Come As You Are

by Steven Ramirez

  He could smell the arroz con pollo Magda was preparing in the rustic kitchen and wanted nothing more than to eat, pray, and go to bed.

  “That magician has corrupted all the widows of this village including the mayor’s daughter. Of course, you’ll see to it he’s arrested and charged.”

  “Yes,” Fr. Altmann said.

  “He’ll be tried, found guilty, and run out of town, thank God.”

  “I suppose.”

  “We must pray a rosary now and ask the Blessed Virgin for a proper end to this mess. And we must burn that infernal book!”

  Immediately, she made the Sign of the Cross and said the Apostle’s Creed. He quickly joined in and noted they were doing the Sorrowful Mysteries. As he prayed, the words came out, but what filled his head was the taste of the arroz con pollo that would soon be ready.

  Since the village didn’t have a chief of police, the new mayor had to write to the capital city and ask them to send down a prosecutor. After several weeks, Humberto O’Brien Saenz arrived. He was a young man of no distinction and without a wife. His father was a former prize fighter, who with one deadly punch had killed a man outside a bar, then fled north across the border rather than be tried for murder.

  Humberto had spent the better part of his life trying to overcome his family’s shame, but he was a mediocre student. He had been forced to spend an extra year in law school, and after taking the bar exam three times with the helpful encouragement of his sainted mother, who was forever seeing angels in teacups, he finally passed when he, at last, took his classmates’ advice and paid the three law professors conducting the exam an honorarium of one thousand pesos each. Shortly after, he applied for a position with the prosecutor’s office in the capital city.

  It was Humberto’s good fortune that the man he replaced had died from a fatal attack of the hiccups before he could submit his evidence in a murder trial. Consequently, the judge released the defendant who immediately went to a bar to celebrate, got drunk, killed a man, and was promptly rearrested all in the same day. This was Humberto’s first case. The man was found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging.

  Upon hearing the main points of this new case, Humberto was uninterested and decided to return home to resume courting the judge’s sixteen-year-old niece who was not impressed that he’d been responsible for a man being put to death and who would often urge him to become a prize fighter instead. It was only when Elvira mentioned in passing the death of Luz Olveida Sanchez in the church that Humberto changed his mind.

  “This will be the highlight of my career,” he said to the photograph of his mother, which he always kept with him.

  Gathering his things quickly and drooling over the prospect of finally impressing the judge’s niece, Humberto headed back to the capital city to prepare for the eventual trial that would decide Ignacio’s fate.

  “Do you think we did the right thing?” Fr. Altmann said to his sister after the lawyer had left.

  “Of course. Think of the scandal our little village has had to endure. Ignacio Muñoz will be banished forever, and we can get back to normal at last.”

  “I pray you’re right,” Fr. Altmann said, even as a purple dread chilled his throbbing bones.

  Ignacio Muñoz refused legal counsel, which delighted the new mayor because now he wouldn’t have to import an attorney at great expense. While Humberto conducted his interviews and collected written testimony, Ignacio went on delighting children with his usual magic. He missed the widows, especially the food. He had gained weight during those frantic weeks but now looked like Death, Luz’s own fate having robbed him of a comfortable life.

  Aware that the only evidence being submitted to the judge came from the lawyer, Fr. Altmann wrote a letter in defense of Ignacio. In a rambling epistle, he talked about the simple man who had delighted the children and who in all those years had never once been accused of any crime. He argued that what Ignacio needed was prayer and not punishment. And he begged the judge to show mercy.

  The priest remembered with fondness the magic show he had attended shortly after his ordination during which the Mystifier, wearing his Coat of Mirrors, vanished to the gaping astonishment of the crowd, leaving only the coat floating there on the makeshift stage, the pieces of mirror twinkling in the late afternoon sun.

  Later, men would swear they had seen Ignacio in this or that brothel in the capital city. Eventually, he returned to the dusty, fallow village hung over and completely broke, his burden recently made lighter by one or two missing teeth.

  Some weeks later, the verdict arrived. Ignacio Muñoz Treviño was found guilty of the murder of Luz Olveida Sanchez through bewitchment and deceit. He was further charged with nineteen counts of corrupting a widow. The charge of stealing from the church’s poor box was dismissed for lack of evidence. As a result, the magician was to be hanged by the neck until he was dead.

  Unable to sleep and aching from head to toe, Fr. Altmann climbed out of bed and pushed open the window.

  “It’s not my fault!” he said as the wind forced its way into his room, returning to him his own voice and bringing with it stinging dirt, dry leaves, and sharp twigs that tore at his face and arms. Still, the tuneless birdsong of the widows continued.

  The old man stood there, weeping. “Dear God, it’s not my fault.”

  Humberto O’Brien Saenz stood grimly in the cold breaking light of dawn as the sentence was read. Farther away behind a barricade manned by two disinterested policemen, Fr. Altmann, Elvira, the widows, and other curious onlookers awaited what could not be stopped.

  As the sun rose, Ignacio, his hands bound behind his back, was led up the steps of the newly constructed gallows by another policeman to where the hooded hangman stood, waiting. Though he had refused absolution, Fr. Altmann had given it to him anyway, more to assuage his own guilt at setting this heartless machinery in motion.

  Everyone in charge understood that Ignacio had but a single request—to wear his magical Coat of Mirrors. Humberto had objected on the grounds that this was not a street performance but relented when pressed by the supplications of the remorseful priest and the wailing of the sorrowful women.

  The bailiff turned and signaled to Lourdes, who had been guarding an old suitcase tied with rope. Moving stiffly around the barrier past a yawning policeman, she felt her heart would stop and wished now that she, too, could die rather than see this injustice carried out. Nevertheless, she formally handed the suitcase to the bailiff, who laid it on the ground, untied the fraying rope, and carefully removed a long black coat glistening with pieces of mirror intermingled with the three hundred religious medals Lourdes and the other widows had sewn on by hand to replace the original silver sequins.

  The bailiff marched up the steps, and, as instructed, carefully placed the garment around Ignacio’s bony shoulders, then made his way back down to the safety of the earth. Newly refurbished, the coat made an impressive sight. The sun’s rays shone over the church and through the trees, and people had to shield their eyes from the white-hot light that reflected back at them.

  Lourdes felt weak and nearly passed out as a stiff new rope was placed around Ignacio’s neck. She watched as his feet were positioned in the “T” that had been drawn in chalk on the trap door. Then, she steadied herself against Fr. Altmann’s shoulder. Ignoring his sister’s scowl, he gently patted her hand.

  “I refuse to mourn him,” Lourdes said.

  All around the priest, the other widows wept softly and muttered a steady drone of prayers for the soul of Ignacio Muñoz. It was the sound of bees at work, their chorus producing the honey that would sustain him in his dark journey and, with luck, help him avoid hell on the way to a better eternity.

  While the hangman made his way down the steps to the operating lever that would send the prisoner hurtling into a black pit of Death, Ignacio smiled gently at Lourdes as if to say “Have faith!” For Lourdes, this was hilarious coming from a man who had never embraced God or religion, and she smiled secretly. />
  Alone and blindingly bright now, the magician stood motionless, waiting for the hangman to remove the safety pin and pull the lever. The only sound now was a gentle wind through the trees that carried the soft voices of the widows.

  Without fanfare, the hangman pulled the lever, and the trap door banged open horribly, creating a shudder that washed over the audience like acid. Fr. Altmann had already closed his eyes, unable to face the sight of Ignacio’s legs dangling lifelessly under the gallows. But then, he heard Lourdes gasp as the hangman let loose a string of obscenities.

  When the priest opened his eyes, he saw the still rope and the Coat of Mirrors gently floating upward into a cloudless sky as if summoned by God for a royal banquet.

  Quickly, the incensed hangman ran up the steps and peered into the hole the trap door had left, and Fr. Altmann heard himself laughing with a joy he hadn’t felt in years. Without ever having to see for himself, he knew that what the hangman had discovered in the dangling noose was not a body but simply air.

  Ignacio the Mystifier had cheated Death.

  Triumphant over the successful prosecution and eventual execution of a murderer even though there was no corpse, Humberto returned to the capital city and paid a visit to the judge’s reticent niece only to learn she had sailed away to Paris to study art and music. Not long after, he received the unhappy news that she had become engaged to a magician.

  Under the gentle guidance of Lourdes Navarro de Leon, the widows took over the house of Ignacio Muñoz and transformed it into a meeting place where they would pray, knit, drink chocolate, and play cards. In a gesture of goodwill, they invited Elvira and hoped that someday she would accept. It was said that Ignacio would appear to the widows from time to time to perform magic, but none of these women ever spoke of it.

  Fr. Altmann retired as pastor and spent his days tending the trees and the flowers in the church cemetery. A young priest from the capital city took over as pastor. He seemed to be filled with the Holy Spirit and referred lovingly to his flock as his children. Elvira Altmann Lopez thought he was tedious and privately called him “that wet-behind-the-ears puppy who’ll soon learn what’s what.”

  Fr. Altmann knelt contentedly, working the soil in his death garden vigorously, careful not to harm the writhing earthworms as he pulled up the weeds. Knowing that Death comes in threes, he was convinced that a deal had been struck, with Ignacio taking the spot meant for himself.

  And that made him feel young again.

  Walker

  I stared with blood-rimmed eyes at the policeman. My breathing felt pained and shallow, and despite the gray wool blanket they’d given me, I was shaking. An EMT gave me a penicillin injection while another finished bandaging my hands. I glanced down and noticed the crimson pool seeping through the layers of gauze. It reminded me of one of Lucy’s watercolors.

  The policeman, whose name I didn’t get, touched my arm. “Mr. Walker, where is your wife? Mr. Walker? Can you hear me?”

  The words made no sense. Why were they asking me that? Mary Kate was still in the house. Where else would she be? This was all some stupid misunderstanding. Why was I bleeding?

  “Mr. Walker,” the policeman with no name said again. “We’d like you to go to the hospital now so a doctor can take a look at you.”

  I felt vague hands slipping around my upper arms and getting me to my feet. I glanced around through blood and gray and saw that I’d been sitting on the curb. Everything in the house was bright. How many times had I told Mary Kate not to leave all the lights on?

  A woman’s voice addressed me now. I turned anxiously, expecting to see Mary Kate. It was a policewoman. She was young and pretty, and seemed concerned for some reason. What was she so worried about?

  “Come on,” she said.

  I followed her to the ambulance with the assistance of an EMT. I stopped just short of it, because I didn’t think I should leave Mary Kate alone in the house. She gets scared. But she wasn’t alone. There were all those strangers.

  People wearing police uniforms and others in plainclothes came and went through the open front door. I wanted to tell them to wipe their feet—Mary Kate hates a mess. I’d also need to have a word with Lucy about leaving her bike on the front lawn. Seeing the training wheels, I felt guilty for not teaching her to ride without them. How many times had she begged me?

  Then I saw the knife. It was covered in my blood. A plainclothesman picked it up off the lawn with gloved hands and gingerly placed it into a plastic evidence bag.

  “Those knives are expensive,” I said to the policewoman as she gently guided me toward the ambulance.

  “I know,” she said.

  “John, don’t forget Lucy has an early day today,” Mary Kate said as she poured my coffee.

  “Got it. But I won’t be here anyway, right?”

  “I’m keeping you in the loop, genius.”

  I sat at the table, sipping coffee and ignoring my cell phone with the one hundred-plus emails I knew were waiting for me. Instead, I skimmed the Los Angeles Times. A child had been kidnapped, presumably by a predator. Two teenage boys had shot and killed another boy for his drugs. Some whack job was sentenced for murdering his wife and cooking her. Welcome to Tuesday.

  “You did it again last night, you know,” I said.

  “I don’t remember,” Mary Kate said as she refilled my cup. I saw her hand tremble, and I touched it. “Where did you find me?”

  “In the kitchen. You were dicing beef.”

  “And you say I can’t cook. I do it with my eyes closed.” That was Mary Kate. Always the comedian.

  “What’s dicing?” Lucy said, looking adorable with her milk moustache.

  I took out a Pyrex bowl covered in plastic wrap from the refrigerator and showed Lucy the round roast cut into perfect little cubes.

  “Is that blood?” she said. “Yucky.”

  “It won’t be once Mommy turns it into beef stew,” Mary Kate said, taking the bowl from me and flicking my nose.

  I could tell she was worried. Lately, the sleepwalking had been happening more and more. Though I had a packed schedule, I did something uncharacteristic. “I’ll take Lucy to school,” I said.

  “Yay!”

  “Are you sure you have time?” Mary Kate said.

  “Absolutely. Those staff meetings never start on time anyway.”

  “They can’t be trusted,” Lucy said, frowning. “Can they, Daddy?”

  “No, they can’t.”

  “That’s why you’re President of the Universe!”

  “What time’s your appointment?” I said to Mary Kate.

  “Eleven.”

  “Call me after. I want to know what Dr. Murtha says.” I got up from the table. “Okay, Lucy Goosey, time to get your backpack!”

  The district sales meeting dragged on. I swore that if they gave out one more sales award I was out of there. It was after twelve and I hadn’t heard from Mary Kate yet. Then I got a text. Any way we can have lunch?

  After the meeting broke up, I agreed to meet Mary Kate. Though it was nearly one, there were still plenty of tables. I was already waiting on the patio when Mary Kate walked over. As she approached, I stood and pulled out the chair for her, then gave her a kiss as she sat. I knew it was corny, but my father had taught me years ago about how women like to be treated. So far it was working.

  We had been married, what, eight years? Right, because Lucy was six now. Mary Kate was still gorgeous and often made me regret my work schedule. I took in her sandy-colored hair, which she’d let grow out, and her blue-green eyes. I remembered how ecstatic we both were when we discovered that Lucy had her eyes.

  “So what did the doctor say?” I said.

  Mary Kate picked up a menu and pretended to study it. We’d been here many times—I’m sure she had it memorized. A server came by and poured water for us. “Can I tell you about the specials?” he said.

  The server was dressed typically—all black with a two-day growth of beard. He was probably sho
pping a screenplay.

  “Chicken Caesar salad,” Mary Kate said, handing him the menu. “And iced tea.”

  “The Kobe burger,” I said. “This water is fine.”

  “Sure you want beef for lunch?” she said. “We’re having beef stew for dinner, remember?”

  “Fine, I’ll have the chicken Caesar salad.”

  The server made a show of crossing out my original order and, taking the menus, stomped off to the kitchen. I frowned at Mary Kate. “What?” she said. “I’m looking out for your health.”

  “Come on, what did she say?”

  She toyed with her silverware, refusing to make eye contact. “That it’s nothing unusual. I’m probably stressed, that’s all.”

  “Did she prescribe anything?”

  “Klonopin. But I don’t want to take it.”

  “Don’t tell me, dry mouth.”

  “Worse. Thoughts of suicide.”

  “Better stick with yoga,” I said. “Hey, what happened?” There were long scratches down both of Mary Kate’s arms from elbow to wrist. I hadn’t noticed them in the morning. They were dark and scabbing over.

  “I don’t know,” she said, placing her hands in her lap. “It must’ve happened last night.”

  “What else did Dr. Murtha say?”

  “No, it’s stupid.”

  “What?”

  “So how’s work?”

  “Honey, come on. I’m a professional.”

  She smiled in spite of herself and gazed at me. I saw fear in her eyes. She leaned toward me so no one else would hear. “That under no circumstances am I to be awakened.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She told me this crazy story about a man from her village in India. He was a sleepwalker. One night someone woke him as he was wandering down the road.”

  “So?”

  “All she would say is that he was never the same.”

  “Come on, that’s just some superstition.”