Some men wish to be feared and respected in a fruitless chasing of mythic grandeur and the admiration of other men. Diego knew no such yearnings, only the thirst for authenticities in life. His presence filled the room like a pride of lions, his tall slender frame somehow shrouding a ferocious weight. Sometimes one can sense the unseen, the keel of a soul that contains extraordinary experiences. Diego himself could only guess at how apparent his intentions were: to reclaim the keys to a former kingdom.
Diego Alonso was handsome and well built. Jerry, a stocky black man, beamed when he saw him enter the room. They had both arrived about a half hour early for the prayer meeting at seven. Jerry stood up in the church classroom and walked to the door through the gap in a circle of chairs.
“Look who it is! I can’t believe it!” Jerry said, and the two embraced.
“Jerry—it’s been so long,” Diego said, patting his arm.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were back in town?”
“Actually, I just moved back—so much going on—career change—everything.”
“Is this the first time you’ve seen the new building?”
“Yeah, it’s huge, it’s beautiful. So—are you an elder yet?”
Jerry shook his head, laughing, “No—no-”
“Come on, you’ve got more money than God and you practically live here. What’s wrong with these people?” Diego smiled.
“Nothing wrong with these people, you know it,” Jerry laughed.
“So why won’t they make you elder?”
“It’s that look I give everyone.”
“Look?”
“You know, the one that says I’m of the firm opinion that everyone in the world is mentally ill.”
“Oh, that look. So what are you up to these days?”
“Things are crazy at the lab and they’re even more crazy at the clinic—having to lay some people off—everything is stressing me out. Had to take out a second mortgage on the house—can’t remember the last time I paid myself.” Jerry dropped his head and smiled. “I’m sorry, how long has it been? We haven’t seen each other in forever, and the first thing I do is start complaining about my life.”
“It’s all right, Jerry, we’re here to encourage each other—right?”
“You’re the one who has all the stuff happening—tell me, what’s going on with you?”
“Now, that’s a long story.”
Diego and Jerry sat down, leaving one empty chair between them so they would have room to stretch out their legs.
“All I’m gonna tell you is that I’m glad to be back.” Diego noticed people beginning to enter the room and lowered his voice. “But I need some serious prayer.”
A pale man with thick dark hair and a crooked nose walked in and noticed Diego. “Hey Diego! Good to see you—are you visiting?”
“Hey Larry! I’m here to stay.”
“That’s great, when did you move back?”
“Just recently.”
“Well it’s great to see you. I’m running late—need to get this prayer meeting started.”
“You leading?” Diego asked.
“Yeah, I’m leading tonight.”
Larry sat down near the door and grabbed a notepad off a shelf and clicked a pen to write. “Okay, who wants to go first?”
A large elderly man with a dignified voice began. “Put my wife down for health.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Larry asked.
“She’s got cancer—and put my daughter down on the list too, she’s also got cancer.”
The first breath of sadness gripped the prayer group. Tender sighs were expressed. The elderly man’s face was ambiguous—a mixture of anger and surrender.
“What are their names? So we can pray—”
“Elana—my wife’s name is Elana. And Patricia—that’s my daughter.”
“Okay any one else?” Larry said.
A small, thin Hispanic woman with a tired craggy face looked around at the group with dread in her eyes, “Please keep praying for my son Danny. Pray he gets saved—that he gets off drugs and alcohol.”
Larry nodded and scribbled the words, Danny—addict, and then looked around the room for more prayer requests. Diego also looked around at the group waiting for the right moment to share his heart.
A woman in her forties, of Indian decent, quietly spoke. “My husband’s co-worker—his brother-in-law—”
“The co-worker’s brother-in-law?” Larry said.
“Yes, the co-worker’s brother-in-law—he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and only given six months to live. It was a shock to the family.”
“I can imagine—do you know his name?”
“No.”
“That’s all right—God knows his name. Anyone else?”
A young man in baggy clothes with a bushy soul spot under his mouth said, “Put me down for employment.”
“Okay—any more prayers?”
Diego waited a moment before speaking. “Please pray for my sister’s family. They’ve been through a lot. My sister and I hadn’t really been keeping in touch when I was living on the West Coast. I didn’t know about their foreclosure years ago—only about the divorce. She remarried, and the new husband, Luciano—a huge baseball player—almost beat her to death. I went to see her the other night—she was a mess. She admitted to me that she was an alcoholic. She’s gonna go in for rehab. She wants her kids to come live with me. That same man that almost killed her—assaulted my niece.”
Larry was unaware that his jaw had dropped open. Jerry shook his head.
“The kids are all right, but their real dad is being sent off to Afghanistan again.” Diego let out a long breath, relaxed his shoulders and stretched his neck.
“Pray for this family and also pray for me. I hope my nephew and niece’ll be okay. I hope that we’ll all get along. Alex is fourteen and has the summer off from school, so I’ll probably be seeing a lot of him. Cara is nineteen and I don’t even know what to say to someone that age—whether I should treat her like an adult—or try to act like a parent.”
Diego noticed a young woman about Cara’s age who seemed frightened, being escorted into the room by a couple in their twenties.
“Anyways, I could probably talk about this all night—so I’ll stop here. Please keep me in your prayers.”
“We will. Okay—any final prayer requests?”
The young woman, who had just sat down, raised her nervous head. “Um—please pray for me—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her voice cracked like she was about to cry, but then composed herself. “I feel really bad—my friends say I’m just having panic attacks and that I just need to relax, but—” Her eyes swelled with tears. “I need God to help me—I feel so bad. I don’t know what to do.”
“What’s your name?”
“Christine.”
“Okay, we’ll pray,” Larry said softly. “Anyone else? We’ve had a lot of petitions—how about some praises. Praises anyone?”
“Praise God we haven’t had any hurricanes so far this year,” an older man said.
“All right then, let’s go to the Lord in prayer...”
The group closed their eyes and bowed their heads as Larry read from the list. He pleaded for God to hear their prayers, thanking Him for the weather and then asking for divine help in solving human problems—the cancer—the job loss—the addictions—the panic attacks—Diego’s family.
After the prayer meeting, as some left, others stayed to talk to the nervous young woman named Christine. Jerry and Diego were still seated. Diego had never seen anyone so delicate and vulnerable. Christine was thin and underdeveloped, almost childlike, wiping tears from her eyes as Bible verses were read to her—well-meaning men and women attempting to cure her suffering. Jerry leaned in to resume the conversation they had started before the prayer meeting, but Diego lifted his hand to gently indicate that he was engrossed in the advice the young woman was being given.
“In the Gospel of John—it says
not to let your heart be troubled,” said one smiling women, patting Christine on the back before leaving the room.
The man with the dignified voice moved heavily towards her with an open Bible. “Let me read to you from First Peter, ‘Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you. Discipline yourselves, keep alert. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour. Resist him, steadfast in your faith.’ You see?—you have to be strong in your faith...”
“Hey Diego, I have to get going—we’ll catch up soon. Will you be here on Sunday?” Jerry said.
“I’ll be here,” Diego said, standing up with Jerry for the night’s final embrace. “It’s great to see you, Jerry.”
“Oh man, it’s so good to see you-”
Larry was talking to Christine with one hand on her shoulder, his eyeglasses perched on the edge of his nose—fatherly and stern. “In Philippians, it says—do not—do not be anxious. That’s not a request—it doesn’t say it would be nice if you weren’t anxious. It is a command from God. You are commanded by God not to be anxious—all you need is faith. You understand young lady?”
“I think so,” Christine said.
“Good. I have to go—I need to get home early tonight.” Larry patted Christine’s back and walked out of the room, leaving Diego alone with Christine and the young couple that had brought her.
“Okay, now it’s my turn—I get a crack at you too,” Diego said with a grin that caused Christine to smile. “Look, I don’t know if anything you heard tonight made any sense, but please don’t give up trying to find out what’s wrong. It could be anything. These people here get a little carried away with all this spiritual warfare stuff. But please, make sure you see a doctor. You could be pre-diabetic, or have a heart condition—or it could be one of your glands—or a food allergy—it could be anything.”
“She eats nothing but junk food,” her friend jumped in.
“Yeah, I eat pretty bad,” Christine said.
“Promise me you’ll never give up trying to find out what’s wrong. Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t have enough faith in God.”
“I was so worried that maybe God was angry at me somehow.” Christine trembled as tears glittered in her blue eyes.
“No—no—no—don’t ever think that.” Diego was moved by the young woman, part of him wanting to adopt her and coach her never to give up the fight. She looked almost suicidal to him, and he wished that if it ever came to that—he could die instead of her.
By Diego’s calculations, the prayer group hadn’t been especially helpful for the young woman. He had seen this many times before—someone facing an enormous battle, showing up one Wednesday night, asking for prayers—never returning. Christine didn’t seem like the type that would ever come back—not after all the Bible verses callously thrown at her—not after she had been talked down to by people who thought anxiety and depression were character flaws. Diego would find it easy to remember Christine in his prayers. It was Alex and Cara that were going to be under his care, and Christine had played an important role in changing Diego that night. Thoughts of self had been dissolved away by despairing beautiful eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
Alex and Cara had not anticipated it taking most of the day to pack their belongings and stuff them into the back seat and trunk of the Hyundai. The car felt heavy and sluggish on the Miami roads—the balding tires made the ride seem rough. The twilight sky was casting strange shadows on Brickell Avenue, like a thousand black birds marking the changing of seasons. The many palm trees flew past, covering and uncovering sparkling condominiums, some tall enough to still be above the sunset—pale magenta rays touching the upper floors.
Cara had seen these buildings before—from across the bay—the times she had parked her car on Key Biscayne and beheld the skyline shimmering in the night. A fading bruise on her cheek—partially hidden by her sunglasses—the only evidence of her attack. That and a small cut on her lower lip. Her voice no longer hoarse from the screaming and crying, her soul—not as hollow from the silent wailing.
Cara was wearing a scoop neck tank top, the color of cantaloupe with a large screen-print rhinoceros, a voguish reminder, in case Diego had forgotten, that she was an artist just like him. Alex, wearing an extra sized plain beige polo, was scanning the playlist on Cara’s MP3 player. “I’m gonna borrow your player for a while—you can use mine,” Alex said.
“I don’t wanna use yours—you don’t have any Radiohead or Coldplay or Death Cab.” Cara said.
“Coldplay? Chris Martin is such a geek.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Whatever.”
“Just transfer the songs over—Fathead—when you get a chance.”
“Hey, we’re almost here. GPS says it’s one of these tall buildings. Okay—make the next right.”
A short curving road led to a guard booth and security gate. An emaciated looking man in a uniform walked up to the car with a clipboard, “¿Quién viene a ver?”
“Diego Alonso,” Cara said.
“Sí, te espera.”
“¿A—don—de?”
Cara could see that the guard was annoyed—her Spanish wasn’t fluent. He impatiently shook his head and blurted out directions, “Take dee road hasta el parking garash. Take dee elevador.” He handed her a small blue piece of paper with the handwritten words—Diego Alonso PH.
There was a soft buzzing sound and the gate opened. The guard waved her through like an unwanted guest. They parked and walked past a long row of luxury cars to the elevator. As Cara looked at the buttons besides the floor numbers, she realized that PH stood for penthouse. “Diego lives in the penthouse, Fathead.”
“Penthouse,” Alex repeated with fascination as the buttons glowed a cream yellow, bringing them closer to their new summer home.
Cara looked at her reflection on the chrome panel where the names of the floors were engraved in gold letters, softly rubbing her finger on the cut on her lip.
The elevator door opened and they stepped out into a short hallway that led to a single door. As soon as the door chime rung, they heard barking and the door opened. Diego was grinning and reaching out to hug them both at the same time—two excited basset hounds sniffed and wagged their tails.
“Hey! Guys—long time no see,” Diego said hugging Alex a second time and kissing Cara’s cheek.
“I didn’t know you had dogs,” Cara laughed as she knelt to pet one of the dogs, getting slobbered.
“These are my girls—Ebay and Yahoo—they’re service dogs. Come in-Come in!”
“Service dogs? You’re not handicapped–”
“Mentally—I most definitely am.”
“Tio, you’re so funny,” Cara laughed. “All our stuff is downstairs in the car—actually Dad put most of it away in storage for us, but everything we need is in the car.”
“I’ll help you guys bring everything up. You wanna come inside for a bit—cool off? Want some water?”
Cara and Alex accepted the offer—Alex, who was always a bit aloof and calculating, was himself caught up in the pleasantries. Cara noticed Diego was a little grayer, but still her strapping, handsome uncle.
Alex scratched one dog behind the ear, “I don’t know—I might be allergic—or maybe not—we’ll have to see-”
“Let me look at your face, Cara—what did that man do to you?” Diego said tenderly as he put his hand under Cara’s chin and studied her face.
Cara sighed and made a closed lipped smile, noticing sadness in Diego’s face.
“Look at this face—who would want to hurt you?”
“A psycho—that’s who,” Alex said.
Cara couldn’t remember a time when she felt so secure—so at home. If only Octavio could be there too—a trinity of love and protection. Diego—he was good for them—this they somehow knew without speaking a word.
“This place rocks—I didn’t know you were rich,” Alex said.
“Not anymore,”
Diego smiled. “This is my last big investment. It’s really nice isn’t it? All the furniture came with it—not really my taste—a bit extravagant. I’m not a corporate big shot anymore—I’m teaching at the college, so all the money I’ve made has to last me until—who knows—till I turn ninety or whatever—God willing.”
“This whole top floor is yours, Tio?” Alex said.
“Yeah, come with me—let me give you the tour—there’s an incredible view.”
With the dogs following closely, they made their way through the living room that had been turned into an art studio. A large neglected television screen filled most of the wall obstructed by two easels, one metal and one a seven-foot H frame made out of red oak wood. Against the walls were large painted canvases—mountains covered by mist—landscapes. A large panel of wood filled with globs of paint covered the coffee table—the largest palette Cara or Alex had ever seen. A burlap drop cloth lay on the carpeting—everywhere brushes and containers of paint.
Cara inspected one of the canvases closely, wanting to savor the brushstrokes. “Beautiful,” was all she could manage to say.
“Thanks, I don’t know where I’m getting the inspiration for mountains—Florida is as flat as a pancake.”
“Cool,” Alex said almost to himself.
“Come, you have to see the view,” Diego said.
As they moved through the maze of rooms, Cara and Alex were astounded by the many things that the previous owner had left behind—the globes and fine lamps, sculptures and lavish interior décor. There were several large armoires; some intended for clothes, others were unused entertainment units. Alex beamed when he saw the vintage pinball and Space Invaders arcade machines. Large fixed windows provided an almost panoramic view of the city and the Atlantic, the apartment and all the paintings bathed in lavender pink as the sun set.
“Awesome,” Alex said.
Cara was moved beyond words—Diego, her Tio, having conquered the world—a wizard perched on top his high tower, surveying the kingdom. She was proud of Diego—glancing at him for a moment so she could define him—then looking out into the expanse of Miami that appeared like a valley—almost spiritual in its mystery.
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