Darling by Richard Rodriguez Page A

the pool drained and scoured.
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    Holy Saturday afternoon. Luther seemed more heavily sedated than on Friday. The bed was level; the air-conditioner was off.
    A young man’s head appeared from around the door. Glasses. Balding. Do you know . . . ? His entire body slid into the room, leaving the door as it was. Does Mister . . . Do you know if Mr. Thomas has any religious affiliation?
    Baptist, said Jimmy, standing up. Raised Baptist; he went to several churches along the way, but.
    I’m not a Baptist minister, said the young man. In fact, I’m not a minister; I’m studying to become a chaplain. Don Jensen. Hi. Do you think Mr. Thomas would object to a prayer?
    No, I’m sure not, said Jimmy. (Later, when recounting the chaplain’s visit to Peter, Jimmy learned that Luther had been confirmed as a Lutheran in Berkeley.)
    Mr. Jensen had sweat rings under his arms. Jimmy indicated Mr. Jensen should take the chair near the bed. Mr. Jensen leaned forward to speak directly into Luther’s ear. Mr. Jensen did not raise his voice. Luther did not stir.
    Honestly, you never know who will attend your last hours. When my friend Marty’s mother was dying, they called the rectory for a priest. There was no priest available. Really? No priest? Not a one, said a woman at the answering service. The hospice had a rabbi on call. How about a rabbi? In the end, Marty’s mother liked the rabbi so well she canceled her order for a priest.
    You are a lucky man, Mr. Thomas. Mr. Jensen spoke calmly into Luther’s ear. It is a great blessing to die on Easter Sunday. Our Lord rose from the dead and tore off his shroud and tossed it in a corner like so much dirty laundry. Then he walked out into the first light of sunrise and the gates of his kingdom were opened forevermore. You will enter into that kingdom this very day. Jimmy looked to the palm tree in the parking lot, then back to the face of the man speaking calmly into Luther’s ear. If there is anything that is holding you back, any misgiving, let us resolve itnow in the love of God. Believe God loves you, Mr. Thomas. I am going to say the words our Savior taught us. You follow along as best you can: Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory for ever and ever. Amen.
    Mr. Jensen stood; he traced a cross upon Luther’s forehead with his thumb; he nodded to Jimmy; he left the room.
    If he couldn’t make it home for Easter, Luther would always send his mother a check so she could buy herself a new Easter outfit, a dress and a hat—a great big old Pizarro hat, as he called the wide brims and short crowns she favored.
    One day, when Luther was four or five, he looked up and saw a tiny silver plane crossing the sky.
Look, Mama,
he said. His mother was pinning clothes on the line.
When I grow up I am going to ride through the sky like that.
His mother looked up where he pointed, then bent once more to her basket.
Mama, you’re sad because you think I never will, but I will.
    â€œClass,” Bugsy Siegel remarked, “that’s the only thing that counts in life. Class. Without class and style a man’s a bum; he might as well be dead.”
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    Holy Saturday. It is the last hour of Sabbath for the Jews—the setting of the sun. Cher’s face, bedizened with jewels, floats over the Strip like a Byzantine icon. A large crowd of pedestrians makes an aimless
paseo
among the hotels.
    I am making my way up Las Vegas Boulevard to the Easter Vigil Mass at Guardian Angel Cathedral, just beyond the Wynn. At intersections, escalators transport pedestrians