After recording what he needed to prove the existence of demons, he would say she ran away. How could anyone think differently after her rebellious behavior all summer?
When he arrived at the church, the feeling of unwellness was worse than before. Usually he would sit in the confessional to gather his thoughts but today he wanted to be close to Martha. He sat behind his desk with hands clasped in prayer, trying to fight impure thoughts of cold flesh upon his, of ice crystals on her tongue for him to ingest like a host. He fantasized about this being the elixir that would cure him. These blasphemous thoughts were too tantalizing and easy to entertain. The collar around his neck felt noose-tight again. The church-issued clothing needed to come off before it stitched into his skin. Father Moreno jumped from his seat, frantically clawing at the seams of his clothing, pulling at the buttons until they popped off and the loose threads unraveled to what they really were, weak little spindly things. He stood before his collection of La Virgen statues panting from the exertion, all of his clothing torn rags on the floor. They stared back at his nudity. All his life they were enough, sustained him. She was woman perfected as she gave forth life but remained pure. Her life was a sacrifice to her son, the savior.
Now she looked like a cheap copy in plastic and ceramic. Her presence made him sick. Next to the filing cabinet was a faded piñata stick. He gripped it in one hand, lifting it above his head to swing at these women with smug smiles on their faces. Those empty eyes would no longer see him, mock him. His arms thrashed in all directions. The fallen ones he continued to pulverise.
His arms began to ache. On the floor lay a pink cheek and single eye from one of the larger statues. With his bare foot he stood on the ceramic shard until it broke in half. The remaining pieces cut into his skin; a large triangular fragment lodged in the soft arch of his foot. He pressed it in deeper, allowing it to enter his flesh. The rage slowly subsided.
He had to take Fernanda. Quickly he got dressed and drove back to the Garcia house, where he saw Fernanda climbing out of her window. For a moment he thought it might be the chance to take her, but she was not alone. As she ran from her home, a black truck pulled up to the curb. He knew that truck. It was Ruben’s. He followed the vehicle to the edge of Espada Park, the place of missions and ghost stories. Beneath the moonlight, far enough not to be noticed but close enough to see, he stood against the outer wall of the missions in shadow. He clutched the vial of blood at his neck, wet with sweat. His chest remained tight. It couldn’t be the girl doing these things; it had to be the demon inside of her. A seducer of men and possessor of virgins. He would have her, too, wrapped in cloth, rosary in hand. Cold and beautiful like his Martha. Her body would be his forever, icy and pure.
When they drove off, he returned to his car, wanting to relieve himself of desire but knowing it would only give the demon what it wanted. He needed God on his side. Father Moreno fished a rosary out of his pocket, pressing the sharp edge into the side of his thigh. A gasp escaped his lips as did the name, Fernanda.
“It’s so damn hot out there. I swear we are all going to melt into a puddle of skin and blood, like a raspa cone.”
Dr. Camacho looked up from her computer. “I have some drinks in the garage.”
“Beer?” Perla asked with a grin.
“You ladies are not twenty-one yet. Bottles of iced tea and sodas.”
“I’ll get them,” Fernanda offered.
“Just through the kitchen, that door leads to the garage.”
The doorbell rang.
“I’m not expecting anyone other than Lourdes. She knows to let herself in.” Fernanda heard Dr. Camacho get up and open the door.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m here to take Fernanda home. Her mother sent me.”
“I know nothing of this.”
“Well, I just came back from seeing Mrs. Garcia. It is urgent.”
Fernanda stood at the door between the garage and the kitchen, staring at an unshaven, sweaty Father Moreno. He looked like a man who had walked out of the cold storage of a morgue.
“Liar.”
He snapped his head towards Fernanda, startled at the sound of her voice. “I promise you. Your mother needs you now.”
“Liar. Go away.”
Dr. Camacho gave Father Moreno a smile. “As you can see, Fernanda can speak for herself, and she doesn’t want to go with you. You should leave. She is perfectly capable of getting herself home.”
Without warning Father Moreno shoved a small pistol into Dr. Camacho’s abdomen. The crack of the gun made Perla and Fernanda leap.
“Motherfucker!” Perla lunged towards the priest. He shot the gun twice in Perla’s direction, hitting her in the arm and leg.
“Run, Fernanda!” she managed to gasp as she held onto the back of the dining chair. Father Moreno raised the gun to Perla’s head.
Fernanda dropped the drinks to the floor. “I’ll come with you. Leave her.”
Father Moreno turned to Perla.
“Give me your phone, girl!”
Perla was shivering.
“Bag. There.” She cocked her head towards the sofa before her legs buckled. Father Moreno looked back at two handbags on the cushion and leaned down to grab both, gun still on Perla.
Fernanda and Father Moreno walked out of the house together and into his car. Fernanda didn’t look at Perla or Dr. Camacho because otherwise she might try to kill the priest, or she might break down.
I couldn’t wait to get to Dr. Camacho’s house. The plan was to order Chinese, do a few hours of translation and then watch a movie on pay-per-view. Since we first began our project, Fernanda was living as herself most of the time. Whatever we were doing seemed to be working. I also felt filled with confidence and more hope than I had felt in a long time. The goddess wanted to speak after lying dormant for so long, and so did I. Silence is a bad habit, easy to slip into. I had done it myself. But as of late that had changed. There would be no going back.
I pulled into Professor Camacho’s drive, next to Perla’s car. This was strange as I swore she’d mentioned a date that night. I walked in without knocking because the professor made this feel like a second home for us, for me. Even when Fernanda was not there, we would still share meals and discuss all the revelations from the goddess. We believed once the stories were put together in their entirety they would reveal something life changing, for everyone.