Angel

Ángel grips his prayer rope, kneeling in the cold. He’s waiting for the sun to fall. And for himself to count to thirtythree. His legs are frail, shivering; his shoes are black, muddy. Snot drips out of his nose like out the snout of a dog. Waiting. Kneeling in the white field, waiting.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Thirtythree times. His body’s aching but he forces himself up. And begins on his way home, trudging through the prairie to get to the interstate. The snow covers the dead bluestem, big bluestem, Indian grass, golden feathers; his ears deafen, fill with silence.

And he thinks of his old wife, who he had dreamt of. She was as white as a virgin. Soft as the day they consummated. Piercing him with the desire to melt inside of her. Aching. Rising to his, her eyes fill his loins with burning . . . so tasteful, vivid, so sweet.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

He walks along the paved road of his farmhouse, puffing at the cigarette in his dark fingers like a man who has finished a day of work. He enters in, looks for the bed where his wife had slept, and collapses onto it. Traces of her scent remain.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me,

He unbuckles his belt and begins to please himself, retreating into fantasy, dragging his wretched body across time so she could burn him again; so he could burn himself. On the sheets where her life had once been, he spills new life.

. . . a sinner.

He thinks of the Mother of God, who he had dreamt of. Her gaze was soft, penetrating, motionless, perfectly balanced. She was more beautiful than any woman, even his own. Her eyes shone like suns, clear as mirrors, and tears flowed gently from them, down to her knees, where slowly they disappeared. He wanted to throw himself in her arms and join her.

Now Ángel lays on the bed of his dead wife, weary with his crying, throat parched. Looking at his hands with horror, blackened and wrinkled. His sin burns.

So he falls asleep.

And the next day he does it again.